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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/4626-h.zip b/4626-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..320857a --- /dev/null +++ b/4626-h.zip diff --git a/4626-h/4626-h.htm b/4626-h/4626-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee00864 --- /dev/null +++ b/4626-h/4626-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8925 @@ +<!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 Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, +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 Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, 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: Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 30, 2009 [EBook #4626] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: February 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARRIED LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +MARRIED LIFE: +<BR> +ITS SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +T. S. ARTHUR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +PHILADELPHIA: +<BR> +1852. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PREFACE. +</H3> + +<P> +THE highest, purest, best and holiest relation in life is that of +marriage, which ought never to be regarded as a mere civil contract, +entered into from worldly ends, but as an essential union of two +minds, by which each gains a new power, and acquires! new capacities +for enjoyment and usefulness. Much has been said and written about +the equality of the sexes, and the rights of woman; but little of +all that has been said or written on this subject is based upon a +discriminating appreciation of the difference between man and woman; +a difference provided by the Creator, who made them for each other, +and stamped upon the spirit of each an irresistible tendency towards +conjunction. +</P> + +<P> +The many evils resulting from marriage do not arise from a failure +in our sex to recognise the equality of man and woman, or the rights +of the latter; but from hasty, ill-judged and discordant alliances, +entered into in so many cases, from motives of a mere external +nature, and with no perception of internal qualities tending to a +true spiritual conjunction. Oppression and wrong cannot flow from +true affection, for love seeks to bless its object.—If, therefore, +man and woman are not happy in marriage, the fault lies in an +improper union, and no remedy can be found in outward constraints or +appliances. Let each, under such circumstances, remove from himself +or herself a spirit of selfish opposition; let forbearance, +gentleness, and a humane consideration, the one for the other, find +its way into the heart, and soon a better and a brighter day will +dawn upon them; for then will begin that true interior conjunction +which only can be called marriage. Happily, we have the intellectual +ability to see what is true, and the power to compel ourselves to do +what reason shows us to be right. And here lies the power of all to +rise above those ills of life which flow from causes in themselves. +To aid in this work, so far as discordant marriage relations are +concerned, and to bind in closer bonds those whose union is +internal, is the present volume prepared. That it will tend to unite +rather than separate, where discord unhappily exists, and to warn +those about forming alliances against the wrong of improper ones, +the author is well assured. +</P> + +<P> +This book is the second in the series of "ARTHUR'S LIBRARY FOR THE +HOUSEHOLD." The third in the series will be "THE TWO WIVES; OR, LOST +AND WON," which is nearly ready for publication. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#three">THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#wife">RULING A WIFE.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#invalid">THE INVALID WIFE.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#quarrel">THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#guess">GUESS WHO IT IS.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#tailor">MARRYING A TAILOR.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#maiden">THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#fortune">THE FORTUNE HUNTER.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#lottery">IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY?</A><BR> + <A HREF="#unloved">THE UNLOVED ONE.</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="three"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +MARRIED LIFE. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND. +</H3> + +<P> +TO those who have never tried the experiment, the management of a +husband may seem a very easy matter. I thought so once, but a few +years' hard experience has compelled me to change my mind. When I +married Mr. John Smith, which was about ten years ago, I was not +altogether blind to his faults and peculiarities; but then he had so +many solid virtues, that these were viewed as minor considerations. +Besides, I flattered myself that it would be the easiest thing in +the world to correct what was not exactly to my taste. It is no +matter of especial wonder that I should have erred in this, for Mr. +John Smith, while a lover, really appeared to have no will of his +own, and no thought of himself. It was only necessary for me to +express a wish, and it was gratified. +</P> + +<P> +I soon found, much to my disappointment, that there is a marked +difference between a husband and a lover: it was at least so in the +case of Mr. Smith, and observation, since I have had my eyes open, +satisfies me that it is so in most cases. I must own, in justice to +all parties, however, that this difference is made more apparent by +a want of knowledge, on the other side, in regard to the difference +between the relation of a wife and a sweetheart—between the wooed +and the won. +</P> + +<P> +There were a good many little things in Mr. Smith, which I had +noticed before marriage, that I made up my mind to correct as soon +as I had an opportunity to apply the proper means. He had a fashion +of saying "Miss" for "Mrs.," as "Miss Jones" and "Miss Peters" for +"Mrs. Jones" and "Mrs. Peters." This sounded exceedingly vulgar to +my ears, and I waited almost impatiently for the time to come when I +could use the prerogative of a wife for its correction. He had, an +ungraceful way of lounging in his chair and half reclining on the +sofa, even in company, that was terrible. It made me uneasy from +head to foot. Then he said, "I <I>shew</I> it to him" for "I <I>showed</I> it +to him,"—"of-<I>ten</I>" for "oft'n"—and "<I>obleeged</I>" for "obliged." +</P> + +<P> +Besides these, there were sundry other things that worried me not a +little. But I consoled myself with the reflection that when I became +Mrs. Smith all these little matters would vanish like frost in the +sunshine. I was, alas! doomed to be mistaken. But let me give my +experience for the benefit of those who are to come after me. +</P> + +<P> +We had been married just ten days, and I had begun to feel that I +was really a wife, and had a right to say and do a little as I +pleased, when Mr. Smith said to me, as we sat quite lover-like on +the sofa in the evening, +</P> + +<P> +"I met Miss Williams as I came home this evening—" +</P> + +<P> +"For mercy's sake, Mr. Smith! don't say <I>Miss</I> when you speak of a +married woman. It is excessively vulgar." I was not aware that I had +spoken in a very offensive way, but I noticed an instant change in +Mr. Smith. He replied, with some dignity of tone, and manner— +</P> + +<P> +"I ask your pardon, madam; but I didn't say <I>Miss</I>. I am not quite +so ignorant as all that comes to." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, but you did say it," I replied, quite +astonished at this unexpected denial. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me for saying that you are in error," he returned, drawing +himself up. "I never say Miss for Mrs." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Mr. Smith! You always say it. I have noticed it a hundred +times. I believe I can hear pretty correctly." +</P> + +<P> +"In this instance you certainly have not." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith was growing warm, and I felt the blood rushing to my face. +A rather tart reply was on my lips, but I bit them hard and +succeeded in keeping them closed. +</P> + +<P> +A deep silence followed. In a little while Mr. Smith took up a +newspaper and commenced reading, and I found some relief for a heavy +pressure that was upon my bosom, in the employment of hem-stitching +a fine pocket-handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +And this was the return I had met for a kind attempt to correct a +mistake of my husband's, that made him liable to ridicule on the +charge of vulgarity! And to deny, too, that he said "<I>Miss</I>," when I +had been worried about it for more than a year! It was too bad! +</P> + +<P> +After this Mr. Smith was very particular in saying, when he spoke of +a married woman to me, <I>Misses</I>. The emphasis on the second syllable +was much too strongly marked to be pleasant on my ears. I was +terribly afraid he would say "<I>Mistress</I>," thus going off into the +opposite extreme of vulgarity. +</P> + +<P> +This first attempt to put my husband straight had certainly not been +a very pleasant one. He had shown, unexpectedly to me, a humour that +could by no means be called amiable; and by which I was both +grieved, and astonished. I made up my mind that I would be very +careful in future how I tried my hand at reforming him. But his +oft-repeated "he <I>shew</I> it to me," and "<I>obleeged</I>.," soon fretted me +so sorely, that I was forced to come down upon him again, which I +did at a time when I felt more than usually annoyed. I cannot +remember now precisely what I said to him, but I know that I put him +into an ill-humour, and that it was cloudy weather in the house for +a week, although the sun shone brightly enough out of doors. "<I>He +shew it to me</I>.," and "<I>obleeged</I>" were, however, among the things +that had been, after that. So much was gained; although there were +times when I half suspected that I had lost more than I had gained. +But I persevered, and, every now and then, when I got "worked up" +about something, administered the rod of correction. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually I could see that my husband was changing, and, as I felt, +for the worse. Scarcely a year had passed before he would get into a +pet if I said the least word to him. He couldn't bear any thing from +me. This seemed very unreasonable, and caused me not only to sigh, +but to shed many a tear over his perverseness. From the thoughtful, +ever considerate, self-sacrificing lover, he had come to be +disregardful of my wishes, careless of my comfort, and indifferent +to my society. Still I felt by no means inclined to give him up; was +by no means disposed to let him have his own way. It was clear to my +mind that I had rights as well as he had; and I possessed resolution +enough to be ready to maintain them. His self-will and indifference +to my wishes roused in me a bitter and contentious spirit; and, in +an evil hour, I determined that I would make a struggle for the +mastery. An opportunity was not long delayed. The Philharmonic +Society had announced one of its splendid concerts. A lady friend, +who had frequently attended these concerts, called in to see me, +and, by what she said, filled me with a desire to enjoy the fine +musical treat that had been announced for that very evening. +</P> + +<P> +When Mr. Smith came home at dinner he said, before I had time to +mention the concert— +</P> + +<P> +"Mary, I've taken a fancy to go and see Fanny Ellsler to-night, and, +as there will be no chance of getting a good seat this afternoon, I +took the precaution to secure tickets as I came home to dinner. I +would have sent the porter with a note to know whether there was any +thing to prevent your going to-night, but he has been out all the +morning, and I concluded that, even if there should be some slight +impediment in the way, you could easily set it aside." +</P> + +<P> +Now this I thought too much. To go and buy tickets to see Fanny +Ellsler dance, and take it for granted that I would lay every thing +aside to go, when I had set my heart on attending the Philharmonic +concert! +</P> + +<P> +"You are a strange man, Mr. Smith," said I. "You ought to know that I +don't care a fig about seeing Fanny Ellsler. I don't relish such +kind of performances. You at least might have waited until you came +home to dinner and asked the question. I don't believe a word about +the good seats all being taken this morning. But it's just like you! +To go and see this dancers toss her feet about was a thing you had +made up your mind to do, and I was to go along whether I liked it or +not." +</P> + +<P> +"You talk in rather a strange way, Mrs. Smith," said my husband, +evidently offended. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see that I do," replied I, warming. "The fact is, Mr. +Smith, you seem to take it for granted that I am nobody. Here I've +been making all my calculations to go to the Philharmonic to-night, +and you come home with tickets for the theatre! But I can tell you +plainly that I am <I>not</I> going to see Fanny Ellsler, and that I <I>am</I> +going to the Philharmonic." +</P> + +<P> +This was taking a stand that I had never taken before. In most of my +efforts to make my husband go my way, he had succeeded in making me +go his way. This always chafed me dreadfully. I fretted and scolded, +and "all that sort of thing," but it was no use, I could not manage +him. The direct issue of "I won't" and "I will" had not yet been +made, and I was some time in coming to the resolution to have a +struggle, fiercer than ever, for the ascendency. I fondly believed +that for peace' sake he would not stand firm if he saw me resolute. +Under this view of the case, I made the open averment that I would +not go to the theatre. I expected that a scene would follow, but I +was mistaken. Mr. Smith did, indeed, open his eyes a little wider, +but he said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table. Mr. Smith +arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step. Before we +were married he wouldn't have dreamed of thus preceding me! I was +fretted at this little act. It indicated too plainly what was in the +man. +</P> + +<P> +Dinner passed in silence. I forced myself to eat, that I might +appear unconcerned. On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the +house without saying a word. +</P> + +<P> +You may suppose I didn't feel very comfortable during the afternoon. +I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the +last. That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first. But, as +evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some +misgivings. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith came home early. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary," said he, in his usual pleasant way, "I have ordered a +carriage to be here at half-past seven. We mustn't leave home later, +as the curtain rises at eight." +</P> + +<P> +"What curtain rises? Where do you think of going?" +</P> + +<P> +"To see Fanny Ellsler, of course. I mentioned to you at dinner-time +that I had tickets." +</P> + +<P> +This was said very calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic, +and not to see this dancer." I tried to appear as composed as he +was, but failed in the attempt altogether. +</P> + +<P> +"You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said +that," was the cold answer he made. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I was." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Mary. You can do as you like. The carriage will be here +at half-past seven. If you are then ready to go to the theatre, I +shall be happy to have your company." And my husband, after saying +this with a most unruffled manner, politely bowed and retired to the +parlour. +</P> + +<P> +I was on fire. But I had no thought of yielding. +</P> + +<P> +At half-past seven I was ready. I heard the carriage drive up to the +door and the bell ring. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary," called my husband at the bottom of the stair-case, in a +cheerful tone, "are you ready?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ready to go where?" I asked on descending. +</P> + +<P> +"To the theatre." +</P> + +<P> +"I am ready for the concert," I answered in as composed a voice as I +could assume. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I</I> am not going to the concert to-night, Mrs. Smith. I thought you +understood that," firmly replied my husband. "I am going to see +Fanny Ellsler. If you will go with me, I shall be very happy to have +your company. If not, I must go alone." +</P> + +<P> +"And I am going to the Philharmonic. I thought you understood that," +I replied, with equal resolution. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! very well," said he, not seeming to be at all disturbed. "Then +you can use the carriage at the door. I will walk to the theatre." +</P> + +<P> +Saying this, Mr. Smith turned from me deliberately and walked away. +I heard him tell the driver of the carriage to take me to the +Musical Fund Hall; then I heard the street-door close, and then I +heard my husband's footsteps on the pavement as he left the house. +Without hesitating a moment for reflection, I followed to the door, +entered the carriage, and ordered the man to drive me—where? I had +no ticket for the concert; nor could I go alone! +</P> + +<P> +"To the Musical Fund Hall, I believe, madam," he said, standing with +his fingers touching the rim of his hat. +</P> + +<P> +I tried to think what I should do. To be conquered was hard. And it +was clear that I could not go alone. +</P> + +<P> +"No," I replied, grasping hold of the first suggestion that came to +my mind. "Drive me to No.—Walnut street." +</P> + +<P> +I had directed him to the house of my sister, where I thought I +would stay until after eleven o'clock, and then return home, leaving +my husband to infer that I had been to the concert. But long before +I had reached my sister's house, I felt so miserable that I deemed +it best to call out of the window to the driver, and direct him to +return. On arriving at home, some twenty minutes after I had left +it, I went up to my chamber, and there had a hearty crying spell to +myself. I don't know that I ever felt so bad before in my life. I +had utterly failed in this vigorous contest with my husband, who had +come off perfectly victorious. Many bitter things did I write +against him in my heart, and largely did I magnify his faults. I +believe I thought over every thing that occurred since we were +married, and selected therefrom whatever could justify the +conclusion that he was a self-willed, overbearing, unfeeling man, +and did not entertain for me a particle of affection. +</P> + +<P> +It was clear that I had not been able to manage my spouse, +determined as I had been to correct all his faults, and make him one +of the best, most conciliating and loving of husbands, with whom my +wish would be law. Still I could not think of giving up. The thought +of being reduced to a tame, submissive wife, who could hardly call +her soul her own, was not for a moment to be entertained. On +reflection, it occurred to me that I had, probably, taken the wrong +method with my husband. There was a touch of stubbornness in his +nature that had arrayed itself against my too earnest efforts to +bend him to my will. A better way occurred. I had heard it said by +some one, or had read it somewhere, that no man was proof against a +woman's tears. +</P> + +<P> +On the present occasion I certainly felt much more like crying than +laughing, and so it was no hard matter, I can honestly aver, to +appear bathed in tears on my husband's return between eleven and +twelve o'clock from the theatre. I cried from vexation as much as +from any other feeling. +</P> + +<P> +When Mr. Smith came up into the chamber where I lay, I greeted his +presence with half a dozen running sobs, which he answered by +whistling the "Craccovienne!" I continued to sob, and he continued +to whistle for the next ten minutes. By that time he was ready to +get into bed, which he did quite leisurely, and laid himself down +upon his pillow with an expression of satisfaction. Still I sobbed +on, thinking that every sighing breath I drew was, in spite of his +seeming indifference, a pang to his heart. But, from this fond +delusion a heavily drawn breath, that was almost a snore, aroused +me. I raised up and looked over at the man—he was sound asleep. +</P> + +<P> +A good hearty cry to myself was all the satisfaction I had, and then +I went to sleep. On the next morning, I met Mr. Smith at the +breakfast table with red eyes and a sad countenance. But he did not +seem to notice either. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you enjoyed yourself at the concert last night," said he. "I +was delighted at the theatre. Fanny danced divinely. Hers is truly +the poetry of motion!" +</P> + +<P> +Now this was too much! I will leave it to any reader—any female +reader, I mean—whether this was not too much. I burst into a flood +of tears and immediately withdrew, leaving my husband to eat his +breakfast alone. He sat the usual time, which provoked me +exceedingly. If he had jumped up from the table and left the house, +I would have felt that I had made some impression upon him. But to +take things in this calm way! What had I gained? Nothing, as I could +see. After breakfast Mr. Smith came up to the chamber, and, seeing +my face buried in a pillow, weeping bitterly—I had increased the +flow of tears on hearing him ascending the stairs—said in a low +voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Are you not well, Mary?" +</P> + +<P> +I made no answer, but continued to weep. Mr. Smith stood for the +space of about a minute, but asked no further question. Then, +without uttering a word, he retired from the chamber, and in a +little while after I heard him leave the house. I cried now in good +earnest. It was plain that my husband had no feeling; that he did +not care whether I was pleased or sad. But I determined to give him +a fair trial. If I failed in this new way, what was I to do? The +thought of becoming the passive slave of a domestic tyrant was +dreadful. I felt that I could not live in such a state. When Mr. +Smith came home at dinner-time I was in my chamber, ready prepared +for a gush of tears. As he opened the door I looked up with +streaming eyes, and then hid my face in a pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary," said he, with much kindness in his voice, "what ails you? +Are you sick?" He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +But I did not reply. I meant to punish him well for what he had done +as a lesson for the future. I next expected him to draw his arm +around me, and be very tender and sympathizing in his words and +tones. But no such thing! He quietly withdrew the hand he had placed +upon mine; and stood by me, I could feel, though not see, in a cold, +erect attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you not well, Mary?" he asked again. +</P> + +<P> +I was still silent. A little while after I heard him moving across +the floor, and then the chamber door shut. I was once more alone. +</P> + +<P> +When the bell rang for dinner, I felt half sorry that I had +commenced this new mode of managing my husband; but, as I had begun, +I was determined to go through with it. "He'll at least take care +how he acts in the future," I said. I did not leave my chamber to +join my husband at the dinner table. He sat his usual time, as I +could tell by the ringing of the bell for the servant to change the +plates and bring in the dessert. I was exceedingly fretted; and more +so by his returning to his business without calling up to see me, +and making another effort to dispel my grief. +</P> + +<P> +For three days I tried this experiment upon my husband, who bore it +with the unflinching heroism of a martyr. I was forced, at last, to +come to; but I was by no means satisfied that my new mode was a +failure. For all Mr. Smith's assumed indifference, I knew that he +had been troubled at heart, and I was pretty well satisfied that he +would think twice before provoking me to another essay of tears. +Upon the whole, I felt pretty sure that I had discovered the means +of doing with him as I pleased. +</P> + +<P> +A few weeks of sunshine passed—I must own that the sun did not look +so bright, nor feel so warm as it had done in former times—and then +our wills came once more into collision. But my tears fell upon a +rock. I could not see that they made the least perceptible +impression. Mr. Smith had his own way, and I cried about it until I +got tired of that sport, and in very weariness gave over. For the +space of a whole year I stood upon tears as my last defensible +position. Sometimes I didn't smile for weeks. But my husband +maintained his ground like a hero. +</P> + +<P> +At last I gave up in despair. Pride, self-will, anger—all were +conquered. I was a weak woman in the hands of a strong-minded man. +If I could not love him as I wished to love him, I could at least +obey. In nothing did I now oppose him, either by resolute words or +tears. If he expressed a wish, whether to me agreeable or not, I +acquiesced. +</P> + +<P> +One day, not long after this change in my conduct towards my +husband, he said to me, "I rather think, Mary, we will spend a +couple of weeks at Brandywine Springs, instead of going to Cape May +this season." +</P> + +<P> +I replied, "Very well, dear;" although I had set my heart on going +to the Capes. My sister and her husband and a number of my friends +were going down, and I had anticipated a good deal of pleasure. I +did not know of a single person who was going to the Brandywine +Springs. But what was the use of entering into a contest with my +husband? He would come off the conqueror, spite of angry words or +ineffectual tears. +</P> + +<P> +"The Springs are so much more quiet than the Capes," said my +husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," I remarked, "there is less gay company there." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think you will enjoy yourself as well there as at the +Capes?" +</P> + +<P> +Now this was a good deal for my husband to say. I hardly knew what +to make of it. +</P> + +<P> +"If you prefer going there, dear, let us go by all means," I +answered. I was not affecting any thing, but was in earnest in what +I said. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith looked into my face for some moments, and with unusual +affection I thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary," said he, "if you think the time will pass more pleasantly to +you at the Capes, let us go there by all means." +</P> + +<P> +"My sister Jane is going to the Capes," I remarked, with some little +hesitation; "and so is Mrs. L—and Mrs. D—, and a good many +more of our friends. I did think that I would enjoy myself there +this season very much. But I have no doubt I shall find pleasant +society at the Springs." +</P> + +<P> +"We will go to the Capes," said my husband promptly and cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said I, emulous now for the first time in a new cause. "I am +sure the time will pass agreeably enough at the Springs. And as you +evidently prefer going there, we will let the Capes pass for this +year." +</P> + +<P> +"To the Capes, Mary, and nowhere else," replied my husband, in the +very best of humours. "I am sure you will enjoy yourself far better +there. I did not know your sister was going." +</P> + +<P> +And to the Capes we went, and I did enjoy myself excellently well. +As for my husband, I never saw him in a better state of mind. To me +he was more like a lover than a husband. No, I will not say that +either, for I can't admit that a husband may not be as kind and +affectionate as a lover; for he can and will be if managed rightly, +and a great deal more so. Whenever I expressed a wish, it appeared +to give him pleasure to gratify it. Seeing this, instead of +suffering myself to be the mere recipient of kind attentions, I +began to vie with him in the sacrifice of selfish wishes and +feelings. +</P> + +<P> +It is wonderful how all was changed after this. There were no more +struggles on my part to manage my husband, and yet I generally had +things my own way. Before I could not turn him to the right nor the +left, though I strove to do so with my utmost strength. Now I held +him only with a silken fetter, and guided him, without really +intending to do so, in almost any direction. +</P> + +<P> +Several years have passed since that ever-to-be-remembered, happy +visit to Cape May. Not once since have I attempted any management of +my husband, and yet it is a rare thing that my wish is not, as it +used to be before we were married, his law. It is wonderful, too, +how he has improved. I am sure he is not the same man that he was +five years ago. But, perhaps, I see with different eyes. At any +rate, I am not the same woman; or, if the same, very unlike what I +then was. +</P> + +<P> +So much for my efforts to manage a husband. Of the three ways so +faithfully tried, my fair readers will be at no loss to determine +which is best. I make these honest confessions for the good of my +sex. My husband, Mr. John Smith, will be no little surprised if this +history should meet his eye. But I do not believe it will interrupt +the present harmonious relations existing between us, but rather +tend to confirm and strengthen them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="wife"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RULING A WIFE. +</H3> + +<P> +AS a lover, Henry Lane was the kindest, most devoted, +self-sacrificing person imaginable. He appeared really to have no +will of his own, so entire was his deference to his beautiful +Amanda; yet, for all this, he had no very high opinion of her as an +intelligent being. She was lovely, she was gentle, she was good; and +these qualities, combined with personal grace and beauty, drew him +in admiration to her side, and filled him with the desire to possess +her as his own. +</P> + +<P> +As a husband, Henry Lane was a different being. His relation had +changed, and his exterior changed correspondingly. Amanda was his +wife; and as such she must be, in a certain sense, under him. It was +his judgment that must govern in all matters; for her judgment, in +the affairs of life, was held in light estimation. Moreover, as a +man, it was his province to control and direct and her duty to look +to him for guidance. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, for all this, if the truth must be told, the conclusions of +Amanda's mind were, in ordinary affairs, even more correct than her +husband's judgment; for he was governed a great deal by impulses and +first impressions, instead of by the reason of which he was so +proud, while she came naturally into the woman's quick perceptions +of right and propriety. This being the case, it may readily be seen +that there was a broad ground-work for unhappiness in the married +state. Amanda could not sink into a mere cipher; she could not give +up her will entirely to the guidance of another, and cease to act +from her own volitions. +</P> + +<P> +It took only a few months to make the young wife feel that her +position was to be one of great trial. She was of a mild and gentle +character, more inclined to suffer than resist; but her judgment was +clear, and she saw the right or wrong of any act almost +instinctively. Love did not make her blind to every thing in her +husband. He had faults and unpleasant peculiarities, and she saw +them plainly, and often desired to correct them. But one trial of +this kind sufficed to keep her silent. He was offended, and showed +his state of mind so plainly, that she resolved never to stand in +that relation to him again. +</P> + +<P> +As time progressed, the passiveness of Amanda encouraged in Lane his +natural love of ruling. His household was his kingdom, and there his +will must be the law. In his mind arose the conceit that, in every +thing, his judgment was superior to that of his wife: even in the +smaller matters of household economy, he let this be seen. His +taste, too, was more correct, and applied itself to guiding and +directing her into a proper state of dressing. He decided about the +harmony of colours and the choice of patterns. She could not buy +even a ribbon without there being some fault found with it, as not +possessing the elements of beauty in just arrangements. In company, +you would often hear him say—"Oh, my wife has no taste. She would +dress like a fright if I did not watch her all the time." +</P> + +<P> +Though outwardly passive or concurrent when such things were said, +Amanda felt them as unjust, and they wounded her more or less +severely, according to the character of the company in which she +happened at the time to be; but her self-satisfied husband saw +nothing of this. And not even when some one, more plainly spoken +than others, would reply to such a remark—"She did not dress like a +fright before you were married," did he perceive his presumption and +his errors. +</P> + +<P> +But passiveness under such a relation does not always permanently +remain; it was accompanied from the first by a sense of oppression +and injustice, though love kept the feeling subdued. The desire for +ruling in any position gains strength by activity. The more the +young wife yielded, the more did the husband assume, until at length +Amanda felt that she had no will of her own, so to speak. The +conviction of this, when it formed itself in her mind, half +involuntarily brought with it an instinctive feeling of resistance. +Here was the forming point of antagonism—the beginning of the state +of unhappiness foreshadowed from the first. Had Amanda asserted her +right to think and act for herself in the early days of her married +life, the jar of discord would have been light. It now promised to +be most afflicting in its character. +</P> + +<P> +The first activity of Amanda's newly forming state showed itself in +the doing of certain things to which she was inclined, notwithstanding +the expression of her husband's disapproval. Accustomed to the most +perfect compliance, Mr. Lane was disturbed by this. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dear! what a horrid looking thing!" said he one day, as he +discovered a new dress pattern which his wife had just purchased +lying on a chair. "Where in the world did that come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"I bought it this morning," replied Amanda. +</P> + +<P> +"Take it back, or throw it into the fire," was the husband's rude +response. +</P> + +<P> +"I think it neat," said Amanda, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Neat? It's awful! But you've no taste. I wish you'd let me buy your +dresses." +</P> + +<P> +The wife made no answer to this. Lane said a good deal more about +it, to all of which Amanda opposed but little. However, her mind was +made up to one thing, and that was to take it to the mantuamaker's. +The next Lane saw of the dress was on his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mercy!" he exclaimed, holding up his hand, "I thought you had +burnt it. Why did you have it made up?" +</P> + +<P> +"I like it," quietly answered Mrs. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"You like any thing." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't much taste, I know," said Amanda, "but such as it is, it +is pleasant to gratify it sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +Something in the way this remark was made it disturbed the +self-satisfaction which was a leading feature in Mr. Lane's state of +mind; he, however, answered—"I wish you would be governed by me in +matters of this kind; you know my taste is superior to yours. Do +take off that dress, and throw it in the fire." +</P> + +<P> +Amanda did not reply to this, for it excited feelings and produced +thoughts that she had no wish to manifest. But she did not comply +with her husband's wishes. She liked the dress and meant to wear it, +and she did wear it, notwithstanding her husband's repeated +condemnation of her taste. +</P> + +<P> +At this time they had one child—a babe less than a year old. From +the first, Lane had encroached upon the mother's province. This had +been felt more sensibly than any thing else by his wife, for it +disturbed the harmonious activity of the natural law which gives to +a mother the perception of what is best for her infant. Still, she +had been so in the habit of yielding to the force of his will, that +she gave way to his interference here in numberless instances, +though she as often felt that he was wrong as right. Conceit of his +own intelligence blinded him to the intelligence of others. Of this +Amanda became more and more satisfied every day. At first, she had +passively admitted that he knew best; but her own common sense and +clear perceptions soon repudiated this idea. While his love of +predominance affected only herself, she could bear it with great +patience; but when it was exercised, day after day, and week after +week, in matters pertaining to her babe, she grew restless under the +oppression. +</P> + +<P> +After the decided, position taken in regard to her dress, Amanda's +mind acquired strength in a new direction. A single gratification of +her own will, attained in opposition to the will of her husband, +stirred a latent desire for repeated gratifications; and it was not +long before Lane discovered this fact, and wondered at the change +which had taken place in his wife's temper. She no longer acquiesced +in every suggestion, nor yielded when he opposed argument to an +assumed position. The pleasure of thinking and acting for herself +had been restored, and the delight appertaining to its indulgence +was no more to be suppressed. Her husband's reaction on this state +put her in greater freedom; for it made more distinctly manifest the +quality of his ruling affection, and awoke in her mind a more +determined spirit of resistance. +</P> + +<P> +Up to this time, even in the most trifling matters of domestic and +social life, Lane's will had been the law. This was to be so no +longer. A new will had come into activity; and that will a woman's +will. Passive it had been for a long time under a pressure that +partial love and a yielding temper permitted to remain; but its +inward life was unimpaired; and when its motions became earnest, it +was strong and enduring. The effort made by Lane to subdue these +motions the moment he perceived them, only gave them a stronger +impulse. The hand laid upon her heart to quiet its pulsations only +made it beat with a quicker effort, while it communicated its +disturbance to his own. +</P> + +<P> +The causes leading to the result we are to describe have been fully +enough set forth; they steadily progressed until the husband and +wife were in positions of direct antagonism. Lane could not give up +his love of controlling every thing around him, and his wife, fairly +roused to opposition, followed the promptings of her own will, in +matters where right was clearly on her side, with a quiet +perseverance that always succeeded. Of course, they were often made +unhappy; yet enough forbearance existed on both sides to prevent an +open rupture—at least, for a time. That, however, came at last, and +was the more violent from the long accumulation of reactive forces. +</P> + +<P> +The particulars of this rupture we need not give; it arose in a +dispute about the child when she was two years old. As usual, Lane +had attempted to set aside the judgment of his wife in something +pertaining to the child, as inferior to his own, and she had not +submitted. Warm words ensued, in which he said a good deal about a +wife's knowing her place and keeping it. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not your slave!" said Amanda, indignantly; the cutting words +of her husband throwing her off her guard. +</P> + +<P> +"You are my wife," he calmly and half contemptuously replied; "and, +as such, are bound to submit yourself to your husband." +</P> + +<P> +"To my husband's intelligence, not to his mere will," answered +Amanda, less warmly, but more resolutely than at first. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, to his will!" said Lane, growing blind from anger. +</P> + +<P> +"That I have done long enough," returned the wife. "But the time is +past now. By your intelligence, when I see in it superior light to +what exists in my own, I will be guided, but, by your will—never!" +</P> + +<P> +The onward moving current of years, which, for some time, had been +chafing amid obstructions, now met a sudden barrier, and flowed over +in a raging torrent. A sharp retort met this firm declaration of +Amanda, stinging her into anger, and producing a state of +recrimination. While in this state, she spoke plainly of his +assumption of authority over her from the first,—of her passiveness +for a time,—of being finally aroused to opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"And now," she added, in conclusion, "I am content to be your wife +and equal, but will be no longer your passive and obedient slave." +</P> + +<P> +"Your duty is to obey. You can occupy no other position as my wife," +returned the blind and excited husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we must part." +</P> + +<P> +"Be it so." And as he said this, Lane turned hurriedly away and left +the house. +</P> + +<P> +Fixed as a statue, for a long time, sat the stunned and wretched +wife. As the current of thoughts again flowed on, and the words of +her husband presented themselves in even a more offensive light than +when they were first uttered, indignant pride took the uppermost +place in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"He will not treat me as a wife and equal," she said, "and I will no +longer be his slave." +</P> + +<P> +In anger Lane turned from his wife; and for hours after parting with +her this anger burned with an all-consuming flame. For him to yield +was out of the question. His manly pride would never consent to +this. She must fall back into her true position. He did not return +home, as usual, at dinner-time; but absented himself, in order to +give her time for reflection, as well as to awaken her fears lest he +would abandon her altogether. Towards night, imagining his wife in a +state of penitence and distressing anxiety, and feeling some +commiseration for her on that account, Mr. Lane went back to his +dwelling. As he stepped within the door, a feeling of desertion and +loneliness came over him; and unusual silence seemed to pervade the +house. He sat down in the parlour for some minutes; but hearing no +movement in the chamber above, nor catching even a murmur of his +child's voice, a sound for which his ears were longing, he ascended +the stairs, but found no one there. As he turned to go down again he +met a servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mrs. Lane?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," was answered. "She went out this morning, and has +not returned." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mary?" +</P> + +<P> +"She took Mary with her." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't she say where she was going?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lane asked no more questions, but went back into the room from +which he had just emerged, and, sitting down, covered his face with +his hands, and endeavoured to collect his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"Has she deserted me?" he asked of himself in an audible husky +whisper. +</P> + +<P> +His heart grew faint in the pause that followed. As the idea of +desertion became more and more distinct, Mr. Lane commenced +searching about in order to see whether his wife had not left some +communication for him, in which her purpose was declared. But he +found none. She had departed without leaving a sign. The night that +followed was a sleepless one to Lane. His mind was agitated by many +conflicting emotions. For hours, on the next day, he remained at +home, in the expectation of seeing or hearing from Amanda. But no +word came. Where had she gone? That was the next question. If he +must go in search of hers in what direction should he turn his +steps? She had no relations in the city, and with those who resided +at a distance she had cultivated no intimacy. +</P> + +<P> +The whole day was passed in a state of irresolution. To make the +fact known was to expose a family difficulty that concerned only +himself and wife; and give room for idle gossip and gross +detraction. Bad as the case was, the public would make it appear a +great deal worse than the reality. In the hope of avoiding this, he +concealed the sad affair for the entire day, looking, in each +recurring hour, for the return of his repentant wife. But he looked +in vain. Night came gloomily down, and she was still absent. +</P> + +<P> +He was sitting, about eight o'clock in the evening, undetermined yet +what to do, when a gentleman with whom he was but slightly +acquainted named Edmondson, called at the door and asked to see him. +</P> + +<P> +On being shown in, the latter, with some embarrassment in his +manner, said— +</P> + +<P> +"I have called to inform you, that Mrs. Lane has been at my house +since yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"At <I>your</I> house!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She came there yesterday morning; and, since that time, my +wife has been doing her best to induce her to return home. But, so +far, she has not been able to make the smallest impression. Not +wishing to become a party to the matter, I have called to see you on +the subject. I regret, exceedingly, that any misunderstanding has +occurred, and do not intend that either myself or family shall take +sides in so painful an affair. All that I can do, however, to heal +the difficulty, shall be done cheerfully." +</P> + +<P> +"What does she say?" asked Lane, when he had composed himself. +</P> + +<P> +"She makes no specific complaint." +</P> + +<P> +"What does she propose doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"She avows her intention of living separate from you, and supporting +herself and child by her own efforts." +</P> + +<P> +This declaration aroused a feeling of indignant pride in the +husband's mind. "It is my child as well as hers," said he. "She may +desert me, if she will; but she cannot expect me to give up my +child. To that I will never submit." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear sir," said Mr. Edmondson, "do not permit your mind to +chafe, angrily, over this unhappy matter. That will widen not heal, +the breach. In affairs of this kind, pardon me for the remark, there +are always faults on both sides; and the duty of each is to put away +his or her own state of anger and antagonism and seek to reconcile +the other, rather than to compel submission. As a man, you have the +advantage of a stronger and clearer judgment,—exercise it as a man. +Feeling and impulse often rule in a woman's mind, from the very +nature of her mental conformation; and we should remember this when +we pass judgment on her actions. There is often more honour in +yielding a point than in contending for it to the end, in the face +of threatened disaster. Let me then urge you to seek a reconciliation, +while there is yet opportunity, and permit the veil of oblivion to +fall, while it may, over this painful event. As yet, the fact has not +passed from the knowledge of myself and wife. Heal the breach, and +the secret remains where it is." +</P> + +<P> +"If she will return, I will receive her, and forgive and forget all. +Will you say this to her from me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not go to her at once? See her face to face. This is the best +and surest way." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lane, coldly. "She has left me of her own choice; and, +now, she must return. I gave her no cause for the rash act. Enough +for me that I am willing to forgive and forget all this. But I am +not the man to humble myself at the feet of a capricious woman. It +is not in me." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lane, you are wrong!" said the visitor, in a decided tone. "All +wrong. Do you believe that your wife would have fled from you +without a real or imagined cause?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. But the cause is only in her imagination." +</P> + +<P> +"Then see her and convince her of this. It is the same to her, at +present, whether the cause be real or imaginary. She believes it +real, and feels all its effects as real. Show her that it is +imaginary, and all is healed." +</P> + +<P> +Lane shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never humbled myself before a man, much less a woman," said +he. +</P> + +<P> +This remark exhibited to Mr. Edmondson the whole ground-work of the +difficulty. Lane regarded a woman as inferior to a man, and had for +her, in consequence, a latent feeling of contempt. He could +understand, now, why his wife had left him; for he saw, clearly, +that, with such an estimation of woman, he would attempt to degrade +her from her true position; and, if she possessed an independent +spirit, render her life wellnigh insupportable. Earnestly did he +seek to convince Lane of his error; but to no good effect. As soon +as all doubt was removed from the mind of the latter in regard to +where his wife had gone, and touching the spirit which governed her +in her separation from him, his natural pride and +self-esteem—self-respect, he called it—came back into full +activity. No, he would never humble himself to a woman! That was the +unalterable state of his mind. If Amanda would return, and assume +her old place and her old relation, he would forget and forgive all. +This far he would go, and no farther. She had left of her own free +will, and that must bring her back. +</P> + +<P> +"You can say all this to her in any way you please; but I will not +seek her and enter into an humble supplication for her return. I +have too much self-respect—and am too much of a man—for that. If +she finds the struggle to do so hard and humiliating, she will be +the more careful how she places herself again in such a position. +The lesson will last her a life-time." +</P> + +<P> +"You are wrong; depend upon it, you are wrong!" urged Mr. Edmondson. +"There must be yielding and conciliation on both sides." +</P> + +<P> +"I can do no more than I have said. Passive I have been from the +first, and passive I will remain. As for our child, I wish you to +say to her, that I shall not consent to a separation. It is my child +as much as hers; moreover, as father, my responsibility is greatest, +and I am not the man to delegate my duties to another. Possession of +the child, if driven to that extremity, I will obtain through aid of +the law. This I desire that she shall distinctly understand. I make +no threat. I do not wish her to view the declaration in that light. +I affirm only the truth, that she may clearly understand all the +consequences likely to flow from her ill-advised step." +</P> + +<P> +The more Mr. Edmondson sought to convince Mr. Lane of his error, the +more determinedly did he cling to it; and he retired at last, under +the sad conviction that the unhappy couple had seen but the +beginning of troubles. +</P> + +<P> +Alone with his own thoughts, an hour had not elapsed before Mr. Lane +half repented of his conduct in taking so unyielding a position. A +conviction forced itself upon his mind that he had gone too far and +was asking too much; and he wished that he had not been quite so +exacting in his declarations to Mr. Edmondson. But, having made +them, his false pride of consistency prompted him to adhere to what +he had said. +</P> + +<P> +The night passed in broken and troubled sleep; and morning found him +supremely wretched. Yet resentment still formed a part of Mr. Lane's +feelings. He was angry with his wife, whom he had driven from his +side, and was in no mood to bend in order to effect a reconciliation. +At mid-day he returned from his business, hoping to find her at home. +But his house was still desolate. With the evening he confidently +expected her, but she was not there. Anxiously he sat, hour after +hour, looking for another visit from Mr. Edmondson, but he came not +again. +</P> + +<P> +In leaving her husband's house, Mrs. Lane had gone, as has been +seen, to the house of a friend. Mrs. Edmondson was an old school +companion, between whom and herself had continued to exist, as they +grew up, the tenderest relations. When she turned from her husband, +she fled, with an instinct of affection and sympathy, to this +friend, and poured her tears in a gild agony of affliction upon her +bosom. In leaving her husband, she was not governed by a sudden +caprice; nor was the act intended to humble him to her feet. Nothing +of this was in her mind. He had trenched upon her province as a wife +and mother; interfered with her freedom as an individual; and, at +last, boldly assumed the right to command and control her as an +inferior. The native independence of her character, which had long +fretted under this rule of subordination, now openly rebelled, and, +panting for freedom, she had sprung from her fetters with few +thoughts as to future consequences. +</P> + +<P> +The first day of absence was a day of weeping. Mrs. Edmondson could +not and did not approve of what had been done. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid, Amanda, that you have only made matters worse," said +she, as soon as she could venture to suggest any thing at all upon +the subject. "It is always easier to prevent than to heal a breach. +The day has not yet closed. There is time to go back. Your husband +need never know what has been in your mind. This hasty act may be +entirely concealed from him." +</P> + +<P> +But the long suffering wife had been roused to opposition. A new +current of feeling was sweeping across and controlling her mind. She +was, therefore, deaf to the voice of reason. Still her friend, as in +duty bound, urged her to think more calmly on the subject, and to +retrace the steps she had taken. But all was in vain. This being so, +her husband, as has been seen, called upon Mr. Lane, and informed +him that his wife was at his house. From this interview Mr. +Edmondson returned disheartened, and reported all that had been said +on both sides to his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband saw Mr. Lane last evening," said Mrs. Edmondson to +Amanda on the next day. +</P> + +<P> +"He did!" Amanda looked eagerly into the face of her friend, while +she became much agitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He called to let him know that you were here." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say?" +</P> + +<P> +"He wishes you to return. All will be forgotten and forgiven." +</P> + +<P> +"He said that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I have done nothing for which I desire forgiveness," said Amanda, +coldly, and with the air of one who is hurt by the words of another. +"If he will not have me return as his wife and equal, I can never go +back." +</P> + +<P> +"For the sake of your child, Amanda, you should be willing to bear +much." +</P> + +<P> +"My child shall not grow, up and see her mother degraded." +</P> + +<P> +"She is his child as well as yours. Do not forget that," said Mrs. +Edmondson. "And it is by no means certain that he will permit you to +retain the possession of an object so dear to him." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Mrs. Lane instantly flushed at this, a suggestion which +had not before been presented to her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he refer to this subject in conversing with your husband?" +inquired Amanda, with forced calmness. +</P> + +<P> +"He did." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say?" +</P> + +<P> +"That, in any event, he could not and would not be separated from +his child. And you know, Amanda, that the law will give to him its +guardianship." +</P> + +<P> +"The law!" There was a huskiness in Mrs. Lane's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Amanda, the law. It is well for you to view this matter in all +its relations. The law regards the father as the true guardian of +the child. If, therefore, you separate yourself from your husband, +you must expect to bear a separation from your child; for that will +be most likely to follow." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he speak of the law?" asked Mrs. Lane, in a still calmer voice, +and with a steady eye. +</P> + +<P> +"It would not be right to conceal from you this fact, Amanda. He did +do so. And can you wholly blame him? It is his child as well as +yours. He loves it, as you well know; and, as its father, he is +responsible for it to society and to Heaven. This separation is your +act. You may deprive him of your own society; but, have you a right, +at the same time, to rob him of his child? I speak plainly; I would +not be your friend did I not do so. Try, for a little while, to look +away from yourself, and think of your husband; and especially of the +consequences likely to arise to your child from your present act. It +will not be a mere separation with passive endurance of pain on +either side. There will come the prolonged effort of the father to +recover his child, and the anguish and fear of the mother, as she +lives in the constant dread of having it snatched from her hands. +And that must come, inevitably, the final separation. You will have +to part from your child, Amanda, if not in the beginning, yet +finally. You know your husband to be of a resolute temper Do not +give him a chance to press you to extremity. If he should come to +the determination to recover his child from your hands, he will not +stop short of any means to accomplish his purpose." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane made no reply to this; nor did she answer to any further +remark, appeal, or suggestion of her friend, who soon ceased to +speak on the subject and left her to her own reflections, hoping +that they might lead her to some better purpose than had yet +influenced her in the unhappy business. On the day after, Mr. +Edmondson met Lane in the street. +</P> + +<P> +"I was about calling to see you," said the latter, "on the subject +of this unhappy difficulty, to which, so reluctantly to yourself, +you have become a party. It may be that I am something to blame. +Perhaps I have been too exacting—too jealous of my prerogative as a +husband. At any rate, I am willing to admit that such has been the +case; and willing to yield something to the morbid feelings of my +wife. What is her present state of mind?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edmondson looked surprised. +</P> + +<P> +Remarking this, Lane said quickly, "Is she not at your house?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Mr. Edmondson, "she left us yesterday. We believed +that she had gone home. My wife had a long conversation with her, in +which she urged her, by every consideration, to return; and we had +reason to think, when she left our house, that she went back to +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Such is not the case," said Mr. Lane, with disappointment, and +something of sadness in his tone. "I have not seen her since the +morning of our unhappy difference. Where can she have gone?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edmondson was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Did she say that she was going to return home?" asked Mr. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"No. But we had reason to think that such was her intention. Have +you heard nothing from her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word." +</P> + +<P> +"It is strange!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lane heaved a deep sigh. A few more brief questions and answers +passed, and then the two men separated. The forsaken husband went +home with a sadder heart than he had yet known. The absence of his +wife and child for several days—both objects of real affection—and +absent under such peculiar and trying circumstances, had subdued, to +a great extent, his angry feelings. He was prepared to yield much. +He would even have gone to his wife, and acknowledged that he was +partly in error, in order to have brought about a reconciliation. +Something that she had said during their last, exciting interview, +which he had rejected as untrue, or not causes of complaint, had +represented themselves to his mind; and in the sober reflecting +states that were predominant, he saw that he had not in all things +treated her as an equal, nor regarded her at all times as possessing +a rational freedom as independent as his own. Though he did not +excuse her conduct, he yet thought of it less angrily than at first, +and was willing to yield something in order to restore the old +relations. +</P> + +<P> +Anxiety and alarm now took possession of his mind. The distance +between them had become wider, and the prospect of a reconciliation +more remote. Amanda had gone, he could not tell whither. She had +neither money nor friends; he knew not into what danger she might +fall, nor what suffering she might encounter. It was plain from the +manner of her leaving the house of Mr. Edmondson, that her +resolution to remain away from him was fixed. He must, therefore, +seek her out, and invite her to return. He must yield if he would +reconcile this sad difficulty. And he was now willing to do so. But, +where was she? Whither should he go in search of the wanderer? +</P> + +<P> +The very means which her friend had taken to induce Mrs. Lane to +return to her husband, had driven her farther away. The hint +touching her husband's legal rights in the child, and his resolution +to assert them, filled her with the deepest alarm, and determined +her to put it beyond his power, if possible, to deprive her of the +only thing in life to which her heart could now cling. Toward her +husband, her feelings were those of an oppressed one for an +oppressor. From the beginning, he had almost suffocated her own life +by his pressure upon her freedom of will. She remembered, with, +tears, his tenderness and his love; but soon would come the +recollection of his constant interference in matters peculiarly her +own; his evident contempt for her intellect; and his final efforts +to subdue her rising independence, and make her little less than a +domestic slave—and the fountain of her tears would become dry. +Added to all this, was the fact of his resolution to recover his +child by law. This crushed out all hope from her heart. He had no +affection left for her. His love had changed to hate. He had assumed +toward her the attitude of a persecutor. Nothing was now left for +her but self-protection. +</P> + +<P> +In leaving the home of her husband, Mrs. Lane had exercised no +forethought. She made no estimate of consequences, and provided for +no future contingencies. She was blind in her faint-heartedness, +that was little less than despair. Any thing was better than to +remain in a state of submission, that had become, she felt, +intolerable. Leaving thus, Mrs. Lane had taken with her nothing +beyond a few dollars in her purse, and it was only an accident that +her purse was in her pocket. All her own clothes and those of her +child, except what they had on, were left behind. +</P> + +<P> +Alarmed at the threat of her husband, Mrs. Lane, a few hours after +the conversation with Mrs. Edmondson, in which his views were made +known to her, took her child and went away. In parting with her +friend, she left upon her mind the impression that she was going +home. This was very far from her intention. Her purpose was to leave +New York, the city of her residence, as quickly as possible, and +flee to some obscure village, where she would remain hidden from her +husband. She had resided, some years before, for a short time in +Philadelphia; and thither she resolved to go, and from thence reach +some point in the country. On leaving the house of her friend, Mrs. +Lane hurried to the river and took passage in the afternoon line for +Philadelphia. +</P> + +<P> +As the cars began their swift movement from Jersey City, a feeling +of inexpressible sadness came over her, and she began to realize +more distinctly than she had yet done, her desolate, destitute, and +helpless condition. After paying her passage, she had only two +dollars left in her purse; and, without money, how was she to gain +friends and shelter in a strange city? To add to her unhappy +feelings, her child commenced asking for her father. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is papa?" she would repeat every few minutes. "I want to go +to my papa." +</P> + +<P> +This was continued until it ended in fretfulness and complaints at +the separation it was enduring. Tears and sobs followed; and, +finally, the child wept herself to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +A new train of feelings was awakened by this incident. In leaving +her husband, Mrs. Lane had thought only of herself. She had not once +considered the effect of a separation from its father upon her +child. Little Mary's heart was full of affection for the two beings +whom nature prompted her to love. Her father's return from business +had always been to her the happiest event of the day; and, when she +sprang into his arms, her whole being would thrill with delight. +Days had passed since she had seen her father, and she was pining to +meet him again to lay her head upon his bosom—to feel his arms +clasped tightly around her. +</P> + +<P> +All this was realized by the mother, as the child lay sleeping on +her arm, while the swift rolling cars bore them farther and farther +away from the home she was leaving. Is it just to the child? +Distinctly did this thought present itself in her mind. For a long +time she mused over it, her feelings all the while growing more and +more tender, until something like repentance for the step she had +taken found its way into her mind—not for what she was herself +suffering, but for the sake of her child. She had not thought of the +effect upon little Mary, until the pain of absence showed itself in +complaint. +</P> + +<P> +This idea arose clearly before her—she could not push it aside; +and, the more she pondered it, the more troubled did she become, +from a new source. Would not the separation so deeply afflict the +child as to rob her of all happiness? +</P> + +<P> +While these thoughts had full possession of the mother's mind, Mary +slept on and dreamed of her father, as was evident from the fact +that, more than once, she murmured his name. +</P> + +<P> +When night came down, its effect upon Mrs. Lane was more sadly +depressing, for it brought her into a clearer realization of her +unhappy condition. Where was she going? What was the uncertain +future to bring forth? All was as dark as the night that had closed +around her. +</P> + +<P> +At length the cars reached Bristol, and it became necessary to leave +them, and pass into the boat. In lifting Mary in her arms, to bear +her from the cars, the child again murmured the name of her father, +which so affected Mrs. Lane, that her tears gushed forth in spite of +her efforts to restrain them. Letting her veil fall over her face to +conceal this evidence of affliction from her fellow-passengers, she +proceeded with the rest; and, in a little while, was gliding swiftly +down the river. It was ten o'clock when they arrived in +Philadelphia. For an hour previous to this time, the mind of the +fugitive had been busy in the effort to determine what course she +should take on gaining the end of her journey. But the nearer she +came to its termination, the more confused did she become, and the +less clearly did she see the way before her. Where should she go on +reaching the city? There as no one to receive her; no one to whom +she could go and claim protection, or even shelter. +</P> + +<P> +This state of irresolution continued until the boat touched the +wharf, and the passengers were leaving. Mary was awake again, and +kept asking, every few moments, to go home. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear, we will go home," the mother would reply, in a tone of +encouragement, while her own mind was in the greatest uncertainty +and distress. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't papa come?" asked the child, as one after another moved +away, and they were left standing almost alone. At this moment, an +Irishman, with a whip in his hand, came up, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Want a carriage, ma'am?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane hesitated a moment or two, while she thought hurriedly, +and then replied— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, ma'am; I'll attend to you. Where is your baggage?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have only this basket with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! well; come along." And Mrs. Lane followed the man from the +boat. +</P> + +<P> +"Where shall I drive you?" he asked, after she had entered the +carriage. +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause, with apparent irresolution. +</P> + +<P> +"I am a stranger here," said Mrs. Lane innocently. "I want to obtain +pleasant accommodations for a day or two. Can you take me to a good +place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Faith, and I can—as good as the city will afford. Do you wish one +of the tip-top places, where they charge a little fortune a week; or +a good comfortable home at a reasonable price?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want a comfortable, retired place, where the charges are not +extravagant." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly; I understand." +</P> + +<P> +And the driver closed the door, and, mounting his box, drove off. At +the end of ten minutes the carriage stopped, the steps were let +down, and Mrs. Lane, after descending, was shown into a small +parlour, with dingy furniture. A broad, red-faced Irish woman soon +appeared, at the summons of the driver. +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought you a lady customer, Mrs. McGinnis, d'ye see? And +you're just the one to make her at home and comfortable. She's a +stranger, and wants a quiet place for a day or two." +</P> + +<P> +"And, in troth, she'll find it here, as ye well say, John Murphy. +Will the lady put off her bonnet? We'll have her room ready in a +jiffy! Much obleeged to yees, John Murphy, for remembering us. What +a darlint of a child; bless its little heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"What must I pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, hoarsely, turning to the +driver. +</P> + +<P> +"One dollar, ma'am," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane drew forth her purse, towards which the Irishwoman glanced +eagerly, and took therefrom the sum charged, and paid the man, who +immediately retired. The landlady followed him out, and stood +conversing with him at the door for several minutes. When she +returned, she was less forward in her attentions to her guest, and +somewhat inquisitive as to who she was, where she had come from, and +whither she was going. All these Mrs. Lane evaded, and asked to have +her room prepared as quickly as possible, as she did not feel very +well, and wished to retire. The room was at length ready, and she +went up with little Mary, who had again fallen to sleep. It was +small, meagerly furnished, and offensive from want of cleanliness. +In turning down the bed clothes, she found the sheets soiled and +rumpled, showing that the linen had not been changed since being +used by previous lodgers. The first thing that Mrs. Lane did, after +laying her sleeping child upon the bed, was to sit down and weep +bitterly. The difficulties about to invest her, as they drew nearer +and nearer, became more and more apparent; and her heart sank and +trembled as she looked at the unexpected forms they were assuming. +But a single dollar remained in her purse; and she had an +instinctive conviction that trouble with the landlady on account of +money was before her. Had she been provided with the means of +independence, she would have instantly called a servant, and +demanded a better room, and fresh linen for her bed; but, under the +circumstances, she dared not do this. She had a conviction that the +Irishwoman was already aware of her poverty, and that any call for +better accommodations would be met by insult. It was too late to +seek for other lodgings, even if she knew where to go, and were not +burdened with a sleeping child. +</P> + +<P> +Unhappy fugitive! How new and unexpected were the difficulties that +already surrounded her! How dark was the future! dark as that old +Egyptian darkness that could be felt. As she sat and wept, the folly +of which she was guilty in the step she had taken presented itself +distinctly before her mind, and she wondered at her own blindness +and want of forethought. Already, in her very first step, she had +got her feet tangled. How she was to extricate them she could not +see. +</P> + +<P> +Wearied at last with grief and fear, her mind became exhausted with +its own activity. Throwing herself upon the bed beside her child, +without removing her clothes, she was soon lost in sleep. Daylight +was stealing in, when the voice of little Mary awakened her. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's papa?" asked the child, and she looked with such a sad +earnestness into her mother's face, that the latter felt rebuked, +and turned her eyes away from those of her child. "Want to go home," +lisped the unhappy babe—"see papa." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear," soothingly answered the mother. +</P> + +<P> +Little Mary turned her eyes to the door with an expectant look, as +if she believed her father, whom she loved, was about to enter, and +listened for some moments. +</P> + +<P> +"Papa! papa!" she called in anxious tones, and listened again; but +there was no response. Her little lip began to quiver, then it +curled grievingly; and, falling over, she hid her face against her +mother and began sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +Tenderly did the mother take her weeping child to her bosom, and +hold it there in a long embrace. After it had grown calm she arose, +and adjusting her rumpled garments, and those of Mary, sat down by +the windows to await the events that were to follow. In about half +an hour a bell was rung in the passage below, and soon after a girl +came to her room to say that breakfast was ready. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish my breakfast brought to me here," said Mrs. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +The girl stared a moment and then retired. Soon after, the Irish +landlady made her appearance. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it ye wants, mum?" said that personage, drawing herself up +and assuming an air of vulgar dignity and importance. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," replied Mrs. Lane, "except a little bread and milk for my +child." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't yees coming down to breakfast?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'd better. It's all ready." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wish any thing. But if you'll send me up something for my +child, I will be obliged to you." +</P> + +<P> +The landlady stood for some moments, as if undecided what she should +do, and then retired. About half an hour afterwards, a dirty looking +Irish girl appeared with a waiter, on which were the articles for +which she had asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ye want any thing for yerself, mum?" asked the girl, with +some kindness in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I thank you," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better eat a little." +</P> + +<P> +"I've no appetite," said Mrs. Lane, turning her face away to conceal +the emotion that was rising to the surface. +</P> + +<P> +The girl retired, and the food brought for the child was placed +before her; but she felt as little inclined to eat as her mother, +and could not be induced to take a mouthful. Turning from the +offered food, she raised her tearful eyes to her mother's face, and +in a choking voice said—"Go home, mamma—see papa." +</P> + +<P> +The words smote, like heavy strokes, upon the mother's heart. How +great a wrong had she done her child! But could she retrace her +steps now? Could she go back and humble herself under the imperious +will of her husband? Her heart shrunk from the thought. Any thing +but that! it would crush the life out of her. An hour she sat, with +these and kindred thoughts passing through her mind, when the girl +who had brought up Mary's breakfast came in and said—"Won't yees +walk down into the parlour, mum, while I clean up your room?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is any one down there?" asked Mrs. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"No, mum," was answered by the girl. +</P> + +<P> +With some reluctance Mrs. Lane descended to the small, dingy +parlour, which she found adjoining a bar-room, whence there came the +loud voices of men. From a window she looked forth upon the street, +which was narrow, and crowded with carts, drays, and other vehicles. +Opposite were old houses, in which business of various kinds was +carried on. One was occupied by a cooper; another used as a +storehouse for fish; another for a grog-shop. Every thing was dirty +and crowded, and all appeared bustle and confusion. It was plain to +her that she had fallen in an evil place, and that her first +business must be escape. As she sat meditating upon the next step, +there came suddenly, from the bar-room, the sound of angry voices, +mingled with fierce threats and shocking blasphemy. Springing to her +feet in terror, Mrs. Lane caught up her child, and was about +starting from the door without any covering upon her head, when the +landlady intercepted her. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with yees? Where are ye going?" +</P> + +<P> +With quivering lips, and face white with alarm, Mrs. Lane +replied—"Oh, ma'am! get me my things and let me go." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye can go when ye pays yer bill, in welcome," replied the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"How much is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a dollar and a half." +</P> + +<P> +The Irishwoman looked steadily at Mrs. Lane, and saw, by the change +in her countenance, what she had expected, that she had not as much +money in her possession. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't a dollar pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, after standing with her +eyes upon the floor for some moments. "I've had nothing but my +night's lodging and surely a dollar will pay for that." +</P> + +<P> +"Indade and it won't, then! Sure, and yer breakfast was got. If ye +didn't ate it, I'm not to fault. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a dollar," said Mrs. Lane, taking out her purse. "I'm sure +it's full pay for all I've received." +</P> + +<P> +"And d'ye mane to call me an ould chate, ye spalpeen, ye!" +indignantly replied the landlady, her face growing red with anger, +while she raised her huge fist and shook it at her terrified guest, +who retreated back into the parlour, and sank, trembling, into a +chair. +</P> + +<P> +"As if I wasn't an honest woman," continued the virago, following +Mrs. Lane. "As if I'd extort on a lone woman! Give me patience! When +ye pays the dollar and a half, ye can go; but not a foot shall ye +take from my door until then." +</P> + +<P> +A scuffle took place in the bar-room at that moment, attended by a +new eruption of oaths and imprecations. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly sprinting from her chair, Mrs. Lane, with Mary in her arms, +glided from the room, and ran panting up-stairs to her chamber, the +door of which she locked behind her on entering. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour of as calm reflection as it was possible for Mrs. Lane +to make brought her to the resolution to leave the house at all +hazards. Where she was to go, was to be an afterthought. The +greatest evil was to remain; after escaping that, she would consider +the means of avoiding what followed. Putting on her bonnet and +shawl, and taking her basket, she went down-stairs with her child, +determined, if possible, to get away unobserved, and after doing so, +to send back, by any means that offered, the only dollar she +possessed in the world to the landlady. No one met her on the +stairs, and she passed the parlour-door unobserved. But, alas! the +street-door was found locked and the key withdrawn. After a few +ineffectual attempts to open it, Mrs. Lane went into the parlour, +and, standing there, debated for some moments whether she should +leave the house by passing through the bar-room, or wait for another +opportunity to get away by the private en-trance. While still +bewildered and undetermined the landlady came in from the bar-room. +</P> + +<P> +The moment she saw her guest, she comprehended the purpose in her +mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are ye going?" said she in a quick sharp voice, the blood +rising to her coarse sensual face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to leave your house," replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a +voice as she could command. As she spoke she drew forth her purse, +and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, +added—"Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I +will send you the other half-dollar." +</P> + +<P> +But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, +indignantly, +</P> + +<P> +"A purty how d'you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body's house, +and then expect to get off without paying your bill. But ye don't +know Biddy McGinnis—ye don't! If yees wants to go paceable, pay the +dollar and a half. But until this is done, ye shall not cross my +door-stone." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't stay here! What good will it do?" said Mrs. Lane, wringing +her hand. "It's all the money I've got; and remaining won't increase +the sum, while it adds to the debt. Better let me go now." +</P> + +<P> +"Indade, and ye'll not go, thin, my lady! I'll tache yees to come +into a respectable body's house without as much money in yer pocket +as 'll pay for the night's lodging. I wonder who ye are, any how! No +better than ye should be, I'll warrint!" +</P> + +<P> +While speaking, the Irishwoman had drawn nearer and nearer, and now +stood with her face only a few inches from that of her distressed +guest, who, bursting into tears, clasped her hands together, and +sobbed— +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go! let me go! If you have the heart of a woman, let me go!" +</P> + +<P> +"Heart of a woman, indade!" returned Mrs. McGinnis, indignantly. +"Yer a purty one to talk to me about the heart of a woman. Stalein +into a body's house at twelve o'clock at night, and thin tryin' to +go off without paying for the lodgings and breakfast. Purty doings!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter here?" said a well dressed man, stepping in from +the bar-room and closing the door behind him. "What do you mean by +talking to the lady in this way, Mrs. McGinnis? I've been listening +to you." +</P> + +<P> +There was an instant change in the Irishwoman. Her countenance fell, +and she retreated a few steps from the object of her vituperation. +</P> + +<P> +"What's all this about? I should like to know," added the man in a +decided way. "Will you explain, madam?" addressing Mrs. Lane, in a +kind voice. "But you are agitated. Sit down and compose yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Let her pay me my money, that's all I want," muttered the landlady. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment the man's purse was drawn from his pocket. "What does +she owe you?" +</P> + +<P> +"A dollar and a half, bad luck till her!" +</P> + +<P> +"There's your money, you old termagant!" And the man handed her the +amount. "And now, as you are paid, and have nothing more to say to +this lady, please to retire and let her be freed from your +presence." +</P> + +<P> +"Yees needint call me ill names, Misther Bond," said the woman, in a +subdued voice, as she retired. "It doesn't become a jentilman like +you. I didn't mane any harm. I only wanted my own, and sure I've a +right to that." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you've got your own, though not in a way that does either you +or your house much credit," returned the man. "The next time you are +so fortunate as to get a lady in your hotel, I hope you'll know +better how to treat her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McGinnis retired without further remark, and the man turned to +Mrs. Lane, and said, in a kind, respectful manner, +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to find you so unhappily situated, and will do any thing +in my power to relieve you from your present embarrassment. Your +landlady here is a perfect virago. How did you happen to fall into +her hands?" +</P> + +<P> +Encouraged by the kindness of the man's address, as well as from the +fact that he had rescued her from a violent woman, Mrs. Lane, after +composing herself, said— +</P> + +<P> +"I came in from New York last night, and, being a stranger, asked +the cabman to take me to a good hotel. He brought me here. I +happened to have but two dollars in my purse, he charged one for +carriage hire." +</P> + +<P> +"The extortioner!" +</P> + +<P> +"Finding into what a wretched place he had brought me, I wished to +leave this morning, but have been prevented because I could not pay +a dollar and a half when I had only a dollar. I told her to let me +go, and I would send her the balance claimed; but she only met the +proposition by insult." +</P> + +<P> +"The wretch!" exclaimed the man, indignantly. "I happened to be +passing, and, hearing her loud voice, glanced in at the window. In +an instant I comprehended, to some extent, the difficulty; and, +knowing her of old, came in to see if something were not wrong. She +is a bad woman, and her house is a snare for the innocent. It is +fortunate for you that I came at the right moment!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, madam," said the man, "what can I do for you? Have you +friends in the city?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am an entire stranger here," replied Mrs. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you going farther? +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was answered after some hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Where do your friends reside?" +</P> + +<P> +"In New York." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" +</P> + +<P> +"This is your child?" was said, after a pause. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +There was something in the man's manner, and in the way he looked at +her, that now made Mrs. Lane shrink from, as instinctively as she +had at first leaned towards him. Beneath his steady eye her own +drooped and rested for some moments on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Is your husband in New York?" pursued the man. +</P> + +<P> +This question caused the heart of Mrs. Lane to bound with a sudden +throb. Her husband! She had deserted him, her natural and lawful +protector, and already she was encompassed with difficulties and +surrounded by dangers. What would she not at that moment have given +to be safely back in the home she had left? To the last question she +gave a simple affirmative. +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you wish to go when you leave here?" inquired the man, who +had perceived a change in her and understood its nature. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to be taken to a good hotel, where I can remain a day or +two, until I have time to communicate with my friends. My being out +of money is owing to an inadvertence. I will receive a supply +immediately on writing home." +</P> + +<P> +The man drew his purse from his pocket, and, presenting it, said— +</P> + +<P> +"This is at your service. Take whatever you need." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane thanked him, but drew back. +</P> + +<P> +"Only get me into some safe place, until I can write to my friends," +said she, "and you would lay both them and me under the deepest +obligations." +</P> + +<P> +The man arose at this, and stepping into the bar room, desired the +bar-keeper to send for a carriage. From a stand near by one was +called. When it came to the door, he informed Mrs. Lane of the fact, +and asked if she were ready to go. +</P> + +<P> +"Where will you take me?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"To the United States Hotel," replied the man. "You could not be in +a safer or better place." +</P> + +<P> +On hearing this, Mrs. Lane arose without hesitation, and, going from +the house, entered the carriage with the man, and was driven away. +Drawing her veil over her face, she shrank into a corner of the +vehicle, and remained in sad communion with her own thoughts for +many minutes. From this state of abstraction, the stopping of the +carriage aroused her. The driver left his seat and opened the door, +when her companion stepped forth, saying as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"This is the place," and offering at the same time his hand. +</P> + +<P> +As Mrs. Lane descended to the street, she glanced with a look of +anxious inquiry around her. Already a suspicion that all might not +be right was disturbing her mind. Two years before she had been in +Philadelphia, and had stayed several days at the United States +Hotel. She remembered the appearance of the building and the street, +but now she did not recognise a single object. All was strange. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this the United States Hotel?" she asked eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, ma'am," was the smiling reply. "We are at the private +entrance." +</P> + +<P> +Her bewildered mind was momentarily deceived by this answer, and she +permitted herself to be led into a house, which she soon discovered +not to be an hotel. The most dreadful suspicions instantly seized +her. So soon as she was shown into a parlour, the man retired. A +woman came in shortly afterwards, who, from her appearance, seemed +to be the mistress of the house. She spoke kindly to Mrs. Lane, and +asked if she would walk up into her room. +</P> + +<P> +"There has been some mistake," said the poor wanderer, her lips +quivering in spite of her efforts to assume a firm exterior. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, none at all," quickly replied the woman, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes there is. I am not in the hotel where I wished to go. Why +have I been brought here? Where is the man with whom I came?" +</P> + +<P> +"He has gone away; but will return again. In the mean time do not +causelessly distress yourself. You are safe from all harm." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not where I wished to go," replied Mrs. Lane. "Will you be +kind enough to give me the direction of the United States Hotel, and +I will walk there with my child." +</P> + +<P> +The woman shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I could not permit you to go until Mr. Bond returned," said she. +"He brought you here, and will expect to find you when he comes +back." +</P> + +<P> +"I will not remain." And as she said this in a firm voice, Mrs. Lane +arose, and, taking her little girl in her arms, made an attempt to +move through the door into the passage. But the woman stepped before +her quickly, and in a mild, yet decided way, told her that she could +not leave the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" asked the trembling creature. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Bond has placed you in my care, and will expect to find you on +his return," answered the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is Mr. Bond? What right has he to control my movements?" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you not place yourself in his care?" inquired the woman. "I +understood him to say that such was the case." +</P> + +<P> +"He offered to protect me from wrong and insult." +</P> + +<P> +"And, having undertaken to do so, he feels himself responsible to +your friends for your safe return to their hands. I am responsible +to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Deceived! deceived! deceived!" murmured Mrs. Lane, bursting into +tears and sinking into a chair, while she hugged her child tightly +in her arms, and laid its face against her own. +</P> + +<P> +The woman seemed slightly moved at this exhibition of distress, and +stood looking at the quivering frame of the unhappy fugitive, with a +slight expression of regret on her face. After Mrs. Lane had grown +calm, the woman said to her: +</P> + +<P> +"Is your husband living?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is," was answered, in a steady voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Where does he reside?" continued the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"In New York," replied Mrs. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"What is his name?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lane reflected, hurriedly, for some moments, and then gave a +correct answer, adding, at the same time, that for any attempted +wrong, there would come a speedy and severe retribution. The next +inquiry of the woman was as to her husband's occupation, which was +also answered correctly. +</P> + +<P> +"And now," added Mrs. Lane, with assumed firmness, "you had better +let me retire from this place immediately, and thus avoid trouble, +which, otherwise, you would be certain to have. My husband is a +merchant of influence, and a man who will not stop at half measures +in seeking to redress a wrong. This man, whoever he may be, who has +so basely deceived me, will find, ere long, that he has done an act +which will hot go unpunished, and that severely. As for yourself, be +warned in time, and let me go from this place." +</P> + +<P> +Again Mrs. Lane sought to pass from the room, but was prevented. The +woman was neither harsh, rude, nor insulting in her manner, but +firmly refused to let her leave the house, saying—"I am responsible +for your safe keeping, and cannot, therefore, let you go." +</P> + +<P> +She then urged her to go up-stairs and lay off her things, but Mrs. +Lane refused, in the most positive manner, to leave the parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be more comfortable in the chamber we have prepared for +you," said the woman, coldly; "but you must do as you like. If you +want any thing, you can ring for it." +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, she turned from the room, and locked the door +through which she retired. The instant she was gone, Mrs. Lane +sprang towards one of the front windows, threw it up and attempted +to draw the bolt which fastened the shutter; but her effort was not +successful: the bolt remained immovable. On a closer inspection, she +found that it was locked. The back window was open, but a glance +into the yard satisfied her that it would be useless to attempt +escape in that way. Hopeless in mind and paralyzed in body, she +again sank down inactive. +</P> + +<P> +Little Mary, who had been left standing on the floor during this +effort to escape, now came up to where she had thrown herself upon a +sofa, and, laying her little face upon her breast, looked tearfully +at her, and said, in a low, sorrowful voice—"Won't papa come? I +want my papa—my dear papa." +</P> + +<P> +Not a word could the mother reply to her unhappy child, who, in her +folly, she had so wronged. Oh, what would she not have given at that +moment to see the face of her husband! +</P> + +<P> +Five or six hours had passed. In a small sitting room, near the +parlour in which Mrs. Lane was still a prisoner, stood the man named +Bond, and the woman who had received her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lane did you say she called herself?" said the man, with a +sudden change of manner—"and from New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you inquire her husband's business?" +</P> + +<P> +"She said he was a merchant of standing, and threatened both you and +me with the severest consequences, if she were not instantly +released." +</P> + +<P> +"Can it be possible!" remarked the man, and he stood in a musing +attitude for some time. "I'm a little afraid this affair is not +going to turn out quite so pleasantly as I at first supposed. I +think I know her husband." +</P> + +<P> +"You do!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. We have had several business transactions together, if he is +the individual I suppose him to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you had better get her off of your hands as quickly as +possible; and this will be no hard matter. Only open the cage-door, +and the bird will fly." +</P> + +<P> +"Confound that Irish huzzy! She and her John Murphy have scared up a +nice bit of adventure for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Both you and they ought to have known better than to expect any +thing but trouble from a woman with a baby. As it is, the best thing +for you is to get her off of your hands forthwith." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't like to give up after progressing so far. It isn't my +disposition." +</P> + +<P> +"A wise man foresees evil, and gets out of its way." +</P> + +<P> +"True; and my better course is to step aside, I suppose. But what +shall we do with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Open the cage-door, as I said, and let her escape." +</P> + +<P> +"Where will she go?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any concern on that head?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some. Moreover, I don't just comprehend the meaning of her visit +here alone at night, and without money. I wonder if, after all, +there isn't a lover in the case, who has failed to meet her." +</P> + +<P> +"Most likely," returned the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"In that event, why may not I take his place?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will require her consent. Better have nothing more to do with +her, and thus keep out of the way of trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Her husband, if she be the wife of the man I think she is," said +Bond, "will hardly stop at half-way measures in an affair like +this." +</P> + +<P> +"So much the more reason for keeping out of his way." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so; and yet I like adventure, especially when spiced with a +little danger. Upon second thought, I'll let her remain here until +to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you like. But I've been unable to get her up-stairs; and +she can't stay in the parlour all night." +</P> + +<P> +"No. She must go to the chamber you have prepared for her." +</P> + +<P> +"How will we get her there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Use every effort you can to induce her to comply with our wishes in +this respect. I will come in after nightfall, and, if you have not +been successful, will remove her by force." +</P> + +<P> +With this understanding, the partners in evil separated. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after parting with Mr. Edmondson, who had informed Mr. Lane +that his wife was no longer at his house, and when the latter had +begun to feel exceedingly anxious, he met a gentleman who said to +him, "When do you expect Mrs. Lane back?" +</P> + +<P> +It was with difficulty that the deserted husband could refrain from +the exhibition of undue surprise at such an unexpected question. +</P> + +<P> +"I was over the river yesterday afternoon with a friend who was on +his way to Philadelphia," added the man, "and saw your lady in the +cars." +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," said Mr. Lane, as he looked at his watch, and then +turned away with a hurried manner. +</P> + +<P> +It was half-past eleven o'clock. At twelve a line started for the +South. Lane was on board the steamboat when it left the dock. Six +hours and a half of most intense anxiety were passed ere the unhappy +man reached Philadelphia. On arriving, he took a carriage and +visited all the principal hotels, but not a word could he hear of +his wife. He then bethought him to make some inquiries of the +hackman whom he had employed. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you at the wharf last night when the New York line came in?" +he asked, as he stood with his hand on the carriage-door, after +leaving one of the hotels, again disappointed in his search. +</P> + +<P> +"I was," replied the hackman. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you get any passengers?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see any thing of a lady with a child?" +</P> + +<P> +The hackman thought for a little while, and then replied— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I did. There was a lady and a child, nearly the last on the +boat. John Murphy drove them away." +</P> + +<P> +"Where can I find John Murphy?" eagerly enquired Mr. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"He's probably on the stand." +</P> + +<P> +"Drive me there if you please." And he sprang into the carriage. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes they were at a carriage stand; and Mr. Lane heard +the driver call out, as he reined up his horses—"Hallo! there, John +Murphy! here's a gentleman who wants to see you." +</P> + +<P> +The person addressed came up as Mr. Lane descended from the +carriage. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Lane, "that you received a lady and child in +your carriage, last night, from the New York line. Where did you +take them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who said that I did?" boldly inquired the man addressed. +</P> + +<P> +"I said so!" as firmly replied the driver who had given the +information to Mr. Lane. "What interest have you in denying it?" +</P> + +<P> +Murphy evinced some surprise at this, and looked a little dashed, +but repeated his denial. +</P> + +<P> +A new fear instantly seized Mr. Lane. His wife might have been +entrapped into some den of infamy, through means of the driver she +had employed to convey her to an hotel. The thought affected him +like an electric shock. +</P> + +<P> +"You are certain of what you say?" asked Mr. Lane, turning to the +hackman he had employed. +</P> + +<P> +"Certain," was answered positively. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there a police officer near at hand?" was the next inquiry. This +was intended as no threat; and Murphy understood its meaning. +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of Mr. Lane were fixed on his face, and he saw in it a +guilty change. No reply being made to the question about a police +officer, Mr. Lane said, addressing the accused hackman— +</P> + +<P> +"If you wish to escape trouble, take me instantly to the house where +I can find the lady you took from the boat last night. She is my +wife, and I will go through fire and water to find her; and let him +who stands in my way take the consequences." +</P> + +<P> +Murphy now drew Mr. Lane aside, and said a few words to him +hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I depend upon what you say?" eagerly asked the latter. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, upon honour!" replied the hackman. +</P> + +<P> +"You must go with me," said Lane. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot leave the stand." +</P> + +<P> +"I will call a policeman and compel you to go with me, if you don't +accompany me peaceably. As I live, I will not part from you until I +find her! Take your choice—go quietly, or under compulsion." +</P> + +<P> +There was a fierce energy in the excited man that completely subdued +the Irish hackman, who, after a further, though feeble remonstrance, +got into the carriage with Mr. Lane, and was driven off. The course +taken was out—street. Some distance beyond Washington Square, the +carriage stopped before a house, in which Mr. Lane was informed that +he would find the woman whom Murphy had taken from the boat the +night before. He stepped out quickly, and, as he sprang across the +pavement, Murphy, who was out of the carriage almost as soon as he +was, glided around the corner of a street, and was beyond recall. A +quick jerk of the bell was answered by a female servant, who held +the door only partly open, while Lane addressed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't there a woman and child brought here last night?" said he, +in an agitated manner. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," replied the girl; and, as she spoke, she made an attempt +to close the door, seeing which, Mr. Lane thrust a part of his body +in and prevented the movement. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I am," was positively answered, while the girl strove to shut the +door by forcing it against Mr. Lane. At this moment something like a +smothered cry from within reached his ears, when, throwing open the +door with a sudden application of strength that prostrated the girl, +he stepped over her body and entered the vestibule. Just then there +arose a wild cry for help! He knew the voice; it came from one of +the parlours, into which he rushed. There he saw his wife struggling +in the arms of a woman and a man, while his frightened child stood +near, white and speechless with terror. As he entered, Amanda saw +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my husband!" she exclaimed. In a moment she was released, and +the man and woman fled from the room, but not before the face of the +former was fully recognised by Mr. Lane. +</P> + +<P> +Little Mary had already sprung to her father, and was quivering and +panting on his breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! take me away quickly—quickly!" cried Mrs. Lane, staggering +towards her husband and falling into his arms. +</P> + +<P> +Without waiting for explanations, Mr. Lane went from the house with +his wife and child, and, placing them in the carriage at the door, +was driven to an hotel. +</P> + +<P> +The reader doubtless understands the scene we have just described. +The man named Bond was in the act of carrying out his threat to +remove Mrs. Lane to a chamber by force when her husband appeared. +</P> + +<P> +Of all that passed between the severely-tried husband and wife after +their meeting, it behooves us not to write. The circumstances we +have detailed were exceedingly painful to the parties most +interested; but their effect, like the surgeon's knife, was +salutary. Mr. Lane afterwards regarded his wife from an entirely +different point of view, and found her a very different woman from +what he had at first believed her to be. He saw in her a strength of +character and a clearness of intellect for which he had never given +her credit; and, from looking down upon her as a child or an +inferior, came to feel towards her as an equal. +</P> + +<P> +His indignation at the treatment she had received in Philadelphia +was extreme. The man named Bond he knew very well, and he at first +determined to call him to account personally; but as this would lead +to a mortifying notoriety and exposure of the whole affair, he was +reluctantly induced to keep silence. Bond has never crossed his way +since: it might not be well for him to do so. +</P> + +<P> +Some years have passed. No one who meets Mr. and Mrs. Lane, at home +or abroad, would dream that, at one time, they were driven asunder +by a strong repulsion. Few are more deeply attached, or happier in +their domestic relations; but neither trespasses on the other's +rights, nor interferes with the other's prerogative. Mutual +deference, confidence, respect, and love, unite them with a bond +that cannot again be broken. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="invalid"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE INVALID WIFE. +</H3> + +<P> +"MY poor head! It seems as if it would burst!" murmured Mrs. Bain, +as she arose from a stooping position, and clasped her temples with +both hands. She was engaged in dressing a restless, fretful child, +some two or three years old. Two children had been washed and +dressed, and this was the last to be made ready for breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +As Mrs. Bain stood, with pale face, closed eyes, and tightly +compressed lips, still clasping her throbbing temples, the bell +announcing the morning meal was rung. The sound caused her to start, +and she said, in a low and fretful voice— +</P> + +<P> +"There's the breakfast bell; and Charley isn't ready yet; nor have I +combed my hair. How my head does ache! I am almost blind with the +pain." +</P> + +<P> +Then she resumed her work of dressing Charley, who struggled, cried, +and resisted, until she was done. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Bain was already up and dressed. He was seated in the parlour, +enjoying his morning paper, when the breakfast bell rang. The moment +he heard the sound, he threw down his newspaper, and, leaving the +parlour, ascended to the dining-room. His two oldest children were +there, ready to take their places at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's your mother?" he inquired of one of them. +</P> + +<P> +"She's dressing Charley," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Never ready in time," said Mr. Bain, to himself, impatiently. He +spoke in an under tone. +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments he stood with his hands on the back of his chair. +Then he walked twice the length of the dining-room; and then he went +to the door and called— +</P> + +<P> +"Jane! Jane! Breakfast is on the table." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be there in a minute," was replied by Mrs. Bain. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes! I know something about your minutes." Mr. Bain said this +to himself. "This never being in time annoys me terribly. I'm always +ready. I'm always up to time. But there's no regard to time in this +house." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bain was still struggling with her cross and troublesome child, +when the voice of her impatient husband reached her. The sound +caused a throb of intenser pain to pass through her aching head. +</P> + +<P> +"Jane, make haste! Breakfast is all getting cold, and I'm in a hurry +to go away to business," was called once more. +</P> + +<P> +"Do have a little patience. I'll be there in a moment," replied Mrs. +Bain. +</P> + +<P> +"A moment! This is always the way." +</P> + +<P> +And Mr. Bain once more paced backwards and forwards. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime the wife hurriedly completed her own toilet, and then +repaired to the dining-room. She was just five minutes too late. +</P> + +<P> +One glance at her pale, suffering face should have changed to +sympathy and pity the ill-humour of her thoughtless, impatient +husband. But it was not so. The moment she appeared, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"This is too bad, Jane! I've told you, over and over, that I don't +like to wait after the bell rings. My mother was always promptly at +her place, and I'd like my wife to imitate so good an example." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps nothing could have hurt Mrs. Bain more than such a cruel +reference of her husband to his mother, coupled with so unfeeling a +declaration of his will concerning her—as if she were to be the +mere creature of his will. +</P> + +<P> +A sharp reply was on the tongue of Mrs. Bain; but she kept it back. +The pain in her head subsided all at once; but a weight and +oppression in her breast followed that was almost suffocating. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Bain drank his coffee, and eat his steak and toast, with a +pretty fair relish; for he had a good appetite and a good +digestion—and was in a state of robust health. But Mrs. Bain ate +nothing. How could she eat? And yet, it is but the truth to say, +that her husband, who noticed the fact, attributed her abstinence +from food more to temper than want of appetite. He was aware that he +had spoken too freely, and attributed the consequent change in his +wife's manner to anger rather than a wounded spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want any thing?" asked Mr. Bain, on rising from the table +and turning to leave the room. He spoke with more kindness than +previously. +</P> + +<P> +"No," was the wife's brief answer, made without lifting her eyes to +her husband's face. +</P> + +<P> +"In the sulks!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Bain did not say this aloud, but such was his thought, as he +turned away and left the house. He did not feel altogether +comfortable, of course. No man feels comfortable while there is a +cloud upon the brow of his wife, whether it be occasioned by +peevishness, ill-temper, bodily or mental suffering. No, Mr. Bain +did not feel altogether comfortable, nor satisfied with himself, as +he walked along to his store; for there came across his mind a dim +recollection of having heard the baby fretting and crying during the +night; and also of having seen the form of his wife moving to and +fro in the chamber, while he lay snugly reposing in bed. +</P> + +<P> +But these were unpleasant images, and Mr. Bain thrust them from his +mind. +</P> + +<P> +While Mr. Bain took his morning walk to his store, his lungs freely +and pleasurably expanding in the pure, invigorating air, his wife, +to whose throbbing temples the anguish had returned, and whose +relaxed muscles had scarcely enough tension to support the weight of +her slender frame, slowly and painfully began the work of getting +her two oldest children ready for school. This done, the baby had to +be washed and dressed. It screamed during the whole operation, and +when, at last, it fell asleep upon her bosom, she was so completely +exhausted, that she had to lie down. Tears wet her pillow as she lay +with her babe upon her arm. He, to whom alone she had a right to +look for sympathy, for support, and for strength in her many trials, +did not appear to sympathize with her in the least. If she looked +sober from the pressure of pain, fatigue, or domestic trials, he +became impatient, and sometimes said, with cruel thoughtlessness, +that he was tired of clouds and rain, and would give the world for a +wife who could smile now and then. If, amid her many household cares +and duties, she happened to neglect some little matter that affected +his comfort, he failed not to express his annoyance, and not always +in carefully chosen words. No wonder that her woman's heart +melted—no wonder that hot tears were on her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Bain had, as we have said, an excellent appetite; and he took +especial pleasure in its gratification. He liked his dinner +particularly, and his dinners were always good dinners. He went to +market himself. On his way to his store he passed through the +market, and his butcher sent home what he purchased. +</P> + +<P> +"The marketing has come home," said the cook to Mrs. Bain, about ten +o'clock, arousing her from a brief slumber into which she had +fallen—a slumber that exhausted nature demanded, and which would +have done far more than medicine for the restoration of something +like a healthy tone to her system. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I will come down in a little while," returned Mrs. Bain, +raising herself on her elbow, and see about dinner. "What has Mr. +Bain sent home?" +</P> + +<P> +"A calf's head." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" +</P> + +<P> +"A calf's head." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I will be down to see about it." Mrs. Bain repressed any +further remark. +</P> + +<P> +Sick and exhausted as she felt, she must spend at least two hours in +the kitchen in making soup and dressing the calf's head for her +husband's dinner. Nothing of this could be trusted to the cook, for +to trust any part of its preparation to her was to have it spoiled. +</P> + +<P> +With a sigh, Mrs. Bain arose from the bed. At first she staggered +across the room like one intoxicated, and the pain, which had +subsided during her brief slumber, returned again with added +violence. But, really sick as she felt, she went down to the kitchen +and passed full two hours there in the preparation of delicacies for +her husband's dinner. And what was her reward? +</P> + +<P> +"This is the worst calf's head soup you ever made. What have you +done to it?" said Mr. Bain, pushing the plate of soup from before +him, with an expression of disgust on his face. +</P> + +<P> +There were tears in the eyes of the suffering wife, and she lifted +them to her husband's countenance. Steadily she looked at him for a +few moments; then her lips quivered, and the tears fell over her +cheeks. Hastily rising, she left the dining room. +</P> + +<P> +"It is rather hard that I can't speak without having a scene," +muttered Mr. Bain, as he tried his soup once more. It did not suit +his taste at all; so he pushed it from him, and made his dinner of +something else. +</P> + +<P> +As his wife had been pleased to go off up-stairs in a huff, just at +a word, Mr. Bain did not feel inclined to humour her. So, after +finishing his dinner, he took his hat and left the house, without so +much as seeking to offer a soothing word. +</P> + +<P> +Does the reader wonder that, when Mr. Bain returned in the evening, +he found his wife so seriously ill as to make it necessary to send +for their family physician? No, the reader will not wonder at this. +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Bain felt a little surprised. He had not anticipated any +thing of the kind. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bain was not only ill, but delirious. Her feeble frame, +exhausted by maternal duties, and ever-beginning, never-ending +household cares, had yielded under the accumulation of burdens too +heavy to bear. +</P> + +<P> +For a while after Mr. Bain's return, his wife talked much, but +incoherently; then she became quiet. But her fever remained high, +and inflammation tended strongly towards the brain. He was sitting +by the bedside about ten o'clock, alone with her, when she began to +talk in her wandering way again; but her words were distinct and +coherent. +</P> + +<P> +"I tried to do it right," said she, sadly; "but my head ached so +that I did not know what I was doing. Ah me! I never please him now +in any thing. I wish I could always look pleasant—cheerful. But I +can't. Well! well! it won't last for ever. I never feel +well—never—never—never! And I'm so faint and weak in the morning! +But he has no patience with me. <I>He</I> doesn't know what it is to feel +sick. Ah me!" +</P> + +<P> +And her voice sighed itself away into silence. +</P> + +<P> +With what a rebuking force did these words fall upon the ears of Mr. +Bain! He saw himself in a new light. He was the domestic tyrant, and +not the kind and thoughtful husband. +</P> + +<P> +A few days, and Mrs. Bain was moving about her house and among her +children once more, pale as a shadow, and with lines of pain upon +her fore-head. How differently was she now treated by her husband! +With what considerate tenderness he regarded her! But, alas! he saw +his error too late! The gentle, loving creature, who had come to his +side ten years before, was not much longer to remain with him. A few +brief summers came and went, and then her frail body was laid amid +the clods of the valley. +</P> + +<P> +Alas! how many, like Mrs. Bain, have thus passed away, who, if truly +loved and cared for, would have been the light of now darkened +hearths, and the blessing and joy of now motherless children and +bereaved husbands! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="quarrel"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL. +</H3> + +<P> +"IF I am his wife, I am not his slave!" said young Mrs. Huntley, +indignantly. "It was more than he dared do a month ago." +</P> + +<P> +"If you love me, Esther, don't talk in this way," said Mrs. +Carlisle. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I his slave aunt?" and the young bride drew herself up, while +her eyes flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Esther, you are his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"To be loved, and not commanded! That is the difference, and he has +got to learn it." +</P> + +<P> +"Were Edward to see and hear you now, do you think your words, +manner, and expression would inspire him with any new affection for +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing to do with that. I only express a just indignation, +and that is a right I did not alienate when I consented to become +his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a silly girl, Esther," said Mrs. Carlisle, "and I am afraid +will pay dear for your folly. Edward has faults, and so have you. If +you understood the duties and responsibilities of your position, and +felt the true force of your marriage vows, you would seek to bend +into better forms the crooked branches of your husband's hereditary +temper, rather than commit an irreparable injury by roughly breaking +them. I was not pleased with Edward's manner of speaking; but I must +admit that he had provocation: that you were first, and, therefore, +most to blame." +</P> + +<P> +"I objected to going with him to the opera, because I particularly +wanted to call and see Anna Lewis to-night. I had made up my mind to +this, and when I make up my mind to any thing I do not like to be +turned from my purpose." +</P> + +<P> +"Edward resembles you rather too much in that respect. Therefore, +there must be a disposition to yielding and self-denial on one side +or the other, or unhappiness will follow. Hitherto, as far as I have +been able to see, the yielding has all been on the part of Edward, +who has given up to you in everything. And now, when he shows that +he has a will of his own, you become very indignant, and talk bout +not being his slave." +</P> + +<P> +"It is too bad for you to speak so, aunt! You never think I do any +thing right." And Esther burst into tears. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime, Edward Huntley, the husband, was at the opera, listening +to, but not enjoying, the beauties Norma. It was only a month since +he had led to the altar his beautiful bride, and felt himself the +happiest man in the world. Before marriage, he thought only of how +he should please Esther. The preference of his own wishes to hers +was felt as no sacrifice. But, after the hymeneal contract had been +gratified, his feelings began gradually to change. What he had +yielded in kindness was virtually demanded as a right, and against +this, the moment it was perceived, his spirit rose in rebellion. In +several instances, he gave way to what savoured, much more than he +liked, of imperiousness. +</P> + +<P> +Norma had just been brought out, and received with unprecedented +favour. The newspapers were filled with its praises, and the +beauties of the opera were spoken of by every one. A friend lauded +it with more than usual enthusiasm, on the day it was advertised for +a third performance. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't heard it yet!" said he, with surprise, on learning that +Huntley had yet to enjoy that pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I think I will buy tickets for to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Do by all means! And get them at once, or you will not be able to +secure a seat." +</P> + +<P> +It was in the afternoon, and Huntley could not ask his young wife +about it, unless he made a special errand home, which, as he lived +some distance away from his office, would be inconvenient. Not in +the least doubting, however, that Esther would be pleased to go to +the opera, as she had more than once expressed a wish to see and +hear Norma, he secured tickets and considered the matter settled. +</P> + +<P> +Now that the gratification of hearing the opera was so near at hand, +Huntley kept thinking of the enjoyment he was to have, and wishing +for the time to pass more rapidly. He pictured, too, the pleasure +that Esther would feel and express when she found that he had +procured tickets. Half an hour earlier than usual he was at home. He +found Esther and her aunt, Mrs. Carlisle, with whom they were +living, in the parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going to see Norma to-night," said Huntley, in a gay voice, +and with a broad smile upon his face, as he sat down beside Esther +and took her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>We</I> are?" +</P> + +<P> +The tone and look with which this was said chilled the warm feelings +of the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I</I> am, at least," said he, in a changed voice. +</P> + +<P> +"And <I>I</I> am not," as promptly, and much more decidedly, replied +Esther. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes you are." This was said with a suddenly assumed, half +playful, yet earnest manner. "I have bought tickets, and we will go +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"The least you could have done was to have asked me before you +bought tickets," returned Esther. "I wish to go somewhere else +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"But, as I have the tickets now, you will go, of course. To-morrow +night will do as well for a visit." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to make it to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, you are unreasonable." Huntley knit his brows and +compressed his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"We are quite even then." The pretty lip of the bride curled. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther!" said Huntley, assuming a calm but cold exterior, and +speaking in a firm voice. "I have bought tickets for the opera +to-night, thinking that to go would give you pleasure, and now my +wish is that you accompany me." +</P> + +<P> +"A wish that you will certainly not have gratified. I believe I am +your wife, not your slave to command." +</P> + +<P> +There was something so cutting in the way this was said, that +Huntley could not bear it. Without a word he arose, and, taking his +hat, left the house. In a fever of excitement he walked the street +for an hour and a half, and then, scarcely reflecting upon what he +did, went to the opera. But the music was discord in his ears, and +he left before the performance was half over. +</P> + +<P> +The moment Esther heard the street-door close upon her husband, she +arose and went from the room where she was sitting with her aunt, +moving erect and with a firm step. Mrs. Carlisle did not see her for +two hours. The tea bell rang, but she did not come down from her +chamber, where, as the aunt supposed, she was bitterly repenting +what she had done. In this, however, she was mistaken, as was +proved, when, on joining her in her room for the purpose of striving +to console her, the conversation with which our story opens took +place. +</P> + +<P> +When the fit of weeping with which Esther received the reproof her +aunt felt called upon to give, had subsided, Mrs. Carlisle said, in +a most solemn and impressive manner, +</P> + +<P> +"What has occurred this evening may prove the saddest event of your +whole life. There is no calculating the result. No matter whose the +fault, the consequences that follow may be alike disastrous to the +happiness of both. Are you prepared, thus early, for a sundering of +the sacred bonds that have united you? And yet, even this may +follow. It has followed with others, and may follow with you. Oh! +the consequences of a first quarrel! Who can anticipate them?" +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Mrs. Carlisle trembled, and then sank almost into a +sob. Her manner more than her words startled Esther. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, aunt?" said she. +</P> + +<P> +But her aunt was too much disturbed to speak for some minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther," she at length said, speaking in a voice that still +trembled, "I knew a girl, who, at your age, married an excellent, +but proud-spirited young man. Like Edward, the lover yielded too +much when, as the husband, he began to be a little less considerate, +and to act as if he had a will of his own, his wife set herself +against him just as you set yourself against Edward. This chafed +him, although he strove to conceal his feelings. But, in an +unguarded moment, when his young wife was unusually self-willed, a +quarrel of no more serious character than the one that has occurred +this evening, between you and Edward, took place. They parted in +anger as you parted, and—" +</P> + +<P> +The aunt was unable for some time to control her voice sufficiently +to finish the sentence— +</P> + +<P> +"And never met again," she at length said, with such visible emotion +as betrayed more than she had wished to reveal. +</P> + +<P> +"Never met again!" ejaculated Esther, a sudden fear trembling +through her heart, and causing her cheeks to grow pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Never!" was the solemn response. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, dear aunt? Why?" eagerly inquired Esther. +</P> + +<P> +"Pride caused him," said Mrs. Carlisle, recovering her +self-possession, "after a breach had been made, to leave not only +his home, but the city in which he lived. Repenting of her +ungenerous contact, his bride waited anxiously for his return at +evening, but waited it vain. Sadly enough passed the lonely hours of +that dreadful night, and morning found her a sleepless watcher. Days +passed, but no word came from the unhappy wanderer from home and +love. A week, and still all was silence and mystery. At the end of +that time a letter was received from a neighbouring city, which +brought intelligence to his friends that he was there, and lying +dangerously ill. By the next conveyance his almost frantic wife +started for the purpose of joining him. Alas! she was too late. When +she stood beside the bed upon which he lay, she looked only upon the +inanimate form of her husband. Death had been there before her. +Esther! thirty years have passed since then, but the anguish I felt +when I stood and looked upon the cold, dead, face of my husband, in +that terrible hour, time has not altogether obliterated!" +</P> + +<P> +Esther had risen to her feet, and now stood with her pale lips +parted, and her cheeks blanched to an ashy whiteness. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear aunt is all this true?" she asked huskily, while she grasped +the arm of her relative. +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven knows it is too true, my child! It was the first and, the +last quarrel I had with my husband. And now, as you value your own +and Edward's peace of mind, be warned by my sad example, and let the +present unhappy difference that has occurred be quickly reconciled. +Acknowledge your error the moment you see him, and make a firm +resolution that you will, under no circumstances, permit the +slightest misunderstanding again to take place. Yield to him, and +you will find him ready as before to yield to you. What he was not +ready to give under the force of a demand, love will prompt him +cheerfully to render." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! if Edward should never return!" Esther said, clasping her hands +together. She had scarcely heard the last sentence of her aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"You need not fear on that account, my child," replied Mrs. +Carlisle, in a voice meant to inspire confidence. "Edward will no +doubt return. Few men act so rashly as to separate themselves at the +first misunderstanding, although, too often, the first quarrel is +but the prelude to others of a more violent kind, that end in +severing the most sacred of all bonds, or rendering the life that +might have been one of the purest felicity, an existence of misery. +When Edward comes home to-night, forget every thing but your own +error, and freely confess that. Then, all will be sunshine in a +moment, although the light will fall and sparkle upon dewy +tear-drops." +</P> + +<P> +"I was mad to treat him so!" was Esther's response to this, as she +paced the floor, with uneasy step. "Oh! if he should never return." +</P> + +<P> +Once possessed with the idea that he would not return, the poor wife +was in an agony of fear. No suggestion made by her aunt in the least +relieved her mind. One thought—one fear—absorbed every thing else. +Thus passed the evening, until ten o'clock came. From that time +Esther began to listen anxiously for her husband's return, but hour +after hour went by, and she was still a tearful watcher. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall go mad if I sit here any longer!" murmured Huntley to +himself, as the music came rushing upon his agitated soul, in a wild +tempest, toward the middle of the opera, and, rising abruptly, he +retired from the theatre. How still appeared the half deserted +streets! Coldly the night air fell upon him, but the fever in his +veins was unabated. He walked first up one street and then down +another, with rapid steps, and this was continued for hours. Then +the thought of going home crossed his mind. But he set his teeth +firmly, and murmured audibly, +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! to be defied, and charged with being a tyrant? And has it come +to this so soon?" +</P> + +<P> +The more Huntley brooded, in this unhappy mood, over his wife's +words and conduct, the denser and more widely refracting became the +medium through which he saw. His pride continually excited his mind, +and threw a thick veil over all the gentler emotions of his heart. +He was beside himself. +</P> + +<P> +At one o'clock he found himself standing in front of the United +States Hotel, his mind made up to desert the affectionate young +creature, who, in a moment of thoughtlessness, had set her will in +opposition to his,—to leave the city, under an assumed name, by the +earliest lines, and go, he knew not nor cared not where. Blind +passion was his prompter and guide. In this feverish state he +entered the hotel and called for a bed. +</P> + +<P> +Eleven, twelve, one o'clock came, and found Mrs. Huntley in a state +of wild agitation. Edward had not yet returned. The silence and +evident distress of Mrs. Carlisle struck down the heart of Esther, +almost as much as her own fears. The too vivid recollection of one +terrible event in her own life completely unbalanced the aunt's +mind, and took away all power to sustain her niece. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go in search of him, aunt!" exclaimed Esther, as the clock +struck two. "He cannot leave the city before daylight. I will find +him, and confess all my folly before it is too late." +</P> + +<P> +"But where will you go, my child?" Mrs. Carlisle asked in a sad +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Where—where shall I go?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Huntley. +</P> + +<P> +"It is midnight, Esther. You cannot find him now." +</P> + +<P> +"But I must see him before he leaves me, perhaps for ever! It will +kill me. If I wait until morning, it will be too late." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Carlisle bent her eyes to the floor, and for the space of more +than a minute remained in deep thought. She then said, in a calm +voice, +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, I cannot believe that Edward will desert you on so slight a +provocation. For a few hours his mind may be blinded with passion, +and be swayed by false judgment. But morning will find him cooler +and more reflective. He will see his error, and repent of any mad +act he may have contemplated. Still, to guard against the worst of +consequences, should this salutary change not take place, I think it +would be best for you to go early to the boat, and by meeting him +prevent a step that may cost you each a life of wretchedness." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do it! He shall not go away! Oh! if I could once more meet +him! all would be reconciled on the instant." +</P> + +<P> +Confident in her own mind that Edward had determined to go away from +the city in the morning, and fully resolved upon what she would do, +Esther threw herself upon the bed, and in snatches of uneasy slumber +passed the remainder of that dreadful night. At day-dawn she was up, +and making preparations for going to the boat to intercept her +husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Be self-possessed, my dear niece," urged Mrs. Carlisle, in a voice +that trembled so she could scarcely speak. +</P> + +<P> +Esther tried to reply, but, though her lips and tongue moved, there +was no utterance. Turning away, just as the sun threw his first rays +into her chamber window, she went down stairs, and her aunt, no +longer able to restrain herself, covered her face with her hands and +wept. +</P> + +<P> +On the day before, Esther had laid her gloves on one of the parlour +mantels, and she went in to get them. It was so dark that she could +not see, and she, therefore, opened a window and pushed back one of +the shutters. As she did so, a sound between a sigh and a groan fell +upon her ear, and caused her to turn with a start. There lay her +husband, asleep upon one of the sofas! A wild cry that she could not +restrain burst from her lips, and, springing toward him, she threw +her arms about his neck as he arose, startled, from his recumbent +position. +</P> + +<P> +An hour's reflection, alone in the room he had taken at the hotel, +satisfied Huntley that he was wrong in not going home. By the aid of +his night key he entered, silently, at the very time his wife +resolved to seek him in the morning, and, throwing himself upon a +sofa in the parlour to think what he should next do, thought himself +to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +All was, of course, reconciled. With tears of joy and contrition +Esther acknowledged the error she had committed. Huntley had his own +share of blame in his impatient temper, and this he was also ready +to confess He did not, however, own that he had thought of deserting +his wife on such slight provocation, nor did she confess the fearful +suspicion that had crossed her mind. +</P> + +<P> +It was their first and last quarrel. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="guess"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GUESS WHO IT IS! +</H3> + +<P> +"IT will be great deal better for us, Lizzy. America is a country +where all things are in full and plenty; but here we are ground down +to the earth and half-starved by the rich and great in order that +they may become richer and greater. I isn't so there, Lizzy. Don't +you remember what John McClure wrote home, six months after he +crossed the ocean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I remember all that, Thomas; but John McClure was never a very +truthful body at home and I've always thought that if we knew every +thing, we would find that he wrote with his magnifying glasses on. +John, you know, was very apt to see things through magnifying +glasses." +</P> + +<P> +"But the testimony doesn't come alone from John. We hear it every +day and from every quarter, that America is a perfect paradise for +the poor, compared to England." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how that can be, Thomas. They say that it is full of +wild beast poisonous serpents, and savage Indians, and that the +people are in constant fear of their lives. I'm sure England is a +better place than that, even if we do have to work hard and get but +little for it." +</P> + +<P> +"All that used to be, Lizzy," replied Thomas. "But they've killed +the wild beasts and serpents, and tamed the savage Indians. And +there are great cities there, the same as in England." +</P> + +<P> +But Lizzy could not be convinced. From her earliest childhood she +had never had but one idea of America, and that was as a great +wilderness filled with Indians and wild beasts. Of the former, she +had heard tales that made her blood curdle in her veins. It was in +vain, therefore, for Thomas Ward to argue with his wife about going +to America. She was not to be convinced that a waste, howling +wilderness was at all comparable with happy old England, even if the +poor were "ground down." +</P> + +<P> +As a dozen previous discussions on the subject had ended, so ended +this. Thomas Ward was of the same mind as before, and so was his +wife. The one wished to go, and the other to stay. +</P> + +<P> +Ward had only been married a short time, but the period, short as it +was, proved long enough to bring a sad disappointment of his worldly +hopes. He had been employed as a gentleman's gardener for many +years, and had been able, by strict economy, to lay up a little +money. But soon after his, marriage, through some slight +misunderstanding he lost his place, and had not since been able to +obtain any thing more than transient employment, the return from +which had, so far, proved inadequate to the maintenance of himself +and wife, requiring him to draw steadily upon the not very large +fund that was deposited in the Savings' Bank. +</P> + +<P> +About once a fortnight Thomas would become completely discouraged, +and then he invariably introduced his favourite project of going to +America; but Lizzy always met him when in this mood with a decided +negative, as far as she was concerned and sometimes went so far as +to say, when he grew rather warm on the subject—"It's no use to +talk about it, Thomas; I shall never go to America, that's decided." +</P> + +<P> +This, instead of being a settler, as Lizzy supposed it would be, +only proved a silencer. Thomas would instantly waive all present +reference to the subject. But the less he talked, the more he +thought about the land of plenty beyond the ocean; and the oftener +Lizzy said she would never go to America, the more earnest became +his desire to go, and the more fully formed his resolution to +emigrate while possessed the ability to do so. He did not like +Lizzy's mode of silencing him when he talked about his favourite +theme. He had certain primitive notions about a wife's submission of +herself to her husband, and it not only fretted him, but made him a +little resolute on the subject of going to America when Lizzy +declared herself determined not to go. +</P> + +<P> +One day Ward came home with brows knit more closely than usual, and +a firmer and more decided expression upon his tightly-closed lips. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter now, Thomas?" asked his wife. +</P> + +<P> +The "now" indicated that Thomas had something to trouble him, more +or less, nearly all the time. +</P> + +<P> +"The matter is, that I'm going to America!" returned Ward, in an +angry tone of voice. "If you won't wish to go, you will only have to +stay where you are. But I've made up my mind to sail in the next +ship." +</P> + +<P> +Ward had never spoken to his young wife in such harsh, angry, +rebuking tone of voice since they were married. But the import of +what he said was worse than his manner of saying it. Going to +America—and going whether she chose to go with him or remain +behind! What was this less than desertion? But Lizzy had pride and +firmness as tell as acute sensibilities. The latter she controlled +by means of the former, and, with unexpected coolness, +replied—"Well, Thomas, if you wish to leave me, I have nothing to +say. As to that savage country, I say now only what I have said +before—I cannot go." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; I am not going to stay here and starve." +</P> + +<P> +"We haven't starved yet, Thomas," spoke up Lizzy. +</P> + +<P> +"No, thanks to my prudence in saving every dollar I could spare +while a bachelor! But we're in a fair way for it now. Every week we +are going behindhand, and if we stay here much longer we shall +neither have the means of living nor getting away. I've finished my +job, and cannot get another stroke to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Something will turn up, Thomas; don't be impatient." +</P> + +<P> +"Impatient!" ejaculated Ward. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, impatient, Thomas," coolly said his wife. "You are in a very +strange way. Only wait a little while, and all will come right." +</P> + +<P> +"Lizzy," said Thomas Ward, suddenly growing calm, and speaking +slowly and with marked emphasis—"I've decided upon going to +America. If you will go with me, as a loving and obedient wife +should, I shall be glad of your company; but if you prefer to remain +here, I shall lay no commands upon you. Will you or will you not go? +Say at a word." +</P> + +<P> +Lizzy had a spice of independence about her, as well as a good share +of pride. The word "obedience," as applied to a wife, had never +accorded much with her taste, and the use of it made on the present +occasion by her husband was particularly offensive to her. So she +replied, without pausing to reflect—"I have already told you that I +am not going to America." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Lizzy," replied Thomas, in a voice that was considerably +softened, "I leave you to your own choice, notwithstanding the vow +you made on that happy morning. My promise was to love you and to +keep you in sickness and in health, but though I may love you as +well in old England as in a far-off country, I cannot perform that +other promise so well. So I must e'en leave you with my heart's best +blessing, and a pledge that you shall want for no earthly comfort +while I have a hand to work." +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, Thomas Ward left the presence of his wife, and +started forth to walk and to think. On his return, he found Lizzy +sitting by the window with her hands covering her face, and the +tears making their way through her fingers. He said nothing, but he +had a hope that she would change her mind and go with him when the +time came. In a little while Lizzy was able to control herself, and +move silently about her domestic duties; but her husband looked into +her face for some sign of a relenting purpose, and looked in vain. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, Ward said to his wife—"I've engaged my passage in +the Shamrock, that sails from Liverpool for New York in a week." +</P> + +<P> +Lizzy started, and a slight shiver ran through; her body; but a cold +"Very well" was the only reply she made. +</P> + +<P> +"I will leave twenty pounds in the Savings' Bank for you to draw out +as you need. Before that is gone, I hope to be able to send you more +money." +</P> + +<P> +Lizzy made no answer to this, nor did she display any feeling, +although, as she afterwards owned, she felt as if she would have +sunk through the floor, and sorely repented having said that she +would not go with her husband to America. +</P> + +<P> +The week that intervened between that time and the sailing of the +Shamrock passed swiftly away. Lizzy wished a hundred times that her +husband would refer to his intended voyage across the sea, and ask +her again if she would not go with him. But Thomas Ward had no more +to say upon the subject. At least as often as three times had his +wife refused to accompany him to a land where there was plenty of +work and good wages, and he was firm in his resolution not to ask +her again. +</P> + +<P> +As the time approached nearer and nearer, Lizzy's heart sank lower +and lower in her bosom; still she cherished all possible justifying +reasons for her conduct, and sometimes had bitter thoughts against +her husband. She called him, in her mind, arbitrary and tyrannical, +and charged him with wishing to make her the mere slave of his will. +As for Ward he also indulged in mental criminations, and tried his +best to believe that Lizzy had no true affection for him, that she +was selfish, self-willed, and the dear knows what all. +</P> + +<P> +Thus stood affairs when the day came upon which the Shamrock was to +sail, and Ward must leave in the early train of cars for Liverpool, +to be on board at the hour of starting. Lizzy had done little but +cry all night, and Thomas had lain awake thinking of the unnatural +separation, and listening to his wife's but half-stifled sobs that +ever and anon broke the deep silence of their chamber. At last +daylight came, and Ward left his sleepless pillow to make hurried +preparations for his departure. His wife arose also, and got ready +his breakfast. The hour of separation at length came. +</P> + +<P> +"Lizzy," said the unhappy but firm-hearted man, "we must now part. +Whether we shall ever meet again, Heaven only knows. I do not wish +to blame you in this trying moment, in this hour of grief to both, +but I must say that—No, no!" suddenly checking himself, "I will say +nothing that may seem unkind. Farewell! If ever your love for your +husband should become strong enough to make you willing to share his +lot in a far-off and stranger land, his arms and heart will be open +to receive you." +</P> + +<P> +Ward was holding the hand of his wife and looking into her face, +over which tears, in spite of all her efforts to control herself, +were falling. The impulse in Lizzy's heart was to throw herself into +her husband's arms; but, as that would have been equivalent to +giving up, and saying—"I must go with you, go where you will," she +braved it out up to the last moment, and stood the final separation +without trusting her voice in the utterance of a single word. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Lizzy!" were the parting words of the unhappy +emigrant, as he wrung the passive hand of his wife, and then forced +himself away. +</P> + +<P> +The voyage to New York was performed in five weeks. On his arrival +in that city, Ward sought among his countrymen for such information +as would be useful to him in obtaining employment. By some of these, +the propriety of advertising was suggested. Ward followed the +suggestion, and by so doing happily obtained, within a week after +his arrival, the offer of a good situation as overseer and gardener +upon a large farm fifty miles from the city. The wages were far +better than any he had received in England. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a single man?" asked the sturdy old farmer, after Ward had +been a day or two at his new home. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; I have a wife in the old country," he replied, with a +slight appearance of confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you? Well, Thomas, why didn't you bring her along?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was not willing to come to this country," returned Thomas. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why did you come?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because it was better to do so than to starve where I was." +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't matter about your wife, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" Thomas spoke quickly, and knit his brows. +</P> + +<P> +"If <I>you</I> couldn't live in England, what is your <I>wife</I> to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall send her half of my wages." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that's the calculation, is it? But it seems to me that it would +have been a saving in money as well as comfort, if she had come with +you. Does she know any thing about dairy work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; she was raised on a dairy farm." +</P> + +<P> +"Then she's a regular-bred English dairy maid?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is, and none better in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Just the person I want. You must write home for her, Thomas, and +tell her she must come over immediately." +</P> + +<P> +But Thomas shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't she come?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot tell. But she refused to come with me, although I +repeatedly urged her. She must now take her own course. I felt, it +to be my duty to her as well as to myself, to leave England for a +better land; and if she thinks it her duty to stay behind, I must +bear the separation the best way I can." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you had no quarrel, Thomas?" said the farmer, in his blunt +way. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," said Thomas, a little indignantly. "We never had the +slightest difference, except in this matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Then write home by the next steamer and ask her to join you, and +she will be here by the earliest packet, and glad to come." +</P> + +<P> +But Thomas shook his head. The man had his share of stubborn pride. +</P> + +<P> +"As you will," said the farmer. "But I can tell you what, if she'd +been my wife, I'd have taken her under my arm and brought her along +in spite of all objections. It's too silly, this giving up to and +being fretted about a woman's whims and prejudices. I'll be bound, +if you'd told her she must come, and packed her trunk for her to +show that you were in earnest, she'd never have dreamed of staying +behind." +</P> + +<P> +That evening Thomas wrote home to his wife all about the excellent +place he had obtained, and was particular to say that he had agreed +to remain for a year, and would send her half of his wages every +month. Not one word, however, did he mention of the conversation +that had passed between him and the farmer; nor did he hint, even +remotely, to her joining him in the United States. +</P> + +<P> +All the next day Thomas thought about what the farmer had said, and +thought how happy both he and Lizzy might be if she would only come +over and take charge of the dairy. The longer this idea remained +present in his mind, the more deeply did it fix itself there. On the +second night he dreamed that Lizzy was with him, that she had come +over in the very next packet, and that they were as happy as they +could be. He felt very bad when he awoke and found that it was only +a dream. +</P> + +<P> +At last, after a week had passed, Thomas Ward fully forgave his wife +every thing, and sat himself down to write her a long letter, filled +with all kinds of arguments, reasons, and entreaties favourable to a +voyage across the Atlantic. Thus he wrote, in part:— +</P> + +<P> +......."As to wild Indians, Lizzy, of which you have such fear, +there are none within a thousand miles, and they are tame enough. +The fierce animals are all killed, and I have not seen a single +serpent, except a garter snake, that is as harmless as a tow string. +Come then, Lizzy, come! I have not known a happy moment since I left +you, and I am sure you cannot be happy. This is a land of peace and +plenty—a land where—" +</P> + +<P> +Thomas Ward did not know that a stranger had entered the room, and +was now looking over his shoulder, and reading what he had written. +Just as his pen was on the sentence left unfinished above, a pair of +soft hands were suddenly drawn across his eyes, and a strangely +familiar voice said, tremblingly—"Guess who it is!" +</P> + +<P> +Before he had time to think or to guess, the hands passed from his +eyes to his neck, and a warm wet cheek was laid tightly against his +own. He could not see the face that lay so close to his, but he knew +that Lizzy's arms were around him, that her tears were upon his +face, and that her heart was beating against him. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless us!" ejaculated the old farmer, who had followed after the +young woman who had asked at the door with such an eager interest +for Thomas Ward—"what does all this mean?" +</P> + +<P> +By this time Thomas had gained a full view of his wife's tearful but +happy face. Then he hugged her to his bosom over and over again, +much to the surprise and delight of the farmer's urchins, who +happened to be in the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Here she is, sir; here she is!" he cried to the farmer, as soon as +he could see any thing else but Lizzy's face, and then first became +aware of the old gentleman's presence; "here is your English dairy +maid." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's your wife, Thomas, sure enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, sir; I thought she would be along after a while, but +didn't expect this happiness so soon." +</P> + +<P> +"How is this, my young lady?" asked the farmer, +good-humouredly—"how is this? I thought you wasn't going to come to +this country. But I suppose the very next packet after your husband +left saw you on board. All I blame him for is not taking you under +his arm, as I would have done, and bringing you along as so much +baggage. But no doubt you found it much pleasanter coming over alone +than it would have been in company with your husband—no doubt at +all of it." +</P> + +<P> +The kind-hearted farmer then took his children out of the room, and, +closing the door, left the reunited husband and wife alone. Lizzy +was too happy to say any thing about how wrong she had been in not +consenting to go with her husband; but she owned that he had not +been gone five minutes before she would have given the world, if she +had possessed it, to have been with him. Ten days afterwards another +packet sailed for the United States, and she took passage in it. On +arriving in New York she was fortunate enough to fall in with a +passenger who had come over in the Shamrock, and from him learned +where she could find her husband, who acknowledged that she had +given him the most agreeable surprise he had ever known in his life. +</P> + +<P> +Lizzy has never yet had cause to repent of her voyage to America. +The money she received for managing the dairy of the old farmer, +added to what her husband could save from his salary, after +accumulating for some years, was at length applied to the purchase +of a farm, the produce of which, sold yearly in New York, leaves +them a handsome annual surplus over and above their expenses. Thomas +Ward is in a fair way of becoming a substantial and wealthy farmer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="tailor"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MARRYING A TAILOR. +</H3> + +<P> +"KATE, Kate!" said Aunt Prudence, shaking her head and finger at the +giddy girl. +</P> + +<P> +"It's true, aunt. What! marry a tailor? The ninth part of a man, +that doubles itself down upon a board, with thimble, scissors, and +goose! Gracious!" +</P> + +<P> +"I've heard girls talk before now, Kate; and I've seen them act, +too; and, if I am to judge from what I've seen, I should say that +you were as likely to marry a tailor as anybody else." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd hang myself first!" +</P> + +<P> +"Would you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, or jump into the river. Do any thing, in fact, before I'd +marry a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you would not object to a merchant tailor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I would, though! A tailor's a tailor, and that is all you +can make of him. 'Merchant tailor!' Why not say merchant shoemaker, +or merchant boot-black? Isn't it ridiculous?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah well, Kate," said Aunt Prudence, "you may be thankful if you get +an honest, industrious, kind-hearted man for a husband, be he a +tailor or a shoemaker. I've seen many a heart-broken wife in my day +whose husband was not a tailor. It isn't in the calling, child, that +you must look for honour or excellence, but in the man. As Burns +says—'The man's the goud for a' that.'" +</P> + +<P> +"But a <I>man</I> wouldn't stoop to be a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"You talk like a thoughtless, silly girl, as you are, Kate. But time +will take all this nonsense out of you, or I am very much mistaken. +I could tell you a story about marrying a tailor, that would +surprise you a little." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like, above all things in the world, to hear a story of +any interest, in which a tailor was introduced." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I could tell you one." +</P> + +<P> +"Please do, aunt. It would be such a novelty. A very <I>rara avis</I>., as +brother Tom says. I shall laugh until my sides ache." +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't cry, Kate, I shall wonder," said Aunt Prudence, +looking grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Cry? oh, dear! And all about a tailor! But tell the story, aunt." +</P> + +<P> +"Some other time, dear." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no. I'm just in the humour to hear it now. I'm as full of fun +as I can stick, and shall need all this overflow of spirits to keep +me up while listening to the pathetic story of a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you are right, Kate. It may require all the spirits you can +muster," returned Aunt Prudence, in a voice that was quite serious. +"So I will tell you the story now." +</P> + +<P> +And Aunt Prudence thus began: +</P> + +<P> +A good many years ago,—I was quite a young girl then,—two children +were left orphans, at the age of eleven years. They were +twins—brother and sister. Their names I will call Joseph and Agnes +Fletcher. The death of their parents left them without friends or +relatives; but a kind-hearted tailor and his wife, who lived +neighbours, took pity on the children and gave them a home. Joseph +was a smart, intelligent lad, and the tailor thought he could do no +better by him than to teach him his trade. So he set him to work +with the needle, occasionally sent him about on errands, and let him +go to school during the slack season. Joseph was a willing boy, as +well as attentive, industrious, and apt to learn. He applied himself +to his books and also to his work, and thereby gave great +satisfaction to the good tailor. Agnes was employed about the house +by the tailor's wife, who treated her kindly. +</P> + +<P> +As Joseph grew older, he became more useful to his master, for he +rapidly acquired a knowledge of his trade, and did his work +remarkably well. At the same time, a desire to improve his mind made +him studious and thoughtful. While other boys were amusing +themselves, Joseph was alone with his book. At the age of eighteen +he had grown quite tall, and was manly in his appearance. He had +already acquired a large amount of information on various subjects, +and was accounted by those who knew him a very intelligent young +man. About this time, a circumstance occurred that influenced his +whole after-life. He had been introduced by a friend to several +pleasant families, which he visited regularly. In one of these +visits, he met a young lady, the daughter of a dry-goods dealer, +toward whom he felt, from the beginning, a strong attachment. Her +name was Mary Dielman. Led on by his feelings, he could not help +showing her some attention, which she evidently received with +satisfaction. One evening, he was sitting near where she was +chatting away at a lively rate, in the midst of a gay circle of +young girls, and, to his surprise, chagrin, and mortification, heard +her ridiculing, as you too often do, the business at which he was +serving an apprenticeship. +</P> + +<P> +"Marry a tailor!" he heard her say, in a tone of contempt. "I would +drown myself first." +</P> + +<P> +This was enough. Joseph's feelings were like the leaves of a +sensitive plant. He did not venture near the thoughtless girl during +the evening, and whenever they again met, he was distant and formal. +Still, the thought of her made the blood flow quicker through his +veins, and the sight of her made his heart throb with a sudden +bound. +</P> + +<P> +From that time, Joseph, who had looked forward with pleasure to the +period when, as a man, he could commence his business, and prosecute +it with energy and success, became dissatisfied with the trade he +was learning. The contemptuous words of Mary Dielman made him feel +that there was something low in the calling of a tailor—something +beneath the dignity of a man. He did not reason on the subject; he +only felt. Gradually he withdrew himself from society, and shut +himself up at home, devoting all his leisure to reading and study. +This was continued until he attained the age of manhood, soon after +which he procured the situation of clerk in a dry-goods store. At +his trade he could easily earn twelve dollars a week; but he left +it, because he was silly enough to be ashamed of it, and went into a +dry-goods store at a salary of four hundred dollars a year. As a +clerk he felt more like a man. Why he should, is more than I can +comprehend. But so it was. +</P> + +<P> +As for Mary Dielman, she was not aware, at the time when she felt so +pleased with the attentions of Joseph Fletcher, that he was a +tailor—a calling for which she always expressed the most supreme +contempt. Her thoughtless words were not, therefore, meant for his +ears. The fact that she had uttered them was not remembered ten +minutes after they were spoken. Why she no longer met the +fine-looking, attentive and intelligent young man, she did not know. +Often she thought of him, and often searched the room for him, with +her eyes, when in company. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly four years passed before they again met. Then Joseph was +greatly improved, and so was the beautiful maiden. The +half-extinguished fire of love, that had been smouldering in their +bosoms, rekindled, and now burned with a steady flame. They saw each +other frequently, and it was not long before the young man told her +all that was in his heart, and she heard the story with tremulous +delight. +</P> + +<P> +The father of Mary, although a merchant, was not nearly so well off +in the world as many tailors. His family was expensive and drew too +heavily upon his income. The capital employed in trade was therefore +kept low, and his operations were often crippled for want of +adequate means. He had nothing, therefore, to settle upon his +daughter. When young Fletcher applied for her hand, his salary was +five hundred dollars. Mr. Dielman thought his prospects not over +flattering, but still gave his consent; at the same time advising +him not to think of marriage for a year or two, when he would no +doubt be in a better condition to take a wife. +</P> + +<P> +The young couple, like most young couples, were impatient to be +married; and Joseph Fletcher, in order to be in a condition that +would justify him in talking a wife, was impatient to go into +business. Somehow or other, it had entered his mind that any young +man of business capacity and enterprise could do well in the West; +and he finally made up his mind to take a stock of goods, which he +found no difficulty in obtaining, and go to Madison, in Indiana. +Before starting, however, he engaged to return in six months, or so +soon as he was fairly under way, and make Mary his wife. At the time +named, he was back, when the marriage took place, and he returned +with his bride to Madison. +</P> + +<P> +At the trade of a tailor, the young man had served an apprenticeship +of seven years. He was a good workman, and had, during the last two +years of his apprenticeship, assisted his master in cutting; so that +in the art to which he was educated he was thoroughly at home; and, +in setting it up, would have been sure of success. But success was +by no means so certain a thing in the new pursuit unwisely adopted. +He had been familiar with it for only about two years; in that time +he had performed his part as a clerk to the entire satisfaction of +his employers; but he had not gained sufficient knowledge of the +principles of trade, nor was his experience enlarged enough to +justify his entering into business, especially as he did not possess +a dollar of real capital. The result was as might have been +expected. A year and a half of great difficulty and anxiety was all +the time required to bring his experiment to a close. +</P> + +<P> +Finding that he was in difficulty, two or three of his principal +eastern creditors, whose claims were due, sent out their accounts to +a lawyer, With directions to put them in suit immediately. This +brought his affairs to a crisis. An arrangement was made for the +benefit of all the creditors, and the young man thrown out of +business, with less than a hundred dollars in his pocket. Nearly +about the same time, Mr. Dielman, the father of his wife, failed +likewise. +</P> + +<P> +As a serious loss has been sustained by his eastern creditors on +account of the unfortunate termination of his business, Fletcher +could not think of going back. He therefore sought to obtain +employment as a clerk in Madison. Failing in this, he visited +Louisville and Cincinnati, but with no better success. He was +unknown in the two last-named cities, and therefore his failure to +obtain employment there was no matter of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Things now wore a very serious aspect. A few weeks found the unhappy +young man reduced to the extremity of breaking up and selling his +furniture by auction in order to get money to live upon. There was +scarcely a store in Madison at which he had not sought for +employment. But all his efforts proved vain. He had a good trade; +why, you will ask, did he not endeavour to get work at that? You +forget. It was the trade of a tailor!—the calling so despised by +his wife. How could he own to her that he was but a tailor! How +could he break to her the disgraceful truth that she had married a +tailor! +</P> + +<P> +The money obtained by selling their furniture did not last a very +long time. +</P> + +<P> +"I will make another effort to obtain employment in Cincinnati," +said the young man, after they were reduced almost to their last +dollar. "It is useless to try any longer in this place. I have +waited and hoped for some favourable turn of fortune, until my heart +is sick." +</P> + +<P> +His wife made no objection, for she had none to make. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, Fletcher left for Cincinnati. He arrived there in +the night. On the following morning, he left the hotel at which he +had stopped, and, going into Main street, entered the first +merchant-tailor's shop that came in his way. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any work?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"We have room for a journeyman, and are in want of one. Can you do +the best work?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you serve your time in the city?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I am from the East." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Here is a job all ready. You can go to work at once." +</P> + +<P> +The young man did not hesitate. He took the bundle of work that was +given him, and was shown into the back shop. He wrote home +immediately that he had obtained employment, which he hoped would be +permanent, and that he would be in Madison, Saturday about midnight, +and leave again on Sunday evening. He did not say, however, what +kind of employment he had procured. That was a secret he meant, if +possible, to conceal. When he met his wife, he evaded her direct +questions as to the kind of employment he was engaged in, somewhat +to her surprise. +</P> + +<P> +For a month, Fletcher went and returned from Cincinnati, weekly, +bringing home about eight dollars each week, after paying all his +expenses. By that time, his wife insisted so strongly upon going to +Cincinnati with him, and taking boarding, that he could make no +reasonable objection to the step. And so they removed, Fletcher +feeling many serious misgivings at heart, lest his wife should make +a discovery of the truth that she had married only a tailor! +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you say the store was at which you are employed?" she +asked, a day or two after they were comfortably settled at a very +pleasant boarding-house in Cincinnati. +</P> + +<P> +"On Main street," replied Fletcher, a little coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the name of the firm? I forget." +</P> + +<P> +"Carter & Cassard." +</P> + +<P> +Fletcher could not lie outright to his wife, so he told her the +truth, but with great reluctance. +</P> + +<P> +No more was said then on the subject. About a week afterward, Mrs. +Fletcher said to her husband, "I was along Main street to-day, and +looked at the signs over every dry-goods store that I passed, but I +did not see that of Carter & Cassard." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of all he could do, the blood rushed to the face of the +young man, and his eyes fell under the steady look directed toward +him by his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"The store is there, nevertheless," said he. His manner and the tone +in which he spoke excited in the mind of his wife a feeling of +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +For the next four days, there was a strong conflict in Fletcher's +mind between false pride and duty. It grieves me to say that, in the +end, the former conquered. On Saturday night, he came home with a +troubled look, and told his wife that he had lost his situation, +which he said had only been a temporary one. In this he certainly +went beyond the truth, for he had given it up voluntarily. +</P> + +<P> +The poor young creature's heart sank in her. They had only been in +Cincinnati about two weeks; were among entire strangers, and all +means of subsistence were again taken from them. It is no wonder +that she wept bitterly upon receiving this sudden and distressing +intelligence. To see his wife in tears filled the heart of Fletcher +with the severest pangs. He more than half repented of what he had +done. But the thought of confessing that he was only a tailor made +him firm in his resolution to meet any consequence rather than that. +</P> + +<P> +"He was a fool!" exclaimed Kate, no longer able to restrain her +indignation against the young man, and thus breaking in upon her +aunt's narrative. +</P> + +<P> +"But remember, Kate, how contemptuously he had heard her speak of +his trade, and even vow that she would rather drown herself than +marry a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose she did say this, when a thoughtless girl"— +</P> + +<P> +"As you are, Kate." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't bring me into the matter, aunt. But suppose she did say so, +is that any reason for his starving her? He was bound to use his +best efforts for the support of his family, and ought to have been +thankful, under the circumstances, that he was a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"So I think. And his wife ought to have been thankful too." +</P> + +<P> +"And I suppose she would have been if he had possessed the manliness +to tell her the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt in the world of that," returned Aunt Prudence, and then +resumed her narrative: +</P> + +<P> +A week was spent by the young man in another vain effort to find +employment as a clerk. Then he avowed his intention to go to +Louisville, and see if nothing could be done there. +</P> + +<P> +"Try longer here, Joseph. Don't go away yet," earnestly and tearfully +pleaded his wife. "You don't know how hard it is for me to be +separated from you. I am lonely through the day, and the nights +pass, oh! so heavily. Something may turn up for you here. Try for a +while longer." +</P> + +<P> +"But our money is nearly all gone. If I don't go now, I shall have +no means of getting away from this place. I feel sure that I can +find something to do there." +</P> + +<P> +His wife pleaded with him, but in vain. To Louisville he went, and +there got work at the first shop to which he made application. At +the end of a week he sent his wife money, and told her that he had +procured temporary employment. She wrote back asking if she might +not join him immediately. But to this he objected, on the score +that, as his situation was not a permanent one, he might, in a few +weeks, be obliged to leave Louisville and go somewhere else. This, +to his wife, was by no means satisfactory. But she could do no less +than submit. +</P> + +<P> +Thus separated, they lived for the next three months, Fletcher +visiting his wife and child once every two weeks, and spending +Sunday with them. During the time, he made good wages. But both +himself and wife were very unhappy. Earnestly did the latter plead +with her husband to be allowed to remove to Louisville. To this +however, he steadily objected. Daily he lived in the hope of +securing a clerkship in some store, and thus, being able to rise +above the low condition in which he was placed. The moment he +reached that consummation, so much desired, he would instantly +remove his family. +</P> + +<P> +At length, it happened that Fletcher did not write once, instead of +several times, during one of the periods of two weeks that he was +regularly absent. The Sunday morning when he was expected home +arrived, but it did not bring, as usual, his anxiously looked-for +presence. His wife was almost beside herself with alarm. No letter +coming on Monday, she took her child and started for Louisville in +the first boat. She arrived at daylight, on Tuesday morning, in a +strange city, herself a total stranger to all therein, except her +husband, and perfectly ignorant as to where he was to be found. The +captain of the steamboat kindly attended her to a boarding-house, +and there she was left, without a single clue in her mind as to the +means of finding her husband. Inquiries were made of all in the +boarding-house, but no one had heard even the name of Joseph +Fletcher. As soon as she could make arrangements to get out, Mrs. +Fletcher visited all the dry-goods stores in the city, for in some +one of these she supposed her husband to be employed, although he +had never stated particularly the kind of business in which he was +engaged. This search, after being continued for a greater part of +the day, turned out fruitless. Night found the unhappy wife in an +agony of suspense and alarm. Some one at the boarding-house advised +her to have an advertisement for her husband inserted in a morning +paper. She did not hesitate long about this course. In the morning, +a brief advertisement appeared; and about nine o'clock a man called +and asked to see her. +</P> + +<P> +She descended from her room to the parlour with a wildly throbbing +heart, but staggered forward and sank into a chair, weak almost as +an infant, when she saw that the man was a stranger, instead of her +husband, whom she had expected to meet. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you Mrs. Fletcher?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I am," she faintly replied. +</P> + +<P> +"You advertised for information in regard to your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did. Where is he? Oh, sir, has any thing happened to him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, ma'am, nothing serious. He has only been sick for a week or ten +days; that is, the man I refer to has. Your husband is a tailor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is the man you speak of a tailor?" eagerly asked Mrs. Fletcher. +</P> + +<P> +"He is, ma'am; and has been working for me at No.—Fourth street." +</P> + +<P> +"Then he is not my husband," replied the poor wife, bursting into +tears. "My husband is a clerk." In the bitterness of a keen +disappointment, rendered sharper by doubt and fear, Mrs. Fletcher +wept for some minutes. When she could command her feelings to some +extent, she thanked the tailor for calling, and repeated what she +had said, that the man at his house could not be her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"He is from Cincinnati, ma'am; and goes there once in every two +weeks. I know that he has wife and child there," said the man. +</P> + +<P> +"Still he cannot be my husband," replied Mrs. Fletcher; "for my +husband is not a tailor." +</P> + +<P> +"No, not in that case, certainly." And the man owed and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +All day long the wife waited for some more satisfactory reply to her +advertisement, but no farther response to it was made. The call of +the tailor seemed like a mockery of her unhappy condition. +</P> + +<P> +Night came, and all remained in doubt and darkness; and then the +mind of Mrs. Fletcher turned to the visit of the tailor, half +despairingly, in order to find some feeble gleam of hope. Perhaps, +she said to herself, as she thought about it, there is some mistake. +Perhaps it is my husband after all, and the man is in some error +about his being a tailor. As she thought, it suddenly flashed +through her mind that there had been a good deal of mystery made by +her husband about his situation in Cincinnati as well as in +Louisville, which always struck her as a little strange. Could it be +possible that his real business was that of a tailor? All at once +she remembered that her husband had been particularly silent in +regard to his early history. Trembling with excitement, she left the +house about eight o'clock in the evening, and started for the place +where she remembered that the tailor said he lived. He was in his +shop, and recollected her the moment she entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I see the man you told me was named Fletcher?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am; and I sincerely hope there has been some mistake, and +that you will find him to be your husband; for he is very ill, and +needs to be nursed by a careful hand." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fletcher followed the tailor up stairs, her heart scarcely +beating under the pressure of suspense. In a small chamber in the +third story, the atmosphere of which was close, oppressive, and +filled with an offensive odour, she was shown a man lying upon a +bed. She needed not a second glance, as the dim light fell upon his +pale, emaciated face, to decide her doubts. Her husband lay before +her. Eagerly she called his name, but his eyes did not open. She +spoke to him again and again, but he did not recognise, even if he +heard her voice. +</P> + +<P> +On inquiring, she found that he was ill with a violent fever, which +the doctor said was about at its crisis. This had been brought on by +too long continued labour—he having worked, often, sixteen and +seventeen hours out of the twenty-four—by that means earning a +third more wages than any journeyman in the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Alarmed and troubled as she was, Mrs. Fletcher was utterly +confounded by all this. She could not comprehend it. All night she +hovered over the pillow of her husband, giving him medicine at the +proper times, placing the cooling draught to his lips or bathing his +hot forehead. Frequently she called his name, earnestly and +tenderly, but the sound awoke no motions in his sluggish mind. +Toward morning, she was sitting with her face resting against a +pillow, when his voice, speaking distinctly, aroused her from a half +slumber into which she had, momentarily, lost herself. In an instant +she was leaning over him, with his name upon her lips. His eyes were +opens and he looked steadily into her face. But it was evident that +he did not know her. +</P> + +<P> +"Joseph! Joseph! don't you know me?" said she. "I am your wife. I am +here with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Mary!" he murmured, sadly, not understanding what was said. +"If she knew all, it would break her heart." +</P> + +<P> +"What would break her heart?" quickly asked his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Mary! She said she would never marry"—here the sick man's +voice became inarticulate. +</P> + +<P> +But all was clear to the mind of Mrs. Fletcher. She remembered how +often she had made the thoughtless remark to which her husband +evidently referred. The tears again fell over her cheeks, until they +dropped even upon the face of her husband, who, after he had said +this, muttered for a while, inarticulately, and then, closing his +eyes, went off into sleep. +</P> + +<P> +Toward morning a slight moisture broke out all over him, and his +sleep that was heavy, became soft and tranquil. The crisis was past! +In order not to disturb the quiet slumberer, Mrs. Fletcher sat down +by the bedside perfectly still. It was not very long before, +over-wearied as she was, sleep likewise stole over her senses. It +was daylight when she was awakened by hearing her name called. +Starting up, she met the face of her husband turned earnestly toward +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear husband!" she exclaimed, "do you know me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mary. But how came you here?" he said, in a feeble voice. +</P> + +<P> +"We will speak of that at some other time," she replied. "Enough +that I am here, where I ought to have been ten days ago. But that +was not my fault." +</P> + +<P> +Fletcher was about to make some farther remark, when his wife placed +her finger upon his lips, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"You must not talk, dear; your disease has just made a favourable +change, and your life depends upon your being perfectly quiet. +Enough for me to say that I know all, and love you just as well, +perhaps better. You are a weak, foolish man, Joseph," she added, +with a smile, "or else thought me a weak and foolish woman. But all +that we can settle hereafter. Thank God that I have found you; and +that you are, to all appearances, out of danger." +</P> + +<P> +Aunt Prudence looked into Kate's face, and saw that tears were on +her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you have loved him less, Kate," she asked, "if he had been +your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"He would have been the same to me whatever might have been his +calling. That could not have changed him." +</P> + +<P> +"No, certainly not. But I have a word or two more to add. As soon as +Fletcher was well enough to go to work, he took his place again upon +the shop-board, his wife feeling happier than she had felt for a +long time. In about six months he rose to be foreman of the shop, +and a year after that became a partner in the business At the end of +ten years he sold out his interest in the business, and returned to +the East with thirty thousand dollars in cash. This handsome capital +enabled him to get into an old and well-established mercantile house +as partner, where he remained until his death. About the time of his +return to the East, you, Kate, were born." +</P> + +<P> +"I!" ejaculated the astonished girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Their two older children died while they were in Louisville, +and you, their third child, were born about six months before they +left." +</P> + +<P> +"I!" repeat Kate, in the same surprised tone of voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear, you! I have given you a history of your own father and +mother. So, as you're the daughter of a tailor, you must not object +to a tailor for a husband, if he be the right kind of a man." +</P> + +<P> +It may very naturally be supposed that Kate had but little to say +against tailors after that, although we are by no means sure that +she had any intention of becoming the bride of one. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="maiden"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. +</H3> + +<P> +"TWO offers at once! You are truly a favoured maiden, Rose," said +Annette Lewis to her young friend Rose Lilton, in a gay tone. "It is +husband or no husband with most of us; but you have a choice between +two." +</P> + +<P> +"And happy shall I be if I have the wisdom to choose rightly," was +the reply of Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"If it were my case, I don't think that I should have much +difficulty in making a choice." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you? Suppose, then, you give me the benefit of your +preference." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, not for the world!" replied Annette, laughing. "I'm afraid +you might be jealous of me afterwards." +</P> + +<P> +"Never fear. I am not of a jealous disposition." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I won't commit myself in regard to your lovers. But, if they +were mine, I would soon let it be known where my preference lay." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you won't assist me in coming to a decision? Surely I am +entitled to this act of friendship." +</P> + +<P> +"If you put it upon that ground, Rose, I do not see how I can +refuse." +</P> + +<P> +"I do put it upon that ground, Annette. And now I ask you, as a +friend, to give me your opinion of the two young men, James +Hambleton and Marcus Gray, who have seen such wonderful attractions +in my humble self as to become suitors for my hand at the same +time." +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly, then, Rose, I should prefer Marcus Gray." +</P> + +<P> +"There is about him, certainly, Annette, much to attract a maiden's +eye and to captivate her heart but it has occurred to me that the +most glittering surface does not always indicate the purest gold +beneath. I remember once to have seen a massive chain, wrought from +pure ounces, placed beside another that was far inferior in quality, +but with a surface of ten times richer hue. Had I not been told the +difference, I would have chosen the latter as in every way more +valuable; but when it was explained that one bore the hue of genuine +gold, while the other had been coloured by a process known to +jewellers, I was struck with the lesson it taught." +</P> + +<P> +"What lesson, Rose?" +</P> + +<P> +"That the richest substance has not always the most glittering +exterior. That real worth, satisfied with the consciousness of +interior soundness of principle, assumes few imposing exterior +aspects and forms." +</P> + +<P> +"And that rule you apply to these two young men?" +</P> + +<P> +"By that rule I wish to be guided, in some degree, in my choice, +Annette. I wish to keep my mind so balanced, that it may not be +swayed from a sound discrimination by any thing of imposing +exterior." +</P> + +<P> +"But is not the exterior—that which meets the eye—all that we can +judge from? Is not the exterior a true expression of what is +within?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not by any means, Annette. I grant that it should be, but it is +not. Look at the fact I have just named respecting the gold chains." +</P> + +<P> +"But they were inanimate substances. They were not faces, where +thoughts, feelings, and principles find expression." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose, Annette, that bad gold would ever have been +coloured so as to look even more beautiful than that which is +genuine, if there had not been men who assumed exterior graces and +virtues that were not in their minds? No. The very fact you adduce +strengthens my position. The time was, in the earlier and purer +ages—the golden ages of the world's existence—when the countenance +was the true index to the mind. Then it was a well-tuned instrument, +and the mind within a skilful player; to whose touch every muscle, +and chord, and minute fibre gave answering melody. That time has +passed. Men now school their faces to deception; it is an art which +nearly all practise—I and you too often. We study to hide our real +feelings; to appear, in a certain sense, what we are not. Look at +some men whom we meet every day, with faces whose calmness, I should +rather say rigidity, gives no evidence that a single emotion ever +crosses the waveless ocean of their minds. But it is not so; the +mind within is active with thought and feelings; but the instrument +formed for it to play upon has lost its tune, or bears only relaxed +or broken chords." +</P> + +<P> +"You have a strange, visionary way of talking sometimes, Rose," +replied Annette, as her friend ceased speaking. "All that may do for +your transcendentalists, or whatever you call them; but it won't do +when you come down to the practical matter-of-fact business of +life." +</P> + +<P> +"To me, it seems eminently a practical principle, Annette. We must +act, in all important matters in life, with a just discrimination; +and how can we truly discriminate, if we are not versed in those +principles upon which, and only upon which, right discriminations +can be made?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must confess, Rose," replied her young friend, "that I do not see +much bearing that all this has upon the matter under discussion; or, +at least, I cannot see the truth of its application. Gold never +assumes a leaden exterior." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"We need not be very eminent philosophers to tell one from the +other." +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Here is Marcus Gray, with a genuine golden exterior, and +James Hambleton with a leaden one." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not grant the position, Annette. It is true that Mr. Hambleton +is not so brilliant and showy; but I have found in him one quality +that I have not yet discovered in the other." +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Depth of feeling, and high moral principle." +</P> + +<P> +"You certainly do not pretend to affirm that Mr. Gray has neither +feeling nor principle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do not. I only say that I have never yet perceived any +very strong indications of their existence." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Rose!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am in earnest, Annette. I doubt not that he possesses both, and, +I trust, in a high degree. But he seems to be so constantly acting a +brilliant and effective part, that nature, unadorned and simple, has +no chance to speak out. It is not so with Mr. Hambleton. Every word +he utters shows that he is speaking what he really feels; and often, +though not so highly polished in speech as Mr. Gray, have I heard +him utter sentiments of genuine truth and humanity, in a tone that +made my heart bound with pleasure at recognising the simple +eloquence of nature. His character, Annette, I find it no way +difficult to read; that of Marcus Gray puzzles my closest scrutiny." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly cannot sympathize with you in your singular notions, +Rose," her friend replied. "I have never discovered either of the +peculiarities in these young men that you seem to make of so much +importance. As for Mr. Gray, he is a man of whom any woman might +feel proud; for he combines intelligence with courteous manners and +a fine person: while this Hambleton is, to me, insufferably stupid. +And no one, I am sure, can call his address and manners any thing +like polished. Indeed, I should pronounce him downright boorish and +awkward. Who would want a man for a husband of whom she would be +ashamed? Not I, certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"I will readily grant you, Annette," said Rose, as her friend ceased +speaking, "that Mr. Hambleton's exterior attractions are not to be +compared with those of Mr. Gray; but, as I said before, in a matter +like this, where it is the quality of the mind, and not the external +appearance of the man alone, that is to give happiness, it behooves +a maiden to look beneath the surface, as I am trying to do now." +</P> + +<P> +"But I could not love a man like Mr. Hambleton, unless, indeed, +there were no possibility of getting any one else. In that case, I +would make a choice of evils between single blessedness and such a +husband. But to have two such offers as these, Rose, and hesitate to +make a choice, strikes me as singular indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not hesitate, Annette," was the quiet reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you, then, indeed decided, Rose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have—and this conversation has caused me to decide; for, as it +has progressed, my mind has been enabled to see truly the real +difference in the characters of my suitors." +</P> + +<P> +"You have, then, decided in favor of Mr. Gray?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I have not, Annette. Though I admire his fine talents and +his polished exterior, yet I have never been able to perceive in him +those qualities upon which my heart can rest in confidence. He may +possess these in even a higher degree than Mr. Hambleton, but I am +afraid to run so great a risk. In the latter, I know there are moral +qualities that I can love, and that I can repose upon." +</P> + +<P> +"But he is so dull, Rose." +</P> + +<P> +"I really do not think so, Annette. There is not so much flash about +him, if I may use the word, as about Mr. Gray. But as to his being +dull, I must beg to differ with you. To me, his conversation is +always interesting." +</P> + +<P> +"It never is so to me. And, besides all that, his tastes and mine +are as widely different as the poles. Why, Rose, if you become his +wife, you will sink into obscurity at once. He never can make any +impression on society. It is not in him." +</P> + +<P> +"Rather make no impression on society at all, than a false or +disgraceful one, say I," was the firm reply of Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot, certainly, mean to say," returned her friend, "that the +impression made upon society by Mr. Gray is either a false or +disgraceful one." +</P> + +<P> +"I should be sorry to make that assertion, for I do not believe such +to be the case," Rose replied. "What I mean is, that I can read Mr. +Hambleton's true character, and I know it to be based upon fixed and +high-toned principles. These can never make the woman who truly +loves him unhappy. They give place to no moral contingencies, by +which hopes are so often wrecked, and hearts broken. Now, in regard +to Mr. Gray, there is nothing in his character, so far as I can, +read it, upon which to predicate safe calculations of this kind. He +is intelligent, and highly interesting as a companion. His personal +appearance and his address are attractive. But all below the +exterior is hidden. The moral qualities of the man never show +themselves. I feel that to give my heart to such a one would be +risking too much. Of course, I must decline his offer." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, indeed, Rose, I think you are very foolish!" +</P> + +<P> +"Time will show, Annette." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, time will show," was the prophetic response. And time did show +that Rose made a right choice, when she accepted the offer of James +Hambleton, and gave him, with her hand, a warm, true heart. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="fortune"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. +</H3> + +<P> +"I KNOW a young lady who will suit you exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a fact. She is just the thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she rich?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +"How rich?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worth some fifty thousand dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. Her father died about a year ago, and she was his only +child. Her mother has been dead many years. The old man was well +off, and his daughter received all of his property, and, as she is +of age, she has it all under her own control." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she handsome?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just so-so. But that don't matter a great deal. Gold is beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. And intelligent?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've seen smarter girls. But that's all the better, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Well now, who is she? That's the next question." +</P> + +<P> +"Her name is Margaretta Riston, and she is now living with an old +aunt in Sycamore street." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you acquainted?" +</P> + +<P> +"Intimately." +</P> + +<P> +"Then be kind enough to introduce me forthwith. I must make a +conquest of some rich heiress soon, or I shall have to run away, or +petition for the benefit of the Insolvent Law." +</P> + +<P> +"To-night, if you choose." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well—let it be to-night. There is no time to be lost." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose she won't accept you?" +</P> + +<P> +"She must. I'm as good-looking a fellow as you'll find in a dozen; +and I flatter myself that I have a smooth tongue in my head." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, success to you, I say! But look here, Smith: if you succeed, +I shall expect a premium." +</P> + +<P> +"There'll be no difficulty about that, Perkins. But let me secure +the prize first; and then say how much you'll want. You'll not find +me the man to forget a friend." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure of that," responded the other, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +And then the friends shook each other's hands heartily, promising, +as they parted, to meet early in the evening, preparatory to +visiting the heiress. +</P> + +<P> +"You would not have me suspicious of every young man who visits me!" +said Margaretta Riston, in reply to a remark made by her aunt, on +the same evening that the two young men had proposed calling on her. +</P> + +<P> +"I would rather have you suspicious, or, rather, exceedingly +watchful, than to be altogether off of your guard. Many dangers +beset the path of a rich young girl like you. There are, and I am +sorry to say it, too many young men in society, who are mere +money-hunters—young men who would marry an heiress during the first +hour of their acquaintance, and marry her, of course, only for her +money." +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly credit it, aunt. And I am sure that no young men of my +acquaintance are so selfish and mercenary!" +</P> + +<P> +"In that assumption lies a fatal error, believe me, my dear niece! +Too many, alas! too many young girls have vainly imagined, as you do +now, that, though there might be men of base characters in society, +none such were of their acquaintances. These have awakened from +their fatal error with the sad consciousness that they had become +victims to their fond infidelity. Rather suspect all until you have +convincing evidence to the contrary, than remain unguarded until it +is too late." +</P> + +<P> +"But don't you see, aunt, how in this case I would do wrong to +sincere and honest minds? And I cannot bear the thought of doing +wrong to any one." +</P> + +<P> +"You do no wrong to any one, my niece, in with-holding full +confidence until there is evidence that full confidence may be +safely bestowed. In the present evil state of the world, involving, +as it does, so much of false appearance, hypocrisy, and selfish +motive, it is absolutely necessary, especially with one in your +situation, to withhold all confidence, until there is unquestionable +proof of virtuous principle." +</P> + +<P> +"There is at least one young man, who visits here, that I think is +above such mean suspicions," Margaretta said. +</P> + +<P> +"So I think," the aunt replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Whom do you mean, aunt?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean Thomas Fielding." +</P> + +<P> +"Thomas Fielding! Well, he may be; but—" +</P> + +<P> +"But what, Margaretta?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing, aunt. But I do not like Mr. Fielding so very much." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not, child?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly tell. But there is no character about him." +</P> + +<P> +"No character! Really, Margaretta, you surprise me. There is more +character and principle about him than about any young man who comes +to this house." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot think so, aunt. He is too tame, prosy, and old-fashioned +for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Whom then did you mean?" the aunt asked, with an expression of +concern in her tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Mr. Perkins, to be sure." +</P> + +<P> +The aunt shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid, Margaretta, that Mr. Perkins is a man of few +principles, but thoroughly selfish ones." +</P> + +<P> +"How strangely you talk, aunt! Why, he is any thing but a selfish +man. I am sure he is the most gentlemanly, thoughtful, and polite +man that visits here. He is much more attentive to others, in +company, than Mr. Fielding; and that, I am sure, indicates a kinder +regard for others." +</P> + +<P> +"Not always, Margaretta. It may sometimes indicate a cold-hearted, +calm assurance, assumed for selfish ends; while its opposite may be +from a natural reserve or timidity of character." +</P> + +<P> +"But you don't mean to say, surely, that Mr. Perkins is such a one +as you intimate?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I am correct in my observation, he is all that I have +insinuated. In a word, he is, in my opinion, a mere money-hunter." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure, aunt, he is not so constant in his attentions as he was +some time, ago; and, if he were merely a money-hunter, he would not, +of course, abate those attentions." +</P> + +<P> +"No—not unless he had discovered a richer prize." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, aunt, you wrong him." +</P> + +<P> +"I should be sorry to do so, Margaretta. But I do not form my +opinions hastily. I try to look close before I come to conclusions. +But I have stronger testimony than my own observations." +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I heard this morning that he is to be married in a few weeks +to Harriet Pomeroy." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, you must be mistaken, aunt," said Margaretta, suddenly +rising to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"I presume not," was the quiet reply. "My information came almost +direct." +</P> + +<P> +The entrance of visitors now interrupted the conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"Permit me to introduce my very particular friend, Mr. Smith," said +the individual about whom the aunt and her niece were conversing, as +he entered the handsome parlour of Mrs. Riston. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith and Mr. Perkins were, of course, received with great +affability by Margaretta, who concealed the impression made upon her +mind by the piece of information just conveyed by her aunt. +</P> + +<P> +As for Mrs. Riston, she was studiedly polite, but gave the young men +no very apparent encouragement. An hour soon passed away, and then +the visitors retired. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Smith, what do you think of her?" asked Perkins, as the two +gained the street. +</P> + +<P> +"You're sure she's worth fifty thousand dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. There's no mistake about that." +</P> + +<P> +"But <I>how</I> do you know? This is a matter about which there should be +no mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"I got a friend to examine the transfer books of the bank where the +stock is. Will that satisfy you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You did? And pray why did you do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A strange question! but I'll tell you, as you seem dull. I had a +notion of her myself." +</P> + +<P> +"You had?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had." +</P> + +<P> +"And why did you get out of the notion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I saw another whom I liked better." +</P> + +<P> +"She was richer, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you insinuate such a thing?" And Perkins laughed in a low, +meaning chuckle. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I perceive. Well, how much is she worth?" +</P> + +<P> +"About a hundred thousand." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure of her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly! The thing's all settled." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a lucky dog, Perkins! But see here, what did you mean by the +premium you talked of for bringing about a match between me and Miss +Riston?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, as to that, I was only jesting. But you haven't told me how you +like the young lady yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she'll do, I reckon," said Smith, tossing his head half +contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think you can secure her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Easily enough. But then I must get her away as often as possible +from that old Cerberus of an aunt. I didn't like her looks at all." +</P> + +<P> +"She's suspicious." +</P> + +<P> +"That's clear. Well, she must be wide awake if I commence playing +against her in real earnest. I can win any girl's affections that I +choose." +</P> + +<P> +"You have a pretty fair conceit of yourself, I see." +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't give a cent for a man that hadn't. The fact is, Perkins, +these girls have but one end in view, and that is to get married. +They know that they have to wait to be asked, and, trembling in fear +lest they shall not get another offer, they are always ready to jump +eagerly at the first." +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty true, I believe. But, Smith, don't you think Margaretta +quite a fair specimen of a girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. And I have no doubt that I shall love her well enough, if +she don't attempt to put on airs, and throw up to me that she was +rich, and I poor. I'll never stand that." +</P> + +<P> +"She'll not be so foolish, I presume." +</P> + +<P> +"She'd better not, I can tell her, if she doesn't wish to get into +hot water." And the young man laughed at his own half-in-earnest +jesting. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a very agreeable young man, isn't he, aunt?" said Margaretta, +after the two young men had gone away. +</P> + +<P> +"Who? Mr. Smith, as Mr. Perkins called him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"He has a smooth enough tongue, if that is any recommendation; but I +do not like him. Indeed, he is far more disagreeable to me than his +very particular friend, Mr. Perkins." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, aunt, how can you talk so! I'm sure he was very agreeable. At +least, I thought so." +</P> + +<P> +"That was because he flattered you so cleverly." +</P> + +<P> +"How <I>can</I> you insinuate such a thing, aunt? Surely I am not so weak +and vain as to be imposed upon and beguiled by a flatterer!" +</P> + +<P> +"Some men understand how to flatter very ingeniously; and, to me, +Mr. Smith seemed peculiarly adept in the art. He managed it so +adroitly as to give it all the effect, without its being apparent to +the subject of his experiments." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, aunt, you are mistaken. I despise a flatterer as much as +you do. But I am sure that I saw nothing like flattery about Mr. +Smith." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry that you did not, Margaretta. But take my advice, and be +on your guard. That man's motives in coming to see you, believe me, +are not the purest in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"You are far too suspicious, aunt; I am sure you are." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I have had cause. At any rate, Margaretta, I have lived +longer in, and seen much more of the world than you have, and I +ought to have a clearer perception of character. For your own sake, +then, try and confide in my judgment." +</P> + +<P> +"I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see +as you do in this particular instance." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own +observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to +mine." +</P> + +<P> +To this Margaretta did not reply. It seemed too much like giving up +her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain +her aunt by objections. +</P> + +<P> +On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young +man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her +aunt. He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did +Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and +real common sense. After he had retired, Margaretta said— +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of +Thomas Fielding." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not, my dear?" asked the aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know; but he is so dull and prosy." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure he don't seem dull to me, Margaretta. He doesn't talk a +great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized +by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind." +</P> + +<P> +"But don't you think, aunt, that my money has some influence in +bringing him here?" And Margaretta looked up archly into her aunt's +face. +</P> + +<P> +"It may have, for aught I can tell. We cannot see the motives of any +one. But I should be inclined to think that money would have little +influence with Thomas Fielding, were not every thing else in +agreement. He is, I think, a man of fixed and genuine principles." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt, aunt. But, still, I can't relish his society. And if I +can't, I can't." +</P> + +<P> +"Very true. If you can't enjoy his company, why you can't. But it +cannot be, certainly, from any want, on his part, of gentlemanly +manners, or kind attentions to you." +</P> + +<P> +"No; but, then, he is so dull. I should die if I had no other +company." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, my child," Aunt Riston said, in a serious tone, "you ought +to make the effort to esteem and relish the society of those who +have evidently some stability of character, and whose conversation +has in it the evidence of mature observation, combined with sound +and virtuous principles, more than you do the flippant nonsense of +mere ladies' men, or selfish, unprincipled fortune-hunters." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, aunt, you are too severe on my favourites!" And Margaretta +laughed gaily. +</P> + +<P> +But to her aunt there was something sad in the sound of that laugh. +It seemed like the knell of long and fondly cherished hopes. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of Margaretta Riston, Mary?" asked Thomas +Fielding of his sister, on the next evening after the visit just +mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you ask so seriously, brother?" the sister said, looking +into his face, with a smile playing about her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"For a serious reason, sister. Can you guess what it is?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so, and therefore I will not tax your modesty so far as to +make you confess it." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Mary. And now answer my question. What do you think of +Margaretta?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing against her, brother." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing against her! Don't you know any thing in her favour?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, perhaps I do. She is said to be worth some fifty thousand +dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, Mary! What do I care about her fifty thousand dollars? +Don't you know any thing else in her favour?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, brother. As long as you seem so serious about the matter, +I think Margaretta a fine girl. She is amiable in disposition—is +well educated—tolerably good-looking, and, I think, ordinarily +intelligent." +</P> + +<P> +"Ordinarily intelligent!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Certainly there is nothing extraordinary about her." +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, brother, what next?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, simply, Mary, I like Margaretta very much. The oftener I see +her, the more am I drawn towards her. To tell the plain, homely +truth, I love her." +</P> + +<P> +"And don't care any thing about her fifty thousand dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"No Mary, I don't think I do. Indeed, if I know my own feelings, I +would rather she were not worth a dollar." +</P> + +<P> +"And why so, Thomas?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because, I fear the perverting influence of wealth on her mind. I +am afraid her position will give her false views of life. I wish to +marry for a <I>wife</I>—not for <I>money</I>. I can make money myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Still, Thomas, Margaretta is, I think, an innocent-minded, good +girl. I do not see that she has been much warped by her position." +</P> + +<P> +"So she seems to me, and I am glad that my sister's observation +corroborates my own. And now, Mary, do you think I have any thing to +hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, I do." +</P> + +<P> +"But why do you think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because Margaretta must have good sense enough to see that you are +a man of correct principles, and an affectionate disposition." +</P> + +<P> +"Still, she may not see in me that which interests her sufficiently +to induce her to marry me." +</P> + +<P> +"That is true. But I don't believe you have any thing to fear." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot help fearing, Mary, for the simple reason, that I find my +affections so much interested. A disappointment would be attended +with extreme pain." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I would end suspense at once." +</P> + +<P> +"I will. To-morrow evening I will declare my feelings." +</P> + +<P> +It was about nine o'clock on the next evening, while Mary Fielding +sat reading by the centre-table, that her brother entered hastily, +and threw himself upon the sofa, a deep sigh escaping him as he did +so. +</P> + +<P> +"What ails you, Thomas?" inquired his sister, rising and approaching +him. +</P> + +<P> +But he made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, what ails you, Thomas?" Mary urged, taking his hand +affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been to see Margaretta," the brother at length replied, in +as calm a voice as he could assume. +</P> + +<P> +"And she has not, surely, declined your offer?" +</P> + +<P> +"She has, and with what appeared to me an intimation that I loved +her money, perhaps, better than herself." +</P> + +<P> +"Surely not, brother!" +</P> + +<P> +"To me it seemed so. Certainly she treated lightly my declaration, +and almost jested with me." +</P> + +<P> +The sister stood silent for some moments, and then said— +</P> + +<P> +"The woman who could thus jest with you, Thomas, is unworthy of +you." +</P> + +<P> +"So I am trying to convince myself. But the trial is a deeply +painful one." +</P> + +<P> +And painful it proved for many weeks afterwards. But, finally, he +was enabled to rise above his feelings. +</P> + +<P> +In the mean time, Mr. Smith had wooed the heiress successfully, and, +in doing so, his own heart had become interested, or, at least, he +deceived himself into the belief that such was the case. He no +longer jested, as he had done at first, about her money, nor +declared, even to his friend Perkins, how strong an influence it had +upon his affections. More serious thoughts of marriage had caused +these selfish motives to retire out of sight and acknowledgment; but +still they existed and still ruled his actions. +</P> + +<P> +The aunt, when Margaretta made known to her that the young man had +offered himself, was pained beyond measure, particularly as it was +evident that her niece favoured the suitor. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, Margaretta," said she, earnestly, "he is not worthy of +you!" +</P> + +<P> +"You judge him harshly, aunt," the niece replied. "I know him to be +all that either of us could wish for." +</P> + +<P> +"But how do you know, Margaretta?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have observed him closely, and am sure that, I cannot be deceived +in him." +</P> + +<P> +"Alas! my child, if you know nothing beyond your own observation, +you are far more ignorant than you suppose. Be guided, then, by +me—trust more to my observation than your own. He is not the man to +make you happy! Let me urge you, then, to keep him at a distance." +</P> + +<P> +"I should do injustice to my own feelings, aunt, and to my own sense +of right, were I to do so. In a word, and to speak out plainly, he +offered himself last evening, and I accepted him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rash girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Riston, lifting her hands in +astonishment and pain, "how could you thus deceive your best friend? +How so sadly deceive yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do not distress yourself so, aunt. You have mistaken the character +of Mr. Smith. He is, in every way, a different man from what you +think him. He is altogether worthy of my regard and your confidence. +I do not wish to deceive you, aunt; but you set yourself so +resolutely against Mr. Smith from the first that I could not make up +my mind to brave your opposition to a step which I was fully +convinced it was right for me to take." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Margaretta! You know not what you are doing. Marriage is a far +more serious matter than you seem to think it. Look around among +your young acquaintances, and see how many have wedded unhappily. +And why? Because marriages were rushed into from a fond impulse, +vainly imagined to be true affection. But no true affection can +exist where there is not a mutual knowledge of character and +qualities of mind. Now what do you know, really, about Mr. Smith? +What does he know about you? Why, nothing! I want no stronger +evidence of his unworthy motives, than the fact of his having +offered himself after a three weeks' acquaintance. What could he +know of you in that time? Surely not enough to be able to determine +whether you would make him a suitable wife or not—enough, perhaps, +to be satisfied of the amount of your wealth." +</P> + +<P> +"You are unjust towards Mr. Smith," said Margaretta, half +indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not half so unjust as he is towards you. But surely, my niece, you +will reconsider this whole matter, and take full time to reflect." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot reconsider, aunt. My word is passed, and I would suffer +any thing rather than break my word." +</P> + +<P> +"You will suffer your heart to be broken, if you do not." +</P> + +<P> +"Time will prove that!" and Margaretta tossed her head with a kind +of mock defiance. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you fixed your wedding day?" the aunt asked after a few +moments' silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. But Mr. Smith wants to be married in three weeks." +</P> + +<P> +"In three weeks!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but I told him that I could not get ready within a month." +</P> + +<P> +"A month! Surely you are not going to act so precipitately?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot see the use of waiting, aunt, when we are engaged and all +ready. And I can easily get ready in a month." +</P> + +<P> +To this the aunt did not reply. She felt that it would be useless. +</P> + +<P> +After this, Mr. Smith was a regular daily and evening visitor. He +perceived, of course, the unfavourable light in which the aunt +viewed him, and in consequence set himself to work to break down her +prejudices. He was kind and attentive to her on all occasions, and +studied her peculiar views and feelings, so as to adapt himself to +her. But the old lady had seen too much of the world, and was too +close an observer to be deceived. Still she found silent +acquiescence her only course of action. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the month from the day of their engagement Margaretta +Riston was a happy young bride. +</P> + +<P> +One week after their marriage, Mr. Smith entered the room of his +friend Mr. Perkins, with a pale, agitated countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"What in the world has happened, Smith?" the friend asked, in alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't you heard the news?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. What news?" +</P> + +<P> +"The United States Bank has failed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is true. And every dollar of Margaretta's money is locked up +there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Really that is dreadful! I would sell the stock immediately for +what it will bring, if I were you." +</P> + +<P> +"So I wish to. But neither my wife nor her aunt are willing. And so +soon after our marriage I do not like to use positive measures." +</P> + +<P> +"But the case is urgent. Delay may sweep from you every dollar." +</P> + +<P> +"So I fear. What shall I do then? To have the prize in hand, and +find it thus suddenly escaping, is enough to drive me mad!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sell in spite of them. That's my advice." +</P> + +<P> +"I will!" +</P> + +<P> +And the half crazy young fortune-hunter hurried away. In a few +minutes after, he entered the room where sat his wife and her aunt +in gloomy and oppressed silence. +</P> + +<P> +"The best thing we can do, Margaretta, I am satisfied, is to sell," +he said, taking a chair beside his wife. "The stock is falling every +hour, and it is the opinion of competent judges that it will not be +worth five dollars in a week." +</P> + +<P> +"And other competent judges are of a very different opinion," +replied the aunt. "Mr. Day, who was Margaretta's guardian, has just +been here, and says that we must not sell by any means; that after +the panic is over the stock will go up again. The bank, he assures +us, is fully able to meet every dollar, and still have a large +surplus. It would be folly then to sell, especially when there is no +urgent demand for the money." +</P> + +<P> +"There is more urgent demand than you know of," Mr. Smith said to +himself with bitter emphasis. He added aloud,— +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Day may know something about the matter; but I am sure he is +mistaken in the calculation he makes. It is said this morning, by +those who know, that the assets of the bank are principally in +worthless stocks, and that the shareholders will never get a cent. +My advice, then, is to sell immediately; a bird in the hand is worth +two in the bush." +</P> + +<P> +But both the wife and aunt objected; and so soon after marriage he +felt that positive opposition would come with a bad grace. +</P> + +<P> +Steadily day after day, the stock went down, down, down—and day +after day Mr. Smith persisted in having it sold. The fact was, duns +now met him at every turn, and it was with the utmost difficulty +that he could prevent his wife and her aunt from guessing at the +nature of the many calls of his "particular friends." Money he must +have, or he could not keep out of prison long, and the only chance +for his obtaining money was in the sale of his wife's stock. But at +the rates for which it was now selling, the whole proceeds would not +cover the claims against him. At last, when the stock had fallen to +twenty dollars, Mrs. Smith yielded to her husband's earnest +persuasions, and handed him over the certificates of her stock, that +he might dispose of them to the best possible advantage. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Smith is late in coming home to his dinner," the aunt said, +looking at the timepiece. +</P> + +<P> +The young wife lifted her head from her hand, with a sigh, and +merely responded, +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he is rather late." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder what keeps him so!" the old lady remarked, about five +minutes after, breaking the oppressive silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I cannot tell. I gave him my certificates of stock to sell +this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"You did? I am afraid that was wrong, Margaretta." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I cannot tell whether it is or not, aunt. But I've had no +peace about them, night nor day, since the bank failed." +</P> + +<P> +There was bitterness in the tone of Margaretta's voice, that touched +the feelings of her aunt, and tended to confirm her worst fears. But +she could not, now, speak out plainly, as she had felt constrained +to do before marriage, and therefore did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +For more than an hour did the two women wait for the return of Mr. +Smith, and then they went through the form of sitting down to the +dinner-table. But few mouthfuls of food passed the lips of either of +them. +</P> + +<P> +Hour after hour moved slowly by, but still the husband of Margaretta +appeared not; and when the twilight fell, it came with a strange +uncertain fear to the heart of the young wife. +</P> + +<P> +"What <I>can</I> keep him so late, aunt?" she said, anxiously, as the +lights were brought in. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. I hope that nothing is wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"Wrong, aunt? What can be wrong?" and Margaretta looked her aunt +eagerly and inquiringly in the face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure, my child, I do not know. Something unusual must detain +him, and I only hope that something may be evil neither to him nor +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +Again there was a deep and painful silence—painful at least to one +heart, trembling with an undefinable sensation of fear. +</P> + +<P> +"There he is!" ejaculated Margaretta springing to her feet, as the +bell rang, and hurrying to the door before the servant had time to +open it. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a letter for Mrs. Smith," said a stranger, handing her a +sealed note, and then withdrawing quickly. +</P> + +<P> +It was with difficulty that the young wife could totter back to the +parlour, where she seated herself by the table, and with trembling +hands broke the seal of the letter that had been given her. Her eyes +soon took in the brief words it contained. They were as follow:— +</P> + +<P> +"Farewell, Margaretta! We shall, perhaps, never meet again! Think of +me as one altogether unworthy of you. I have wronged you—sadly +wronged you, I know—but I have been driven on by a kind of evil +necessity to do what I have done. Forget me! Farewell!" +</P> + +<P> +This note bore neither date nor signature, but the characters in +which it was written were too well known to be mistaken. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Riston saw the fearful change that passed over the face of her +niece as she read the note, and went quickly up to her. She was in +time to save her from falling to the floor. All through the night +she lay in a state of insensibility, and it was weeks before she +seemed to take even the slightest interest in any thing that was +going on around her. +</P> + +<P> +It was about three o'clock of the day that Mr. Smith got possession +of the certificates of deposit, that he entered the room of his +friend, Perkins. He looked agitated and irresolute. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Smith, how are you?" his friend said. "Have you sold that +stock yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! So you have triumphed over your wife's scruples. Well—what +did you get for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only eight thousand dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"That was a shameful sacrifice!" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed it was. And it puts me into a terrible difficulty." +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I owe at least that sum; and I cannot stay here unless it is +paid." +</P> + +<P> +"That is bad." +</P> + +<P> +"Out of the fifty thousand I could have squared up, and it would not +have been felt. But I cannot use the whole eight thousand, and look +Margaretta and her aunt in the face again. And if I don't pay my +debts, you see, to prison I must go." +</P> + +<P> +"You are in a narrow place, truly. Well, what are you going to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"A question more easily asked than answered. Among my debts are +about, four thousand dollars that must be paid whether or no." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are <I>debts of honour!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, indeed! that is bad. You will have to settle them." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course!" Then, in a loud and emphatic whisper, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"And I <I>have</I> settled them!" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Well, what next? How will you account to your wife for the +deficiency?" +</P> + +<P> +"Account to my wife!" and as he said this, he ground his teeth +together, while his lip curled. "Don't talk to me in that way, +Perkins, and cause me to hate the woman I have deceived and +injured!" +</P> + +<P> +"But what <I>are</I> you going to do, Smith?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to clear out with the balance of the money in my pocket. +I can't stay here, that's settled; and I'm not going away penniless, +that's certain. Margaretta's old aunt has money enough, and can take +care of her—so she's provided for. And I've no doubt but that +she'll be happier without me than with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" +</P> + +<P> +"Somewhere down South." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" +</P> + +<P> +"At four o'clock this afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, success to you. There are some rich widows in the Southern +country, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand; but I'm rather sick of these operations. They are a +little uncertain. But good-bye, and may you have better luck than +your friend Smith." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye." And the two young men shook hands cordially and parted. +</P> + +<P> +At four o'clock Mr. Smith left for Baltimore—not the happiest man +in the cars by a great deal. +</P> + +<P> +Since that day the confiding young creature who had thrown all into +the scale for him has neither seen him nor heard from him. To her +the light of life seems fled for ever. Her face is very pale, and +wears an expression of heart-touching misery. She is rarely seen +abroad. Poor creature! In her one sad error, what a lifetime of +sorrow has been involved! +</P> + +<P> +Of all conditions in life, that of the young heiress, with her money +in her own right, is peculiarly dangerous. The truly worthy shrink +often from a tender of their affection, for fear their motives may +be thought interested; while the mercenary push forward, and by +well-directed flattery, that does not seem like flattery, win the +prize they cannot appreciate. +</P> + +<P> +There are such base wretches in society. Let those who most need to +fear them be on their guard. +</P> + +<P> +It is now but a few weeks since Thomas Fielding, who was despised +and rejected by Margaretta, married a sweet girl in every way worthy +of him. She is not rich in worldly goods, but she is rich in +virtuous principles. The former Fielding does not need; but the +latter he can cherish "as a holy prize." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="lottery"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? +</H3> + +<P> +"I AM afraid to marry," said a young lady, half jesting and half in +earnest, replying to something a friend had said. +</P> + +<P> +"Why so, Ella?" asked one of the company, who had thus far chosen +rather to listen than join in the conversation of half a dozen gay +young girls. She was a quiet, matronly-looking individual, some few +years past the prime of life. +</P> + +<P> +"For fear of being unhappy, Mrs. Harding," replied the first +speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"What an idea!" exclaimed a gay damsel, laughing aloud at the +singular fear expressed by Ella. "For my part, I never expect to be +happy until I am married." +</P> + +<P> +"If marriage should make you any happier than you are now, Caroline, +the result will be very fortunate. Your case will form an exception +to the rule." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, Ella, don't say that," spoke up the one who had replied to +her first remark. "Happiness is the rule, and unhappiness the +exception." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it happens strangely enough," returned Ella, smiling, "that we +are more familiar with the exceptions than the rule." +</P> + +<P> +"No, my dear, that cannot for a moment be admitted. Far more of +happiness than misery results from marriage." +</P> + +<P> +"Look at Ellen Mallory," was answered promptly, "and Mrs. Cummings, +and half a dozen others I could name." +</P> + +<P> +"The two you have mentioned are painful instances, I must admit, and +form the exceptions of which I spoke; but the result is by no means +one that should excite our surprise, for it is a natural consequence +flowing from an adequate cause. If you marry as unwisely as did the +persons you mention, I have no doubt but you will be quite as +wretched as they are—it may be more so." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure Mr. Mallory is an elegant-looking man," said one of the +company, "and might have had his pick among a dozen more attractive +girls than ever Ellen Martine was." +</P> + +<P> +"All as thoughtless and undiscriminating as she," remarked Mrs. +Harding, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ellen is no fool," returned the last speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"In the most important act of her whole life, she has certainly not +shown herself to be a wise woman," said Mrs. Harding. +</P> + +<P> +"But how in the world was she to know that Mr. Mallory was going to +turn out so badly?" spoke up Ella. +</P> + +<P> +"By opening her eyes, and using the ability that God has given her +to see," was answered by Mrs. Harding. +</P> + +<P> + "Those eyes are wondrous wise, I ween,<BR> + That see what is not to be seen,"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +the maiden replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you then really think, Ella," said Mrs. Harding, "that a young +lady cannot make herself as thoroughly acquainted with a man's real +qualities as to put any serious mistake in marriage entirely out of +the question?" +</P> + +<P> +"To me, I must confess that marriage seems very much like a +lottery," answered Ella. "We may get a prize, but there are ten +chances to one of our getting a blank." +</P> + +<P> +"If you choose to make it a lottery, it will no doubt become so; but +if entered into from right motives, there is no danger of this being +the case." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you call right motives," said one; "but I'll tell +you a necessary pre-requisite in the man who is to make me a +husband." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, child, what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty of money. I'm not going to be a poor man's wife, and work +myself to death, all for love—no, not I!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have a handsome man for a husband, or none," remarked another. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me splendid talents," said a third. +</P> + +<P> +"And what must you have, Ella?" asked Mrs. Harding, turning to the +one she addressed. +</P> + +<P> +"All three, if I can get them," replied Ella. +</P> + +<P> +"Beauty, wealth, and talents. These you think would satisfy you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes; I should be rather hard to please if they did not." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me relate to you the histories of two friends of mine who +married young," said Mrs. Harding, without remarking upon what had +just been declared. "Perhaps they may contain lessons that it will +be of use for you all to get by heart." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, do!" said the young ladies, gathering around Mrs. Harding, +who, after a short pause, related what follows. +</P> + +<P> +"In my younger days," began Mrs. Harding, "I had two intimate +friends, to whom I was warmly attached. I loved them for their many +good qualities, and particularly for their unselfishness. To make +others happy, always appeared to give them a double pleasure. They +were nearly of the same age, and possessed equal external +advantages; but their characters were very different. Sarah Corbin, +who was a few months older than her friend and almost constant +companion, Harriet Wieland, was quiet, thoughtful, and observant; +while Harriet, who had great personal attractions, never appeared to +look beneath the surface. She believed every thing to be true that +bore the semblance of truth, to her all that glittered was gold. +Like you, and most other young ladies, we sometimes talked of +marriage, and the qualifications desirable in a good husband. +Harriet, whether in a gay or sober mood, always declared, like Ella +here, that he who won her heart must have riches, manly beauty, and +brilliant talents. These she called man's cardinal virtues. Sarah +never had much to say on these matters, and, when we asked her +opinion, she generally replied evasively. +</P> + +<P> +"A young man named Eaverson, answering pretty nearly to the beau +ideal of Harriet Wieland, came from a neighbouring city to reside in +this. He was connected with a wealthy and highly respectable family, +was really a handsome man, and possessed very fine abilities. He had +studied law, and opened his office here for the purpose of pursuing +it as a regular profession; but, not meeting with much practice at +first, he occupied a large portion of his time in literary pursuits, +writing for the magazines and reviews. He also published a small +volume of poetry, which contained many really brilliant specimens of +verse. +</P> + +<P> +"Circumstances threw Eaverson into the circle of which we formed a +part, and we were consequently introduced to him. In the course of +time, he began to pay rather marked attentions to Sarah Corbin, at +which I felt a little surprised, as he had met Harriet Wieland quite +as often, and she was far more beautiful and showy, and more likely, +it seemed to me, to attract one like him than the other. Either +Sarah was unconscious that his attentions were more marked in her +case, or she did not wish her observation of the fact to be known, +for all our allusions to the subject were evaded with a seeming +indifference that left our minds in doubt. Such were our impressions +at first; but the sequel showed that she had marked his first +advances with lively interest, and understood their meaning quite as +well as we did. +</P> + +<P> +"About Eaverson there was every thing to attract the heart of a +maiden not well guarded; and Sarah found that it required the +fullest exercise of her reason to prevent her from letting every +affection of her mind go out and attach itself to an object that +seemed, at first sight, so worthy of her love. But by nature and +from education she was thoughtful and observant; and a wise mother +had taught her that in marriage external accomplishments and +possessions were nothing, unless united with virtuous principles and +well-regulated passions. The brilliant attractions of Eaverson +strongly tempted her to take his moral fitness for granted; but +wiser counsels prevailed in her mind; and with a vigorous hand laid +upon her heart to keep down its errant impulses, she exercised, with +coolness and a well-balanced mind, the powers of discrimination +which God had given for her guidance through life." +</P> + +<P> +All the time that this process was going on in her mind, we remained +in ignorance of the fact that she ever thought of the young man, +except when he was present, or his name introduced by others. To +her, all that related to marriage was too serious to form the theme +of ordinary conversation, light jests, or idle chit-chat. Rarely +indeed would she have any thing to say, when others spoke lightly or +jested on the subject. This being the case, now that her own mind +had become deeply interested in a matter of most vital importance to +her future welfare, she had no one to disturb the even balance of +her reflections by a thoughtless word, an untimely jest, or a false +opinion flowing from inexperience or a want of ability to read human +nature aright. Silently, freely, and with no biassing influence, in +the unapproachable chambers of her own thoughts did she weigh the +real character of Eaverson, as far as she could understand it, +against what was merely external and personal. The more marked the +attentions of the young man became, the more earnestly did she seek +to comprehend his real character. Every word he uttered in her +presence, every sentiment he expressed, every action and every look +were closely scanned, and their meaning, as having reference to +principles in the mind, sought to be understood. Such careful +scrutiny did not go unrewarded. When Eaverson, soon after her mind +was made up in regard to him, made an offer of his hand, the offer +was unhesitatingly declined. Sarah had seen enough to satisfy her, +that with all his talents, beauty, and wealth, he was wanting in +virtuous principles and a high sense of honour. +</P> + +<P> +"I confess, that, with others, I was greatly surprised when the fact +of Sarah's having declined the hand of Eaverson became known. The +selection of her by one like him seemed so high a preference, and +such a marked tribute to her worth and virtue, that it was scarcely +credible that she could have remained indifferent to his love. But +she saw deeper than we did." +</P> + +<P> +"'I cannot understand the reason of your refusal to accept Mr. +Eaverson's offer?' I said to Sarah, one day, when the conversation +took a turn that gave me an opportunity of alluding to the subject. +'Do you know any thing against him?' +</P> + +<P> +"'Nothing further than the conclusions of my own mind, arising from +a careful observation of his sentiments, manners, and unguarded +expressions,' she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"'Was it from such conclusions that you declined his offer?' +</P> + +<P> +"'From these alone, for I know nothing of his history before he came +to this city, and nothing of his life since he has been here.' +</P> + +<P> +"'May you not possibly be mistaken?' +</P> + +<P> +"'No. From the moment he seemed in the least pleased with me, I +commenced observing him closely. It was not long before I heard him +utter a sentiment, while speaking to another, that showed him to +possess very false views of life in at least one particular. This I +noted, and laid it by in my memory for comparison with any thing +else I might see or hear.' +</P> + +<P> +"'But you would not condemn a man for having erroneous views of +life?' said I. +</P> + +<P> +"'Oh, no; not if his principles be pure. But if false views arise +from a perverted heart, then I would condemn the man. What I heard, +I noticed in order to determine, if possible, from what source it +came. A very long time did not pass, before I saw something that +told me very plainly that the false view which I have mentioned +depended more upon a perversion of the heart than an error in the +understanding. I likewise discovered, very soon, that when in +conversation with me, he was, evidently, more upon his guard, as to +what sentiments he declared, than he was when in conversation with +others. But I need not state particularly the whole process by which +I arrived at conclusions sufficiently clear to warrant my full and +prompt rejection of his suit.' +</P> + +<P> +"'In what estimation do you hold him?' I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"'As a man without honour or virtue,' she said, decidedly. +</P> + +<P> +"'That is a broad and severe judgment,' I replied. +</P> + +<P> +"'So it is. I have made it for myself. Of course, I cannot expect +others to view him in the same light; nor do I believe many others +would form this conclusion from the evidences that were presented to +my mind. But, as for me, I have no doubt on the subject. Rather than +become his wife, I would suffer death; for a union with him would +be, to me, the depth of misery.' +</P> + +<P> +"The seriousness with which Sarah spoke satisfied me that she +believed all she said, and had, at some cost of feeling, rejected an +offer of marriage that would have been an exceedingly desirable one, +had the character of the man who made it been fully approved. +</P> + +<P> +"A short time after the rejection of his suit by Miss Corbin, I +noticed that Eaverson appeared more inclined to keep company with +Harriet Wieland than before. I could not help feeling regret at +this, for, notwithstanding I thought Sarah had judged the young man +rather severely, I was yet satisfied that there must be some ground +for her conclusions in regard to his character. Slight attentions, +encouraged by Harriet, soon became the bold advances of a lover. A +few months after his suit had been declined by Sarah, he offered +himself to her friend, and was unhesitatingly accepted. +</P> + +<P> +"In the mean time, a young man, whom I will call Williamson, had met +Sarah occasionally, and showed a disposition to win, if possible, +her favourable regard. His exterior was by no means elegant; his +literary attainments were not great; nor was he in the enjoyment of +any thing beyond a moderate income. Place him and Eaverson in almost +any company, and the latter would nearly hide him from view. But, +with the most moderate pretensions, and unattractive exterior, +Williamson's character was formed upon a ground-work of good sense +and virtuous principles. He had little facility of expression, but +he thought clearly, and, in most things, acted from a sound +judgment. He was much pleased with Sarah before Eaverson attempted +to gain her affections; and noticed his advances. For the result he +looked with some interest. When it became clearly apparent that she +had thrown him off, Williamson was satisfied that she was a girl of +discrimination and sound sense, and immediately resolved that he +would know her better. The oftener he met her, and the nearer he +observed her, the more excellent did her character seem in his eyes. +The result was an offer of marriage, which was accepted by Sarah, as +much to our surprise as was her rejection of Eaverson. +</P> + +<P> +"My two young friends were married about the same time. The wedding +of Harriet was a brilliant one, and she was the envy of dozens of +young girls who had hoped and tried to make a conquest of the man +who had chosen to unite his fortunes with hers. Sarah's nuptials +were celebrated in a less imposing manner, and created but little +sensation. Most of her friends thought she had done but poorly. +Whether this were so, will be seen in the sequel. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet, with all her want of reflection and in-sight into +character, was a young woman of strong feelings, and loved, when she +did love, with something like blind idolatry. Thus she loved her +husband. He was every thing to her, and she believed him as near +perfection as a mortal could well be. The first few months of her +married life passed swiftly away in the enjoyment of as high a +degree of felicity as her mind seemed capable of appreciating. After +that, a shadow fell upon her spirit—dim and almost imperceptible at +first, but gradually becoming denser and more palpable. Harriet had +noticed, from the first, that her husband but rarely spoke of his +family, and always evaded any questions that a natural curiosity +prompted her to make. If he received any letter from home, he +carefully concealed the fact from her. The wealth, respectability, +and high standing of his family made Harriet, as a matter of course, +feel desirous of bearing a more intimate relation to its members +than she now did. The more she thought about this, the less +satisfied did she feel. It was the marked dislike manifested by her +husband to any reference to his family, that first caused a coldness +to pass over the heart of the young wife, and a shadow to dim the +bright sunshine of her spirits; for it induced the thought that +something might be wrong. Once give such a thought birth, and let +mystery and doubt continue to harass the mind, and peace is gone for +ever. A thousand vague suspicions will enter, and words, looks, and +actions will have a signification never apparent before. +</P> + +<P> +"Thus it was with my young friend, ere six months had passed since +her wedding-day. To increase her anxious doubts, her husband seemed +to grow cold towards her. This might all be imagination, but the +idea, once in possession of her mind, found numberless sustaining +evidences. He went out more frequently in the evening and stayed out +later than at first. Sometimes he would sit silent and abstracted, +and only reply in monosyllables to her questions or remarks. +</P> + +<P> +"One day he came home to dinner, looking graver than usual. But, +during the meal, there was an evident desire on his part to appear +cheerful and unconcerned; he talked more freely than usual, and even +made many light and jesting remarks. But the veil assumed was too +thin. Harriet's eyes saw through it, and rested only upon the sombre +reality beneath. As they were rising from the table, he said, +</P> + +<P> +"'Harriet, dear! I must run on to New York this afternoon, on +business. The interest of a client in a large estate there requires +my immediate presence in that city.' +</P> + +<P> +"Eaverson did not look his wife steadily in the face as he said this +although he plainly tried to do so. But this she did not remark at +the time. Her mind only rested upon the fact of his going away. +</P> + +<P> +"'How long will you be gone?' she asked in a choking voice. +</P> + +<P> +"'I will try and be back to-morrow. If not, you will at least see me +home on the day after.' +</P> + +<P> +"'Why can't I—' +</P> + +<P> +"She paused—her eyes fell to the floor, and the colour deepened on +her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"'What, dear?' +</P> + +<P> +"'Go with you?' +</P> + +<P> +"It was in New York that the family of Eaverson resided. +</P> + +<P> +"'Not now,' he quickly answered. 'I am compelled to go in too much +hurry; but the next time business takes me there you shall accompany +me.' +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing could be more unsatisfactory than this. Was she not to be +introduced to his family, as his wife, formally? Was she only to go +to the city of their residence at some future time, when business +called her husband there? The thought caused a chill to pass through +her frame. She made no reply. But the paleness that overspread her +face, and the sadness that fell upon her countenance, revealed to +her husband, too plainly, her state of mind. He said nothing, +however, to dispel the gloom she felt. Words, he no doubt felt, +would be fruitless. +</P> + +<P> +"The young wife parted with her husband it tears, and then retired +to her chamber, where she gave way to a paroxysm of grief, that had +its origin more in the accompanying mystery than in the fact of her +husband's absence. I say mystery, for she did not fully credit the +reason he had given for his hurried visit to New York, and felt that +there was a mystery connected with it, that, somehow or other, +deeply affected her happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"After the mind of Harriet had grown calmer, she commenced restoring +to order the few articles in her chamber that had been disarranged +in the hurried preparation made by her husband for his departure. As +she was about placing the coat he had worn in the morning, and which +he had changed for another on going away, in the wardrobe, her hand +pressed against a letter in one of the pockets, which a sudden +curiosity tempted her to read. The direction was in a small, +delicate hand, and the post-mark New York. Hurriedly opening it, +when she saw this, she read its brief contents, which were as +follow: +</P> + +<P> +"DEAR HENRY—I heard, indirectly, within the last hour, that you +were married. I cannot believe it, yet the thought has maddened me! +If you do not come to me by to-morrow night, I will go to you on the +following day—for the truth or falsity of what I have heard must be +verified to me at once. If it be true—God help the innocent heart +you have betrayed, and most cruelly wronged. It can only break! +</P> + +<P> +"ADELAIDE." +</P> + +<P> +"The trembling hands of the horror-stricken wife could hold the +fatal epistle no longer than to permit her eyes to rest upon the +signature. It then fell rustling to the floor, and she sat pale, +quivering in every nerve, and unconscious of any thing but a wild +whirling of all her senses. +</P> + +<P> +"It was my fortune, or misfortune, to call upon my young friend just at +this time. I was told that she was in her chamber; and, as our intimacy +was very great, I took a liberty we were in the habit of taking with +each other, and went up to her, unannounced. My gentle tap at her door +not being answered, I opened it and went in. As I have just described +her, thus I found her. My entrance but partially restored her +self-command. She stared wildly at me, stretched out her hands, and made +an effort to speak. I sprang toward her, and she fell forward against my +bosom, with a deep groan that made me shudder. Thus she lay for nearly +five minutes as still as a statue. Then a slight quiver ran through her +frame, which was followed by a gush of tears. For a long time she +continued weeping and sobbing, but at length grew calmer. All this time +I could see an open letter lying upon the floor, which I doubted not was +the caused of this distressing scene. When the self-command of Harriet +was at last restored, and she began to reflect upon the consequences +likely to flow from another's witnessing the wild agitation she had +displayed, a shade of anxious confusion passed over her face. At this +moment her eye rested upon the fatal letter, which she caught up eagerly +and concealed. I asked no question, nor made any remarks. She looked at +me steadily for a moment, and then let her eyes fall thoughtfully to the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +"'You are surprised and confounded, no doubt,' she at length said, +mournfully, 'at what you have seen. Pardon me if I refrain from +mentioning the cause. It is one of which I cannot speak.' +</P> + +<P> +"I begged her not to reveal the cause of her affliction, if to do so +were at all in violation of what she deemed right; but to accept my +deepest sympathies, and to put it in my power, if that were +possible, to mitigate, in some degree, the pain of mind she was +suffering. +</P> + +<P> +"'That you cannot do,' said she. 'It is beyond the reach of human +aid.' +</P> + +<P> +"'May Heaven, then, give you strength to bear it,' I returned, with +emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"'Heaven only can,' she replied in a subdued voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I could say no more, for my ignorance of the cause of her distress +put it out of my power to offer consolation, more particularly as it +was her expressed wish that I should remain in ignorance. I staid an +hour with her, during which time I learned that her husband had been +suddenly called to New York on business. It was one of the +unhappiest hours I ever spent in my life. On going away, I could not +help recalling the conversation I had once held with Sarah Corbin +about Mr. Eaverson, nor help feeling that there might be too much +truth in her declarations that she believed him to be a man without +honour or virtue. There was no doubt in my mind that Harriet's +distress was in some way connected with her husband's absence, and +it occurred to me that the letter I had seen upon the floor, and +which she concealed so eagerly, might not have been intended for her +eyes, and might contain things which for her to know would be fatal +to her peace through life. In this, my conjectures were of course +true. +</P> + +<P> +"I called in to see Mrs. Eaverson on the next day, reluctantly, but +from a sense of duty. I found her calm, but pale, and with a look of +distress. She said but little. No allusion whatever was made to the +condition in which I had found her on the previous afternoon. I sat +only half an hour, and then went away. I could not stay longer, for +my presence seemed oppressive to her, and hers was equally so to me. +</P> + +<P> +"On the third day succeeding that on which Mr. Eaverson went to New +York, I saw a newspaper paragraph headed, 'Melancholy Circumstances.' +It related, briefly, that the daughter of respectable and wealthy +parents in New York had been deeply wronged about a year previous +by an unprincipled cousin, whom she passionately loved. The +consequence was, that the young man had to leave the city, under +the promise of never returning to it, unless he consented to marry +his cousin. This penalty was imposed by the father of the girl, who +declared his intention to shoot him if he ever saw him in New York. +The result of this baseness on the part of the young man was the +utter estrangement of his family. They threw him off entirely. But, +as he had a handsome fortune in his own right, and the cause of his +removal from New York did not become generally known, he soon found +his way into the best society in a neighbouring city. Some months +afterwards he married a lovely girl, who was all unconscious of the +base retch into whose keeping she had given the inestimable jewel +of her love. A few days since, the narration proceeded, the cousin, +by some means or other, obtained a knowledge of this fact. She +wrote to him demanding an interview, and threatening that if she +did not obtain one in twenty-four hours, she would immediately come +to him and ascertain for herself, if what she had heard were true. +Alarmed for the peace of his bride, the young man hurried on to New +York, and, at the risk of his life, gained an interview with the +lovely girl he had so deeply injured. He did not attempt to conceal +the fact of his marriage, but only urged the almost broken-hearted +victim of his base dishonour not to do anything that could bring to +his wife a knowledge of his conduct, as it must for ever destroy +her peace. This confession blasted at once and for ever all the +poor girl's hopes. She gave her betrayer one long, fixed, intense +look of blended agony, reproach, and shame, and then, without +uttering a word, retired slowly from his presence. She sought her +mother, who, from the first, had rather drawn her into her very +bosom than thrown her off harshly, and related what she had just +heard. She shed no tear, she uttered no reproach, but simply told +what her mother had known for months too well. That night her +spirit left its earthly habitation. Whether she died of a broken +heart, or by her own hands, is not known. The family sought not to +investigate the cause,—to them it was enough to know that she was +dead and at peace. +</P> + +<P> +"Whether this statement ever met the eye of Mrs. Eaverson is more +than I can tell. I did not venture to call upon her after I had seen +it. A few weeks subsequently I met her in the street on the arm of +her husband. She was sadly changed, and had the appearance of one +just recovering from a long and severe illness. Eaverson himself had +a look of suffering. +</P> + +<P> +"The notoriety given by the publication of the acts of his base +conduct in New York caused Eaverson to feel little at ease in this +city. Some months afterwards he removed to the South with his wife, +much against the wishes of her friends. Harriet did not want to go, +but she could do no less than accompany her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Some three years afterwards, it was whispered about that Harriet +had left her husband and returned home to her father; but that the +matter was kept very quiet, and that she had not been seen by any of +her old friends. It was said, that after living some time at the +South, Mr. Eaverson grew indifferent towards his wife. A virtuous +woman, she could not but be deeply shocked on discovering her +husband's want of virtue. This she could not conceal; and its +appearance was a standing reproof and condemnation of his principles +and conduct. No bad man could endure this. Its effect would be +certain estrangement. From dislike towards his wife, his feelings +gradually deepened into hatred. Open abuse soon followed neglect; +when she fled from him, with two young children, and sought the +protection of her father's house. +</P> + +<P> +"It was nearly a year after Harriet's return, before I saw her. I +could hardly believe, when I did meet her and grasp her hand, that +the pale, dejected, care-worn being who stood before me was the same +with the light-hearted, beautiful, gay young girl I had known but a +few years back. Alas! how surely does pain of mind forestall the +work of time! +</P> + +<P> +"A few days after this meeting, which made me sad for weeks, I spent +an afternoon and evening with Mrs. Williamson, formerly Sarah +Corbin. She had two children, a boy and a girl, and was living +somewhat secluded, but with every comfort she could desire. Her +husband was a merchant in a good business. When he came home at +tea-time and met his wife, it was with one of those quiet but +genuine smiles that you know come from the heart. He welcomed me, as +he always did, with great cordiality; and then calling for Sarah, +his eldest child, who ran in from the next room the instant she +heard his vice, he took her upon his lap, and, after kissing her +with great tenderness, asked and answered a dozen little questions +to her great delight. At tea-time Mr. Williamson conversed more +freely than was usual with him when I was present. I noticed, as I +had often done before, that, on whatever subject he spoke, his +remarks, though few, were full of good sense, and indicative of +close observation. The slightest deviation from honour or integrity +met with his decided condemnation, while virtuous actions were as +warmly approved. I could perceive, from the expression of his wife's +face, and the tones of her voice when she spoke, that she not only +held her husband in high estimation, but loved him with a tenderness +that had grown with years. Qualities of mind and heart, not external +attractions, such as brilliant accomplishments, beauty, or wealth, +had drawn her towards him at first: these had won her young +affections, and they had become purer and brighter, and increased in +attractive power as year after year went by. +</P> + +<P> +"On going home that evening, I could not help pausing and looking +back. Vividly, as it were but yesterday, came up before my mind my +two young friends when, as maidens, their hands were sought in +wedlock. I remembered how one, with true wisdom, looked below the +imposing exterior and sought for moral worth as the basis of +character in him who asked her hand; while the other, looking no +deeper than the surface, was dazzled by beauty, wealth, and talents. +The result you all have seen." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harding paused in the narrative. Half a dozen eager voices +instantly inquired the ultimate fate of Mrs. Eaverson. "A few years +after her return home," resumed the narrator, "she died. Her husband +during that period neither wrote to her nor visited her. What has +become of him I don't know. Mrs. Williamson is still living, +surrounded by a lovely family of children. Her oldest daughter has +just been married, and, to all present appearances, has united her +fate with one every way worthy of her hand. Mr. Williamson, or +rather Mr. Rierdon, as I should truly have called him, you all +know." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed Ella. "It can't be possible you mean him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not old Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed another. "Why he is respected and +loved by every one!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know he is," returned Mrs. Harding, "and well deserves to be. +Yet, when a young man, he had nothing very imposing about him, and +was thought of but little account by a set of young and foolish +girls, just such as you are, whose heads were liable to be turned by +any dashing young fellow with more impudence than brains, or more +talent than principle, who happened to thrust himself forward and +push better men aside. I hope the lesson I have endeavoured to teach +you may not be lost entirely; and that when any one of you has an +offer of marriage, she will look rather at the heart than the +head—at the qualities instead of the accomplishments—of him who +makes it. If she does not, she will be in great danger of committing +the sad mistake made by my excellent but thoughtless young friend, +Harriet Wieland, of whom I never can think without pain." +</P> + +<P> +Whether the narrative of Mrs. Harding had any good effect upon her +hearers, we do not know; but we would fain believe that it had; and +we hope our fair young readers will not forget the important lesson +it teaches. Let them be well assured that marriage is no lottery, +except where it is made so. Every one who will look at the moral +qualities of the object of her regard, instead of at what is merely +external, will see deep enough to enable her to come to a right +decision in regard to him. There is no necessity for mistakes in +marriage. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="unloved"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE UNLOVED ONE. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AN EXTRACT FROM "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE." +</H4> + +<BR> + +<P> +......FIXED in his resolution to repel every manifestation of +tenderness on the part of his wife, Percy Edwards maintained towards +her the same cold formality, in spite of all her earnest efforts to +break the icy crust of his feelings. He did not love her, and was +not inclined to affect a passion; nay, she was absolutely repulsive +to him, and the least he could do, under the circumstances, was to +protect himself as he did without overt acts of unkindness. +</P> + +<P> +And thus disjoined, instead of united, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards moved +along their way through life, envied by hundreds, who, in exchanging +with them, would have left an Eden of happiness for a dreary +wilderness. +</P> + +<P> +A few months of such an existence completely broke down the spirits +of Kate. She had no pride to sustain her. Thousands, as unloved as +she, seek refuge in pride, pleasure, and a heartless worship at the +gilded shrine of fashion. They meet coldness with a sharp disdain; +and, finding nothing to love at home, turn to what the world has to +offer, and become mere bubbles on the surface of society—prominent, +brilliant, and useless. Nay, worse than useless; for they reflect +the light of heaven falsely, and create discontent in those who see +only their glittering exterior, and vainly imagine it to be the +correspondent of internal delight. +</P> + +<P> +It was not so with Kate; for she was sincere, unselfish, and +true-hearted, and could not seek a false pleasure, when the sources +of real delight became dry. A naiad, at a fountain, the waters of +which had failed, she turned not to another, but bent weeping over +the spot, hoping, yet faint with a long desire to hear the murmur of +the coming stream. +</P> + +<P> +There fell, at last, a gleam of light across her path. In her dark +and cloudy sky arched, beautifully, a bow of promise. Hope, faint, +yet sweet to her spirit, revived, and she looked to the future with +a trembling heart. For a long time she locked in her own thoughts +the dear secret she had discovered and pondered over it with a daily +increasing pleasure. Then it was whispered, low and with a blushing +cheek, to her husband. She was to become a mother! +</P> + +<P> +From that moment she felt that there was a change. From that moment +her husband's manner was different. He was still as polite and +formal as, before; but with these was blended a something that her +heart interpreted as tenderness for his wife; and from this her +fainting spirit drew the aliment that sustained it. If, suddenly +coming upon her now, he surprised her weeping, he did not turn away, +silent and cold, as before; but would speak some word of apparent +sympathy, which instantly dried up the fountains of grief. And thus +the time passed, until another being saw the light—until another +voice sounded upon the air. Oh! with what a thrill of delight did +the young mother take her new-born babe into her arms, and hail it +as the bond that was to bind to hers the heart of her husband. How +eagerly did she read the face of that husband—as he bent over and +gazed upon the innocent being to which she had given birth—and +marked its glow of pleasure. But, he did not look into <I>her</I> +face—he had eyes <I>only for his boy!</I> The mother sighed faintly; but +he did not hear the sigh. Her long lashes fell slowly upon her +cheeks, and tears stole from beneath them; but he turned away +without observing she wept. +</P> + +<P> +The bow of promise, which had spanned the heaven of her mind, faded +away; and the light that had lain so warmly upon her path grew dim. +There was love in the heart of her husband only for his child, but +none for her. That dreadful truth came with a shock, felt to the +very centre of her being; and, reacting upon her exhausted system, +disturbed all its vital functions. Fever and delirium laid their +hands upon her, and for many days the light of life but flickered in +the wind that seemed every moment about to extinguish it. +</P> + +<P> +When, at last, through the skill of her physician, the disease +abated, and health, though feeble, began to flow once more through +her veins; and when reason came back, and with it the outgushing +tenderness of the young mother, she found that her babe had been +laid upon another breast, and that from another it was to draw the +sustenance which nature had supplied for it in her own bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Against this her heart arose in instant rebellion. But no freedom of +choice was left her. The physician said that her health was too +slender to admit of the exhaustion attendant upon nursing her own +babe. The husband would not hear of such a thing for a moment. And +her husband's mother older-hearted and more worldly-minded than even +he, openly sneered at the idea of one in her position degrading +herself into a mere child's nurse! +</P> + +<P> +It was all in vain that Kate pleaded, tearfully, for the mother's +highest privilege. Those who had the power forced her into a +compliance with their will; and the fountain in her bosom, that +stirred at the voice of her babe, was suffered to become dry. +</P> + +<P> +From that time, the health of Mrs. Edwards visibly declined; or, +rather, was never restored to its previous condition. She became +subject to fainting fits and long periods of depression, from which +nothing could arouse her. The babe, instead of forming a link +between her and her husband, became a rival in his affections. Mr. +Edwards worshipped his boy; but, for his wife, had no feeling other +than indifference, if not absolute dislike. All this Kate saw; and +it extinguished her last and dearest hope. +</P> + +<P> +To those who could only look upon the surface, Mr. Edwards was +regarded as one of the kindest and most attentive of husbands; and +when a rumour of his wife's fits of gloomy depression of spirits +went abroad, the fault was attributed to herself, and laid to the +charge of a naturally capricious and dissatisfied temper. +</P> + +<P> +"If she had fewer of life's blessings," said one, "she would be +happier. The very surplus of every thing makes her appetite pall." +</P> + +<P> +"Any woman, situated as she is," remarked another, "who is not +contented, deserves to be wretched. I have no sympathy for her. Her +husband I know very well, and know him to be one of the kindest and +most indulgent of men." +</P> + +<P> +"He has indulged her too much," alleged another. +</P> + +<P> +These impressions the elder Mrs. Edwards strengthened and confirmed, +whenever she had occasion to say any thing on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Percy has rather a gloomy time of it," she would sometimes remark, +when allusion was made to the subject; and then, when the +inquisitive would ask as to the cause of Kate's strange conduct, she +would shake her head gravely, and say— +</P> + +<P> +"Over-indulgence has spoiled her." +</P> + +<P> +Or— +</P> + +<P> +"It's hard to tell what ails her, unless it be the desire for some +impossible thing. Some minds are never content. To multiply their +blessings is but to multiply their misery." +</P> + +<P> +Or— +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven knows what ails her! Percy would give worlds for that +knowledge, if with it came also the remedy." +</P> + +<P> +The rapid decline in his wife's health, or rather its failure, after +the birth of her child, to come back its old standard united to her +lowness of spirits—naturally gave her husband some concern, and he +consulted her physician as to the cause. He, as the profession +generally do, assigned a physical cause, and recommended change of +air. +</P> + +<P> +"Let her go to the sea-shore, or among the Mountains," said he. +</P> + +<P> +And this change was proposed to Kate. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw Doctor R—to-day," said her husband, after the interview, +"and he recommends a few weeks on the sea-shore, or somewhere among +the mountains." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wish to go," replied Kate, in a low, sad voice. +</P> + +<P> +"But your health, Kate," said Mr. Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be just as well at home," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I will not admit that. Doctor R—is sure that a change of air +will do you good; and what he says is reasonable." +</P> + +<P> +Kate made no answer. Mr. Edwards continued to urge the matter upon +her; but she had no more to say. +</P> + +<P> +On the same evening Percy called to see his mother. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Kate?" inquired the latter. +</P> + +<P> +"No better. I saw Doctor R—about her to-day, and he says a change +of air is absolutely necessary, and recommends a few weeks at the +Bedford Springs, or at Newport, or Cape May." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt it would do her much good." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt in the world. But, as in every thing else of late, she is +opposed to just what her friends recommend to her as best." +</P> + +<P> +"She doesn't want to go?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you tell that the doctor recommended the change?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But she insists upon it that she will be just as well at +home." +</P> + +<P> +"A compliment to the medical opinion of Doctor R—! +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it? I wish you would see her, and urge her to go somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; though I don't know that what I say will be of much use. +I am not one of her favourites." +</P> + +<P> +"See her, at any rate. It won't do to let her sink down and die, as +she certainly will if something cannot be done to arouse her." +</P> + +<P> +"I will call upon Mrs. Harrison and tell her what the doctor says. +She has great influence over her; and can persuade her to go if any +one can." +</P> + +<P> +The mother of Kate heard what the doctor had said, and approved of +his recommendation. She knew, better than any one else, the true +nature of the disease from which her daughter was suffering; and, +although she did not hope for much from a change of scene, yet she +believed the effect would be salutary rather than otherwise. So she +went to see her immediately. She found her, as usual, alone in her +chamber, with a sad countenance, and a drooping, listless air. After +inquiring, tenderly, about her health, she said— +</P> + +<P> +"I understand that Doctor R—recommends a change of air." +</P> + +<P> +"What all doctors recommend when they do not know the cause and +nature of a disease," replied Kate, with a faint smile. +</P> + +<P> +"But I think, with Doctor R—, that a few weeks at the sea-shore +will be of great benefit. The change will interest your mind as well +as invigorate your body." +</P> + +<P> +"A temporary benefit may be derived from such a change," said Kate; +"but it cannot be permanent. When I return, I will sink again; and, +perhaps, lower, from the unnatural excitement to which I have been +subjected." +</P> + +<P> +"Kate, my child, it is wrong for you to give up in this way. Your +disease is more of the mind than of the body; and you have the power +to arouse yourself and throw it off, if you will." +</P> + +<P> +"The power, mother! I, the power!" exclaimed Kate, in a voice that +made her mother start. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you not?" inquired Mrs. Harrison calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Has the bird, whose wing is broken, the power to fly?" asked Kate. +</P> + +<P> +"Unless you make an effort to throw off your present state of mind, +you cannot live. And are you willing to die, and leave this dear +child in the hands of those who cannot love it as you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Has it not already been taken from me? Does it not draw its +existence from another breast?" +</P> + +<P> +"But your health required—" +</P> + +<P> +"My health! mother! My very life depended upon the privilege you +have all denied me. Do you want the proof? Look at that shadowy +hand"—and she held up the thin white member against the light, +which almost shone through it—"and at this shrunken face," and she +laid her hand upon her colourless cheek. "Restore the fountain that +has been dried, and let my babe drink at it, and there is some hope. +None without." +</P> + +<P> +"That is impossible, Kate"— +</P> + +<P> +"And just as impossible is my return to health through the means +proposed." +</P> + +<P> +"But, for the sake of your friends, you ought to be willing to try +the means of restoration prescribed by a physician in whom we all +have confidence." +</P> + +<P> +"Friends?" said Kate, half to herself. "Friends? Have I any +friends?" +</P> + +<P> +"My child, why do you speak in this way?" asked her mother, in a +voice half sorrowful, half reproving. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Friends</I> seek your good, not their own pleasure," continued Kate. +"Have I any who may be called by so excellent a name?" +</P> + +<P> +And she shook her head mournfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you not a husband?" said Mrs. Harrison. +</P> + +<P> +Kate again shook her head; and then, after a pause, replied— +</P> + +<P> +"There is a man who calls himself my husband; but he is so only in +name." +</P> + +<P> +"Kate! Kate!" exclaimed her mother, "are you mad? How dare you utter +such language?" +</P> + +<P> +"A heart that is breaking, mother," said the unhappy creature, "may +be pardoned, if, in a moment of intense suffering, it is betrayed +into an expression of pain." +</P> + +<P> +A long and gloomy silence followed this remark, which smote with the +apparent force of a hammer upon the heart of Mrs. Harrison. No +further attempt was made, at the time, to induce Kate to yield to +the wishes of her friends. Her mother endeavoured, rather, to draw +off her mind from thoughts such as those to which she had just given +utterance. But, she was none the less deeply impressed with the +belief that the change proposed would be beneficial; nor did she +intend abandoning her efforts to induce her daughter to go from home +for a short season. At the first opportunity she had an interview +with Mr. Edwards, and held a conference with him on the subject of +Kate's mental disease. She found him rather reserved, and +disinclined to much conversation on the subject. But, on pressing +the matter upon him, he was more free to say what was in his mind. +To her expressions of concern for Kate, he responded with much +apparent earnestness; said that it gave him great concern, and that +he was satisfied she could not live over a few years if some change +did not take place. +</P> + +<P> +"Since the birth of her child," said he, "she has never regained her +strength. That dangerous fever gave her system a terrible shock." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid," returned her mother, "that we erred in not permitting +her to nurse her child—what she so earnestly desired to do. She +cannot, it seems, get over that." +</P> + +<P> +"She has never said so to me." +</P> + +<P> +"But no later than yesterday she alluded to it while I talked with +her, and in a way that satisfied me of her having taken the matter +far more deeply to heart than I had imagined." +</P> + +<P> +"That is a weakness, as you must yourself see, Mrs. Harrison. Apart +from considerations of health, I would not have my wife a mere wet +nurse; and I am surprised that she should have thought of such a +thing." +</P> + +<P> +"The desire was but a natural one," replied Mrs. Harrison. "As to +there being any thing degrading in the act of a mother giving +nourishment to her own babe, as some strangely enough seem to think, +I cannot see it. I drank at my mother's breast, and my child, in +turn, drank at mine; and, I believe, it would have been far better +for Kate at this moment if she had done the same for her own +off-spring. In this matter, people are going against nature; and +whenever this is done, evil of some kind must inevitably follow." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Mrs. Harrison," returned Edwards, "her state of health puts +this out of the question. You know that she was dangerously ill, and +that if a nurse had not been provided for the child, it would have +died." +</P> + +<P> +"I know all that. But, when the sudden illness abated, and she was +able to give nourishment to her babe, all, with one accord, denied +her a mother's privilege, though she plead for it day after day with +tears. Ah, Percy! I fear a great and irreparable wrong was then +done." +</P> + +<P> +"It may be so. But I cannot believe but that we acted rightly. Our +motives were at least good." +</P> + +<P> +"No one doubts that." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure, if she would consent to leave home for a few weeks, her +health would improve," said Percy Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +"It would, no doubt, benefit her. But she has an unconquerable +reluctance to going. Still, I think we may induce her to do as we +wish. Only we must act towards her with great tenderness. I am +afraid—pardon me for speaking plainly—that you do not consider, +sufficiently, her weak state. She needs to be treated with the +gentleness and affection that we show to a child." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edwards looked surprised at this remark. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure, Mrs. Harrison," he replied, "no man could do more for +the happiness of a woman, than I do for that of Kate. How I could +act differently is more than I can imagine." +</P> + +<P> +"It may be natural to you, Mr. Edwards," said Mrs. Harrison, "but +you are wanting in that tenderness of manner so grateful, nay, so +essential to the heart of a wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I am!" +</P> + +<P> +"I speak plainly, because the necessity for doing so is imperative. +Your manner towards Kate has ever been respectful, polite, +attentive, but not affectionate; and without the latter, the former +never can satisfy the heart of a loving woman. I do not blame you +for this. It may all be natural; but I feel it to be my duty to +speak of it now, and to suggest, at least temporarily, a change." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edwards did not reply for some moments. He then said— +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Harrison, I must own that what you allege surprises me. You +charge me, by implication at least, with want of affection for my +wife." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Percy," returned the lady quickly. "I did not mean to say that. +I only spoke of your manner towards her, which lacks the warmth a +woman's heart requires. I have not said that you did not love her." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not see how I can act differently; for I see no defect in my +conduct," said the young man, with a repellant manner. "If my wife +misinterprets the manner in which I treat her, and makes herself +unhappy about it, that is no fault of mine. She ought to have the +good sense to take me as I am, and not make herself wretched because +I am not what I cannot be." +</P> + +<P> +"You still misunderstand me, Percy," urged (sic) the the mother of +Kate. "I did not say that your wife made herself wretched because +your manner towards her was not different. I only suggested a +modification of it, at least for the present, as a means of aiding +in her return to a healthier state of mind. But we will say no more +about this. I have frankly opened my mind to you, and thus far +discharged my duty. You must now act as your own heart directs." +</P> + +<P> +Percy showed no inclination to continue the subject. His manner +plainly enough indicated that the conversation had given him no +pleasure; and that he believed the mother of Kate to have exceeded +the privilege of her position. When they parted, it was with the +most formal politeness on both sides. +</P> + +<P> +After Mrs. Harrison parted with Percy Edwards, the young man +remained alone for nearly an hour. Sometimes he walked the floor +with hurried steps, his manner greatly excited; sometimes he sat +beside a table, with his head leaning upon his hand, so buried in +thought as to be almost motionless; and sometimes he muttered to +himself, as he aroused up from these fits of abstraction. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah me!" he sighed, at last, rising slowly from his chair, and +beginning to walk about, but with less agitation of manner than +before exhibited. "This was a great mistake,—the one great error of +my life. How blind I was not to have foreseen just such a result as +this! I never had the smallest impulse of affection for her, and +never can have. Both are unhappy in our bonds, and both will be so +until death severs the unnatural tie. Ah me! A hundred thousand as a +marriage portion, doubled on my own side, with half a million in +prospect, does not put a single drop of honey in this cup, which +grows more bitter with every draught. The worldly advantage is all +very well. I am satisfied with that. But it comes at too heavy a +cost. And poor Kate"—there was something of pity in the tone with +which this was uttered—pity, not tenderness—"she has been the +most wronged in this business. But the alliance was of her father's +own seeking. His were the offered inducements, and I am not to be +blamed if the temptation proved too strong for me. To a great +extent, I can protect myself, though not fully. There are, thorns in +my pillow which can neither be covered nor removed. Ah me! I wish +Kate would seek, as I do, in coldness and indifference, the +protection she needs. Her mother's observation is correct. There is +no tenderness in my manner, and I have not meant that there should +be. I have not treated her unkindly, for I wished to avoid all cause +for complaint or reproach. I wished to stand clear before the world; +and I am clear. If she beat herself against the bars of her cage, am +I to blame? No, no! Let her yield to the necessity of her position, +as I do. Let her avail herself of all the sources of forgetfulness +within her reach—and there are many—and live passionless, if not +happy. But she will not. If some speedy change do not take place, +she cannot live a year. The world is quick in its imputation of +wrong; and a whisper from her friends may thrill a thousand hearts +with a suspicion of foul play, if she go down to the grave in so +short a period after our marriage. And there is yet another +consideration,—my interest in her father's large estate. How will +that be affected? Having sacrificed so much for this consideration, +it must not be abandoned now." +</P> + +<P> +Edwards continued to move about the room, in deep reflection, for a +considerable time longer. Then he went slowly up to his wife's +chamber. She was lying upon the bed, with her face buried in a +pillow. She did not stir, although his footfall was distinct upon +the floor. Edwards went to the bedside, and leaning over, said, with +more affection in his voice than he had ever used since their +marriage, taking her hand in his, with a gentle pressure, at the +same time— +</P> + +<P> +"Kate, it grieves me to see you so ill both in body and mind." +</P> + +<P> +There was an instant quiver in every limb, before so motionless; but +the sufferer neither arose nor made any reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Unless something be done for your relief," continued Mr. Edwards, +in the same tone, "you cannot live. You know how much we are all +afflicted, and how anxious we all feel on account of your loss of +health and spirits." +</P> + +<P> +The hand of his wife was still in his, and he held it with the same +gentle pressure, that was now as gently returned. The impulse of Mr. +Edwards was to remove his hand the instant Kate showed this +consciousness of a tenderer manifestation than he was accustomed to +give; but he restrained himself, and still let his hand rest upon +hers. He felt that she was listening to him, and that he had the +ability to influence her as he would, if he used the power of a +well-counterfeited regard. After a few moments' silence, he went +on:— +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure that a change of air and a change of scene will do you +good. This Doctor R—has already said, and you know that we all +agree in the opinion. Now, will you not, to relieve the minds of +your friends, even if you feel reluctant to quit this seclusion into +which you have shrunk, make an effort? I am ready to go with you, at +any moment. Come! arouse yourself; if not for your own sake, for +ours, for mine." +</P> + +<P> +The way in which this was said, more than the words themselves, +acted like a charm upon Mrs. Edwards. The almost pulseless lethargy +into which she had fallen passed off quickly, and rising up, she +pushed back the matted hair from her face, and said, "I know you all +think me perverse and unreasonable, and I may be so to some extent; +but I will try to do as you wish. I feel as weak in mind and body as +a child; and, like a child, I will submit myself to your direction. +Only, Percy,"—her voice had a most touching pathos as she said +this,—"<I>love me as a child!</I> Speak to me as gently, as tenderly as +you did just now, and I will be the happiest being alive." +</P> + +<P> +As she spoke, she leaned over towards her husband, and, burying her +face on his bosom, sobbed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +Cold-hearted as was Percy Edwards, this exhibition moved him. It was +unexpected, and, therefore, he was not prepared to meet it in the +way he would otherwise have done. As Kate lay weeping upon his +bosom, and almost clinging to him, he experienced a change of +feeling towards her. Pity melted into tenderness, and, on the +impulse of the moment, he drew his arm around her, and, bending +down, touched his lips to her forehead. +</P> + +<P> +A happier moment the trembling wife had not known for years. +</P> + +<P> +"You will make a short visit to Newport?" said Mr. Edwards, as +Kate's feelings grew calmer. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," she whispered, "if you wish me to do so." +</P> + +<P> +"Only on account of your health," he replied, "I know it will do you +good." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, certainly I will go. Forgive me for having before hesitated a +moment; it was a childish weakness. But I will try hereafter to act +with more reason." +</P> + +<P> +The pressure of a tenderly spoken word revealed to Percy Edwards a +hidden treasure in the love of a woman, worthy, truly worthy of a +full reciprocation. Her heart was open and panting before him. Alas! +for the man, that he could not prize the untold wealth he had only +to reach forth his hand and take. But the lover of himself and the +world is ever blind to what are life's real blessings. Thus blind +was Percy Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +Deluded into the belief that a genuine affection had been awakened +in the breast of her husband, Kate felt the motions of a new life +within her. +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied that if he again fell back into his old habit of treating +his wife, she would at once relapse into her former state of +depression, Mr. Edwards maintained a certain appearance of +affection, much as the effort cost him. It was wonderful to see the +effect upon Mrs. Edwards. Her countenance became cheerful, her voice +lost its even, passionless tone, and she evinced an interest in much +that was passing around her. Preparations were immediately commenced +for a visit to Newport, and in a week from the time she was aroused +from the lethargy into which she had fallen, she left for that +fashionable resort, in company with her husband and several friends. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, by +T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARRIED LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 4626-h.htm or 4626-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/2/4626/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 30, 2009 [EBook #4626] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: February 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARRIED LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +MARRIED LIFE: + +ITS SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE + + +BY + +T. S. ARTHUR. + + + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1852. + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +THE highest, purest, best and holiest relation in life is that of +marriage, which ought never to be regarded as a mere civil contract, +entered into from worldly ends, but as an essential union of two +minds, by which each gains a new power, and acquires! new capacities +for enjoyment and usefulness. Much has been said and written about +the equality of the sexes, and the rights of woman; but little of +all that has been said or written on this subject is based upon a +discriminating appreciation of the difference between man and woman; +a difference provided by the Creator, who made them for each other, +and stamped upon the spirit of each an irresistible tendency towards +conjunction. + +The many evils resulting from marriage do not arise from a failure +in our sex to recognise the equality of man and woman, or the rights +of the latter; but from hasty, ill-judged and discordant alliances, +entered into in so many cases, from motives of a mere external +nature, and with no perception of internal qualities tending to a +true spiritual conjunction. Oppression and wrong cannot flow from +true affection, for love seeks to bless its object.--If, therefore, +man and woman are not happy in marriage, the fault lies in an +improper union, and no remedy can be found in outward constraints or +appliances. Let each, under such circumstances, remove from himself +or herself a spirit of selfish opposition; let forbearance, +gentleness, and a humane consideration, the one for the other, find +its way into the heart, and soon a better and a brighter day will +dawn upon them; for then will begin that true interior conjunction +which only can be called marriage. Happily, we have the intellectual +ability to see what is true, and the power to compel ourselves to do +what reason shows us to be right. And here lies the power of all to +rise above those ills of life which flow from causes in themselves. +To aid in this work, so far as discordant marriage relations are +concerned, and to bind in closer bonds those whose union is +internal, is the present volume prepared. That it will tend to unite +rather than separate, where discord unhappily exists, and to warn +those about forming alliances against the wrong of improper ones, +the author is well assured. + +This book is the second in the series of "ARTHUR'S LIBRARY FOR THE +HOUSEHOLD." The third in the series will be "THE TWO WIVES; OR, LOST +AND WON," which is nearly ready for publication. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND. + RULING A WIFE. + THE INVALID WIFE. + THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL. + GUESS WHO IT IS. + MARRYING A TAILOR. + THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. + THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. + IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? + THE UNLOVED ONE. + + + + +MARRIED LIFE. + + + + +THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND. + + +TO those who have never tried the experiment, the management of a +husband may seem a very easy matter. I thought so once, but a few +years' hard experience has compelled me to change my mind. When I +married Mr. John Smith, which was about ten years ago, I was not +altogether blind to his faults and peculiarities; but then he had so +many solid virtues, that these were viewed as minor considerations. +Besides, I flattered myself that it would be the easiest thing in +the world to correct what was not exactly to my taste. It is no +matter of especial wonder that I should have erred in this, for Mr. +John Smith, while a lover, really appeared to have no will of his +own, and no thought of himself. It was only necessary for me to +express a wish, and it was gratified. + +I soon found, much to my disappointment, that there is a marked +difference between a husband and a lover: it was at least so in the +case of Mr. Smith, and observation, since I have had my eyes open, +satisfies me that it is so in most cases. I must own, in justice to +all parties, however, that this difference is made more apparent by +a want of knowledge, on the other side, in regard to the difference +between the relation of a wife and a sweetheart--between the wooed +and the won. + +There were a good many little things in Mr. Smith, which I had +noticed before marriage, that I made up my mind to correct as soon +as I had an opportunity to apply the proper means. He had a fashion +of saying "Miss" for "Mrs.," as "Miss Jones" and "Miss Peters" for +"Mrs. Jones" and "Mrs. Peters." This sounded exceedingly vulgar to +my ears, and I waited almost impatiently for the time to come when I +could use the prerogative of a wife for its correction. He had, an +ungraceful way of lounging in his chair and half reclining on the +sofa, even in company, that was terrible. It made me uneasy from +head to foot. Then he said, "I _shew_ it to him" for "I _showed_ it +to him,"--"of-_ten_" for "oft'n"--and "_obleeged_" for "obliged." + +Besides these, there were sundry other things that worried me not a +little. But I consoled myself with the reflection that when I became +Mrs. Smith all these little matters would vanish like frost in the +sunshine. I was, alas! doomed to be mistaken. But let me give my +experience for the benefit of those who are to come after me. + +We had been married just ten days, and I had begun to feel that I +was really a wife, and had a right to say and do a little as I +pleased, when Mr. Smith said to me, as we sat quite lover-like on +the sofa in the evening, + +"I met Miss Williams as I came home this evening--" + +"For mercy's sake, Mr. Smith! don't say _Miss_ when you speak of a +married woman. It is excessively vulgar." I was not aware that I had +spoken in a very offensive way, but I noticed an instant change in +Mr. Smith. He replied, with some dignity of tone, and manner-- + +"I ask your pardon, madam; but I didn't say _Miss_. I am not quite +so ignorant as all that comes to." + +"Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, but you did say it," I replied, quite +astonished at this unexpected denial. + +"Excuse me for saying that you are in error," he returned, drawing +himself up. "I never say Miss for Mrs." + +"Why, Mr. Smith! You always say it. I have noticed it a hundred +times. I believe I can hear pretty correctly." + +"In this instance you certainly have not." + +Mr. Smith was growing warm, and I felt the blood rushing to my face. +A rather tart reply was on my lips, but I bit them hard and +succeeded in keeping them closed. + +A deep silence followed. In a little while Mr. Smith took up a +newspaper and commenced reading, and I found some relief for a heavy +pressure that was upon my bosom, in the employment of hem-stitching +a fine pocket-handkerchief. + +And this was the return I had met for a kind attempt to correct a +mistake of my husband's, that made him liable to ridicule on the +charge of vulgarity! And to deny, too, that he said "_Miss_," when I +had been worried about it for more than a year! It was too bad! + +After this Mr. Smith was very particular in saying, when he spoke of +a married woman to me, _Misses_. The emphasis on the second syllable +was much too strongly marked to be pleasant on my ears. I was +terribly afraid he would say "_Mistress_," thus going off into the +opposite extreme of vulgarity. + +This first attempt to put my husband straight had certainly not been +a very pleasant one. He had shown, unexpectedly to me, a humour that +could by no means be called amiable; and by which I was both +grieved, and astonished. I made up my mind that I would be very +careful in future how I tried my hand at reforming him. But his +oft-repeated "he _shew_ it to me," and "_obleeged_," soon fretted me +so sorely, that I was forced to come down upon him again, which I +did at a time when I felt more than usually annoyed. I cannot +remember now precisely what I said to him, but I know that I put him +into an ill-humour, and that it was cloudy weather in the house for +a week, although the sun shone brightly enough out of doors. "_He +shew it to me_," and "_obleeged_" were, however, among the things +that had been, after that. So much was gained; although there were +times when I half suspected that I had lost more than I had gained. +But I persevered, and, every now and then, when I got "worked up" +about something, administered the rod of correction. + +Gradually I could see that my husband was changing, and, as I felt, +for the worse. Scarcely a year had passed before he would get into a +pet if I said the least word to him. He couldn't bear any thing from +me. This seemed very unreasonable, and caused me not only to sigh, +but to shed many a tear over his perverseness. From the thoughtful, +ever considerate, self-sacrificing lover, he had come to be +disregardful of my wishes, careless of my comfort, and indifferent +to my society. Still I felt by no means inclined to give him up; was +by no means disposed to let him have his own way. It was clear to my +mind that I had rights as well as he had; and I possessed resolution +enough to be ready to maintain them. His self-will and indifference +to my wishes roused in me a bitter and contentious spirit; and, in +an evil hour, I determined that I would make a struggle for the +mastery. An opportunity was not long delayed. The Philharmonic +Society had announced one of its splendid concerts. A lady friend, +who had frequently attended these concerts, called in to see me, +and, by what she said, filled me with a desire to enjoy the fine +musical treat that had been announced for that very evening. + +When Mr. Smith came home at dinner he said, before I had time to +mention the concert-- + +"Mary, I've taken a fancy to go and see Fanny Ellsler to-night, and, +as there will be no chance of getting a good seat this afternoon, I +took the precaution to secure tickets as I came home to dinner. I +would have sent the porter with a note to know whether there was any +thing to prevent your going to-night, but he has been out all the +morning, and I concluded that, even if there should be some slight +impediment in the way, you could easily set it aside." + +Now this I thought too much. To go and buy tickets to see Fanny +Ellsler dance, and take it for granted that I would lay every thing +aside to go, when I had set my heart on attending the Philharmonic +concert! + +"You are a strange man, Mr. Smith," said I. "You ought to know that I +don't care a fig about seeing Fanny Ellsler. I don't relish such +kind of performances. You at least might have waited until you came +home to dinner and asked the question. I don't believe a word about +the good seats all being taken this morning. But it's just like you! +To go and see this dancers toss her feet about was a thing you had +made up your mind to do, and I was to go along whether I liked it or +not." + +"You talk in rather a strange way, Mrs. Smith," said my husband, +evidently offended. + +"I don't see that I do," replied I, warming. "The fact is, Mr. +Smith, you seem to take it for granted that I am nobody. Here I've +been making all my calculations to go to the Philharmonic to-night, +and you come home with tickets for the theatre! But I can tell you +plainly that I am _not_ going to see Fanny Ellsler, and that I _am_ +going to the Philharmonic." + +This was taking a stand that I had never taken before. In most of my +efforts to make my husband go my way, he had succeeded in making me +go his way. This always chafed me dreadfully. I fretted and scolded, +and "all that sort of thing," but it was no use, I could not manage +him. The direct issue of "I won't" and "I will" had not yet been +made, and I was some time in coming to the resolution to have a +struggle, fiercer than ever, for the ascendency. I fondly believed +that for peace' sake he would not stand firm if he saw me resolute. +Under this view of the case, I made the open averment that I would +not go to the theatre. I expected that a scene would follow, but I +was mistaken. Mr. Smith did, indeed, open his eyes a little wider, +but he said nothing. + +Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table. Mr. Smith +arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step. Before we +were married he wouldn't have dreamed of thus preceding me! I was +fretted at this little act. It indicated too plainly what was in the +man. + +Dinner passed in silence. I forced myself to eat, that I might +appear unconcerned. On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the +house without saying a word. + +You may suppose I didn't feel very comfortable during the afternoon. +I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the +last. That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first. But, as +evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some +misgivings. + +Mr. Smith came home early. + +"Mary," said he, in his usual pleasant way, "I have ordered a +carriage to be here at half-past seven. We mustn't leave home later, +as the curtain rises at eight." + +"What curtain rises? Where do you think of going?" + +"To see Fanny Ellsler, of course. I mentioned to you at dinner-time +that I had tickets." + +This was said very calmly. + +"And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic, +and not to see this dancer." I tried to appear as composed as he +was, but failed in the attempt altogether. + +"You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said +that," was the cold answer he made. + +"Of course I was." + +"Very well, Mary. You can do as you like. The carriage will be here +at half-past seven. If you are then ready to go to the theatre, I +shall be happy to have your company." And my husband, after saying +this with a most unruffled manner, politely bowed and retired to the +parlour. + +I was on fire. But I had no thought of yielding. + +At half-past seven I was ready. I heard the carriage drive up to the +door and the bell ring. + +"Mary," called my husband at the bottom of the stair-case, in a +cheerful tone, "are you ready?" + +"Ready to go where?" I asked on descending. + +"To the theatre." + +"I am ready for the concert," I answered in as composed a voice as I +could assume. + +"_I_ am not going to the concert to-night, Mrs. Smith. I thought you +understood that," firmly replied my husband. "I am going to see +Fanny Ellsler. If you will go with me, I shall be very happy to have +your company. If not, I must go alone." + +"And I am going to the Philharmonic. I thought you understood that," +I replied, with equal resolution. + +"Oh! very well," said he, not seeming to be at all disturbed. "Then +you can use the carriage at the door. I will walk to the theatre." + +Saying this, Mr. Smith turned from me deliberately and walked away. +I heard him tell the driver of the carriage to take me to the +Musical Fund Hall; then I heard the street-door close, and then I +heard my husband's footsteps on the pavement as he left the house. +Without hesitating a moment for reflection, I followed to the door, +entered the carriage, and ordered the man to drive me--where? I had +no ticket for the concert; nor could I go alone! + +"To the Musical Fund Hall, I believe, madam," he said, standing with +his fingers touching the rim of his hat. + +I tried to think what I should do. To be conquered was hard. And it +was clear that I could not go alone. + +"No," I replied, grasping hold of the first suggestion that came to +my mind. "Drive me to No.--Walnut street." + +I had directed him to the house of my sister, where I thought I +would stay until after eleven o'clock, and then return home, leaving +my husband to infer that I had been to the concert. But long before +I had reached my sister's house, I felt so miserable that I deemed +it best to call out of the window to the driver, and direct him to +return. On arriving at home, some twenty minutes after I had left +it, I went up to my chamber, and there had a hearty crying spell to +myself. I don't know that I ever felt so bad before in my life. I +had utterly failed in this vigorous contest with my husband, who had +come off perfectly victorious. Many bitter things did I write +against him in my heart, and largely did I magnify his faults. I +believe I thought over every thing that occurred since we were +married, and selected therefrom whatever could justify the +conclusion that he was a self-willed, overbearing, unfeeling man, +and did not entertain for me a particle of affection. + +It was clear that I had not been able to manage my spouse, +determined as I had been to correct all his faults, and make him one +of the best, most conciliating and loving of husbands, with whom my +wish would be law. Still I could not think of giving up. The thought +of being reduced to a tame, submissive wife, who could hardly call +her soul her own, was not for a moment to be entertained. On +reflection, it occurred to me that I had, probably, taken the wrong +method with my husband. There was a touch of stubbornness in his +nature that had arrayed itself against my too earnest efforts to +bend him to my will. A better way occurred. I had heard it said by +some one, or had read it somewhere, that no man was proof against a +woman's tears. + +On the present occasion I certainly felt much more like crying than +laughing, and so it was no hard matter, I can honestly aver, to +appear bathed in tears on my husband's return between eleven and +twelve o'clock from the theatre. I cried from vexation as much as +from any other feeling. + +When Mr. Smith came up into the chamber where I lay, I greeted his +presence with half a dozen running sobs, which he answered by +whistling the "Craccovienne!" I continued to sob, and he continued +to whistle for the next ten minutes. By that time he was ready to +get into bed, which he did quite leisurely, and laid himself down +upon his pillow with an expression of satisfaction. Still I sobbed +on, thinking that every sighing breath I drew was, in spite of his +seeming indifference, a pang to his heart. But, from this fond +delusion a heavily drawn breath, that was almost a snore, aroused +me. I raised up and looked over at the man--he was sound asleep. + +A good hearty cry to myself was all the satisfaction I had, and then +I went to sleep. On the next morning, I met Mr. Smith at the +breakfast table with red eyes and a sad countenance. But he did not +seem to notice either. + +"I hope you enjoyed yourself at the concert last night," said he. "I +was delighted at the theatre. Fanny danced divinely. Hers is truly +the poetry of motion!" + +Now this was too much! I will leave it to any reader--any female +reader, I mean--whether this was not too much. I burst into a flood +of tears and immediately withdrew, leaving my husband to eat his +breakfast alone. He sat the usual time, which provoked me +exceedingly. If he had jumped up from the table and left the house, +I would have felt that I had made some impression upon him. But to +take things in this calm way! What had I gained? Nothing, as I could +see. After breakfast Mr. Smith came up to the chamber, and, seeing +my face buried in a pillow, weeping bitterly--I had increased the +flow of tears on hearing him ascending the stairs--said in a low +voice-- + +"Are you not well, Mary?" + +I made no answer, but continued to weep. Mr. Smith stood for the +space of about a minute, but asked no further question. Then, +without uttering a word, he retired from the chamber, and in a +little while after I heard him leave the house. I cried now in good +earnest. It was plain that my husband had no feeling; that he did +not care whether I was pleased or sad. But I determined to give him +a fair trial. If I failed in this new way, what was I to do? The +thought of becoming the passive slave of a domestic tyrant was +dreadful. I felt that I could not live in such a state. When Mr. +Smith came home at dinner-time I was in my chamber, ready prepared +for a gush of tears. As he opened the door I looked up with +streaming eyes, and then hid my face in a pillow. + +"Mary," said he, with much kindness in his voice, "what ails you? +Are you sick?" He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke. + +But I did not reply. I meant to punish him well for what he had done +as a lesson for the future. I next expected him to draw his arm +around me, and be very tender and sympathizing in his words and +tones. But no such thing! He quietly withdrew the hand he had placed +upon mine; and stood by me, I could feel, though not see, in a cold, +erect attitude. + +"Are you not well, Mary?" he asked again. + +I was still silent. A little while after I heard him moving across +the floor, and then the chamber door shut. I was once more alone. + +When the bell rang for dinner, I felt half sorry that I had +commenced this new mode of managing my husband; but, as I had begun, +I was determined to go through with it. "He'll at least take care +how he acts in the future," I said. I did not leave my chamber to +join my husband at the dinner table. He sat his usual time, as I +could tell by the ringing of the bell for the servant to change the +plates and bring in the dessert. I was exceedingly fretted; and more +so by his returning to his business without calling up to see me, +and making another effort to dispel my grief. + +For three days I tried this experiment upon my husband, who bore it +with the unflinching heroism of a martyr. I was forced, at last, to +come to; but I was by no means satisfied that my new mode was a +failure. For all Mr. Smith's assumed indifference, I knew that he +had been troubled at heart, and I was pretty well satisfied that he +would think twice before provoking me to another essay of tears. +Upon the whole, I felt pretty sure that I had discovered the means +of doing with him as I pleased. + +A few weeks of sunshine passed--I must own that the sun did not look +so bright, nor feel so warm as it had done in former times--and then +our wills came once more into collision. But my tears fell upon a +rock. I could not see that they made the least perceptible +impression. Mr. Smith had his own way, and I cried about it until I +got tired of that sport, and in very weariness gave over. For the +space of a whole year I stood upon tears as my last defensible +position. Sometimes I didn't smile for weeks. But my husband +maintained his ground like a hero. + +At last I gave up in despair. Pride, self-will, anger--all were +conquered. I was a weak woman in the hands of a strong-minded man. +If I could not love him as I wished to love him, I could at least +obey. In nothing did I now oppose him, either by resolute words or +tears. If he expressed a wish, whether to me agreeable or not, I +acquiesced. + +One day, not long after this change in my conduct towards my +husband, he said to me, "I rather think, Mary, we will spend a +couple of weeks at Brandywine Springs, instead of going to Cape May +this season." + +I replied, "Very well, dear;" although I had set my heart on going +to the Capes. My sister and her husband and a number of my friends +were going down, and I had anticipated a good deal of pleasure. I +did not know of a single person who was going to the Brandywine +Springs. But what was the use of entering into a contest with my +husband? He would come off the conqueror, spite of angry words or +ineffectual tears. + +"The Springs are so much more quiet than the Capes," said my +husband. + +"Yes," I remarked, "there is less gay company there." + +"Don't you think you will enjoy yourself as well there as at the +Capes?" + +Now this was a good deal for my husband to say. I hardly knew what +to make of it. + +"If you prefer going there, dear, let us go by all means," I +answered. I was not affecting any thing, but was in earnest in what +I said. + +Mr. Smith looked into my face for some moments, and with unusual +affection I thought. + +"Mary," said he, "if you think the time will pass more pleasantly to +you at the Capes, let us go there by all means." + +"My sister Jane is going to the Capes," I remarked, with some little +hesitation; "and so is Mrs. L--and Mrs. D--, and a good many +more of our friends. I did think that I would enjoy myself there +this season very much. But I have no doubt I shall find pleasant +society at the Springs." + +"We will go to the Capes," said my husband promptly and cheerfully. + +"No," said I, emulous now for the first time in a new cause. "I am +sure the time will pass agreeably enough at the Springs. And as you +evidently prefer going there, we will let the Capes pass for this +year." + +"To the Capes, Mary, and nowhere else," replied my husband, in the +very best of humours. "I am sure you will enjoy yourself far better +there. I did not know your sister was going." + +And to the Capes we went, and I did enjoy myself excellently well. +As for my husband, I never saw him in a better state of mind. To me +he was more like a lover than a husband. No, I will not say that +either, for I can't admit that a husband may not be as kind and +affectionate as a lover; for he can and will be if managed rightly, +and a great deal more so. Whenever I expressed a wish, it appeared +to give him pleasure to gratify it. Seeing this, instead of +suffering myself to be the mere recipient of kind attentions, I +began to vie with him in the sacrifice of selfish wishes and +feelings. + +It is wonderful how all was changed after this. There were no more +struggles on my part to manage my husband, and yet I generally had +things my own way. Before I could not turn him to the right nor the +left, though I strove to do so with my utmost strength. Now I held +him only with a silken fetter, and guided him, without really +intending to do so, in almost any direction. + +Several years have passed since that ever-to-be-remembered, happy +visit to Cape May. Not once since have I attempted any management of +my husband, and yet it is a rare thing that my wish is not, as it +used to be before we were married, his law. It is wonderful, too, +how he has improved. I am sure he is not the same man that he was +five years ago. But, perhaps, I see with different eyes. At any +rate, I am not the same woman; or, if the same, very unlike what I +then was. + +So much for my efforts to manage a husband. Of the three ways so +faithfully tried, my fair readers will be at no loss to determine +which is best. I make these honest confessions for the good of my +sex. My husband, Mr. John Smith, will be no little surprised if this +history should meet his eye. But I do not believe it will interrupt +the present harmonious relations existing between us, but rather +tend to confirm and strengthen them. + + + + +RULING A WIFE. + + +AS a lover, Henry Lane was the kindest, most devoted, +self-sacrificing person imaginable. He appeared really to have no +will of his own, so entire was his deference to his beautiful +Amanda; yet, for all this, he had no very high opinion of her as an +intelligent being. She was lovely, she was gentle, she was good; and +these qualities, combined with personal grace and beauty, drew him +in admiration to her side, and filled him with the desire to possess +her as his own. + +As a husband, Henry Lane was a different being. His relation had +changed, and his exterior changed correspondingly. Amanda was his +wife; and as such she must be, in a certain sense, under him. It was +his judgment that must govern in all matters; for her judgment, in +the affairs of life, was held in light estimation. Moreover, as a +man, it was his province to control and direct and her duty to look +to him for guidance. + +Yet, for all this, if the truth must be told, the conclusions of +Amanda's mind were, in ordinary affairs, even more correct than her +husband's judgment; for he was governed a great deal by impulses and +first impressions, instead of by the reason of which he was so +proud, while she came naturally into the woman's quick perceptions +of right and propriety. This being the case, it may readily be seen +that there was a broad ground-work for unhappiness in the married +state. Amanda could not sink into a mere cipher; she could not give +up her will entirely to the guidance of another, and cease to act +from her own volitions. + +It took only a few months to make the young wife feel that her +position was to be one of great trial. She was of a mild and gentle +character, more inclined to suffer than resist; but her judgment was +clear, and she saw the right or wrong of any act almost +instinctively. Love did not make her blind to every thing in her +husband. He had faults and unpleasant peculiarities, and she saw +them plainly, and often desired to correct them. But one trial of +this kind sufficed to keep her silent. He was offended, and showed +his state of mind so plainly, that she resolved never to stand in +that relation to him again. + +As time progressed, the passiveness of Amanda encouraged in Lane his +natural love of ruling. His household was his kingdom, and there his +will must be the law. In his mind arose the conceit that, in every +thing, his judgment was superior to that of his wife: even in the +smaller matters of household economy, he let this be seen. His +taste, too, was more correct, and applied itself to guiding and +directing her into a proper state of dressing. He decided about the +harmony of colours and the choice of patterns. She could not buy +even a ribbon without there being some fault found with it, as not +possessing the elements of beauty in just arrangements. In company, +you would often hear him say--"Oh, my wife has no taste. She would +dress like a fright if I did not watch her all the time." + +Though outwardly passive or concurrent when such things were said, +Amanda felt them as unjust, and they wounded her more or less +severely, according to the character of the company in which she +happened at the time to be; but her self-satisfied husband saw +nothing of this. And not even when some one, more plainly spoken +than others, would reply to such a remark--"She did not dress like a +fright before you were married," did he perceive his presumption and +his errors. + +But passiveness under such a relation does not always permanently +remain; it was accompanied from the first by a sense of oppression +and injustice, though love kept the feeling subdued. The desire for +ruling in any position gains strength by activity. The more the +young wife yielded, the more did the husband assume, until at length +Amanda felt that she had no will of her own, so to speak. The +conviction of this, when it formed itself in her mind, half +involuntarily brought with it an instinctive feeling of resistance. +Here was the forming point of antagonism--the beginning of the state +of unhappiness foreshadowed from the first. Had Amanda asserted her +right to think and act for herself in the early days of her married +life, the jar of discord would have been light. It now promised to +be most afflicting in its character. + +The first activity of Amanda's newly forming state showed itself in +the doing of certain things to which she was inclined, notwithstanding +the expression of her husband's disapproval. Accustomed to the most +perfect compliance, Mr. Lane was disturbed by this. + +"Oh, dear! what a horrid looking thing!" said he one day, as he +discovered a new dress pattern which his wife had just purchased +lying on a chair. "Where in the world did that come from?" + +"I bought it this morning," replied Amanda. + +"Take it back, or throw it into the fire," was the husband's rude +response. + +"I think it neat," said Amanda, smiling. + +"Neat? It's awful! But you've no taste. I wish you'd let me buy your +dresses." + +The wife made no answer to this. Lane said a good deal more about +it, to all of which Amanda opposed but little. However, her mind was +made up to one thing, and that was to take it to the mantuamaker's. +The next Lane saw of the dress was on his wife. + +"Oh, mercy!" he exclaimed, holding up his hand, "I thought you had +burnt it. Why did you have it made up?" + +"I like it," quietly answered Mrs. Lane. + +"You like any thing." + +"I haven't much taste, I know," said Amanda, "but such as it is, it +is pleasant to gratify it sometimes." + +Something in the way this remark was made it disturbed the +self-satisfaction which was a leading feature in Mr. Lane's state of +mind; he, however, answered--"I wish you would be governed by me in +matters of this kind; you know my taste is superior to yours. Do +take off that dress, and throw it in the fire." + +Amanda did not reply to this, for it excited feelings and produced +thoughts that she had no wish to manifest. But she did not comply +with her husband's wishes. She liked the dress and meant to wear it, +and she did wear it, notwithstanding her husband's repeated +condemnation of her taste. + +At this time they had one child--a babe less than a year old. From +the first, Lane had encroached upon the mother's province. This had +been felt more sensibly than any thing else by his wife, for it +disturbed the harmonious activity of the natural law which gives to +a mother the perception of what is best for her infant. Still, she +had been so in the habit of yielding to the force of his will, that +she gave way to his interference here in numberless instances, +though she as often felt that he was wrong as right. Conceit of his +own intelligence blinded him to the intelligence of others. Of this +Amanda became more and more satisfied every day. At first, she had +passively admitted that he knew best; but her own common sense and +clear perceptions soon repudiated this idea. While his love of +predominance affected only herself, she could bear it with great +patience; but when it was exercised, day after day, and week after +week, in matters pertaining to her babe, she grew restless under the +oppression. + +After the decided, position taken in regard to her dress, Amanda's +mind acquired strength in a new direction. A single gratification of +her own will, attained in opposition to the will of her husband, +stirred a latent desire for repeated gratifications; and it was not +long before Lane discovered this fact, and wondered at the change +which had taken place in his wife's temper. She no longer acquiesced +in every suggestion, nor yielded when he opposed argument to an +assumed position. The pleasure of thinking and acting for herself +had been restored, and the delight appertaining to its indulgence +was no more to be suppressed. Her husband's reaction on this state +put her in greater freedom; for it made more distinctly manifest the +quality of his ruling affection, and awoke in her mind a more +determined spirit of resistance. + +Up to this time, even in the most trifling matters of domestic and +social life, Lane's will had been the law. This was to be so no +longer. A new will had come into activity; and that will a woman's +will. Passive it had been for a long time under a pressure that +partial love and a yielding temper permitted to remain; but its +inward life was unimpaired; and when its motions became earnest, it +was strong and enduring. The effort made by Lane to subdue these +motions the moment he perceived them, only gave them a stronger +impulse. The hand laid upon her heart to quiet its pulsations only +made it beat with a quicker effort, while it communicated its +disturbance to his own. + +The causes leading to the result we are to describe have been fully +enough set forth; they steadily progressed until the husband and +wife were in positions of direct antagonism. Lane could not give up +his love of controlling every thing around him, and his wife, fairly +roused to opposition, followed the promptings of her own will, in +matters where right was clearly on her side, with a quiet +perseverance that always succeeded. Of course, they were often made +unhappy; yet enough forbearance existed on both sides to prevent an +open rupture--at least, for a time. That, however, came at last, and +was the more violent from the long accumulation of reactive forces. + +The particulars of this rupture we need not give; it arose in a +dispute about the child when she was two years old. As usual, Lane +had attempted to set aside the judgment of his wife in something +pertaining to the child, as inferior to his own, and she had not +submitted. Warm words ensued, in which he said a good deal about a +wife's knowing her place and keeping it. + +"I am not your slave!" said Amanda, indignantly; the cutting words +of her husband throwing her off her guard. + +"You are my wife," he calmly and half contemptuously replied; "and, +as such, are bound to submit yourself to your husband." + +"To my husband's intelligence, not to his mere will," answered +Amanda, less warmly, but more resolutely than at first. + +"Yes, to his will!" said Lane, growing blind from anger. + +"That I have done long enough," returned the wife. "But the time is +past now. By your intelligence, when I see in it superior light to +what exists in my own, I will be guided, but, by your will--never!" + +The onward moving current of years, which, for some time, had been +chafing amid obstructions, now met a sudden barrier, and flowed over +in a raging torrent. A sharp retort met this firm declaration of +Amanda, stinging her into anger, and producing a state of +recrimination. While in this state, she spoke plainly of his +assumption of authority over her from the first,--of her passiveness +for a time,--of being finally aroused to opposition. + +"And now," she added, in conclusion, "I am content to be your wife +and equal, but will be no longer your passive and obedient slave." + +"Your duty is to obey. You can occupy no other position as my wife," +returned the blind and excited husband. + +"Then we must part." + +"Be it so." And as he said this, Lane turned hurriedly away and left +the house. + +Fixed as a statue, for a long time, sat the stunned and wretched +wife. As the current of thoughts again flowed on, and the words of +her husband presented themselves in even a more offensive light than +when they were first uttered, indignant pride took the uppermost +place in her mind. + +"He will not treat me as a wife and equal," she said, "and I will no +longer be his slave." + +In anger Lane turned from his wife; and for hours after parting with +her this anger burned with an all-consuming flame. For him to yield +was out of the question. His manly pride would never consent to +this. She must fall back into her true position. He did not return +home, as usual, at dinner-time; but absented himself, in order to +give her time for reflection, as well as to awaken her fears lest he +would abandon her altogether. Towards night, imagining his wife in a +state of penitence and distressing anxiety, and feeling some +commiseration for her on that account, Mr. Lane went back to his +dwelling. As he stepped within the door, a feeling of desertion and +loneliness came over him; and unusual silence seemed to pervade the +house. He sat down in the parlour for some minutes; but hearing no +movement in the chamber above, nor catching even a murmur of his +child's voice, a sound for which his ears were longing, he ascended +the stairs, but found no one there. As he turned to go down again he +met a servant. + +"Where is Mrs. Lane?" he asked. + +"I don't know," was answered. "She went out this morning, and has +not returned." + +"Where is Mary?" + +"She took Mary with her." + +"Didn't she say where she was going?" + +"No, sir." + +Mr. Lane asked no more questions, but went back into the room from +which he had just emerged, and, sitting down, covered his face with +his hands, and endeavoured to collect his thoughts. + +"Has she deserted me?" he asked of himself in an audible husky +whisper. + +His heart grew faint in the pause that followed. As the idea of +desertion became more and more distinct, Mr. Lane commenced +searching about in order to see whether his wife had not left some +communication for him, in which her purpose was declared. But he +found none. She had departed without leaving a sign. The night that +followed was a sleepless one to Lane. His mind was agitated by many +conflicting emotions. For hours, on the next day, he remained at +home, in the expectation of seeing or hearing from Amanda. But no +word came. Where had she gone? That was the next question. If he +must go in search of hers in what direction should he turn his +steps? She had no relations in the city, and with those who resided +at a distance she had cultivated no intimacy. + +The whole day was passed in a state of irresolution. To make the +fact known was to expose a family difficulty that concerned only +himself and wife; and give room for idle gossip and gross +detraction. Bad as the case was, the public would make it appear a +great deal worse than the reality. In the hope of avoiding this, he +concealed the sad affair for the entire day, looking, in each +recurring hour, for the return of his repentant wife. But he looked +in vain. Night came gloomily down, and she was still absent. + +He was sitting, about eight o'clock in the evening, undetermined yet +what to do, when a gentleman with whom he was but slightly +acquainted named Edmondson, called at the door and asked to see him. + +On being shown in, the latter, with some embarrassment in his +manner, said-- + +"I have called to inform you, that Mrs. Lane has been at my house +since yesterday." + +"At _your_ house!" + +"Yes. She came there yesterday morning; and, since that time, my +wife has been doing her best to induce her to return home. But, so +far, she has not been able to make the smallest impression. Not +wishing to become a party to the matter, I have called to see you on +the subject. I regret, exceedingly, that any misunderstanding has +occurred, and do not intend that either myself or family shall take +sides in so painful an affair. All that I can do, however, to heal +the difficulty, shall be done cheerfully." + +"What does she say?" asked Lane, when he had composed himself. + +"She makes no specific complaint." + +"What does she propose doing?" + +"She avows her intention of living separate from you, and supporting +herself and child by her own efforts." + +This declaration aroused a feeling of indignant pride in the +husband's mind. "It is my child as well as hers," said he. "She may +desert me, if she will; but she cannot expect me to give up my +child. To that I will never submit." + +"My dear sir," said Mr. Edmondson, "do not permit your mind to +chafe, angrily, over this unhappy matter. That will widen not heal, +the breach. In affairs of this kind, pardon me for the remark, there +are always faults on both sides; and the duty of each is to put away +his or her own state of anger and antagonism and seek to reconcile +the other, rather than to compel submission. As a man, you have the +advantage of a stronger and clearer judgment,--exercise it as a man. +Feeling and impulse often rule in a woman's mind, from the very +nature of her mental conformation; and we should remember this when +we pass judgment on her actions. There is often more honour in +yielding a point than in contending for it to the end, in the face +of threatened disaster. Let me then urge you to seek a reconciliation, +while there is yet opportunity, and permit the veil of oblivion to +fall, while it may, over this painful event. As yet, the fact has not +passed from the knowledge of myself and wife. Heal the breach, and +the secret remains where it is." + +"If she will return, I will receive her, and forgive and forget all. +Will you say this to her from me?" + +"Why not go to her at once? See her face to face. This is the best +and surest way." + +"No," said Lane, coldly. "She has left me of her own choice; and, +now, she must return. I gave her no cause for the rash act. Enough +for me that I am willing to forgive and forget all this. But I am +not the man to humble myself at the feet of a capricious woman. It +is not in me." + +"Mr. Lane, you are wrong!" said the visitor, in a decided tone. "All +wrong. Do you believe that your wife would have fled from you +without a real or imagined cause?" + +"No. But the cause is only in her imagination." + +"Then see her and convince her of this. It is the same to her, at +present, whether the cause be real or imaginary. She believes it +real, and feels all its effects as real. Show her that it is +imaginary, and all is healed." + +Lane shook his head. + +"I have never humbled myself before a man, much less a woman," said +he. + +This remark exhibited to Mr. Edmondson the whole ground-work of the +difficulty. Lane regarded a woman as inferior to a man, and had for +her, in consequence, a latent feeling of contempt. He could +understand, now, why his wife had left him; for he saw, clearly, +that, with such an estimation of woman, he would attempt to degrade +her from her true position; and, if she possessed an independent +spirit, render her life wellnigh insupportable. Earnestly did he +seek to convince Lane of his error; but to no good effect. As soon +as all doubt was removed from the mind of the latter in regard to +where his wife had gone, and touching the spirit which governed her +in her separation from him, his natural pride and +self-esteem--self-respect, he called it--came back into full +activity. No, he would never humble himself to a woman! That was the +unalterable state of his mind. If Amanda would return, and assume +her old place and her old relation, he would forget and forgive all. +This far he would go, and no farther. She had left of her own free +will, and that must bring her back. + +"You can say all this to her in any way you please; but I will not +seek her and enter into an humble supplication for her return. I +have too much self-respect--and am too much of a man--for that. If +she finds the struggle to do so hard and humiliating, she will be +the more careful how she places herself again in such a position. +The lesson will last her a life-time." + +"You are wrong; depend upon it, you are wrong!" urged Mr. Edmondson. +"There must be yielding and conciliation on both sides." + +"I can do no more than I have said. Passive I have been from the +first, and passive I will remain. As for our child, I wish you to +say to her, that I shall not consent to a separation. It is my child +as much as hers; moreover, as father, my responsibility is greatest, +and I am not the man to delegate my duties to another. Possession of +the child, if driven to that extremity, I will obtain through aid of +the law. This I desire that she shall distinctly understand. I make +no threat. I do not wish her to view the declaration in that light. +I affirm only the truth, that she may clearly understand all the +consequences likely to flow from her ill-advised step." + +The more Mr. Edmondson sought to convince Mr. Lane of his error, the +more determinedly did he cling to it; and he retired at last, under +the sad conviction that the unhappy couple had seen but the +beginning of troubles. + +Alone with his own thoughts, an hour had not elapsed before Mr. Lane +half repented of his conduct in taking so unyielding a position. A +conviction forced itself upon his mind that he had gone too far and +was asking too much; and he wished that he had not been quite so +exacting in his declarations to Mr. Edmondson. But, having made +them, his false pride of consistency prompted him to adhere to what +he had said. + +The night passed in broken and troubled sleep; and morning found him +supremely wretched. Yet resentment still formed a part of Mr. Lane's +feelings. He was angry with his wife, whom he had driven from his +side, and was in no mood to bend in order to effect a reconciliation. +At mid-day he returned from his business, hoping to find her at home. +But his house was still desolate. With the evening he confidently +expected her, but she was not there. Anxiously he sat, hour after +hour, looking for another visit from Mr. Edmondson, but he came not +again. + +In leaving her husband's house, Mrs. Lane had gone, as has been +seen, to the house of a friend. Mrs. Edmondson was an old school +companion, between whom and herself had continued to exist, as they +grew up, the tenderest relations. When she turned from her husband, +she fled, with an instinct of affection and sympathy, to this +friend, and poured her tears in a gild agony of affliction upon her +bosom. In leaving her husband, she was not governed by a sudden +caprice; nor was the act intended to humble him to her feet. Nothing +of this was in her mind. He had trenched upon her province as a wife +and mother; interfered with her freedom as an individual; and, at +last, boldly assumed the right to command and control her as an +inferior. The native independence of her character, which had long +fretted under this rule of subordination, now openly rebelled, and, +panting for freedom, she had sprung from her fetters with few +thoughts as to future consequences. + +The first day of absence was a day of weeping. Mrs. Edmondson could +not and did not approve of what had been done. + +"I am afraid, Amanda, that you have only made matters worse," said +she, as soon as she could venture to suggest any thing at all upon +the subject. "It is always easier to prevent than to heal a breach. +The day has not yet closed. There is time to go back. Your husband +need never know what has been in your mind. This hasty act may be +entirely concealed from him." + +But the long suffering wife had been roused to opposition. A new +current of feeling was sweeping across and controlling her mind. She +was, therefore, deaf to the voice of reason. Still her friend, as in +duty bound, urged her to think more calmly on the subject, and to +retrace the steps she had taken. But all was in vain. This being so, +her husband, as has been seen, called upon Mr. Lane, and informed +him that his wife was at his house. From this interview Mr. +Edmondson returned disheartened, and reported all that had been said +on both sides to his wife. + +"My husband saw Mr. Lane last evening," said Mrs. Edmondson to +Amanda on the next day. + +"He did!" Amanda looked eagerly into the face of her friend, while +she became much agitated. + +"Yes. He called to let him know that you were here." + +"What did he say?" + +"He wishes you to return. All will be forgotten and forgiven." + +"He said that?" + +"Yes." + +"I have done nothing for which I desire forgiveness," said Amanda, +coldly, and with the air of one who is hurt by the words of another. +"If he will not have me return as his wife and equal, I can never go +back." + +"For the sake of your child, Amanda, you should be willing to bear +much." + +"My child shall not grow, up and see her mother degraded." + +"She is his child as well as yours. Do not forget that," said Mrs. +Edmondson. "And it is by no means certain that he will permit you to +retain the possession of an object so dear to him." + +The face of Mrs. Lane instantly flushed at this, a suggestion which +had not before been presented to her mind. + +"Did he refer to this subject in conversing with your husband?" +inquired Amanda, with forced calmness. + +"He did." + +"What did he say?" + +"That, in any event, he could not and would not be separated from +his child. And you know, Amanda, that the law will give to him its +guardianship." + +"The law!" There was a huskiness in Mrs. Lane's voice. + +"Yes, Amanda, the law. It is well for you to view this matter in all +its relations. The law regards the father as the true guardian of +the child. If, therefore, you separate yourself from your husband, +you must expect to bear a separation from your child; for that will +be most likely to follow." + +"Did he speak of the law?" asked Mrs. Lane, in a still calmer voice, +and with a steady eye. + +"It would not be right to conceal from you this fact, Amanda. He did +do so. And can you wholly blame him? It is his child as well as +yours. He loves it, as you well know; and, as its father, he is +responsible for it to society and to Heaven. This separation is your +act. You may deprive him of your own society; but, have you a right, +at the same time, to rob him of his child? I speak plainly; I would +not be your friend did I not do so. Try, for a little while, to look +away from yourself, and think of your husband; and especially of the +consequences likely to arise to your child from your present act. It +will not be a mere separation with passive endurance of pain on +either side. There will come the prolonged effort of the father to +recover his child, and the anguish and fear of the mother, as she +lives in the constant dread of having it snatched from her hands. +And that must come, inevitably, the final separation. You will have +to part from your child, Amanda, if not in the beginning, yet +finally. You know your husband to be of a resolute temper Do not +give him a chance to press you to extremity. If he should come to +the determination to recover his child from your hands, he will not +stop short of any means to accomplish his purpose." + +Mrs. Lane made no reply to this; nor did she answer to any further +remark, appeal, or suggestion of her friend, who soon ceased to +speak on the subject and left her to her own reflections, hoping +that they might lead her to some better purpose than had yet +influenced her in the unhappy business. On the day after, Mr. +Edmondson met Lane in the street. + +"I was about calling to see you," said the latter, "on the subject +of this unhappy difficulty, to which, so reluctantly to yourself, +you have become a party. It may be that I am something to blame. +Perhaps I have been too exacting--too jealous of my prerogative as a +husband. At any rate, I am willing to admit that such has been the +case; and willing to yield something to the morbid feelings of my +wife. What is her present state of mind?" + +Mr. Edmondson looked surprised. + +Remarking this, Lane said quickly, "Is she not at your house?" + +"No," replied Mr. Edmondson, "she left us yesterday. We believed +that she had gone home. My wife had a long conversation with her, in +which she urged her, by every consideration, to return; and we had +reason to think, when she left our house, that she went back to +you." + +"Such is not the case," said Mr. Lane, with disappointment, and +something of sadness in his tone. "I have not seen her since the +morning of our unhappy difference. Where can she have gone?" + +Mr. Edmondson was silent. + +"Did she say that she was going to return home?" asked Mr. Lane. + +"No. But we had reason to think that such was her intention. Have +you heard nothing from her?" + +"Not a word." + +"It is strange!" + +Mr. Lane heaved a deep sigh. A few more brief questions and answers +passed, and then the two men separated. The forsaken husband went +home with a sadder heart than he had yet known. The absence of his +wife and child for several days--both objects of real affection--and +absent under such peculiar and trying circumstances, had subdued, to +a great extent, his angry feelings. He was prepared to yield much. +He would even have gone to his wife, and acknowledged that he was +partly in error, in order to have brought about a reconciliation. +Something that she had said during their last, exciting interview, +which he had rejected as untrue, or not causes of complaint, had +represented themselves to his mind; and in the sober reflecting +states that were predominant, he saw that he had not in all things +treated her as an equal, nor regarded her at all times as possessing +a rational freedom as independent as his own. Though he did not +excuse her conduct, he yet thought of it less angrily than at first, +and was willing to yield something in order to restore the old +relations. + +Anxiety and alarm now took possession of his mind. The distance +between them had become wider, and the prospect of a reconciliation +more remote. Amanda had gone, he could not tell whither. She had +neither money nor friends; he knew not into what danger she might +fall, nor what suffering she might encounter. It was plain from the +manner of her leaving the house of Mr. Edmondson, that her +resolution to remain away from him was fixed. He must, therefore, +seek her out, and invite her to return. He must yield if he would +reconcile this sad difficulty. And he was now willing to do so. But, +where was she? Whither should he go in search of the wanderer? + +The very means which her friend had taken to induce Mrs. Lane to +return to her husband, had driven her farther away. The hint +touching her husband's legal rights in the child, and his resolution +to assert them, filled her with the deepest alarm, and determined +her to put it beyond his power, if possible, to deprive her of the +only thing in life to which her heart could now cling. Toward her +husband, her feelings were those of an oppressed one for an +oppressor. From the beginning, he had almost suffocated her own life +by his pressure upon her freedom of will. She remembered, with, +tears, his tenderness and his love; but soon would come the +recollection of his constant interference in matters peculiarly her +own; his evident contempt for her intellect; and his final efforts +to subdue her rising independence, and make her little less than a +domestic slave--and the fountain of her tears would become dry. +Added to all this, was the fact of his resolution to recover his +child by law. This crushed out all hope from her heart. He had no +affection left for her. His love had changed to hate. He had assumed +toward her the attitude of a persecutor. Nothing was now left for +her but self-protection. + +In leaving the home of her husband, Mrs. Lane had exercised no +forethought. She made no estimate of consequences, and provided for +no future contingencies. She was blind in her faint-heartedness, +that was little less than despair. Any thing was better than to +remain in a state of submission, that had become, she felt, +intolerable. Leaving thus, Mrs. Lane had taken with her nothing +beyond a few dollars in her purse, and it was only an accident that +her purse was in her pocket. All her own clothes and those of her +child, except what they had on, were left behind. + +Alarmed at the threat of her husband, Mrs. Lane, a few hours after +the conversation with Mrs. Edmondson, in which his views were made +known to her, took her child and went away. In parting with her +friend, she left upon her mind the impression that she was going +home. This was very far from her intention. Her purpose was to leave +New York, the city of her residence, as quickly as possible, and +flee to some obscure village, where she would remain hidden from her +husband. She had resided, some years before, for a short time in +Philadelphia; and thither she resolved to go, and from thence reach +some point in the country. On leaving the house of her friend, Mrs. +Lane hurried to the river and took passage in the afternoon line for +Philadelphia. + +As the cars began their swift movement from Jersey City, a feeling +of inexpressible sadness came over her, and she began to realize +more distinctly than she had yet done, her desolate, destitute, and +helpless condition. After paying her passage, she had only two +dollars left in her purse; and, without money, how was she to gain +friends and shelter in a strange city? To add to her unhappy +feelings, her child commenced asking for her father. + +"Where is papa?" she would repeat every few minutes. "I want to go +to my papa." + +This was continued until it ended in fretfulness and complaints at +the separation it was enduring. Tears and sobs followed; and, +finally, the child wept herself to sleep. + +A new train of feelings was awakened by this incident. In leaving +her husband, Mrs. Lane had thought only of herself. She had not once +considered the effect of a separation from its father upon her +child. Little Mary's heart was full of affection for the two beings +whom nature prompted her to love. Her father's return from business +had always been to her the happiest event of the day; and, when she +sprang into his arms, her whole being would thrill with delight. +Days had passed since she had seen her father, and she was pining to +meet him again to lay her head upon his bosom--to feel his arms +clasped tightly around her. + +All this was realized by the mother, as the child lay sleeping on +her arm, while the swift rolling cars bore them farther and farther +away from the home she was leaving. Is it just to the child? +Distinctly did this thought present itself in her mind. For a long +time she mused over it, her feelings all the while growing more and +more tender, until something like repentance for the step she had +taken found its way into her mind--not for what she was herself +suffering, but for the sake of her child. She had not thought of the +effect upon little Mary, until the pain of absence showed itself in +complaint. + +This idea arose clearly before her--she could not push it aside; +and, the more she pondered it, the more troubled did she become, +from a new source. Would not the separation so deeply afflict the +child as to rob her of all happiness? + +While these thoughts had full possession of the mother's mind, Mary +slept on and dreamed of her father, as was evident from the fact +that, more than once, she murmured his name. + +When night came down, its effect upon Mrs. Lane was more sadly +depressing, for it brought her into a clearer realization of her +unhappy condition. Where was she going? What was the uncertain +future to bring forth? All was as dark as the night that had closed +around her. + +At length the cars reached Bristol, and it became necessary to leave +them, and pass into the boat. In lifting Mary in her arms, to bear +her from the cars, the child again murmured the name of her father, +which so affected Mrs. Lane, that her tears gushed forth in spite of +her efforts to restrain them. Letting her veil fall over her face to +conceal this evidence of affliction from her fellow-passengers, she +proceeded with the rest; and, in a little while, was gliding swiftly +down the river. It was ten o'clock when they arrived in +Philadelphia. For an hour previous to this time, the mind of the +fugitive had been busy in the effort to determine what course she +should take on gaining the end of her journey. But the nearer she +came to its termination, the more confused did she become, and the +less clearly did she see the way before her. Where should she go on +reaching the city? There as no one to receive her; no one to whom +she could go and claim protection, or even shelter. + +This state of irresolution continued until the boat touched the +wharf, and the passengers were leaving. Mary was awake again, and +kept asking, every few moments, to go home. + +"Yes, dear, we will go home," the mother would reply, in a tone of +encouragement, while her own mind was in the greatest uncertainty +and distress. + +"Why don't papa come?" asked the child, as one after another moved +away, and they were left standing almost alone. At this moment, an +Irishman, with a whip in his hand, came up, and said-- + +"Want a carriage, ma'am?" + +Mrs. Lane hesitated a moment or two, while she thought hurriedly, +and then replied-- + +"Yes." + +"Very well, ma'am; I'll attend to you. Where is your baggage?" + +"I have only this basket with me." + +"Ah! well; come along." And Mrs. Lane followed the man from the +boat. + +"Where shall I drive you?" he asked, after she had entered the +carriage. + +There was a pause, with apparent irresolution. + +"I am a stranger here," said Mrs. Lane innocently. "I want to obtain +pleasant accommodations for a day or two. Can you take me to a good +place?" + +"Faith, and I can--as good as the city will afford. Do you wish one +of the tip-top places, where they charge a little fortune a week; or +a good comfortable home at a reasonable price?" + +"I want a comfortable, retired place, where the charges are not +extravagant." + +"Exactly; I understand." + +And the driver closed the door, and, mounting his box, drove off. At +the end of ten minutes the carriage stopped, the steps were let +down, and Mrs. Lane, after descending, was shown into a small +parlour, with dingy furniture. A broad, red-faced Irish woman soon +appeared, at the summons of the driver. + +"I've brought you a lady customer, Mrs. McGinnis, d'ye see? And +you're just the one to make her at home and comfortable. She's a +stranger, and wants a quiet place for a day or two." + +"And, in troth, she'll find it here, as ye well say, John Murphy. +Will the lady put off her bonnet? We'll have her room ready in a +jiffy! Much obleeged to yees, John Murphy, for remembering us. What +a darlint of a child; bless its little heart!" + +"What must I pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, hoarsely, turning to the +driver. + +"One dollar, ma'am," was replied. + +Mrs. Lane drew forth her purse, towards which the Irishwoman glanced +eagerly, and took therefrom the sum charged, and paid the man, who +immediately retired. The landlady followed him out, and stood +conversing with him at the door for several minutes. When she +returned, she was less forward in her attentions to her guest, and +somewhat inquisitive as to who she was, where she had come from, and +whither she was going. All these Mrs. Lane evaded, and asked to have +her room prepared as quickly as possible, as she did not feel very +well, and wished to retire. The room was at length ready, and she +went up with little Mary, who had again fallen to sleep. It was +small, meagerly furnished, and offensive from want of cleanliness. +In turning down the bed clothes, she found the sheets soiled and +rumpled, showing that the linen had not been changed since being +used by previous lodgers. The first thing that Mrs. Lane did, after +laying her sleeping child upon the bed, was to sit down and weep +bitterly. The difficulties about to invest her, as they drew nearer +and nearer, became more and more apparent; and her heart sank and +trembled as she looked at the unexpected forms they were assuming. +But a single dollar remained in her purse; and she had an +instinctive conviction that trouble with the landlady on account of +money was before her. Had she been provided with the means of +independence, she would have instantly called a servant, and +demanded a better room, and fresh linen for her bed; but, under the +circumstances, she dared not do this. She had a conviction that the +Irishwoman was already aware of her poverty, and that any call for +better accommodations would be met by insult. It was too late to +seek for other lodgings, even if she knew where to go, and were not +burdened with a sleeping child. + +Unhappy fugitive! How new and unexpected were the difficulties that +already surrounded her! How dark was the future! dark as that old +Egyptian darkness that could be felt. As she sat and wept, the folly +of which she was guilty in the step she had taken presented itself +distinctly before her mind, and she wondered at her own blindness +and want of forethought. Already, in her very first step, she had +got her feet tangled. How she was to extricate them she could not +see. + +Wearied at last with grief and fear, her mind became exhausted with +its own activity. Throwing herself upon the bed beside her child, +without removing her clothes, she was soon lost in sleep. Daylight +was stealing in, when the voice of little Mary awakened her. + +"Where's papa?" asked the child, and she looked with such a sad +earnestness into her mother's face, that the latter felt rebuked, +and turned her eyes away from those of her child. "Want to go home," +lisped the unhappy babe--"see papa." + +"Yes, dear," soothingly answered the mother. + +Little Mary turned her eyes to the door with an expectant look, as +if she believed her father, whom she loved, was about to enter, and +listened for some moments. + +"Papa! papa!" she called in anxious tones, and listened again; but +there was no response. Her little lip began to quiver, then it +curled grievingly; and, falling over, she hid her face against her +mother and began sobbing. + +Tenderly did the mother take her weeping child to her bosom, and +hold it there in a long embrace. After it had grown calm she arose, +and adjusting her rumpled garments, and those of Mary, sat down by +the windows to await the events that were to follow. In about half +an hour a bell was rung in the passage below, and soon after a girl +came to her room to say that breakfast was ready. + +"I wish my breakfast brought to me here," said Mrs. Lane. + +The girl stared a moment and then retired. Soon after, the Irish +landlady made her appearance. + +"What is it ye wants, mum?" said that personage, drawing herself up +and assuming an air of vulgar dignity and importance. + +"Nothing," replied Mrs. Lane, "except a little bread and milk for my +child." + +"Isn't yees coming down to breakfast?" + +Mrs. Lane shook her head. + +"Ye'd better. It's all ready." + +"I don't wish any thing. But if you'll send me up something for my +child, I will be obliged to you." + +The landlady stood for some moments, as if undecided what she should +do, and then retired. About half an hour afterwards, a dirty looking +Irish girl appeared with a waiter, on which were the articles for +which she had asked. + +"Don't ye want any thing for yerself, mum?" asked the girl, with +some kindness in her voice. + +"No, I thank you," was replied. + +"You'd better eat a little." + +"I've no appetite," said Mrs. Lane, turning her face away to conceal +the emotion that was rising to the surface. + +The girl retired, and the food brought for the child was placed +before her; but she felt as little inclined to eat as her mother, +and could not be induced to take a mouthful. Turning from the +offered food, she raised her tearful eyes to her mother's face, and +in a choking voice said--"Go home, mamma--see papa." + +The words smote, like heavy strokes, upon the mother's heart. How +great a wrong had she done her child! But could she retrace her +steps now? Could she go back and humble herself under the imperious +will of her husband? Her heart shrunk from the thought. Any thing +but that! it would crush the life out of her. An hour she sat, with +these and kindred thoughts passing through her mind, when the girl +who had brought up Mary's breakfast came in and said--"Won't yees +walk down into the parlour, mum, while I clean up your room?" + +"Is any one down there?" asked Mrs. Lane. + +"No, mum," was answered by the girl. + +With some reluctance Mrs. Lane descended to the small, dingy +parlour, which she found adjoining a bar-room, whence there came the +loud voices of men. From a window she looked forth upon the street, +which was narrow, and crowded with carts, drays, and other vehicles. +Opposite were old houses, in which business of various kinds was +carried on. One was occupied by a cooper; another used as a +storehouse for fish; another for a grog-shop. Every thing was dirty +and crowded, and all appeared bustle and confusion. It was plain to +her that she had fallen in an evil place, and that her first +business must be escape. As she sat meditating upon the next step, +there came suddenly, from the bar-room, the sound of angry voices, +mingled with fierce threats and shocking blasphemy. Springing to her +feet in terror, Mrs. Lane caught up her child, and was about +starting from the door without any covering upon her head, when the +landlady intercepted her. + +"What's the matter with yees? Where are ye going?" + +With quivering lips, and face white with alarm, Mrs. Lane +replied--"Oh, ma'am! get me my things and let me go." + +"Ye can go when ye pays yer bill, in welcome," replied the woman. + +"How much is it?" + +"It's a dollar and a half." + +The Irishwoman looked steadily at Mrs. Lane, and saw, by the change +in her countenance, what she had expected, that she had not as much +money in her possession. + +"Won't a dollar pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, after standing with her +eyes upon the floor for some moments. "I've had nothing but my +night's lodging and surely a dollar will pay for that." + +"Indade and it won't, then! Sure, and yer breakfast was got. If ye +didn't ate it, I'm not to fault. + +"Here is a dollar," said Mrs. Lane, taking out her purse. "I'm sure +it's full pay for all I've received." + +"And d'ye mane to call me an ould chate, ye spalpeen, ye!" +indignantly replied the landlady, her face growing red with anger, +while she raised her huge fist and shook it at her terrified guest, +who retreated back into the parlour, and sank, trembling, into a +chair. + +"As if I wasn't an honest woman," continued the virago, following +Mrs. Lane. "As if I'd extort on a lone woman! Give me patience! When +ye pays the dollar and a half, ye can go; but not a foot shall ye +take from my door until then." + +A scuffle took place in the bar-room at that moment, attended by a +new eruption of oaths and imprecations. + +Quickly sprinting from her chair, Mrs. Lane, with Mary in her arms, +glided from the room, and ran panting up-stairs to her chamber, the +door of which she locked behind her on entering. + +Half an hour of as calm reflection as it was possible for Mrs. Lane +to make brought her to the resolution to leave the house at all +hazards. Where she was to go, was to be an afterthought. The +greatest evil was to remain; after escaping that, she would consider +the means of avoiding what followed. Putting on her bonnet and +shawl, and taking her basket, she went down-stairs with her child, +determined, if possible, to get away unobserved, and after doing so, +to send back, by any means that offered, the only dollar she +possessed in the world to the landlady. No one met her on the +stairs, and she passed the parlour-door unobserved. But, alas! the +street-door was found locked and the key withdrawn. After a few +ineffectual attempts to open it, Mrs. Lane went into the parlour, +and, standing there, debated for some moments whether she should +leave the house by passing through the bar-room, or wait for another +opportunity to get away by the private en-trance. While still +bewildered and undetermined the landlady came in from the bar-room. + +The moment she saw her guest, she comprehended the purpose in her +mind. + +"Where are ye going?" said she in a quick sharp voice, the blood +rising to her coarse sensual face. + +"I am going to leave your house," replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a +voice as she could command. As she spoke she drew forth her purse, +and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, +added--"Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I +will send you the other half-dollar." + +But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, +indignantly, + +"A purty how d'you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body's house, +and then expect to get off without paying your bill. But ye don't +know Biddy McGinnis--ye don't! If yees wants to go paceable, pay the +dollar and a half. But until this is done, ye shall not cross my +door-stone." + +"I can't stay here! What good will it do?" said Mrs. Lane, wringing +her hand. "It's all the money I've got; and remaining won't increase +the sum, while it adds to the debt. Better let me go now." + +"Indade, and ye'll not go, thin, my lady! I'll tache yees to come +into a respectable body's house without as much money in yer pocket +as 'll pay for the night's lodging. I wonder who ye are, any how! No +better than ye should be, I'll warrint!" + +While speaking, the Irishwoman had drawn nearer and nearer, and now +stood with her face only a few inches from that of her distressed +guest, who, bursting into tears, clasped her hands together, and +sobbed-- + +"Let me go! let me go! If you have the heart of a woman, let me go!" + +"Heart of a woman, indade!" returned Mrs. McGinnis, indignantly. +"Yer a purty one to talk to me about the heart of a woman. Stalein +into a body's house at twelve o'clock at night, and thin tryin' to +go off without paying for the lodgings and breakfast. Purty doings!" + +"What's the matter here?" said a well dressed man, stepping in from +the bar-room and closing the door behind him. "What do you mean by +talking to the lady in this way, Mrs. McGinnis? I've been listening +to you." + +There was an instant change in the Irishwoman. Her countenance fell, +and she retreated a few steps from the object of her vituperation. + +"What's all this about? I should like to know," added the man in a +decided way. "Will you explain, madam?" addressing Mrs. Lane, in a +kind voice. "But you are agitated. Sit down and compose yourself." + +"Let her pay me my money, that's all I want," muttered the landlady. + +In a moment the man's purse was drawn from his pocket. "What does +she owe you?" + +"A dollar and a half, bad luck till her!" + +"There's your money, you old termagant!" And the man handed her the +amount. "And now, as you are paid, and have nothing more to say to +this lady, please to retire and let her be freed from your +presence." + +"Yees needint call me ill names, Misther Bond," said the woman, in a +subdued voice, as she retired. "It doesn't become a jentilman like +you. I didn't mane any harm. I only wanted my own, and sure I've a +right to that." + +"Well, you've got your own, though not in a way that does either you +or your house much credit," returned the man. "The next time you are +so fortunate as to get a lady in your hotel, I hope you'll know +better how to treat her." + +Mrs. McGinnis retired without further remark, and the man turned to +Mrs. Lane, and said, in a kind, respectful manner, + +"I am sorry to find you so unhappily situated, and will do any thing +in my power to relieve you from your present embarrassment. Your +landlady here is a perfect virago. How did you happen to fall into +her hands?" + +Encouraged by the kindness of the man's address, as well as from the +fact that he had rescued her from a violent woman, Mrs. Lane, after +composing herself, said-- + +"I came in from New York last night, and, being a stranger, asked +the cabman to take me to a good hotel. He brought me here. I +happened to have but two dollars in my purse, he charged one for +carriage hire." + +"The extortioner!" + +"Finding into what a wretched place he had brought me, I wished to +leave this morning, but have been prevented because I could not pay +a dollar and a half when I had only a dollar. I told her to let me +go, and I would send her the balance claimed; but she only met the +proposition by insult." + +"The wretch!" exclaimed the man, indignantly. "I happened to be +passing, and, hearing her loud voice, glanced in at the window. In +an instant I comprehended, to some extent, the difficulty; and, +knowing her of old, came in to see if something were not wrong. She +is a bad woman, and her house is a snare for the innocent. It is +fortunate for you that I came at the right moment!" + +Mrs. Lane shuddered. + +"And now, madam," said the man, "what can I do for you? Have you +friends in the city?" + +"I am an entire stranger here," replied Mrs. Lane. + +"Were you going farther? + +"Yes," was answered after some hesitation. + +"Where do your friends reside?" + +"In New York." + +"Ah!" + +"This is your child?" was said, after a pause. + +"Yes." + +There was something in the man's manner, and in the way he looked at +her, that now made Mrs. Lane shrink from, as instinctively as she +had at first leaned towards him. Beneath his steady eye her own +drooped and rested for some moments on the floor. + +"Is your husband in New York?" pursued the man. + +This question caused the heart of Mrs. Lane to bound with a sudden +throb. Her husband! She had deserted him, her natural and lawful +protector, and already she was encompassed with difficulties and +surrounded by dangers. What would she not at that moment have given +to be safely back in the home she had left? To the last question she +gave a simple affirmative. + +"Where do you wish to go when you leave here?" inquired the man, who +had perceived a change in her and understood its nature. + +"I wish to be taken to a good hotel, where I can remain a day or +two, until I have time to communicate with my friends. My being out +of money is owing to an inadvertence. I will receive a supply +immediately on writing home." + +The man drew his purse from his pocket, and, presenting it, said-- + +"This is at your service. Take whatever you need." + +Mrs. Lane thanked him, but drew back. + +"Only get me into some safe place, until I can write to my friends," +said she, "and you would lay both them and me under the deepest +obligations." + +The man arose at this, and stepping into the bar room, desired the +bar-keeper to send for a carriage. From a stand near by one was +called. When it came to the door, he informed Mrs. Lane of the fact, +and asked if she were ready to go. + +"Where will you take me?" she asked. + +"To the United States Hotel," replied the man. "You could not be in +a safer or better place." + +On hearing this, Mrs. Lane arose without hesitation, and, going from +the house, entered the carriage with the man, and was driven away. +Drawing her veil over her face, she shrank into a corner of the +vehicle, and remained in sad communion with her own thoughts for +many minutes. From this state of abstraction, the stopping of the +carriage aroused her. The driver left his seat and opened the door, +when her companion stepped forth, saying as he did so-- + +"This is the place," and offering at the same time his hand. + +As Mrs. Lane descended to the street, she glanced with a look of +anxious inquiry around her. Already a suspicion that all might not +be right was disturbing her mind. Two years before she had been in +Philadelphia, and had stayed several days at the United States +Hotel. She remembered the appearance of the building and the street, +but now she did not recognise a single object. All was strange. + +"Is this the United States Hotel?" she asked eagerly. + +"Oh, yes, ma'am," was the smiling reply. "We are at the private +entrance." + +Her bewildered mind was momentarily deceived by this answer, and she +permitted herself to be led into a house, which she soon discovered +not to be an hotel. The most dreadful suspicions instantly seized +her. So soon as she was shown into a parlour, the man retired. A +woman came in shortly afterwards, who, from her appearance, seemed +to be the mistress of the house. She spoke kindly to Mrs. Lane, and +asked if she would walk up into her room. + +"There has been some mistake," said the poor wanderer, her lips +quivering in spite of her efforts to assume a firm exterior. + +"Oh, no, none at all," quickly replied the woman, smiling. + +"Yes, yes there is. I am not in the hotel where I wished to go. Why +have I been brought here? Where is the man with whom I came?" + +"He has gone away; but will return again. In the mean time do not +causelessly distress yourself. You are safe from all harm." + +"But I am not where I wished to go," replied Mrs. Lane. "Will you be +kind enough to give me the direction of the United States Hotel, and +I will walk there with my child." + +The woman shook her head. + +"I could not permit you to go until Mr. Bond returned," said she. +"He brought you here, and will expect to find you when he comes +back." + +"I will not remain." And as she said this in a firm voice, Mrs. Lane +arose, and, taking her little girl in her arms, made an attempt to +move through the door into the passage. But the woman stepped before +her quickly, and in a mild, yet decided way, told her that she could +not leave the house. + +"Why not?" asked the trembling creature. + +"Mr. Bond has placed you in my care, and will expect to find you on +his return," answered the woman. + +"Who is Mr. Bond? What right has he to control my movements?" + +"Did you not place yourself in his care?" inquired the woman. "I +understood him to say that such was the case." + +"He offered to protect me from wrong and insult." + +"And, having undertaken to do so, he feels himself responsible to +your friends for your safe return to their hands. I am responsible +to him." + +"Deceived! deceived! deceived!" murmured Mrs. Lane, bursting into +tears and sinking into a chair, while she hugged her child tightly +in her arms, and laid its face against her own. + +The woman seemed slightly moved at this exhibition of distress, and +stood looking at the quivering frame of the unhappy fugitive, with a +slight expression of regret on her face. After Mrs. Lane had grown +calm, the woman said to her: + +"Is your husband living?" + +"He is," was answered, in a steady voice. + +"Where does he reside?" continued the woman. + +"In New York," replied Mrs. Lane. + +"What is his name?" + +Mrs. Lane reflected, hurriedly, for some moments, and then gave a +correct answer, adding, at the same time, that for any attempted +wrong, there would come a speedy and severe retribution. The next +inquiry of the woman was as to her husband's occupation, which was +also answered correctly. + +"And now," added Mrs. Lane, with assumed firmness, "you had better +let me retire from this place immediately, and thus avoid trouble, +which, otherwise, you would be certain to have. My husband is a +merchant of influence, and a man who will not stop at half measures +in seeking to redress a wrong. This man, whoever he may be, who has +so basely deceived me, will find, ere long, that he has done an act +which will hot go unpunished, and that severely. As for yourself, be +warned in time, and let me go from this place." + +Again Mrs. Lane sought to pass from the room, but was prevented. The +woman was neither harsh, rude, nor insulting in her manner, but +firmly refused to let her leave the house, saying--"I am responsible +for your safe keeping, and cannot, therefore, let you go." + +She then urged her to go up-stairs and lay off her things, but Mrs. +Lane refused, in the most positive manner, to leave the parlour. + +"You will be more comfortable in the chamber we have prepared for +you," said the woman, coldly; "but you must do as you like. If you +want any thing, you can ring for it." + +And saying this, she turned from the room, and locked the door +through which she retired. The instant she was gone, Mrs. Lane +sprang towards one of the front windows, threw it up and attempted +to draw the bolt which fastened the shutter; but her effort was not +successful: the bolt remained immovable. On a closer inspection, she +found that it was locked. The back window was open, but a glance +into the yard satisfied her that it would be useless to attempt +escape in that way. Hopeless in mind and paralyzed in body, she +again sank down inactive. + +Little Mary, who had been left standing on the floor during this +effort to escape, now came up to where she had thrown herself upon a +sofa, and, laying her little face upon her breast, looked tearfully +at her, and said, in a low, sorrowful voice--"Won't papa come? I +want my papa--my dear papa." + +Not a word could the mother reply to her unhappy child, who, in her +folly, she had so wronged. Oh, what would she not have given at that +moment to see the face of her husband! + +Five or six hours had passed. In a small sitting room, near the +parlour in which Mrs. Lane was still a prisoner, stood the man named +Bond, and the woman who had received her. + +"Mrs. Lane did you say she called herself?" said the man, with a +sudden change of manner--"and from New York?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you inquire her husband's business?" + +"She said he was a merchant of standing, and threatened both you and +me with the severest consequences, if she were not instantly +released." + +"Can it be possible!" remarked the man, and he stood in a musing +attitude for some time. "I'm a little afraid this affair is not +going to turn out quite so pleasantly as I at first supposed. I +think I know her husband." + +"You do!" + +"Yes. We have had several business transactions together, if he is +the individual I suppose him to be." + +"Then you had better get her off of your hands as quickly as +possible; and this will be no hard matter. Only open the cage-door, +and the bird will fly." + +"Confound that Irish huzzy! She and her John Murphy have scared up a +nice bit of adventure for me." + +"Both you and they ought to have known better than to expect any +thing but trouble from a woman with a baby. As it is, the best thing +for you is to get her off of your hands forthwith." + +"I don't like to give up after progressing so far. It isn't my +disposition." + +"A wise man foresees evil, and gets out of its way." + +"True; and my better course is to step aside, I suppose. But what +shall we do with her?" + +"Open the cage-door, as I said, and let her escape." + +"Where will she go?" + +"Have you any concern on that head?" + +"Some. Moreover, I don't just comprehend the meaning of her visit +here alone at night, and without money. I wonder if, after all, +there isn't a lover in the case, who has failed to meet her." + +"Most likely," returned the woman. + +"In that event, why may not I take his place?" + +"It will require her consent. Better have nothing more to do with +her, and thus keep out of the way of trouble. + +"Her husband, if she be the wife of the man I think she is," said +Bond, "will hardly stop at half-way measures in an affair like +this." + +"So much the more reason for keeping out of his way." + +"Perhaps so; and yet I like adventure, especially when spiced with a +little danger. Upon second thought, I'll let her remain here until +to-morrow." + +"Just as you like. But I've been unable to get her up-stairs; and +she can't stay in the parlour all night." + +"No. She must go to the chamber you have prepared for her." + +"How will we get her there?" + +"Use every effort you can to induce her to comply with our wishes in +this respect. I will come in after nightfall, and, if you have not +been successful, will remove her by force." + +With this understanding, the partners in evil separated. + +Soon after parting with Mr. Edmondson, who had informed Mr. Lane +that his wife was no longer at his house, and when the latter had +begun to feel exceedingly anxious, he met a gentleman who said to +him, "When do you expect Mrs. Lane back?" + +It was with difficulty that the deserted husband could refrain from +the exhibition of undue surprise at such an unexpected question. + +"I was over the river yesterday afternoon with a friend who was on +his way to Philadelphia," added the man, "and saw your lady in the +cars." + +"Good morning," said Mr. Lane, as he looked at his watch, and then +turned away with a hurried manner. + +It was half-past eleven o'clock. At twelve a line started for the +South. Lane was on board the steamboat when it left the dock. Six +hours and a half of most intense anxiety were passed ere the unhappy +man reached Philadelphia. On arriving, he took a carriage and +visited all the principal hotels, but not a word could he hear of +his wife. He then bethought him to make some inquiries of the +hackman whom he had employed. + +"Were you at the wharf last night when the New York line came in?" +he asked, as he stood with his hand on the carriage-door, after +leaving one of the hotels, again disappointed in his search. + +"I was," replied the hackman. + +"Did you get any passengers?" + +"No, sir." + +"Did you see any thing of a lady with a child?" + +The hackman thought for a little while, and then replied-- + +"Yes, I did. There was a lady and a child, nearly the last on the +boat. John Murphy drove them away." + +"Where can I find John Murphy?" eagerly enquired Mr. Lane. + +"He's probably on the stand." + +"Drive me there if you please." And he sprang into the carriage. + +In a few minutes they were at a carriage stand; and Mr. Lane heard +the driver call out, as he reined up his horses--"Hallo! there, John +Murphy! here's a gentleman who wants to see you." + +The person addressed came up as Mr. Lane descended from the +carriage. + +"I understand," said Lane, "that you received a lady and child in +your carriage, last night, from the New York line. Where did you +take them?" + +"Who said that I did?" boldly inquired the man addressed. + +"I said so!" as firmly replied the driver who had given the +information to Mr. Lane. "What interest have you in denying it?" + +Murphy evinced some surprise at this, and looked a little dashed, +but repeated his denial. + +A new fear instantly seized Mr. Lane. His wife might have been +entrapped into some den of infamy, through means of the driver she +had employed to convey her to an hotel. The thought affected him +like an electric shock. + +"You are certain of what you say?" asked Mr. Lane, turning to the +hackman he had employed. + +"Certain," was answered positively. + +"Is there a police officer near at hand?" was the next inquiry. This +was intended as no threat; and Murphy understood its meaning. + +The eyes of Mr. Lane were fixed on his face, and he saw in it a +guilty change. No reply being made to the question about a police +officer, Mr. Lane said, addressing the accused hackman-- + +"If you wish to escape trouble, take me instantly to the house where +I can find the lady you took from the boat last night. She is my +wife, and I will go through fire and water to find her; and let him +who stands in my way take the consequences." + +Murphy now drew Mr. Lane aside, and said a few words to him +hurriedly. + +"Can I depend upon what you say?" eagerly asked the latter. + +"Yes, upon honour!" replied the hackman. + +"You must go with me," said Lane. + +"I cannot leave the stand." + +"I will call a policeman and compel you to go with me, if you don't +accompany me peaceably. As I live, I will not part from you until I +find her! Take your choice--go quietly, or under compulsion." + +There was a fierce energy in the excited man that completely subdued +the Irish hackman, who, after a further, though feeble remonstrance, +got into the carriage with Mr. Lane, and was driven off. The course +taken was out--street. Some distance beyond Washington Square, the +carriage stopped before a house, in which Mr. Lane was informed that +he would find the woman whom Murphy had taken from the boat the +night before. He stepped out quickly, and, as he sprang across the +pavement, Murphy, who was out of the carriage almost as soon as he +was, glided around the corner of a street, and was beyond recall. A +quick jerk of the bell was answered by a female servant, who held +the door only partly open, while Lane addressed her. + +"Wasn't there a woman and child brought here last night?" said he, +in an agitated manner. + +"No, sir," replied the girl; and, as she spoke, she made an attempt +to close the door, seeing which, Mr. Lane thrust a part of his body +in and prevented the movement. + +"Are you certain?" he asked. + +"I am," was positively answered, while the girl strove to shut the +door by forcing it against Mr. Lane. At this moment something like a +smothered cry from within reached his ears, when, throwing open the +door with a sudden application of strength that prostrated the girl, +he stepped over her body and entered the vestibule. Just then there +arose a wild cry for help! He knew the voice; it came from one of +the parlours, into which he rushed. There he saw his wife struggling +in the arms of a woman and a man, while his frightened child stood +near, white and speechless with terror. As he entered, Amanda saw +him. + +"Oh, my husband!" she exclaimed. In a moment she was released, and +the man and woman fled from the room, but not before the face of the +former was fully recognised by Mr. Lane. + +Little Mary had already sprung to her father, and was quivering and +panting on his breast. + +"Oh! take me away quickly--quickly!" cried Mrs. Lane, staggering +towards her husband and falling into his arms. + +Without waiting for explanations, Mr. Lane went from the house with +his wife and child, and, placing them in the carriage at the door, +was driven to an hotel. + +The reader doubtless understands the scene we have just described. +The man named Bond was in the act of carrying out his threat to +remove Mrs. Lane to a chamber by force when her husband appeared. + +Of all that passed between the severely-tried husband and wife after +their meeting, it behooves us not to write. The circumstances we +have detailed were exceedingly painful to the parties most +interested; but their effect, like the surgeon's knife, was +salutary. Mr. Lane afterwards regarded his wife from an entirely +different point of view, and found her a very different woman from +what he had at first believed her to be. He saw in her a strength of +character and a clearness of intellect for which he had never given +her credit; and, from looking down upon her as a child or an +inferior, came to feel towards her as an equal. + +His indignation at the treatment she had received in Philadelphia +was extreme. The man named Bond he knew very well, and he at first +determined to call him to account personally; but as this would lead +to a mortifying notoriety and exposure of the whole affair, he was +reluctantly induced to keep silence. Bond has never crossed his way +since: it might not be well for him to do so. + +Some years have passed. No one who meets Mr. and Mrs. Lane, at home +or abroad, would dream that, at one time, they were driven asunder +by a strong repulsion. Few are more deeply attached, or happier in +their domestic relations; but neither trespasses on the other's +rights, nor interferes with the other's prerogative. Mutual +deference, confidence, respect, and love, unite them with a bond +that cannot again be broken. + + + + +THE INVALID WIFE. + + +"MY poor head! It seems as if it would burst!" murmured Mrs. Bain, +as she arose from a stooping position, and clasped her temples with +both hands. She was engaged in dressing a restless, fretful child, +some two or three years old. Two children had been washed and +dressed, and this was the last to be made ready for breakfast. + +As Mrs. Bain stood, with pale face, closed eyes, and tightly +compressed lips, still clasping her throbbing temples, the bell +announcing the morning meal was rung. The sound caused her to start, +and she said, in a low and fretful voice-- + +"There's the breakfast bell; and Charley isn't ready yet; nor have I +combed my hair. How my head does ache! I am almost blind with the +pain." + +Then she resumed her work of dressing Charley, who struggled, cried, +and resisted, until she was done. + +Mr. Bain was already up and dressed. He was seated in the parlour, +enjoying his morning paper, when the breakfast bell rang. The moment +he heard the sound, he threw down his newspaper, and, leaving the +parlour, ascended to the dining-room. His two oldest children were +there, ready to take their places at the table. + +"Where's your mother?" he inquired of one of them. + +"She's dressing Charley," was answered. + +"Never ready in time," said Mr. Bain, to himself, impatiently. He +spoke in an under tone. + +For a few moments he stood with his hands on the back of his chair. +Then he walked twice the length of the dining-room; and then he went +to the door and called-- + +"Jane! Jane! Breakfast is on the table." + +"I'll be there in a minute," was replied by Mrs. Bain. + +"Oh, yes! I know something about your minutes." Mr. Bain said this +to himself. "This never being in time annoys me terribly. I'm always +ready. I'm always up to time. But there's no regard to time in this +house." + +Mrs. Bain was still struggling with her cross and troublesome child, +when the voice of her impatient husband reached her. The sound +caused a throb of intenser pain to pass through her aching head. + +"Jane, make haste! Breakfast is all getting cold, and I'm in a hurry +to go away to business," was called once more. + +"Do have a little patience. I'll be there in a moment," replied Mrs. +Bain. + +"A moment! This is always the way." + +And Mr. Bain once more paced backwards and forwards. + +Meantime the wife hurriedly completed her own toilet, and then +repaired to the dining-room. She was just five minutes too late. + +One glance at her pale, suffering face should have changed to +sympathy and pity the ill-humour of her thoughtless, impatient +husband. But it was not so. The moment she appeared, he said-- + +"This is too bad, Jane! I've told you, over and over, that I don't +like to wait after the bell rings. My mother was always promptly at +her place, and I'd like my wife to imitate so good an example." + +Perhaps nothing could have hurt Mrs. Bain more than such a cruel +reference of her husband to his mother, coupled with so unfeeling a +declaration of his will concerning her--as if she were to be the +mere creature of his will. + +A sharp reply was on the tongue of Mrs. Bain; but she kept it back. +The pain in her head subsided all at once; but a weight and +oppression in her breast followed that was almost suffocating. + +Mr. Bain drank his coffee, and eat his steak and toast, with a +pretty fair relish; for he had a good appetite and a good +digestion--and was in a state of robust health. But Mrs. Bain ate +nothing. How could she eat? And yet, it is but the truth to say, +that her husband, who noticed the fact, attributed her abstinence +from food more to temper than want of appetite. He was aware that he +had spoken too freely, and attributed the consequent change in his +wife's manner to anger rather than a wounded spirit. + +"Do you want any thing?" asked Mr. Bain, on rising from the table +and turning to leave the room. He spoke with more kindness than +previously. + +"No," was the wife's brief answer, made without lifting her eyes to +her husband's face. + +"In the sulks!" + +Mr. Bain did not say this aloud, but such was his thought, as he +turned away and left the house. He did not feel altogether +comfortable, of course. No man feels comfortable while there is a +cloud upon the brow of his wife, whether it be occasioned by +peevishness, ill-temper, bodily or mental suffering. No, Mr. Bain +did not feel altogether comfortable, nor satisfied with himself, as +he walked along to his store; for there came across his mind a dim +recollection of having heard the baby fretting and crying during the +night; and also of having seen the form of his wife moving to and +fro in the chamber, while he lay snugly reposing in bed. + +But these were unpleasant images, and Mr. Bain thrust them from his +mind. + +While Mr. Bain took his morning walk to his store, his lungs freely +and pleasurably expanding in the pure, invigorating air, his wife, +to whose throbbing temples the anguish had returned, and whose +relaxed muscles had scarcely enough tension to support the weight of +her slender frame, slowly and painfully began the work of getting +her two oldest children ready for school. This done, the baby had to +be washed and dressed. It screamed during the whole operation, and +when, at last, it fell asleep upon her bosom, she was so completely +exhausted, that she had to lie down. Tears wet her pillow as she lay +with her babe upon her arm. He, to whom alone she had a right to +look for sympathy, for support, and for strength in her many trials, +did not appear to sympathize with her in the least. If she looked +sober from the pressure of pain, fatigue, or domestic trials, he +became impatient, and sometimes said, with cruel thoughtlessness, +that he was tired of clouds and rain, and would give the world for a +wife who could smile now and then. If, amid her many household cares +and duties, she happened to neglect some little matter that affected +his comfort, he failed not to express his annoyance, and not always +in carefully chosen words. No wonder that her woman's heart +melted--no wonder that hot tears were on her cheeks. + +Mr. Bain had, as we have said, an excellent appetite; and he took +especial pleasure in its gratification. He liked his dinner +particularly, and his dinners were always good dinners. He went to +market himself. On his way to his store he passed through the +market, and his butcher sent home what he purchased. + +"The marketing has come home," said the cook to Mrs. Bain, about ten +o'clock, arousing her from a brief slumber into which she had +fallen--a slumber that exhausted nature demanded, and which would +have done far more than medicine for the restoration of something +like a healthy tone to her system. + +"Very well. I will come down in a little while," returned Mrs. Bain, +raising herself on her elbow, and see about dinner. "What has Mr. +Bain sent home?" + +"A calf's head." + +"What!" + +"A calf's head." + +"Very well. I will be down to see about it." Mrs. Bain repressed any +further remark. + +Sick and exhausted as she felt, she must spend at least two hours in +the kitchen in making soup and dressing the calf's head for her +husband's dinner. Nothing of this could be trusted to the cook, for +to trust any part of its preparation to her was to have it spoiled. + +With a sigh, Mrs. Bain arose from the bed. At first she staggered +across the room like one intoxicated, and the pain, which had +subsided during her brief slumber, returned again with added +violence. But, really sick as she felt, she went down to the kitchen +and passed full two hours there in the preparation of delicacies for +her husband's dinner. And what was her reward? + +"This is the worst calf's head soup you ever made. What have you +done to it?" said Mr. Bain, pushing the plate of soup from before +him, with an expression of disgust on his face. + +There were tears in the eyes of the suffering wife, and she lifted +them to her husband's countenance. Steadily she looked at him for a +few moments; then her lips quivered, and the tears fell over her +cheeks. Hastily rising, she left the dining room. + +"It is rather hard that I can't speak without having a scene," +muttered Mr. Bain, as he tried his soup once more. It did not suit +his taste at all; so he pushed it from him, and made his dinner of +something else. + +As his wife had been pleased to go off up-stairs in a huff, just at +a word, Mr. Bain did not feel inclined to humour her. So, after +finishing his dinner, he took his hat and left the house, without so +much as seeking to offer a soothing word. + +Does the reader wonder that, when Mr. Bain returned in the evening, +he found his wife so seriously ill as to make it necessary to send +for their family physician? No, the reader will not wonder at this. + +But Mr. Bain felt a little surprised. He had not anticipated any +thing of the kind. + +Mrs. Bain was not only ill, but delirious. Her feeble frame, +exhausted by maternal duties, and ever-beginning, never-ending +household cares, had yielded under the accumulation of burdens too +heavy to bear. + +For a while after Mr. Bain's return, his wife talked much, but +incoherently; then she became quiet. But her fever remained high, +and inflammation tended strongly towards the brain. He was sitting +by the bedside about ten o'clock, alone with her, when she began to +talk in her wandering way again; but her words were distinct and +coherent. + +"I tried to do it right," said she, sadly; "but my head ached so +that I did not know what I was doing. Ah me! I never please him now +in any thing. I wish I could always look pleasant--cheerful. But I +can't. Well! well! it won't last for ever. I never feel +well--never--never--never! And I'm so faint and weak in the morning! +But he has no patience with me. _He_ doesn't know what it is to feel +sick. Ah me!" + +And her voice sighed itself away into silence. + +With what a rebuking force did these words fall upon the ears of Mr. +Bain! He saw himself in a new light. He was the domestic tyrant, and +not the kind and thoughtful husband. + +A few days, and Mrs. Bain was moving about her house and among her +children once more, pale as a shadow, and with lines of pain upon +her fore-head. How differently was she now treated by her husband! +With what considerate tenderness he regarded her! But, alas! he saw +his error too late! The gentle, loving creature, who had come to his +side ten years before, was not much longer to remain with him. A few +brief summers came and went, and then her frail body was laid amid +the clods of the valley. + +Alas! how many, like Mrs. Bain, have thus passed away, who, if truly +loved and cared for, would have been the light of now darkened +hearths, and the blessing and joy of now motherless children and +bereaved husbands! + + + + +THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL. + + +"IF I am his wife, I am not his slave!" said young Mrs. Huntley, +indignantly. "It was more than he dared do a month ago." + +"If you love me, Esther, don't talk in this way," said Mrs. +Carlisle. + +"Am I his slave aunt?" and the young bride drew herself up, while +her eyes flashed. + +"No, Esther, you are his wife." + +"To be loved, and not commanded! That is the difference, and he has +got to learn it." + +"Were Edward to see and hear you now, do you think your words, +manner, and expression would inspire him with any new affection for +you?" + +"I have nothing to do with that. I only express a just indignation, +and that is a right I did not alienate when I consented to become +his wife." + +"You are a silly girl, Esther," said Mrs. Carlisle, "and I am afraid +will pay dear for your folly. Edward has faults, and so have you. If +you understood the duties and responsibilities of your position, and +felt the true force of your marriage vows, you would seek to bend +into better forms the crooked branches of your husband's hereditary +temper, rather than commit an irreparable injury by roughly breaking +them. I was not pleased with Edward's manner of speaking; but I must +admit that he had provocation: that you were first, and, therefore, +most to blame." + +"I objected to going with him to the opera, because I particularly +wanted to call and see Anna Lewis to-night. I had made up my mind to +this, and when I make up my mind to any thing I do not like to be +turned from my purpose." + +"Edward resembles you rather too much in that respect. Therefore, +there must be a disposition to yielding and self-denial on one side +or the other, or unhappiness will follow. Hitherto, as far as I have +been able to see, the yielding has all been on the part of Edward, +who has given up to you in everything. And now, when he shows that +he has a will of his own, you become very indignant, and talk bout +not being his slave." + +"It is too bad for you to speak so, aunt! You never think I do any +thing right." And Esther burst into tears. + +Meantime, Edward Huntley, the husband, was at the opera, listening +to, but not enjoying, the beauties Norma. It was only a month since +he had led to the altar his beautiful bride, and felt himself the +happiest man in the world. Before marriage, he thought only of how +he should please Esther. The preference of his own wishes to hers +was felt as no sacrifice. But, after the hymeneal contract had been +gratified, his feelings began gradually to change. What he had +yielded in kindness was virtually demanded as a right, and against +this, the moment it was perceived, his spirit rose in rebellion. In +several instances, he gave way to what savoured, much more than he +liked, of imperiousness. + +Norma had just been brought out, and received with unprecedented +favour. The newspapers were filled with its praises, and the +beauties of the opera were spoken of by every one. A friend lauded +it with more than usual enthusiasm, on the day it was advertised for +a third performance. + +"You haven't heard it yet!" said he, with surprise, on learning that +Huntley had yet to enjoy that pleasure. + +"No, but I think I will buy tickets for to-night." + +"Do by all means! And get them at once, or you will not be able to +secure a seat." + +It was in the afternoon, and Huntley could not ask his young wife +about it, unless he made a special errand home, which, as he lived +some distance away from his office, would be inconvenient. Not in +the least doubting, however, that Esther would be pleased to go to +the opera, as she had more than once expressed a wish to see and +hear Norma, he secured tickets and considered the matter settled. + +Now that the gratification of hearing the opera was so near at hand, +Huntley kept thinking of the enjoyment he was to have, and wishing +for the time to pass more rapidly. He pictured, too, the pleasure +that Esther would feel and express when she found that he had +procured tickets. Half an hour earlier than usual he was at home. He +found Esther and her aunt, Mrs. Carlisle, with whom they were +living, in the parlour. + +"We are going to see Norma to-night," said Huntley, in a gay voice, +and with a broad smile upon his face, as he sat down beside Esther +and took her hand. + +"_We_ are?" + +The tone and look with which this was said chilled the warm feelings +of the young man. + +"_I_ am, at least," said he, in a changed voice. + +"And _I_ am not," as promptly, and much more decidedly, replied +Esther. + +"Oh, yes you are." This was said with a suddenly assumed, half +playful, yet earnest manner. "I have bought tickets, and we will go +to-night." + +"The least you could have done was to have asked me before you +bought tickets," returned Esther. "I wish to go somewhere else +to-night." + +"But, as I have the tickets now, you will go, of course. To-morrow +night will do as well for a visit." + +"I wish to make it to-night." + +"Esther, you are unreasonable." Huntley knit his brows and +compressed his lips. + +"We are quite even then." The pretty lip of the bride curled. + +"Esther!" said Huntley, assuming a calm but cold exterior, and +speaking in a firm voice. "I have bought tickets for the opera +to-night, thinking that to go would give you pleasure, and now my +wish is that you accompany me." + +"A wish that you will certainly not have gratified. I believe I am +your wife, not your slave to command." + +There was something so cutting in the way this was said, that +Huntley could not bear it. Without a word he arose, and, taking his +hat, left the house. In a fever of excitement he walked the street +for an hour and a half, and then, scarcely reflecting upon what he +did, went to the opera. But the music was discord in his ears, and +he left before the performance was half over. + +The moment Esther heard the street-door close upon her husband, she +arose and went from the room where she was sitting with her aunt, +moving erect and with a firm step. Mrs. Carlisle did not see her for +two hours. The tea bell rang, but she did not come down from her +chamber, where, as the aunt supposed, she was bitterly repenting +what she had done. In this, however, she was mistaken, as was +proved, when, on joining her in her room for the purpose of striving +to console her, the conversation with which our story opens took +place. + +When the fit of weeping with which Esther received the reproof her +aunt felt called upon to give, had subsided, Mrs. Carlisle said, in +a most solemn and impressive manner, + +"What has occurred this evening may prove the saddest event of your +whole life. There is no calculating the result. No matter whose the +fault, the consequences that follow may be alike disastrous to the +happiness of both. Are you prepared, thus early, for a sundering of +the sacred bonds that have united you? And yet, even this may +follow. It has followed with others, and may follow with you. Oh! +the consequences of a first quarrel! Who can anticipate them?" + +The voice of Mrs. Carlisle trembled, and then sank almost into a +sob. Her manner more than her words startled Esther. + +"What do you mean, aunt?" said she. + +But her aunt was too much disturbed to speak for some minutes. + +"Esther," she at length said, speaking in a voice that still +trembled, "I knew a girl, who, at your age, married an excellent, +but proud-spirited young man. Like Edward, the lover yielded too +much when, as the husband, he began to be a little less considerate, +and to act as if he had a will of his own, his wife set herself +against him just as you set yourself against Edward. This chafed +him, although he strove to conceal his feelings. But, in an +unguarded moment, when his young wife was unusually self-willed, a +quarrel of no more serious character than the one that has occurred +this evening, between you and Edward, took place. They parted in +anger as you parted, and--" + +The aunt was unable for some time to control her voice sufficiently +to finish the sentence-- + +"And never met again," she at length said, with such visible emotion +as betrayed more than she had wished to reveal. + +"Never met again!" ejaculated Esther, a sudden fear trembling +through her heart, and causing her cheeks to grow pale. + +"Never!" was the solemn response. + +"Why, dear aunt? Why?" eagerly inquired Esther. + +"Pride caused him," said Mrs. Carlisle, recovering her +self-possession, "after a breach had been made, to leave not only +his home, but the city in which he lived. Repenting of her +ungenerous contact, his bride waited anxiously for his return at +evening, but waited it vain. Sadly enough passed the lonely hours of +that dreadful night, and morning found her a sleepless watcher. Days +passed, but no word came from the unhappy wanderer from home and +love. A week, and still all was silence and mystery. At the end of +that time a letter was received from a neighbouring city, which +brought intelligence to his friends that he was there, and lying +dangerously ill. By the next conveyance his almost frantic wife +started for the purpose of joining him. Alas! she was too late. When +she stood beside the bed upon which he lay, she looked only upon the +inanimate form of her husband. Death had been there before her. +Esther! thirty years have passed since then, but the anguish I felt +when I stood and looked upon the cold, dead, face of my husband, in +that terrible hour, time has not altogether obliterated!" + +Esther had risen to her feet, and now stood with her pale lips +parted, and her cheeks blanched to an ashy whiteness. + +"Dear aunt is all this true?" she asked huskily, while she grasped +the arm of her relative. + +"Heaven knows it is too true, my child! It was the first and, the +last quarrel I had with my husband. And now, as you value your own +and Edward's peace of mind, be warned by my sad example, and let the +present unhappy difference that has occurred be quickly reconciled. +Acknowledge your error the moment you see him, and make a firm +resolution that you will, under no circumstances, permit the +slightest misunderstanding again to take place. Yield to him, and +you will find him ready as before to yield to you. What he was not +ready to give under the force of a demand, love will prompt him +cheerfully to render." + +"Oh! if Edward should never return!" Esther said, clasping her hands +together. She had scarcely heard the last sentence of her aunt. + +"You need not fear on that account, my child," replied Mrs. +Carlisle, in a voice meant to inspire confidence. "Edward will no +doubt return. Few men act so rashly as to separate themselves at the +first misunderstanding, although, too often, the first quarrel is +but the prelude to others of a more violent kind, that end in +severing the most sacred of all bonds, or rendering the life that +might have been one of the purest felicity, an existence of misery. +When Edward comes home to-night, forget every thing but your own +error, and freely confess that. Then, all will be sunshine in a +moment, although the light will fall and sparkle upon dewy +tear-drops." + +"I was mad to treat him so!" was Esther's response to this, as she +paced the floor, with uneasy step. "Oh! if he should never return." + +Once possessed with the idea that he would not return, the poor wife +was in an agony of fear. No suggestion made by her aunt in the least +relieved her mind. One thought--one fear--absorbed every thing else. +Thus passed the evening, until ten o'clock came. From that time +Esther began to listen anxiously for her husband's return, but hour +after hour went by, and she was still a tearful watcher. + +"I shall go mad if I sit here any longer!" murmured Huntley to +himself, as the music came rushing upon his agitated soul, in a wild +tempest, toward the middle of the opera, and, rising abruptly, he +retired from the theatre. How still appeared the half deserted +streets! Coldly the night air fell upon him, but the fever in his +veins was unabated. He walked first up one street and then down +another, with rapid steps, and this was continued for hours. Then +the thought of going home crossed his mind. But he set his teeth +firmly, and murmured audibly, + +"Oh! to be defied, and charged with being a tyrant? And has it come +to this so soon?" + +The more Huntley brooded, in this unhappy mood, over his wife's +words and conduct, the denser and more widely refracting became the +medium through which he saw. His pride continually excited his mind, +and threw a thick veil over all the gentler emotions of his heart. +He was beside himself. + +At one o'clock he found himself standing in front of the United +States Hotel, his mind made up to desert the affectionate young +creature, who, in a moment of thoughtlessness, had set her will in +opposition to his,--to leave the city, under an assumed name, by the +earliest lines, and go, he knew not nor cared not where. Blind +passion was his prompter and guide. In this feverish state he +entered the hotel and called for a bed. + +Eleven, twelve, one o'clock came, and found Mrs. Huntley in a state +of wild agitation. Edward had not yet returned. The silence and +evident distress of Mrs. Carlisle struck down the heart of Esther, +almost as much as her own fears. The too vivid recollection of one +terrible event in her own life completely unbalanced the aunt's +mind, and took away all power to sustain her niece. + +"I will go in search of him, aunt!" exclaimed Esther, as the clock +struck two. "He cannot leave the city before daylight. I will find +him, and confess all my folly before it is too late." + +"But where will you go, my child?" Mrs. Carlisle asked in a sad +voice. + +"Where--where shall I go?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Huntley. + +"It is midnight, Esther. You cannot find him now." + +"But I must see him before he leaves me, perhaps for ever! It will +kill me. If I wait until morning, it will be too late." + +Mrs. Carlisle bent her eyes to the floor, and for the space of more +than a minute remained in deep thought. She then said, in a calm +voice, + +"Esther, I cannot believe that Edward will desert you on so slight a +provocation. For a few hours his mind may be blinded with passion, +and be swayed by false judgment. But morning will find him cooler +and more reflective. He will see his error, and repent of any mad +act he may have contemplated. Still, to guard against the worst of +consequences, should this salutary change not take place, I think it +would be best for you to go early to the boat, and by meeting him +prevent a step that may cost you each a life of wretchedness." + +"I will do it! He shall not go away! Oh! if I could once more meet +him! all would be reconciled on the instant." + +Confident in her own mind that Edward had determined to go away from +the city in the morning, and fully resolved upon what she would do, +Esther threw herself upon the bed, and in snatches of uneasy slumber +passed the remainder of that dreadful night. At day-dawn she was up, +and making preparations for going to the boat to intercept her +husband. + +"Be self-possessed, my dear niece," urged Mrs. Carlisle, in a voice +that trembled so she could scarcely speak. + +Esther tried to reply, but, though her lips and tongue moved, there +was no utterance. Turning away, just as the sun threw his first rays +into her chamber window, she went down stairs, and her aunt, no +longer able to restrain herself, covered her face with her hands and +wept. + +On the day before, Esther had laid her gloves on one of the parlour +mantels, and she went in to get them. It was so dark that she could +not see, and she, therefore, opened a window and pushed back one of +the shutters. As she did so, a sound between a sigh and a groan fell +upon her ear, and caused her to turn with a start. There lay her +husband, asleep upon one of the sofas! A wild cry that she could not +restrain burst from her lips, and, springing toward him, she threw +her arms about his neck as he arose, startled, from his recumbent +position. + +An hour's reflection, alone in the room he had taken at the hotel, +satisfied Huntley that he was wrong in not going home. By the aid of +his night key he entered, silently, at the very time his wife +resolved to seek him in the morning, and, throwing himself upon a +sofa in the parlour to think what he should next do, thought himself +to sleep. + +All was, of course, reconciled. With tears of joy and contrition +Esther acknowledged the error she had committed. Huntley had his own +share of blame in his impatient temper, and this he was also ready +to confess He did not, however, own that he had thought of deserting +his wife on such slight provocation, nor did she confess the fearful +suspicion that had crossed her mind. + +It was their first and last quarrel. + + + + +GUESS WHO IT IS! + + +"IT will be great deal better for us, Lizzy. America is a country +where all things are in full and plenty; but here we are ground down +to the earth and half-starved by the rich and great in order that +they may become richer and greater. I isn't so there, Lizzy. Don't +you remember what John McClure wrote home, six months after he +crossed the ocean?" + +"Yes, I remember all that, Thomas; but John McClure was never a very +truthful body at home and I've always thought that if we knew every +thing, we would find that he wrote with his magnifying glasses on. +John, you know, was very apt to see things through magnifying +glasses." + +"But the testimony doesn't come alone from John. We hear it every +day and from every quarter, that America is a perfect paradise for +the poor, compared to England." + +"I don't know how that can be, Thomas. They say that it is full of +wild beast poisonous serpents, and savage Indians, and that the +people are in constant fear of their lives. I'm sure England is a +better place than that, even if we do have to work hard and get but +little for it." + +"All that used to be, Lizzy," replied Thomas. "But they've killed +the wild beasts and serpents, and tamed the savage Indians. And +there are great cities there, the same as in England." + +But Lizzy could not be convinced. From her earliest childhood she +had never had but one idea of America, and that was as a great +wilderness filled with Indians and wild beasts. Of the former, she +had heard tales that made her blood curdle in her veins. It was in +vain, therefore, for Thomas Ward to argue with his wife about going +to America. She was not to be convinced that a waste, howling +wilderness was at all comparable with happy old England, even if the +poor were "ground down." + +As a dozen previous discussions on the subject had ended, so ended +this. Thomas Ward was of the same mind as before, and so was his +wife. The one wished to go, and the other to stay. + +Ward had only been married a short time, but the period, short as it +was, proved long enough to bring a sad disappointment of his worldly +hopes. He had been employed as a gentleman's gardener for many +years, and had been able, by strict economy, to lay up a little +money. But soon after his, marriage, through some slight +misunderstanding he lost his place, and had not since been able to +obtain any thing more than transient employment, the return from +which had, so far, proved inadequate to the maintenance of himself +and wife, requiring him to draw steadily upon the not very large +fund that was deposited in the Savings' Bank. + +About once a fortnight Thomas would become completely discouraged, +and then he invariably introduced his favourite project of going to +America; but Lizzy always met him when in this mood with a decided +negative, as far as she was concerned and sometimes went so far as +to say, when he grew rather warm on the subject--"It's no use to +talk about it, Thomas; I shall never go to America, that's decided." + +This, instead of being a settler, as Lizzy supposed it would be, +only proved a silencer. Thomas would instantly waive all present +reference to the subject. But the less he talked, the more he +thought about the land of plenty beyond the ocean; and the oftener +Lizzy said she would never go to America, the more earnest became +his desire to go, and the more fully formed his resolution to +emigrate while possessed the ability to do so. He did not like +Lizzy's mode of silencing him when he talked about his favourite +theme. He had certain primitive notions about a wife's submission of +herself to her husband, and it not only fretted him, but made him a +little resolute on the subject of going to America when Lizzy +declared herself determined not to go. + +One day Ward came home with brows knit more closely than usual, and +a firmer and more decided expression upon his tightly-closed lips. + +"What's the matter now, Thomas?" asked his wife. + +The "now" indicated that Thomas had something to trouble him, more +or less, nearly all the time. + +"The matter is, that I'm going to America!" returned Ward, in an +angry tone of voice. "If you won't wish to go, you will only have to +stay where you are. But I've made up my mind to sail in the next +ship." + +Ward had never spoken to his young wife in such harsh, angry, +rebuking tone of voice since they were married. But the import of +what he said was worse than his manner of saying it. Going to +America--and going whether she chose to go with him or remain +behind! What was this less than desertion? But Lizzy had pride and +firmness as tell as acute sensibilities. The latter she controlled +by means of the former, and, with unexpected coolness, +replied--"Well, Thomas, if you wish to leave me, I have nothing to +say. As to that savage country, I say now only what I have said +before--I cannot go." + +"Very well; I am not going to stay here and starve." + +"We haven't starved yet, Thomas," spoke up Lizzy. + +"No, thanks to my prudence in saving every dollar I could spare +while a bachelor! But we're in a fair way for it now. Every week we +are going behindhand, and if we stay here much longer we shall +neither have the means of living nor getting away. I've finished my +job, and cannot get another stroke to do." + +"Something will turn up, Thomas; don't be impatient." + +"Impatient!" ejaculated Ward. + +"Yes, impatient, Thomas," coolly said his wife. "You are in a very +strange way. Only wait a little while, and all will come right." + +"Lizzy," said Thomas Ward, suddenly growing calm, and speaking +slowly and with marked emphasis--"I've decided upon going to +America. If you will go with me, as a loving and obedient wife +should, I shall be glad of your company; but if you prefer to remain +here, I shall lay no commands upon you. Will you or will you not go? +Say at a word." + +Lizzy had a spice of independence about her, as well as a good share +of pride. The word "obedience," as applied to a wife, had never +accorded much with her taste, and the use of it made on the present +occasion by her husband was particularly offensive to her. So she +replied, without pausing to reflect--"I have already told you that I +am not going to America." + +"Very well, Lizzy," replied Thomas, in a voice that was considerably +softened, "I leave you to your own choice, notwithstanding the vow +you made on that happy morning. My promise was to love you and to +keep you in sickness and in health, but though I may love you as +well in old England as in a far-off country, I cannot perform that +other promise so well. So I must e'en leave you with my heart's best +blessing, and a pledge that you shall want for no earthly comfort +while I have a hand to work." + +And saying this, Thomas Ward left the presence of his wife, and +started forth to walk and to think. On his return, he found Lizzy +sitting by the window with her hands covering her face, and the +tears making their way through her fingers. He said nothing, but he +had a hope that she would change her mind and go with him when the +time came. In a little while Lizzy was able to control herself, and +move silently about her domestic duties; but her husband looked into +her face for some sign of a relenting purpose, and looked in vain. + +On the next day, Ward said to his wife--"I've engaged my passage in +the Shamrock, that sails from Liverpool for New York in a week." + +Lizzy started, and a slight shiver ran through; her body; but a cold +"Very well" was the only reply she made. + +"I will leave twenty pounds in the Savings' Bank for you to draw out +as you need. Before that is gone, I hope to be able to send you more +money." + +Lizzy made no answer to this, nor did she display any feeling, +although, as she afterwards owned, she felt as if she would have +sunk through the floor, and sorely repented having said that she +would not go with her husband to America. + +The week that intervened between that time and the sailing of the +Shamrock passed swiftly away. Lizzy wished a hundred times that her +husband would refer to his intended voyage across the sea, and ask +her again if she would not go with him. But Thomas Ward had no more +to say upon the subject. At least as often as three times had his +wife refused to accompany him to a land where there was plenty of +work and good wages, and he was firm in his resolution not to ask +her again. + +As the time approached nearer and nearer, Lizzy's heart sank lower +and lower in her bosom; still she cherished all possible justifying +reasons for her conduct, and sometimes had bitter thoughts against +her husband. She called him, in her mind, arbitrary and tyrannical, +and charged him with wishing to make her the mere slave of his will. +As for Ward he also indulged in mental criminations, and tried his +best to believe that Lizzy had no true affection for him, that she +was selfish, self-willed, and the dear knows what all. + +Thus stood affairs when the day came upon which the Shamrock was to +sail, and Ward must leave in the early train of cars for Liverpool, +to be on board at the hour of starting. Lizzy had done little but +cry all night, and Thomas had lain awake thinking of the unnatural +separation, and listening to his wife's but half-stifled sobs that +ever and anon broke the deep silence of their chamber. At last +daylight came, and Ward left his sleepless pillow to make hurried +preparations for his departure. His wife arose also, and got ready +his breakfast. The hour of separation at length came. + +"Lizzy," said the unhappy but firm-hearted man, "we must now part. +Whether we shall ever meet again, Heaven only knows. I do not wish +to blame you in this trying moment, in this hour of grief to both, +but I must say that--No, no!" suddenly checking himself, "I will say +nothing that may seem unkind. Farewell! If ever your love for your +husband should become strong enough to make you willing to share his +lot in a far-off and stranger land, his arms and heart will be open +to receive you." + +Ward was holding the hand of his wife and looking into her face, +over which tears, in spite of all her efforts to control herself, +were falling. The impulse in Lizzy's heart was to throw herself into +her husband's arms; but, as that would have been equivalent to +giving up, and saying--"I must go with you, go where you will," she +braved it out up to the last moment, and stood the final separation +without trusting her voice in the utterance of a single word. + +"God bless you, Lizzy!" were the parting words of the unhappy +emigrant, as he wrung the passive hand of his wife, and then forced +himself away. + +The voyage to New York was performed in five weeks. On his arrival +in that city, Ward sought among his countrymen for such information +as would be useful to him in obtaining employment. By some of these, +the propriety of advertising was suggested. Ward followed the +suggestion, and by so doing happily obtained, within a week after +his arrival, the offer of a good situation as overseer and gardener +upon a large farm fifty miles from the city. The wages were far +better than any he had received in England. + +"Are you a single man?" asked the sturdy old farmer, after Ward had +been a day or two at his new home. + +"No, sir; I have a wife in the old country," he replied, with a +slight appearance of confusion. + +"Have you? Well, Thomas, why didn't you bring her along?" + +"She was not willing to come to this country," returned Thomas. + +"Then why did you come?" + +"Because it was better to do so than to starve where I was." + +"It doesn't matter about your wife, I suppose?" + +"Why not?" Thomas spoke quickly, and knit his brows. + +"If _you_ couldn't live in England, what is your _wife_ to do?" + +"I shall send her half of my wages." + +"Ah, that's the calculation, is it? But it seems to me that it would +have been a saving in money as well as comfort, if she had come with +you. Does she know any thing about dairy work?" + +"Yes, sir; she was raised on a dairy farm." + +"Then she's a regular-bred English dairy maid?" + +"She is, and none better in the world." + +"Just the person I want. You must write home for her, Thomas, and +tell her she must come over immediately." + +But Thomas shook his head. + +"Won't she come?" + +"I cannot tell. But she refused to come with me, although I +repeatedly urged her. She must now take her own course. I felt, it +to be my duty to her as well as to myself, to leave England for a +better land; and if she thinks it her duty to stay behind, I must +bear the separation the best way I can." + +"I hope you had no quarrel, Thomas?" said the farmer, in his blunt +way. + +"No, sir," said Thomas, a little indignantly. "We never had the +slightest difference, except in this matter." + +"Then write home by the next steamer and ask her to join you, and +she will be here by the earliest packet, and glad to come." + +But Thomas shook his head. The man had his share of stubborn pride. + +"As you will," said the farmer. "But I can tell you what, if she'd +been my wife, I'd have taken her under my arm and brought her along +in spite of all objections. It's too silly, this giving up to and +being fretted about a woman's whims and prejudices. I'll be bound, +if you'd told her she must come, and packed her trunk for her to +show that you were in earnest, she'd never have dreamed of staying +behind." + +That evening Thomas wrote home to his wife all about the excellent +place he had obtained, and was particular to say that he had agreed +to remain for a year, and would send her half of his wages every +month. Not one word, however, did he mention of the conversation +that had passed between him and the farmer; nor did he hint, even +remotely, to her joining him in the United States. + +All the next day Thomas thought about what the farmer had said, and +thought how happy both he and Lizzy might be if she would only come +over and take charge of the dairy. The longer this idea remained +present in his mind, the more deeply did it fix itself there. On the +second night he dreamed that Lizzy was with him, that she had come +over in the very next packet, and that they were as happy as they +could be. He felt very bad when he awoke and found that it was only +a dream. + +At last, after a week had passed, Thomas Ward fully forgave his wife +every thing, and sat himself down to write her a long letter, filled +with all kinds of arguments, reasons, and entreaties favourable to a +voyage across the Atlantic. Thus he wrote, in part:-- + +......."As to wild Indians, Lizzy, of which you have such fear, +there are none within a thousand miles, and they are tame enough. +The fierce animals are all killed, and I have not seen a single +serpent, except a garter snake, that is as harmless as a tow string. +Come then, Lizzy, come! I have not known a happy moment since I left +you, and I am sure you cannot be happy. This is a land of peace and +plenty--a land where--" + +Thomas Ward did not know that a stranger had entered the room, and +was now looking over his shoulder, and reading what he had written. +Just as his pen was on the sentence left unfinished above, a pair of +soft hands were suddenly drawn across his eyes, and a strangely +familiar voice said, tremblingly--"Guess who it is!" + +Before he had time to think or to guess, the hands passed from his +eyes to his neck, and a warm wet cheek was laid tightly against his +own. He could not see the face that lay so close to his, but he knew +that Lizzy's arms were around him, that her tears were upon his +face, and that her heart was beating against him. + +"Bless us!" ejaculated the old farmer, who had followed after the +young woman who had asked at the door with such an eager interest +for Thomas Ward--"what does all this mean?" + +By this time Thomas had gained a full view of his wife's tearful but +happy face. Then he hugged her to his bosom over and over again, +much to the surprise and delight of the farmer's urchins, who +happened to be in the room. + +"Here she is, sir; here she is!" he cried to the farmer, as soon as +he could see any thing else but Lizzy's face, and then first became +aware of the old gentleman's presence; "here is your English dairy +maid." + +"Then it's your wife, Thomas, sure enough." + +"Oh, yes, sir; I thought she would be along after a while, but +didn't expect this happiness so soon." + +"How is this, my young lady?" asked the farmer, +good-humouredly--"how is this? I thought you wasn't going to come to +this country. But I suppose the very next packet after your husband +left saw you on board. All I blame him for is not taking you under +his arm, as I would have done, and bringing you along as so much +baggage. But no doubt you found it much pleasanter coming over alone +than it would have been in company with your husband--no doubt at +all of it." + +The kind-hearted farmer then took his children out of the room, and, +closing the door, left the reunited husband and wife alone. Lizzy +was too happy to say any thing about how wrong she had been in not +consenting to go with her husband; but she owned that he had not +been gone five minutes before she would have given the world, if she +had possessed it, to have been with him. Ten days afterwards another +packet sailed for the United States, and she took passage in it. On +arriving in New York she was fortunate enough to fall in with a +passenger who had come over in the Shamrock, and from him learned +where she could find her husband, who acknowledged that she had +given him the most agreeable surprise he had ever known in his life. + +Lizzy has never yet had cause to repent of her voyage to America. +The money she received for managing the dairy of the old farmer, +added to what her husband could save from his salary, after +accumulating for some years, was at length applied to the purchase +of a farm, the produce of which, sold yearly in New York, leaves +them a handsome annual surplus over and above their expenses. Thomas +Ward is in a fair way of becoming a substantial and wealthy farmer. + + + + +MARRYING A TAILOR. + + +"KATE, Kate!" said Aunt Prudence, shaking her head and finger at the +giddy girl. + +"It's true, aunt. What! marry a tailor? The ninth part of a man, +that doubles itself down upon a board, with thimble, scissors, and +goose! Gracious!" + +"I've heard girls talk before now, Kate; and I've seen them act, +too; and, if I am to judge from what I've seen, I should say that +you were as likely to marry a tailor as anybody else." + +"I'd hang myself first!" + +"Would you?" + +"Yes, or jump into the river. Do any thing, in fact, before I'd +marry a tailor." + +"Perhaps you would not object to a merchant tailor?" + +"Perhaps I would, though! A tailor's a tailor, and that is all you +can make of him. 'Merchant tailor!' Why not say merchant shoemaker, +or merchant boot-black? Isn't it ridiculous?" + +"Ah well, Kate," said Aunt Prudence, "you may be thankful if you get +an honest, industrious, kind-hearted man for a husband, be he a +tailor or a shoemaker. I've seen many a heart-broken wife in my day +whose husband was not a tailor. It isn't in the calling, child, that +you must look for honour or excellence, but in the man. As Burns +says--'The man's the goud for a' that.'" + +"But a _man_ wouldn't stoop to be a tailor." + +"You talk like a thoughtless, silly girl, as you are, Kate. But time +will take all this nonsense out of you, or I am very much mistaken. +I could tell you a story about marrying a tailor, that would +surprise you a little." + +"I should like, above all things in the world, to hear a story of +any interest, in which a tailor was introduced." + +"I think I could tell you one." + +"Please do, aunt. It would be such a novelty. A very _rara avis_, as +brother Tom says. I shall laugh until my sides ache." + +"If you don't cry, Kate, I shall wonder," said Aunt Prudence, +looking grave. + +"Cry? oh, dear! And all about a tailor! But tell the story, aunt." + +"Some other time, dear." + +"Oh, no. I'm just in the humour to hear it now. I'm as full of fun +as I can stick, and shall need all this overflow of spirits to keep +me up while listening to the pathetic story of a tailor." + +"Perhaps you are right, Kate. It may require all the spirits you can +muster," returned Aunt Prudence, in a voice that was quite serious. +"So I will tell you the story now." + +And Aunt Prudence thus began: + +A good many years ago,--I was quite a young girl then,--two children +were left orphans, at the age of eleven years. They were +twins--brother and sister. Their names I will call Joseph and Agnes +Fletcher. The death of their parents left them without friends or +relatives; but a kind-hearted tailor and his wife, who lived +neighbours, took pity on the children and gave them a home. Joseph +was a smart, intelligent lad, and the tailor thought he could do no +better by him than to teach him his trade. So he set him to work +with the needle, occasionally sent him about on errands, and let him +go to school during the slack season. Joseph was a willing boy, as +well as attentive, industrious, and apt to learn. He applied himself +to his books and also to his work, and thereby gave great +satisfaction to the good tailor. Agnes was employed about the house +by the tailor's wife, who treated her kindly. + +As Joseph grew older, he became more useful to his master, for he +rapidly acquired a knowledge of his trade, and did his work +remarkably well. At the same time, a desire to improve his mind made +him studious and thoughtful. While other boys were amusing +themselves, Joseph was alone with his book. At the age of eighteen +he had grown quite tall, and was manly in his appearance. He had +already acquired a large amount of information on various subjects, +and was accounted by those who knew him a very intelligent young +man. About this time, a circumstance occurred that influenced his +whole after-life. He had been introduced by a friend to several +pleasant families, which he visited regularly. In one of these +visits, he met a young lady, the daughter of a dry-goods dealer, +toward whom he felt, from the beginning, a strong attachment. Her +name was Mary Dielman. Led on by his feelings, he could not help +showing her some attention, which she evidently received with +satisfaction. One evening, he was sitting near where she was +chatting away at a lively rate, in the midst of a gay circle of +young girls, and, to his surprise, chagrin, and mortification, heard +her ridiculing, as you too often do, the business at which he was +serving an apprenticeship. + +"Marry a tailor!" he heard her say, in a tone of contempt. "I would +drown myself first." + +This was enough. Joseph's feelings were like the leaves of a +sensitive plant. He did not venture near the thoughtless girl during +the evening, and whenever they again met, he was distant and formal. +Still, the thought of her made the blood flow quicker through his +veins, and the sight of her made his heart throb with a sudden +bound. + +From that time, Joseph, who had looked forward with pleasure to the +period when, as a man, he could commence his business, and prosecute +it with energy and success, became dissatisfied with the trade he +was learning. The contemptuous words of Mary Dielman made him feel +that there was something low in the calling of a tailor--something +beneath the dignity of a man. He did not reason on the subject; he +only felt. Gradually he withdrew himself from society, and shut +himself up at home, devoting all his leisure to reading and study. +This was continued until he attained the age of manhood, soon after +which he procured the situation of clerk in a dry-goods store. At +his trade he could easily earn twelve dollars a week; but he left +it, because he was silly enough to be ashamed of it, and went into a +dry-goods store at a salary of four hundred dollars a year. As a +clerk he felt more like a man. Why he should, is more than I can +comprehend. But so it was. + +As for Mary Dielman, she was not aware, at the time when she felt so +pleased with the attentions of Joseph Fletcher, that he was a +tailor--a calling for which she always expressed the most supreme +contempt. Her thoughtless words were not, therefore, meant for his +ears. The fact that she had uttered them was not remembered ten +minutes after they were spoken. Why she no longer met the +fine-looking, attentive and intelligent young man, she did not know. +Often she thought of him, and often searched the room for him, with +her eyes, when in company. + +Nearly four years passed before they again met. Then Joseph was +greatly improved, and so was the beautiful maiden. The +half-extinguished fire of love, that had been smouldering in their +bosoms, rekindled, and now burned with a steady flame. They saw each +other frequently, and it was not long before the young man told her +all that was in his heart, and she heard the story with tremulous +delight. + +The father of Mary, although a merchant, was not nearly so well off +in the world as many tailors. His family was expensive and drew too +heavily upon his income. The capital employed in trade was therefore +kept low, and his operations were often crippled for want of +adequate means. He had nothing, therefore, to settle upon his +daughter. When young Fletcher applied for her hand, his salary was +five hundred dollars. Mr. Dielman thought his prospects not over +flattering, but still gave his consent; at the same time advising +him not to think of marriage for a year or two, when he would no +doubt be in a better condition to take a wife. + +The young couple, like most young couples, were impatient to be +married; and Joseph Fletcher, in order to be in a condition that +would justify him in talking a wife, was impatient to go into +business. Somehow or other, it had entered his mind that any young +man of business capacity and enterprise could do well in the West; +and he finally made up his mind to take a stock of goods, which he +found no difficulty in obtaining, and go to Madison, in Indiana. +Before starting, however, he engaged to return in six months, or so +soon as he was fairly under way, and make Mary his wife. At the time +named, he was back, when the marriage took place, and he returned +with his bride to Madison. + +At the trade of a tailor, the young man had served an apprenticeship +of seven years. He was a good workman, and had, during the last two +years of his apprenticeship, assisted his master in cutting; so that +in the art to which he was educated he was thoroughly at home; and, +in setting it up, would have been sure of success. But success was +by no means so certain a thing in the new pursuit unwisely adopted. +He had been familiar with it for only about two years; in that time +he had performed his part as a clerk to the entire satisfaction of +his employers; but he had not gained sufficient knowledge of the +principles of trade, nor was his experience enlarged enough to +justify his entering into business, especially as he did not possess +a dollar of real capital. The result was as might have been +expected. A year and a half of great difficulty and anxiety was all +the time required to bring his experiment to a close. + +Finding that he was in difficulty, two or three of his principal +eastern creditors, whose claims were due, sent out their accounts to +a lawyer, With directions to put them in suit immediately. This +brought his affairs to a crisis. An arrangement was made for the +benefit of all the creditors, and the young man thrown out of +business, with less than a hundred dollars in his pocket. Nearly +about the same time, Mr. Dielman, the father of his wife, failed +likewise. + +As a serious loss has been sustained by his eastern creditors on +account of the unfortunate termination of his business, Fletcher +could not think of going back. He therefore sought to obtain +employment as a clerk in Madison. Failing in this, he visited +Louisville and Cincinnati, but with no better success. He was +unknown in the two last-named cities, and therefore his failure to +obtain employment there was no matter of surprise. + +Things now wore a very serious aspect. A few weeks found the unhappy +young man reduced to the extremity of breaking up and selling his +furniture by auction in order to get money to live upon. There was +scarcely a store in Madison at which he had not sought for +employment. But all his efforts proved vain. He had a good trade; +why, you will ask, did he not endeavour to get work at that? You +forget. It was the trade of a tailor!--the calling so despised by +his wife. How could he own to her that he was but a tailor! How +could he break to her the disgraceful truth that she had married a +tailor! + +The money obtained by selling their furniture did not last a very +long time. + +"I will make another effort to obtain employment in Cincinnati," +said the young man, after they were reduced almost to their last +dollar. "It is useless to try any longer in this place. I have +waited and hoped for some favourable turn of fortune, until my heart +is sick." + +His wife made no objection, for she had none to make. + +On the next day, Fletcher left for Cincinnati. He arrived there in +the night. On the following morning, he left the hotel at which he +had stopped, and, going into Main street, entered the first +merchant-tailor's shop that came in his way. + +"Have you any work?" he asked. + +"We have room for a journeyman, and are in want of one. Can you do +the best work?" + +"I can." + +"Did you serve your time in the city?" + +"No. I am from the East." + +"Very well. Here is a job all ready. You can go to work at once." + +The young man did not hesitate. He took the bundle of work that was +given him, and was shown into the back shop. He wrote home +immediately that he had obtained employment, which he hoped would be +permanent, and that he would be in Madison, Saturday about midnight, +and leave again on Sunday evening. He did not say, however, what +kind of employment he had procured. That was a secret he meant, if +possible, to conceal. When he met his wife, he evaded her direct +questions as to the kind of employment he was engaged in, somewhat +to her surprise. + +For a month, Fletcher went and returned from Cincinnati, weekly, +bringing home about eight dollars each week, after paying all his +expenses. By that time, his wife insisted so strongly upon going to +Cincinnati with him, and taking boarding, that he could make no +reasonable objection to the step. And so they removed, Fletcher +feeling many serious misgivings at heart, lest his wife should make +a discovery of the truth that she had married only a tailor! + +"Where did you say the store was at which you are employed?" she +asked, a day or two after they were comfortably settled at a very +pleasant boarding-house in Cincinnati. + +"On Main street," replied Fletcher, a little coldly. + +"What is the name of the firm? I forget." + +"Carter & Cassard." + +Fletcher could not lie outright to his wife, so he told her the +truth, but with great reluctance. + +No more was said then on the subject. About a week afterward, Mrs. +Fletcher said to her husband, "I was along Main street to-day, and +looked at the signs over every dry-goods store that I passed, but I +did not see that of Carter & Cassard." + +In spite of all he could do, the blood rushed to the face of the +young man, and his eyes fell under the steady look directed toward +him by his wife. + +"The store is there, nevertheless," said he. His manner and the tone +in which he spoke excited in the mind of his wife a feeling of +surprise. + +For the next four days, there was a strong conflict in Fletcher's +mind between false pride and duty. It grieves me to say that, in the +end, the former conquered. On Saturday night, he came home with a +troubled look, and told his wife that he had lost his situation, +which he said had only been a temporary one. In this he certainly +went beyond the truth, for he had given it up voluntarily. + +The poor young creature's heart sank in her. They had only been in +Cincinnati about two weeks; were among entire strangers, and all +means of subsistence were again taken from them. It is no wonder +that she wept bitterly upon receiving this sudden and distressing +intelligence. To see his wife in tears filled the heart of Fletcher +with the severest pangs. He more than half repented of what he had +done. But the thought of confessing that he was only a tailor made +him firm in his resolution to meet any consequence rather than that. + +"He was a fool!" exclaimed Kate, no longer able to restrain her +indignation against the young man, and thus breaking in upon her +aunt's narrative. + +"But remember, Kate, how contemptuously he had heard her speak of +his trade, and even vow that she would rather drown herself than +marry a tailor." + +"Suppose she did say this, when a thoughtless girl"-- + +"As you are, Kate." + +"Don't bring me into the matter, aunt. But suppose she did say so, +is that any reason for his starving her? He was bound to use his +best efforts for the support of his family, and ought to have been +thankful, under the circumstances, that he was a tailor." + +"So I think. And his wife ought to have been thankful too." + +"And I suppose she would have been if he had possessed the manliness +to tell her the truth." + +"No doubt in the world of that," returned Aunt Prudence, and then +resumed her narrative: + +A week was spent by the young man in another vain effort to find +employment as a clerk. Then he avowed his intention to go to +Louisville, and see if nothing could be done there. + +"Try longer here, Joseph. Don't go away yet," earnestly and tearfully +pleaded his wife. "You don't know how hard it is for me to be +separated from you. I am lonely through the day, and the nights +pass, oh! so heavily. Something may turn up for you here. Try for a +while longer." + +"But our money is nearly all gone. If I don't go now, I shall have +no means of getting away from this place. I feel sure that I can +find something to do there." + +His wife pleaded with him, but in vain. To Louisville he went, and +there got work at the first shop to which he made application. At +the end of a week he sent his wife money, and told her that he had +procured temporary employment. She wrote back asking if she might +not join him immediately. But to this he objected, on the score +that, as his situation was not a permanent one, he might, in a few +weeks, be obliged to leave Louisville and go somewhere else. This, +to his wife, was by no means satisfactory. But she could do no less +than submit. + +Thus separated, they lived for the next three months, Fletcher +visiting his wife and child once every two weeks, and spending +Sunday with them. During the time, he made good wages. But both +himself and wife were very unhappy. Earnestly did the latter plead +with her husband to be allowed to remove to Louisville. To this +however, he steadily objected. Daily he lived in the hope of +securing a clerkship in some store, and thus, being able to rise +above the low condition in which he was placed. The moment he +reached that consummation, so much desired, he would instantly +remove his family. + +At length, it happened that Fletcher did not write once, instead of +several times, during one of the periods of two weeks that he was +regularly absent. The Sunday morning when he was expected home +arrived, but it did not bring, as usual, his anxiously looked-for +presence. His wife was almost beside herself with alarm. No letter +coming on Monday, she took her child and started for Louisville in +the first boat. She arrived at daylight, on Tuesday morning, in a +strange city, herself a total stranger to all therein, except her +husband, and perfectly ignorant as to where he was to be found. The +captain of the steamboat kindly attended her to a boarding-house, +and there she was left, without a single clue in her mind as to the +means of finding her husband. Inquiries were made of all in the +boarding-house, but no one had heard even the name of Joseph +Fletcher. As soon as she could make arrangements to get out, Mrs. +Fletcher visited all the dry-goods stores in the city, for in some +one of these she supposed her husband to be employed, although he +had never stated particularly the kind of business in which he was +engaged. This search, after being continued for a greater part of +the day, turned out fruitless. Night found the unhappy wife in an +agony of suspense and alarm. Some one at the boarding-house advised +her to have an advertisement for her husband inserted in a morning +paper. She did not hesitate long about this course. In the morning, +a brief advertisement appeared; and about nine o'clock a man called +and asked to see her. + +She descended from her room to the parlour with a wildly throbbing +heart, but staggered forward and sank into a chair, weak almost as +an infant, when she saw that the man was a stranger, instead of her +husband, whom she had expected to meet. + +"Are you Mrs. Fletcher?" he asked. + +"I am," she faintly replied. + +"You advertised for information in regard to your husband?" + +"I did. Where is he? Oh, sir, has any thing happened to him?" + +"No, ma'am, nothing serious. He has only been sick for a week or ten +days; that is, the man I refer to has. Your husband is a tailor?" + +"Is the man you speak of a tailor?" eagerly asked Mrs. Fletcher. + +"He is, ma'am; and has been working for me at No.--Fourth street." + +"Then he is not my husband," replied the poor wife, bursting into +tears. "My husband is a clerk." In the bitterness of a keen +disappointment, rendered sharper by doubt and fear, Mrs. Fletcher +wept for some minutes. When she could command her feelings to some +extent, she thanked the tailor for calling, and repeated what she +had said, that the man at his house could not be her husband. + +"He is from Cincinnati, ma'am; and goes there once in every two +weeks. I know that he has wife and child there," said the man. + +"Still he cannot be my husband," replied Mrs. Fletcher; "for my +husband is not a tailor." + +"No, not in that case, certainly." And the man owed and withdrew. + +All day long the wife waited for some more satisfactory reply to her +advertisement, but no farther response to it was made. The call of +the tailor seemed like a mockery of her unhappy condition. + +Night came, and all remained in doubt and darkness; and then the +mind of Mrs. Fletcher turned to the visit of the tailor, half +despairingly, in order to find some feeble gleam of hope. Perhaps, +she said to herself, as she thought about it, there is some mistake. +Perhaps it is my husband after all, and the man is in some error +about his being a tailor. As she thought, it suddenly flashed +through her mind that there had been a good deal of mystery made by +her husband about his situation in Cincinnati as well as in +Louisville, which always struck her as a little strange. Could it be +possible that his real business was that of a tailor? All at once +she remembered that her husband had been particularly silent in +regard to his early history. Trembling with excitement, she left the +house about eight o'clock in the evening, and started for the place +where she remembered that the tailor said he lived. He was in his +shop, and recollected her the moment she entered. + +"Can I see the man you told me was named Fletcher?" she asked. + +"Yes, ma'am; and I sincerely hope there has been some mistake, and +that you will find him to be your husband; for he is very ill, and +needs to be nursed by a careful hand." + +Mrs. Fletcher followed the tailor up stairs, her heart scarcely +beating under the pressure of suspense. In a small chamber in the +third story, the atmosphere of which was close, oppressive, and +filled with an offensive odour, she was shown a man lying upon a +bed. She needed not a second glance, as the dim light fell upon his +pale, emaciated face, to decide her doubts. Her husband lay before +her. Eagerly she called his name, but his eyes did not open. She +spoke to him again and again, but he did not recognise, even if he +heard her voice. + +On inquiring, she found that he was ill with a violent fever, which +the doctor said was about at its crisis. This had been brought on by +too long continued labour--he having worked, often, sixteen and +seventeen hours out of the twenty-four--by that means earning a +third more wages than any journeyman in the shop. + +Alarmed and troubled as she was, Mrs. Fletcher was utterly +confounded by all this. She could not comprehend it. All night she +hovered over the pillow of her husband, giving him medicine at the +proper times, placing the cooling draught to his lips or bathing his +hot forehead. Frequently she called his name, earnestly and +tenderly, but the sound awoke no motions in his sluggish mind. +Toward morning, she was sitting with her face resting against a +pillow, when his voice, speaking distinctly, aroused her from a half +slumber into which she had, momentarily, lost herself. In an instant +she was leaning over him, with his name upon her lips. His eyes were +opens and he looked steadily into her face. But it was evident that +he did not know her. + +"Joseph! Joseph! don't you know me?" said she. "I am your wife. I am +here with you." + +"Poor Mary!" he murmured, sadly, not understanding what was said. +"If she knew all, it would break her heart." + +"What would break her heart?" quickly asked his wife. + +"Poor Mary! She said she would never marry"--here the sick man's +voice became inarticulate. + +But all was clear to the mind of Mrs. Fletcher. She remembered how +often she had made the thoughtless remark to which her husband +evidently referred. The tears again fell over her cheeks, until they +dropped even upon the face of her husband, who, after he had said +this, muttered for a while, inarticulately, and then, closing his +eyes, went off into sleep. + +Toward morning a slight moisture broke out all over him, and his +sleep that was heavy, became soft and tranquil. The crisis was past! +In order not to disturb the quiet slumberer, Mrs. Fletcher sat down +by the bedside perfectly still. It was not very long before, +over-wearied as she was, sleep likewise stole over her senses. It +was daylight when she was awakened by hearing her name called. +Starting up, she met the face of her husband turned earnestly toward +her. + +"Dear husband!" she exclaimed, "do you know me?" + +"Yes, Mary. But how came you here?" he said, in a feeble voice. + +"We will speak of that at some other time," she replied. "Enough +that I am here, where I ought to have been ten days ago. But that +was not my fault." + +Fletcher was about to make some farther remark, when his wife placed +her finger upon his lips, and said-- + +"You must not talk, dear; your disease has just made a favourable +change, and your life depends upon your being perfectly quiet. +Enough for me to say that I know all, and love you just as well, +perhaps better. You are a weak, foolish man, Joseph," she added, +with a smile, "or else thought me a weak and foolish woman. But all +that we can settle hereafter. Thank God that I have found you; and +that you are, to all appearances, out of danger." + +Aunt Prudence looked into Kate's face, and saw that tears were on +her cheeks. + +"Would you have loved him less, Kate," she asked, "if he had been +your husband?" + +"He would have been the same to me whatever might have been his +calling. That could not have changed him." + +"No, certainly not. But I have a word or two more to add. As soon as +Fletcher was well enough to go to work, he took his place again upon +the shop-board, his wife feeling happier than she had felt for a +long time. In about six months he rose to be foreman of the shop, +and a year after that became a partner in the business At the end of +ten years he sold out his interest in the business, and returned to +the East with thirty thousand dollars in cash. This handsome capital +enabled him to get into an old and well-established mercantile house +as partner, where he remained until his death. About the time of his +return to the East, you, Kate, were born." + +"I!" ejaculated the astonished girl. + +"Yes. Their two older children died while they were in Louisville, +and you, their third child, were born about six months before they +left." + +"I!" repeat Kate, in the same surprised tone of voice. + +"Yes, dear, you! I have given you a history of your own father and +mother. So, as you're the daughter of a tailor, you must not object +to a tailor for a husband, if he be the right kind of a man." + +It may very naturally be supposed that Kate had but little to say +against tailors after that, although we are by no means sure that +she had any intention of becoming the bride of one. + + + + +THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. + + +"TWO offers at once! You are truly a favoured maiden, Rose," said +Annette Lewis to her young friend Rose Lilton, in a gay tone. "It is +husband or no husband with most of us; but you have a choice between +two." + +"And happy shall I be if I have the wisdom to choose rightly," was +the reply of Rose. + +"If it were my case, I don't think that I should have much +difficulty in making a choice." + +"Don't you? Suppose, then, you give me the benefit of your +preference." + +"Oh, no, not for the world!" replied Annette, laughing. "I'm afraid +you might be jealous of me afterwards." + +"Never fear. I am not of a jealous disposition." + +"No, I won't commit myself in regard to your lovers. But, if they +were mine, I would soon let it be known where my preference lay." + +"Then you won't assist me in coming to a decision? Surely I am +entitled to this act of friendship." + +"If you put it upon that ground, Rose, I do not see how I can +refuse." + +"I do put it upon that ground, Annette. And now I ask you, as a +friend, to give me your opinion of the two young men, James +Hambleton and Marcus Gray, who have seen such wonderful attractions +in my humble self as to become suitors for my hand at the same +time." + +"Decidedly, then, Rose, I should prefer Marcus Gray." + +"There is about him, certainly, Annette, much to attract a maiden's +eye and to captivate her heart but it has occurred to me that the +most glittering surface does not always indicate the purest gold +beneath. I remember once to have seen a massive chain, wrought from +pure ounces, placed beside another that was far inferior in quality, +but with a surface of ten times richer hue. Had I not been told the +difference, I would have chosen the latter as in every way more +valuable; but when it was explained that one bore the hue of genuine +gold, while the other had been coloured by a process known to +jewellers, I was struck with the lesson it taught." + +"What lesson, Rose?" + +"That the richest substance has not always the most glittering +exterior. That real worth, satisfied with the consciousness of +interior soundness of principle, assumes few imposing exterior +aspects and forms." + +"And that rule you apply to these two young men?" + +"By that rule I wish to be guided, in some degree, in my choice, +Annette. I wish to keep my mind so balanced, that it may not be +swayed from a sound discrimination by any thing of imposing +exterior." + +"But is not the exterior--that which meets the eye--all that we can +judge from? Is not the exterior a true expression of what is +within?" + +"Not by any means, Annette. I grant that it should be, but it is +not. Look at the fact I have just named respecting the gold chains." + +"But they were inanimate substances. They were not faces, where +thoughts, feelings, and principles find expression." + +"Do you suppose, Annette, that bad gold would ever have been +coloured so as to look even more beautiful than that which is +genuine, if there had not been men who assumed exterior graces and +virtues that were not in their minds? No. The very fact you adduce +strengthens my position. The time was, in the earlier and purer +ages--the golden ages of the world's existence--when the countenance +was the true index to the mind. Then it was a well-tuned instrument, +and the mind within a skilful player; to whose touch every muscle, +and chord, and minute fibre gave answering melody. That time has +passed. Men now school their faces to deception; it is an art which +nearly all practise--I and you too often. We study to hide our real +feelings; to appear, in a certain sense, what we are not. Look at +some men whom we meet every day, with faces whose calmness, I should +rather say rigidity, gives no evidence that a single emotion ever +crosses the waveless ocean of their minds. But it is not so; the +mind within is active with thought and feelings; but the instrument +formed for it to play upon has lost its tune, or bears only relaxed +or broken chords." + +"You have a strange, visionary way of talking sometimes, Rose," +replied Annette, as her friend ceased speaking. "All that may do for +your transcendentalists, or whatever you call them; but it won't do +when you come down to the practical matter-of-fact business of +life." + +"To me, it seems eminently a practical principle, Annette. We must +act, in all important matters in life, with a just discrimination; +and how can we truly discriminate, if we are not versed in those +principles upon which, and only upon which, right discriminations +can be made?" + +"I must confess, Rose," replied her young friend, "that I do not see +much bearing that all this has upon the matter under discussion; or, +at least, I cannot see the truth of its application. Gold never +assumes a leaden exterior." + +"Well?" + +"We need not be very eminent philosophers to tell one from the +other." + +"No, of course not." + +"Very well. Here is Marcus Gray, with a genuine golden exterior, and +James Hambleton with a leaden one." + +"I do not grant the position, Annette. It is true that Mr. Hambleton +is not so brilliant and showy; but I have found in him one quality +that I have not yet discovered in the other." + +"What is that?" + +"Depth of feeling, and high moral principle." + +"You certainly do not pretend to affirm that Mr. Gray has neither +feeling nor principle?" + +"Of course I do not. I only say that I have never yet perceived any +very strong indications of their existence." + +"Why, Rose!" + +"I am in earnest, Annette. I doubt not that he possesses both, and, +I trust, in a high degree. But he seems to be so constantly acting a +brilliant and effective part, that nature, unadorned and simple, has +no chance to speak out. It is not so with Mr. Hambleton. Every word +he utters shows that he is speaking what he really feels; and often, +though not so highly polished in speech as Mr. Gray, have I heard +him utter sentiments of genuine truth and humanity, in a tone that +made my heart bound with pleasure at recognising the simple +eloquence of nature. His character, Annette, I find it no way +difficult to read; that of Marcus Gray puzzles my closest scrutiny." + +"I certainly cannot sympathize with you in your singular notions, +Rose," her friend replied. "I have never discovered either of the +peculiarities in these young men that you seem to make of so much +importance. As for Mr. Gray, he is a man of whom any woman might +feel proud; for he combines intelligence with courteous manners and +a fine person: while this Hambleton is, to me, insufferably stupid. +And no one, I am sure, can call his address and manners any thing +like polished. Indeed, I should pronounce him downright boorish and +awkward. Who would want a man for a husband of whom she would be +ashamed? Not I, certainly." + +"I will readily grant you, Annette," said Rose, as her friend ceased +speaking, "that Mr. Hambleton's exterior attractions are not to be +compared with those of Mr. Gray; but, as I said before, in a matter +like this, where it is the quality of the mind, and not the external +appearance of the man alone, that is to give happiness, it behooves +a maiden to look beneath the surface, as I am trying to do now." + +"But I could not love a man like Mr. Hambleton, unless, indeed, +there were no possibility of getting any one else. In that case, I +would make a choice of evils between single blessedness and such a +husband. But to have two such offers as these, Rose, and hesitate to +make a choice, strikes me as singular indeed!" + +"I do not hesitate, Annette," was the quiet reply. + +"Have you, then, indeed decided, Rose?" + +"I have--and this conversation has caused me to decide; for, as it +has progressed, my mind has been enabled to see truly the real +difference in the characters of my suitors." + +"You have, then, decided in favor of Mr. Gray?" + +"Indeed I have not, Annette. Though I admire his fine talents and +his polished exterior, yet I have never been able to perceive in him +those qualities upon which my heart can rest in confidence. He may +possess these in even a higher degree than Mr. Hambleton, but I am +afraid to run so great a risk. In the latter, I know there are moral +qualities that I can love, and that I can repose upon." + +"But he is so dull, Rose." + +"I really do not think so, Annette. There is not so much flash about +him, if I may use the word, as about Mr. Gray. But as to his being +dull, I must beg to differ with you. To me, his conversation is +always interesting." + +"It never is so to me. And, besides all that, his tastes and mine +are as widely different as the poles. Why, Rose, if you become his +wife, you will sink into obscurity at once. He never can make any +impression on society. It is not in him." + +"Rather make no impression on society at all, than a false or +disgraceful one, say I," was the firm reply of Rose. + +"You cannot, certainly, mean to say," returned her friend, "that the +impression made upon society by Mr. Gray is either a false or +disgraceful one." + +"I should be sorry to make that assertion, for I do not believe such +to be the case," Rose replied. "What I mean is, that I can read Mr. +Hambleton's true character, and I know it to be based upon fixed and +high-toned principles. These can never make the woman who truly +loves him unhappy. They give place to no moral contingencies, by +which hopes are so often wrecked, and hearts broken. Now, in regard +to Mr. Gray, there is nothing in his character, so far as I can, +read it, upon which to predicate safe calculations of this kind. He +is intelligent, and highly interesting as a companion. His personal +appearance and his address are attractive. But all below the +exterior is hidden. The moral qualities of the man never show +themselves. I feel that to give my heart to such a one would be +risking too much. Of course, I must decline his offer." + +"Indeed, indeed, Rose, I think you are very foolish!" + +"Time will show, Annette." + +"Yes, time will show," was the prophetic response. And time did show +that Rose made a right choice, when she accepted the offer of James +Hambleton, and gave him, with her hand, a warm, true heart. + + + + +THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. + + +"I KNOW a young lady who will suit you exactly." + +"Indeed!" + +"It's a fact. She is just the thing." + +"Is she rich?" + +"Of course." + +"How rich?" + +"Worth some fifty thousand dollars." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Certainly. Her father died about a year ago, and she was his only +child. Her mother has been dead many years. The old man was well +off, and his daughter received all of his property, and, as she is +of age, she has it all under her own control." + +"Is she handsome?" + +"Just so-so. But that don't matter a great deal. Gold is beautiful." + +"Exactly. And intelligent?" + +"I've seen smarter girls. But that's all the better, you know." + +"Yes. Well now, who is she? That's the next question." + +"Her name is Margaretta Riston, and she is now living with an old +aunt in Sycamore street." + +"Are you acquainted?" + +"Intimately." + +"Then be kind enough to introduce me forthwith. I must make a +conquest of some rich heiress soon, or I shall have to run away, or +petition for the benefit of the Insolvent Law." + +"To-night, if you choose." + +"Very well--let it be to-night. There is no time to be lost." + +"Suppose she won't accept you?" + +"She must. I'm as good-looking a fellow as you'll find in a dozen; +and I flatter myself that I have a smooth tongue in my head." + +"Well, success to you, I say! But look here, Smith: if you succeed, +I shall expect a premium." + +"There'll be no difficulty about that, Perkins. But let me secure +the prize first; and then say how much you'll want. You'll not find +me the man to forget a friend." + +"I'm sure of that," responded the other, laughing. + +And then the friends shook each other's hands heartily, promising, +as they parted, to meet early in the evening, preparatory to +visiting the heiress. + +"You would not have me suspicious of every young man who visits me!" +said Margaretta Riston, in reply to a remark made by her aunt, on +the same evening that the two young men had proposed calling on her. + +"I would rather have you suspicious, or, rather, exceedingly +watchful, than to be altogether off of your guard. Many dangers +beset the path of a rich young girl like you. There are, and I am +sorry to say it, too many young men in society, who are mere +money-hunters--young men who would marry an heiress during the first +hour of their acquaintance, and marry her, of course, only for her +money." + +"I can hardly credit it, aunt. And I am sure that no young men of my +acquaintance are so selfish and mercenary!" + +"In that assumption lies a fatal error, believe me, my dear niece! +Too many, alas! too many young girls have vainly imagined, as you do +now, that, though there might be men of base characters in society, +none such were of their acquaintances. These have awakened from +their fatal error with the sad consciousness that they had become +victims to their fond infidelity. Rather suspect all until you have +convincing evidence to the contrary, than remain unguarded until it +is too late." + +"But don't you see, aunt, how in this case I would do wrong to +sincere and honest minds? And I cannot bear the thought of doing +wrong to any one." + +"You do no wrong to any one, my niece, in with-holding full +confidence until there is evidence that full confidence may be +safely bestowed. In the present evil state of the world, involving, +as it does, so much of false appearance, hypocrisy, and selfish +motive, it is absolutely necessary, especially with one in your +situation, to withhold all confidence, until there is unquestionable +proof of virtuous principle." + +"There is at least one young man, who visits here, that I think is +above such mean suspicions," Margaretta said. + +"So I think," the aunt replied. + +"Whom do you mean, aunt?" + +"I mean Thomas Fielding." + +"Thomas Fielding! Well, he may be; but--" + +"But what, Margaretta?" + +"Oh, nothing, aunt. But I do not like Mr. Fielding so very much." + +"Why not, child?" + +"I can hardly tell. But there is no character about him." + +"No character! Really, Margaretta, you surprise me. There is more +character and principle about him than about any young man who comes +to this house." + +"I cannot think so, aunt. He is too tame, prosy, and old-fashioned +for me." + +"Whom then did you mean?" the aunt asked, with an expression of +concern in her tones. + +"Why, Mr. Perkins, to be sure." + +The aunt shook her head. + +"I am afraid, Margaretta, that Mr. Perkins is a man of few +principles, but thoroughly selfish ones." + +"How strangely you talk, aunt! Why, he is any thing but a selfish +man. I am sure he is the most gentlemanly, thoughtful, and polite +man that visits here. He is much more attentive to others, in +company, than Mr. Fielding; and that, I am sure, indicates a kinder +regard for others." + +"Not always, Margaretta. It may sometimes indicate a cold-hearted, +calm assurance, assumed for selfish ends; while its opposite may be +from a natural reserve or timidity of character." + +"But you don't mean to say, surely, that Mr. Perkins is such a one +as you intimate?" + +"If I am correct in my observation, he is all that I have +insinuated. In a word, he is, in my opinion, a mere money-hunter." + +"I am sure, aunt, he is not so constant in his attentions as he was +some time, ago; and, if he were merely a money-hunter, he would not, +of course, abate those attentions." + +"No--not unless he had discovered a richer prize." + +"Indeed, aunt, you wrong him." + +"I should be sorry to do so, Margaretta. But I do not form my +opinions hastily. I try to look close before I come to conclusions. +But I have stronger testimony than my own observations." + +"What is that?" + +"Why, I heard this morning that he is to be married in a few weeks +to Harriet Pomeroy." + +"Indeed, you must be mistaken, aunt," said Margaretta, suddenly +rising to her feet. + +"I presume not," was the quiet reply. "My information came almost +direct." + +The entrance of visitors now interrupted the conversation. + +"Permit me to introduce my very particular friend, Mr. Smith," said +the individual about whom the aunt and her niece were conversing, as +he entered the handsome parlour of Mrs. Riston. + +Mr. Smith and Mr. Perkins were, of course, received with great +affability by Margaretta, who concealed the impression made upon her +mind by the piece of information just conveyed by her aunt. + +As for Mrs. Riston, she was studiedly polite, but gave the young men +no very apparent encouragement. An hour soon passed away, and then +the visitors retired. + +"Well, Smith, what do you think of her?" asked Perkins, as the two +gained the street. + +"You're sure she's worth fifty thousand dollars?" + +"Oh, yes. There's no mistake about that." + +"But _how_ do you know? This is a matter about which there should be +no mistake." + +"I got a friend to examine the transfer books of the bank where the +stock is. Will that satisfy you?" + +"You did? And pray why did you do that?" + +"A strange question! but I'll tell you, as you seem dull. I had a +notion of her myself." + +"You had?" + +"I had." + +"And why did you get out of the notion?" + +"Because I saw another whom I liked better." + +"She was richer, I suppose." + +"How can you insinuate such a thing?" And Perkins laughed in a low, +meaning chuckle. + +"Ah, I perceive. Well, how much is she worth?" + +"About a hundred thousand." + +"Are you sure of her?" + +"Certainly! The thing's all settled." + +"You're a lucky dog, Perkins! But see here, what did you mean by the +premium you talked of for bringing about a match between me and Miss +Riston?" + +"Oh, as to that, I was only jesting. But you haven't told me how you +like the young lady yet." + +"Oh, she'll do, I reckon," said Smith, tossing his head half +contemptuously. + +"Do you think you can secure her?" + +"Easily enough. But then I must get her away as often as possible +from that old Cerberus of an aunt. I didn't like her looks at all." + +"She's suspicious." + +"That's clear. Well, she must be wide awake if I commence playing +against her in real earnest. I can win any girl's affections that I +choose." + +"You have a pretty fair conceit of yourself, I see." + +"I wouldn't give a cent for a man that hadn't. The fact is, Perkins, +these girls have but one end in view, and that is to get married. +They know that they have to wait to be asked, and, trembling in fear +lest they shall not get another offer, they are always ready to jump +eagerly at the first." + +"Pretty true, I believe. But, Smith, don't you think Margaretta +quite a fair specimen of a girl?" + +"Oh, yes. And I have no doubt that I shall love her well enough, if +she don't attempt to put on airs, and throw up to me that she was +rich, and I poor. I'll never stand that." + +"She'll not be so foolish, I presume." + +"She'd better not, I can tell her, if she doesn't wish to get into +hot water." And the young man laughed at his own half-in-earnest +jesting. + +"He's a very agreeable young man, isn't he, aunt?" said Margaretta, +after the two young men had gone away. + +"Who? Mr. Smith, as Mr. Perkins called him?" + +"Yes." + +"He has a smooth enough tongue, if that is any recommendation; but I +do not like him. Indeed, he is far more disagreeable to me than his +very particular friend, Mr. Perkins." + +"Oh, aunt, how can you talk so! I'm sure he was very agreeable. At +least, I thought so." + +"That was because he flattered you so cleverly." + +"How _can_ you insinuate such a thing, aunt? Surely I am not so weak +and vain as to be imposed upon and beguiled by a flatterer!" + +"Some men understand how to flatter very ingeniously; and, to me, +Mr. Smith seemed peculiarly adept in the art. He managed it so +adroitly as to give it all the effect, without its being apparent to +the subject of his experiments." + +"Indeed, aunt, you are mistaken. I despise a flatterer as much as +you do. But I am sure that I saw nothing like flattery about Mr. +Smith." + +"I am sorry that you did not, Margaretta. But take my advice, and be +on your guard. That man's motives in coming to see you, believe me, +are not the purest in the world." + +"You are far too suspicious, aunt; I am sure you are." + +"Perhaps I have had cause. At any rate, Margaretta, I have lived +longer in, and seen much more of the world than you have, and I +ought to have a clearer perception of character. For your own sake, +then, try and confide in my judgment." + +"I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see +as you do in this particular instance." + +"Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own +observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to +mine." + +To this Margaretta did not reply. It seemed too much like giving up +her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain +her aunt by objections. + +On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young +man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her +aunt. He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did +Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and +real common sense. After he had retired, Margaretta said-- + +"Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of +Thomas Fielding." + +"Why not, my dear?" asked the aunt. + +"Oh, I don't know; but he is so dull and prosy." + +"I am sure he don't seem dull to me, Margaretta. He doesn't talk a +great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized +by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind." + +"But don't you think, aunt, that my money has some influence in +bringing him here?" And Margaretta looked up archly into her aunt's +face. + +"It may have, for aught I can tell. We cannot see the motives of any +one. But I should be inclined to think that money would have little +influence with Thomas Fielding, were not every thing else in +agreement. He is, I think, a man of fixed and genuine principles." + +"No doubt, aunt. But, still, I can't relish his society. And if I +can't, I can't." + +"Very true. If you can't enjoy his company, why you can't. But it +cannot be, certainly, from any want, on his part, of gentlemanly +manners, or kind attentions to you." + +"No; but, then, he is so dull. I should die if I had no other +company." + +"Indeed, my child," Aunt Riston said, in a serious tone, "you ought +to make the effort to esteem and relish the society of those who +have evidently some stability of character, and whose conversation +has in it the evidence of mature observation, combined with sound +and virtuous principles, more than you do the flippant nonsense of +mere ladies' men, or selfish, unprincipled fortune-hunters." + +"Indeed, aunt, you are too severe on my favourites!" And Margaretta +laughed gaily. + +But to her aunt there was something sad in the sound of that laugh. +It seemed like the knell of long and fondly cherished hopes. + +"What do you think of Margaretta Riston, Mary?" asked Thomas +Fielding of his sister, on the next evening after the visit just +mentioned. + +"Why do you ask so seriously, brother?" the sister said, looking +into his face, with a smile playing about her lips. + +"For a serious reason, sister. Can you guess what it is?" + +"Perhaps so, and therefore I will not tax your modesty so far as to +make you confess it." + +"Very well, Mary. And now answer my question. What do you think of +Margaretta?" + +"I know nothing against her, brother." + +"Nothing against her! Don't you know any thing in her favour?" + +"Well, perhaps I do. She is said to be worth some fifty thousand +dollars." + +"Nonsense, Mary! What do I care about her fifty thousand dollars? +Don't you know any thing else in her favour?" + +"Why, yes, brother. As long as you seem so serious about the matter, +I think Margaretta a fine girl. She is amiable in disposition--is +well educated--tolerably good-looking, and, I think, ordinarily +intelligent." + +"Ordinarily intelligent!" + +"Yes. Certainly there is nothing extraordinary about her." + +"No, of course not." + +"Well, brother, what next?" + +"Why, simply, Mary, I like Margaretta very much. The oftener I see +her, the more am I drawn towards her. To tell the plain, homely +truth, I love her." + +"And don't care any thing about her fifty thousand dollars?" + +"No Mary, I don't think I do. Indeed, if I know my own feelings, I +would rather she were not worth a dollar." + +"And why so, Thomas?" + +"Because, I fear the perverting influence of wealth on her mind. I +am afraid her position will give her false views of life. I wish to +marry for a _wife_--not for _money_. I can make money myself." + +"Still, Thomas, Margaretta is, I think, an innocent-minded, good +girl. I do not see that she has been much warped by her position." + +"So she seems to me, and I am glad that my sister's observation +corroborates my own. And now, Mary, do you think I have any thing to +hope?" + +"Certainly, I do." + +"But why do you think so?" + +"Because Margaretta must have good sense enough to see that you are +a man of correct principles, and an affectionate disposition." + +"Still, she may not see in me that which interests her sufficiently +to induce her to marry me." + +"That is true. But I don't believe you have any thing to fear." + +"I cannot help fearing, Mary, for the simple reason, that I find my +affections so much interested. A disappointment would be attended +with extreme pain." + +"Then I would end suspense at once." + +"I will. To-morrow evening I will declare my feelings." + +It was about nine o'clock on the next evening, while Mary Fielding +sat reading by the centre-table, that her brother entered hastily, +and threw himself upon the sofa, a deep sigh escaping him as he did +so. + +"What ails you, Thomas?" inquired his sister, rising and approaching +him. + +But he made no reply. + +"Tell me, what ails you, Thomas?" Mary urged, taking his hand +affectionately. + +"I have been to see Margaretta," the brother at length replied, in +as calm a voice as he could assume. + +"And she has not, surely, declined your offer?" + +"She has, and with what appeared to me an intimation that I loved +her money, perhaps, better than herself." + +"Surely not, brother!" + +"To me it seemed so. Certainly she treated lightly my declaration, +and almost jested with me." + +The sister stood silent for some moments, and then said-- + +"The woman who could thus jest with you, Thomas, is unworthy of +you." + +"So I am trying to convince myself. But the trial is a deeply +painful one." + +And painful it proved for many weeks afterwards. But, finally, he +was enabled to rise above his feelings. + +In the mean time, Mr. Smith had wooed the heiress successfully, and, +in doing so, his own heart had become interested, or, at least, he +deceived himself into the belief that such was the case. He no +longer jested, as he had done at first, about her money, nor +declared, even to his friend Perkins, how strong an influence it had +upon his affections. More serious thoughts of marriage had caused +these selfish motives to retire out of sight and acknowledgment; but +still they existed and still ruled his actions. + +The aunt, when Margaretta made known to her that the young man had +offered himself, was pained beyond measure, particularly as it was +evident that her niece favoured the suitor. + +"Indeed, Margaretta," said she, earnestly, "he is not worthy of +you!" + +"You judge him harshly, aunt," the niece replied. "I know him to be +all that either of us could wish for." + +"But how do you know, Margaretta?" + +"I have observed him closely, and am sure that, I cannot be deceived +in him." + +"Alas! my child, if you know nothing beyond your own observation, +you are far more ignorant than you suppose. Be guided, then, by +me--trust more to my observation than your own. He is not the man to +make you happy! Let me urge you, then, to keep him at a distance." + +"I should do injustice to my own feelings, aunt, and to my own sense +of right, were I to do so. In a word, and to speak out plainly, he +offered himself last evening, and I accepted him!" + +"Rash girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Riston, lifting her hands in +astonishment and pain, "how could you thus deceive your best friend? +How so sadly deceive yourself?" + +"Do not distress yourself so, aunt. You have mistaken the character +of Mr. Smith. He is, in every way, a different man from what you +think him. He is altogether worthy of my regard and your confidence. +I do not wish to deceive you, aunt; but you set yourself so +resolutely against Mr. Smith from the first that I could not make up +my mind to brave your opposition to a step which I was fully +convinced it was right for me to take." + +"Ah, Margaretta! You know not what you are doing. Marriage is a far +more serious matter than you seem to think it. Look around among +your young acquaintances, and see how many have wedded unhappily. +And why? Because marriages were rushed into from a fond impulse, +vainly imagined to be true affection. But no true affection can +exist where there is not a mutual knowledge of character and +qualities of mind. Now what do you know, really, about Mr. Smith? +What does he know about you? Why, nothing! I want no stronger +evidence of his unworthy motives, than the fact of his having +offered himself after a three weeks' acquaintance. What could he +know of you in that time? Surely not enough to be able to determine +whether you would make him a suitable wife or not--enough, perhaps, +to be satisfied of the amount of your wealth." + +"You are unjust towards Mr. Smith," said Margaretta, half +indignantly. + +"Not half so unjust as he is towards you. But surely, my niece, you +will reconsider this whole matter, and take full time to reflect." + +"I cannot reconsider, aunt. My word is passed, and I would suffer +any thing rather than break my word." + +"You will suffer your heart to be broken, if you do not." + +"Time will prove that!" and Margaretta tossed her head with a kind +of mock defiance. + +"Have you fixed your wedding day?" the aunt asked after a few +moments' silence. + +"Not yet. But Mr. Smith wants to be married in three weeks." + +"In three weeks!" + +"Yes; but I told him that I could not get ready within a month." + +"A month! Surely you are not going to act so precipitately?" + +"I cannot see the use of waiting, aunt, when we are engaged and all +ready. And I can easily get ready in a month." + +To this the aunt did not reply. She felt that it would be useless. + +After this, Mr. Smith was a regular daily and evening visitor. He +perceived, of course, the unfavourable light in which the aunt +viewed him, and in consequence set himself to work to break down her +prejudices. He was kind and attentive to her on all occasions, and +studied her peculiar views and feelings, so as to adapt himself to +her. But the old lady had seen too much of the world, and was too +close an observer to be deceived. Still she found silent +acquiescence her only course of action. + +At the end of the month from the day of their engagement Margaretta +Riston was a happy young bride. + +One week after their marriage, Mr. Smith entered the room of his +friend Mr. Perkins, with a pale, agitated countenance. + +"What in the world has happened, Smith?" the friend asked, in alarm. + +"Haven't you heard the news?" + +"No. What news?" + +"The United States Bank has failed!" + +"Oh, no!" + +"It is true. And every dollar of Margaretta's money is locked up +there!" + +"Really that is dreadful! I would sell the stock immediately for +what it will bring, if I were you." + +"So I wish to. But neither my wife nor her aunt are willing. And so +soon after our marriage I do not like to use positive measures." + +"But the case is urgent. Delay may sweep from you every dollar." + +"So I fear. What shall I do then? To have the prize in hand, and +find it thus suddenly escaping, is enough to drive me mad!" + +"Sell in spite of them. That's my advice." + +"I will!" + +And the half crazy young fortune-hunter hurried away. In a few +minutes after, he entered the room where sat his wife and her aunt +in gloomy and oppressed silence. + +"The best thing we can do, Margaretta, I am satisfied, is to sell," +he said, taking a chair beside his wife. "The stock is falling every +hour, and it is the opinion of competent judges that it will not be +worth five dollars in a week." + +"And other competent judges are of a very different opinion," +replied the aunt. "Mr. Day, who was Margaretta's guardian, has just +been here, and says that we must not sell by any means; that after +the panic is over the stock will go up again. The bank, he assures +us, is fully able to meet every dollar, and still have a large +surplus. It would be folly then to sell, especially when there is no +urgent demand for the money." + +"There is more urgent demand than you know of," Mr. Smith said to +himself with bitter emphasis. He added aloud,-- + +"Mr. Day may know something about the matter; but I am sure he is +mistaken in the calculation he makes. It is said this morning, by +those who know, that the assets of the bank are principally in +worthless stocks, and that the shareholders will never get a cent. +My advice, then, is to sell immediately; a bird in the hand is worth +two in the bush." + +But both the wife and aunt objected; and so soon after marriage he +felt that positive opposition would come with a bad grace. + +Steadily day after day, the stock went down, down, down--and day +after day Mr. Smith persisted in having it sold. The fact was, duns +now met him at every turn, and it was with the utmost difficulty +that he could prevent his wife and her aunt from guessing at the +nature of the many calls of his "particular friends." Money he must +have, or he could not keep out of prison long, and the only chance +for his obtaining money was in the sale of his wife's stock. But at +the rates for which it was now selling, the whole proceeds would not +cover the claims against him. At last, when the stock had fallen to +twenty dollars, Mrs. Smith yielded to her husband's earnest +persuasions, and handed him over the certificates of her stock, that +he might dispose of them to the best possible advantage. + +"Mr. Smith is late in coming home to his dinner," the aunt said, +looking at the timepiece. + +The young wife lifted her head from her hand, with a sigh, and +merely responded, + +"Yes, he is rather late." + +"I wonder what keeps him so!" the old lady remarked, about five +minutes after, breaking the oppressive silence. + +"I'm sure I cannot tell. I gave him my certificates of stock to sell +this morning." + +"You did? I am afraid that was wrong, Margaretta." + +"I'm sure I cannot tell whether it is or not, aunt. But I've had no +peace about them, night nor day, since the bank failed." + +There was bitterness in the tone of Margaretta's voice, that touched +the feelings of her aunt, and tended to confirm her worst fears. But +she could not, now, speak out plainly, as she had felt constrained +to do before marriage, and therefore did not reply. + +For more than an hour did the two women wait for the return of Mr. +Smith, and then they went through the form of sitting down to the +dinner-table. But few mouthfuls of food passed the lips of either of +them. + +Hour after hour moved slowly by, but still the husband of Margaretta +appeared not; and when the twilight fell, it came with a strange +uncertain fear to the heart of the young wife. + +"What _can_ keep him so late, aunt?" she said, anxiously, as the +lights were brought in. + +"Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. I hope that nothing is wrong." + +"Wrong, aunt? What can be wrong?" and Margaretta looked her aunt +eagerly and inquiringly in the face. + +"I am sure, my child, I do not know. Something unusual must detain +him, and I only hope that something may be evil neither to him nor +yourself." + +Again there was a deep and painful silence--painful at least to one +heart, trembling with an undefinable sensation of fear. + +"There he is!" ejaculated Margaretta springing to her feet, as the +bell rang, and hurrying to the door before the servant had time to +open it. + +"Here is a letter for Mrs. Smith," said a stranger, handing her a +sealed note, and then withdrawing quickly. + +It was with difficulty that the young wife could totter back to the +parlour, where she seated herself by the table, and with trembling +hands broke the seal of the letter that had been given her. Her eyes +soon took in the brief words it contained. They were as follow:-- + +"Farewell, Margaretta! We shall, perhaps, never meet again! Think of +me as one altogether unworthy of you. I have wronged you--sadly +wronged you, I know--but I have been driven on by a kind of evil +necessity to do what I have done. Forget me! Farewell!" + +This note bore neither date nor signature, but the characters in +which it was written were too well known to be mistaken. + +Mrs. Riston saw the fearful change that passed over the face of her +niece as she read the note, and went quickly up to her. She was in +time to save her from falling to the floor. All through the night +she lay in a state of insensibility, and it was weeks before she +seemed to take even the slightest interest in any thing that was +going on around her. + +It was about three o'clock of the day that Mr. Smith got possession +of the certificates of deposit, that he entered the room of his +friend, Perkins. He looked agitated and irresolute. + +"Well, Smith, how are you?" his friend said. "Have you sold that +stock yet?" + +"Yes." + +"Indeed! So you have triumphed over your wife's scruples. Well--what +did you get for it?" + +"Only eight thousand dollars." + +"That was a shameful sacrifice!" + +"Indeed it was. And it puts me into a terrible difficulty." + +"What is that?" + +"Why, I owe at least that sum; and I cannot stay here unless it is +paid." + +"That is bad." + +"Out of the fifty thousand I could have squared up, and it would not +have been felt. But I cannot use the whole eight thousand, and look +Margaretta and her aunt in the face again. And if I don't pay my +debts, you see, to prison I must go." + +"You are in a narrow place, truly. Well, what are you going to do?" + +"A question more easily asked than answered. Among my debts are +about, four thousand dollars that must be paid whether or no." + +"Why?" + +"They are _debts of honour!_" + +"Ah, indeed! that is bad. You will have to settle them." + +"Of course!" Then, in a loud and emphatic whisper, he said-- + +"And I _have_ settled them!" + +"Indeed! Well, what next? How will you account to your wife for the +deficiency?" + +"Account to my wife!" and as he said this, he ground his teeth +together, while his lip curled. "Don't talk to me in that way, +Perkins, and cause me to hate the woman I have deceived and +injured!" + +"But what _are_ you going to do, Smith?" + +"I am going to clear out with the balance of the money in my pocket. +I can't stay here, that's settled; and I'm not going away penniless, +that's certain. Margaretta's old aunt has money enough, and can take +care of her--so she's provided for. And I've no doubt but that +she'll be happier without me than with me." + +"Where are you going?" + +"Somewhere down South." + +"When?" + +"At four o'clock this afternoon." + +"Well, success to you. There are some rich widows in the Southern +country, you know." + +"I understand; but I'm rather sick of these operations. They are a +little uncertain. But good-bye, and may you have better luck than +your friend Smith." + +"Good-bye." And the two young men shook hands cordially and parted. + +At four o'clock Mr. Smith left for Baltimore--not the happiest man +in the cars by a great deal. + +Since that day the confiding young creature who had thrown all into +the scale for him has neither seen him nor heard from him. To her +the light of life seems fled for ever. Her face is very pale, and +wears an expression of heart-touching misery. She is rarely seen +abroad. Poor creature! In her one sad error, what a lifetime of +sorrow has been involved! + +Of all conditions in life, that of the young heiress, with her money +in her own right, is peculiarly dangerous. The truly worthy shrink +often from a tender of their affection, for fear their motives may +be thought interested; while the mercenary push forward, and by +well-directed flattery, that does not seem like flattery, win the +prize they cannot appreciate. + +There are such base wretches in society. Let those who most need to +fear them be on their guard. + +It is now but a few weeks since Thomas Fielding, who was despised +and rejected by Margaretta, married a sweet girl in every way worthy +of him. She is not rich in worldly goods, but she is rich in +virtuous principles. The former Fielding does not need; but the +latter he can cherish "as a holy prize." + + + + +IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? + + +"I AM afraid to marry," said a young lady, half jesting and half in +earnest, replying to something a friend had said. + +"Why so, Ella?" asked one of the company, who had thus far chosen +rather to listen than join in the conversation of half a dozen gay +young girls. She was a quiet, matronly-looking individual, some few +years past the prime of life. + +"For fear of being unhappy, Mrs. Harding," replied the first +speaker. + +"What an idea!" exclaimed a gay damsel, laughing aloud at the +singular fear expressed by Ella. "For my part, I never expect to be +happy until I am married." + +"If marriage should make you any happier than you are now, Caroline, +the result will be very fortunate. Your case will form an exception +to the rule." + +"Oh, no, Ella, don't say that," spoke up the one who had replied to +her first remark. "Happiness is the rule, and unhappiness the +exception." + +"Then it happens strangely enough," returned Ella, smiling, "that we +are more familiar with the exceptions than the rule." + +"No, my dear, that cannot for a moment be admitted. Far more of +happiness than misery results from marriage." + +"Look at Ellen Mallory," was answered promptly, "and Mrs. Cummings, +and half a dozen others I could name." + +"The two you have mentioned are painful instances, I must admit, and +form the exceptions of which I spoke; but the result is by no means +one that should excite our surprise, for it is a natural consequence +flowing from an adequate cause. If you marry as unwisely as did the +persons you mention, I have no doubt but you will be quite as +wretched as they are--it may be more so." + +"I am sure Mr. Mallory is an elegant-looking man," said one of the +company, "and might have had his pick among a dozen more attractive +girls than ever Ellen Martine was." + +"All as thoughtless and undiscriminating as she," remarked Mrs. +Harding, quietly. + +"Ellen is no fool," returned the last speaker. + +"In the most important act of her whole life, she has certainly not +shown herself to be a wise woman," said Mrs. Harding. + +"But how in the world was she to know that Mr. Mallory was going to +turn out so badly?" spoke up Ella. + +"By opening her eyes, and using the ability that God has given her +to see," was answered by Mrs. Harding. + + "Those eyes are wondrous wise, I ween, + That see what is not to be seen," + +the maiden replied. + +"Do you then really think, Ella," said Mrs. Harding, "that a young +lady cannot make herself as thoroughly acquainted with a man's real +qualities as to put any serious mistake in marriage entirely out of +the question?" + +"To me, I must confess that marriage seems very much like a +lottery," answered Ella. "We may get a prize, but there are ten +chances to one of our getting a blank." + +"If you choose to make it a lottery, it will no doubt become so; but +if entered into from right motives, there is no danger of this being +the case." + +"I don't know what you call right motives," said one; "but I'll tell +you a necessary pre-requisite in the man who is to make me a +husband." + +"Well, child, what is it?" + +"Plenty of money. I'm not going to be a poor man's wife, and work +myself to death, all for love--no, not I!" + +"I'll have a handsome man for a husband, or none," remarked another. + +"Give me splendid talents," said a third. + +"And what must you have, Ella?" asked Mrs. Harding, turning to the +one she addressed. + +"All three, if I can get them," replied Ella. + +"Beauty, wealth, and talents. These you think would satisfy you?" + +"Oh, yes; I should be rather hard to please if they did not." + +"Let me relate to you the histories of two friends of mine who +married young," said Mrs. Harding, without remarking upon what had +just been declared. "Perhaps they may contain lessons that it will +be of use for you all to get by heart." + +"Oh, yes, do!" said the young ladies, gathering around Mrs. Harding, +who, after a short pause, related what follows. + +"In my younger days," began Mrs. Harding, "I had two intimate +friends, to whom I was warmly attached. I loved them for their many +good qualities, and particularly for their unselfishness. To make +others happy, always appeared to give them a double pleasure. They +were nearly of the same age, and possessed equal external +advantages; but their characters were very different. Sarah Corbin, +who was a few months older than her friend and almost constant +companion, Harriet Wieland, was quiet, thoughtful, and observant; +while Harriet, who had great personal attractions, never appeared to +look beneath the surface. She believed every thing to be true that +bore the semblance of truth, to her all that glittered was gold. +Like you, and most other young ladies, we sometimes talked of +marriage, and the qualifications desirable in a good husband. +Harriet, whether in a gay or sober mood, always declared, like Ella +here, that he who won her heart must have riches, manly beauty, and +brilliant talents. These she called man's cardinal virtues. Sarah +never had much to say on these matters, and, when we asked her +opinion, she generally replied evasively. + +"A young man named Eaverson, answering pretty nearly to the beau +ideal of Harriet Wieland, came from a neighbouring city to reside in +this. He was connected with a wealthy and highly respectable family, +was really a handsome man, and possessed very fine abilities. He had +studied law, and opened his office here for the purpose of pursuing +it as a regular profession; but, not meeting with much practice at +first, he occupied a large portion of his time in literary pursuits, +writing for the magazines and reviews. He also published a small +volume of poetry, which contained many really brilliant specimens of +verse. + +"Circumstances threw Eaverson into the circle of which we formed a +part, and we were consequently introduced to him. In the course of +time, he began to pay rather marked attentions to Sarah Corbin, at +which I felt a little surprised, as he had met Harriet Wieland quite +as often, and she was far more beautiful and showy, and more likely, +it seemed to me, to attract one like him than the other. Either +Sarah was unconscious that his attentions were more marked in her +case, or she did not wish her observation of the fact to be known, +for all our allusions to the subject were evaded with a seeming +indifference that left our minds in doubt. Such were our impressions +at first; but the sequel showed that she had marked his first +advances with lively interest, and understood their meaning quite as +well as we did. + +"About Eaverson there was every thing to attract the heart of a +maiden not well guarded; and Sarah found that it required the +fullest exercise of her reason to prevent her from letting every +affection of her mind go out and attach itself to an object that +seemed, at first sight, so worthy of her love. But by nature and +from education she was thoughtful and observant; and a wise mother +had taught her that in marriage external accomplishments and +possessions were nothing, unless united with virtuous principles and +well-regulated passions. The brilliant attractions of Eaverson +strongly tempted her to take his moral fitness for granted; but +wiser counsels prevailed in her mind; and with a vigorous hand laid +upon her heart to keep down its errant impulses, she exercised, with +coolness and a well-balanced mind, the powers of discrimination +which God had given for her guidance through life." + +All the time that this process was going on in her mind, we remained +in ignorance of the fact that she ever thought of the young man, +except when he was present, or his name introduced by others. To +her, all that related to marriage was too serious to form the theme +of ordinary conversation, light jests, or idle chit-chat. Rarely +indeed would she have any thing to say, when others spoke lightly or +jested on the subject. This being the case, now that her own mind +had become deeply interested in a matter of most vital importance to +her future welfare, she had no one to disturb the even balance of +her reflections by a thoughtless word, an untimely jest, or a false +opinion flowing from inexperience or a want of ability to read human +nature aright. Silently, freely, and with no biassing influence, in +the unapproachable chambers of her own thoughts did she weigh the +real character of Eaverson, as far as she could understand it, +against what was merely external and personal. The more marked the +attentions of the young man became, the more earnestly did she seek +to comprehend his real character. Every word he uttered in her +presence, every sentiment he expressed, every action and every look +were closely scanned, and their meaning, as having reference to +principles in the mind, sought to be understood. Such careful +scrutiny did not go unrewarded. When Eaverson, soon after her mind +was made up in regard to him, made an offer of his hand, the offer +was unhesitatingly declined. Sarah had seen enough to satisfy her, +that with all his talents, beauty, and wealth, he was wanting in +virtuous principles and a high sense of honour. + +"I confess, that, with others, I was greatly surprised when the fact +of Sarah's having declined the hand of Eaverson became known. The +selection of her by one like him seemed so high a preference, and +such a marked tribute to her worth and virtue, that it was scarcely +credible that she could have remained indifferent to his love. But +she saw deeper than we did." + +"'I cannot understand the reason of your refusal to accept Mr. +Eaverson's offer?' I said to Sarah, one day, when the conversation +took a turn that gave me an opportunity of alluding to the subject. +'Do you know any thing against him?' + +"'Nothing further than the conclusions of my own mind, arising from +a careful observation of his sentiments, manners, and unguarded +expressions,' she replied. + +"'Was it from such conclusions that you declined his offer?' + +"'From these alone, for I know nothing of his history before he came +to this city, and nothing of his life since he has been here.' + +"'May you not possibly be mistaken?' + +"'No. From the moment he seemed in the least pleased with me, I +commenced observing him closely. It was not long before I heard him +utter a sentiment, while speaking to another, that showed him to +possess very false views of life in at least one particular. This I +noted, and laid it by in my memory for comparison with any thing +else I might see or hear.' + +"'But you would not condemn a man for having erroneous views of +life?' said I. + +"'Oh, no; not if his principles be pure. But if false views arise +from a perverted heart, then I would condemn the man. What I heard, +I noticed in order to determine, if possible, from what source it +came. A very long time did not pass, before I saw something that +told me very plainly that the false view which I have mentioned +depended more upon a perversion of the heart than an error in the +understanding. I likewise discovered, very soon, that when in +conversation with me, he was, evidently, more upon his guard, as to +what sentiments he declared, than he was when in conversation with +others. But I need not state particularly the whole process by which +I arrived at conclusions sufficiently clear to warrant my full and +prompt rejection of his suit.' + +"'In what estimation do you hold him?' I asked. + +"'As a man without honour or virtue,' she said, decidedly. + +"'That is a broad and severe judgment,' I replied. + +"'So it is. I have made it for myself. Of course, I cannot expect +others to view him in the same light; nor do I believe many others +would form this conclusion from the evidences that were presented to +my mind. But, as for me, I have no doubt on the subject. Rather than +become his wife, I would suffer death; for a union with him would +be, to me, the depth of misery.' + +"The seriousness with which Sarah spoke satisfied me that she +believed all she said, and had, at some cost of feeling, rejected an +offer of marriage that would have been an exceedingly desirable one, +had the character of the man who made it been fully approved. + +"A short time after the rejection of his suit by Miss Corbin, I +noticed that Eaverson appeared more inclined to keep company with +Harriet Wieland than before. I could not help feeling regret at +this, for, notwithstanding I thought Sarah had judged the young man +rather severely, I was yet satisfied that there must be some ground +for her conclusions in regard to his character. Slight attentions, +encouraged by Harriet, soon became the bold advances of a lover. A +few months after his suit had been declined by Sarah, he offered +himself to her friend, and was unhesitatingly accepted. + +"In the mean time, a young man, whom I will call Williamson, had met +Sarah occasionally, and showed a disposition to win, if possible, +her favourable regard. His exterior was by no means elegant; his +literary attainments were not great; nor was he in the enjoyment of +any thing beyond a moderate income. Place him and Eaverson in almost +any company, and the latter would nearly hide him from view. But, +with the most moderate pretensions, and unattractive exterior, +Williamson's character was formed upon a ground-work of good sense +and virtuous principles. He had little facility of expression, but +he thought clearly, and, in most things, acted from a sound +judgment. He was much pleased with Sarah before Eaverson attempted +to gain her affections; and noticed his advances. For the result he +looked with some interest. When it became clearly apparent that she +had thrown him off, Williamson was satisfied that she was a girl of +discrimination and sound sense, and immediately resolved that he +would know her better. The oftener he met her, and the nearer he +observed her, the more excellent did her character seem in his eyes. +The result was an offer of marriage, which was accepted by Sarah, as +much to our surprise as was her rejection of Eaverson. + +"My two young friends were married about the same time. The wedding +of Harriet was a brilliant one, and she was the envy of dozens of +young girls who had hoped and tried to make a conquest of the man +who had chosen to unite his fortunes with hers. Sarah's nuptials +were celebrated in a less imposing manner, and created but little +sensation. Most of her friends thought she had done but poorly. +Whether this were so, will be seen in the sequel. + +"Harriet, with all her want of reflection and in-sight into +character, was a young woman of strong feelings, and loved, when she +did love, with something like blind idolatry. Thus she loved her +husband. He was every thing to her, and she believed him as near +perfection as a mortal could well be. The first few months of her +married life passed swiftly away in the enjoyment of as high a +degree of felicity as her mind seemed capable of appreciating. After +that, a shadow fell upon her spirit--dim and almost imperceptible at +first, but gradually becoming denser and more palpable. Harriet had +noticed, from the first, that her husband but rarely spoke of his +family, and always evaded any questions that a natural curiosity +prompted her to make. If he received any letter from home, he +carefully concealed the fact from her. The wealth, respectability, +and high standing of his family made Harriet, as a matter of course, +feel desirous of bearing a more intimate relation to its members +than she now did. The more she thought about this, the less +satisfied did she feel. It was the marked dislike manifested by her +husband to any reference to his family, that first caused a coldness +to pass over the heart of the young wife, and a shadow to dim the +bright sunshine of her spirits; for it induced the thought that +something might be wrong. Once give such a thought birth, and let +mystery and doubt continue to harass the mind, and peace is gone for +ever. A thousand vague suspicions will enter, and words, looks, and +actions will have a signification never apparent before. + +"Thus it was with my young friend, ere six months had passed since +her wedding-day. To increase her anxious doubts, her husband seemed +to grow cold towards her. This might all be imagination, but the +idea, once in possession of her mind, found numberless sustaining +evidences. He went out more frequently in the evening and stayed out +later than at first. Sometimes he would sit silent and abstracted, +and only reply in monosyllables to her questions or remarks. + +"One day he came home to dinner, looking graver than usual. But, +during the meal, there was an evident desire on his part to appear +cheerful and unconcerned; he talked more freely than usual, and even +made many light and jesting remarks. But the veil assumed was too +thin. Harriet's eyes saw through it, and rested only upon the sombre +reality beneath. As they were rising from the table, he said, + +"'Harriet, dear! I must run on to New York this afternoon, on +business. The interest of a client in a large estate there requires +my immediate presence in that city.' + +"Eaverson did not look his wife steadily in the face as he said this +although he plainly tried to do so. But this she did not remark at +the time. Her mind only rested upon the fact of his going away. + +"'How long will you be gone?' she asked in a choking voice. + +"'I will try and be back to-morrow. If not, you will at least see me +home on the day after.' + +"'Why can't I--' + +"She paused--her eyes fell to the floor, and the colour deepened on +her cheeks. + +"'What, dear?' + +"'Go with you?' + +"It was in New York that the family of Eaverson resided. + +"'Not now,' he quickly answered. 'I am compelled to go in too much +hurry; but the next time business takes me there you shall accompany +me.' + +"Nothing could be more unsatisfactory than this. Was she not to be +introduced to his family, as his wife, formally? Was she only to go +to the city of their residence at some future time, when business +called her husband there? The thought caused a chill to pass through +her frame. She made no reply. But the paleness that overspread her +face, and the sadness that fell upon her countenance, revealed to +her husband, too plainly, her state of mind. He said nothing, +however, to dispel the gloom she felt. Words, he no doubt felt, +would be fruitless. + +"The young wife parted with her husband it tears, and then retired +to her chamber, where she gave way to a paroxysm of grief, that had +its origin more in the accompanying mystery than in the fact of her +husband's absence. I say mystery, for she did not fully credit the +reason he had given for his hurried visit to New York, and felt that +there was a mystery connected with it, that, somehow or other, +deeply affected her happiness. + +"After the mind of Harriet had grown calmer, she commenced restoring +to order the few articles in her chamber that had been disarranged +in the hurried preparation made by her husband for his departure. As +she was about placing the coat he had worn in the morning, and which +he had changed for another on going away, in the wardrobe, her hand +pressed against a letter in one of the pockets, which a sudden +curiosity tempted her to read. The direction was in a small, +delicate hand, and the post-mark New York. Hurriedly opening it, +when she saw this, she read its brief contents, which were as +follow: + +"DEAR HENRY--I heard, indirectly, within the last hour, that you +were married. I cannot believe it, yet the thought has maddened me! +If you do not come to me by to-morrow night, I will go to you on the +following day--for the truth or falsity of what I have heard must be +verified to me at once. If it be true--God help the innocent heart +you have betrayed, and most cruelly wronged. It can only break! + +"ADELAIDE." + +"The trembling hands of the horror-stricken wife could hold the +fatal epistle no longer than to permit her eyes to rest upon the +signature. It then fell rustling to the floor, and she sat pale, +quivering in every nerve, and unconscious of any thing but a wild +whirling of all her senses. + +"It was my fortune, or misfortune, to call upon my young friend just at +this time. I was told that she was in her chamber; and, as our intimacy +was very great, I took a liberty we were in the habit of taking with +each other, and went up to her, unannounced. My gentle tap at her door +not being answered, I opened it and went in. As I have just described +her, thus I found her. My entrance but partially restored her +self-command. She stared wildly at me, stretched out her hands, and made +an effort to speak. I sprang toward her, and she fell forward against my +bosom, with a deep groan that made me shudder. Thus she lay for nearly +five minutes as still as a statue. Then a slight quiver ran through her +frame, which was followed by a gush of tears. For a long time she +continued weeping and sobbing, but at length grew calmer. All this time +I could see an open letter lying upon the floor, which I doubted not was +the caused of this distressing scene. When the self-command of Harriet +was at last restored, and she began to reflect upon the consequences +likely to flow from another's witnessing the wild agitation she had +displayed, a shade of anxious confusion passed over her face. At this +moment her eye rested upon the fatal letter, which she caught up eagerly +and concealed. I asked no question, nor made any remarks. She looked at +me steadily for a moment, and then let her eyes fall thoughtfully to the +floor. + +"'You are surprised and confounded, no doubt,' she at length said, +mournfully, 'at what you have seen. Pardon me if I refrain from +mentioning the cause. It is one of which I cannot speak.' + +"I begged her not to reveal the cause of her affliction, if to do so +were at all in violation of what she deemed right; but to accept my +deepest sympathies, and to put it in my power, if that were +possible, to mitigate, in some degree, the pain of mind she was +suffering. + +"'That you cannot do,' said she. 'It is beyond the reach of human +aid.' + +"'May Heaven, then, give you strength to bear it,' I returned, with +emotion. + +"'Heaven only can,' she replied in a subdued voice. + +"I could say no more, for my ignorance of the cause of her distress +put it out of my power to offer consolation, more particularly as it +was her expressed wish that I should remain in ignorance. I staid an +hour with her, during which time I learned that her husband had been +suddenly called to New York on business. It was one of the +unhappiest hours I ever spent in my life. On going away, I could not +help recalling the conversation I had once held with Sarah Corbin +about Mr. Eaverson, nor help feeling that there might be too much +truth in her declarations that she believed him to be a man without +honour or virtue. There was no doubt in my mind that Harriet's +distress was in some way connected with her husband's absence, and +it occurred to me that the letter I had seen upon the floor, and +which she concealed so eagerly, might not have been intended for her +eyes, and might contain things which for her to know would be fatal +to her peace through life. In this, my conjectures were of course +true. + +"I called in to see Mrs. Eaverson on the next day, reluctantly, but +from a sense of duty. I found her calm, but pale, and with a look of +distress. She said but little. No allusion whatever was made to the +condition in which I had found her on the previous afternoon. I sat +only half an hour, and then went away. I could not stay longer, for +my presence seemed oppressive to her, and hers was equally so to me. + +"On the third day succeeding that on which Mr. Eaverson went to New +York, I saw a newspaper paragraph headed, 'Melancholy Circumstances.' +It related, briefly, that the daughter of respectable and wealthy +parents in New York had been deeply wronged about a year previous +by an unprincipled cousin, whom she passionately loved. The +consequence was, that the young man had to leave the city, under +the promise of never returning to it, unless he consented to marry +his cousin. This penalty was imposed by the father of the girl, who +declared his intention to shoot him if he ever saw him in New York. +The result of this baseness on the part of the young man was the +utter estrangement of his family. They threw him off entirely. But, +as he had a handsome fortune in his own right, and the cause of his +removal from New York did not become generally known, he soon found +his way into the best society in a neighbouring city. Some months +afterwards he married a lovely girl, who was all unconscious of the +base retch into whose keeping she had given the inestimable jewel +of her love. A few days since, the narration proceeded, the cousin, +by some means or other, obtained a knowledge of this fact. She +wrote to him demanding an interview, and threatening that if she +did not obtain one in twenty-four hours, she would immediately come +to him and ascertain for herself, if what she had heard were true. +Alarmed for the peace of his bride, the young man hurried on to New +York, and, at the risk of his life, gained an interview with the +lovely girl he had so deeply injured. He did not attempt to conceal +the fact of his marriage, but only urged the almost broken-hearted +victim of his base dishonour not to do anything that could bring to +his wife a knowledge of his conduct, as it must for ever destroy +her peace. This confession blasted at once and for ever all the +poor girl's hopes. She gave her betrayer one long, fixed, intense +look of blended agony, reproach, and shame, and then, without +uttering a word, retired slowly from his presence. She sought her +mother, who, from the first, had rather drawn her into her very +bosom than thrown her off harshly, and related what she had just +heard. She shed no tear, she uttered no reproach, but simply told +what her mother had known for months too well. That night her +spirit left its earthly habitation. Whether she died of a broken +heart, or by her own hands, is not known. The family sought not to +investigate the cause,--to them it was enough to know that she was +dead and at peace. + +"Whether this statement ever met the eye of Mrs. Eaverson is more +than I can tell. I did not venture to call upon her after I had seen +it. A few weeks subsequently I met her in the street on the arm of +her husband. She was sadly changed, and had the appearance of one +just recovering from a long and severe illness. Eaverson himself had +a look of suffering. + +"The notoriety given by the publication of the acts of his base +conduct in New York caused Eaverson to feel little at ease in this +city. Some months afterwards he removed to the South with his wife, +much against the wishes of her friends. Harriet did not want to go, +but she could do no less than accompany her husband. + +"Some three years afterwards, it was whispered about that Harriet +had left her husband and returned home to her father; but that the +matter was kept very quiet, and that she had not been seen by any of +her old friends. It was said, that after living some time at the +South, Mr. Eaverson grew indifferent towards his wife. A virtuous +woman, she could not but be deeply shocked on discovering her +husband's want of virtue. This she could not conceal; and its +appearance was a standing reproof and condemnation of his principles +and conduct. No bad man could endure this. Its effect would be +certain estrangement. From dislike towards his wife, his feelings +gradually deepened into hatred. Open abuse soon followed neglect; +when she fled from him, with two young children, and sought the +protection of her father's house. + +"It was nearly a year after Harriet's return, before I saw her. I +could hardly believe, when I did meet her and grasp her hand, that +the pale, dejected, care-worn being who stood before me was the same +with the light-hearted, beautiful, gay young girl I had known but a +few years back. Alas! how surely does pain of mind forestall the +work of time! + +"A few days after this meeting, which made me sad for weeks, I spent +an afternoon and evening with Mrs. Williamson, formerly Sarah +Corbin. She had two children, a boy and a girl, and was living +somewhat secluded, but with every comfort she could desire. Her +husband was a merchant in a good business. When he came home at +tea-time and met his wife, it was with one of those quiet but +genuine smiles that you know come from the heart. He welcomed me, as +he always did, with great cordiality; and then calling for Sarah, +his eldest child, who ran in from the next room the instant she +heard his vice, he took her upon his lap, and, after kissing her +with great tenderness, asked and answered a dozen little questions +to her great delight. At tea-time Mr. Williamson conversed more +freely than was usual with him when I was present. I noticed, as I +had often done before, that, on whatever subject he spoke, his +remarks, though few, were full of good sense, and indicative of +close observation. The slightest deviation from honour or integrity +met with his decided condemnation, while virtuous actions were as +warmly approved. I could perceive, from the expression of his wife's +face, and the tones of her voice when she spoke, that she not only +held her husband in high estimation, but loved him with a tenderness +that had grown with years. Qualities of mind and heart, not external +attractions, such as brilliant accomplishments, beauty, or wealth, +had drawn her towards him at first: these had won her young +affections, and they had become purer and brighter, and increased in +attractive power as year after year went by. + +"On going home that evening, I could not help pausing and looking +back. Vividly, as it were but yesterday, came up before my mind my +two young friends when, as maidens, their hands were sought in +wedlock. I remembered how one, with true wisdom, looked below the +imposing exterior and sought for moral worth as the basis of +character in him who asked her hand; while the other, looking no +deeper than the surface, was dazzled by beauty, wealth, and talents. +The result you all have seen." + +Mrs. Harding paused in the narrative. Half a dozen eager voices +instantly inquired the ultimate fate of Mrs. Eaverson. "A few years +after her return home," resumed the narrator, "she died. Her husband +during that period neither wrote to her nor visited her. What has +become of him I don't know. Mrs. Williamson is still living, +surrounded by a lovely family of children. Her oldest daughter has +just been married, and, to all present appearances, has united her +fate with one every way worthy of her hand. Mr. Williamson, or +rather Mr. Rierdon, as I should truly have called him, you all +know." + +"Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed Ella. "It can't be possible you mean him?" + +"Not old Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed another. "Why he is respected and +loved by every one!" + +"I know he is," returned Mrs. Harding, "and well deserves to be. +Yet, when a young man, he had nothing very imposing about him, and +was thought of but little account by a set of young and foolish +girls, just such as you are, whose heads were liable to be turned by +any dashing young fellow with more impudence than brains, or more +talent than principle, who happened to thrust himself forward and +push better men aside. I hope the lesson I have endeavoured to teach +you may not be lost entirely; and that when any one of you has an +offer of marriage, she will look rather at the heart than the +head--at the qualities instead of the accomplishments--of him who +makes it. If she does not, she will be in great danger of committing +the sad mistake made by my excellent but thoughtless young friend, +Harriet Wieland, of whom I never can think without pain." + +Whether the narrative of Mrs. Harding had any good effect upon her +hearers, we do not know; but we would fain believe that it had; and +we hope our fair young readers will not forget the important lesson +it teaches. Let them be well assured that marriage is no lottery, +except where it is made so. Every one who will look at the moral +qualities of the object of her regard, instead of at what is merely +external, will see deep enough to enable her to come to a right +decision in regard to him. There is no necessity for mistakes in +marriage. + + + + +THE UNLOVED ONE. + +AN EXTRACT FROM "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE." + + +......FIXED in his resolution to repel every manifestation of +tenderness on the part of his wife, Percy Edwards maintained towards +her the same cold formality, in spite of all her earnest efforts to +break the icy crust of his feelings. He did not love her, and was +not inclined to affect a passion; nay, she was absolutely repulsive +to him, and the least he could do, under the circumstances, was to +protect himself as he did without overt acts of unkindness. + +And thus disjoined, instead of united, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards moved +along their way through life, envied by hundreds, who, in exchanging +with them, would have left an Eden of happiness for a dreary +wilderness. + +A few months of such an existence completely broke down the spirits +of Kate. She had no pride to sustain her. Thousands, as unloved as +she, seek refuge in pride, pleasure, and a heartless worship at the +gilded shrine of fashion. They meet coldness with a sharp disdain; +and, finding nothing to love at home, turn to what the world has to +offer, and become mere bubbles on the surface of society--prominent, +brilliant, and useless. Nay, worse than useless; for they reflect +the light of heaven falsely, and create discontent in those who see +only their glittering exterior, and vainly imagine it to be the +correspondent of internal delight. + +It was not so with Kate; for she was sincere, unselfish, and +true-hearted, and could not seek a false pleasure, when the sources +of real delight became dry. A naiad, at a fountain, the waters of +which had failed, she turned not to another, but bent weeping over +the spot, hoping, yet faint with a long desire to hear the murmur of +the coming stream. + +There fell, at last, a gleam of light across her path. In her dark +and cloudy sky arched, beautifully, a bow of promise. Hope, faint, +yet sweet to her spirit, revived, and she looked to the future with +a trembling heart. For a long time she locked in her own thoughts +the dear secret she had discovered and pondered over it with a daily +increasing pleasure. Then it was whispered, low and with a blushing +cheek, to her husband. She was to become a mother! + +From that moment she felt that there was a change. From that moment +her husband's manner was different. He was still as polite and +formal as, before; but with these was blended a something that her +heart interpreted as tenderness for his wife; and from this her +fainting spirit drew the aliment that sustained it. If, suddenly +coming upon her now, he surprised her weeping, he did not turn away, +silent and cold, as before; but would speak some word of apparent +sympathy, which instantly dried up the fountains of grief. And thus +the time passed, until another being saw the light--until another +voice sounded upon the air. Oh! with what a thrill of delight did +the young mother take her new-born babe into her arms, and hail it +as the bond that was to bind to hers the heart of her husband. How +eagerly did she read the face of that husband--as he bent over and +gazed upon the innocent being to which she had given birth--and +marked its glow of pleasure. But, he did not look into _her_ +face--he had eyes _only for his boy!_ The mother sighed faintly; but +he did not hear the sigh. Her long lashes fell slowly upon her +cheeks, and tears stole from beneath them; but he turned away +without observing she wept. + +The bow of promise, which had spanned the heaven of her mind, faded +away; and the light that had lain so warmly upon her path grew dim. +There was love in the heart of her husband only for his child, but +none for her. That dreadful truth came with a shock, felt to the +very centre of her being; and, reacting upon her exhausted system, +disturbed all its vital functions. Fever and delirium laid their +hands upon her, and for many days the light of life but flickered in +the wind that seemed every moment about to extinguish it. + +When, at last, through the skill of her physician, the disease +abated, and health, though feeble, began to flow once more through +her veins; and when reason came back, and with it the outgushing +tenderness of the young mother, she found that her babe had been +laid upon another breast, and that from another it was to draw the +sustenance which nature had supplied for it in her own bosom. + +Against this her heart arose in instant rebellion. But no freedom of +choice was left her. The physician said that her health was too +slender to admit of the exhaustion attendant upon nursing her own +babe. The husband would not hear of such a thing for a moment. And +her husband's mother older-hearted and more worldly-minded than even +he, openly sneered at the idea of one in her position degrading +herself into a mere child's nurse! + +It was all in vain that Kate pleaded, tearfully, for the mother's +highest privilege. Those who had the power forced her into a +compliance with their will; and the fountain in her bosom, that +stirred at the voice of her babe, was suffered to become dry. + +From that time, the health of Mrs. Edwards visibly declined; or, +rather, was never restored to its previous condition. She became +subject to fainting fits and long periods of depression, from which +nothing could arouse her. The babe, instead of forming a link +between her and her husband, became a rival in his affections. Mr. +Edwards worshipped his boy; but, for his wife, had no feeling other +than indifference, if not absolute dislike. All this Kate saw; and +it extinguished her last and dearest hope. + +To those who could only look upon the surface, Mr. Edwards was +regarded as one of the kindest and most attentive of husbands; and +when a rumour of his wife's fits of gloomy depression of spirits +went abroad, the fault was attributed to herself, and laid to the +charge of a naturally capricious and dissatisfied temper. + +"If she had fewer of life's blessings," said one, "she would be +happier. The very surplus of every thing makes her appetite pall." + +"Any woman, situated as she is," remarked another, "who is not +contented, deserves to be wretched. I have no sympathy for her. Her +husband I know very well, and know him to be one of the kindest and +most indulgent of men." + +"He has indulged her too much," alleged another. + +These impressions the elder Mrs. Edwards strengthened and confirmed, +whenever she had occasion to say any thing on the subject. + +"Percy has rather a gloomy time of it," she would sometimes remark, +when allusion was made to the subject; and then, when the +inquisitive would ask as to the cause of Kate's strange conduct, she +would shake her head gravely, and say-- + +"Over-indulgence has spoiled her." + +Or-- + +"It's hard to tell what ails her, unless it be the desire for some +impossible thing. Some minds are never content. To multiply their +blessings is but to multiply their misery." + +Or-- + +"Heaven knows what ails her! Percy would give worlds for that +knowledge, if with it came also the remedy." + +The rapid decline in his wife's health, or rather its failure, after +the birth of her child, to come back its old standard united to her +lowness of spirits--naturally gave her husband some concern, and he +consulted her physician as to the cause. He, as the profession +generally do, assigned a physical cause, and recommended change of +air. + +"Let her go to the sea-shore, or among the Mountains," said he. + +And this change was proposed to Kate. + +"I saw Doctor R--to-day," said her husband, after the interview, +"and he recommends a few weeks on the sea-shore, or somewhere among +the mountains." + +"I don't wish to go," replied Kate, in a low, sad voice. + +"But your health, Kate," said Mr. Edwards. + +"I shall be just as well at home," she replied. + +"No, I will not admit that. Doctor R--is sure that a change of air +will do you good; and what he says is reasonable." + +Kate made no answer. Mr. Edwards continued to urge the matter upon +her; but she had no more to say. + +On the same evening Percy called to see his mother. + +"How is Kate?" inquired the latter. + +"No better. I saw Doctor R--about her to-day, and he says a change +of air is absolutely necessary, and recommends a few weeks at the +Bedford Springs, or at Newport, or Cape May." + +"No doubt it would do her much good." + +"No doubt in the world. But, as in every thing else of late, she is +opposed to just what her friends recommend to her as best." + +"She doesn't want to go?" + +"No, of course not." + +"Did you tell that the doctor recommended the change?" + +"Yes. But she insists upon it that she will be just as well at +home." + +"A compliment to the medical opinion of Doctor R--! + +"Isn't it? I wish you would see her, and urge her to go somewhere." + +"Very well; though I don't know that what I say will be of much use. +I am not one of her favourites." + +"See her, at any rate. It won't do to let her sink down and die, as +she certainly will if something cannot be done to arouse her." + +"I will call upon Mrs. Harrison and tell her what the doctor says. +She has great influence over her; and can persuade her to go if any +one can." + +The mother of Kate heard what the doctor had said, and approved of +his recommendation. She knew, better than any one else, the true +nature of the disease from which her daughter was suffering; and, +although she did not hope for much from a change of scene, yet she +believed the effect would be salutary rather than otherwise. So she +went to see her immediately. She found her, as usual, alone in her +chamber, with a sad countenance, and a drooping, listless air. After +inquiring, tenderly, about her health, she said-- + +"I understand that Doctor R--recommends a change of air." + +"What all doctors recommend when they do not know the cause and +nature of a disease," replied Kate, with a faint smile. + +"But I think, with Doctor R--, that a few weeks at the sea-shore +will be of great benefit. The change will interest your mind as well +as invigorate your body." + +"A temporary benefit may be derived from such a change," said Kate; +"but it cannot be permanent. When I return, I will sink again; and, +perhaps, lower, from the unnatural excitement to which I have been +subjected." + +"Kate, my child, it is wrong for you to give up in this way. Your +disease is more of the mind than of the body; and you have the power +to arouse yourself and throw it off, if you will." + +"The power, mother! I, the power!" exclaimed Kate, in a voice that +made her mother start. + +"Have you not?" inquired Mrs. Harrison calmly. + +"Has the bird, whose wing is broken, the power to fly?" asked Kate. + +"Unless you make an effort to throw off your present state of mind, +you cannot live. And are you willing to die, and leave this dear +child in the hands of those who cannot love it as you do?" + +"Has it not already been taken from me? Does it not draw its +existence from another breast?" + +"But your health required--" + +"My health! mother! My very life depended upon the privilege you +have all denied me. Do you want the proof? Look at that shadowy +hand"--and she held up the thin white member against the light, +which almost shone through it--"and at this shrunken face," and she +laid her hand upon her colourless cheek. "Restore the fountain that +has been dried, and let my babe drink at it, and there is some hope. +None without." + +"That is impossible, Kate"-- + +"And just as impossible is my return to health through the means +proposed." + +"But, for the sake of your friends, you ought to be willing to try +the means of restoration prescribed by a physician in whom we all +have confidence." + +"Friends?" said Kate, half to herself. "Friends? Have I any +friends?" + +"My child, why do you speak in this way?" asked her mother, in a +voice half sorrowful, half reproving. + +"_Friends_ seek your good, not their own pleasure," continued Kate. +"Have I any who may be called by so excellent a name?" + +And she shook her head mournfully. + +"Have you not a husband?" said Mrs. Harrison. + +Kate again shook her head; and then, after a pause, replied-- + +"There is a man who calls himself my husband; but he is so only in +name." + +"Kate! Kate!" exclaimed her mother, "are you mad? How dare you utter +such language?" + +"A heart that is breaking, mother," said the unhappy creature, "may +be pardoned, if, in a moment of intense suffering, it is betrayed +into an expression of pain." + +A long and gloomy silence followed this remark, which smote with the +apparent force of a hammer upon the heart of Mrs. Harrison. No +further attempt was made, at the time, to induce Kate to yield to +the wishes of her friends. Her mother endeavoured, rather, to draw +off her mind from thoughts such as those to which she had just given +utterance. But, she was none the less deeply impressed with the +belief that the change proposed would be beneficial; nor did she +intend abandoning her efforts to induce her daughter to go from home +for a short season. At the first opportunity she had an interview +with Mr. Edwards, and held a conference with him on the subject of +Kate's mental disease. She found him rather reserved, and +disinclined to much conversation on the subject. But, on pressing +the matter upon him, he was more free to say what was in his mind. +To her expressions of concern for Kate, he responded with much +apparent earnestness; said that it gave him great concern, and that +he was satisfied she could not live over a few years if some change +did not take place. + +"Since the birth of her child," said he, "she has never regained her +strength. That dangerous fever gave her system a terrible shock." + +"I'm afraid," returned her mother, "that we erred in not permitting +her to nurse her child--what she so earnestly desired to do. She +cannot, it seems, get over that." + +"She has never said so to me." + +"But no later than yesterday she alluded to it while I talked with +her, and in a way that satisfied me of her having taken the matter +far more deeply to heart than I had imagined." + +"That is a weakness, as you must yourself see, Mrs. Harrison. Apart +from considerations of health, I would not have my wife a mere wet +nurse; and I am surprised that she should have thought of such a +thing." + +"The desire was but a natural one," replied Mrs. Harrison. "As to +there being any thing degrading in the act of a mother giving +nourishment to her own babe, as some strangely enough seem to think, +I cannot see it. I drank at my mother's breast, and my child, in +turn, drank at mine; and, I believe, it would have been far better +for Kate at this moment if she had done the same for her own +off-spring. In this matter, people are going against nature; and +whenever this is done, evil of some kind must inevitably follow." + +"But, Mrs. Harrison," returned Edwards, "her state of health puts +this out of the question. You know that she was dangerously ill, and +that if a nurse had not been provided for the child, it would have +died." + +"I know all that. But, when the sudden illness abated, and she was +able to give nourishment to her babe, all, with one accord, denied +her a mother's privilege, though she plead for it day after day with +tears. Ah, Percy! I fear a great and irreparable wrong was then +done." + +"It may be so. But I cannot believe but that we acted rightly. Our +motives were at least good." + +"No one doubts that." + +"I am sure, if she would consent to leave home for a few weeks, her +health would improve," said Percy Edwards. + +"It would, no doubt, benefit her. But she has an unconquerable +reluctance to going. Still, I think we may induce her to do as we +wish. Only we must act towards her with great tenderness. I am +afraid--pardon me for speaking plainly--that you do not consider, +sufficiently, her weak state. She needs to be treated with the +gentleness and affection that we show to a child." + +Mr. Edwards looked surprised at this remark. + +"I am sure, Mrs. Harrison," he replied, "no man could do more for +the happiness of a woman, than I do for that of Kate. How I could +act differently is more than I can imagine." + +"It may be natural to you, Mr. Edwards," said Mrs. Harrison, "but +you are wanting in that tenderness of manner so grateful, nay, so +essential to the heart of a wife." + +"I am!" + +"I speak plainly, because the necessity for doing so is imperative. +Your manner towards Kate has ever been respectful, polite, +attentive, but not affectionate; and without the latter, the former +never can satisfy the heart of a loving woman. I do not blame you +for this. It may all be natural; but I feel it to be my duty to +speak of it now, and to suggest, at least temporarily, a change." + +Mr. Edwards did not reply for some moments. He then said-- + +"Mrs. Harrison, I must own that what you allege surprises me. You +charge me, by implication at least, with want of affection for my +wife." + +"No, Percy," returned the lady quickly. "I did not mean to say that. +I only spoke of your manner towards her, which lacks the warmth a +woman's heart requires. I have not said that you did not love her." + +"I do not see how I can act differently; for I see no defect in my +conduct," said the young man, with a repellant manner. "If my wife +misinterprets the manner in which I treat her, and makes herself +unhappy about it, that is no fault of mine. She ought to have the +good sense to take me as I am, and not make herself wretched because +I am not what I cannot be." + +"You still misunderstand me, Percy," urged (sic) the the mother of +Kate. "I did not say that your wife made herself wretched because +your manner towards her was not different. I only suggested a +modification of it, at least for the present, as a means of aiding +in her return to a healthier state of mind. But we will say no more +about this. I have frankly opened my mind to you, and thus far +discharged my duty. You must now act as your own heart directs." + +Percy showed no inclination to continue the subject. His manner +plainly enough indicated that the conversation had given him no +pleasure; and that he believed the mother of Kate to have exceeded +the privilege of her position. When they parted, it was with the +most formal politeness on both sides. + +After Mrs. Harrison parted with Percy Edwards, the young man +remained alone for nearly an hour. Sometimes he walked the floor +with hurried steps, his manner greatly excited; sometimes he sat +beside a table, with his head leaning upon his hand, so buried in +thought as to be almost motionless; and sometimes he muttered to +himself, as he aroused up from these fits of abstraction. + +"Ah me!" he sighed, at last, rising slowly from his chair, and +beginning to walk about, but with less agitation of manner than +before exhibited. "This was a great mistake,--the one great error of +my life. How blind I was not to have foreseen just such a result as +this! I never had the smallest impulse of affection for her, and +never can have. Both are unhappy in our bonds, and both will be so +until death severs the unnatural tie. Ah me! A hundred thousand as a +marriage portion, doubled on my own side, with half a million in +prospect, does not put a single drop of honey in this cup, which +grows more bitter with every draught. The worldly advantage is all +very well. I am satisfied with that. But it comes at too heavy a +cost. And poor Kate"--there was something of pity in the tone with +which this was uttered--pity, not tenderness--"she has been the +most wronged in this business. But the alliance was of her father's +own seeking. His were the offered inducements, and I am not to be +blamed if the temptation proved too strong for me. To a great +extent, I can protect myself, though not fully. There are, thorns in +my pillow which can neither be covered nor removed. Ah me! I wish +Kate would seek, as I do, in coldness and indifference, the +protection she needs. Her mother's observation is correct. There is +no tenderness in my manner, and I have not meant that there should +be. I have not treated her unkindly, for I wished to avoid all cause +for complaint or reproach. I wished to stand clear before the world; +and I am clear. If she beat herself against the bars of her cage, am +I to blame? No, no! Let her yield to the necessity of her position, +as I do. Let her avail herself of all the sources of forgetfulness +within her reach--and there are many--and live passionless, if not +happy. But she will not. If some speedy change do not take place, +she cannot live a year. The world is quick in its imputation of +wrong; and a whisper from her friends may thrill a thousand hearts +with a suspicion of foul play, if she go down to the grave in so +short a period after our marriage. And there is yet another +consideration,--my interest in her father's large estate. How will +that be affected? Having sacrificed so much for this consideration, +it must not be abandoned now." + +Edwards continued to move about the room, in deep reflection, for a +considerable time longer. Then he went slowly up to his wife's +chamber. She was lying upon the bed, with her face buried in a +pillow. She did not stir, although his footfall was distinct upon +the floor. Edwards went to the bedside, and leaning over, said, with +more affection in his voice than he had ever used since their +marriage, taking her hand in his, with a gentle pressure, at the +same time-- + +"Kate, it grieves me to see you so ill both in body and mind." + +There was an instant quiver in every limb, before so motionless; but +the sufferer neither arose nor made any reply. + +"Unless something be done for your relief," continued Mr. Edwards, +in the same tone, "you cannot live. You know how much we are all +afflicted, and how anxious we all feel on account of your loss of +health and spirits." + +The hand of his wife was still in his, and he held it with the same +gentle pressure, that was now as gently returned. The impulse of Mr. +Edwards was to remove his hand the instant Kate showed this +consciousness of a tenderer manifestation than he was accustomed to +give; but he restrained himself, and still let his hand rest upon +hers. He felt that she was listening to him, and that he had the +ability to influence her as he would, if he used the power of a +well-counterfeited regard. After a few moments' silence, he went +on:-- + +"I am sure that a change of air and a change of scene will do you +good. This Doctor R--has already said, and you know that we all +agree in the opinion. Now, will you not, to relieve the minds of +your friends, even if you feel reluctant to quit this seclusion into +which you have shrunk, make an effort? I am ready to go with you, at +any moment. Come! arouse yourself; if not for your own sake, for +ours, for mine." + +The way in which this was said, more than the words themselves, +acted like a charm upon Mrs. Edwards. The almost pulseless lethargy +into which she had fallen passed off quickly, and rising up, she +pushed back the matted hair from her face, and said, "I know you all +think me perverse and unreasonable, and I may be so to some extent; +but I will try to do as you wish. I feel as weak in mind and body as +a child; and, like a child, I will submit myself to your direction. +Only, Percy,"--her voice had a most touching pathos as she said +this,--"_love me as a child!_ Speak to me as gently, as tenderly as +you did just now, and I will be the happiest being alive." + +As she spoke, she leaned over towards her husband, and, burying her +face on his bosom, sobbed aloud. + +Cold-hearted as was Percy Edwards, this exhibition moved him. It was +unexpected, and, therefore, he was not prepared to meet it in the +way he would otherwise have done. As Kate lay weeping upon his +bosom, and almost clinging to him, he experienced a change of +feeling towards her. Pity melted into tenderness, and, on the +impulse of the moment, he drew his arm around her, and, bending +down, touched his lips to her forehead. + +A happier moment the trembling wife had not known for years. + +"You will make a short visit to Newport?" said Mr. Edwards, as +Kate's feelings grew calmer. + +"Oh, yes," she whispered, "if you wish me to do so." + +"Only on account of your health," he replied, "I know it will do you +good." + +"Oh, certainly I will go. Forgive me for having before hesitated a +moment; it was a childish weakness. But I will try hereafter to act +with more reason." + +The pressure of a tenderly spoken word revealed to Percy Edwards a +hidden treasure in the love of a woman, worthy, truly worthy of a +full reciprocation. Her heart was open and panting before him. Alas! +for the man, that he could not prize the untold wealth he had only +to reach forth his hand and take. But the lover of himself and the +world is ever blind to what are life's real blessings. Thus blind +was Percy Edwards. + +Deluded into the belief that a genuine affection had been awakened +in the breast of her husband, Kate felt the motions of a new life +within her. + +Satisfied that if he again fell back into his old habit of treating +his wife, she would at once relapse into her former state of +depression, Mr. Edwards maintained a certain appearance of +affection, much as the effort cost him. It was wonderful to see the +effect upon Mrs. Edwards. Her countenance became cheerful, her voice +lost its even, passionless tone, and she evinced an interest in much +that was passing around her. Preparations were immediately commenced +for a visit to Newport, and in a week from the time she was aroused +from the lethargy into which she had fallen, she left for that +fashionable resort, in company with her husband and several friends. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, by +T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARRIED LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 4626.txt or 4626.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/2/4626/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Arthur + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4626] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 20, 2002] + +Project Gutenberg's Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, by T.S. Arthur +***********This file should be named mrrlf10.txt or mrrlf10.zip*********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, mrrlf11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, mrrlf10a.txt + +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com) + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts 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 etexts 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. + + + + + + + + + + +MARRIED LIFE: + +ITS SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE + +BY T. S. ARTHUR. + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1852. + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + + + +THE highest, purest, best and holiest relation in life is that of +marriage, which ought never to be regarded as a mere civil contract, +entered into from worldly ends, but as an essential union of two +minds, by which each gains a new power, and acquires! new capacities +for enjoyment and usefulness. Much has been said and written about +the equality of the sexes, and the rights of woman; but little of +all that has been said or written on this subject is based upon a +discriminating appreciation of the difference between man and woman; +a difference provided by the Creator, who made them for each other, +and stamped upon the spirit of each an irresistible tendency towards +conjunction. + +The many evils resulting from marriage do not arise from a failure +in our sex to recognise the equality of man and woman, or the rights +of the latter; but from hasty, ill-judged and discordant alliances, +entered into in so many cases, from motives of a mere external +nature, and with no perception of internal qualities tending to a +true spiritual conjunction. Oppression and wrong cannot flow from +true affection, for love seeks to bless its object.--If, therefore, +man and woman are not happy in marriage, the fault lies in an +improper union, and no remedy can be found in outward constraints or +appliances. Let each, under such circumstances, remove from himself +or herself a spirit of selfish opposition; let forbearance, +gentleness, and a humane consideration, the one for the other, find +its way into the heart, and soon a better and a brighter day will +dawn upon them; for then will begin that true interior conjunction +which only can be called marriage. Happily, we have the intellectual +ability to see what is true, and the power to compel ourselves to do +what reason shows us to be right. And here lies the power of all to +rise above those ills of life which flow from causes in themselves. +To aid in this work, so far as discordant marriage relations are +concerned, and to bind in closer bonds those whose union is +internal, is the present volume prepared. That it will tend to unite +rather than separate, where discord unhappily exists, and to warn +those about forming alliances against the wrong of improper ones, +the author is well assured. + +This book is the second in the series of "ARTHUR'S LIBRARY FOR THE +HOUSEHOLD." The third in the series will be "THE TWO WIVES; OR, LOST +AND WON," which is nearly ready for publication. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND. +RULING A WIFE. +THE INVALID WIFE. +THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL. +GUESS WHO IT IS. +MARRYING A TAILOR. +THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. +IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? +THE UNLOVED ONE. + + + + + + +MARRIED LIFE. + +THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND. + + + + + +TO those who have never tried the experiment, the management of a +husband may seem a very easy matter. I thought so once, but a few +years' hard experience has compelled me to change my mind. When I +married Mr. John Smith, which was about ten years ago, I was not +altogether blind to his faults and peculiarities; but then he had so +many solid virtues, that these were viewed as minor considerations. +Besides, I flattered myself that it would be the easiest thing in +the world to correct what was not exactly to my taste. It is no +matter of especial wonder that I should have erred in this, for Mr. +John Smith, while a lover, really appeared to have no will of his +own, and no thought of himself. It was only necessary for me to +express a wish, and it was gratified. + +I soon found, much to my disappointment, that there is a marked +difference between a husband and a lover: it was at least so in the +case of Mr. Smith, and observation, since I have had my eyes open, +satisfies me that it is so in most cases. I must own, in justice to +all parties, however, that this difference is made more apparent by +a want of knowledge, on the other side, in regard to the difference +between the relation of a wife and a sweetheart--between the wooed +and the won. + +There were a good many little things in Mr. Smith, which I had +noticed before marriage, that I made up my mind to correct as soon +as I had an opportunity to apply the proper means. He had a fashion +of saying "Miss" for "Mrs.," as "Miss Jones" and "Miss Peters" for +"Mrs. Jones" and "Mrs. Peters." This sounded exceedingly vulgar to +my ears, and I waited almost impatiently for the time to come when I +could use the prerogative of a wife for its correction. He had, an +ungraceful way of lounging in his chair and half reclining on the +sofa, even in company, that was terrible. It made me uneasy from +head to foot. Then he said, "I _shew_ it to him" for "I _showed_ it +to him,"--"of-_ten_" for "oft'n"--and "_obleeged_" for "obliged." + +Besides these, there were sundry other things that worried me not a +little. But I consoled myself with the reflection that when I became +Mrs. Smith all these little matters would vanish like frost in the +sunshine. I was, alas! doomed to be mistaken. But let me give my +experience for the benefit of those who are to come after me. + +We had been married just ten days, and I had begun to feel that I +was really a wife, and had a right to say and do a little as I +pleased, when Mr. Smith said to me, as we sat quite lover-like on +the sofa in the evening, + +"I met Miss Williams as I came home this evening--" + +"For mercy's sake, Mr. Smith! don't say _Miss_ when you speak of a +married woman. It is excessively vulgar." I was not aware that I had +spoken in a very offensive way, but I noticed an instant change in +Mr. Smith. He replied, with some dignity of tone, and manner-- + +"I ask your pardon, madam; but I didn't say _Miss_. I am not quite +so ignorant as all that comes to." + +"Oh, yes, Mr. Smith, but you did say it," I replied, quite +astonished at this unexpected denial. + +"Excuse me for saying that you are in error," he returned, drawing +himself up. "I never say Miss for Mrs." + +"Why, Mr. Smith! You always say it. I have noticed it a hundred +times. I believe I can hear pretty correctly." + +"In this instance you certainly have not." + +Mr. Smith was growing warm, and I felt the blood rushing to my face. +A rather tart reply was on my lips, but I bit them hard and +succeeded in keeping them closed. + +A deep silence followed. In a little while Mr. Smith took up a +newspaper and commenced reading, and I found some relief for a heavy +pressure that was upon my bosom, in the employment of hem-stitching +a fine pocket-handkerchief. + +And this was the return I had met for a kind attempt to correct a +mistake of my husband's, that made him liable to ridicule on the +charge of vulgarity! And to deny, too, that he said "_Miss_," when I +had been worried about it for more than a year! It was too bad! + +After this Mr. Smith was very particular in saying, when he spoke of +a married woman to me, _Misses_. The emphasis on the second syllable +was much too strongly marked to be pleasant on my ears. I was +terribly afraid he would say "_Mistress_," thus going off into the +opposite extreme of vulgarity. + +This first attempt to put my husband straight had certainly not been +a very pleasant one. He had shown, unexpectedly to me, a humour that +could by no means be called amiable; and by which I was both +grieved, and astonished. I made up my mind that I would be very +careful in future how I tried my hand at reforming him. But his +oft-repeated "he _shew_ it to me," and "_obleeged_," soon fretted me +so sorely, that I was forced to come down upon him again, which I +did at a time when I felt more than usually annoyed. I cannot +remember now precisely what I said to him, but I know that I put him +into an ill-humour, and that it was cloudy weather in the house for +a week, although the sun shone brightly enough out of doors. "_He +shew it to me_," and "_obleeged_" were, however, among the things +that had been, after that. So .much was gained; although there were +times when I half suspected that I had lost more than I had gained. +But I persevered, and, every now and then, when I got "worked up" +about something, administered the rod of correction. + +Gradually I could see that my husband was changing, and, as I felt, +for the worse. Scarcely a year had passed before he would get into a +pet if I said the least word to him. He couldn't bear any thing from +me. This seemed very unreasonable, and caused me not only to sigh, +but to shed many a tear over his perverseness. From the thoughtful, +ever considerate, self-sacrificing lover, he had come to be +disregardful of my wishes, careless of my comfort, and indifferent +to my society. Still I felt by no means inclined to give him up; was +by no means disposed to let him have his own way. It was clear to my +mind that I had rights as well as he had; and I possessed resolution +enough to be ready to maintain them. His self-will and indifference +to my wishes roused in me a bitter and contentious spirit; and, in +an evil hour, I determined that I would make a struggle for the +mastery. An opportunity was not long delayed. The Philharmonic +Society had announced one of its splendid concerts. A lady friend, +who had frequently attended these concerts, called in to see me, +and, by what she said, filled me with a desire to enjoy the fine +musical treat that had been announced for that very evening. + +When Mr. Smith came home at dinner he said, before I had time to +mention the concert-- + +"Mary, I've taken a fancy to go and see Fanny Ellsler to-night, and, +as there will be no chance of getting a good seat this afternoon, I +took the precaution to secure tickets as I came home to dinner. I +would have sent the porter with a note to know whether there was any +thing to prevent your going to-night, but he has been out all the +morning, and I concluded that, even if there should be some slight +impediment in the way, you could easily set it aside." + +Now this I thought too much. To go and buy tickets to see Fanny +Ellsler dance, and take it for granted that I would lay every thing +aside to go, when I had set my heart on attending the Philharmonic +concert! + +"You are a strange man, Mr. Smith," said I. You ought to know that I +don't care a fig about seeing Fanny Ellsler. I don't relish such +kind of performances. You at least might have waited until you came +home to dinner and asked the question. I don't believe a word about +the good seats all being taken this morning. But it's just like you! +To go and see this dancers toss her feet about was a thing you had +made up your mind to do, and I was to go along whether I liked it or +not." + +"You talk in rather a strange way, Mrs. Smith," said my husband, +evidently offended. + +"I don't see that I do," replied I, warming. "The fact is, Mr. +Smith, you seem to take it for granted that I am nobody. Here I've +been making all my calculations to go to the Philharmonic to-night, +and you come home with tickets for the theatre! But I can tell you +plainly that I am _not_ going to see Fanny Ellsler, and that I _am_ +going to the Philharmonic." + +This was taking a stand that I had never taken before. In most of my +efforts to make my husband go my way, he had succeeded in making me +go his way. This always chafed me dreadfully. I fretted and scolded, +and "all that sort of thing," but it was no use, I could not manage +him. The direct issue of "I won't" and "I will" had not yet been +made, and I was some time in coming to the resolution to have a +struggle, fiercer than ever, for the ascendency. I fondly believed +that for peace' sake he would not stand firm if he saw me resolute. +Under this view of the case, I made the open averment that I would +not go to the theatre. I expected that a scene would follow, but I +was mistaken. Mr. Smith did, indeed, open his eyes a little wider, +but he said nothing. + +Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table. Mr. Smith +arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step. Before we +were married he wouldn't have dreamed of thus preceding me! I was +fretted at this little act. It indicated too plainly what was in the +man. + +Dinner passed in silence. I forced myself to eat, that I might +appear unconcerned. On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the +house without saying a word. + +You may suppose I didn't feel very comfortable during the afternoon. +I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the +last. That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first. But, as +evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some +misgivings. + +Mr. Smith came home early. + +"Mary," said he, in his usual pleasant way, "I have ordered a +carriage to be here at half-past seven. We mustn't leave home later, +as the curtain rises at eight." + +"What curtain rises? Where do you think of going?" + +"To see Fanny Ellsler, of course. I mentioned to you at dinner-time +that I had tickets." + +This was said very calmly. + +"And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic, +and not to see this dancer." I tried to appear as composed as he +was, but failed in the attempt altogether. + +"You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said +that," was the cold answer he made. + +"Of course I was." + +"Very well, Mary. You can do as you like. The carriage will be here +at half-past seven. If you are then ready to go to the theatre, I +shall be happy to have your company." And my husband, after saying +this with a most unruffled manner, politely bowed and retired to the +parlour. + +I was on fire. But I had no thought of yielding. + +At half-past seven I was ready. I heard the carriage drive up to the +door and the bell ring. + +"Mary," called my husband at the bottom of the stair-case, in a +cheerful tone, "are you ready?" + +"Ready to go where?" I asked on descending. + +"To the theatre." + +"I am ready for the concert, "I answered in as composed a voice as I +could assume. + +"_I_ am not going to the concert to-night, Mrs. Smith. I thought you +understood that," firmly replied my husband. "I am going to see +Fanny Ellsler. If you will go with me, I shall be very happy to have +your company. If not, I must go alone." + +"And I am going to the Philharmonic. I thought you understood that," +I replied, with equal resolution. + +"Oh! very well," said he, not seeming to be at all disturbed. "Then +you can use the carriage at the door. I will walk to the theatre." + +Saying this, Mr. Smith turned from me deliberately and walked away. +I heard him tell the driver of the carriage to take me to the +Musical Fund Hall; then I heard the street-door close, and then I +heard my husband's footsteps on the pavement as he left the house. +Without hesitating a moment for reflection, I followed to the door, +entered the carriage, and ordered the man to drive me--where? I had +no ticket for the concert; nor could I go alone! + +"To the Musical Fund Hall, I believe, madam," he said, standing with +his fingers touching the rim of his hat. + +I tried to think what I should do. To be conquered was hard. And it +was clear that I could not go alone. + +"No," I replied, grasping hold of the first suggestion that came to +my mind. "Drive me to No.--Walnut street." + +I had directed him to the house of my sister, where I thought I +would stay until after eleven o'clock, and then return home, leaving +my husband to infer that I had been to the concert. But long before +I had reached my sister's house, I felt so miserable that I deemed +it best to call out of the window to the driver, and direct him to +return. On arriving at home, some twenty minutes after I had left +it, I went up to my chamber, and there had a hearty crying spell to +myself. I don't know that I ever felt so bad before in my life. I +had utterly failed in this vigorous contest with my husband, who had +come off perfectly victorious. Many bitter things did I write +against him in my heart, and largely did I magnify his faults. I +believe I thought over every thing that occurred since we were +married, and selected therefrom whatever could justify the +conclusion that he was a self-willed, overbearing, unfeeling man, +and did not entertain for me a particle of affection. + +It was clear that I had not been able to manage my spouse, +determined as I had been to correct all his faults, and make him one +of the best, most conciliating and loving of husbands, with whom my +wish would be law. Still I could not think of giving up. The thought +of being reduced to a tame, submissive wife, who could hardly call +her soul her own, was not for a moment to be entertained. On +reflection, it occurred to me that I had, probably, taken the wrong +method with my husband. There was a touch of stubbornness in his +nature that had arrayed itself against my too earnest efforts to +bend him to my will. A better way occurred. I had heard it said by +some one, or had read it somewhere, that no man was proof against a +woman's tears. + +On the present occasion I certainly felt much more like crying than +laughing, and so it was no hard matter, I can honestly aver, to +appear bathed in tears on my husband's return between eleven and +twelve o'clock from the theatre. I cried from vexation as much as +from any other feeling. + +When Mr. Smith came up into the chamber where I lay, I greeted his +presence with half a dozen running sobs, which he answered by +whistling the "Craccovienne!" I continued to sob, and he continued +to whistle for the next ten minutes. By that time he was ready to +get into bed, which he did quite leisurely, and laid himself down +upon his pillow with an expression of satisfaction. Still I sobbed +on, thinking that every sighing breath I drew was, in spite of his +seeming indifference, a pang to his heart. But, from this fond +delusion a heavily drawn breath, that was almost a snore, aroused +me. I raised up and looked over at the man--he was sound asleep. + +A good hearty cry to myself was all the satisfaction I had, and then +I went to sleep. On the next morning, I met Mr. Smith at the +breakfast table with red eyes and a sad countenance. But he did not +seem to notice either. + +"I hope you enjoyed yourself at the concert last night," said he. "I +was delighted at the theatre. Fanny danced divinely. Hers is truly +the poetry of motion!" + +Now this was too much! I will leave it to any reader--any female +reader, I mean--whether this was not too much. I burst into a flood +of tears and immediately withdrew, leaving my husband to eat his +breakfast alone. He sat the usual time, which provoked me +exceedingly. If he had jumped up from the table and left the house, +I would have felt that I had made some impression upon him. But to +take things in this calm way! What had I gained? Nothing, as I could +see. After breakfast Mr. Smith came up to the chamber, and, seeing +my face buried in a pillow, weeping bitterly--I had increased the +flow of tears on hearing him ascending the stairs--said in a low +voice-- + +"Are you not well, Mary?" + +I made no answer, but continued to weep. Mr. Smith stood for the +space of about a minute, but asked no further question. Then, +without uttering a word, he retired from the chamber, and in a +little while after I heard him leave the house. I cried now in good +earnest. It was plain that my husband had no feeling; that he did +not care whether I was pleased or sad. But I determined to give him +a fair trial. If I failed in this new way, what was I to do? The +thought of becoming the passive slave of a domestic tyrant was +dreadful. I felt that I could not live in such a state. When Mr. +Smith came home at dinner-time I was in my chamber, ready prepared +for a gush of tears. As he opened the door I looked up with +streaming eyes, and then hid my face in a pillow. + +"Mary," said he, with much kindness in his voice, "what ails you? +Are you sick?" He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke. + +But I did not reply. I meant to punish him well for what he had done +as a lesson for the future. I next expected him to draw his arm +around me, and be very tender and sympathizing in his words and +tones. But no such thing! He quietly withdrew the hand he had placed +upon mine; and stood by me, I could feel, though not see, in a cold, +erect attitude. + +"Are you not well, Mary?" he asked again. + +I was still silent. A little while after I heard him moving across +the floor, and then the chamber door shut. I was once more alone. + +When the bell rang for dinner, I felt half sorry that I had +commenced this new mode of managing my husband; but, as I had begun, +I was determined to go through with it. "He'll at least take care +how he acts in the future," I said. I did not leave my chamber to +join my husband at the dinner table. He sat his usual time, as I +could tell by the ringing of the bell for the servant to change the +plates and bring in the dessert. I was exceedingly fretted; and more +so by his returning to his business without calling up to see me, +and making another effort to dispel my grief. + +For three days I tried this experiment upon my husband, who bore it +with the unflinching heroism of a martyr. I was forced, at last, to +come to; but I was by no means satisfied that my new mode was a +failure. For all Mr. Smith's assumed indifference, I knew that he +had been troubled at heart, and I was pretty well satisfied that he +would think twice before provoking me to another essay of tears. +Upon the whole, I felt pretty sure that I had discovered the means +of doing with him as I pleased. + +A few weeks of sunshine passed--I must own that the sun did not look +so bright, nor feel so warm as it had done in former times--and then +our wills came once more into collision. But my tears fell upon a +rock. I could not see that they made the least perceptible +impression. Mr. Smith had his own way, and I cried about it until I +got tired of that sport, and in very weariness gave over. For the +space of a whole year I stood upon tears as my last defensible +position. Sometimes I didn't smile for weeks. But my husband +maintained his ground like a hero. + +At last I gave up in despair. Pride, self-will, anger--all were +conquered. I was a weak woman in the hands of a strong-minded man. +If I could not love him as I wished to love him, I could at least +obey. In nothing did I now oppose him, either by resolute words or +tears. If he expressed a wish, whether to me agreeable or not, I +acquiesced. + +One day, not long after this change in my conduct towards my +husband, he said to me, "I rather think, Mary, we will spend a +couple of weeks at Brandywine Springs, instead of going to Cape May +this season." + +I replied, "Very well, dear;" although I had set my heart on going +to the Capes. My sister and her husband and a number of my friends +were going down, and I had anticipated a good deal of pleasure. I +did not know of a single person who was going to the Brandywine +Springs. But what was the use of entering into a contest with my +husband? He would come off the conqueror, spite of angry words or +ineffectual tears. + +"The Springs are so much more quiet than the Capes," said my +husband. + +"Yes," I remarked, "there is less gay company there." + +"Don't you think you will enjoy yourself as well there as at the +Capes?" + +Now this was a good deal for my husband to say. I hardly knew what +to make of it. + +"If you prefer going there, dear, let us go by all means," I +answered. I was not affecting any thing, but was in earnest in what +I said. + +Mr. Smith looked into my face for some moments, and with unusual +affection I thought. + +"Mary," said he, "if you think the time will pass more pleasantly to +you at the Capes, let us go there by all means." + +"My sister Jane is going to the Capes," I remarked, with some little +hesitation; "and so is Mrs. L--and Mrs. D--, and a good many +more of our friends. I did think that I would enjoy myself there +this season very much. But I have no doubt I shall find pleasant +society at the Springs." + +"We will go to the Capes," said my husband promptly and cheerfully. + +"No," said I, emulous now for the first time in a new cause. "I am +sure the time will pass agreeably enough at the Springs. And as you +evidently prefer going there, we will let the Capes pass for this +year." + +"To the Capes, Mary, and nowhere else," replied my husband, in the +very best of humours. "I am sure you will enjoy yourself far better +there. I did not know your sister was going." + +And to the Capes we went, and I did enjoy myself excellently well. +As for my husband, I never saw him in a better state of mind. To me +he was more like a lover than a husband. No, I will not say that +either, for I can't admit that a husband may not be as kind and +affectionate as a lover; for he can and will be if managed rightly, +and a great deal more so. Whenever I expressed a wish, it appeared +to give him pleasure to gratify it. Seeing this, instead of +suffering myself to be the mere recipient of kind attentions, I +began to vie with him in the sacrifice of selfish wishes and +feelings. + +It is wonderful how all was changed after this. There were no more +struggles on my part to manage my husband, and yet I generally had +things my own way. Before I could not turn him to the right nor the +left, though I strove to do so with my utmost strength. Now I held +him only with a silken fetter, and guided him, without really +intending to do so, in almost any direction. + +Several years have passed since that ever-to-be-remembered, happy +visit to Cape May. Not once since have I attempted any management of +my husband, and yet it is a rare thing that my wish is not, as it +used to be before we were married, his law. It is wonderful, too, +how he has improved. I am sure he is not the same man that he was +five years ago. But, perhaps, I see with different eyes. At any +rate, I am not the same woman; or, if the same, very unlike what I +then was. + +So much for my efforts to manage a husband. Of the three ways so +faithfully tried, my fair readers will be at no loss to determine +which is best. I make these honest confessions for the good of my +sex. My husband, Mr. John Smith, will be no little surprised if this +history should meet his eye. But I do not believe it will interrupt +the present harmonious relations existing between us, but rather +tend to confirm and strengthen them. + + + + + + +RULING A WIFE. + + + + + +AS a lover, Henry Lane was the kindest, most devoted, +self-sacrificing person imaginable. He appeared really to have no +will of his own, so entire was his deference to his beautiful +Amanda; yet, for all this, he had no very high opinion of her as an +intelligent being. She was lovely, she was gentle, she was good; and +these qualities, combined with personal grace and beauty, drew him +in admiration to her side, and filled him with the desire to possess +her as his own. + +As a husband, Henry Lane was a different being. His relation had +changed, and his exterior changed correspondingly. Amanda was his +wife; and as such she must be, in a certain sense, under him. It was +his judgment that must govern in all matters; for her judgment, in +the affairs of life, was held in light estimation. Moreover, as a +man, it was his province to control and direct and her duty to look +to him for guidance. + +Yet, for all this, if the truth must be told, the conclusions of +Amanda's mind were, in ordinary affairs, even more correct than her +husband's judgment; for he was governed a great deal by impulses and +first impressions, instead of by the reason of which he was so +proud, while she came naturally into the woman's quick perceptions +of right and propriety. This being the case, it may readily be seen +that there was a broad ground-work for unhappiness in the married +state. Amanda could not sink into a mere cipher; she could not give +up her will entirely to the guidance of another, and cease to act +from her own volitions. + +It took only a few months to make the young wife feel that her +position was to be one of great trial. She was of a mild and gentle +character, more inclined to suffer than resist; but her judgment was +clear, and she saw the right or wrong of any act almost +instinctively. Love did not make her blind to every thing in her +husband. He had faults and unpleasant peculiarities, and she saw +them plainly, and often desired to correct them. But one trial of +this kind sufficed to keep her silent. He was offended, and showed +his state of mind so plainly, that she resolved never to stand in +that relation to him again. + +As time progressed, the passiveness of Amanda encouraged in Lane his +natural love of ruling. His household was his kingdom, and there his +will must be the law. In his mind arose the conceit that, in every +thing, his judgment was superior to that of his wife: even in the +smaller matters of household economy, he let this be seen. His +taste, too, was more correct, and applied itself to guiding and +directing her into a proper state of dressing. He decided about the +harmony of colours and the choice of patterns. She could not buy +even a ribbon without there being some fault found with it, as not +possessing the elements of beauty in just arrangements. In company, +you would often hear him say--"Oh, my wife has no taste. She would +dress like a fright if I did not watch her all the time." + +Though outwardly passive or concurrent when such things were said, +Amanda felt them as unjust, and they wounded her more or less +severely, according to the character of the company in which she +happened at the time to be; but her self-satisfied husband saw +nothing of this. And not even when some one, more plainly spoken +than others, would reply to such a remark--"She did not dress like a +fright before you were married," did he perceive his presumption and +his errors. + +But passiveness under such a relation does not always permanently +remain; it was accompanied from the first by a sense of oppression +and injustice, though love kept the feeling subdued. The desire for +ruling in any position gains strength by activity. The more the +young wife yielded, the more did the husband assume, until at length +Amanda felt that she had no will of her own, so to speak. The con- +viction of this, when it formed itself in her mind, half +involuntarily brought with it an instinctive feeling of resistance. +Here was the forming point of antagonism--the beginning of the state +of unhappiness foreshadowed from the first. Had Amanda asserted her +right to think and act for herself in the early days of her married +life, the jar of discord would have been light. It now promised to +be most afflicting in its character. + +The first activity of Amanda's newly forming state showed itself in +the doing of certain things to which she was inclined, +notwithstanding the expression of her husband's disapproval. +Accustomed to the most perfect compliance, Mr. Lane was disturbed by +this. + +"Oh, dear! what a horrid looking thing!" said he one day, as he +discovered a new dress pattern which his wife had just purchased +lying on a chair. "Where in the world did that come from?" + +"I bought it this morning," replied Amanda. + +"Take it back, or throw it into the fire," was the husband's rude +response. + +"I think it neat," said Amanda, smiling. + +"Neat? It's awful! But you've no taste. I wish you'd let me buy your +dresses." + +The wife made no answer to this. Lane said a good deal more about +it, to all of which Amanda opposed but little. However, her mind was +made up to one thing, and that was to take it to the mantuamaker's. +The next Lane saw of the dress was on his wife. + +"Oh, mercy!" he exclaimed, holding up his hand, "I thought you had +burnt it. Why did you have it made up?" + +"I like it," quietly answered Mrs. Lane. + +"You like any thing." + +"I haven't much taste, I know," said Amanda, "but such as it is, it +is pleasant to gratify it sometimes." + +Something in the way this remark was made it disturbed the +self-satisfaction which was a leading feature in Mr. Lane's state of +mind; he, however, answered--"I wish you would be governed by me in +matters of this kind; you know my taste is superior to yours. Do +take off that dress, and throw it in the fire." + +Amanda did not reply to this, for it excited feelings and produced +thoughts that she had no wish to manifest. But she did not comply +with her husband's wishes. She liked the dress and meant to wear it, +and she did wear it, notwithstanding her husband's repeated +condemnation of her taste. + +At this time they had one child--a babe less than a year old. From +the first, Lane had encroached upon the mother's province. This had +been felt more sensibly than any thing else by his wife, for it +disturbed the harmonious activity of the natural law which gives to +a mother the perception of what is best for her infant. Still, she +had been so in the habit of yielding to the force of his will, that +she gave way to his interference here in numberless instances, +though she as often felt that he was wrong as right. Conceit of his +own intelligence blinded him to the intelligence of others. Of this +Amanda became more and more satisfied every day. At first, she had +passively admitted that he knew best; but her own common sense and +clear perceptions soon repudiated this idea. While his love of +predominance affected only herself, she could bear it with great +patience; but when it was exercised, day after day, and week after +week, in matters pertaining to her babe, she grew restless under the +oppression. + +After the decided, position taken in regard to her dress, Amanda's +mind acquired strength in a new direction. A single gratification of +her own will, attained in opposition to the will of her husband, +stirred a latent desire for repeated gratifications; and it was not +long before Lane discovered this fact, and wondered at the change +which had taken place in his wife's temper. She no longer acquiesced +in every suggestion, nor yielded when he opposed argument to an +assumed position. The pleasure of thinking and acting for herself +had been restored, and the delight appertaining to its indulgence +was no more to be suppressed. Her husband's reaction on this state +put her in greater freedom; for it made more distinctly manifest the +quality of his ruling affection, and awoke in her mind a more +determined spirit of resistance. + +Up to this time, even in the most trifling matters of domestic and +social life, Lane's will had been the law. This was to be so no +longer. A new will had come into activity; and that will a woman's +will. Passive it had been for a long time under a pressure that +partial love and a yielding temper permitted to remain; but its +inward life was unimpaired; and when its motions became earnest, it +was strong and enduring. The effort made by Lane to subdue these +motions the moment he perceived them, only gave them a stronger +impulse. The hand laid upon her heart to quiet its pulsations only +made it beat with a quicker effort, while it communicated its +disturbance to his own. + +The causes leading to the result we are to describe have been fully +enough set forth; they steadily progressed until the husband and +wife were in positions of direct antagonism. Lane could not give up +his love of controlling every thing around him, and his wife, fairly +roused to opposition, followed the promptings of her own will, in +matters where right was clearly on her side, with a quiet +perseverance that always succeeded. Of course, they were often made +unhappy; yet enough forbearance existed on both sides to prevent an +open rupture--at least, for a time. That, however, came at last, and +was the more violent from the long accumulation of reactive forces. + +The particulars of this rupture we need not give; it arose in a +dispute about the child when she was two years old. As usual, Lane +had attempted to set aside the judgment of his wife in something +pertaining to the child, as inferior to his own, and she had not +submitted. Warm words ensued, in which he said a good deal about a +wife's knowing her place and keeping it. + +"I am not your slave!" said Amanda, indignantly; the cutting words +of her husband throwing her off her guard. + +"You are my wife," he calmly and half contemptuously replied; "and, +as such, are bound to submit yourself to your husband." + +"To my husband's intelligence, not to his mere will," answered +Amanda, less warmly, but more resolutely than at first. + +"Yes, to his will!" said Lane, growing blind from anger. + +"That I have done long enough," returned the wife. "But the time is +past now. By your intelligence, when I see in it superior light to +what exists in my own, I will be guided, but, by your will--never!" + +The onward moving current of years, which, for some time, had been +chafing amid obstructions, now met a sudden barrier, and flowed over +in a raging torrent. A sharp retort met this firm declaration of +Amanda, stinging her into anger, and producing a state of +recrimination. While in this state, she spoke plainly of his +assumption of authority over her from the first,--of her passiveness +for a time,--of being finally aroused to opposition. + +"And now," she added, in conclusion, "I am content to be your wife +and equal, but will be no longer your passive and obedient slave." + +"Your duty is to obey. You can occupy no other position as my wife," +returned the blind and excited husband. + +"Then we must part." + +"Be it so." And as he said this, Lane turned hurriedly away and left +the house. + +Fixed as a statue, for a long time, sat the stunned and wretched +wife. As the current of thoughts again flowed on, and the words of +her husband presented themselves in even a more offensive light than +when they were first uttered, indignant pride took the uppermost +place in her mind. + +"He will not treat me as a wife and equal," she said, "and I will no +longer be his slave." + +In anger Lane turned from his wife; and for hours after parting with +her this anger burned with an all-consuming flame. For him to yield +was out of the question. His manly pride would never consent to +this. She must fall back into her true position. He did not return +home, as usual, at dinner-time; but absented himself, in order to +give her time for reflection, as well as to awaken her fears lest he +would abandon her altogether. Towards night, imagining his wife in a +state of penitence and distressing anxiety, and feeling some +commiseration for her on that account, Mr. Lane went back to his +dwelling. As he stepped within the door, a feeling of desertion and +loneliness came over him; and unusual silence seemed to pervade the +house. He sat down in the parlour for some minutes; but hearing no +movement in the chamber above, nor catching even a murmur of his +child's voice, a sound for which his ears were longing, he ascended +the stairs, but found no one there. As he turned to go down again he +met a servant. + +"Where is Mrs. Lane?" he asked. + +"I don't know," was answered. "She went out this morning, and has +not returned." + +"Where is Mary?" + +"She took Mary with her." + +"Didn't she say where she was going?" + +"No, sir." + +Mr. Lane asked no more questions, but went back into the room from +which he had just emerged, and, sitting down, covered his face with +his hands, and endeavoured to collect his thoughts. + +"Has she deserted me?" he asked of himself in an audible husky +whisper. + +His heart grew faint in the pause that followed. As the idea of +desertion became more and more distinct, Mr. Lane commenced +searching about in order to see whether his wife had not left some +communication for him, in which her purpose was declared. But he +found none. She had departed without leaving a sign. The night that +followed was a sleepless one to Lane. His mind was agitated by many +conflicting emotions. For hours, on the next day, he remained at +home, in the expectation of seeing or hearing from Amanda. But no +word came. Where had she gone? That was the next question. If he +must go in search of hers in what direction should he turn his +steps? She had no relations in the city, and with those who resided +at a distance she had cultivated no intimacy. + +The whole day was passed in a state of irresolution. To make the +fact known was to expose a family difficulty that concerned only +himself and wife; and give room for idle gossip and gross +detraction. Bad as the case was, the public would make it appear a +great deal worse than the reality. In the hope of avoiding this, he +concealed the sad affair for the entire day, looking, in each +recurring hour, for the return of his repentant wife. But he looked +in vain. Night came gloomily down, and she was still absent. + +He was sitting, about eight o'clock in the evening, undetermined yet +what to do, when a gentleman with whom he was but slightly +acquainted named Edmondson, called at the door and asked to see him. + +On being shown in, the latter, with some embarrassment in his +manner, said-- + +"I have called to inform you, that Mrs. Lane has been at my house +since yesterday." + +"At _your_ house!" + +"Yes. She came there yesterday morning; and, since that time, my +wife has been doing her best to induce her to return home. But, so +far, she has not been able to make the smallest impression. Not +wishing to become a party to the matter, I have called to see you on +the subject. I regret, exceedingly, that any misunderstanding has +occurred, and do not intend that either myself or family shall take +sides in so painful an affair. All that I can do, however, to heal +the difficulty, shall be done cheerfully." + +"What does she say?" asked Lane, when he had composed himself. + +"She makes no specific complaint." + +"What does she propose doing?" + +"She avows her intention of living separate from you, and supporting +herself and child by her own efforts." + +This declaration aroused a feeling of indignant pride in the +husband's mind. "It is my child as well as hers," said he. "She may +desert me, if she will; but she cannot expect me to give up my +child. To that I will never submit." + +"My dear sir," said Mr. Edmondson, "do not permit your mind to +chafe, angrily, over this unhappy matter. That will widen not heal, +the breach. In affairs of this kind, pardon me for the remark, there +are always faults on both sides; and the duty of each is to put away +his or her own state of anger and antagonism and seek to reconcile +the other, rather than to compel submission. As a man, you have the +advantage of a stronger and clearer judgment,--exercise it as a man. +Feeling and impulse often rule in a woman's mind, from the very +nature of her mental conformation; and we should remember this when +we pass judgment on her actions. There is often more honour in +yielding a point than in contending for it to the end, in the face +of threatened disaster. Let me then urge you to seek a +reconciliation, while there is yet opportunity, and permit the veil +of oblivion to fall, while it may, over this painful event. As yet, +the fact has not passed from the knowledge of myself and wife. Heal +the breach, and the secret remains where it is." + +"If she will return, I will receive her, and forgive and forget all. +Will you say this to her from me?" + +"Why not go to her at once? See her face to face. This is the best +and surest way." + +"No," said Lane, coldly. "She has left me of her own choice; and, +now, she must return. I gave her no cause for the rash act. Enough +for me that I am willing to forgive and forget all this. But I am +not the man to humble myself at the feet of a capricious woman. It +is not in me." + +"Mr. Lane, you are wrong!" said the visitor, in a decided tone. "All +wrong. Do you believe that your wife would have fled from you +without a real or imagined cause?" + +"No. But the cause is only in her imagination." + +"Then see her and convince her of this. It is the same to her, at +present, whether the cause be real or imaginary. She believes it +real, and feels all its effects as real. Show her that it is +imaginary, and all is healed." + +Lane shook his head. + +"I have never humbled myself before a man, much less a woman," said +he. + +This remark exhibited to Mr. Edmondson the whole ground-work of the +difficulty. Lane regarded a woman as inferior to a man, and had for +her, in consequence, a latent feeling of contempt. He could +understand, now, why his wife had left him; for he saw, clearly, +that, with such an estimation of woman, he would attempt to degrade +her from her true position; and, if she possessed an independent +spirit, render her life wellnigh insupportable. Earnestly did he +seek to convince Lane of his error; but to no good effect. As soon +as all doubt was removed from the mind of the latter in regard to +where his wife had gone, and touching the spirit which governed her +in her separation from him, his natural pride and +self-esteem--self-respect, he called it--came back into full +activity. No, he would never humble himself to a woman! That was the +unalterable state of his mind. If Amanda would return, and assume +her old place and her old relation, he would forget and forgive all. +This far he would go, and no farther. She had left of her own free +will, and that must bring her back. + +"You can say all this to her in any way you please; but I will not +seek her and enter into an humble supplication for her return. I +have too much self-respect--and am too much of a man--for that. If +she finds the struggle to do so hard and humiliating, she will be +the more careful how she places herself again in such a position. +The lesson will last her a life-time." + +"You are wrong; depend upon it, you are wrong!" urged Mr. Edmondson. +"There must be yielding and conciliation on both sides." + +"I can do no more than I have said. Passive I have been from the +first, and passive I will remain. As for our child, I wish you to +say to her, that I shall not consent to a separation. It is my child +as much as hers; moreover, as father, my responsibility is greatest, +and I am not the man to delegate my duties to another. Possession of +the child, if driven to that extremity, I will obtain through aid of +the law. This I desire that she shall distinctly understand. I make +no threat. I do not wish her to view the declaration in that light. +I affirm only the truth, that she may clearly understand all the +consequences likely to flow from her ill-advised step." + +The more Mr. Edmondson sought to convince Mr. Lane of his error, the +more determinedly did he cling to it; and he retired at last, under +the sad conviction that the unhappy couple had seen but the +beginning of troubles. + +Alone with his own thoughts, an hour had not elapsed before Mr. Lane +half repented of his conduct in taking so unyielding a position. A +conviction forced itself upon his mind that he had gone too far and +was asking too much; and he wished that he had not been quite so +exacting in his declarations to Mr. Edmondson. But, having made +them, his false pride of consistency prompted him to adhere to what +he had said. + +The night passed in broken and troubled sleep; and morning found him +supremely wretched. Yet resentment still formed a part of Mr. Lane's +feelings. He was angry with his wife, whom he had driven from his +side, and was in no mood to bend in order to effect a +reconciliation. At mid-day he returned from his business, hoping to +find her at home. But his house was still desolate. With the evening +he confidently expected her, but she was not there. Anxiously he +sat, hour after hour, looking for another visit from Mr. Edmondson, +but he came not again. + +In leaving her husband's house, Mrs. Lane had gone, as has been +seen, to the house of a friend. Mrs. Edmondson was an old school +companion, between whom and herself had continued to exist, as they +grew up, the tenderest relations. When she turned from her husband, +she fled, with an instinct of affection and sympathy, to this +friend, and poured her tears in a gild agony of affliction upon her +bosom. In leaving her husband, she was not governed by a sudden +caprice; nor was the act intended to humble him to her feet. Nothing +of this was in her mind. He had trenched upon her province as a wife +and mother; interfered with her freedom as an individual; and, at +last, boldly assumed the right to command and control her as an +inferior. The native independence of her character, which had long +fretted under this rule of subordination, now openly rebelled, and, +panting for freedom, she had sprung from her fetters with few +thoughts as to future consequences. + +The first day of absence was a day of weeping. Mrs. Edmondson could +not and did not approve of what had been done. + +"I am afraid, Amanda, that you have only made matters worse," said +she, as soon as she could venture to suggest any thing at all upon +the subject. "It is always easier to prevent than to heal a breach. +The day has not yet closed. There is time to go back. Your husband +need never know what has been in your mind. This hasty act may be +entirely concealed from him." + +But the long suffering wife had been roused to opposition. A new +current of feeling was sweeping across and controlling her mind. She +was, therefore, deaf to the voice of reason. Still her friend, as in +duty bound, urged her to think more calmly on the subject, and to +retrace the steps she had taken. But all was in vain. This being so, +her husband, as has been seen, called upon Mr. Lane, and informed +him that his wife was at his house. From this interview Mr. +Edmondson returned disheartened, and reported all that had been said +on both sides to his wife. + +"My husband saw Mr. Lane last evening," said Mrs. Edmondson to +Amanda on the next day. + +"He did!" Amanda looked eagerly into the face of her friend, while +she became much agitated. + +"Yes. He called to let him know that you were here." + +"What did he say?" + +"He wishes you to return. All will be forgotten and forgiven." + +"He said that?" + +"Yes." + +"I have done nothing for which I desire forgiveness," said Amanda, +coldly, and with the air of one who is hurt by the words of another. +"If he will not have me return as his wife and equal, I can never go +back." + +"For the sake of your child, Amanda, you should be willing to bear +much." + +"My child shall not grow, up and see her mother degraded." + +"She is his child as well as yours. Do not forget that," said Mrs. +Edmondson. "And it is by no means certain that he will permit you to +retain the possession of an object so dear to him." + +The face of Mrs. Lane instantly flushed at this, a suggestion which +had not before been presented to her mind. + +"Did he refer to this subject in conversing with your husband?" +inquired Amanda, with forced calmness. + +"He did." + +"What did he say?" + +"That, in any event, he could not and would not be separated from +his child. And you know, Amanda, that the law will give to him its +guardianship." + +"The law!" There was a huskiness in Mrs. Lane's voice. + +"Yes, Amanda, the law. It is well for you to view this matter in all +its relations. The law regards the father as the true guardian of +the child. If, therefore, you separate yourself from your husband, +you must expect to bear a separation from your child; for that will +be most likely to follow." + +"Did he speak of the law?" asked Mrs. Lane, in a still calmer voice, +and with a steady eye. + +"It would not be right to conceal from you this fact, Amanda. He did +do so. And can you wholly blame him? It is his child as well as +yours. He loves it, as you well know; and, as its father, he is +responsible for it to society and to Heaven. This separation is your +act. You may deprive him of your own society; but, have you a right, +at the same time, to rob him of his child? I speak plainly; I would +not be your friend did I not do so. Try, for a little while, to look +away from yourself, and think of your husband; and especially of the +consequences likely to arise to your child from your present act. It +will not be a mere separation with passive endurance of pain on +either side. There will come the prolonged effort of the father to +recover his child, and the anguish and fear of the mother, as she +lives in the constant dread of having it snatched from her hands. +And that must come, inevitably, the final separation. You will have +to part from your child, Amanda, if not in the beginning, yet +finally. You know your husband to be of a resolute temper Do not +give him a chance to press you to extremity. If he should come to +the determination to recover his child from your hands, he will not +stop short of any means to accomplish his purpose." + +Mrs. Lane made no reply to this; nor did she answer to any further +remark, appeal, or suggestion of her friend, who soon ceased to +speak on the subject and left her to her own reflections, hoping +that they might lead her to some better purpose than had yet +influenced her in the unhappy business. On the day after, Mr. +Edmondson met Lane in the street. + +"I was about calling to see you," said the latter, "on the subject +of this unhappy difficulty, to which, so reluctantly to yourself, +you have become a party. It may be that I am something to blame. +Perhaps I have been too exacting--too jealous of my prerogative as a +husband. At any rate, I am willing to admit that such has been the +case; and willing to yield something to the morbid feelings of my +wife. What is her present state of mind?" + +Mr. Edmondson looked surprised. + +Remarking this, Lane said quickly, "Is she not at your house?" + +"No," replied Mr. Edmondson, "she left us yesterday. We believed +that she had gone home. My wife had a long conversation with her, in +which she urged her, by every consideration, to return; and we had +reason to think, when she left our house, that she went back to +you." + +"Such is not the case," said Mr. Lane, with disappointment, and +something of sadness in his tone. "I have not seen her since the +morning of our unhappy difference. Where can she have gone?" + +Mr. Edmondson was silent. + +"Did she say that she was going to return home?" asked Mr. Lane. + +"No. But we had reason to think that such was her intention. Have +you heard nothing from her?" + +"Not a word." + +"It is strange!" + +Mr. Lane heaved a deep sigh. A few more brief questions and answers +passed, and then the two men separated. The forsaken husband went +home with a sadder heart than he had yet known. The absence of his +wife and child for several days--both objects of real affection--and +absent under such peculiar and trying circumstances, had subdued, to +a great extent, his angry feelings. He was prepared to yield much. +He would even have gone to his wife, and acknowledged that he was +partly in error, in order to have brought about a reconciliation. +Something that she had said during their last, exciting interview, +which he had rejected as untrue, or not causes of complaint, had +represented themselves to his mind; and in the sober reflecting +states that were predominant, he saw that he had not in all things +treated her as an equal, nor regarded her at all times as possessing +a rational freedom as independent as his own. Though he did not +excuse her conduct, he yet thought of it less angrily than at first, +and was willing to yield something in order to restore the old +relations. + +Anxiety and alarm now took possession of his mind. The distance +between them had become wider, and the prospect of a reconciliation +more remote. Amanda had gone, he could not tell whither. She had +neither money nor friends; he knew not into what danger she might +fall, nor what suffering she might encounter. It was plain from the +manner of her leaving the house of Mr. Edmondson, that her +resolution to remain away from him was fixed. He must, therefore, +seek her out, and invite her to return. He must yield if he would +reconcile this sad difficulty. And he was now willing to do so. But, +where was she? Whither should he go in search of the wanderer? + +The very means which her friend had taken to induce Mrs. Lane to +return to her husband, had driven her farther away. The hint +touching her husband's legal rights in the child, and his resolution +to assert them, filled her with the deepest alarm, and determined +her to put it beyond his power, if possible, to deprive her of the +only thing in life to which her heart could now cling. Toward her +husband, her feelings were those of an oppressed one for an +oppressor. From the beginning, he had almost suffocated her own life +by his pressure upon her freedom of will. She remembered, with, +tears, his tenderness and his love; but soon would come the +recollection of his constant interference in matters peculiarly her +own; his evident contempt for her intellect; and his final efforts +to subdue her rising independence, and make her little less than a +domestic slave--and the fountain of her tears would become dry. +Added to all this, was the fact of his resolution to recover his +child by law. This crushed out all hope from her heart. He had no +affection left for her. His love had changed to hate. He had assumed +toward her the attitude of a persecutor. Nothing was now left for +her but self-protection. + +In leaving the home of her husband, Mrs. Lane had exercised no +forethought. She made no estimate of consequences, and provided for +no future contingencies. She was blind in her faint-heartedness, +that was little less than despair. Any thing was better than to +remain in a state of submission, that had become, she felt, +intolerable. Leaving thus, Mrs. Lane had taken with her nothing +beyond a few dollars in her purse, and it was only an accident that +her purse was in her pocket. All her own clothes and those of her +child, except what they had on, were left behind. + +Alarmed at the threat of her husband, Mrs. Lane, a few hours after +the conversation with Mrs. Edmondson, in which his views were made +known to her, took her child and went away. In parting with her +friend, she left upon her mind the impression that she was going +home. This was very far from her intention. Her purpose was to leave +New York, the city of her residence, as quickly as possible, and +flee to some obscure village, where she would remain hidden from her +husband. She had resided, some years before, for a short time in +Philadelphia; and thither she resolved to go, and from thence reach +some point in the country. On leaving the house of her friend, Mrs. +Lane hurried to the river and took passage in the afternoon line for +Philadelphia. + +As the cars began their swift movement from Jersey City, a feeling +of inexpressible sadness came over her, and she began to realize +more distinctly than she had yet done, her desolate, destitute, and +helpless condition. After paying her passage, she had only two +dollars left in her purse; and, without money, how was she to gain +friends and shelter in a strange city? To add to her unhappy +feelings, her child commenced asking for her father. + +"Where is papa?" she would repeat every few minutes. "I want to go +to my papa." + +This was continued until it ended in fretfulness and complaints at +the separation it was enduring. Tears and sobs followed; and, +finally, the child wept herself to sleep. + +A new train of feelings was awakened by this incident. In leaving +her husband, Mrs. Lane had thought only of herself. She had not once +considered the effect of a separation from its father upon her +child. Little Mary's heart was full of affection for the two beings +whom nature prompted her to love. Her father's return from business +had always been to her the happiest event of the day; and, when she +sprang into his arms, her whole being would thrill with delight. +Days had passed since she had seen her father, and she was pining to +meet him again to lay her head upon his bosom--to feel his arms +clasped tightly around her. + +All this was realized by the mother, as the child lay sleeping on +her arm, while the swift rolling cars bore them farther and farther +away from the home she was leaving. Is it just to the child? +Distinctly did this thought present itself in her mind. For a long +time she mused over it, her feelings all the while growing more and +more tender, until something like repentance for the step she had +taken found its way into her mind--not for what she was herself +suffering, but for the sake of her child. She had not thought of the +effect upon little Mary, until the pain of absence showed itself in +complaint. + +This idea arose clearly before her--she could not push it aside; +and, the more she pondered it, the more troubled did she become, +from a new source. Would not the separation so deeply afflict the +child as to rob her of all happiness? + +While these thoughts had full possession of the mother's mind, Mary +slept on and dreamed of her father, as was evident from the fact +that, more than once, she murmured his name. + +When night came down, its effect upon Mrs. Lane was more sadly +depressing, for it brought her into a clearer realization of her +unhappy condition. Where was she going? What was the uncertain +future to bring forth? All was as dark as the night that had closed +around her. + +At length the cars reached Bristol, and it became necessary to leave +them, and pass into the boat. In lifting Mary in her arms, to bear +her from the cars, the child again murmured the name of her father, +which so affected Mrs. Lane, that her tears gushed forth in spite of +her efforts to restrain them. Letting her veil fall over her face to +conceal this evidence of affliction from her fellow-passengers, she +proceeded with the rest; and, in a little while, was gliding swiftly +down the river. It was ten o'clock when they arrived in +Philadelphia. For an hour previous to this time, the mind of the +fugitive had been busy in the effort to determine what course she +should take on gaining the end of her journey. But the nearer she +came to its termination, the more confused did she become, and the +less clearly did she see the way before her. Where should she go on +reaching the city? There as no one to receive her; no one to whom +she could go and claim protection, or even shelter. + +This state of irresolution continued until the boat touched the +wharf, and the passengers were leaving. Mary was awake again, and +kept asking, every few moments, to go home. + +"Yes, dear, we will go home," the mother would reply, in a tone of +encouragement, while her own mind was in the greatest uncertainty +and distress. + +"Why don't papa come?" asked the child, as one after another moved +away, and they were left standing almost alone. At this moment, an +Irishman, with a whip in his hand, came up, and said-- + +"Want a carriage, ma'am?" + +Mrs. Lane hesitated a moment or two, while she thought hurriedly, +and then replied-- + +"Yes." + +"Very well, ma'am; I'll attend to you. Where is your baggage?" + +"I have only this basket with me." + +"Ah! well; come along." And Mrs. Lane followed the man from the +boat. + +"Where shall I drive you?" he asked, after she had entered the +carriage. + +There was a pause, with apparent irresolution. + +"I am a stranger here," said Mrs. Lane innocently. "I want to obtain +pleasant accommodations for a day or two. Can you take me to a good +place?" + +"Faith, and I can--as good as the city will afford. Do you wish one +of the tip-top places, where they charge a little fortune a week; or +a good comfortable home at a reasonable price?" + +"I want a comfortable, retired place, where the charges are not +extravagant." + +"Exactly; I understand." + +And the driver closed the door, and, mounting his box, drove off. At +the end of ten minutes the carriage stopped, the steps were let +down, and Mrs. Lane, after descending, was shown into a small +parlour, with dingy furniture. A broad, red-faced Irish woman soon +appeared, at the summons of the driver. + +"I've brought you a lady customer, Mrs. McGinnis, d'ye see? And +you're just the one to make her at home and comfortable. She's a +stranger, and wants a quiet place for a day or two." + +"And, in troth, she'll find it here, as ye well say, John Murphy. +Will the lady put off her bonnet? We'll have her room ready in a +jiffy! Much obleeged to yees, John Murphy, for remembering us. What +a darlint of a child; bless its little heart!" + +"What must I pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, hoarsely, turning to the +driver. + +"One dollar, ma'am," was replied. + +Mrs. Lane drew forth her purse, towards which the Irishwoman glanced +eagerly, and took therefrom the sum charged, and paid the man, who +immediately retired. The landlady followed him out, and stood +conversing with him at the door for several minutes. When she +returned, she was less forward in her attentions to her guest, and +somewhat inquisitive as to who she was, where she had come from, and +whither she was going. All these Mrs. Lane evaded, and asked to have +her room prepared as quickly as possible, as she did not feel very +well, and wished to retire. The room was at length ready, and she +went up with little Mary, who had again fallen to sleep. It was +small, meagerly furnished, and offensive from want of cleanliness. +In turning down the bed clothes, she found the sheets soiled and +rumpled, showing that the linen had not been changed since being +used by previous lodgers. The first thing that Mrs. Lane did, after +laying her sleeping child upon the bed, was to sit down and weep +bitterly. The difficulties about to invest her, as they drew nearer +and nearer, became more and more apparent; and her heart sank and +trembled as she looked at the unexpected forms they were assuming. +But a single dollar remained in her purse; and she had an +instinctive conviction that trouble with the landlady on account of +money was before her. Had she been provided with the means of +independence, she would have instantly called a servant, and +demanded a better room, and fresh linen for her bed; but, under the +circumstances, she dared not do this. She had a conviction that the +Irishwoman was already aware of her poverty, and that any call for +better accommodations would be met by insult. It was too late to +seek for other lodgings, even if she knew where to go, and were not +burdened with a sleeping child. + +Unhappy fugitive! How new and unexpected were the difficulties that +already surrounded her! How dark was the future! dark as that old +Egyptian darkness that could be felt. As she sat and wept, the folly +of which she was guilty in the step she had taken presented itself +distinctly before her mind, and she wondered at her own blindness +and want of forethought. Already, in her very first step, she had +got her feet tangled. How she was to extricate them she could not +see. + +Wearied at last with grief and fear, her mind became exhausted with +its own activity. Throwing herself upon the bed beside her child, +without removing her clothes, she was soon lost in sleep. Daylight +was stealing in, when the voice of little Mary awakened her. + +"Where's papa?" asked the child, and she looked with such a sad +earnestness into her mother's face, that the latter felt rebuked, +and turned her eyes away from those of her child. "Want to go home," +lisped the unhappy babe--"see papa." + +"Yes, dear," soothingly answered the mother. + +Little Mary turned her eyes to the door with an expectant look, as +if she believed her father, whom she loved, was about to enter, and +listened for some moments. + +"Papa! papa!" she called in anxious tones, and listened again; but +there was no response. Her little lip began to quiver, then it +curled grievingly; and, falling over, she hid her face against her +mother and began sobbing. + +Tenderly did the mother take her weeping child to her bosom, and +hold it there in a long embrace. After it had grown calm she arose, +and adjusting her rumpled garments, and those of Mary, sat down by +the windows to await the events that were to follow. In about half +an hour a bell was rung in the passage below, and soon after a girl +came to her room to say that breakfast was ready. + +"I wish my breakfast brought to me here," said Mrs. Lane. + +The girl stared a moment and then retired. Soon after, the Irish +landlady made her appearance. + +"What is it ye wants, mum?" said that personage, drawing herself up +and assuming an air of vulgar dignity and importance. + +"Nothing," replied Mrs. Lane, "except a little bread and milk for my +child." + +"Isn't yees coming down to breakfast?" + +Mrs. Lane shook her head. + +"Ye'd better. It's all ready." + +"I don't wish any thing. But if you'll send me up something for my +child, I will be obliged to you." + +The landlady stood for some moments, as if undecided what she should +do, and then retired. About half an hour afterwards, a dirty looking +Irish girl appeared with a waiter, on which were the articles for +which she had asked. + +"Don't ye want any thing for yerself, mum?" asked the girl, with +some kindness in her voice. + +"No, I thank you," was replied. + +"You'd better eat a little." + +"I've no appetite," said Mrs. Lane, turning her face away to conceal +the emotion that was rising to the surface. + +The girl retired, and the food brought for the child was placed +before her; but she felt as little inclined to eat as her mother, +and could not be induced to take a mouthful. Turning from the +offered food, she raised her tearful eyes to her mother's face, and +in a choking voice said--"Go home, mamma--see papa." + +The words smote, like heavy strokes, upon the mother's heart. How +great a wrong had she done her child! But could she retrace her +steps now? Could she go back and humble herself under the imperious +will of her husband? Her heart shrunk from the thought. Any thing +but that! it would crush the life out of her. An hour she sat, with +these and kindred thoughts passing through her mind, when the girl +who had brought up Mary's breakfast came in and said--"Won't yees +walk down into the parlour, mum, while I clean up your room?" + +"Is any one down there?" asked Mrs. Lane. + +"No, mum," was answered by the girl. + +With some reluctance Mrs. Lane descended to the small, dingy +parlour, which she found adjoining a bar-room, whence there came the +loud voices of men. From a window she looked forth upon the street, +which was narrow, and crowded with carts, drays, and other vehicles. +Opposite were old houses, in which business of various kinds was +carried on. One was occupied by a cooper; another used as a +storehouse for fish; another for a grog-shop. Every thing was dirty +and crowded, and all appeared bustle and confusion. It was plain to +her that she had fallen in an evil place, and that her first +business must be escape. As she sat meditating upon the next step, +there came suddenly, from the bar-room, the sound of angry voices, +mingled with fierce threats and shocking blasphemy. Springing to her +feet in terror, Mrs. Lane caught up her child, and was about +starting from the door without any covering upon her head, when the +landlady intercepted her. + +"What's the matter with yees? Where are ye going?" + +With quivering lips, and face white with alarm, Mrs. Lane +replied--"Oh, ma'am! get me my things and let me go." + +"Ye can go when ye pays yer bill, in welcome," replied the woman. + +"How much is it?" + +"It's a dollar and a half." + +The Irishwoman looked steadily at Mrs. Lane, and saw, by the change +in her countenance, what she had expected, that she had not as much +money in her possession. + +"Won't a dollar pay you?" asked Mrs. Lane, after standing with her +eyes upon the floor for some moments. "I've had nothing but my +night's lodging and surely a dollar will pay for that." + +"Indade and it won't, then! Sure, and yer breakfast was got. If ye +didn't ate it, I'm not to fault. + +"Here is a dollar," said Mrs. Lane, taking out her purse. "I'm sure +it's full pay for all I've received." + +"And d'ye mane to call me an ould chate, ye spalpeen, ye!" +indignantly replied the landlady, her face growing red with anger, +while she raised her huge fist and shook it at her terrified guest, +who retreated back into the parlour, and sank, trembling, into a +chair. + +"As if I wasn't an honest woman," continued the virago, following +Mrs. Lane. "As if I'd extort on a lone woman! Give me patience! When +ye pays the dollar and a half, ye can go; but not a foot shall ye +take from my door until then." + +A scuffle took place in the bar-room at that moment, attended by a +new eruption of oaths and imprecations. + +Quickly sprinting from her chair, Mrs. Lane, with Mary in her arms, +glided from the room, and ran panting up-stairs to her chamber, the +door of which she locked behind her on entering. + +Half an hour of as calm reflection as it was possible for Mrs. Lane +to make brought her to the resolution to leave the house at all +hazards. Where she was to go, was to be an afterthought. The +greatest evil was to remain; after escaping that, she would consider +the means of avoiding what followed. Putting on her bonnet and +shawl, and taking her basket, she went down-stairs with her child, +determined, if possible, to get away unobserved, and after doing so, +to send back, by any means that offered, the only dollar she +possessed in the world to the landlady. No one met her on the +stairs, and she passed the parlour-door unobserved. But, alas! the +street-door was found locked and the key withdrawn. After a few +ineffectual attempts to open it, Mrs. Lane went into the parlour, +and, standing there, debated for some moments whether she should +leave the house by passing through the bar-room, or wait for another +opportunity to get away by the private en-trance. While still +bewildered and undetermined the landlady came in from the bar-room. + +The moment she saw her guest, she comprehended the purpose in her +mind. + +"Where are ye going?" said she in a quick sharp voice, the blood +rising to her coarse sensual face. + +"I am going to leave your house," replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a +voice as she could command. As she spoke she drew forth her purse, +and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, +added--"Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I +will send you the other half-dollar." + +But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, +indignantly, + +"A purty how d'you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body's house, +and then expect to get off without paying your bill. But ye don't +know Biddy McGinnis--ye don't! If yees wants to go paceable, pay the +dollar and a half. But until this is done, ye shall not cross my +door-stone." + +"I can't stay here! What good will it do?" said Mrs. Lane, wringing +her hand. "It's all the money I've got; and remaining won't increase +the sum, while it adds to the debt. Better let me go now." + +"Indade, and ye'll not go, thin, my lady! I'll tache yees to come +into a respectable body's house without as much money in yer pocket +as 'll pay for the night's lodging. I wonder who ye are, any how! No +better than ye should be, I'll warrint!" + +While speaking, the Irishwoman had drawn nearer and nearer, and now +stood with her face only a few inches from that of her distressed +guest, who, bursting into tears, clasped her hands together, and +sobbed-- + +"Let me go! let me go! If you have the heart of a woman, let me go!" + +"Heart of a woman, indade!" returned Mrs. McGinnis, indignantly. +"Yer a purty one to talk to me about the heart of a woman. Stalein +into a body's house at twelve o'clock at night, and thin tryin' to +go off without paying for the lodgings and breakfast. Purty doings!" + +"What's the matter here?" said a well dressed man, stepping in from +the bar-room and closing the door behind him. "What do you mean by +talking to the lady in this way, Mrs. McGinnis? I've been listening +to you." + +There was an instant change in the Irishwoman. Her countenance fell, +and she retreated a few steps from the object of her vituperation. + +"What's all this about? I should like to know," added the man in a +decided way. "Will you explain, madam?" addressing Mrs. Lane, in a +kind voice. "But you are agitated. Sit down and compose yourself." + +"Let her pay me my money, that's all I want," muttered the landlady. + +In a moment the man's purse was drawn from his pocket. "What does +she owe you?" + +"A dollar and a half, bad luck till her!" + +"There's your money, you old termagant!" And the man handed her the +amount. "And now, as you are paid, and have nothing more to say to +this lady, please to retire and let her be freed from your +presence." + +"Yees needint call me ill names, Misther Bond," said the woman, in a +subdued voice, as she retired. "It doesn't become a jentilman like +you. I didn't mane any harm. I only wanted my own, and sure I've a +right to that." + +"Well, you've got your own, though not in a way that does either you +or your house much credit," returned the man. "The next time you are +so fortunate as to get a lady in your hotel, I hope you'll know +better how to treat her." + +Mrs. McGinnis retired without further remark, and the man turned to +Mrs. Lane, and said, in a kind, respectful manner, + +"I am sorry to find you so unhappily situated, and will do any thing +in my power to relieve you from your present embarrassment. Your +landlady here is a perfect virago. How did you happen to fall into +her hands?" + +Encouraged by the kindness of the man's address, as well as from the +fact that he had rescued her from a violent woman, Mrs. Lane, after +composing herself, said-- + +"I came in from New York last night, and, being a stranger, asked +the cabman to take me to a good hotel. He brought me here. I +happened to have but two dollars in my purse, he charged one for +carriage hire." + +"The extortioner!" + +"Finding into what a wretched place he had brought me, I wished to +leave this morning, but have been prevented because I could not pay +a dollar and a half when I had only a dollar. I told her to let me +go, and I would send her the balance claimed; but she only met the +proposition by insult." + +"The wretch!" exclaimed the man, indignantly. "I happened to be +passing, and, hearing her loud voice, glanced in at the window. In +an instant I comprehended, to some extent, the difficulty; and, +knowing her of old, came in to see if something were not wrong. She +is a bad woman, and her house is a snare for the innocent. It is +fortunate for you that I came at the right moment!" + +Mrs. Lane shuddered. + +"And now, madam," said the man, "what can I do for you? Have you +friends in the city?" + +"I am an entire stranger here," replied Mrs. Lane. + +"Were you going farther? + +"Yes," was answered after some hesitation. + +"Where do your friends reside?" + +"In New York." + +"Ah!" + +"This is your child?" was said, after a pause. + +"Yes." + +There was something in the man's manner, and in the way he looked at +her, that now made Mrs. Lane shrink from, as instinctively as she +had at first leaned towards him. Beneath his steady eye her own +drooped and rested for some moments on the floor. + +"Is your husband in New York?" pursued the man. + +This question caused the heart of Mrs. Lane to bound with a sudden +throb. Her husband! She had deserted him, her natural and lawful +protector, and already she was encompassed with difficulties and +surrounded by dangers. What would she not at that moment have given +to be safely back in the home she had left? To the last question she +gave a simple affirmative. + +"Where do you wish to go when you leave here?" inquired the man, who +had perceived a change in her and understood its nature. + +"I wish to be taken to a good hotel, where I can remain a day or +two, until I have time to communicate with my friends. My being out +of money is owing to an inadvertence. I will receive a supply +immediately on writing home." + +The man drew his purse from his pocket, and, presenting it, said-- + +"This is at your service. Take whatever you need." + +Mrs. Lane thanked him, but drew back. + +"Only get me into some safe place, until I can write to my friends," +said she, "and you would lay both them and me under the deepest +obligations." + +The man arose at this, and stepping into the bar room, desired the +bar-keeper to send for a carriage. From a stand near by one was +called. When it came to the door, he informed Mrs. Lane of the fact, +and asked if she were ready to go. + +"Where will you take me?" she asked. + +"To the United States Hotel," replied the man. "You could not be in +a safer or better place." + +On hearing this, Mrs. Lane arose without hesitation, and, going from +the house, entered the carriage with the man, and was driven away. +Drawing her veil over her face, she shrank into a corner of the +vehicle, and remained in sad communion with her own thoughts for +many minutes. From this state of abstraction, the stopping of the +carriage aroused her. The driver left his seat and opened the door, +when her companion stepped forth, saying as he did so-- + +"This is the place," and offering at the same time his hand. + +As Mrs. Lane descended to the street, she glanced with a look of +anxious inquiry around her. Already a suspicion that all might not +be right was disturbing her mind. Two years before she had been in +Philadelphia, and had stayed several days at the United States +Hotel. She remembered the appearance of the building and the street, +but now she did not recognise a single object. All was strange. + +"Is this the United States Hotel?" she asked eagerly. + +"Oh, yes, ma'am," was the smiling reply. "We are at the private +entrance." + +Her bewildered mind was momentarily deceived by this answer, and she +permitted herself to be led into a house, which she soon discovered +not to be an hotel. The most dreadful suspicions instantly seized +her. So soon as she was shown into. a parlour, the man retired. A +woman came in shortly afterwards, who, from her appearance, seemed +to be the mistress of the house. She spoke kindly to Mrs. Lane, and +asked if she would walk up into her room. + +"There has been some mistake," said the poor wanderer, her lips +quivering in spite of her efforts to assume a firm exterior. + +"Oh, no, none at all," quickly replied the woman, smiling. + +"Yes, yes there is. I am not in the hotel where I wished to go. Why +have I been brought here? Where is the man with whom I came?" + +"He has gone away; but will return again. In the mean time do not +causelessly distress yourself. You are safe from all harm." + +"But I am not where I wished to go," replied Mrs. Lane. "Will you be +kind enough to give me the direction of the United States Hotel, and +I will walk there with my child." + +The woman shook her head. + +"I could not permit you to go until Mr. Bond returned," said she. +"He brought you here, and will expect to find you when he comes +back." + +"I will not remain." And as she said this in a firm voice, Mrs. Lane +arose, and, taking her little girl in her arms, made an attempt to +move through the door into the passage. But the woman stepped before +her quickly, and in a mild, yet decided way, told her that she could +not leave the house. + +"Why not?" asked the trembling creature. + +"Mr. Bond has placed you in my care, and will expect to find you on +his return," answered the woman. + +"Who is Mr. Bond? What right has he to control my movements?" + +"Did you not place yourself in his care?" inquired the woman. "I +understood him to say that such was the case." + +"He offered to protect me from wrong and insult." + +"And, having undertaken to do so, he feels himself responsible to +your friends for your safe return to their hands. I am responsible +to him." + +"Deceived! deceived! deceived!" murmured Mrs. Lane, bursting into +tears and sinking into a chair, while she hugged her child tightly +in her arms, and laid its face against her own. + +The woman seemed slightly moved at this exhibition of distress, and +stood looking at the quivering frame of the unhappy fugitive, with a +slight expression of regret on her face. After Mrs. Lane had grown +calm, the woman said to her: + +"Is your husband living?" + +"He is," was answered, in a steady voice. + +"Where does he reside?" continued the woman. + +"In New York," replied Mrs. Lane. + +"What is his name?" + +Mrs. Lane reflected, hurriedly, for some moments, and then gave a +correct answer, adding, at the same time, that for any attempted +wrong, there would come a speedy and severe retribution. The next +inquiry of the woman was as to her husband's occupation, which was +also answered correctly. + +"And now," added Mrs. Lane, with assumed firmness, "you had better +let me retire from this place immediately, and thus avoid trouble, +which, otherwise, you would be certain to have. My husband is a +merchant of influence, and a man who will not stop at half measures +in seeking to redress a wrong. This man, whoever he may be, who has +so basely deceived me, will find, ere long, that he has done an act +which will hot go unpunished, and that severely. As for yourself, be +warned in time, and let me go from this place." + +Again Mrs. Lane sought to pass from the room, but was prevented. The +woman was neither harsh, rude, nor insulting in her manner, but +firmly refused to let her leave the house, saying--"I am responsible +for your safe keeping, and cannot, therefore, let you go." + +She then urged her to go up-stairs and lay off her things, but Mrs. +Lane refused, in the most positive manner, to leave the parlour. + +"You will be more comfortable in the chamber we have prepared for +you," said the woman, coldly; "but you must do as you like. If you +want any thing, you can ring for it." + +And saying this, she turned from the room, and locked the door +through which she retired. The instant she was gone, Mrs. Lane +sprang towards one of the front windows, threw it up and attempted +to draw the bolt which fastened the shutter; but her effort was not +successful: the bolt remained immovable. On a closer inspection, she +found that it was locked. The back window was open, but a glance +into the yard satisfied her that it would be useless to attempt +escape in that way. Hopeless in mind and paralyzed in body, she +again sank down inactive. + +Little Mary, who had been left standing on the floor during this +effort to escape, now came up to where she had thrown herself upon a +sofa, and, laying her little face upon her breast, looked tearfully +at her, and said, in a low, sorrowful voice--"Won't papa come? I +want my papa--my dear papa." + +Not a word could the mother reply to her unhappy child, who, in her +folly, she had so wronged. Oh, what would she not have given at that +moment to see the face of her husband! + +Five or six hours had passed. In a small sitting room, near the +parlour in which Mrs. Lane was still a prisoner, stood the man named +Bond, and the woman who had received her. + +"Mrs. Lane did you say she called herself?" said the man, with a +sudden change of manner--"and from New York?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you inquire her husband's business?" + +"She said he was a merchant of standing, and threatened both you and +me with the severest consequences, if she were not instantly +released." + +"Can it be possible!" remarked the man, and he stood in a musing +attitude for some time. "I'm a little afraid this affair is not +going to turn out quite so pleasantly as I at first supposed. I +think I know her husband." + +"You do!" + +"Yes. We have had several business transactions together, if he is +the individual I suppose him to be." + +"Then you had better get her off of your hands as quickly as +possible; and this will be no hard matter. Only open the cage-door, +and the bird will fly." + +"Confound that Irish huzzy! She and her John Murphy have scared up a +nice bit of adventure for me." + +"Both you and they ought to have known better than to expect any +thing but trouble from a woman with a baby. As it is, the best thing +for you is to get her off of your hands forthwith." + +"I don't like to give up after progressing so far. It isn't my +disposition." + +"A wise man foresees evil, and gets out of its way." + +"True; and my better course is to step aside, I suppose. But what +shall we do with her?" + +"Open the cage-door, as I said, and let her escape." + +"Where will she go?" + +"Have you any concern on that head?" + +"Some. Moreover, I don't just comprehend the meaning of her visit +here alone at night, and without money. I wonder if, after all, +there isn't a lover in the case, who has failed to meet her." + +"Most likely," returned the woman. + +"In that event, why may not I take his place?" + +"It will require her consent. Better have nothing more to do with +her, and thus keep out of the way of trouble. + +"Her husband, if she be the wife of the man I think she is," said +Bond, "will hardly stop at half-way measures in an affair like +this." + +"So much the more reason for keeping out of his way." + +"Perhaps so; and yet I like adventure, especially when spiced with a +little danger. Upon second thought, I'll let her remain here until +to-morrow." + +"Just as you like. But I've been unable to get her up-stairs; and +she can't stay in the parlour all night." + +"No. She must go to the chamber you have prepared for her." + +"How will we get her there?" + +"Use every effort you can to induce her to comply with our wishes in +this respect. I will come in after nightfall, and, if you have not +been successful, will remove her by force." + +With this understanding, the partners in evil separated. + +Soon after parting with Mr. Edmondson, who had informed Mr. Lane +that his wife was no longer at his house, and when the latter had +begun to feel exceedingly anxious, he met a gentleman who said to +him, "When do you expect Mrs. Lane back?" + +It was with difficulty that the deserted husband could refrain from +the exhibition of undue surprise at such an unexpected question. + +"I was over the river yesterday afternoon with a friend who was on +his way to Philadelphia," added the man, "and saw your lady in the +cars." + +"Good morning," said Mr. Lane, as he looked at his watch, and then +turned away with a hurried manner. + +It was half-past eleven o'clock. At twelve a line started for the +South. Lane was on board the steamboat when it left the dock. Six +hours and a half of most intense anxiety were passed ere the unhappy +man reached Philadelphia. On arriving, he took a carriage and +visited all the principal hotels, but not a word could he hear of +his wife. He then bethought him to make some inquiries of the +hackman whom he had employed. + +"Were you at the wharf last night when the New York line came in?" +he asked, as he stood with his hand on the carriage-door, after +leaving one of the hotels, again disappointed in his search. + +"I was," replied the hackman. + +"Did you get any passengers?" + +"No, sir." + +"Did you see any thing of a lady with a child?" + +The hackman thought for a little while, and then replied-- + +"Yes, I did. There was a lady and a child, nearly the last on the +boat. John Murphy drove them away." + +"Where can I find John Murphy?" eagerly enquired Mr. Lane. + +"He's probably on the stand." + +"Drive me there if you please." And he sprang into the carriage. + +In a few minutes they were at a carriage stand; and Mr. Lane heard +the driver call out, as he reined up his horses--"Hallo! there, John +Murphy! here's a gentleman who wants to see you." + +The person addressed came up as Mr. Lane descended from the +carriage. + +"I understand," said Lane, "that you received a lady and child in +your carriage, last night, from the New York line. Where did you +take them?" + +"Who said that I did?" boldly inquired the man addressed. + +"I said so!" as firmly replied the driver who had given the +information to Mr. Lane. "What interest have you in denying it?" + +Murphy evinced some surprise at this, and looked a little dashed, +but repeated his denial. + +A new fear instantly seized Mr. Lane. His wife might have been +entrapped into some den of infamy, through means of the driver she +had employed to convey her to an hotel. The thought affected him +like an electric shock. + +"You are certain of what you say?" asked Mr. Lane, turning to the +hackman he had employed. + +"Certain," was answered positively. + +"Is there a police officer near at hand?" was the next inquiry. This +was intended as no threat; and Murphy understood its meaning. + +The eyes of Mr. Lane were fixed on his face, and he saw in it a +guilty change. No reply being made to the question about a police +officer, Mr. Lane said, addressing the accused hackman-- + +"If you wish to escape trouble, take me instantly to the house where +I can find the lady you took from the boat last night. She is my +wife, and I will go through fire and water to find her; and let him +who stands in my way take the consequences." + +Murphy now drew Mr. Lane aside, and said a few words to him +hurriedly. + +"Can I depend upon what you say?" eagerly asked the latter. + +"Yes, upon honour!" replied the hackman. + +"You must go with me," said Lane. + +"I cannot leave the stand." + +"I will call a policeman and compel you to go with me, if you don't +accompany me peaceably. As I live, I will not part from you until I +find her! Take your choice--go quietly, or under compulsion." + +There was a fierce energy in the excited man that completely subdued +the Irish hackman, who, after a further, though feeble remonstrance, +got into the carriage with Mr. Lane, and was driven off. The course +taken was out--street. Some distance beyond Washington Square, the +carriage stopped before a house, in which Mr. Lane was informed that +he would find the woman whom Murphy had taken from the boat the +night before. He stepped out quickly, and, as he sprang across the +pavement, Murphy, who was out of the carriage almost as soon as he +was, glided around the corner of a street, and was beyond recall. A +quick jerk of the bell was answered by a female servant, who held +the door only partly open, while Lane addressed her. + +"Wasn't there a woman and child brought here last night?" said he, +in an agitated manner. + +"No, sir," replied the girl; and, as she spoke, she made an attempt +to close the door, seeing which, Mr. Lane thrust a part of his body +in and prevented the movement. + +"Are you certain?" he asked. + +"I am," was positively answered, while the girl strove to shut the +door by forcing it against Mr. Lane. At this moment something like a +smothered cry from within reached his ears, when, throwing open the +door with a sudden application of strength that prostrated the girl, +he stepped over her body and entered the vestibule. Just then there +arose a wild cry for help! He knew the voice; it came from one of +the parlours, into which he rushed. There he saw his wife struggling +in the arms of a woman and a man, while his frightened child stood +near, white and speechless with terror. As he entered, Amanda saw +him. + +"Oh, my husband!" she exclaimed. In a moment she was released, and +the man and woman fled from the room, but not before the face of the +former was fully recognised by Mr. Lane. + +Little Mary had already sprung to her father, and was quivering and +panting on his breast. + +"Oh! take me away quickly--quickly!" cried Mrs. Lane, staggering +towards her husband and falling into his arms. + +Without waiting for explanations, Mr. Lane went from the house with +his wife and child, and, placing them in the carriage at the door, +was driven to an hotel. + +The reader doubtless understands the scene we have just described. +The man named Bond was in the act of carrying out his threat to +remove Mrs. Lane to a chamber by force when her husband appeared. + +Of all that passed between the severely-tried husband and wife after +their meeting, it behooves us not to write. The circumstances we +have detailed were exceedingly painful to the parties most +interested; but their effect, like the surgeon's knife, was +salutary. Mr. Lane afterwards regarded his wife from an entirely +different point of view, and found her a very different woman from +what he had at first believed her to be. He saw in her a strength of +character and a clearness of intellect for which he had never given +her credit; and, from looking down upon her as a child or an +inferior, came to feel towards her as an equal. + +His indignation at the treatment she had received in Philadelphia +was extreme. The man named Bond he knew very well, and he at first +determined to call him to account personally; but as this would lead +to a mortifying notoriety and exposure of the whole affair, he was +reluctantly induced to keep silence. Bond has never crossed his way +since: it might not be well for him to do so. + +Some years have passed. No one who meets Mr. and Mrs. Lane, at home +or abroad, would dream that, at one time, they were driven asunder +by a strong repulsion. Few are more deeply attached, or happier in +their domestic relations; but neither trespasses on the other's +rights, nor interferes with the other's prerogative. Mutual +deference, confidence, respect, and love, unite them with a bond +that cannot again be broken. + + + + + + +THE INVALID WIFE. + + + + + +"MY poor head! It seems as if it would burst!" murmured Mrs. Bain, +as she arose from a stooping position, and clasped her temples with +both hands. She was engaged in dressing a restless, fretful child, +some two or three years old. Two children had been washed and +dressed, and this was the last to be made ready for breakfast. + +As Mrs. Bain stood, with pale face, closed eyes, and tightly +compressed lips, still clasping her throbbing temples, the bell +announcing the morning meal was rung. The sound caused her to start, +and she said, in a low and fretful voice-- + +"There's the breakfast bell; and Charley isn't ready yet; nor have I +combed my hair. How my head does ache! I am almost blind with the +pain." + +Then she resumed her work of dressing Charley, who struggled, cried, +and resisted, until she was done. + +Mr. Bain was already up and dressed. He was seated in the parlour, +enjoying his morning paper, when the breakfast bell rang. The moment +he heard the sound, he threw down his newspaper, and, leaving the +parlour, ascended to the dining-room. His two oldest children were +there, ready to take their places at the table. + +"Where's your mother?" he inquired of one of them. + +"She's dressing Charley," was answered. + +"Never ready in time," said Mr. Bain, to himself, impatiently. He +spoke in an under tone. + +For a few moments he stood with his hands on the back of his chair. +Then he walked twice the length of the dining-room; and then he went +to the door and called-- + +"Jane! Jane! Breakfast is on the table." + +"I'll be there in a minute," was replied by Mrs. Bain. + +"Oh, yes! I know something about your minutes." Mr. Bain said this +to himself. "This never being in time annoys me terribly. I'm always +ready. I'm always up to time. But there's no regard to time in this +house." + +Mrs. Bain was still struggling with her cross and troublesome child, +when the voice of her impatient husband reached her. The sound +caused a throb of intenser pain to pass through her aching head. + +"Jane, make haste! Breakfast is all getting cold, and I'm in a hurry +to go away to business," was called once more. + +"Do have a little patience. I'll be there in a moment," replied Mrs. +Bain." + +"A moment! This is always the way." + +And Mr. Bain once more paced backwards and forwards. + +Meantime the wife hurriedly completed her own toilet, and then +repaired to the dining-room. She was just five minutes too late. + +One glance at her pale, suffering face should have changed to +sympathy and pity the ill-humour of her thoughtless, impatient +husband. But it was not so. The moment she appeared, he said-- + +"This is too bad, Jane! I've told you, over and over, that I don't +like to wait after the bell rings. My mother was always promptly at +her place, and I'd like my wife to imitate so good an example." + +Perhaps nothing could have hurt Mrs. Bain more than such a cruel +reference of her husband to his mother, coupled with so unfeeling a +declaration of his will concerning her--as if she were to be the +mere creature of his will. + +A sharp reply was on the tongue of Mrs. Bain; but she kept it back. +The pain in her head subsided all at once; but a weight and +oppression in her breast followed that was almost suffocating. + +Mr. Bain drank his coffee, and eat his steak and toast, with a +pretty fair relish; for he had a good appetite and a good +digestion--and was in a state of robust health. But Mrs. Bain ate +nothing. How could she eat? And yet, it is but the truth to say, +that her husband, who noticed the fact, attributed her abstinence +from food more to temper than want of appetite. He was aware that he +had spoken too freely, and attributed the consequent change in his +wife's manner to anger rather than a wounded spirit. + +"Do you want any thing?" asked Mr. Bain, on rising from the table +and turning to leave the room. He spoke with more kindness than +previously. + +"No," was the wife's brief answer, made without lifting her eyes to +her husband's face. + +"In the sulks!" + +Mr. Bain did not say this aloud, but such was his thought, as he +turned away and left the house. He did not feel altogether +comfortable, of course. No man feels comfortable while there is a +cloud upon the brow of his wife, whether it be occasioned by +peevishness, ill-temper, bodily or mental suffering. No, Mr. Bain +did not feel altogether comfortable, nor satisfied with himself, as +he walked along to his store; for there came across his mind a dim +recollection of having heard the baby fretting and crying during the +night; and also of having seen the form of his wife moving to and +fro in the chamber, while he lay snugly reposing in bed. + +But these were unpleasant images, and Mr. Bain thrust them from his +mind. + +While Mr. Bain took his morning walk to his store, his lungs freely +and pleasurably expanding in the pure, invigorating air, his wife, +to whose throbbing temples the anguish had returned, and whose +relaxed muscles had scarcely enough tension to support the weight of +her slender frame, slowly and painfully began the work of getting +her two oldest children ready for school. This done, the baby had to +be washed and dressed. It screamed during the whole operation, and +when, at last, it fell asleep upon her bosom, she was so completely +exhausted, that she had to lie down. Tears wet her pillow as she lay +with her babe upon her arm. He, to whom alone she had a right to +look for sympathy, for support, and for strength in her many trials, +did not appear to sympathize with her in the least. If she looked +sober from the pressure of pain, fatigue, or domestic trials, he +became impatient, and sometimes said, with cruel thoughtlessness, +that he was tired of clouds and rain, and would give the world for a +wife who could smile now and then. If, amid her many household cares +and duties, she happened to neglect some little matter that affected +his comfort, he failed not to express his annoyance, and not always +in carefully chosen words. No wonder that her woman's heart +melted--no wonder that hot tears were on her cheeks. + +Mr. Bain had, as we have said, an excellent appetite; and he took +especial pleasure in its gratification. He liked his dinner +particularly, and his dinners were always good dinners. He went to +market himself. On his way to his store he passed through the +market, and his butcher sent home what he purchased. + +"The marketing has come home," said the cook to Mrs. Bain, about ten +o'clock, arousing her from a brief slumber into which she had +fallen--a slumber that exhausted nature demanded, and which would +have done far more than medicine for the restoration of something +like a healthy tone to her system. + +"Very well. I will come down in a little while," returned Mrs. Bain, +raising herself on her elbow, and see about dinner. What has Mr. +Bain sent home?" + +"A calf's head." + +"What!" + +"A calf's head." + +"Very well. I will be down to see about it." Mrs. Bain repressed any +further remark. + +Sick and exhausted as she felt, she must spend at least two hours in +the kitchen in making soup and dressing the calf's head for her +husband's dinner. Nothing of this could be trusted to the cook, for +to trust any part of its preparation to her was to have it spoiled. + +With a sigh, Mrs. Bain arose from the bed. At first she staggered +across the room like one intoxicated, and the pain, which had +subsided during her brief slumber, returned again with added +violence. But, really sick as she felt, she went down to the kitchen +and passed full two hours there in the preparation of delicacies for +her husband's dinner. And what was her reward? + +"This is the worst calf's head soup you ever made. What have you +done to it?" said Mr. Bain, pushing the plate of soup from before +him, with an expression of disgust on his face. + +There were tears in the eyes of the suffering wife, and she lifted +them to her husband's countenance. Steadily she looked at him for a +few moments; then her lips quivered, and the tears fell over her +cheeks. Hastily rising, she left the dining room. + +"It is rather hard that I can't speak without having a scene," +muttered Mr. Bain, as he tried his soup once more. It did not suit +his taste at all; so he pushed it from him, and made his dinner of +something else. + +As his wife had been pleased to go off up-stairs in a huff, just at +a word, Mr. Bain did not feel inclined to humour her. So, after +finishing his dinner, he took his hat and left the house, without so +much as seeking to offer a soothing word. + +Does the reader wonder that, when Mr. Bain returned in the evening, +he found his wife so seriously ill as to make it necessary to send +for their family physician? No, the reader will not wonder at this. + +But Mr. Bain felt a little surprised. He had not anticipated any +thing of the kind. + +Mrs. Bain was not only ill, but delirious. Her feeble frame, +exhausted by maternal duties, and ever-beginning, never-ending +household cares, had yielded under the accumulation of burdens too +heavy to bear. + +For a while after Mr. Bain's return, his wife talked much, but +incoherently; then she became quiet. But her fever remained high, +and inflammation tended strongly towards the brain. He was sitting +by the bedside about ten o'clock, alone with her, when she began to +talk in her wandering way again; but her words were distinct and +coherent. + +"I tried to do it right," said she, sadly; "but my head ached so +that I did not know what I was doing. Ah me! I never please him now +in any thing. I wish I could always look pleasant--cheerful. But I +can't. Well! well! it won't last for ever. I never feel +well--never--never--never! And I'm so faint and weak in the morning! +But he has no patience with me. _He_ doesn't know what it is to feel +sick. Ah me!" + +And her voice sighed itself away into silence. + +With what a rebuking force did these words fall upon the ears of Mr. +Bain! He saw himself in a new light. He was the domestic tyrant, and +not the kind and thoughtful husband. + +A few days, and Mrs. Bain was moving about her house and among her +children once more, pale as a shadow, and with lines of pain upon +her fore-head. How differently was she now treated by her husband! +With what considerate tenderness he regarded her! But, alas! he saw +his error too late! The gentle, loving creature, who had come to his +side ten years before, was not much longer to remain with him. A few +brief summers came and went, and then her frail body was laid amid +the clods of the valley. + +Alas! how many, like Mrs. Bain, have thus passed away, who, if truly +loved and cared for, would have been the light of now darkened +hearths, and the blessing and joy of now motherless children and +bereaved husbands! + + + + + + +THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL. + + + + + +"IF I am his wife, I am not his slave!" said young Mrs. Huntley, +indignantly. "It was more than he dared do a month ago." + +"If you love me, Esther, don't talk in this way," said Mrs. +Carlisle. + +"Am I his slave aunt?" and the young bride drew herself up, while +her eyes flashed. + +"No, Esther, you are his wife." + +"To be loved, and not commanded! That is the difference, and he has +got to learn it." + +"Were Edward to see and hear you now, do you think your words, +manner, and expression would inspire him with any new affection for +you?" + +"I have nothing to do with that. I only express a just indignation, +and that is a right I did not alienate when I consented to become +his wife." + +"You are a silly girl, Esther," said Mrs. Carlisle, "and I am afraid +will pay dear for your folly. Edward has faults, and so have you. If +you understood the duties and responsibilities of your position, and +felt the true force of your marriage vows, you would seek to bend +into better forms the crooked branches of your husband's hereditary +temper, rather than commit an irreparable injury by roughly breaking +them. I was not pleased with Edward's manner of speaking; but I must +admit that he had provocation: that you were first, and, therefore, +most to blame." + +"I objected to going with him to the opera, because I particularly +wanted to call and see Anna Lewis to-night. I had made up my mind to +this, and when I make up my mind to any thing I do not like to be +turned from my purpose." + +"Edward resembles you rather too much in that respect. Therefore, +there must be a disposition to yielding and self-denial on one side +or the other, or unhappiness will follow. Hitherto, as far as I have +been able to see, the yielding has all been on the part of Edward, +who has given up to you in everything. And now, when he shows that +he has a will of his own, you become very indignant, and talk bout +not being his slave." + +"It is too bad for you to speak so, aunt! You never think I do any +thing right." And Esther burst into tears. + +Meantime, Edward Huntley, the husband, was at the opera, listening +to, but not enjoying, the beauties Norma. It was only a month since +he had led to the altar his beautiful bride, and felt himself the +happiest man in the world. Before marriage, he thought only of how +he should please Esther. The preference of his own wishes to hers +was felt as no sacrifice. But, after the hymeneal contract had been +gratified, his feelings began gradually to change. What he had +yielded in kindness was virtually demanded as a right, and against +this, the moment it was perceived, his spirit rose in rebellion. In +several instances, he gave way to what savoured, much more than he +liked, of imperiousness. + +Norma had just been brought out, and received with unprecedented +favour. The newspapers were filled with its praises, and the +beauties of the opera were spoken of by every one. A friend lauded +it with more than usual enthusiasm, on the day it was advertised for +a third performance. + +"You haven't heard it yet!" said he, with surprise, on learning that +Huntley had yet to enjoy that pleasure. + +"No, but I think I will buy tickets for to-night." + +"Do by all means! And get them at once, or you will not be able to +secure a seat." + +It was in the afternoon, and Huntley could not ask his young wife +about it, unless he made a special errand home, which, as he lived +some distance away from his office, would be inconvenient. Not in +the least doubting, however, that Esther would be pleased to go to +the opera, as she had more than once expressed a wish to see and +hear Norma, he secured tickets and considered the matter settled. + +Now that the gratification of hearing the opera was so near at hand, +Huntley kept thinking of the enjoyment he was to have, and wishing +for the time to pass more rapidly. He pictured, too, the pleasure +that Esther would feel and express when she found that he had +procured tickets. Half an hour earlier than usual he was at home. He +found Esther and her aunt, Mrs. Carlisle, with whom they were +living, in the parlour. + +"We are going to see Norma to-night," said Huntley, in a gay voice, +and with a broad smile upon his face, as he sat down beside Esther +and took her hand. + +"_We_ are?" + +The tone and look with which this was said chilled the warm feelings +of the young man. + +"_I_ am, at least," said he, in a changed voice. + +"And _I_ am not," as promptly, and much more decidedly, replied +Esther. + +"Oh, yes you are." This was said with a suddenly assumed, half +playful, yet earnest manner. "I have bought tickets, and we will go +to-night." + +"The least you could have done was to have asked me before you +bought tickets," returned Esther. "I wish to go somewhere else +to-night." + +"But, as I have the tickets now, you will go, of course. To-morrow +night will do as well for a visit." + +"I wish to make it to-night." + +"Esther, you are unreasonable." Huntley knit his brows and +compressed his lips. + +"We are quite even then." The pretty lip of the bride curled. + +"Esther!" said Huntley, assuming a calm but cold exterior, and +speaking in a firm voice. "I have bought tickets for the opera +to-night, thinking that to go would give you pleasure, and now my +wish is that you accompany me." + +"A wish that you will certainly not have gratified. I believe I am +your wife, not your slave to command." + +There was something so cutting in the way this was said, that +Huntley could not bear it. Without a word he arose, and, taking his +hat, left the house. In a fever of excitement he walked the street +for an hour and a half, and then, scarcely reflecting upon what he +did, went to the opera. But the music was discord in his ears, and +he left before the performance was half over. + +The moment Esther heard the street-door close upon her husband, she +arose and went from the room where she was sitting with her aunt, +moving erect and with a firm step. Mrs. Carlisle did not see her for +two hours. The tea bell rang, but she did not come down from her +chamber, where, as the aunt supposed, she was bitterly repenting +what she had done. In this, however, she was mistaken, as was +proved, when, on joining her in her room for the purpose of striving +to console her, the conversation with which our story opens took +place. + +When the fit of weeping with which Esther received the reproof her +aunt felt called upon to give, had subsided, Mrs. Carlisle said, in +a most solemn and impressive manner, + +"What has occurred this evening may prove the saddest event of your +whole life. There is no calculating the result. No matter whose the +fault, the consequences that follow may be alike disastrous to the +happiness of both. Are you prepared, thus early, for a sundering of +the sacred bonds that have united you? And yet, even this may +follow. It has followed with others, and may follow with you. Oh! +the consequences of a first quarrel! Who can anticipate them?" + +The voice of Mrs. Carlisle trembled, and then sank almost into a +sob. Her manner more than her words startled Esther. + +"What do you mean, aunt?" said she. + +But her aunt was too much disturbed to speak for some minutes. + +"Esther," she at length said, speaking in a voice that still +trembled, "I knew a girl, who, at your age, married an excellent, +but proud-spirited young man. Like Edward, the lover yielded too +much when, as the husband, he began to be a little less considerate, +and to act as if he had a will of his own, his wife set herself +against him just as you set yourself against Edward. This chafed +him, although he strove to conceal his feelings. But, in an un- +guarded moment, when his young wife was unusually self-willed, a +quarrel of no more serious character than the one that has occurred +this evening, between you and Edward, took place. They parted in +anger as you parted, and--" + +The aunt was unable for some time to control her voice sufficiently +to finish the sentence-- + +"And never met again," she at length said, with such visible emotion +as betrayed more than she had wished to reveal. + +"Never met again!" ejaculated Esther, a sudden fear trembling +through her heart, and causing her cheeks to grow pale. + +"Never!" was the solemn response. + +"Why, dear aunt? Why?" eagerly inquired Esther. + +"Pride caused him," said Mrs. Carlisle, recovering her +self-possession, "after a breach had been made, to leave not only +his home, but the city in which he lived. Repenting of her +ungenerous contact, his bride waited anxiously for his return at +evening, but waited it vain. Sadly enough passed the lonely hours of +that dreadful night, and morning found her a sleepless watcher. Days +passed, but no word came from the unhappy wanderer from home and +love. A week, and still all was silence and mystery. At the end of +that time a letter was received from a neighbouring city, which +brought intelligence to his friends that he was there, and lying +dangerously ill. By the next conveyance his almost frantic wife +started for the purpose of joining him. Alas! she was too late. When +she stood beside the bed upon which he lay, she looked only upon the +inanimate form of her husband. Death had been there before her. +Esther! thirty years have passed since then, but the anguish I felt +when I stood and looked upon the cold, dead, face of my husband, in +that terrible hour, time has not altogether obliterated!" + +Esther had risen to her feet, and now stood with her pale lips +parted, and her cheeks blanched to an ashy whiteness. + +"Dear aunt is all this true?" she asked huskily, while she grasped +the arm of her relative. + +"Heaven knows it is too true, my child! It was the first and, the +last quarrel I had with my husband. And now, as you value your own +and Edward's peace of mind, be warned by my sad example, and let the +present unhappy difference that has occurred be quickly reconciled. +Acknowledge your error the moment you see him, and make a firm +resolution that you will, under no circumstances, permit the +slightest misunderstanding again to take place. Yield to him, and +you will find him ready as before to yield to you. What he was not +ready to give under the force of a demand, love will prompt him +cheerfully to render." + +"Oh! if Edward should never return!" Esther said, clasping her hands +together. She had scarcely heard the last sentence of her aunt. + +"You need not fear on that account, my child," replied Mrs. +Carlisle, in a voice meant to inspire confidence. "Edward will no +doubt return. Few men act so rashly as to separate themselves at the +first misunderstanding, although, too often, the first quarrel is +but the prelude to others of a more violent kind, that end in +severing the most sacred of all bonds, or rendering the life that +might have been one of the purest felicity, an existence of misery. +When Edward comes home to-night, forget every thing but your own +error, and freely confess that. Then, all will be sunshine in a +moment, although the light will fall and sparkle upon dewy +tear-drops." + +"I was mad to treat him so!" was Esther's response to this, as she +paced the floor, with uneasy step. "Oh! if he should never return." + +Once possessed with the idea that he would not return, the poor wife +was in an agony of fear. No suggestion made by her aunt in the least +relieved her mind. One thought--one fear--absorbed every thing else. +Thus passed the evening, until ten o'clock came. From that time +Esther began to listen anxiously for her husband's return, but hour +after hour went by, and she was still a tearful watcher. + +"I shall go mad if I sit here any longer!" murmured Huntley to +himself, as the music came rushing upon his agitated soul, in a wild +tempest, toward the middle of the opera, and, rising abruptly, he +retired from the theatre. How still appeared the half deserted +streets! Coldly the night air fell upon him, but the fever in his +veins was unabated. He walked first up one street and then down +another, with rapid steps, and this was continued for hours. Then +the thought of going home crossed his mind. But he set his teeth +firmly, and murmured audibly, + +"Oh! to be defied, and charged with being a tyrant? And has it come +to this so soon?" + +The more Huntley brooded, in this unhappy mood, over his wife's +words and conduct, the denser and more widely refracting became the +medium through which he saw. His pride continually excited his mind, +and threw a thick veil over all the gentler emotions of his heart. +He was beside himself. + +At one o'clock he found himself standing in front of the United +States Hotel, his mind made up to desert the affectionate young +creature, who, in a moment of thoughtlessness, had set her will in +opposition to his,--to leave the city, under an assumed name, by the +earliest lines, and go, he knew not nor cared not where. Blind +passion was his prompter and guide. In this feverish state he +entered the hotel and called for a bed. + +Eleven, twelve, one o'clock came, and found Mrs. Huntley in a state +of wild agitation. Edward had not yet returned. The silence and +evident distress of Mrs. Carlisle struck down the heart of Esther, +almost as much as her own fears. The too vivid recollection of one +terrible event in her own life completely unbalanced the aunt's +mind, and took away all power to sustain her niece. + +"I will go in search of him, aunt!" exclaimed Esther, as the clock +struck two. "He cannot leave the city before daylight. I will find +him, and confess all my folly before it is too late." + +"But where will you go, my child?" Mrs. Carlisle asked in a sad +voice. + +"Where--where shall I go?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Huntley. + +"It is midnight, Esther. You cannot find him now." + +"But I must see him before he leaves me, perhaps for ever! It will +kill me. If I wait until morning, it will be too late." + +Mrs. Carlisle bent her eyes to the floor, and for the space of more +than a minute remained in deep thought. She then said, in a calm +voice, + +"Esther, I cannot believe that Edward will desert you on so slight a +provocation. For a few hours his mind may be blinded with passion, +and be swayed by false judgment. But morning will find him cooler +and more reflective. He will see his error, and repent of any mad +act he may have contemplated. Still, to guard against the worst of +consequences, should this salutary change not take place, I think it +would be best for you to go early to the boat, and by meeting him +prevent a step that may cost you each a life of wretchedness." + +"I will do it! He shall not go away! Oh! if I could once more meet +him! all would be reconciled on the instant." + +Confident in her own mind that Edward had determined to go away from +the city in the morning, and fully resolved upon what she would do, +Esther threw herself upon the bed, and in snatches of uneasy slumber +passed the remainder of that dreadful night. At day-dawn she was up, +and making preparations for going to the boat to intercept her +husband. + +"Be self-possessed, my dear niece," urged Mrs. Carlisle, in a voice +that trembled so she could scarcely speak. + +Esther tried to reply, but, though her lips and tongue moved, there +was no utterance. Turning away, just as the sun threw his first rays +into her chamber window, she went down stairs, and her aunt, no +longer able to restrain herself, covered her face with her hands and +wept. + +On the day before, Esther had laid her gloves on one of the parlour +mantels, and she went in to get them. It was so dark that she could +not see, and she, therefore, opened a window and pushed back one of +the shutters. As she did so, a sound between a sigh and a groan fell +upon her ear, and caused her to turn with a start. There lay her +husband, asleep upon one of the sofas! A wild cry that she could not +restrain burst from her lips, and, springing toward him, she threw +her arms about his neck as he arose, startled, from his recumbent +position. + +An hour's reflection, alone in the room he had taken at the hotel, +satisfied Huntley that he was wrong in not going home. By the aid of +his night key he entered, silently, at the very time his wife +resolved to seek him in the morning, and, throwing himself upon a +sofa in the parlour to think what he should next do, thought himself +to sleep. + +All was, of course, reconciled. With tears of joy and contrition +Esther acknowledged the error she had committed. Huntley had his own +share of blame in his impatient temper, and this he was also ready +to confess He did not, however, own that he had thought of deserting +his wife on such slight provocation, nor did she confess the fearful +suspicion that had crossed her mind. + +It was their first and last quarrel. + + + + + + +GUESS WHO IT IS! + + + + + +"IT will be great deal better for us, Lizzy. America is a country +where all things are in full and plenty; but here we are ground down +to the earth and half-starved by the rich and great in order that +they may become richer and greater. I isn't so there, Lizzy. Don't +you remember what John McClure wrote home, six months after he +crossed the ocean?" + +"Yes, I remember all that, Thomas; but John McClure was never a very +truthful body at home and I've always thought that if we knew every +thing, we would find that he wrote with his magnifying glasses on. +John, you know, was very apt to see things through magnifying +glasses." + +"But the testimony doesn't come alone from John. We hear it every +day and from every quarter, that America is a perfect paradise for +the poor, compared to England." + +"I don't know how that can be, Thomas. They say that it is full of +wild beast poisonous serpents, and savage Indians, and that the +people are in constant fear of their lives. I'm sure England is a +better place than that, even if we do have to work hard and get but +little for it." + +"All that used to be, Lizzy," replied Thomas. "But they've killed +the wild beasts and serpents, and tamed the savage Indians. And +there are great cities there, the same as in England." + +But Lizzy could not be convinced. From her earliest childhood she +had never had but one idea of America, and that was as a great +wilderness filled with Indians and wild beasts. Of the former, she +had heard tales that made her blood curdle in her veins. It was in +vain, therefore, for Thomas Ward to argue with his wife about going +to America. She was not to be convinced that a waste, howling +wilderness was at all comparable with happy old England, even if the +poor were "ground down." + +As a dozen previous discussions on the subject had ended, so ended +this. Thomas Ward was of the same mind as before, and so was his +wife. The one wished to go, and the other to stay. + +Ward had only been married a short time, but the period, short as it +was, proved long enough to bring a sad disappointment of his worldly +hopes. He had been employed as a gentleman's gardener for many +years, and had been able, by strict economy, to lay up a little +money. But soon after his, marriage, through some slight +misunderstanding he lost his place, and had not since been able to +obtain any thing more than transient employment, the return from +which had, so far, proved inadequate to the maintenance of himself +and wife, requiring him to draw steadily upon the not very large +fund that was deposited in the Savings' Bank. + +About once a fortnight Thomas would become completely discouraged, +and then he invariably introduced his favourite project of going to +America; but Lizzy always met him when in this mood with a decided +negative, as far as she was concerned and sometimes went so far as +to say, when he grew rather warm on the subject--"It's no use to +talk about it, Thomas; I shall never go to America, that's decided." + +This, instead of being a settler, as Lizzy supposed it would be, +only proved a silencer. Thomas would instantly waive all present +reference to the subject. But the less he talked, the more he +thought about the land of plenty beyond the ocean; and the oftener +Lizzy said she would never go to America, the more earnest became +his desire to go, and the more fully formed his resolution to +emigrate while possessed the ability to do so. He did not like +Lizzy's mode of silencing him when he talked about his favourite +theme. He had certain primitive notions about a wife's submission of +herself to her husband, and it not only fretted him, but made him a +little resolute on the subject of going to America when Lizzy +declared herself determined not to go. + +One day Ward came home with brows knit more closely than usual, and +a firmer and more decided expression upon his tightly-closed lips. + +"What's the matter now, Thomas?" asked his wife. + +The "now" indicated that Thomas had something to trouble him, more +or less, nearly all the time. + +"The matter is, that I'm going to America!" returned Ward, in an +angry tone of voice. "If you won't wish to go, you will only have to +stay where you are. But I've made up my mind to sail in the next +ship." + +Ward had never spoken to his young wife in such harsh, angry, +rebuking tone of voice since they were married. But the import of +what he said was worse than his manner of saying it. Going to +America--and going whether she chose to go with him or remain +behind! What was this less than desertion? But Lizzy had pride and +firmness as tell as acute sensibilities. The latter she controlled +by means of the former, and, with unexpected coolness, +replied--"Well, Thomas, if you wish to leave me, I have nothing to +say. As to that savage country, I say now only what I have said +before--I cannot go." + +"Very well; I am not going to stay here and starve." + +"We haven't starved yet, Thomas," spoke up Lizzy. + +"No, thanks to my prudence in saving every dollar I could spare +while a bachelor! But we're in a fair way for it now. Every week we +are going behindhand, and if we stay here much longer we shall +neither have the means of living nor getting away. I've finished my +job, and cannot get another stroke to do." + +"Something will turn up, Thomas; don't be impatient." + +"Impatient!" ejaculated Ward. + +"Yes, impatient, Thomas," coolly said his wife. "You are in a very +strange way. Only wait a little while, and all will come right." + +"Lizzy," said Thomas Ward, suddenly growing calm, and speaking +slowly and with marked emphasis--"I've decided upon going to +America. If you will go with me, as a loving and obedient wife +should, I shall be glad of your company; but if you prefer to remain +here, I shall lay no commands upon you. Will you or will you not go? +Say at a word." + +Lizzy had a spice of independence about her, as well as a good share +of pride. The word "obedience," as applied to a wife, had never +accorded much with her taste, and the use of it made on the present +occasion by her husband was particularly offensive to her. So she +replied, without pausing to reflect--"I have already told you that I +am not going to America." + +"Very well, Lizzy," replied Thomas, in a voice that was considerably +softened, "I leave you to your own choice, notwithstanding the vow +you made on that happy morning. My promise was to love you and to +keep you in sickness and in health, but though I may love you as +well in old England as in a far-off country, I cannot perform that +other promise so well. So I must e'en leave you with my heart's best +blessing, and a pledge that you shall want for no earthly comfort +while I have a hand to work." + +And saying this, Thomas Ward left the presence of his wife, and +started forth to walk and to think. On his return, he found Lizzy +sitting by the window with her hands covering her face, and the +tears making their way through her fingers. He said nothing, but he +had a hope that she would change her mind and go with him when the +time came. In a little while Lizzy was able to control herself, and +move silently about her domestic duties; but her husband looked into +her face for some sign of a relenting purpose, and looked in vain. + +On the next day, Ward said to his wife--"I've engaged my passage in +the Shamrock, that sails from Liverpool for New York in a week." + +Lizzy started, and a slight shiver ran through; her body; but a cold +"Very well" was the only reply she made. + +"I will leave twenty pounds in the Savings' Bank for you to draw out +as you need. Before that is gone, I hope to be able to send you more +money." + +Lizzy made no answer to this, nor did she display any feeling, +although, as she afterwards owned, she felt as if she would have +sunk through the floor, and sorely repented having said that she +would not go with her husband to America. + +The week that intervened between that time and the sailing of the +Shamrock passed swiftly away. Lizzy wished a hundred times that her +husband would refer to his intended voyage across the sea, and ask +her again if she would not go with him. But Thomas Ward had no more +to say upon the subject. At least as often as three times had his +wife refused to accompany him to a land where there was plenty of +work and good wages, and he was firm in his resolution not to ask +her again. + +As the time approached nearer and nearer, Lizzy's heart sank lower +and lower in her bosom; still she cherished all possible justifying +reasons for her conduct, and sometimes had bitter thoughts against +her husband. She called him, in her mind, arbitrary and tyrannical, +and charged him with wishing to make her the mere slave of his will. +As for Ward he also indulged in mental criminations, and tried his +best to believe that Lizzy had no true affection for him, that she +was selfish, self-willed, and the dear knows what all. + +Thus stood affairs when the day came upon which the Shamrock was to +sail, and Ward must leave in the early train of cars for Liverpool, +to be on board at the hour of starting. Lizzy had done little but +cry all night, and Thomas had lain awake thinking of the unnatural +separation, and listening to his wife's but half-stifled sobs that +ever and anon broke the deep silence of their chamber. At last +daylight came, and Ward left his sleepless pillow to make hurried +preparations for his departure. His wife arose also, and got ready +his breakfast. The hour of separation at length came. + +"Lizzy," said the unhappy but firm-hearted man, "we must now part. +Whether we shall ever meet again, Heaven only knows. I do not wish +to blame you in this trying moment, in this hour of grief to both, +but I must say that--No, no!" suddenly checking himself, "I will say +nothing that may seem unkind. Farewell! If ever your love for your +husband should become strong enough to make you willing to share his +lot in a far-off and stranger land, his arms and heart will be open +to receive you." + +Ward was holding the hand of his wife and looking into her face, +over which tears, in spite of all her efforts to control herself, +were falling. The impulse in Lizzy's heart was to throw herself into +her husband's arms; but, as that would have been equivalent to +giving up, and saying--"I must go with you, go where you will," she +braved it out up to the last moment, and stood the final separation +without trusting her voice in the utterance of a single word. + +"God bless you, Lizzy!" were the parting words of the unhappy +emigrant, as he wrung the passive hand of his wife, and then forced +himself away. + +The voyage to New York was performed in five weeks. On his arrival +in that city, Ward sought among his countrymen for such information +as would be useful to him in obtaining employment. By some of these, +the propriety of advertising was suggested. Ward followed the +suggestion, and by so doing happily obtained, within a week after +his arrival, the offer of a good situation as overseer and gardener +upon a large farm fifty miles from the city. The wages were far +better than any he had received in England. + +"Are you a single man?" asked the sturdy old farmer, after Ward had +been a day or two at his new home. + +"No, sir; I have a wife in the old country," he replied, with a +slight appearance of confusion. + +"Have you? Well, Thomas, why didn't you bring her along?" + +"She was not willing to come to this country," returned Thomas. + +"Then why did you come?" + +"Because it was better to do so than to starve where I was." + +"It doesn't matter about your wife, I suppose?" + +"Why not?" Thomas spoke quickly, and knit his brows. + +"If _you_ couldn't live in England, what is your _wife_ to do?" + +"I shall send her half of my wages." + +"Ah, that's the calculation, is it? But it seems to me that it would +have been a saving in money as well as comfort, if she had come with +you. Does she know any thing about dairy work?" + +"Yes, sir; she was raised on a dairy farm." + +"Then she's a regular-bred English dairy maid?" + +"She is, and none better in the world." + +"Just the person I want. You must write home for her, Thomas, and +tell her she must come over immediately." + +But Thomas shook his head. + +"Won't she come?" + +"I cannot tell. But she refused to come with me, although I +repeatedly urged her. She must now take her own course. I felt, it +to be my duty to her as well as to myself, to leave England for a +better land; and if she thinks it her duty to stay behind, I must +bear the separation the best way I can." + +"I hope you had no quarrel, Thomas?" said the farmer, in his blunt +way. + +"No, sir," said Thomas, a little indignantly. "We never had the +slightest difference, except in this matter." + +"Then write home by the next steamer and ask her to join you, and +she will be here by the earliest packet, and glad to come." + +But Thomas shook his head. The man had his share of stubborn pride. + +"As you will," said the farmer. "But I can tell you what, if she'd +been my wife, I'd have taken her under my arm and brought her along +in spite of all objections. It's too silly, this giving up to and +being fretted about a woman's whims and prejudices. I'll be bound, +if you'd told her she must come, and packed her trunk for her to +show that you were in earnest, she'd never have dreamed of staying +behind." + +That evening Thomas wrote home to his wife all about the excellent +place he had obtained, and was particular to say that he had agreed +to remain for a year, and would send her half of his wages every +month. Not one word, however, did he mention of the conversation +that had passed between him and the farmer; nor did he hint, even +remotely, to her joining him in the United States. + +All the next day Thomas thought about what the farmer had said, and +thought how happy both he and Lizzy might be if she would only come +over and take charge of the dairy. The longer this idea remained +present in his mind, the more deeply did it fix itself there. On the +second night he dreamed that Lizzy was with him, that she had come +over in the very next packet, and that they were as happy as they +could be. He felt very bad when he awoke and found that it was only +a dream. + +At last, after a week had passed, Thomas Ward fully forgave his wife +every thing, and sat himself down to write her a long letter, filled +with all kinds of arguments, reasons, and entreaties favourable to a +voyage across the Atlantic. Thus he wrote, in part:-- + +......."As to wild Indians, Lizzy, of which you have such fear, +there are none within a thousand miles, and they are tame enough. +The fierce animals are all killed, and I have not seen a single +serpent, except a garter snake, that is as harmless as a tow string. +Come then, Lizzy, come! I have not known a happy moment since I left +you, and I am sure you cannot be happy. This is a land of peace and +plenty--a land where--" + +Thomas Ward did not know that a stranger had entered the room, and +was now looking over his shoulder, and reading what he had written. +Just as his pen was on the sentence left unfinished above, a pair of +soft hands were suddenly drawn across his eyes, and a strangely +familiar voice said, tremblingly--"Guess who it is!" + +Before he had time to think or to guess, the hands passed from his +eyes to his neck, and a warm wet cheek was laid tightly against his +own. He could not see the face that lay so close to his, but he knew +that Lizzy's arms were around him, that her tears were upon his +face, and that her heart was beating against him. + +"Bless us!" ejaculated the old farmer, who had followed after the +young woman who had asked at the door with such an eager interest +for Thomas Ward--"what does all this mean?" + +By this time Thomas had gained a full view of his wife's tearful but +happy face. Then he hugged her to his bosom over and over again, +much to the surprise and delight of the farmer's urchins, who +happened to be in the room. + +"Here she is, sir; here she is!" he cried to the farmer, as soon as +he could see any thing else but Lizzy's face, and then first became +aware of the old gentleman's presence; "here is your English dairy +maid." + +"Then it's your wife, Thomas, sure enough." + +"Oh, yes, sir; I thought she would be along after a while, but +didn't expect this happiness so soon." + +"How is this, my young lady?" asked the farmer, +good-humouredly--"how is this? I thought you wasn't going to come to +this country. But I suppose the very next packet after your husband +left saw you on board. All I blame him for is not taking you under +his arm, as I would have done, and bringing you along as so much +baggage. But no doubt you found it much pleasanter coming over alone +than it would have been in company with your husband--no doubt at +all of it." + +The kind-hearted farmer then took his children out of the room, and, +closing the door, left the reunited husband and wife alone. Lizzy +was too happy to say any thing about how wrong she had been in not +consenting to go with her husband; but she owned that he had not +been gone five minutes before she would have given the world, if she +had possessed it, to have been with him. Ten days afterwards another +packet sailed for the United States, and she took passage in it. On +arriving in New York she was fortunate enough to fall in with a +passenger who had come over in the Shamrock, and from him learned +where she could find her husband, who acknowledged that she had +given him the most agreeable surprise he had ever known in his life. + +Lizzy has never yet had cause to repent of her voyage to America. +The money she received for managing the dairy of the old farmer, +added to what her husband could save from his salary, after +accumulating for some years, was at length applied to the purchase +of a farm, the produce of which, sold yearly in New York, leaves +them a handsome annual surplus over and above their expenses. Thomas +Ward is in a fair way of becoming a substantial and wealthy farmer. + + + + + + +MARRYING A TAILOR. + + + + + +"KATE, Kate!" said Aunt Prudence, shaking her head and finger at the +giddy girl. + +"It's true, aunt. What! marry a tailor? The ninth part of a man, +that doubles itself down upon a board, with thimble, scissors, and +goose! Gracious!" + +"I've heard girls talk before now, Kate; and I've seen them act, +too; and, if I am to judge from what I've seen, I should say that +you were as likely to marry a tailor as anybody else." + +"I'd hang myself first!" + +"Would you?" + +"Yes, or jump into the river. Do any thing, in fact, before I'd +marry a tailor." + +"Perhaps you would not object to a merchant tailor?" + +"Perhaps I would, though! A tailor's a tailor, and that is all you +can make of him. 'Merchant tailor!' Why not say merchant shoemaker, +or merchant boot-black? Isn't it ridiculous?" + +"Ah well, Kate," said Aunt Prudence, "you may be thankful if you get +an honest, industrious, kind-hearted man for a husband, be he a +tailor or a shoemaker. I've seen many a heart-broken wife in my day +whose husband was not a tailor. It isn't in the calling, child, that +you must look for honour or excellence, but in the man. As Burns +says--'The man's the goud for a' that.'" + +"But a _man_ wouldn't stoop to be a tailor." + +"You talk like a thoughtless, silly girl, as you are, Kate. But time +will take all this nonsense out of you, or I am very much mistaken. +I could tell you a story about marrying a tailor, that would +surprise you a little." + +"I should like, above all things in the world, to hear a story of +any interest, in which a tailor was introduced." + +"I think I could tell you one." + +"Please do, aunt. It would be such a novelty. A very _rara avis_, as +brother Tom says. I shall laugh until my sides ache." + +"If you don't cry, Kate, I shall wonder," said Aunt Prudence, +looking grave. + +"Cry? oh, dear! And all about a tailor! But tell the story, aunt." + +"Some other time, dear." + +"Oh, no. I'm just in the humour to hear it now. I'm as full of fun +as I can stick, and shall need all this overflow of spirits to keep +me up while listening to the pathetic story of a tailor." + +"Perhaps you are right, Kate. It may require all the spirits you can +muster," returned Aunt Prudence, in a voice that was quite serious. +"So I will tell you the story now." + +And Aunt Prudence thus began: + +A good many years ago,--I was quite a young girl then,--two children +were left orphans, at the age of eleven years. They were +twins--brother and sister. Their names I will call Joseph and Agnes +Fletcher. The death of their parents left them without friends or +relatives; but a kind-hearted tailor and his wife, who lived +neighbours, took pity on the children and gave them a home. Joseph +was a smart, intelligent lad, and the tailor thought he could do no +better by him than to teach him his trade. So he set him to work +with the needle, occasionally sent him about on errands, and let him +go to school during the slack season. Joseph was a willing boy, as +well as attentive, industrious, and apt to learn. He applied himself +to his books and also to his work, and thereby gave great +satisfaction to the good tailor. Agnes was employed about the house +by the tailor's wife, who treated her kindly. + +As Joseph grew older, he became more useful to his master, for he +rapidly acquired a knowledge of his trade, and did his work +remarkably well. At the same time, a desire to improve his mind made +him studious and thoughtful. While other boys were amusing +themselves, Joseph was alone with his book. At the age of eighteen +he had grown quite tall, and was manly in his appearance. He had +already acquired a large amount of information on various subjects, +and was accounted by those who knew him a very intelligent young +man. About this time, a circumstance occurred that influenced his +whole after-life. He had been introduced by a friend to several +pleasant families, which he visited regularly. In one of these +visits, he met a young lady, the daughter of a dry-goods dealer, +toward whom he felt, from the beginning, a strong attachment. Her +name was Mary Dielman. Led on by his feelings, he could not help +showing her some attention, which she evidently received with +satisfaction. One evening, he was sitting near where she was +chatting away at a lively rate, in the midst of a gay circle of +young girls, and, to his surprise, chagrin, and mortification, heard +her ridiculing, as you too often do, the business at which he was +serving an apprenticeship. + +"Marry a tailor!" he heard her say, in a tone of contempt. "I would +drown myself first." + +This was enough. Joseph's feelings were like the leaves of a +sensitive plant. He did not venture near the thoughtless girl during +the evening, and whenever they again met, he was distant and formal. +Still, the thought of her made the blood flow quicker through his +veins, and the sight of her made his heart throb with a sudden +bound. + +From that time, Joseph, who had looked forward with pleasure to the +period when, as a man, he could commence his business, and prosecute +it with energy and success, became dissatisfied with the trade he +was learning. The contemptuous words of Mary Dielman made him feel +that there was something low in the calling of a tailor--something +beneath the dignity of a man. He did not reason on the subject; he +only felt. Gradually he withdrew himself from society, and shut +himself up at home, devoting all his leisure to reading and study. +This was continued until he attained the age of manhood, soon after +which he procured the situation of clerk in a dry-goods store. At +his trade he could easily earn twelve dollars a week; but he left +it, because he was silly enough to be ashamed of it, and went into a +dry-goods store at a salary of four hundred dollars a year. As a +clerk he felt more like a man. Why he should, is more than I can +comprehend. But so it was. + +As for Mary Dielman, she was not aware, at the time when she felt so +pleased with the attentions of Joseph Fletcher, that he was a +tailor--a calling for which she always expressed the most supreme +contempt. Her thoughtless words were not, therefore, meant for his +ears. The fact that she had uttered them was not remembered ten +minutes after they were spoken. Why she no longer met the +fine-looking, attentive and intelligent young man, she did not know. +Often she thought of him, and often searched the room for him, with +her eyes, when in company. + +Nearly four years passed before they again met. Then Joseph was +greatly improved, and so was the beautiful maiden. The +half-extinguished fire of love, that had been smouldering in their +bosoms, rekindled, and now burned with a steady flame. They saw each +other frequently, and it was not long before the young man told her +all that was in his heart, and she heard the story with tremulous +delight. + +The father of Mary, although a merchant, was not nearly so well off +in the world as many tailors. His family was expensive and drew too +heavily upon his income. The capital employed in trade was therefore +kept low, and his operations were often crippled for want of +adequate means. He had nothing, therefore, to settle upon his +daughter. When young Fletcher applied for her hand, his salary was +five hundred dollars. Mr. Dielman thought his prospects not over +flattering, but still gave his consent; at the same time advising +him not to think of marriage for a year or two, when he would no +doubt be in a better condition to take a wife. + +The young couple, like most young couples, were impatient to be +married; and Joseph Fletcher, in order to be in a condition that +would justify him in talking a wife, was impatient to go into +business. Somehow or other, it had entered his mind that any young +man of business capacity and enterprise could do well in the West; +and he finally made up his mind to take a stock of goods, which he +found no difficulty in obtaining, and go to Madison, in Indiana. +Before starting, however, he engaged to return in six months, or so +soon as he was fairly under way, and make Mary his wife. At the time +named, he was back, when the marriage took place, and he returned +with his bride to Madison. + +At the trade of a tailor, the young man had served an apprenticeship +of seven years. He was a good workman, and had, during the last two +years of his apprenticeship, assisted his master in cutting; so that +in the art to which he was educated he was thoroughly at home; and, +in setting it up, would have been sure of success. But success was +by no means so certain a thing in the new pursuit unwisely adopted. +He had been familiar with it for only about two years; in that time +he had performed his part as a clerk to the entire satisfaction of +his employers; but he had not gained sufficient knowledge of the +principles of trade, nor was his experience enlarged enough to +justify his entering into business, especially as he did not possess +a dollar of real capital. The result was as might have been +expected. A year and a half of great difficulty and anxiety was all +the time required to bring his experiment to a close. + +Finding that he was in difficulty, two or three of his principal +eastern creditors, whose claims were due, sent out their accounts to +a lawyer, With directions to put them in suit immediately. This +brought his affairs to a crisis. An arrangement was made for the +benefit of all the creditors, and the young man thrown out of +business, with less than a hundred dollars in his pocket. Nearly +about the same time, Mr. Dielman, the father of his wife, failed +likewise. + +As a serious loss has been sustained by his eastern creditors on +account of the unfortunate termination of his business, Fletcher +could not think of going back. He therefore sought to obtain +employment as a clerk in Madison. Failing in this, he visited +Louisville and Cincinnati, but with no better success. He was +unknown in the two last-named cities, and therefore his failure to +obtain employment there was no matter of surprise. + +Things now wore a very serious aspect. A few weeks found the unhappy +young man reduced to the extremity of breaking up and selling his +furniture by auction in order to get money to live upon. There was +scarcely a store in Madison at which he had not sought for +employment. But all his efforts proved vain. He had a good trade; +why, you will ask, did he not endeavour to get work at that? You +forget. It was the trade of a tailor!--the calling so despised by +his wife. How could he own to her that he was but a tailor! How +could he break to her the disgraceful truth that she had married a +tailor! + +The money obtained by selling their furniture did not last a very +long time. + +"I will make another effort to obtain employment in Cincinnati," +said the young man, after they were reduced almost to their last +dollar. "It is useless to try any longer in this place. I have +waited and hoped for some favourable turn of fortune, until my heart +is sick." + +His wife made no objection, for she had none to make. + +On the next day, Fletcher left for Cincinnati. He arrived there in +the night. On the following morning, he left the hotel at which he +had stopped, and, going into Main street, entered the first +merchant-tailor's shop that came in his way. + +"Have you any work?" he asked. + +"We have room for a journeyman, and are in want of one. Can you do +the best work?" + +"I can." + +"Did you serve your time in the city?" + +"No. I am from the East." + +"Very well. Here is a job all ready. You can go to work at once." + +The young man did not hesitate. He took the bundle of work that was +given him, and was shown into the back shop. He wrote home +immediately that he had obtained employment, which he hoped would be +permanent, and that he would be in Madison, Saturday about midnight, +and leave again on Sunday evening. He did not say, however, what +kind of employment he had procured. That was a secret he meant, if +possible, to conceal. When he met his wife, he evaded her direct +questions as to the kind of employment he was engaged in, somewhat +to her surprise. + +For a month, Fletcher went and returned from Cincinnati, weekly, +bringing home about eight dollars each week, after paying all his +expenses. By that time, his wife insisted so strongly upon going to +Cincinnati with him, and taking boarding, that he could make no +reasonable objection to the step. And so they removed, Fletcher +feeling many serious misgivings at heart, lest his wife should make +a discovery of the truth that she had married only a tailor! + +"Where did you say the store was at which you are employed?" she +asked, a day or two after they were comfortably settled at a very +pleasant boarding-house in Cincinnati. + +"On Main street," replied Fletcher, a little coldly. + +"What is the name of the firm? I forget." + +"Carter & Cassard." + +Fletcher could not lie outright to his wife, so he told her the +truth, but with great reluctance. + +No more was said then on the subject. About a week afterward, Mrs. +Fletcher said to her husband, "I was along Main street to-day, and +looked at the signs over every dry-goods store that I passed, but I +did not see that of Carter & Cassard." + +In spite of all he could do, the blood rushed to the face of the +young man, and his eyes fell under the steady look directed toward +him by his wife. + +"The store is there, nevertheless," said he. His manner and the tone +in which he spoke excited in the mind of his wife a feeling of +surprise. + +For the next four days, there was a strong conflict in Fletcher's +mind between false pride and duty. It grieves me to say that, in the +end, the former conquered. On Saturday night, he came home with a +troubled look, and told his wife that he had lost his situation, +which he said had only been a temporary one. In this he certainly +went beyond the truth, for he had given it up voluntarily. + +The poor young creature's heart sank in her. They had only been in +Cincinnati about two weeks; were among entire strangers, and all +means of subsistence were again taken from them. It is no wonder +that she wept bitterly upon receiving this sudden and distressing +intelligence. To see his wife in tears filled the heart of Fletcher +with the severest pangs. He more than half repented of what he had +done. But the thought of confessing that he was only a tailor made +him firm in his resolution to meet any consequence rather than that. + +"He was a fool!" exclaimed Kate, no longer able to restrain her +indignation against the young man, and thus breaking in upon her +aunt's narrative. + +"But remember, Kate, how contemptuously he had heard her speak of +his trade, and even vow that she would rather drown herself than +marry a tailor." + +"Suppose she did say this, when a thoughtless girl"-- + +"As you are, Kate." + +"Don't bring me into the matter, aunt. But suppose she did say so, +is that any reason for his starving her? He was bound to use his +best efforts for the support of his family, and ought to have been +thankful, under the circumstances, that he was a tailor." + +"So I think. And his wife ought to have been thankful too." + +"And I suppose she would have been if he had possessed the manliness +to tell her the truth." + +"No doubt in the world of that," returned Aunt Prudence, and then +resumed her narrative: + +A week was spent by the young man in another vain effort to find +employment as a clerk. Then he avowed his intention to go to +Louisville, and see if nothing could be done there. + +"Try longer here, Joseph. Don't go away yet, earnestly and tearfully +pleaded his wife. "You don't know how hard it is for me to be +separated from you. I am lonely through the day, and the nights +pass, oh! so heavily. Something may turn up for you here. Try for a +while longer." + +"But our money is nearly all gone. If I don't go now, I shall have +no means of getting away from this place. I feel sure that I can +find something to do there." + +His wife pleaded with him, but in vain. To Louisville he went, and +there got work at the first shop to which he made application. At +the end of a week he sent his wife money, and told her that he had +procured temporary employment. She wrote back asking if she might +not join him immediately. But to this he objected, on the score +that, as his situation was not a permanent one, he might, in a few +weeks, be obliged to leave Louisville and go somewhere else. This, +to his wife, was by no means satisfactory. But she could do no less +than submit. + +Thus separated, they lived for the next three months, Fletcher +visiting his wife and child once every two weeks, and spending +Sunday with them. During the time, he made good wages. But both +himself and wife were very unhappy. Earnestly did the latter plead +with her husband to be allowed to remove to Louisville. To this +however, he steadily objected. Daily he lived in the hope of +securing a clerkship in some store, and thus, being able to rise +above the low condition in which he was placed. The moment he +reached that consummation, so much desired, he would instantly +remove his family. + +At length, it happened that Fletcher did not write once, instead of +several times, during one of the periods of two weeks that he was +regularly absent. The Sunday morning when he was expected home +arrived, but it did not bring, as usual, his anxiously looked-for +presence. His wife was almost beside herself with alarm. No letter +coming on Monday, she took her child and started for Louisville in +the first boat. She arrived at daylight, on Tuesday morning, in a +strange city, herself a total stranger to all therein, except her +husband, and perfectly ignorant as to where he was to be found. The +captain of the steamboat kindly attended her to a boarding-house, +and there she was left, without a single clue in her mind as to the +means of finding her husband. Inquiries were made of all in the +boarding-house, but no one had heard even the name of Joseph +Fletcher. As soon as she could make arrangements to get out, Mrs. +Fletcher visited all the dry-goods stores in the city, for in some +one of these she supposed her husband to be employed, although he +had never stated particularly the kind of business in which he was +engaged. This search, after being continued for a greater part of +the day, turned out fruitless. Night found the unhappy wife in an +agony of suspense and alarm. Some one at the boarding-house advised +her to have an advertisement for her husband inserted in a morning +paper. She did not hesitate long about this course. In the morning, +a brief advertisement appeared; and about nine o'clock a man called +and asked to see her. + +She descended from her room to the parlour with a wildly throbbing +heart, but staggered forward and sank into a chair, weak almost as +an infant, when she saw that the man was a stranger, instead of her +husband, whom she had expected to meet. + +"Are you Mrs. Fletcher?" he asked. + +"I am," she faintly replied. + +"You advertised for information in regard to your husband?" + +"I did. Where is he? Oh, sir, has any thing happened to him?" + +"No, ma'am, nothing serious. He has only been sick for a week or ten +days; that is, the man I refer to has. Your husband is a tailor?" + +"Is the man you speak of a tailor?" eagerly asked Mrs. Fletcher. + +"He is, ma'am; and has been working for me at No.--Fourth street." + +"Then he is not my husband," replied the poor wife, bursting into +tears. "My husband is a clerk." In the bitterness of a keen +disappointment, rendered sharper by doubt and fear, Mrs. Fletcher +wept for some minutes. When she could command her feelings to some +extent, she thanked the tailor for calling, and repeated what she +had said, that the man at his house could not be her husband. + +"He is from Cincinnati, ma'am; and goes there once in every two +weeks. I know that he has wife and child there," said the man. + +"Still he cannot be my husband," replied Mrs. Fletcher; "for my +husband is not a tailor." + +"No, not in that case, certainly." And the man owed and withdrew. + +All day long the wife waited for some more satisfactory reply to her +advertisement, but no farther response to it was made. The call of +the tailor seemed like a mockery of her unhappy condition. + +Night came, and all remained in doubt and darkness; and then the +mind of Mrs. Fletcher turned to the visit of the tailor, half +despairingly, in order to find some feeble gleam of hope. Perhaps, +she said to herself, as she thought about it, there is some mistake. +Perhaps it is my husband after all, and the man is in some error +about his being a tailor. As she thought, it suddenly flashed +through her mind that there had been a good deal of mystery made by +her husband about his situation in Cincinnati as well as in +Louisville, which always struck her as a little strange. Could it be +possible that his real business was that of a tailor? All at once +she remembered that her husband had been particularly silent in +regard to his early history. Trembling with excitement, she left the +house about eight o'clock in the evening, and started for the place +where she remembered that the tailor said he lived. He was in his +shop, and recollected her the moment she entered. + +"Can I see the man you told me was named Fletcher?" she asked. + +"Yes, ma'am; and I sincerely hope there has been some mistake, and +that you will find him to be your husband; for he is very ill, and +needs to be nursed by a careful hand." + +Mrs. Fletcher followed the tailor up stairs, her heart scarcely +beating under the pressure of suspense. In a small chamber in the +third story, the atmosphere of which was close, oppressive, and +filled with an offensive odour, she was shown a man lying upon a +bed. She needed not a second glance, as the dim light fell upon his +pale, emaciated face, to decide her doubts. Her husband lay before +her. Eagerly she called his name, but his eyes did not open. She +spoke to him again and again, but he did not recognise, even if he +heard her voice. + +On inquiring, she found that he was ill with a violent fever, which +the doctor said was about at its crisis. This had been brought on by +too long continued labour--he having worked, often, sixteen and +seventeen hours out of the twenty-four--by that means earning a +third more wages than any journeyman in the shop. + +Alarmed and troubled as she was, Mrs. Fletcher was utterly +confounded by all this. She could not comprehend it. All night she +hovered over the pillow of her husband, giving him medicine at the +proper times, placing the cooling draught to his lips or bathing his +hot forehead. Frequently she called his name, earnestly and +tenderly, but the sound awoke no motions in his sluggish mind. +Toward morning, she was sitting with her face resting against a +pillow, when his voice, speaking distinctly, aroused her from a half +slumber into which she had, momentarily, lost herself. In an instant +she was leaning over him, with his name upon her lips. His eyes were +opens and he looked steadily into her face. But it was evident that +he did not know her. + +"Joseph! Joseph! don't you know me?" said she. "I am your wife. I am +here with you." + +"Poor Mary!" he murmured, sadly, not understanding what was said. +"If she knew all, it would break her heart." + +"What would break her heart?" quickly asked his wife. + +"Poor Mary! She said she would never marry"--here the sick man's +voice became inarticulate. + +But all was clear to the mind of Mrs. Fletcher. She remembered how +often she had made the thoughtless remark to which her husband +evidently referred. The tears again fell over her cheeks, until they +dropped even upon the face of her husband, who, after he had said +this, muttered for a while, inarticulately, and then, closing his +eyes, went off into sleep. + +Toward morning a slight moisture broke out all over him, and his +sleep that was heavy, became soft and tranquil. The crisis was past! +In order not to disturb the quiet slumberer, Mrs. Fletcher sat down +by the bedside perfectly still. It was not very long before, +over-wearied as she was, sleep likewise stole over her senses. It +was daylight when she was awakened by hearing her name called. +Starting up, she met the face of her husband turned earnestly toward +her. + +"Dear husband!" she exclaimed, "do you know me?" + +"Yes, Mary. But how came you here?" he said, in a feeble voice. + +"We will speak of that at some other time," she replied. "Enough +that I am here, where I ought to have been ten days ago. But that +was not my fault." + +Fletcher was about to make some farther remark, when his wife placed +her finger upon his lips, and said-- + +"You must not talk, dear; your disease has just made a favourable +change, and your life depends upon your being perfectly quiet. +Enough for me to say that I know all, and love you just as well, +perhaps better. You are a weak, foolish man, Joseph," she added, +with a smile, "or else thought me a weak and foolish woman. But all +that we can settle hereafter. Thank God that I have found you; and +that you are, to all appearances, out of danger." + +Aunt Prudence looked into Kate's face, and saw that tears were on +her cheeks. + +"Would you have loved him less, Kate," she asked, "if he had been +your husband?" + +"He would have been the same to me whatever might have been his +calling. That could not have changed him." + +"No, certainly not. But I have a word or two more to add. As soon as +Fletcher was well enough to go to work, he took his place again upon +the shop-board, his wife feeling happier than she had felt for a +long time. In about six months he rose to be foreman of the shop, +and a year after that became a partner in the business At the end of +ten years he sold out his interest in the business, and returned to +the East with thirty thousand dollars in cash. This handsome capital +enabled him to get into an old and well-established mercantile house +as partner, where he remained until his death. About the time of his +return to the East, you, Kate, were born." + +"I!" ejaculated the astonished girl. + +"Yes. Their two older children died while they were in Louisville, +and you, their third child, were born about six months before they +left." + +"I!" repeat Kate, in the same surprised tone of voice. + +"Yes, dear, you! I have given you a history of your own father and +mother. So, as you're the daughter of a tailor, you must not object +to a tailor for a husband, if he be the right kind of a man." + +It may very naturally be supposed that Kate had but little to say +against tailors after that, although we are by no means sure that +she had any intention of becoming the bride of one. + + + + + + +THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. + + + + + +"TWO offers at once! You are truly a favoured maiden, Rose," said +Annette Lewis to her young friend Rose Lilton, in a gay tone. "It is +husband or no husband with most of us; but you have a choice between +two." + +"And happy shall I be if I have the wisdom to choose rightly," was +the reply of Rose. + +"If it were my case, I don't think that I should have much +difficulty in making a choice." + +"Don't you? Suppose, then, you give me the benefit of your +preference." + +"Oh, no, not for the world!" replied Annette, laughing. "I'm afraid +you might be jealous of me afterwards." + +"Never fear. I am not of a jealous disposition." + +"No, I won't commit myself in regard to your lovers. But, if they +were mine, I would soon let it be known where my preference lay." + +"Then you won't assist me in coming to a decision? Surely I am +entitled to this act of friendship." + +"If you put it upon that ground, Rose, I do not see how I can +refuse." + +"I do put it upon that ground, Annette. And now I ask you, as a +friend, to give me your opinion of the two young men, James +Hambleton and Marcus Gray, who have seen such wonderful attractions +in my humble self as to become suitors for my hand at the same +time." + +"Decidedly, then, Rose, I should prefer Marcus Gray." + +"There is about him, certainly, Annette, much to attract a maiden's +eye and to captivate her heart but it has occurred to me that the +most glittering surface does not always indicate the purest gold +beneath. I remember once to have seen a massive chain, wrought from +pure ounces, placed beside another that was far inferior in quality, +but with a surface of ten times richer hue. Had I not been told the +difference, I would have chosen the latter as in every way more +valuable; but when it was explained that one bore the hue of genuine +gold, while the other had been coloured by a process known to +jewellers, I was struck with the lesson it taught." + +"What lesson, Rose?" + +"That the richest substance has not always the most glittering +exterior. That real worth, satisfied with the consciousness of +interior soundness of principle, assumes few imposing exterior +aspects and forms." + +"And that rule you apply to these two young men?" + +"By that rule I wish to be guided, in some degree, in my choice, +Annette. I wish to keep my mind so balanced, that it may not be +swayed from a sound discrimination by any thing of imposing +exterior." + +"But is not the exterior--that which meets the eye--all that we can +judge from? Is not the exterior a true expression of what is +within?" + +"Not by any means, Annette. I grant that it should be, but it is +not. Look at the fact I have just named respecting the gold chains." + +"But they were inanimate substances. They were not faces, where +thoughts, feelings, and principles find expression." + +"Do you suppose, Annette, that bad gold would ever have been +coloured so as to look even more beautiful than that which is +genuine, if there had not been men who assumed exterior graces and +virtues that were not in their minds? No. The very fact you adduce +strengthens my position. The time was, in the earlier and purer +ages--the golden ages of the world's existence--when the countenance +was the true index to the mind. Then it was a well-tuned instrument, +and the mind within a skilful player; to whose touch every muscle, +and chord, and minute fibre gave answering melody. That time has +passed. Men now school their faces to deception; it is an art which +nearly all practise--I and you too often. We study to hide our real +feelings; to appear, in a certain sense, what we are not. Look at +some men whom we meet every day, with faces whose calmness, I should +rather say rigidity, gives no evidence that a single emotion ever +crosses the waveless ocean of their minds. But it is not so; the +mind within is active with thought and feelings; but the instrument +formed for it to play upon has lost its tune, or bears only relaxed +or broken chords." + +"You have a strange, visionary way of talking sometimes, Rose," +replied Annette, as her friend ceased speaking. "All that may do for +your transcendentalists, or whatever you call them; but it won't do +when you come down to the practical matter-of-fact business of +life." + +"To me, it seems eminently a practical principle, Annette. We must +act, in all important matters in life, with a just discrimination; +and how can we truly discriminate, if we are not versed in those +principles upon which, and only upon which, right discriminations +can be made?" + +"I must confess, Rose," replied her young friend, "that I do not see +much bearing that all this has upon the matter under discussion; or, +at least, I cannot see the truth of its application. Gold never +assumes a leaden exterior." + +"Well?" + +"We need not be very eminent philosophers to tell one from the +other." + +"No, of course not." + +"Very well. Here is Marcus Gray, with a genuine golden exterior, and +James Hambleton with a leaden one." + +"I do not grant the position, Annette. It is true that Mr. Hambleton +is not so brilliant and showy; but I have found in him one quality +that I have not yet discovered in the other." + +"What is that?" + +"Depth of feeling, and high moral principle." + +"You certainly do not pretend to affirm that Mr. Gray has neither +feeling nor principle?" + +"Of course I do not. I only say that I have never yet perceived any +very strong indications of their existence." + +"Why, Rose!" + +"I am in earnest, Annette. I doubt not that he possesses both, and, +I trust, in a high degree. But he seems to be so constantly acting a +brilliant and effective part, that nature, unadorned and simple, has +no chance to speak out. It is not so with Mr. Hambleton. Every word +he utters shows that he is speaking what he really feels; and often, +though not so highly polished in speech as Mr. Gray, have I heard +him utter sentiments of genuine truth and humanity, in a tone that +made my heart bound with pleasure at recognising the simple +eloquence of nature. His character, Annette, I find it no way +difficult to read; that of Marcus Gray puzzles my closest scrutiny." + +"I certainly cannot sympathize with you in your singular notions, +Rose," her friend replied. "I have never discovered either of the +peculiarities in these young men that you seem to make of so much +importance. As for Mr. Gray, he is a man of whom any woman might +feel proud; for he combines intelligence with courteous manners and +a fine person: while this Hambleton is, to me, insufferably stupid. +And no one, I am sure, can call his address and manners any thing +like polished. Indeed, I should pronounce him downright boorish and +awkward. Who would want a man for a husband of whom she would be +ashamed? Not I, certainly." + +"I will readily grant you, Annette," said Rose, as her friend ceased +speaking, "that Mr. Hambleton's exterior attractions are not to be +compared with those of Mr. Gray; but, as I said before, in a matter +like this, where it is the quality of the mind, and not the external +appearance of the man alone, that is to give happiness, it behooves +a maiden to look beneath the surface, as I am trying to do now." + +"But I could not love a man like Mr. Hambleton, unless, indeed, +there were no possibility of getting any one else. In that case, I +would make a choice of evils between single blessedness and such a +husband. But to have two such offers as these, Rose, and hesitate to +make a choice, strikes me as singular indeed!" + +"I do not hesitate, Annette," was the quiet reply. + +"Have you, then, indeed decided, Rose?" + +"I have--and this conversation has caused me to decide; for, as it +has progressed, my mind has been enabled to see truly the real +difference in the characters of my suitors." + +"You have, then, decided in favor of Mr. Gray?" + +"Indeed I have not, Annette. Though I admire his fine talents and +his polished exterior, yet I have never been able to perceive in him +those qualities upon which my heart can rest in confidence. He may +possess these in even a higher degree than Mr. Hambleton, but I am +afraid to run so great a risk. In the latter, I know there are moral +qualities that I can love, and that I can repose upon." + +"But he is so dull, Rose." + +"I really do not think so, Annette. There is not so much flash about +him, if I may use the word, as about Mr. Gray. But as to his being +dull, I must beg to differ with you. To me, his conversation is +always interesting." + +"It never is so to me. And, besides all that, his tastes and mine +are as widely different as the poles. Why, Rose, if you become his +wife, you will sink into obscurity at once. He never can make any +impression on society. It is not in him." + +"Rather make no impression on society at all, than a false or +disgraceful one, say I," was the firm reply of Rose. + +"You cannot, certainly, mean to say," returned her friend, "that the +impression made upon society by Mr. Gray is either a false or +disgraceful one." + +"I should be sorry to make that assertion, for I do not believe such +to be the case," Rose replied. "What I mean is, that I can read Mr. +Hambleton's true character, and I know it to be based upon fixed and +high-toned principles. These can never make the woman who truly +loves him unhappy. They give place to no moral contingencies, by +which hopes are so often wrecked, and hearts broken. Now, in regard +to Mr. Gray, there is nothing in his character, so far as I can, +read it, upon which to predicate safe calculations of this kind. He +is intelligent, and highly interesting as a companion. His personal +appearance and his address are attractive. But all below the +exterior is hidden. The moral qualities of the man never show +themselves. I feel that to give my heart to such a one would be +risking too much. Of course, I must decline his offer." + +"Indeed, indeed, Rose, I think you are very foolish!" + +"Time will show, Annette." + +"Yes, time will show," was the prophetic response. And time did show +that Rose made a right choice, when she accepted the offer of James +Hambleton, and gave him, with her hand, a warm, true heart. + + + + + + +THE FORTUNE-HUNTER. + + + + + +"I KNOW a young lady who will suit you exactly." + +"Indeed!" + +"It's a fact. She is just the thing." + +"Is she rich?" + +"Of course." + +"How rich?" + +"Worth some fifty thousand dollars." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Certainly. Her father died about a year ago, and she was his only +child. Her mother has been dead many years. The old man was well +off, and his daughter received all of his property, and, as she is +of age, she has it all under her own control." + +"Is she handsome?" + +"Just so-so. But that don't matter a great deal. Gold is beautiful" + +"Exactly. And intelligent?" + +"I've seen smarter girls. But that's all the better, you know." + +"Yes. Well now, who is she? That's the next question." + +"Her name is Margaretta Riston, and she is now living with an old +aunt in Sycamore street." + +"Are you acquainted?" + +"Intimately." + +"Then be kind enough to introduce me forthwith. I must make a +conquest of some rich heiress soon, or I shall have to run away, or +petition for the benefit of the Insolvent Law." + +"To-night, if you choose." + +"Very well--let it be to-night. There is no time to be lost." + +"Suppose she won't accept you?" + +"She must. I'm as good-looking a fellow as you'll find in a dozen; +and I flatter myself that I have a smooth tongue in my head." + +"Well, success to you, I say! But look here, Smith: if you succeed, +I shall expect a premium." + +"There'll be no difficulty about that, Perkins. But let me secure +the prize first; and then say how much you'll want. You'll not find +me the man to forget a friend." + +"I'm sure of that," responded the other, laughing. + +And then the friends shook each other's hands heartily, promising, +as they parted, to meet early in the evening, preparatory to +visiting the heiress. + +"You would not have me suspicious of every young man who visits me!" +said Margaretta Riston, in reply to a remark made by her aunt, on +the same evening that the two young men had proposed calling on her. + +"I would rather have you suspicious, or, rather, exceedingly +watchful, than to be altogether off of your guard. Many dangers +beset the path of a rich young girl like you. There are, and I am +sorry to say it, too many young men in society, who are mere +money-hunters--young men who would marry an heiress during the first +hour of their acquaintance, and marry her, of course, only for her +money." + +"I can hardly credit it, aunt. And I am sure that no young men of my +acquaintance are so selfish and mercenary!" + +"In that assumption lies a fatal error, believe me, my dear niece! +Too many, alas! too many young girls have vainly imagined, as you do +now, that, though there might be men of base characters in society, +none such were of their acquaintances. These have awakened from +their fatal error with the sad consciousness that they had become +victims to their fond infidelity. Rather suspect all until you have +convincing evidence to the contrary, than remain unguarded until it +is too late." + +"But don't you see, aunt, how in this case I would do wrong to +sincere and honest minds? And I cannot bear the thought of doing +wrong to any one." + +"You do no wrong to any one, my niece, in with-holding full +confidence until there is evidence that full confidence may be +safely bestowed. In the present evil state of the world, involving, +as it does, so much of false appearance, hypocrisy, and selfish +motive, it is absolutely necessary, especially with one in your +situation, to withhold all confidence, until there is unquestionable +proof of virtuous principle." + +"There is at least one young man, who visits here, that I think is +above such mean suspicions," Margaretta said. + +"So I think," the aunt replied. + +"Whom do you mean, aunt?" + +"I mean Thomas Fielding." + +"Thomas Fielding! Well, he may be; but--" + +"But what, Margaretta?" + +"Oh, nothing, aunt. But I do not like Mr. Fielding so very much." + +"Why not, child?" + +"I can hardly tell. But there is no character about him." + +"No character! Really, Margaretta, you surprise me. There is more +character and principle about him than about any young man who comes +to this house." + +"I cannot think so, aunt. He is too tame, prosy, and old-fashioned +for me." + +"Whom then did you mean?" the aunt asked, with an expression of +concern in her tones. + +"Why, Mr. Perkins, to be sure." + +The aunt shook her head. + +"I am afraid, Margaretta, that Mr. Perkins is a man of few +principles, but thoroughly selfish ones." + +"How strangely you talk, aunt! Why, he is any thing but a selfish +man. I am sure he is the most gentlemanly, thoughtful, and polite +man that visits here. He is much more attentive to others, in +company, than Mr. Fielding; and that, I am sure, indicates a kinder +regard for others." + +"Not always, Margaretta. It may sometimes indicate a cold-hearted, +calm assurance, assumed for selfish ends; while its opposite may be +from a natural reserve or timidity of character." + +"But you don't mean to say, surely, that Mr. Perkins is such a one +as you intimate?" + +"If I am correct in my observation, he is all that I have +insinuated. In a word, he is, in my opinion, a mere money-hunter." + +"I am sure, aunt, he is not so constant in his attentions as he was +some time, ago; and, if he were merely a money-hunter, he would not, +of course, abate those attentions." + +"No--not unless he had discovered a richer prize." + +"Indeed, aunt, you wrong him." + +"I should be sorry to do so, Margaretta. But I do not form my +opinions hastily. I try to look close before I come to conclusions. +But I have stronger testimony than my own observations." + +"What is that?" + +"Why, I heard this morning that he is to be married in a few weeks +to Harriet Pomeroy." + +"Indeed, you must be mistaken, aunt," said Margaretta, suddenly +rising to her feet. + +"I presume not," was the quiet reply. "My information came almost +direct." + +The entrance of visitors now interrupted the conversation. + +"Permit me to introduce my very particular friend, Mr. Smith," said +the individual about whom the aunt and her niece were conversing, as +he entered the handsome parlour of Mrs. Riston. + +Mr. Smith and Mr. Perkins were, of course, received with great +affability by Margaretta, who concealed the impression made upon her +mind by the piece of information just conveyed by her aunt. + +As for Mrs. Riston, she was studiedly polite, but gave the young men +no very apparent encouragement. An hour soon passed away, and then +the visitors retired. + +"Well, Smith, what do you think of her?" asked Perkins, as the two +gained the street. + +"You're sure she's worth fifty thousand dollars?" + +"Oh, yes. There's no mistake about that." + +"But _how_ do you know? This is a matter about which there should be +no mistake." + +"I got a friend to examine the transfer books of the bank where the +stock is. Will that satisfy you?" + +"You did? And pray why did you do that?" + +"A strange question! but I'll tell you, as you seem dull. I had a +notion of her myself." + +"You had?" + +"I had." + +"And why did you get out of the notion?" + +"Because I saw another whom I liked better." + +"She was richer, I suppose." + +"How can you insinuate such a thing?" And Perkins laughed in a low, +meaning chuckle. + +"Ah, I perceive. Well, how much is she worth?" + +"About a hundred thousand." + +"Are you sure of her?" + +"Certainly! The thing's all settled." + +"You're a lucky dog, Perkins! But see here, what did you mean by the +premium you talked of for bringing about a match between me and Miss +Riston?" + +"Oh, as to that, I was only jesting. But you haven't told me how you +like the young lady yet." + +"Oh, she'll do, I reckon," said Smith, tossing his head half +contemptuously. + +"Do you think you can secure her?" + +"Easily enough. But then I must get her away as often as possible +from that old Cerberus of an aunt. I didn't like her looks at all." + +"She's suspicious." + +"That's clear. Well, she must be wide awake if I commence playing +against her in real earnest. I can win any girl's affections that I +choose." + +"You have a pretty fair conceit of yourself, I see." + +"I wouldn't give a cent for a man that hadn't. The fact is, Perkins, +these girls have but one end in view, and that is to get married. +They know that they have to wait to be asked, and, trembling in fear +lest they shall not get another offer, they are always ready to jump +eagerly at the first." + +"Pretty true, I believe. But, Smith, don't you think Margaretta +quite a fair specimen of a girl?" + +"Oh, yes. And I have no doubt that I shall love her well enough, if +she don't attempt to put on airs, and throw up to me that she was +rich, and I poor. I'll never stand that." + +"She'll not be so foolish, I presume." + +"She'd better not, I can tell her, if she doesn't wish to get into +hot water." And the young man laughed at his own half-in-earnest +jesting. + +"He's a very agreeable young man, isn't he, aunt?" said Margaretta, +after the two young men had gone away. + +"Who? Mr. Smith, as Mr. Perkins called him?" + +"Yes." + +"He has a smooth enough tongue, if that is any recommendation; but I +do not like him. Indeed, he is far more disagreeable to me than his +very particular friend, Mr. Perkins." + +"Oh, aunt, how can you talk so! I'm sure he was very agreeable. At +least, I thought so." + +"That was because he flattered you so cleverly." + +"How _can_ you insinuate such a thing, aunt? Surely I am not so weak +and vain as to be imposed upon and beguiled by a flatterer!" + +"Some men understand how to flatter very ingeniously; and, to me, +Mr. Smith seemed peculiarly adept in the art. He managed it so +adroitly as to give it all the effect, without its being apparent to +the subject of his experiments." + +"Indeed, aunt, you are mistaken. I despise a flatterer as much as +you do. But I am sure that I saw nothing like flattery about Mr. +Smith." + +"I am sorry that you did not, Margaretta. But take my advice, and be +on your guard. That man's motives in coming to see you, believe me, +are not the purest in the world." + +"You are far too suspicious, aunt; I am sure you are." + +"Perhaps I have had cause. At any rate, Margaretta, I have lived +longer in, and seen much more of the world than you have, and I +ought to have a clearer perception of character. For your own sake, +then, try and confide in my judgment." + +"I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see +as you do in this particular instance." + +"Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own +observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to +mine." + +To this Margaretta did not reply. It seemed too much like giving up +her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain +her aunt by objections. + +On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young +man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her +aunt. He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did +Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and +real common sense. After he had retired, Margaretta said-- + +"Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of +Thomas Fielding." + +"Why not, my dear?" asked the aunt. + +"Oh, I don't know; but he is so dull and prosy." + +"I am sure he don't seem dull to me, Margaretta. He doesn't talk a +great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized +by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind." + +"But don't you think, aunt, that my money has some influence in +bringing him here?" And Margaretta looked up archly into her aunt's +face. + +"It may have, for aught I can tell. We cannot see the motives of any +one. But I should be inclined to think that money would have little +influence with Thomas Fielding, were not every thing else in +agreement. He is, I think, a man of fixed and genuine principles." + +"No doubt, aunt. But, still, I can't relish his society. And if I +can't, I can't." + +"Very true. If you can't enjoy his company, why you can't. But it +cannot be, certainly, from any want, on his part, of gentlemanly +manners, or kind attentions to you." + +"No; but, then, he is so dull. I should die if I had no other +company." + +"Indeed, my child," Aunt Riston said, in a serious tone," you ought +to make the effort to esteem and relish the society of those who +have evidently some stability of character, and whose conversation +has in it the evidence of mature observation, combined with sound +and virtuous principles, more than you do the flippant nonsense of +mere ladies' men, or selfish, unprincipled fortune-hunters." + +"Indeed, aunt, you are too severe on my favourites!" And Margaretta +laughed gaily. + +But to her aunt there was something sad in the sound of that laugh. +It seemed like the knell of long and fondly cherished hopes. + +"What do you think of Margaretta Riston, Mary?" asked Thomas +Fielding of his sister, on the next evening after the visit just +mentioned. + +"Why do you ask so seriously, brother?" the sister said, looking +into his face, with a smile playing about her lips. + +"For a serious reason, sister. Can you guess what it is?" + +"Perhaps so, and therefore I will not tax your modesty so far as to +make you confess it." + +"Very well, Mary. And now answer my question. What do you think of +Margaretta?" + +"I know nothing against her, brother." + +"Nothing against her! Don't you know any thing in her favour?" + +"Well, perhaps I do. She is said to be worth some fifty thousand +dollars." + +"Nonsense, Mary! What do I care about her fifty thousand dollars? +Don't you know any thing else in her favour?" + +"Why, yes, brother. As long as you seem so serious about the matter, +I think Margaretta a fine girl. She is amiable in disposition--is +well educated--tolerably good-looking, and, I think, ordinarily +intelligent." + +"Ordinarily intelligent!" + +"Yes. Certainly there is nothing extraordinary about her." + +"No, of course not." + +"Well, brother, what next?" + +"Why, simply, Mary, I like Margaretta very much. The oftener I see +her, the more am I drawn towards her. To tell the plain, homely +truth, I love her." + +"And don't care any thing about her fifty thousand dollars?" + +"No Mary, I don't think I do. Indeed, if I know my own feelings, I +would rather she were not worth a dollar." + +"And why so, Thomas?" + +"Because, I fear the perverting influence of wealth on her mind. I +am afraid her position will give her false views of life. I wish to +marry for a _wife_--not for _money_. I can make money myself." + +"Still, Thomas, Margaretta is, I think, an innocent-minded, good +girl. I do not see that she has been much warped by her position." + +"So she seems to me, and I am glad that my sister's observation +corroborates my own. And now, Mary, do you think I have any thing to +hope?" + +"Certainly, I do." + +"But why do you think so?" + +"Because Margaretta must have good sense enough to see that you are +a man of correct principles, and an affectionate disposition." + +"Still, she may not see in me that which interests her sufficiently +to induce her to marry me." + +"That is true. But I don't believe you have any thing to fear." + +"I cannot help fearing, Mary, for the simple reason, that I find my +affections so much interested. A disappointment would be attended +with extreme pain." + +"Then I would end suspense at once." + +"I will. To-morrow evening I will declare my feelings." + +It was about nine o'clock on the next evening, while Mary Fielding +sat reading by the centre-table, that her brother entered hastily, +and threw himself upon the sofa, a deep sigh escaping him as he did +so. + +"What ails you, Thomas?" inquired his sister, rising and approaching +him. + +But he made no reply. + +"Tell me, what ails you, Thomas?" Mary urged, taking his hand +affectionately. + +"I have been to see Margaretta," the brother at length replied, in +as calm a voice as he could assume. + +"And she has not, surely, declined your offer?" + +"She has, and with what appeared to me an intimation that I loved +her money, perhaps, better than herself." + +"Surely not, brother!" + +"To me it seemed so. Certainly she treated lightly my declaration, +and almost jested with me." + +The sister stood silent for some moments, and then said-- + +"The woman who could thus jest with you, Thomas, is unworthy of +you." + +"So I am trying to convince myself. But the trial is a deeply +painful one." + +And painful it proved for many weeks afterwards. But, finally, he +was enabled to rise above his feelings + +In the mean time, Mr. Smith had wooed the heiress successfully, and, +in doing so, his own heart had become interested, or, at least, he +deceived himself into the belief that such was the case. He no +longer jested, as he had done at first, about her money, nor +declared, even to his friend Perkins, how strong an influence it had +upon his affections. More serious thoughts of marriage had caused +these selfish motives to retire out of sight and acknowledgment; but +still they existed and still ruled his actions. + +The aunt, when Margaretta made known to her that the young man had +offered himself, was pained beyond measure, particularly as it was +evident that her niece favoured the suitor. + +"Indeed, Margaretta," said she, earnestly, "he is not worthy of +you!" + +"You judge him harshly, aunt," the niece replied. "I know him to be +all that either of us could wish for." + +"But how do you know, Margaretta?" + +"I have observed him closely, and am sure that, I cannot be deceived +in him." + +"Alas! my child, if you know nothing beyond your own observation, +you are far more ignorant than you suppose. Be guided, then, by +me--trust more to my observation than your own. He is not the man to +make you happy! Let me urge you, then, to keep him at a distance." + +"I should do injustice to my own feelings, aunt, and to my own sense +of right, were I to do so. In a word, and to speak out plainly, he +offered himself last evening, and I accepted him!" + +"Rash girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Riston, lifting her hands in +astonishment and pain, "how could you thus deceive your best friend? +How so sadly deceive yourself?" + +"Do not distress yourself so, aunt. You have mistaken the character +of Mr. Smith. He is, in every way, a different man from what you +think him. He is altogether worthy of my regard and your confidence. +I do not wish to deceive you, aunt; but you set yourself so +resolutely against Mr. Smith from the first that I could not make up +my mind to brave your opposition to a step which I was fully +convinced it was right for me to take." + +"Ah, Margaretta! You know not what you are doing. Marriage is a far +more serious matter than you seem to think it. Look around among +your young acquaintances, and see how many have wedded unhappily. +And why? Because marriages were rushed into from a fond impulse, +vainly imagined to be true affection. But no true affection can +exist where there is not a mutual knowledge of character and +qualities of mind. Now what do you know, really, about Mr. Smith? +What does he know about you? Why, nothing! I want no stronger +evidence of his unworthy motives, than the fact of his having +offered himself after a three weeks' acquaintance. What could he +know of you in that time? Surely not enough to be able to determine +whether you would make him a suitable wife or not--enough, perhaps, +to be satisfied of the amount of your wealth." + +"You are unjust towards Mr. Smith," said Margaretta, half +indignantly. + +"Not half so unjust as he is towards you. But surely, my niece, you +will reconsider this whole matter, and take full time to reflect." + +"I cannot reconsider, aunt. My word is passed, and I would suffer +any thing rather than break my word." + +"You will suffer your heart to be broken, if you do not." + +"Time will prove that!" and Margaretta tossed her head with a kind +of mock defiance. + +"Have you fixed your wedding day?" the aunt asked after a few +moments' silence. + +"Not yet. But Mr. Smith wants to be married in three weeks." + +"In three weeks!" + +"Yes; but I told him that I could not get ready within a month." + +"A month! Surely you are not going to act so precipitately?" + +"I cannot see the use of waiting, aunt, when we are engaged and all +ready. And I can easily get ready in a month." + +To this the aunt did not reply. She felt that it would be useless. + +After this, Mr. Smith was a regular daily and evening visitor. He +perceived, of course, the unfavourable light in which the aunt +viewed him, and in consequence set himself to work to break down her +prejudices. He was kind and attentive to her on all occasions, and +studied her peculiar views and feelings, so as to adapt himself to +her. But the old lady had seen too much of the world, and was too +close an observer to be deceived. Still she found silent +acquiescence her only course of action. + +At the end of the month from the day of their engagement Margaretta +Riston was a happy young bride. + +One week after their marriage, Mr. Smith entered the room of his +friend Mr. Perkins, with a pale, agitated countenance. + +"What in the world has happened, Smith?" the friend asked, in alarm. + +"Haven't you heard the news?" + +"No. What news?" + +"The United States Bank has failed!" + +"Oh, no!" + +"It is true. And every dollar of Margaretta's money is locked up +there!" + +"Really that is dreadful! I would sell the stock immediately for +what it will bring, if I were you." + +"So I wish to. But neither my wife nor her aunt are willing. And so +soon after our marriage I do not like to use positive measures." + +"But the case is urgent. Delay may sweep from you every dollar." + +"So I fear. What shall I do then? To have the prize in hand, and +find it thus suddenly escaping, is enough to drive me mad!" + +"Sell in spite of them. That's my advice." + +"I will!" + +And the half crazy young fortune-hunter hurried away. In a few +minutes after, he entered the room where sat his wife and her aunt +in gloomy and oppressed silence. + +"The best thing we can do, Margaretta, I am satisfied, is to sell," +he said, taking a chair beside his wife. "The stock is falling every +hour, and it is the opinion of competent judges that it will not be +worth five dollars in a week." + +"And other competent judges are of a very different opinion," +replied the aunt. "Mr. Day, who was Margaretta's guardian, has just +been here, and says that we must not sell by any means; that after +the panic is over the stock will go up again. The bank, he assures +us, is fully able to meet every dollar, and still have a large +surplus. It would be folly then to sell, especially when there is no +urgent demand for the money." + +"There is more urgent demand than you know of," Mr. Smith said to +himself with bitter emphasis. He added aloud,-- + +"Mr. Day may know something about the matter; but I am sure he is +mistaken in the calculation he makes. It is said this morning, by +those who know, that the assets of the bank are principally in +worthless stocks, and that the shareholders will never get a cent. +My advice, then, is to sell immediately; a bird in the hand is worth +two in the bush." + +But both the wife and aunt objected; and so soon after marriage he +felt that positive opposition would come with a bad grace. + +Steadily day after day, the stock went down, down, down--and day +after day Mr. Smith persisted in having it sold. The fact was, duns +now met him at every turn, and it was with the utmost difficulty +that he could prevent his wife and her aunt from guessing at the +nature of the many calls of his "particular friends." Money he must +have, or he could not keep out of prison long, and the only chance +for his obtaining money was in the sale of his wife's stock. But at +the rates for which it was now selling, the whole proceeds would not +cover the claims against him. At last, when the stock had fallen to +twenty dollars, Mrs. Smith yielded to her husband's earnest +persuasions, and handed him over the certificates of her stock, that +he might dispose of them to the best possible advantage. + +"Mr. Smith is late in coming home to his dinner," the aunt said, +looking at the timepiece. + +The young wife lifted her head from her hand, with a sigh, and +merely responded, + +"Yes, he is rather late." + +"I wonder what keeps him so!" the old lady remarked, about five +minutes after, breaking the oppressive silence. + +"I'm sure I cannot tell. I gave him my certificates of stock to sell +this morning." + +"You did? I am afraid that was wrong, Margaretta." + +"I'm sure I cannot tell whether it is or not, aunt. But I've had no +peace about them, night nor day, since the bank failed." + +There was bitterness in the tone of Margaretta's voice, that touched +the feelings of her aunt, and tended to confirm her worst fears. But +she could not, now, speak out plainly, as she had felt constrained +to do before marriage, and therefore did not reply. + +For more than an hour did the two women wait for the return of Mr. +Smith, and then they went through the form of sitting down to the +dinner-table. But few mouthfuls of food passed the lips of either of +them. + +Hour after hour moved slowly by, but still the husband of Margaretta +appeared not; and when the twilight fell, it came with a strange +uncertain fear to the heart of the young wife. + +"What _can_ keep him so late, aunt?" she said, anxiously, as the +lights were brought in. + +"Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. I hope that nothing is wrong." + +"Wrong, aunt? What can be wrong?" and Margaretta looked her aunt +eagerly and inquiringly in the face. + +"I am sure, my child, I do not know. Something unusual must detain +him, and I only hope that something may be evil neither to him nor +yourself." + +Again there was a deep and painful silence--painful at least to one +heart, trembling with an undefinable sensation of fear. + +"There he is!" ejaculated Margaretta springing to her feet, as the +bell rang, and hurrying to the door before the servant had time to +open it. + +"Here is a letter for Mrs. Smith," said a stranger, handing her a +sealed note, and then withdrawing quickly. + +It was with difficulty that the young wife could totter back to the +parlour, where she seated herself by the table, and with trembling +hands broke the seal of the letter that had been given her. Her eyes +soon took in the brief words it contained. They were as follow:-- + +"Farewell, Margaretta! We shall, perhaps, never meet again! Think of +me as one altogether unworthy of you. I have wronged you--sadly +wronged you, I know--but I have been driven on by a kind of evil +necessity to do what I have done. Forget me! Farewell!" + +This note bore neither date nor signature, but the characters in +which it was written were too well known to be mistaken. + +Mrs. Riston saw the fearful change that passed over the face of her +niece as she read the note, and went quickly up to her. She was in +time to save her from falling to the floor. All through the night +she lay in a state of insensibility, and it was weeks before she +seemed to take even the slightest interest in any thing that was +going on around her. + +It was about three o'clock of the day that Mr. Smith got possession +of the certificates of deposit, that he entered the room of his +friend, Perkins. He looked agitated and irresolute. + +"Well, Smith, how are you?" his friend said. "Have you sold that +stock yet?" + +"Yes." + +"Indeed! So you have triumphed over your wife's scruples. Well--what +did you get for it?" + +"Only eight thousand dollars." + +"That was a shameful sacrifice!" + +"Indeed it was. And it puts me into a terrible difficulty." + +"What is that?" + +"Why, I owe at least that sum; and I cannot stay here unless it is +paid." + +"That is bad." + +"Out of the fifty thousand I could have squared up, and it would not +have been felt. But I cannot use the whole eight thousand, and look +Margaretta and her aunt in the face again. And if I don't pay my +debts, you see, to prison I must go." + +"You are in a narrow place, truly. Well, what are you going to do?" + +"A question more easily asked than answered. Among my debts are +about, four thousand dollars that must be paid whether or no." + +"Why?" + +"They are _debts of honour!_" + +"Ah, indeed! that is bad. You will have to settle them." + +"Of course!" Then, in a loud and emphatic whisper, he said-- + +"And I _have_ settled them!" + +"Indeed! Well, what next? How will you account to your wife for the +deficiency?" + +"Account to my wife!" and as he said this, he ground his teeth +together, while his lip curled. "Don't talk to me in that way, +Perkins, and cause me to hate the woman I have deceived and +injured!" + +"But what _are_ you going to do, Smith?" + +"I am going to clear out with the balance of the money in my pocket. +I can't stay here, that's settled; and I'm not going away penniless, +that's certain. Margaretta's old aunt has money enough, and can take +care of her--so she's provided for. And I've no doubt but that +she'll be happier without me than with me." + +"Where are you going?" + +"Somewhere down South." + +"When?" + +"At four o'clock this afternoon." + +"Well, success to you. There are some rich widows in the Southern +country, you know." + +"I understand; but I'm rather sick of these operations. They are a +little uncertain. But good-bye, and may you have better luck than +your friend Smith." + +"Good-bye." And the two young men shook hands cordially and parted. + +At four o'clock Mr. Smith left for Baltimore--not the happiest man +in the cars by a great deal. + +Since that day the confiding young creature who had thrown all into +the scale for him has neither seen him nor heard from him. To her +the light of life seems fled for ever. Her face is very pale, and +wears an expression of heart-touching misery. She is rarely seen +abroad. Poor creature! In her one sad error, what a lifetime of +sorrow has been involved! + +Of all conditions in life, that of the young heiress, with her money +in her own right, is peculiarly dangerous. The truly worthy shrink +often from a tender of their affection, for fear their motives may +be thought interested; while the mercenary push forward, and by +well-directed flattery, that does not seem like flattery, win the +prize they cannot appreciate. + +There are such base wretches in society. Let those who most need to +fear them be on their guard. + +It is now but a few weeks since Thomas Fielding, who was despised +and rejected by Margaretta, married a sweet girl in every way worthy +of him. She is not rich in worldly goods, but she is rich in +virtuous principles. The former Fielding does not need; but the +latter he can cherish "as a holy prize." + + + + + + +IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? + + + + + +"I AM afraid to marry," said a young lady, half jesting and half in +earnest, replying to something a friend had said. + +"Why so, Ella?" asked one of the company, who had thus far chosen +rather to listen than join in the conversation of half a dozen gay +young girls. She was a quiet, matronly-looking individual, some few +years past the prime of life. + +"For fear of being unhappy, Mrs. Harding," replied the first +speaker. + +"What an idea!" exclaimed a gay damsel, laughing aloud at the +singular fear expressed by Ella. "For my part, I never expect to be +happy until I am married." + +"If marriage should make you any happier than you are now, Caroline, +the result will be very fortunate. Your case will form an exception +to the rule." + +"Oh, no, Ella, don't say that," spoke up the one who had replied to +her first remark. "Happiness is the rule, and unhappiness the +exception." + +"Then it happens strangely enough," returned Ella, smiling, "that we +are more familiar with the exceptions than the rule." + +"No, my dear, that cannot for a moment be admitted. Far more of +happiness than misery results from marriage." + +"Look at Ellen Mallory," was answered promptly, "and Mrs. Cummings, +and half a dozen others I could name." + +"The two you have mentioned are painful instances, I must admit, and +form the exceptions of which I spoke; but the result is by no means +one that should excite our surprise, for it is a natural consequence +flowing from an adequate cause. If you marry as unwisely as did the +persons you mention, I have no doubt but you will be quite as +wretched as they are--it may be more so." + +"I am sure Mr. Mallory is an elegant-looking man," said one of the +company, "and might have had his pick among a dozen more attractive +girls than ever Ellen Martine was." + +"All as thoughtless and undiscriminating as she," remarked Mrs. +Harding, quietly. + +"Ellen is no fool," returned the last speaker. + +"In the most important act of her whole life, she has certainly not +shown herself to be a wise woman," said Mrs. Harding. + +"But how in the world was she to know that Mr. Mallory was going to +turn out so badly?" spoke up Ella. + +"By opening her eyes, and using the ability that God has given her +to see," was answered by Mrs. Harding. + + "Those eyes are wondrous wise, I ween, + That see what is not to be seen," + +the maiden replied. + +"Do you then really think, Ella," said Mrs. Harding, "that a young +lady cannot make herself as thoroughly acquainted with a man's real +qualities as to put any serious mistake in marriage entirely out of +the question?" + +"To me, I must confess that marriage seems very much like a +lottery," answered Ella. "We may get a prize, but there are ten +chances to one of our getting a blank." + +"If you choose to make it a lottery, it will no doubt become so; but +if entered into from right motives, there is no danger of this being +the case." + +"I don't know what you call right motives," said one; "but I'll tell +you a necessary pre-requisite in the man who is to make me a +husband." + +"Well, child, what is it?" + +"Plenty of money. I'm not going to be a poor man's wife, and work +myself to death, all for love--no, not I!" + +"I'll have a handsome man for a husband, or none," remarked another. + +"Give me splendid talents," said a third. + +"And what must you have, Ella?" asked Mrs. Harding, turning to the +one she addressed. + +"All three, if I can get them," replied Ella. + +"Beauty, wealth, and talents. These you think would satisfy you?" + +"Oh, yes; I should be rather hard to please if they did not." + +"Let me relate to you the histories of two friends of mine who +married young," said Mrs. Harding, without remarking upon what had +just been declared. "Perhaps they may contain lessons that it will +be of use for you all to get by heart." + +"Oh, yes, do!" said the young ladies, gathering around Mrs. Harding, +who, after a short pause, related what follows. + +"In my younger days," began Mrs. Harding, "I had two intimate +friends, to whom I was warmly attached. I loved them for their many +good qualities, and particularly for their unselfishness. To make +others happy, always appeared to give them a double pleasure. They +were nearly of the same age, and possessed equal external +advantages; but their characters were very different. Sarah Corbin, +who was a few months older than her friend and almost constant +companion, Harriet Wieland, was quiet, thoughtful, and observant; +while Harriet, who had great personal attractions, never appeared to +look beneath the surface. She believed every thing to be true that +bore the semblance of truth, to her all that glittered was gold. +Like you, and most other young ladies, we sometimes talked of +marriage, and the qualifications desirable in a good husband. +Harriet, whether in a gay or sober mood, always declared, like Ella +here, that he who won her heart must have riches, manly beauty, and +brilliant talents. These she called man's cardinal virtues. Sarah +never had much to say on these matters, and, when we asked her +opinion, she generally replied evasively. + +"A young man named Eaverson, answering pretty nearly to the beau +ideal of Harriet Wieland, came from a neighbouring city to reside in +this. He was connected with a wealthy and highly respectable family, +was really a handsome man, and possessed very fine abilities. He had +studied law, and opened his office here for the purpose of pursuing +it as a regular profession; but, not meeting with much practice at +first, he occupied a large portion of his time in literary pursuits, +writing for the magazines and reviews. He also published a small +volume of poetry, which contained many really brilliant specimens of +verse. + +"Circumstances threw Eaverson into the circle of which we formed a +part, and we were consequently introduced to him. In the course of +time, he began to pay rather marked attentions to Sarah Corbin, at +which I felt a little surprised, as he had met Harriet Wieland quite +as often, and she was far more beautiful and showy, and more likely, +it seemed to me, to attract one like him than the other. Either +Sarah was unconscious that his attentions were more marked in her +case, or she did not wish her observation of the fact to be known, +for all our allusions to the subject were evaded with a seeming +indifference that left our minds in doubt. Such were our impressions +at first; but the sequel showed that she had marked his first +advances with lively interest, and understood their meaning quite as +well as we did. + +"About Eaverson there was every thing to attract the heart of a +maiden not well guarded; and Sarah found that it required the +fullest exercise of her reason to prevent her from letting every +affection of her mind go out and attach itself to an object that +seemed, at first sight, so worthy of her love. But by nature and +from education she was thoughtful and observant; and a wise mother +had taught her that in marriage external accomplishments and +possessions were nothing, unless united with virtuous principles and +well-regulated passions. The brilliant attractions of Eaverson +strongly tempted her to take his moral fitness for granted; but +wiser counsels prevailed in her mind; and with a vigorous hand laid +upon her heart to keep down its errant impulses, she exercised, with +coolness and a well-balanced mind, the powers of discrimination +which God had given for her guidance through life." + +All the time that this process was going on in her mind, we remained +in ignorance of the fact that she ever thought of the young man, +except when he was present, or his name introduced by others. To +her, all that related to marriage was too serious to form the theme +of ordinary conversation, light jests, or idle chit-chat. Rarely +indeed would she have any thing to say, when others spoke lightly or +jested on the subject. This being the case, now that her own mind +had become deeply interested in a matter of most vital importance to +her future welfare, she had no one to disturb the even balance of +her reflections by a thoughtless word, an untimely jest, or a false +opinion flowing from inexperience or a want of ability to read human +nature aright. Silently, freely, and with no biassing influence, in +the unapproachable chambers of her own thoughts did she weigh the +real character of Eaverson, as far as she could understand it, +against what was merely external and personal. The more marked the +attentions of the young man became, the more earnestly did she seek +to comprehend his real character. Every word he uttered in her +presence, every sentiment he expressed, every action and every look +were closely scanned, and their meaning, as having reference to +principles in the mind, sought to be understood. Such careful +scrutiny did not go unrewarded. When Eaverson, soon after her mind +was made up in regard to him, made an offer of his hand, the offer +was unhesitatingly declined. Sarah had seen enough to satisfy her, +that with all his talents, beauty, and wealth, he was wanting in +virtuous principles and a high sense of honour. + +"I confess, that, with others, I was greatly surprised when the fact +of Sarah's having declined the hand of Eaverson became known. The +selection of her by one like him seemed so high a preference, and +such a marked tribute to her worth and virtue, that it was scarcely +credible that she could have remained indifferent to his love. But +she saw deeper than we did." + +"'I cannot understand the reason of your refusal to accept Mr. +Eaverson's offer?' I said to Sarah, one day, when the conversation +took a turn that gave me an opportunity of alluding to the subject. +'Do you know any thing against him?' + +"'Nothing further than the conclusions of my own mind, arising from +a careful observation of his sentiments, manners, and unguarded +expressions,' she replied. + +"'Was it from such conclusions that you declined his offer?' + +"'From these alone, for I know nothing of his history before he came +to this city, and nothing of his life since he has been here.' + +"'May you not possibly be mistaken?' + +"'No. From the moment he seemed in the least pleased with me, I +commenced observing him closely. It was not long before I heard him +utter a sentiment, while speaking to another, that showed him to +possess very false views of life in at least one particular. This I +noted, and laid it by in my memory for comparison with any thing +else I might see or hear.' + +"'But you would not condemn a man for having erroneous views of +life?' said I. + +"'Oh, no; not if his principles be pure. But if false views arise +from a perverted heart, then I would condemn the man. What I heard, +I noticed in order to determine, if possible, from what source it +came. A very long time did not pass, before I saw something that +told me very plainly that the false view which I have mentioned +depended more upon a perversion of the heart than an error in the +understanding. I likewise discovered, very soon, that when in +conversation with me, he was, evidently, more upon his guard, as to +what sentiments he declared, than he was when in conversation with +others. But I need not state particularly the whole process by which +I arrived at conclusions sufficiently clear to warrant my full and +prompt rejection of his suit.' + +"'In what estimation do you hold him?' I asked. + +"'As a man without honour or virtue,' she said, decidedly. + +"'That is a broad and severe judgment,' I replied. + +"'So it is. I have made it for myself. Of course, I cannot expect +others to view him in the same light; nor do I believe many others +would form this conclusion from the evidences that were presented to +my mind. But, as for me, I have no doubt on the subject. Rather than +become his wife, I would suffer death; for a union with him would +be, to me, the depth of misery.' + +"The seriousness with which Sarah spoke satisfied me that she +believed all she said, and had, at some cost of feeling, rejected an +offer of marriage that would have been an exceedingly desirable one, +had the character of the man who made it been fully approved. + +"A short time after the rejection of his suit by Miss Corbin, I +noticed that Eaverson appeared more inclined to keep company with +Harriet Wieland than before. I could not help feeling regret at +this, for, notwithstanding I thought Sarah had judged the young man +rather severely, I was yet satisfied that there must be some ground +for her conclusions in regard to his character. Slight attentions, +encouraged by Harriet, soon became the bold advances of a lover. A +few months after his suit had been declined by Sarah, he offered +himself to her friend, and was unhesitatingly accepted. + +"In the mean time, a young man, whom I will call Williamson, had met +Sarah occasionally, and showed a disposition to win, if possible, +her favourable regard. His exterior was by no means elegant; his +literary attainments were not great; nor was he in the enjoyment of +any thing beyond a moderate income. Place him and Eaverson in almost +any company, and the latter would nearly hide him from view. But, +with the most moderate pretensions, and unattractive exterior, +Williamson's character was formed upon a ground-work of good sense +and virtuous principles. He had little facility of expression, but +he thought clearly, and, in most things, acted from a sound +judgment. He was much pleased with Sarah before Eaverson attempted +to gain her affections; and noticed his advances. For the result he +looked with some interest. When it became clearly apparent that she +had thrown him off, Williamson was satisfied that she was a girl of +discrimination and sound sense, and immediately resolved that he +would know her better. The oftener he met her, and the nearer he +observed her, the more excellent did her character seem in his eyes. +The result was an offer of marriage, which was accepted by Sarah, as +much to our surprise as was her rejection of Eaverson. + +"My two young friends were married about the same time. The wedding +of Harriet was a brilliant one, and she was the envy of dozens of +young girls who had hoped and tried to make a conquest of the man +who had chosen to unite his fortunes with hers. Sarah's nuptials +were celebrated in a less imposing manner, and created but little +sensation. Most of her friends thought she had done but poorly. +Whether this were so, will be seen in the sequel. + +"Harriet, with all her want of reflection and in-sight into +character, was a young woman of strong feelings, and loved, when she +did love, with something like blind idolatry. Thus she loved her +husband. He was every thing to her, and she believed him as near +perfection as a mortal could well be. The first few months of her +married life passed swiftly away in the enjoyment of as high a +degree of felicity as her mind seemed capable of appreciating. After +that, a shadow fell upon her spirit--dim and almost imperceptible at +first, but gradually becoming denser and more palpable. Harriet had +noticed, from the first, that her husband but rarely spoke of his +family, and always evaded any questions that a natural curiosity +prompted her to make. If he received any letter from home, he +carefully concealed the fact from her. The wealth, respectability, +and high standing of his family made Harriet, as a matter of course, +feel desirous of bearing a more intimate relation to its members +than she now did. The more she thought about this, the less +satisfied did she feel. It was the marked dislike manifested by her +husband to any reference to his family, that first caused a coldness +to pass over the heart of the young wife, and a shadow to dim the +bright sunshine of her spirits; for it induced the thought that +something might be wrong. Once give such a thought birth, and let +mystery and doubt continue to harass the mind, and peace is gone for +ever. A thousand vague suspicions will enter, and words, looks, and +actions will have a signification never apparent before. + +"Thus it was with my young friend, ere six months had passed since +her wedding-day. To increase her anxious doubts, her husband seemed +to grow cold towards her. This might all be imagination, but the +idea, once in possession of her mind, found numberless sustaining +evidences. He went out more frequently in the evening and stayed out +later than at first. Sometimes he would sit silent and abstracted, +and only reply in monosyllables to her questions or remarks. + +"One day he came home to dinner, looking graver than usual. But, +during the meal, there was an evident desire on his part to appear +cheerful and unconcerned; he talked more freely than usual, and even +made many light and jesting remarks. But the veil assumed was too +thin. Harriet's eyes saw through it, and rested only upon the sombre +reality beneath. As they were rising from the table, he said, + +"'Harriet, dear! I must run on to New York this afternoon, on +business. The interest of a client in a large estate there requires +my immediate presence in that city.' + +"Eaverson did not look his wife steadily in the face as he said this +although he plainly tried to do so. But this she did not remark at +the time. Her mind only rested upon the fact of his going away. + +"'How long will you be gone?' she asked in a choking voice. + +"'I will try and be back to-morrow. If not, you will at least see me +home on the day after.' + +"'Why can't I--' + +"She paused--her eyes fell to the floor, and the colour deepened on +her cheeks. + +"'What, dear?' + +"'Go with you?' + +"It was in New York that the family of Eaverson resided. + +"'Not now,' he quickly answered. 'I am compelled to go in too much +hurry; but the next time business takes me there you shall accompany +me.' + +"Nothing could be more unsatisfactory than this. Was she not to be +introduced to his family, as his wife, formally? Was she only to go +to the city of their residence at some future time, when business +called her husband there? The thought caused a chill to pass through +her frame. She made no reply. But the paleness that overspread her +face, and the sadness that fell upon her countenance, revealed to +her husband, too plainly, her state of mind. He said nothing, +however, to dispel the gloom she felt. Words, he no doubt felt, +would be fruitless. + +"The young wife parted with her husband it tears, and then retired +to her chamber, where she gave way to a paroxysm of grief, that had +its origin more in the accompanying mystery than in the fact of her +husband's absence. I say mystery, for she did not fully credit the +reason he had given for his hurried visit to New York, and felt that +there was a mystery connected with it, that, somehow or other, +deeply affected her happiness. + +"After the mind of Harriet had grown calmer, she commenced restoring +to order the few articles in her chamber that had been disarranged +in the hurried preparation made by her husband for his departure. As +she was about placing the coat he had worn in the morning, and which +he had changed for another on going away, in the wardrobe, her hand +pressed against a letter in one of the pockets, which a sudden +curiosity tempted her to read. The direction was in a small, +delicate hand, and the post-mark New York. Hurriedly opening it, +when she saw this, she read its brief contents, which were as +follow: + +"DEAR HENRY--I heard, indirectly, within the last hour, that you +were married. I cannot believe it, yet the thought has maddened me! +If you do not come to me by to-morrow night, I will go to you on the +following day--for the truth or falsity of what I have heard must be +verified to me at once. If it be true--God help the innocent heart +you have betrayed, and most cruelly wronged. It can only break! + +"ADELAIDE." + +"The trembling hands of the horror-stricken wife could hold the +fatal epistle no longer than to permit her eyes to rest upon the +signature. It then fell rustling to the floor, and she sat pale, +quivering in every nerve, and unconscious of any thing but a wild +whirling of all her senses. + +"It was my fortune, or misfortune, to call upon my young friend just at +this time. I was told that she was in her chamber; and, as our intimacy +was very great, I took a liberty we were in the habit of taking with +each other, and went up to her, unannounced. My gentle tap at her door +not being answered, I opened it and went in. As I have just described +her, thus I found her. My entrance but partially restored her +self-command. She stared wildly at me, stretched out her hands, and made +an effort to speak. I sprang toward her, and she fell forward against my +bosom, with a deep groan that made me shudder. Thus she lay for nearly +five minutes as still as a statue. Then a slight quiver ran through her +frame, which was followed by a gush of tears. For a long time she +continued weeping and sobbing, but at length grew calmer. All this time +I could see an open letter lying upon the floor, which I doubted not was +the caused of this distressing scene. When the self-command of Harriet +was at last restored, and she began to reflect upon the consequences +likely to flow from another's witnessing the wild agitation she had +displayed, a shade of anxious confusion passed over her face. At this +moment her eye rested upon the fatal letter, which she caught up eagerly +and concealed. I asked no question, nor made any remarks. She looked at +me steadily for a moment, and then let her eyes fall thoughtfully to the +floor. + +"'You are surprised and confounded, no doubt,' she at length said, +mournfully, 'at what you have seen. Pardon me if I refrain from +mentioning the cause. It is one of which I cannot speak.' + +"I begged her not to reveal the cause of her affliction, if to do so +were at all in violation of what she deemed right; but to accept my +deepest sympathies, and to put it in my power, if that were +possible, to mitigate, in some degree, the pain of mind she was +suffering. + +"'That you cannot do,' said she. 'It is beyond the reach of human +aid.' + +"'May Heaven, then, give you strength to bear it,' I returned, with +emotion. + +"'Heaven only can,' she replied in a subdued voice. + +"I could say no more, for my ignorance of the cause of her distress +put it out of my power to offer consolation, more particularly as it +was her expressed wish that I should remain in ignorance. I staid an +hour with her, during which time I learned that her husband had been +suddenly called to New York on business. It was one of the +unhappiest hours I ever spent in my life. On going away, I could not +help recalling the conversation I had once held with Sarah Corbin +about Mr. Eaverson, nor help feeling that there might be too much +truth in her declarations that she believed him to be a man without +honour or virtue. There was no doubt in my mind that Harriet's +distress was in some way connected with her husband's absence, and +it occurred to me that the letter I had seen upon the floor, and +which she concealed so eagerly, might not have been intended for her +eyes, and might contain things which for her to know would be fatal +to her peace through life. In this, my conjectures were of course +true. + +"I called in to see Mrs. Eaverson on the next day, reluctantly, but +from a sense of duty. I found her calm, but pale, and with a look of +distress. She said but little. No allusion whatever was made to the +condition in which I had found her on the previous afternoon. I sat +only half an hour, and then went away. I could not stay longer, for +my presence seemed oppressive to her, and hers was equally so to me. + +"On the third day succeeding that on which Mr. Eaverson went to New +York, I saw a newspaper paragraph headed, 'Melancholy +Circumstances.' It related, briefly, that the daughter of +respectable and wealthy parents in New York had been deeply wronged +about a year previous by an unprincipled cousin, whom she +passionately loved. The consequence was, that the young man had to +leave the city, under the promise of never returning to it, unless +he consented to marry his cousin. This penalty was imposed by the +father of the girl, who declared his intention to shoot him if he +ever saw him in New York. The result of this baseness on the part of +the young man was the utter estrangement of his family. They threw +him off entirely. But, as he had a handsome fortune in his own +right, and the cause of his removal from New York did not become +generally known, he soon found his way into the best society in a +neighbouring city. Some months afterwards he married a lovely girl, +who was all unconscious of the base retch into whose keeping she had +given the inestimable jewel of her love. A few days since, the +narration proceeded, the cousin, by some means or other, obtained a +knowledge of this fact. She wrote to him demanding an interview, and +threatening that if she did not obtain one in twenty-four hours, she +would immediately come to him and ascertain for herself, if what she +had heard were true. Alarmed for the peace of his bride, the young +man hurried on to New York, and, at the risk of his life, gained an +interview with the lovely girl he had so deeply injured. He did not +attempt to conceal the fact of his marriage, but only urged the +almost broken-hearted victim of his base dishonour not to do any- +thing that could bring to his wife a knowledge of his conduct, as it +must for ever destroy her peace. This confession blasted at once and +for ever all the poor girl's hopes. She gave her betrayer one long, +fixed, intense look of blended agony, reproach, and shame, and then, +without uttering a word, retired slowly from his presence. She +sought her mother, who, from the first, had rather drawn her into +her very bosom than thrown her off harshly, and related what she had +just heard. She shed no tear, she uttered no reproach, but simply +told what her mother had known for months too well. That night her +spirit left its earthly habitation. Whether she died of a broken +heart, or by her own hands, is not known. The family sought not to +investigate the cause,--to them it was enough to know that she was +dead and at peace. + +"Whether this statement ever met the eye of Mrs. Eaverson is more +than I can tell. I did not venture to call upon her after I had seen +it. A few weeks subsequently I met her in the street on the arm of +her husband. She was sadly changed, and had the appearance of one +just recovering from a long and severe illness. Eaverson himself had +a look of suffering. + +"The notoriety given by the publication of the acts of his base +conduct in New York caused Eaverson to feel little at ease in this +city. Some months afterwards he removed to the South with his wife, +much against the wishes of her friends. Harriet did not want to go, +but she could do no less than accompany her husband. + +"Some three years afterwards, it was whispered about that Harriet +had left her husband and returned home to her father; but that the +matter was kept very quiet, and that she had not been seen by any of +her old friends. It was said, that after living some time at the +South, Mr. Eaverson grew indifferent towards his wife. A virtuous +woman, she could not but be deeply shocked on discovering her +husband's want of virtue. This she could not conceal; and its +appearance was a standing reproof and condemnation of his principles +and conduct. No bad man could endure this. Its effect would be +certain estrangement. From dislike towards his wife, his feelings +gradually deepened into hatred. Open abuse soon followed neglect; +when she fled from him, with two young children, and sought the +protection of her father's house. + +"It was nearly a year after Harriet's return, before I saw her. I +could hardly believe, when I did meet her and grasp her hand, that +the pale, dejected, care-worn being who stood before me was the same +with the light-hearted, beautiful, gay young girl I had known but a +few years back. Alas! how surely does pain of mind forestall the +work of time! + +"A few days after this meeting, which made me sad for weeks, I spent +an afternoon and evening with Mrs. Williamson, formerly Sarah +Corbin. She had two children, a boy and a girl, and was living +somewhat secluded, but with every comfort she could desire. Her +husband was a merchant in a good business. When he came home at +tea-time and met his wife, it was with one of those quiet but +genuine smiles that you know come from the heart. He welcomed me, as +he always did, with great cordiality; and then calling for Sarah, +his eldest child, who ran in from the next room the instant she +heard his vice, he took her upon his lap, and, after kissing her +with great tenderness, asked and answered a dozen little questions +to her great delight. At tea-time Mr. Williamson conversed more +freely than was usual with him when I was present. I noticed, as I +had often done before, that, on whatever subject he spoke, his +remarks, though few, were full of good sense, and indicative of +close observation. The slightest deviation from honour or integrity +met with his decided condemnation, while virtuous actions were as +warmly approved. I could perceive, from the expression of his wife's +face, and the tones of her voice when she spoke, that she not only +held her husband in high estimation, but loved him with a tenderness +that had grown with years. Qualities of mind and heart, not external +attractions, such as brilliant accomplishments, beauty, or wealth, +had drawn her towards him at first: these had won her young +affections, and they had become purer and brighter, and increased in +attractive power as year after year went by. + +"On going home that evening, I could not help pausing and looking +back. Vividly, as it were but yesterday, came up before my mind my +two young friends when, as maidens, their hands were sought in +wedlock. I remembered how one, with true wisdom, looked below the +imposing exterior and sought for moral worth as the basis of +character in him who asked her hand; while the other, looking no +deeper than the surface, was dazzled by beauty, wealth, and talents. +The result you all have seen." + +Mrs. Harding paused in the narrative. Half a dozen eager voices +instantly inquired the ultimate fate of Mrs. Eaverson. "A few years +after her return home," resumed the narrator, "she died. Her husband +during that period neither wrote to her nor visited her. What has +become of him I don't know. Mrs. Williamson is still living, +surrounded by a lovely family of children. Her oldest daughter has +just been married, and, to all present appearances, has united her +fate with one every way worthy of her hand. Mr. Williamson, or +rather Mr. Rierdon, as I should truly have called him, you all +know." + +"Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed Ella. "It can't be possible you mean him?" + +"Not old Mr. Rierdon!" exclaimed another. "Why he is respected and +loved by every one!" + +"I know he is," returned Mrs. Harding, "and well deserves to be. +Yet, when a young man, he had nothing very imposing about him, and +was thought of but little account by a set of young and foolish +girls, just such as you are, whose heads were liable to be turned by +any dashing young fellow with more impudence than brains, or more +talent than principle, who happened to thrust himself forward and +push better men aside. I hope the lesson I have endeavoured to teach +you may not be lost entirely; and that when any one of you has an +offer of marriage, she will look rather at the heart than the +head--at the qualities instead of the accomplishments--of him who +makes it. If she does not, she will be in great danger of committing +the sad mistake made by my excellent but thoughtless young friend, +Harriet Wieland, of whom I never can think without pain." + +Whether the narrative of Mrs. Harding had any good effect upon her +hearers, we do not know; but we would fain believe that it had; and +we hope our fair young readers will not forget the important lesson +it teaches. Let them be well assured that marriage is no lottery, +except where it is made so. Every one who will look at the moral +qualities of the object of her regard, instead of at what is merely +external, will see deep enough to enable her to come to a right +decision in regard to him. There is no necessity for mistakes in +marriage. + + + + + + +THE UNLOVED ONE. + +AN EXTRACT FROM "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE." + + + + + +......FIXED in his resolution to repel every manifestation of +tenderness on the part of his wife, Percy Edwards maintained towards +her the same cold formality, in spite of all her earnest efforts to +break the icy crust of his feelings. He did not love her, and was +not inclined to affect a passion; nay, she was absolutely repulsive +to him, and the least he could do, under the circumstances, was to +protect himself as he did without overt acts of unkindness. + +And thus disjoined, instead of united, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards moved +along their way through life, envied by hundreds, who, in exchanging +with them, would have left an Eden of happiness for a dreary +wilderness. + +A few months of such an existence completely broke down the spirits +of Kate. She had no pride to sustain her. Thousands, as unloved as +she, seek refuge in pride, pleasure, and a heartless worship at the +gilded shrine of fashion. They meet coldness with a sharp disdain; +and, finding nothing to love at home, turn to what the world has to +offer, and become mere bubbles on the surface of society--prominent, +brilliant, and useless. Nay, worse than useless; for they reflect +the light of heaven falsely, and create discontent in those who see +only their glittering exterior, and vainly imagine it to be the +correspondent of internal delight. + +It was not so with Kate; for she was sincere, unselfish, and +true-hearted, and could not seek a false pleasure, when the sources +of real delight became dry. A naiad, at a fountain, the waters of +which had failed, she turned not to another, but bent weeping over +the spot, hoping, yet faint with a long desire to hear the murmur of +the coming stream. + +There fell, at last, a gleam of light across her path. In her dark +and cloudy sky arched, beautifully, a bow of promise. Hope, faint, +yet sweet to her spirit, revived, and she looked to the future with +a trembling heart. For a long time she locked in her own thoughts +the dear secret she had discovered and pondered over it with a daily +increasing pleasure. Then it was whispered, low and with a blushing +cheek, to her husband. She was to become a mother! + +From that moment she felt that there was a change. From that moment +her husband's manner was different. He was still as polite and +formal as, before; but with these was blended a something that her +heart interpreted as tenderness for his wife; and from this her +fainting spirit drew the aliment that sustained it. If, suddenly +coming upon her now, he surprised her weeping, he did not turn away, +silent and cold, as before; but would speak some word of apparent +sympathy, which instantly dried up the fountains of grief. And thus +the time passed, until another being saw the light--until another +voice sounded upon the air. Oh! with what a thrill of delight did +the young mother take her new-born babe into her arms, and hail it +as the bond that was to bind to hers the heart of her husband. How +eagerly did she read the face of that husband--as he bent over and +gazed upon the innocent being to which she had given birth--and +marked its glow of pleasure. But, he did not look into _her_ +face--he had eyes _only for his boy!_ The mother sighed faintly; but +he did not hear the sigh. Her long lashes fell slowly upon her +cheeks, and tears stole from beneath them; but he turned away +without observing she wept. + +The bow of promise, which had spanned the heaven of her mind, faded +away; and the light that had lain so warmly upon her path grew dim. +There was love in the heart of her husband only for his child, but +none for her. That dreadful truth came with a shock, felt to the +very centre of her being; and, reacting upon her exhausted system, +disturbed all its vital functions. Fever and delirium laid their +hands upon her, and for many days the light of life but flickered in +the wind that seemed every moment about to extinguish it. + +When, at last, through the skill of her physician, the disease +abated, and health, though feeble, began to flow once more through +her veins; and when reason came back, and with it the outgushing +tenderness of the young mother, she found that her babe had been +laid upon another breast, and that from another it was to draw the +sustenance which nature had supplied for it in her own bosom. + +Against this her heart arose in instant rebellion. But no freedom of +choice was left her. The physician said that her health was too +slender to admit of the exhaustion attendant upon nursing her own +babe. The husband would not hear of such a thing for a moment. And +her husband's mother older-hearted and more worldly-minded than even +he, openly sneered at the idea of one in her position degrading +herself into a mere child's nurse! + +It was all in vain that Kate pleaded, tearfully, for the mother's +highest privilege. Those who had the power forced her into a +compliance with their will; and the fountain in her bosom, that +stirred at the voice of her babe, was suffered to become dry. + +From that time, the health of Mrs. Edwards visibly declined; or, +rather, was never restored to its previous condition. She became +subject to fainting fits and long periods of depression, from which +nothing could arouse her. The babe, instead of forming a link +between her and her husband, became a rival in his affections. Mr. +Edwards worshipped his boy; but, for his wife, had no feeling other +than indifference, if not absolute dislike. All this Kate saw; and +it extinguished her last and dearest hope. + +To those who could only look upon the surface, Mr. Edwards was +regarded as one of the kindest and most attentive of husbands; and +when a rumour of his wife's fits of gloomy depression of spirits +went abroad, the fault was attributed to herself, and laid to the +charge of a naturally capricious and dissatisfied temper. + +"If she had fewer of life's blessings," said one, "she would be +happier. The very surplus of every thing makes her appetite pall." + +"Any woman, situated as she is," remarked another, "who is not +contented, deserves to be wretched. I have no sympathy for her. Her +husband I know very well, and know him to be one of the kindest and +most indulgent of men." + +"He has indulged her too much," alleged another. + +These impressions the elder Mrs. Edwards strengthened and confirmed, +whenever she had occasion to say any thing on the subject. + +"Percy has rather a gloomy time of it," she would sometimes remark, +when allusion was made to the subject; and then, when the +inquisitive would ask as to the cause of Kate's strange conduct, she +would shake her head gravely, and say-- + +"Over-indulgence has spoiled her." + +Or-- + +"It's hard to tell what ails her, unless it be the desire for some +impossible thing. Some minds are never content. To multiply their +blessings is but to multiply their misery." + +Or-- + +"Heaven knows what ails her! Percy would give worlds for that +knowledge, if with it came also the remedy." + +The rapid decline in his wife's health, or rather its failure, after +the birth of her child, to come back its old standard united to her +lowness of spirits--naturally gave her husband some concern, and he +consulted her physician as to the cause. He, as the profession +generally do, assigned a physical cause, and recommended change of +air. + +"Let her go to the sea-shore, or among the Mountains," said he. + +And this change was proposed to Kate. + +"I saw Doctor R--to-day," said her husband, after the interview, +"and he recommends a few weeks on the sea-shore, or somewhere among +the mountains." + +"I don't wish to go," replied Kate, in a low, sad voice. + +"But your health, Kate," said Mr. Edwards. + +"I shall be just as well at home," she replied. + +"No, I will not admit that. Doctor R--is sure that a change of air +will do you good; and what he says is reasonable." + +Kate made no answer. Mr. Edwards continued to urge the matter upon +her; but she had no more to say. + +On the same evening Percy called to see his mother. + +"How is Kate?" inquired the latter. + +"No better. I saw Doctor R--about her to-day, and he says a change +of air is absolutely necessary, and recommends a few weeks at the +Bedford Springs, or at Newport, or Cape May." + +"No doubt it would do her much good." + +"No doubt in the world. But, as in every thing else of late, she is +opposed to just what her friends recommend to her as best." + +"She doesn't want to go?" + +"No, of course not." + +"Did you tell that the doctor recommended the change?" + +"Yes. But she insists upon it that she will be just as well at +home." + +"A compliment to the medical opinion of Doctor R--! + +"Isn't it? I wish you would see her, and urge her to go somewhere." + +"Very well; though I don't know that what I say will be of much use. +I am not one of her favourites." + +"See her, at any rate. It won't do to let her sink down and die, as +she certainly will if something cannot be done to arouse her." + +"I will call upon Mrs. Harrison and tell her what the doctor says. +She has great influence over her; and can persuade her to go if any +one can." + +The mother of Kate heard what the doctor had said, and approved of +his recommendation. She knew, better than any one else, the true +nature of the disease from which her daughter was suffering; and, +although she did not hope for much from a change of scene, yet she +believed the effect would be salutary rather than otherwise. So she +went to see her immediately. She found her, as usual, alone in her +chamber, with a sad countenance, and a drooping, listless air. After +inquiring, tenderly, about her health, she said-- + +"I understand that Doctor R--recommends a change of air." + +"What all doctors recommend when they do not know the cause and +nature of a disease," replied Kate, with a faint smile. + +"But I think, with Doctor R--, that a few weeks at the sea-shore +will be of great benefit. The change will interest your mind as well +as invigorate your body." + +"A temporary benefit may be derived from such a change," said Kate; +"but it cannot be permanent. When I return, I will sink again; and, +perhaps, lower, from the unnatural excitement to which I have been +subjected." + +"Kate, my child, it is wrong for you to give up in this way. Your +disease is more of the mind than of the body; and you have the power +to arouse yourself and throw it off, if you will." + +"The power, mother! I, the power!" exclaimed Kate, in a voice that +made her mother start. + +"Have you not?" inquired Mrs. Harrison calmly. + +"Has the bird, whose wing is broken, the power to fly?" asked Kate. + +"Unless you make an effort to throw off your present state of mind, +you cannot live. And are you willing to die, and leave this dear +child in the hands of those who cannot love it as you do?" + +"Has it not already been taken from me? Does it not draw its +existence from another breast?" + +"But your health required--" + +"My health! mother! My very life depended upon the privilege you +have all denied me. Do you want the proof? Look at that shadowy +hand"--and she held up the thin white member against the light, +which almost shone through it--"and at this shrunken face," and she +laid her hand upon her colourless cheek. "Restore the fountain that +has been dried, and let my babe drink at it, and there is some hope. +None without." + +"That is impossible, Kate"-- + +"And just as impossible is my return to health through the means +proposed." + +"But, for the sake of your friends, you ought to be willing to try +the means of restoration prescribed by a physician in whom we all +have confidence." + +"Friends?" said Kate, half to herself. "Friends? Have I any +friends?" + +"My child, why do you speak in this way?" asked her mother, in a +voice half sorrowful, half reproving. + +"_Friends_ seek your good, not their own pleasure," continued Kate. +"Have I any who may be called by so excellent a name?" + +And she shook her head mournfully. + +"Have you not a husband?" said Mrs. Harrison. + +Kate again shook her head; and then, after a pause, replied-- + +"There is a man who calls himself my husband; but he is so only in +name." + +"Kate! Kate!" exclaimed her mother, "are you mad? How dare you utter +such language?" + +"A heart that is breaking, mother," said the unhappy creature, "may +be pardoned, if, in a moment of intense suffering, it is betrayed +into an expression of pain." + +A long and gloomy silence followed this remark, which smote with the +apparent force of a hammer upon the heart of Mrs. Harrison. No +further attempt was made, at the time, to induce Kate to yield to +the wishes of her friends. Her mother endeavoured, rather, to draw +off her mind from thoughts such as those to which she had just given +utterance. But, she was none the less deeply impressed with the +belief that the change proposed would be beneficial; nor did she +intend abandoning her efforts to induce her daughter to go from home +for a short season. At the first opportunity she had an interview +with Mr. Edwards, and held a conference with him on the subject of +Kate's mental disease. She found him rather reserved, and +disinclined to much conversation on the subject. But, on pressing +the matter upon him, he was more free to say what was in his mind. +To her expressions of concern for Kate, he responded with much +apparent earnestness; said that it gave him great concern, and that +he was satisfied she could not live over a few years if some change +did not take place. + +"Since the birth of her child," said he, "she has never regained her +strength. That dangerous fever gave her system a terrible shock." + +"I'm afraid," returned her mother, "that we erred in not permitting +her to nurse her child--what she so earnestly desired to do. She +cannot, it seems, get over that." + +"She has never said so to me." + +"But no later than yesterday she alluded to it while I talked with +her, and in a way that satisfied me of her having taken the matter +far more deeply to heart than I had imagined." + +"That is a weakness, as you must yourself see, Mrs. Harrison. Apart +from considerations of health, I would not have my wife a mere wet +nurse; and I am surprised that she should have thought of such a +thing." + +"The desire was but a natural one," replied Mrs. Harrison. As to +there being any thing degrading in the act of a mother giving +nourishment to her own babe, as some strangely enough seem to think, +I cannot see it. I drank at my mother's breast, and my child, in +turn, drank at mine; and, I believe, it would have been far better +for Kate at this moment if she had done the same for her own +off-spring. In this matter, people are going against nature; and +whenever this is done, evil of some kind must inevitably follow." + +"But, Mrs. Harrison," returned Edwards, "her state of health puts +this out of the question. You know that she was dangerously ill, and +that if a nurse had not been provided for the child, it would have +died." + +"I know all that. But, when the sudden illness abated, and she was +able to give nourishment to her babe, all, with one accord, denied +her a mother's privilege, though she plead for it day after day with +tears. Ah, Percy! I fear a great and irreparable wrong was then +done." + +"It may be so. But I cannot believe but that we acted rightly. Our +motives were at least good." + +"No one doubts that." + +'I am sure, if she would consent to leave home for a few weeks, her +health would improve," said Percy Edwards. + +"It would, no doubt, benefit her. But she has an unconquerable +reluctance to going. Still, I think we may induce her to do as we +wish. Only we must act towards her with great tenderness. I am +afraid--pardon me for speaking plainly--that you do not consider, +sufficiently, her weak state. She needs to be treated with the +gentleness and affection that we show to a child." + +Mr. Edwards looked surprised at this remark. + +"I am sure, Mrs. Harrison," he replied, "no man could do more for +the happiness of a woman, than I do for that of Kate. How I could +act differently is more than I can imagine." + +"It may be natural to you, Mr. Edwards," said Mrs. Harrison, "but +you are wanting in that tenderness of manner so grateful, nay, so +essential to the heart of a wife." + +"I am!" + +"I speak plainly, because the necessity for doing so is imperative. +Your manner towards Kate has ever been respectful, polite, +attentive, but not affectionate; and without the latter, the former +never can satisfy the heart of a loving woman. I do not blame you +for this. It may all be natural; but I feel it to be my duty to +speak of it now, and to suggest, at least temporarily, a change." + +Mr. Edwards did not reply for some moments. He then said-- + +"Mrs. Harrison, I must own that what you allege surprises me. You +charge me, by implication at least, with want of affection for my +wife." + +"No, Percy," returned the lady quickly. "I did not mean to say that. +I only spoke of your manner towards her, which lacks the warmth a +woman's heart requires. I have not said that you did not love her." + +"I do not see how I can act differently; for I see no defect in my +conduct," said the young man, with a repellant manner. "If my wife +misinterprets the manner in which I treat her, and makes herself +unhappy about it, that is no fault of mine. She ought to have the +good sense to take me as I am, and not make herself wretched because +I am not what I cannot be." + +"You still misunderstand me, Percy," urged (sic) the the mother of +Kate. "I did not say that your wife made herself wretched because +your manner towards her was not different. I only suggested a +modification of it, at least for the present, as a means of aiding +in her return to a healthier state of mind. But we will say no more +about this. I have frankly opened my mind to you, and thus far +discharged my duty. You must now act as your own heart directs." + +Percy showed no inclination to continue the subject. His manner +plainly enough indicated that the conversation had given him no +pleasure; and that he believed the mother of Kate to have exceeded +the privilege of her position. When they parted, it was with the +most formal politeness on both sides. + +After Mrs. Harrison parted with Percy Edwards, the young man +remained alone for nearly an hour. Sometimes he walked the floor +with hurried steps, his manner greatly excited; sometimes he sat +beside a table, with his head leaning upon his hand, so buried in +thought as to be almost motionless; and sometimes he muttered to +himself, as he aroused up from these fits of abstraction. + +"Ah me!" he sighed, at last, rising slowly from his chair, and +beginning to walk about, but with less agitation of manner than +before exhibited. "This was a great mistake,--the one great error of +my life. How blind I was not to have foreseen just such a result as +this! I never had the smallest impulse of affection for her, and +never can have. Both are unhappy in our bonds, and both will be so +until death severs the unnatural tie. Ah me! A hundred thousand as a +marriage portion, doubled on my own side, with half a million in +prospect, does not put a single drop of honey in this cup, which +grows more bitter with every draught. The worldly advantage is all +very well. I am satisfied with that. But it comes at too heavy a +cost. And poor Kate"--there was something of pity in the tone with +which this was uttered--pity, not tenderness--" she has been the +most wronged in this business. But the alliance was of her father's +own seeking. His were the offered inducements, and I am not to be +blamed if the temptation proved too strong for me. To a great +extent, I can protect myself, though not fully. There are, thorns in +my pillow which can neither be covered nor removed. Ah me! I wish +Kate would seek, as I do, in coldness and indifference, the +protection she needs. Her mother's observation is correct. There is +no tenderness in my manner, and I have not meant that there should +be. I have not treated her unkindly, for I wished to avoid all cause +for complaint or reproach. I wished to stand clear before the world; +and I am clear. If she beat herself against the bars of her cage, am +I to blame? No, no! Let her yield to the necessity of her position, +as I do. Let her avail herself of all the sources of forgetfulness +within her reach--and there are many--and live passionless, if not +happy. But she will not. If some speedy change do not take place, +she cannot live a year. The world is quick in its imputation of +wrong; and a whisper from her friends may thrill a thousand hearts +with a suspicion of foul play, if she go down to the grave in so +short a period after our marriage. And there is yet another +consideration,--my interest in her father's large estate. How will +that be affected? Having sacrificed so much for this consideration, +it must not be abandoned now." + +Edwards continued to move about the room, in deep reflection, for a +considerable time longer. Then he went slowly up to his wife's +chamber. She was lying upon the bed, with her face buried in a +pillow. She did not stir, although his footfall was distinct upon +the floor. Edwards went to the bedside, and leaning over, said, with +more affection in his voice than he had ever used since their +marriage, taking her hand in his, with a gentle pressure, at the +same time-- + +"Kate, it grieves me to see you so ill both in body and mind." + +There was an instant quiver in every limb, before so motionless; but +the sufferer neither arose nor made any reply. + +"Unless something be done for your relief," continued Mr. Edwards, +in the same tone, "you cannot live. You know how much we are all +afflicted, and how anxious we all feel on account of your loss of +health and spirits." + +The hand of his wife was still in his, and he held it with the same +gentle pressure, that was now as gently returned. The impulse of Mr. +Edwards was to remove his hand the instant Kate showed this +consciousness of a tenderer manifestation than he was accustomed to +give; but he restrained himself, and still let his hand rest upon +hers. He felt that she was listening to him, and that he had the +ability to influence her as he would, if he used the power of a +well-counterfeited regard. After a few moments' silence, he went +on:-- + +"I am sure that a change of air and a change of scene will do you +good. This Doctor R--has already said, and you know that we all +agree in the opinion. Now, will you not, to relieve the minds of +your friends, even if you feel reluctant to quit this seclusion into +which you have shrunk, make an effort? I am ready to go with you, at +any moment. Come! arouse yourself; if not for your own sake, for +ours, for mine." + +The way in which this was said, more than the words themselves, +acted like a charm upon Mrs. Edwards. The almost pulseless lethargy +into which she had fallen passed off quickly, and rising up, she +pushed back the matted hair from her face, and said, "I know you all +think me perverse and unreasonable, and I may be so to some extent; +but I will try to do as you wish. I feel as weak in mind and body as +a child; and, like a child, I will submit myself to your direction. +Only, Percy,"--her voice had a most touching pathos as she said +this,--"_love me as a child!_ Speak to me as gently, as tenderly as +you did just now, and I will be the happiest being alive." + +As she spoke, she leaned over towards her husband, and, burying her +face on his bosom, sobbed aloud. + +Cold-hearted as was Percy Edwards, this exhibition moved him. It was +unexpected, and, therefore, he was not prepared to meet it in the +way he would otherwise have done. As Kate lay weeping upon his +bosom, and almost clinging to him, he experienced a change of +feeling towards her. Pity melted into tenderness, and, on the +impulse of the moment, he drew his arm around her, and, bending +down, touched his lips to her forehead. + +A happier moment the trembling wife had not known for years. + +"You will make a short visit to Newport?" said Mr. Edwards, as +Kate's feelings grew calmer. + +"Oh, yes," she whispered, "if you wish me to do so." + +"Only on account of your health," he replied, "I know it will do you +good." + +"Oh, certainly I will go. Forgive me for having before hesitated a +moment; it was a childish weakness. But I will try hereafter to act +with more reason." + +The pressure of a tenderly spoken word revealed to Percy Edwards a +hidden treasure in the love of a woman, worthy, truly worthy of a +full reciprocation. Her heart was open and panting before him. Alas! +for the man, that he could not prize the untold wealth he had only +to reach forth his hand and take. But the lover of himself and the +world is ever blind to what are life's real blessings. Thus blind +was Percy Edwards. + +Deluded into the belief that a genuine affection had been awakened +in the breast of her husband, Kate felt the motions of a new life +within her. + +Satisfied that if he again fell back into his old habit of treating +his wife, she would at once relapse into her former state of +depression, Mr. Edwards maintained a certain appearance of +affection, much as the effort cost him. It was wonderful to see the +effect upon Mrs. Edwards. Her countenance became cheerful, her voice +lost its even, passionless tone, and she evinced an interest in much +that was passing around her. Preparations were immediately commenced +for a visit to Newport, and in a week from the time she was aroused +from the lethargy into which she had fallen, she left for that +fashionable resort, in company with her husband and several friends. + + + + + +Project Gutenberg's Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine, by T.S. 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