FO URTH TIIOUSAND.
THE
SENATOR'S SON,
OR,
TIlE MAINE LAW;
A LAST REFUGE;
A STORY DEDICATED
TO
THE LAW-MAKERS.
BY
METTA VICTORIA FULLER.
SECOND EDITION.
CLEVELAND, O.
TOOKER AN] Q4 A TCHIEL.
1853.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year Eighteen
Hundred and Fifty-three,
BY TOOKER & GATCHEL,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the District of Ohio.
HARRIS, FAIRBANKS & CO.,
WILAIAM SI. SIItIN,
BDSON STFdEOTYPE FOUNDRY~         PIRINTERS CLTEVKKLANDo




"'Does our political party stand on rum?  If so, let us be
ashamed of it and quit it.  But let us take heed lest our political
party is soon in the minority, from its adherence to rum, for it
surely will be.  Degeneracy and subserviency to wickedness and
debasoemc nt is not the spirit of the age.  God will overturn, and
ov-rturn, and overturn, until temperance and truth are triumiphant."








PREFACE.
IT may perhaps be expected that a few explanations
should be given for the publication of a new work of fiction. My attention was particularly called, during the past
summer, to the fact that, in many States, there existed a
strong feeling in favor of the general adoption of the Maine
Liquor Law, as it is called; but so many of past usages
and modes of thinking prevailed, that philanthropists have
been unable, except in a few instances, to carry into effect
an Act that must so clearly benefit all classes of society.
The thought suggested itself, that if a new work could be
written on this subject, sufficiently interesting to attract
anything like general attention, it might perhaps turn the
scale, now so nearly balanced, in favor of this noble end.
To do this successfully, one would be obliged to go
out of the ordinary manner of treating the subject of
Temperance.  For long years, the most vivid descriptions have been given of the terrible sufferings and awful wretchedness that await the victim of Intemperance.
Reason and judgment have been appealed to in vain. Thousands are at this moment reeling towards a drunkard's
grave. Experience has proved that in no way can the evils
of the heart or of society be shown so plainly and effect



vi                    PREFACE.
ively as under the garb of fiction, Here, casting aside
the dull argument and dry statistics, the subject is mirrored in its natural beauty or deformity, unobscured
by the mists of custom or familiarity. We look beneath
the smiling demeanor of vice, on the hidden agony gnawing at its heart-strings. We gaze with rapture on the
pure, calm brow of virtue, radiant with happiness amid
the clouds of adversity and the storms of misfortune.
We behold the first, the secret inducement to crime, and
shudder as we observe the terrible results that must follow looming up, black and threatening, in the dim and
distant future. We see reflected in a new and vivid light
evils of vast magnitude and extent, that were before trite
and commonplace; and we see, too, divested of all expediency and sophistry, the true remedy to be applied.
Hence, in all reforms this kind of writing will be found
most effective.  But it is only when some effort at human
improvement is robed in its captivating garb that fiction
should be tolerated. As in the spreading landscape, the
ragged rocks, the majestic oak and the dark ravine, take
a firmer hold upon the mind than all the gay colors of
field and forest, so in this kind of fiction, while we cull
its sweets, and linger entranced over its fascinating pages,
the stern ideas of truth and right that meet us at every
turn will gradually fasten upon our judgments, and linger
in our memories, long after the sweet flowers that decked
them have faded and been forgotten.
With such a desire have the following pages been writ



PREFACE.                   vii
ten; and though I have wandered in the luxuriant fields
of the imagination to select colors for my theme, yet my
aim has been to draw, with stronger outline and deeper
shading, the mournful ruins of humanity, caused by Intemperance, and to place them in the foreground of the
picture; and if I should ever hear of one soul saved by
its means from the dark and fearful gloom that hangs forever over the end of the drunkard, it would be more than
payment for all my labors. Whether it is ever destined
to accomplish even this much remains to be seen; but
its failure will not alter my faith in the ultimate triumph
of the Maine Liquor Law, through the length and breadth
of our fair land.








TIJE SEJ NATOR'S SON,
S. Jtutlj
DI/DICATED  TO  THE   LAW-MAKERS.
CHAPTER I.
" WHiY do the ladies come away from the table first,
mother? don't they eat as much as the gentlemen?"
4" I hardly think they do, Parke," replied the lady with
a smile: "but the gentlemen are not eating; they are
drinking wine."
" Don't the ladies drink wine?"
"A little sometimes. But when papa and his friends
have drank a few glasses, they become very sociable, and
converse wisely upon politics and other subjects too abstruse
for feminine ears."
"I don't think its very pretty," responded the little
1




2                THIE SENATOR'S SON.
fellow, not fully comprehending his mother's apologies.
At the same time he made up his mind to see for himself
what there was so fascinating in the dining-room; so stealing fiom her lap, in a few moments his bright head was
peeping in at the door, where, finding himself unobserved,
he walked in and hid behind his father's chair.
Ad Well! its mighty pleasant here anyhow," was his
secret conclusion.  There was a profusion of lanlp-light,
making the costly table-service glitter and gleam; Harry
and White, the two black waiters, were busy uncorking
dark, ancient-looking bottles; the cut-glass decanters and
goblets sparkled only less than their contents.  A dozen
gentlemen, each smiling, affable, and witty, were trifling
with some fruit, leisurely picking out the kernels from the
almonds, and toying more or less fondly with their glasses.
People, poetry, and politics were being discussed; old puns
and new puns were received with equal good humor, and
even some brilliant repartee flashed across the mahogany
board.
" This wine is fit for old Bacchus' own use," said one
of the number.  "I propose that we drink the health of
our host - a long continuance of his late success, and defeat to his enemies: may his brother senators receive him
with merited applause, - may his country appreciate his
services, -may his speeches be distinguished for their
brevity as well as wit, —and may he be spared, after a
successful session, to return to the smiles of his numerous friends and the arms of his truly lovely family."




THE SENATOR'S SON.                  3
The enthusiasm with which this toast was received was
such that it came near to penetrating the sacred precincts
of the parlors.  Their host arose to make a few remarks,
partly referring to his principles and party, but mostly personal thanks and sentiments of friendship.
He was a fine-looking man, speaking with grace and ease.
His dark-blue eye sparkles with wit and fire; he had an
open, generous brow, beautified by masses of brown ringlets,
and a rich, persuasive voice. Upon this occasion he was
more than usually animated.
ie was giving a farewell dinner to a few of his friends,
previous to his departure for Washington, whither the votes
of his party had destined him; in their evident love and admiration was something to arouse his sympathies, and he
spoke with eloquence.
The little intruder edges round to the side of the table,
regarding his father with intense interest. He could not,
of course,'understand much of what he was saying, but the
language of looks was not lost upon him. He, as well as
the older listeners, was charmed with the brilliant smile and
the graceful gesture; as Mr. Madison sat down, he looked
around with a proud air, and his rosy cheek flushed as if it
said -
" What man is there so wonderful as my papa?"
A guest caught sight of the triumphant look, and remarked with a smile —
"Your little son appears, like the rest of us, very much
pleased with your sentiments."




4                THE SENATOR'S SON.
The father's eye lighted on the eager, sparkling face.
" Here, Parke, my boy, is a glass of wine; we are going
to drink to the memory of George Washington.  You shall
have the honor of proposing the words."
The child of four years stepped forward and seized the
glass.  Holding it as he had seen his father do, he spoke
out boldly, -in his clear, baby voice, -
" To the memory of George Washington, the Father of
his Country. First in war — first in peace — and first in
the hearts of his countrymen! "
An enthusiasm befitting an older heart seemed to shine
in the eyes of the boy, who had thus early caught his parent's words, and, almost, thoughts.  Every man rose to his
feet; and there was a momentary silence.
But a child's thoughts do not dwell long upon subjects
so profound, and he whispered in his papa's ear, as the gentlemen replaced their glasses,
" I like the wine very much indeed."
It was meet that no other name should be crowned with
rosy wine after that of Washington, and the gentlemen soon
joined their fairer companions.  Here, as everywhere else,
Mr. Madison was the first object of admiration. Beautiful women smiled graciously at receiving his delicate and welcome
attentions - they looked for his courtly glance, and listened
for the changing flow of his discourse- now mirthful, satirical, pathetic - always that of a man of genius, with kindly
sympathies, and a generous heart. His wife, a most lovely
and graceful woman, moved quietly among her guests, with




THE SENATOR' S SON.                 5
an unequaled tact and propriety, yet not the less conscious of
her husband's gifts. Devotion and pride were in her aspect;
as if not having anything but love in her own nature, she had
yet learned to he proud of herself as a part of him. The
thought that to-morrow they were to be separated for some
months, was more to her than the brilliancy and triumph of
the occasion; and now and then her glances meeting his
would melt away into almost tears. Despite of this the evening could not but be very happy; the lights were so brilliant, the company so pleased, the music so sweet, and Mr.
Madison himself, in one of his most fascinating humors.
There was but one fault to be found with him -- he was
too fascinating.  For the winning flash of his eye, the quick
beaming of his smile, the glow of his humor, the sparkle of
his wit, had all borrowed a flame- -beautiful but burning
-- a flame from the fire in the wine-cup.  A suspicion of
this had not as yet shaded the soft brow of the young wife,
turned so reverently up to him.
" Why, Parke, I thought Margaret had put you to bed,
long ago," she said in a low voice to her little boy, as he
crept to her side, while one of the ladies was at the piano.
" You'll not be awake in the morning to bid papa good-bye,
if you sit up so long after your bed-time."
The boy looked at her with eyes unnaturally bright.
" Hurrah for my papa Washington!" he shouted, stag.
gering away from  his mother's caressing hand, and attempting to wave his little arm.
1*




6                THE SENATOR'S SON.
"Why, darling, what makes you so rude?" she continued walking after him to take him from the room.
" Hurrah for Washington! he's the man for senator,"
he murmured in a lower tone, as he fell over an ottoman,
from whence he was lifted by his astonished parents.
"The child is in a fit," cried Mrs. Madison, turning
pale.
" A fit?" said the father; and he laughed gayly. " The
truth is we left him in the dining-room, and he must have
been drinking some private toasts in honor of my departure.
The little rogue! but he did not know any better."
The gentlemen joined in the laugh, and called him a
brave little fellow; but the mother, who had summoned
Margaret to carry him to the nursery, could hardly smile,
for poor Parke's cheeks were already growing white.
She was obliged to excuse herself from her friends, who
were already departing; and for more than half the night
she had to watch by the sick-bed of the young patriot.
His sufferings at last over, he fell into a deep sleep that
was not even disturbed by his father's parting kiss, three
hours after day-break.  When he did awake, his mother sat
beside his little cot, weeping. The thought that his party
had chosen her husband to represent their principles at the
Capitol, although a proud one, could not suffice in the moment of.parting to take away its bitterness.  With his last
kiss upon her lips,and the pressure of his hand yet thrilling
her fingers, she stole to the room of their only child to




THE SENATOR S SON.                  7
comfort herself with the sight of his innocent face.  And a
comfort it was; for her loneliness began to divert itself
with joyful plans of what she should do for his improvement, to surprise his father when he came home.
He should live mostly upon bread and milk, to keep his
cheek rosy and his complexion clear; he should make astonishing progress in spelling, and be deep in primary geography; and she should embroider him  the most exquisite
suit of clothes to wear in honor of the absent one's return.
With innocent mother-thoughts like these, she was beguil
ing her quiet tears; on and on her fancy flew to times when
he should be grown out of his boy-jacket, and cap with
plumes, and be a man, beautiful as his father, and like him
honored and beloved. She smiled even while she wept, and
Parke awoke to meet a kiss of yearning tenderness.
The first day was not passed, however, much to Parke's
edification or that of his mother. The effects of last night's
disobedience were pale cheeks and a very fretful humor.
The proposed bread and milk regimen, and a fine ride
the next morning in the carriage, restored him to his wonted
excellent temper.
As Mrs. Madison was laying aside her cloak after the
ride, the cook told her that there was a poor woman in the
kitchen who wanted to speak with her. Going down, she
found a Mrs. Burns, who, in former times, had nearly lived
upon her charity.  But her husband, a hod-carrier, and
dreadfully intemperate, had, for the last few months, reformed and provided comfortably for his family.




8                THE SENATOR'S SON.
"How is this, Mrs. Burns? you look as if you were in
trouble again," said the senator's wife, in her winning, sympathizing manner.
The woman glanced at her almost fiercely from the corner by the range, where she was standing, for she would
not sit.
" Trouble! you may well call it trouble," she said
briefly.
" Is your husband drinking again?"
"Aye! worse than ever."
"What a pity - what a great pity "
"Y'es! its a pity for him, and a pity for me, and a pity
for the children; but its a pity, too, for them as has the
blame of it - a pity and a shame! "
" Has any one the blame of his evil conduct, except
himself? " asked Mrs. Madison gently, for she saw that her
visitor was much excited.
" There are those, ma'am, whom God will not hold
guiltless at the judgment-day.  Fine gentlemen they are
too, and fine speeches they can make about their principles;
and your husband, one of them- he's one of them as has
the faults of my poor man on his head."
" Hush, Mrs. Burns," said the lady, while the roses
flushed out into her face, "you must not speak so in my
presence."
" But I will speak so, ma'am, for I came here to tell
you the truth.  You are an angel, almost, I know; and
have been good to me and mine; but that doesn't signify




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 9
but that you are too good for him.  There's no kinder man
than mine when he's sober; and not a drop of liquor did he
taste since last March, until'lection day. He earned his
dollar a day, and brought it home at night; the children
had shoes and decent clothes, and Tom went to school; and
you couldn't find a woman with a happier heart than mine.
But election times must come, and my husband must have
his say with the rest, and as he walks along the street towards the polls, Mr. Madison comes up and shakes hands,
with his sweet smile, and says,' Who are you going to support to-day, Mr. Burns?' So my husband tells him, and
he says,' You'll make a great mistake if you do that. Their
party don't care any more for you or any other honest working man, than just to get your vote, and when they've got
it, and got the power, they'll use it against you, and wages
will come down, and the poor'll suffer,' or some other such
kind of speeches.'I don't believe it, Mr. Madison,' says
my husband.' Well, just step in and take a glass of some
thing to make you more reasonable, and we'll talk it over,
says iMr. Madison.' I'm obliged to you, but I don't drink
anything now,' says Tom.' I'm glad to hear it,' says your
fine gentleman,'but just take a little to-day  it'll help you
see clearer which of us is in the right.' The pleasant smniles
and the fine words were more than he could resist, and he
went in, and your husband treated him, and got his vote,
and he came home drunk that night, and he's been drunk
ever since. Not a day's work has he done —the little
silver there was laid by has gone - the children are cold,




10              TIHE SENATOit'S SON.
and there is no fire; and he's warming himself by the barroom fire, that's only better than the flames below."
She paused and stood looking gloomily into the range.
Mrs. Madison could not say a word; in her heart she confessed the wrongs of the drunkard's wife, and was ready to
shed tears over the thoughtless conduct of her own proud
husband.
" He was carried away by the excitement of the occasion," she said to herself; " he forgot into what temptation
he was leading this poor man,"' — but all sophistry of
affection could not entirely excuse his selfish eagerness for
the triumph of his party.  "This must be the wrongs of
suffrage instead of the rights," continued her thoughts.
" Facts like these cry shame upon politicians —facts like
these are soils upon the beautiful garments of Liberty! "
Mrs. Burns turned her face again towards the lady, it
was a face that seemed to have been gentle and pretty enough
once; now it looked cold and hard as stone.
"I am  going to out with the worst, Mrs. Madison.
Little Ann is dead."
" Why, Mrs. Burns! what was the matter with her?"
" Oh, she died," said the woman, in a voice made harsh
by repressed emotions; " she died because somebody wanted
her father's vote, and made him  drunk.  He must needs
drink more and more, and grow worse and worse - Burns
is a devil when he's drunk, peaceful as he is when he lets
liquor alone - until he must go to abusing the young ones,
and getting mad at me; and because I tried to keep his




TIHE MENATOR'S SON.                11
hands off the little girl - she was a delicate thing you know,
and only two years old- oh! how I prayed to him  upon
my knees to let her alone! - he catched her away from me
and shook her furiously, dashed her down over a chair, and
went out the door with an oath.  When I picked her up, I
thought she was dead.  But after awhile she began to
moan, and every time she was stirred she shrieked -I
think that her back was broke — and so she laid in my
arms that night and the next day, and last night she died."
Her listener had sank half-fainting into a chair, with the
tears rolling rapidly down her colorless cheeks.
" I've not shed a tear yet," continued her visitor, in
the same constrained voice.  " But I've had some awful
thoughts.  As I sat there so many hours, holding my poor
darling, looking into her white face, with the black circles
of pain around the eyes, and listening to her moans, I
thought of your little boy, so rosy and so bright, and I
came near cursing him for his father's fault."
"c Oh, don't speak so, Mrs. Burns!!"  Mrs. Madison
held up her hands appealingly, while a shudder went
through her soul at the sudden thought of her beautiful
child with a curse upon his innocent head.  " No one can
wish any ill to 1.idm," she said half-aloud.
"No! no one can wish any ill to him, for his mother's
sake," said the woman, catching at her words.  "But I'm
afraid it'll come without anybody's wishing.'The sins
of the fathers are visited upon the children.'"
" Shall I go home with you, and do what I can for pocr
Annie? "




12               THE SENATOR'S SON.
"If you will, ma'am; its little can be done for her
now."
The carriage was still at the door, and Mrs. Madison
told the driver to come around with it to Mrs. Burns', in
half an hour; and the two mothers wended their way down
the narrow alley leading to the desolate home of one of
them.
The senator's wife was a lady of delicate nerves; but
her nerves and her antipathies were under the firm control
of her reason and benevolence.  H-Ier large charities had
made her familiar with the houses of the poor; but her
heart sank as she stepped over the threshold of this dwelling.  A feeling that she herself was not wholly guiltless
of the wretchedness which met her eye, could not be shaken
off. A moment she stood silent, looking at the two shivering children crouched by the fireless hearth, at the empty
cupboard, the broken windows, and, lastly, at the bedwhere laid the corpse of the murdered child. Approaching,
she turned back the sheet, and gazed at its little, quiet face,
which she last remembered so pretty, blooming, and fair.
It was too much for her mother's heart. The miserable
father - the mother who could not shed a tear - the innocent infant released from a world too harsh for its gentle
endurance - the want - the wrong - the wo - came over
her soul like a rushing cloud, and, sinking beside the bed,
she sobbed aloud. Her weeping was contagious. It melted
the icy grief of the mourner down to the level of natural
expression; she threw herself upon the couch with cries




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.                13
and tears, kissing the cold hands of her darling, touching
her flaxen curls, calling her, in accents of moving pathos,
"Annie!Annie!"
The two boys, frightened and cold, drew closer together,
looking on with wondering eyes.  The carriage came to the
door, and MIrs. Madison, controling her emotion, whispered,
" It will do you good to cry, I am glad that you can.
T will go now and do what is necessary to be done, and then
return."  Food and fuel came in due time; lastly, a little
coffin. With her own fair hands the lady kindled a fire
upon the hearth, washed the faces of the children, brushed
their hair, and helped them plentifully to the contents of a
basket which had been well stored from  her own pantry.
Then she aroused their mother from her stupor of exhaustion; made her eat, drink a cup of tea, and warm herself.
Tenderly she placed the pretty Annie in her coffin,
decked out in one of Parke's nicest baby-gowns, with some
pale buds in her little hands gathered from the conservatory.
The boys were told to kiss their dear sister for the last time
before the coffin-lid was fastened down; then all got into
the carriage and followed the hearse to the cemetery.  All
was well and quietly done. The grave was hollowed in a
pleasant place, where roses would bloom in summer; now
the wind blew drearily, and scattered flakes of snow portended the death of autumn.
The mother would' have cast herself down upon her
baby's grave and remained there; but with gentle force her
friend compelled her home. It was late in the afternoon
2




14               TI-IE SENATOR S SON.
when they returned.  Mrs. Madison went in a few moments
to see that the children were left in comfort.  WVhile she
was there, Burns came in.  He was not drunk, for he was
out of money, and could not get any liquor.  He had not
been home since that fatal night; it was the first time he
had bkeen sober for days and days. I-Ie looked pale, cross,
and unhappy; his face flushed with shame when he met the
eye of their visitor. IHis wife turned her face away from
him, as he came in, without looking towards him.  An
ominous silence settled him; glancing around, he asked
hastily -
"Where is Annie?"
Perhaps he had a recollection of his cruelty.
"She is dead," replied Mrs. Madison, gravely; "dead
and buried."
" Annie dead?" he enquired with a bewildered air.
"'Yes! Mr. Burns, she is dead.  Do you remember
your brutal treatment of her the other night?  She died of
that - you are her murderer!"
" My God!" burst from the lips of the miserable man,
after a moment's silence.  "No! I couldn't have killed her
- little Annie! our only girl - our little Ann!- don't say
so, don't say that! "
He sank into a chair, trembling all over
Soon the fear of a weak nature began to overpower even
remorse.
" Does any one. know it?  Are the officers after me?"
he asked.




THE SENhATOPR'S SOZN.              15
"No one knows of it yet except myself, out of your
family, and no one shall know of it, as long as you remain
a sober, penitent man. Let this awful lesson be enough,
Mr. Burns. Promise me never to taste another drop of ardent spirits, and we promise you to keep your terrible secret.
But break your promise, and we give you up at once to the
justice of the law."
"I promise you," he replied eagerly.
It was growing dark: MIrs. Madison was obliged to leave
the unhappy man to make his peace with his wife, as best
he could, and went away, leaving them with each other.
Her beautiful mansion welcomed her home with its look of
luxury and ease.  She went to her room and sat down in
her favorite easy chair, weary and dejected.  The shining
grate was heaped with glowing anthracite, the lamps burned
pleasantly —a rich cheerfulness pervaded the apartment,
contrasting with the gloom she had left behind.
Little Parke was waiting to see his mother, and receive
her good-night kiss before he went to his crib.  A servant
brought in tea and set it beside her; she drank it with but
little appetite, and when it was carried away, Parke climbed
into her lap. She gave him a great many good-night kisses,
yet could not let him go; her fingers lingered in his sunny
curls, turning them back from his brow, while her eyes
dwelt upon his fairness and beauty. A noble-looking boy
he was, with his father's handsome features, and the promise of his talent.  The sunny landscape of the future into
which she had yesterday glanced with so hopeful an eye,




16               THE SENATOR'S SON.
seemed sadly changed; dark clouds were drifting over it;
gloom and terror were usurping the place of beauty.  It was
but a phantom landscape though, conjured up by the weird
words of a wronged mother's passion; and with a smile and
sigh, she strove to call her mind away from it.
Still she hardly felt willing to let the boy go away to
his crib; when he teased to sleep with her she gladly consented, and all night she held him closely in her arms, as if
screening him from some invisible danger. Notwithstanding her fatigue she slept but little. Thought was busy with
a new subject. There had not been in those days all this
stir about temperance, which has led people since to think
so much about the'worm of the still,' and devise such good
means for its death. She had no idea in what manner an
attack might be made upon the evil thing. Little Annie's
ghost hovered about her pillow, calling, with feeble cries of
pain, for an atonement to be made, and refusing to be quieted with anything less than an earnest promise to cherish
henceforth an unsparing enmity against the lawless robber
who had deprived her of her wearisome life.
Lovely in spirit as in person, capable of profound thought
as well as quick feeling, Mrs. Madison did not dismiss the
subject from her mind, until she had come to the conclusion
that it was her individual duty to wield one blow, however
slight it might be, directed by the arm of a delicate woman,
against the torturing worm that was eating into the heart
of almost every family in the land. Its fiery fangs were
not clinging to any of her beloved ones in the immediate




TILE SENATOlR'S SON                 17
circle of home; but friends she had, and firiends of friends
who suffered;- the world suffered, and something ought to
be done for its relief.  She did not dream, proud and happy
wife that she was, she did not dream that her husband was
like a fair and ruddy fruit, promising to the eye, but which
was already a little ashen at the core, and doomed to swift,
decay.
" It was through the temptation of one who controls
himself well, that poor Burns fell," she said to herself,
"' and my husband was the tempter.  Never - never will I,
remotely or in any manner, be the agent of another's destruction.  Rather let my feeble light burn as a signal to
warn all from the danger that is nigh."
Calmed by this good resolution, she fell asleep.




CHAPTER II.
THE first notable opportunity which occurred for Mrs.
Madison to'burn her signal light,' was upon New Year's
Day. In the great city where she resided it was the universal custom of the ladies to receive their friends among
the gentlemen, upon that day.
It was an honor, eagerly sought by the most aspiring,
to enter the parlors of this beautiful woman, and receive her
graceful welcome. Her distinguished position, as the fair
descendant of an ancient, honorable, and wealthy family, the
gentle patron of literature and the arts, and the wife of their
talented senator, made every movement of her's, in society,
conspicuous. It was with a little secret trembling of the
heart, therefore, that she ordered the arrangements of her
table upon that morning; for she had resolved to banish
wine from it altogether.  This was then an almost unprecedented movement. By the time she had finished dressing,
she had recovered her composure; conscious that her dig



THE SENATOR S SON.                 19
nity of position would enable her to carry out her ideas of
right.
She descended to receive her guests in all the regal
beauty of her womanly power.  She had a well-chosen word
for all - statesmen, poets, artists, beaux, and dandies. She
fascinated  all alike, by her sweet self-possession, her
sprightly wit, her fine tact.
Sipping the fragrant coffee from cups of costly porcelain,
anxious for every word and look of their hostess, her guests
appeared both satisfied and delighted.  Whatever they may
have thought of the important omission from the table, of
course none spoke of it, until the day began to wear to a
close; and among the later callers the effects of previous hospitality began to make themselves unpleasantly apparent.
Intemperance then, with a thousand-fold more fatality than
the cholera now, raged among the brave, the noble, the
gifted of the land.  The brightest stars went wheeling and
tottering down the firmament of society and disappeared in
perpetual darkness.  It is not strange that more than a majority of those who, in the latter part of the afternoon, presented themselves before Mrs. Madison, were more fitted to
be presented to the kind care of their servants and beds, than
to the presence of a refined woman. She had ample opportunity of studying the different kinds of madness which the
same fiery tooth had infused into the temperaments of her
friends.  Some, it is true, seemed to glow with more intense brilliancy, to be only more extremely courteous; in
others, their broad, good-humor provoked her smile; or




20t)              TilE SENATOR'S SON.
their senseless flatteries her frown; again, their stupid inanities excited a disgust which courtesy could hardly conceal.
" I thank you, Mrs. Madison," said a gentleman, speaking rather thickly, who, when he had the control of his senses,
was remarkable for his delicate devotion of demeanor in the
presence of ladies, " but I would prefer a glass of wine."
" I have not given my guests any wine to-day," she replied with a pleasant smile.
"Mr. Madison's famous cellars are not growing empty,
are they?"  "Oh, no!" with another persuasive smile.
"' But I regard wine as a most specious, false friend — an
enemy in disguise- whom I have had the courage to banish from my presence."
"Well!" with a polite, classic oath, "I fear you will
banish me too; for I must confess its sinning outrageously
against hospitality."
" If you find nothing to attract you to our house, Mr.
Sinclair, but our wine-cellars, I am sorry," she replied with
gravity.
" Oh- oh —oh!" I know you are very charming!
but I like wine as well as women, and so does Madison;
" Good evening, Mr. Sinclair," interrupted his hostess,
with a jesture of dismissal, while the roses crowned her indignant brow.; Ah!- oh- I beg your par —" but his friends who
had some faint sense of propriety remaining, took him by
the arm, and departed.




THE SENATOR S SON.                 21
It was with a deeper sense than ever of the magnitude
of the cloud overshadowing the land, that the senator's wife
dismissed that evening the last of her guests, and sat down
to think over the events of the day.
iMrs. Madison's little light attracted a great many eyes.
3Mothers, wives, and daughters, with hearts bleeding over
the secret or open excesses of those dearest to them, desired
to set their lights a-burning too; but these were mostly extinguished by the command of those who stood greatest in
need of being warned.  Her own was not an exception.
Upon her husband's return, in the spring, he laughed goodhumoredly at what he called her silly excess of philanthropy.
" You are too peerless a woman to ride such a hobby as
that," he said, kissing the cheeks that were glowing with
feeling. " Let every body take care of himself. It is not
our fault if some of our friends take a glass too much - we
are only responsible for ourselves."
" All people cannot take care of themselves - they have
lost the power - their friends must control them."
" Well, we will not assume these duties yet," and by
his positive command, the shining worm came back to its
accustomed place in the social circle.
And, while talking with him upon the subject, she ventured to relate the sad story of little Annie's murder. She
did not wish to pain her husband, but to impress upon him
the wrong and danger of leading others into temptation to
which we are not ourselves particularly exposed. He was




22               THE SENATOR S SON.
much shocked, and walked the floor a long time, pale and
thoughtful.
"' It nwas wrong I" he said with emphasis, " selfish, careless, -wicked! But who would have thought of such a
thing? everybody does the same. I promise you, dear
Alice, it is the last time I will do such a deed."
He enquired after Burns, and she told him that for a
month or six weeks he had remained sober, but that he
wasted away to a skeleton, was deprived of natural sleep,
and was at last driven back to his cups, by the gnawing
agony of remorse.
" MIrs. Madison," he said to me once while I remonstrated
with him, " Its no use for me to try ever to be a good man,
unless I drive it away by liquor, the face of that child is
forever before me — I hear her cry out —I see her dead
and cold —I hear her telling her mother in piteous tones
that I murdered her. Night and day -night and day —
I've no rest except when the madness of the drink is upon
me. Oh! if it wasn't for that, I would try."
"The tears rolled down his face while he spoke.  Oh, my
husband! his wretchedness is a dreadful thing to think
upon. His wife, by my advice, has taken her children and
gone back to her father's, where they will be safe from his
drunken fury. But there ought to be a place for him,
where he could be safe from himself. Why is there not an
insane asylum, a prison, a something, where such lost creatures can be healed like the sick,- for they are sick,- and
restored to hope, to life, and to God? Why do people




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 23
furnish such victims with the means of accomplishing their
own death?  Better give an infant the blaze that it cries
for! Why is there no law to protect and take care of such?
Oh! iMr. Madison, I wish -I fervently wish that there
was not a drop of ardent spirits in the land."
"Why should you trouble your pretty head about such
perplexing questions, my Alice?  Its a great deal you know
about the policy of such things. You would banish health
and comfort from many a poor man's hearth when you banished ardent spirits from the land. Your heart is too tender, pretty mother; I'm  afraid you'll make a girl of our
Parke, if you bring him up in the hearing of such nonsense."'
" Oh lao, my heart's not too tender; its not half capacious enough for the claims of humanity upon it," she replied with a sigh; " and you shan't shut my eyes with your
kisses, neither. They can see almost as far into the right,
as yours, my honored statesman!"
And so he kissed away and laughed away her appeals.
MIr. Madison had made himself a favorite, and won an
honorable position during his first session. He was one of
the youngest members, but he represented an important
district; and he was a man eminently calculated to attract
attention and to please, though not perhaps to make a profound and lasting impression. In speaking, he was brilliant
and effective; his rhetoric was sparkling, his satire was
keen, his gestures graceful; he excited the passions of men
rather than appealed to their judgments. Even his enemies




24               TIlE SENATOR'S SON.
conceded that he was a man of honorable sentiments, and
generous to a fault.
Upon his return to Washington, he took with him his
little family. He found his position more enviable than
ever.  His resources extended with the demands made upon
them; and whatever of political distinction he won, was
reflected in softer lustre from  his beautiful wife, as she
moved in the circles of society, adorning and adorned.
She who, the previous winter, had read her husband's
speeches in the solitude of her apartment, and silently
admired and loved, now listened to them as they fell glowing from his lips, and saw their eloquence reflected in the
varying faces of those by whom she was surrounded.
Who shall weigh the influence of a pure and lovely
woman?  Fashionable excess retired ashamed from  the
sweet glance of Mrs. Madison's rebuking eye.  It may be
that it lived and flourished as well as ever, but it kept itself
more concealed from the public gaze.
At length she began to be troubled for her own happiness. She began to suspect an unwelcome presence by her
own hearth-stone.
She knew, if others did not, that Mr. Madison could
speak well only when under the influence of wine, and that
his gay and fascinating spirits at an evening assembly were
proportioned to the amount of a false and dangerous stimulus. But it was true of a greater portion of society. What
of that?  He was neither a mental or physical Titan; and
such excitement, long continued, must soon begin to wear




THE SENATOR )S  oN.                25O
upon his powers. In the zenith of his prosperity, and the
first fullness of his talents and beauty, his faithful wife discovered the first indications of premature decay.
She kept her fears to herself, and sought to withhold
hiim, by the thousand invisible chains of a woman's power,
from his dazzling but dangerous course. Perhaps, had she
been constantly at his side, she would have saved her treasure from the hands of the mocker.
But the succeeding year she remained at home. A little
daughter was added to their store of good gifts; who, as
she developed from the formlessness of baby-blankets and
rosy excess of plumptitude, was of course pronounced the
tiny type of her beautiful mother.  Wee Alice was indeed
a fairy child; with her mother's dark-brown eyes, fringed
with long black lashes, and crowned by delicate-arched
brows - with her silken, shining hair -with her cunningly
cleft lips, closing in the crimson semblance of a bow, from
which was ineffectively winged the silver arrows of her
lisping speech.
With two such claimants upon her time and love, Mrs.
Madison had no desire to return to the gay Capital. Another and another year passed, and found her at home,
devoting herself chiefly to her children. It was with a sad
and anxious heart that she saw her husband depart -each
time sadder and more anxious; until she would gladly have
abandoned her peaceful life at home, and accompanied him
wherever he went. But her health, which had been deli3




26                TIlE SENATOR IS SON.
cato since Alice's birth, would not permit it, and she could
only follow him with prayers.
This fear for his welfare was the only cloud upon her
happiness; when this was banished from her sky, she had
only sunshine and delight.
It was in the fifth year of Mr. Madison's. senatorial
term that, one beautiful day in early spring, his wife sat in
her favorite apartment - the sunset-room little Parke called
it, because he could always see the sun set from its west
window.  She sat in her easy-chair, the light sewing she
held fallen into her lap, regarding with a mother's heartworn gaze the amusements of her children. Parke, a handsome aristocratic-looking boy of nine, was endeavoring to
initiate his little sister into the mysteries of a game of marbles.  She tried hard enough to acquire the necessary wisdom, but succeeded no farther than in rolling them far and
wide over the carpet, in lawless confusion.
"I cleclare, sis," he cried, with a good-natured laugh,
for he never got out of patience with the dearly-loved little
creature, " I believe your head was never made to hold anything but doll-babies. I don't think girls are as smart as
boys anyhow, do you, mother?"
The self-sufficient tone in which this question was asked
called up a smile to the eye of his mother; but the young
master was impervious to its roguish sarcasm, as she replied
quietly —
" You must remember that Alice is not quite four years




THE -SENATOR S SON.                27
old yet.  How much of an adept were you in marbles, at
that age?"
" Well, papa didn't bring me any until I was five.  But
if he had, I guess I could have found out what use to make
of them."
" You guess!  Wouldn't it sound better if you should
say,; you think?' "
" Guess is proper enough, and its a good Yankee word,
if you please, mother.  Here, Allie, bring me that alley
which you have rolled away under the table."
" Allie, bring the alley," laughed the little girl as she
crept under the table after the striped and tattooed ball.
"Yes, Allie bring the alley. Isn't that funny now?
You're a pretty smart little' girl, after all, if you do take to
doll-babies so."
" She's a perfect little witch! isn't she, mother?" he
continued, unable to resist the cunning way in which Alice
held out the marble to him, and just as he was about to
take it, gave it a toss behind her, which sent it into their
mamma's cap.  "Now you've got to give me a kiss to pay
for that."
The soft little arms were about his neck, and the pretty
lips held up to his face, when, with the wilfulness of boys
in general, he concluded to refuse the offering, and over
they both went, tumbling upon the floor in a burst of merriment.
" You play too rudely for little sister —you will hurt
her" - interposed the matron, looking on with nleased eye,




28              THE SENATOR'S SON.
which still preserved its watchfulness. " Besides, you learn
her to be boisterous. Papa would not like to find his pretty
daughter grown noisy as you."
Parke instantly subsided into the most subdued tenderness towards his fairy play-mate, stroking her fair curls and
pinching her rosy cheeks very softly.
" When is my father coming home?" he asked.
"I shall expect him next week —just a week from
to-day."
"Hurrah for Jackson!  that's good news. Did you
hear that, Allie? Father's coming home in a week. I
should like to dance, I feel so glad. Miother, won't you
please to open the piano and play a waltz? — Allie and I
want to dance.";" I think it is pleasanter in here than in the parlor,"
was the reply.
" Just one waltz, if you please, mother," urged Parke.
And " please, mamma," pleaded wee Alice.
So Mrs. Madison went into the parlor, where, inspired
by the glee of the children, who were only too happy, she
played with more spirit than she had done for months.
Parke, who had been taught by a master, was really a
beautiful dancer; and even baby Alice, who already showed
a genius for music, flew around like a sprite to the time of
the brilliant notes. It was a lovely picture. The mother
so youthful-looking and beautiful —the children so bright
and joyful.
With glowing cheeks, flashing eyes, and hair tossed




THE SENATOR' S SON.                29
back, the handsome boy whirled round to the measured
melody, holding his sister carefully, who, with toes just
touching the carpet, ringlets waving, and blue dress floating, went across and across the room with an etherial lightness that explained her pet appellative of " fairy Alice."
They were soon wearied with dancing; and their mother
sent them away to ask their nurse for the supper of bread
and milk, for the sun was throwing his setting radiance into
the west room. When they had left the apartment, Mrs.
Madison still played on. Spirits arose at the bidding of
sweet sounds - spirits of the olden time, when she was a
careless girl - a happy bride - a thoughtful mother. The
past, the present, and the future swept around in a magic
circle. The gay airs which had set her children's feet in
motion no longer suited her mood; plaintive melodies,
sad vagaries of music, floated up from the piano and filled
the shadowy apartment with solemn sweetness. The door
was open into the sunset-room, and in the mirror before her
was reflected the dying flush of the fair spring day, while
all around brooded the mystic wings of twilight. She did
not make the effort to sing; but her hands kept on like a
piece of exquisite mechanism, doing the bidding of her
dreamy will.
Mrs. Madison thought of her husband's brilliant career,
and she played a kind of triumphal march loud and grand;
she thought of the swift change which had come over him
in the last three or four years - startling rumors which she
had heard of his excesses when away from home -how,




30                THE SENATOR S SON.
forgetting his most admirable wife and lovely children, he
had delighted himself with ignoble pleasures, and had once
or twice nearly dishonored himself by ill conduct in the
house - and, thinking of this, the notes sank down into the
pleading pathos of a prayer.
She thought of his decreasing tenderness towards her -
that her delicate health did not receive from him that affectionate kindness which the mother of his children was entitled to —of his frequent irritation, and even harshness
when last in his family.
Trying to solve in her soul the perplexing enigma of the
fall of so gentle, generous, and noble a nature, she was ready
to set her foot upon the enchanting wine-cup and crush it
into the* earth.  She knew  that many of her husband's
finest qualities had been the very ones which had made him
a prey to temptation. His social disposition, his great generosity, his desire to please others and to be pleased, the
very craits which had made him so generally beloved, were
working to his ruin. What influence was there which could
be set over against that to which he was yielding himself,
since that exerted by his home, herself, their gifted boy,
their sweet Alice, had failed? Oh, what was there now to
be done? She felt the utter fallibility of earthly aid; and
while her tears fell down like rain upon the keys, she taught
them the voice of her entreaties to God.
There is mighty strength in prayer for all who are fainting or oppressed.  Mrs. Madison grew composed; a quiet
joy crept into her heart at the thought of meeting her husband so soon.




THE. SENA'TOR'S SON.               31' After another year," she said, " I shall have him  to
myself; for I hope that no entreaties of his party will tempt
him into public life again. Once out of the dangerous excitements of the arena, he will be won back to his old purposes again."
The last music which stole from  the instrument was a
subdued but joyous strain of " Home, sweet home." Then
the mother arose and went, as she always did, to see her
children safe in their nice little cots, to hear them repeat
their evening petition, and to give them the good-night
kiss.
"I don't think I shall half sleep to-night, thinking
about papa's coming home next week," said Parke, with a
bright smile, as his mother kissed him.
" You must sleep all the better for that, dear, so as to be
wide awake when he comes.  Good night, my darlings."
" Good night!- good night! dear mamma."
The pleasant sound of their voices - Parke's clear and
boyish, Alice's soft and lisping - brought back the cheerfulness to their mother's fair face.  It was with a smile of expectant pleasure that she enquired of Thomas, as she met
him in the hall, if he had been to the post-office?
"Just returned, madam, with a letter, was bringing it
to you," replied the servant, giving her one which she saw
by the lamp-light was post-marked Washington.
Like a young girl with her first love-letter, Mrs. Madison retreated to the privacy of her beloved sun-set room,
before she broke the seal of the precious missive.




32               THE SENATOR' S SON.
Drawing her rocking chair close up to the table and arranging the lamp, she prepared to enjoy the greatest pleasure of the week —the reading of the closely-written, fourpage letter.
Like one who is prolonging a bit of happiness, she held
it a moment in her hands, kissed it, and turned for the first
time to dwell upon the superscription, before breaking the
seal.
It was not her husband's handwriting: the seal — the
seal - was black!  She arose from her chair in a sudden
terror.
Pause a moment, loving and beautiful wife, before you
break the warning wax which keeps from you the knowledge that you are a widow! She did not pause, but with
trembling fingers tore open the envelop and read the first
few lines. Then with a sharp cry she fell down, like one
dead, upon the floor.
It was hours before the friends, suddenly summoned,
brought back consciousness - the consciousness of her awful bereavement.
" Why did they not let me die?" she asked; "why did
they lift me out of that black whirl of agony in which I
had gone down to the verge of the grave? Better be there,
beside my husband, than to live, and know that he  is
lost."
some one ventured to whisper the names of her children.
"They are miserable orphans," she cried, and sank
again into insensibility. For two or three days they feared




TIHE SENATOR    S ON.              33
for her life or reason. She did not rave, but laid in tearless, voiceless quiet, with closed eyes, and only the faint
pulse, and an occasional trembling of the eye-lids to tell
that she existed.  People thought that in this stupor of her
physical. powers her mental powers found rest. But not for
one instant did she lose the acute sense of her wretchedness.
Her nerves were strained to such a tension that they could
not even vibrate.  Her thoughts rushed through her brain
like a river of fire, bearing ever the same vision upon their
burning waves - the vision of her husband, cold and dead,
stricken clown by the knife of the assassin, —her husband
dead- murdered! What was it to her now that, of late
years, he had sometimes been to her cold or unkind?  The
first fiery touch of sorrow had burnt up every such recollection; only the pure gold of their mutual love remained. She
saw him, in the pride of manhood -beautiful, eloquent, beloved - suddenly cut down, with no time to send a message
of dying love, or perhaps to breath a dying prayer. All to
her was darkness — no hope- -no ray of light. She lay
there waiting her own doom; there did not seem a thread
of mercy left, by which she could climb back to life.
iMr. Madison had got into a dispute with a southern
member while they were both upon the floor, which threatened a personal rencontre.  Heated by wine, he said things
which he did not mean - uttered taunts more dishonorable
to himself than to the one at whom they were hurled. Mr.
Madison was a gentleman; but who can answer for the propriety of an insane man? and he was mad with intoxication




34                TILE SENATOR'S SON.
at the time of his abusive attack.  The two disputants were
called to order; but unfortunately they met immediately
after leaving the senate-chamber.
One had received a deadly insult; the other, still reckless, would make no apologies, but with an air of bravado
followed up his empty assertions until silenced by the steel
of his opponent at his heart.  Alas! for the irretrievable
moment of passion! A man sent unprepared to the presence of his Maker; another to be tormented through life
with a vain remorse for having taken the life of a brother
the life, too, of one who, however gross the injuries he
inflicted, was scarcely in a condition to be responsible for
them. A career begun so brilliantly, closed in tumult and
dishonor - a fine mind thrown from its proper balance - a
noble heart perverted from its best impulses! Others, besides his unhappy family, might weep over the disastrous
results, and turning from the fair temptation, swear eternal
enmity to the wine-cup.
The corpse was brought home for burial. Hundreds,
forgetting his late career, bowed their heads in lamentation
over the dust of the statesman, citizen, and friend.  Hundreds mourned in sympathy with the desolate wife, and women wept when they heard of the agony of bereavement
which had prostrated her.  Their tears, their sympathy,
availed her nothing.  Separated by her unconsciousness
from human communion, she was alone with her grief and
her God.




CHAPTER III.
THE mother's prayer for death was stayed by the
thought of her orphaned children.  She arose from a sickbed to find relief, and at last consolation, in her care for
them. Years rolled quietly along.  Retiring almost entirely fiom the society she had once so brilliantly adorned,
she devoted her shining talents to the development of these
two young minds, and to moulding their plastic passions
and feelings.  The loss of the gay world was the gain of
the poor and afflicted; for the time and wealth of Mrs.
Madison were freely bestowed upon the suffering and destitute classes of a great city. In her frequent missions of
mercy she was often cognizant of cases similar to that of
Mirs. Burns; where all the wo, the want, the wretchedness
of families, lay at the doors of grog-shops.  She pondered
these things in her heart, and asked herself again and again
if there was no way for the salvation of those who had
given themselves over to temptation and were beyond the
reach of their own consciences and self-control.




f34              THIIE SENATtOR'S SON.
" If it were feasible to erect a Hospital in this city,
wihere such poor creatures could be kept from  self-destruction until cured, I would gladly give half of my possessions.
But a Hospital from here to the Battery would not hold
them  all; and, as soon as released, the fiery temptation
would be forced upon them.  Its a horrible thing —this
traffic in liquor! These rum-shops might as well keep each
of them a mad dog behind the counter and allow people to
be bitten for sixpence a bite; and the law might as well
allow it. Hydrophobia or delirium-tremens! if I were to
choose between them, I would take that which was at least
the less disgraceful."
Thus spoke Mrs. Madison to herself as she hurried
away, with pale face and trembling limbs, from a house
where she had been a witness to the horrors of the drunkard's direct earthly enemy - and the victim this time was a
woman!- a woman who had little children cowering in
the cheerless corner, gazing at their mother with affrighted
eyes, as bound to her bed she glared at them with terrible
looks of madness and fear.
Mrs. Madison knew something of the history of this
poor creature. She was a drunkard's child, and had been
born into the world with feeble health and a miserable, nervous constitution.  She had a morbid appetite for slatestone, chalk, and opium, and grew up sickly, afraid of the
dark, of ghosts, of serpents, and with a mind so affected
by her impaired nerves as to be in some measure insane.
Nevertheless she married; and after the birth of her first




TIlE SENATOR'S SON.                37
baby, the physician recommended a little stimulus every
day to support her failing strength. She soon became unable to drag through the day without her bitters; and before her husband suspected the extent of her indulgence,
her strength, the poor strength bequeathed to her by an
intemperate parent, gave way to a singular sickness, which
the doctors told the alarmed man was nothing more nor less
than delirium tremens. Ashamed and astonished, the respectable and honest laborer nursed her carefully through
this first attack; *but positively denied her the stimulus
which she so passionately begged. He told her the nature
of her fearful disease; and, with tears in his eyes, reminded
her of her children, of his love for her, and of the terrors
of her situation.  She, too, was alarmed at the dangers
past and impending; she thanked her husband for denying
her appeals: but the passion was acquired; the shattered
powers were not calculated for steady resistance to a burning appetite; and the very first day in which she was well
enough to creep out alone into the street, she left her best
shawl at the pawn-broker's, and readily obtained the liquidfire for her funeral-pyre at the first corner.
WVith such feeble powers of resistance she could not
struggle long. Her good husband struggled for her. W~henever he found any liquor in the house he destroyed it; he
forbad the shops, far and wide, around that part of the
town, from selling their poison to his wife; he entreated,
commanded, and even punished. But where a wife's and
mother's love is devoured by a raging passion, be sure that
4




.88              TIIE SENATOR IS SON.
fear will have no control -not even the fear of those unutterable agonies which frequently assailed her. One after
another of those little comforts which blessed their home
went to the pawn-broker's. It was worse than useless to
redeem them, for they only traveled back over the old road
again. Another child was born; a poor, imbecile, helpless
little thing, who would have been much better unborn than
growing up to disgrace and suffering, nourished on the poison of its mother's milk.
Now the last struggle of the enemy was over; he was
triumphant; and Mrs. Madison, who had yielded to the
entreaties of the unhappy husband, had been present at
that most terrible death-bed.
With those dying screams ringing in her ears, that dying face in all its contortions of anguish before her eyes,
she hurried home to escape, in the cheerfulness of her own
fireside, from the haunting memories of the scene.
It was a bleak day in the latter part of December. The
snow lay on the housetops and in corners, but had been
trampled from sight in the busy streets. As she entered
her own house and came into the parlor shivering, Alice,
now grown a young girl of thirteen, sprang forward to take
her bonnet and cloak.
" How tired and pale you look, mother."
" I've witnessed enough to make any one look pale,"
she replied, with a shudder, as she drew her chair up and
put out her feet towards the sparkling old-fashioned grate,
so much more cheerful than anything else in the winter



THE SENATOR S SON.                 39
time, unless it be the broad fire-place in the kitchen of some
ancient farm-house.
"What have you seen, dear mother?" enquired Alice,
as she rolled an ottoman beside her parent and leaned her
head in her lap.
" I have seen a woman die of delirium-tremens."
" Oh! mother!"
Alice held up her pretty hands, while her large hazel
eyes dilated with dread.
" What's that you've been fiightening our sister with?"
asked Parke, as he came out of the library.  " But up with
that chess-board, Alf., and let's hear this woful story."'
Two boys, or rather young gentlemen, came out of the
library.  The first was Parke, a youth of seventeen, and
as he came forward, and flinging himself down on the rug,
pulled Alice on to his lap, we may see that the promise of
his baby-hood is thus far liberally fulfilled.  The thick
brown ringlets waving and fluttering about his fine forehead, with just that careless beauty which had distinguished
his father's before him; the deep-blue eye, fiery and soft;
the straight, beautiful nose, the handsome mouth - all his
features were both perfect in form and beaming with intellect and intelligence.  His face had the pure, womanly
expression, which a life at home in the society of such a
mother and sister, might leave upon it,; even after two years
at college, finely blended with the pride and carelessness of
his age. He had the patrician air, marking his descent
from families of wealth and cultivation, and through even




40                THE SENATOR S SON.
that, a more delicate and distinguished manner, revealing
refinement of thought and poetical beauty of spirit. There
did not seem the semblance of guile in the frank glance of
his glowing eye; the only fault of his countenance was
that the womanly sweetness of his mouth betokened a want
of energy, which was not made up for by the bold eye and
proudly-arched brow. There was spirit in the thin nostril,
but want of purpose in the softly-rounded chin.
"Just help yourself to that royal throne of an easychair, Alf., and we'll listen to the story of wo."
His companion dropped comfortably into the huge velvetchair, that did seem a little like a chair of state.  He
was Parke's chum at college, and being too far removed
from his own home, had accepted his invitation to spend
the holidays at his mother's.
In good contrast with his, friend, were his black eyes,
black hair, dark complexion, and strong though not inelegant frame.  When he first came there, MIrs. Madison
rather wondered at her son's having chosen him for his intimate companion.  He was a year or two the oldest,
although no farther advanced in his studies; his talents
were of a different order from Parke's brilliant and variable
genius; he did not talk half as much, but what he said
was usually full of character.
" You must not laugh, Parke," said Alice, sedately; " for
mamma has been with a woman that had the deliriumtremens."
"A  woman!" ejaculated Parke, as if it had never




THE SENATOR'S SON.                41
entered into his head that a woman was capable of such a
thing.
"Yes!" said Mrs. Madison, gravely, " and the mother
of two little children. It is better for them that she is
dead; but such a death! I shall never forget it; and as
for sleeping to-night, I fear there will be anything but
pleasant dreams for me."
" I never thought you were nervous, dear mother, the
way you go gliding like a sunbeam into all the dark corners
of this many-cornered city. I don't believe you can catch
contagion any more than a beam of pure sunlight, or you
would have had the measles, delirium-tremens, whoopingcough, small-pox, and all kinds of cutaneous and miscellaneous sufferings long ago, so I guess you will sleep well
enough this night."
The youth looked up at his still beautiful mother as he
made this speech, as if she were a being as faultless, and as
much to be adored as the sun was by the orientals. Alice
laughed to think of her mamma having the measles and
said, " Oh, what a saucy brother!" but gave him a kiss at
the same moment.
" But this has been to me the horror of horrors," resumed Mrs. Madison.  "To die in so shocking a manner,
and to be so little prepared for death. Ah! those who have
supplied her so plentifully with the maddening poison have
destroyed both her body and soul. There ought to be some
punishment for them," she continued, while the color
mounted into her cheeks.  "Against the warnings of her
4*




4'2              TTIE SENATOIt S SON.
husband, and the knowledge of her situation, they still furnished her with the means of death, and they should be as
responsible as though they had sold prussic acid to an insane person."
" I don't think my mother has a fault in the world; but
if she has one, its her idea about temperance," soliloquized
Parke, aloud, for the benefit of the company.  " Here she
has banished wine from her table, while all her neighbors
see proper to pay it the customary respect; and, what is
worse, she takes her stand with those impudent reformers
that are starting up all over the land. And now she wants
the law to take it in hand.  For my part," with an air of
wisdom, " I do not think any one to blame but the wretch
herself. Selling liquor is an honest business like any other,
and it is not for those who get their living in that way to enquire of people whether they are capable of restraining their
appetites within proper bounds.  Every one should control
himself or herself.  If they c;annot do it, let them take the
consequences."'
" You talk like a thoughtless boy, and one who had
never been taught the golden rules of christian principle.
Selling liquor is not an honest business, if some honest men
do engage in it. Because what they sell never? does people
any real good, and always does them harm.  Money spent
for liquor is much worse than money thrown away.  The
person who trafficks in ardent spirits takes money, friends,
house, home, character, health, life, and soul; in exchange
he gives madness, disease, murder, riot, blasphemy, ruin,




THE SENATOR S SON.                  43
and the momentary pleasure of delirium. Is that an honest
business? Does it not call for the interference of the law
as much as gambling, counterfeiting, smuggling, conspiracy,
treason, or any other unlawful thing? Is it kind, benevolent, brotherly, or christian to leave a fellow-creature, afflicted with the cUsease of the love of strong drink, to abandon himself to his fatal passion? Is it right to lead into
temptation?  If a man loses control of his appetite, are we
to take advantage of his misfortune, his sin, even, to his
destruction and our pecuniary benefit?  Heaven forbid we
should so outrage all the divine precepts that were left for
our direction in cases like this."
" Oh, mother, you take a dreadfully serious view of the
matter; I dare not argue with you in that style.  The truth
is you are quite too good.  We can't expect all laws of business, and the nation, to be founded in the spirit of Christ.":" Why, certainly, in a christian nation they should be.
What is there to prevent?  If a nation consulted only its
material and worldly welfare, it would increase in prosperity
in proportion as its government corresponds with the government of Christ. How heavily does the curse of intemperance at this moment lie upon this beloved land. Supposing the law took the matter in hand and made this
general traffick in ardent spirits dishonest and illegal; would
not the people rise up with one voice and call their rulers
blest?"
" No, I hope not. Their liberty would be injured; such
a law would be arbitrary."




44                THE -SENATOR S SON.
" All laws are arbitrary.  They are not made for those
who can govern themselves. Laws against theft are not
made for the honest man - against treason, for him whose
love of country burns purely in his heart - against murder,
for the man of peace and good will; and a law to do away
with intoxication would not fall upon the temperate and
those who did not need it. It would not press very heavily upon me, for instance - I should not feel it arbitrary;
and any one who would must stand in want of it.  As long
as men must be governed, let them have as many laws as
are necessary and just.  If this was the millenium reign of
love, when the lion and the lamb are to lie down together,
we should not need these restrictions. Now they are wholesome, necessary, and wise. The murderer, pulling against
the fear of hanging, calls it an arbitrary check - the drunkard, if compelled to pull against the refusal to gratify his
dangerous craving, would call it an arbitrary check. It is
well for those who have no self-control to be judiciously
controlled in the spirit of kindness. As for alcohol, and all
its Protean diversities, I wish that the salt sea held every
drop."
"Pshaw now, mother, do not wish that! I don't! for
me, I love wine!- I always intend to drink a little; and I
am not afraid but that I can control myself, either, without the aid of the law."
Mrs. Madison cast a sad look at her beautiful boy. She
thought of his father's pride and self-confidence, and she did
not like the ominous words — " I love wine! I always in



THE SENATOR S SON.                 45
tend to drink a little." Alfred Clyde, silently listening to
this conversation from the depths of his velvet chair, now
turned upon Parke a keen gaze from his black eyes, which
called the warmn blood into his expressive face, for they reminded him with something of the force of a cool satire,
of half-a-dozen college-revels in which he had proved that
he could not control himself.
" Those were mere boyish freaks," he said to himself;
"I only drank to show them that I was not afraid of the
champagne, or their taunts either.  What does he want to
remind me of that for?"
a Come, Alice," he added aloud, " tea is not ready yet;
let us see what we can do with our music to disperse these
bad spirits that have gathered around our mother."
Alice was delighted. Passionately fond of music, singing sweetly, and already a fairy mistress of the piano, she
never enjoyed herself so highly as when Parke would join
her with voice and flute. She flew like a bird and perched
upon the piano-stool. Looking around at him as he came
forward and took up his flute, she laughed her fairy laugh.
"You need not boast so greatly of your self-management," she said; "I have heard mamma tell of your stealing to the table after a dinner-party, and getting a little out
of your head over the wine-glasses, when you were only four
years old; and of your coming into the room, glorying in
the idea that Washington was your papa, and falling over
an ottoman, and disgracing yourself before them all."
" Of course I was not more than four years old, or I




46               TIHE SENATORHS SON.
should not have made such a fool of myself," he replied,
pulling at one of her floating curls just hard enough to
make her cry " oh! "  Alfred Clyde came up to the group
and leaned his elbows upon the piano and his head upon his
hands, while the brother and sister played a gay duet and
sang.  Then Parke accompanied with his flute, and finally
Alice sang alone, a sweet and mournful melody, aiding herself with the piano. It was an almost angelic pleasure to
hear her sing.  Alfred, leaning his chin into his hand,
never removed his dark eyes from her radiant face, as the
notes with bird-like clearness, united to human expression,
rose from her lips upon the air, seeming to hover around
her little, slender figure a moment, and then to soar high,
high through the ceiling, and die away in remote sweetness
through the sky.  3Mrs. M3adison turned from  studying the
grotesque figures glowing in the grate and listened with
closed eyes to the delightful melody. Then young Clyde strprised and pleased them all by sitting down to the piano and
playing one or two airs in a fine, bold style, so different from
Alice's exquisite touch; and singing in a rich, sweet tenor.
The tinkle of the tea-bell, less musical, but probably as
welcome, asserted its claims to attention, and the party betook themselves to the supper-room with cheerful faces.
Young gentlemen when they are still growing rapidly have,
of course, a great respect for a well-filled table, and Mrs.
Madison, who was much fatigued with her afternoon's visit,
also felt the need of a cup of tea.
" By the way, little one, have you grown to be too largeo




TILE SENATOR S SON.               47
a young lady to think of hanging up your stocking; remember this is Christmas Eve."
" Santa Claus has not been down our chimney for two
or three years, I believe. Not since bIary Ellis revealed to
me the mystery of his invisible visits.  Since the wonderful
flowers which made him so enchanting a character have fled,
I am content to find my gifts on the library table," replied
Alice.
" I have a presentiment that he will renew his calls this
night," continued her brother, helping himself to a slice of
Christmas cake.  "' And if you sit up until ten o'clock perhaps you will see him. I don't believe any of this nonsense
about there being no such personage at the present day;
there certainly was such a fine old fellow when I was a boy.
Alf. and I are going out about the city this evening, and if
I catch a glimpse of him on the top of some tall chimney, I
shall just signify to him that he had better call here."
"Well, do —do;"  cried the young girl laughing,
" and I will hang up my stocking.  Which room do you
think he will make a descent into? because I should like to
get a peep at him, though you know he never comes until
nidnight."
"I Pshaw! he can't visit every body at once, and if he
comes here it will be earlier than that.  How is it, mother,
is there no other authorized way for him to enter a dwelling
except through the chimney?"
"I never heard of any other way, but I suppose that
he would be welcome if he came in most any manner."




48               THE SENATOR YS SON.
"Well, Alf., its nearly seven o'clock, and I promised
you a walk about the city to-night."
The young gentlemen arose from the table and put on
their caps and cloaks.
" Oh! now, please to stay at home with mamma and
me," pleaded Alice; "just think, you have only a week to
stay, and I have hardly visited with you at all yet."
" I should like too, Alice; it looks gloriously pleasant
in the parlors, but you see," laughing at her from under
the shadow of his cap, " my friend Alfred is an outside barbarian, fresh from the wilds of the west, and I must do my
duty to him, and show him the lions."
"I do not see how Parke can resist you," said Alfred,
throwing off his cloak, "for my part, I do not believe I
should find anything out of doors to compensate for what
I leave."
He looked as if he could not be induced to leave the
company he was in, for all the lions out of Numidea. Alice
was quite flattered by this preference for her society, and
looked with favorable eyes upon her brother's friend.
"Nonsense, Alf., come along," said Parke.
"Are you not a little selfish, Alice, in keeping the boys
at home so much?" interposed the mother.  "Go if you
wish, but keep out of mischief, and be at home by ten
o'clock, for I shall set up for you, and I feel like retiring in
good season."
Parke kissed his mother's hand with an air of affection
and respect in answer to her kind smile; Alfred ventured




TIlE SENATOR'S SON.                49
to kiss his at Miss Alice, and the two youths went out in
high spirits.
"Don't forget the stocking, Alice," were Parke's last
words, as they went out of the hall door.
" I wonder if he is in earnest," remarked the young girl
as she came back to her mothelr, after escorting her beloved
brother almost to the pavement.  " I've a mind to put up
that nice new stocking which I have just finished."
So saying she fastened it duly near the mantel-piece, in
the library, while the indulgent parent regarded her movements with a quiet smile. Then both returned to the parlor, where the child beguiled the time with music until the
clock struck nine.  She had just taken the large bible to
read a few chapters to her mother, when a sound in the
library attracted her attention.
"I declare, I believe it is Santa Claus himself," she
said, laying down the book, with eyes wide open, and stealing on tiptoe to the door of the adjacent room, she peeped
in. A slight scream drew Mrs. Madison in the same direction, just in time to see a marvelous figure march boldly
out through the hall, instead of vanishing up the chimney.
It had a very wrinkled, black face, a bent back, which had
grown into its present large proportions probably from long
bearing of the basket and other burdens which adorned it;
a long white beard, a short pipe, and a very queer little
conical cap. Without deigning a glance at the intruders,
whom he seemed to think ought to be a-bed, he marched
out the door.  When Alice had recovered sufficiently from
5




50j              Ti~LELTUb aEN-ATOR S SON.
the alarm caused by this unexpected apparition, she ventured to glance at her stocking, and behold! it was stuffed
to its utmost capacity.  Her mother would not permit her
to inspect its contents that evening, however, saying that it
was hardly fair, since they had caught the good Saint in the
very fulfilment of his kind mission to endeavor to find out
the amount of his presents until the intended hour. Alice
returned her mother's smile with one of equal intelligence,
and went to bed thinking, what indeed she thought all the
time, that there never was so good, handsome, and mischievous a brother as her own.
In the meantime, Santa Claus, as he left the house, was
joined by an ally, also bearing a basket; and laughing and
chatting like very good-natured saints, they turned down
the first alley they came to, and were soon trudging along a
street which seemed mostly filled by the habitations of the
poor.
" There's Smith's, and Ellise's, and McCurdy's, all have
young ones, lots of them - I am afraid some of the good
parents have gone to bed," said Santa Claus, as they paused
before a door.
" Very well, we'll make'eia get up then," rejoined his
companion, shaking a string of bells mcrily before the keyhole.
A head in a night-cap soon appeared through the cautiously unclosed door, and was ilmmediately besieged with a
small shower of paper parcels, and one great cannonball in
the shape of a fine dressed turkey.




THE SENATOR S SON.                51
"Santa Claus to the children," cried that personage in
an unearthly voice, and betook himself down the way, followed by his aid-de-camp, leaving the lucky recipient to
pick up the package of candy, nuts, and toys, which lay
before her astonished vision.
At least half a dozen houses received a similar visitation; and then the frightful-looking imps made their way
back to the toy-shop where they had received their outfit,
and having deposited their empty baskets, they came out of
their disguises, two exceedingly marry and good-looking
youths.
" Since we have made a score of miserable juveniles inconceivably happy for all day to-morrow, I presume we are
at liberty now to delight ourselves with whatever we can
find that promises the most fun," said Alfred.
"Its too late, I'm  afraid, to go anywhere to-night.
Mother expects us home at ten o'clock, and its nearly that
now."
" Then I must say we've fooled away the time ridiculously so far; wasted it on those dirty little rascals."
" I've enjoyed it very much," replied Parke, laughing
as he glanced at the mask he had thrown aside; " and I
shall enjoy it to-morrow, thinking of the pleasure we have
given."
"Well, you're a fine, philanthropic youth, mother's own
darling," said the other, a little scornfully.
" I should be proud if I thought I was half as good as
my mcther," said Parke, his blue eyes kindling.




THE SENATOR' S SON.               52
"Oh, of course, so would I; I did not mean anything
else. But pshaw, your mother will not wait for us, and we
might as well see what is to be seen. Itfis not often that
there is as much to attract us as now."
" Come on, then, I will be your chaperon," said Parke,
and taking his friend's arm, they walked slowly up the
brilliant and fashionable thorough-fare. New York had on
her holiday attire. The shop windows blazed with light,
displaying their costly treasures.
Crowds of gay and happy-looking people were yet moving along the pavement. There chanced to be very respectable sleighing too, and the wide street was a bewildering
chaos of innumerable vehicles of all kinds that could be
fastened upon runners, winding swiftly through apparently
impenetrable ways; of tinkling bells, merry laughter, shouts,
prancing horses gayly caparisoned, and ambitious drivers.
The churches were brilliantly illuminated, and those
who had thronged them to do reverence to the solemnity of
the Eve, now poured out of their doors and mingled with
the crowd.
Enjoying all these sights and sounds with the intensity
belonging to the minds of students during the holidays,
they sauntered along until arrested upon a crossing by a
shout from a passing sleigh.
"l Halloo! Parke Madison! we did not know you were
home from school. You're the very fellow we want; jump
in, we are going out to Cross' to have a time."
There were a dozen or more young gentlemen already




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.              53
inl the sleigh, all looking the picture of fun.  They had
four spirited horses and countless strings of bells.  The
temptation was strong; but Parke thought of his mother,
and hesitated.
" What kind of a time? " he asked.
" Nothing that will injure your spotless good name,"
was the reply."  " Only a supper, and home again."
" For mercy's sake, go," whispered Alfred, impatiently;' you are the greatest baby out of its nurse's arms."
"Of course my friend is included in the invitation," said
Parke, as he climbed into the sleigh: " Mr. Clyde, gentlemen, a classmate of mine, and the best fellow ever punished
with a Greek grammar."
" The more the merrier I" cried all; and Alfred Clyde
made a very courteous bow and a very pretty speech, as
they noisily made room for him.
" Drive on!" shouted they, the next moment; and
away they went up the brilliant street, out into the more
gloomy suburbs and on into the country, where the only
lights were stars.  Gaslight or starlight, it was all one
to them; they abated not jollity and noise until in about
an hour and a quarter they drew up at Cross', twelve miles
from town.
This was not the first party which had arrived at that
hotel during the evening, sleighing being so brief a luxury
as to be well enjoyed while it lasted.  As these gentlemen
had no ladies with them, and were bent upon having'a
time,' the affable host gave them a fine, large room to them5- *




54               THE SENATOR S SON.
selves, with the injunction only not to disturb other guests
in'their frolics.
Such a supper as they caused to be served was worthy of
the occasion.  Wild turkey and canvass-back ducks, with,rt-compounded salads, oysters, and champagne, were but a
few of the items of their costly feast. The great fireplace
blazing with hickory, the luxurious table, and the choice
wines, promised a glorious night.
Unfortunately for Parke, his friends were not as pureminded and innocent of bad habits as himself; young aristocrats though they were, they did not disdain the chance
of'plucking' a wealthy'pigeon' like him, and at supper
they rallied him into drinking more wine than was prudent.
He knew it all the time; he knew that a little affected him,
and that after tasting it he could not always control his indulgence in it; but he could not endure to be thought a
simpleton or a puritan by the rest, and so, when he had
most need to think of them, he forgot all about his gentlefaced mother and his darling young sister.  He was much
the most intoxicated of any who left the table. At first he
had only been witty and amusing, but he grew more boisterous than agreeable, and his remarks were more stupid than
pointed. They were received with the same unmeaning
eclat; wit or silliness are either in favor with a party of
fools.
One would hardly have known the fair, spiritual face
leaning up against his mother's lap that afternoon, with its
clear, pure eyes and shining curls, as the flushed counte



TIIE SENATOR' S SON.             55
nance, now debased from  its look of intelligence, with
glassy eyes and a smile of unmeaning good-nature.
Alfred Clyde had toyed with his glasses in a more careful manner. Not making himself conspicuous, except by an
occasional brilliant sally, independent but courteous in his
bearing, and showing that he knew how to take care of himself, with a perfect at-homeness in scenes like these, he won
golden opinions from the society into which he considered
himself very fortunate to have been introduced.
Hie did not warn Parke, as he might have done, against
his perils; but when cards were brought out, and he saw
intelligent looks among those who were inducing his friend
to play with them, he spoke up in a calm tone, that carried
with it a firm conviction of his courage.
" Gentlemen, I must claim my friend as my partner
this evening. He knows but little about a game, neither
do I, so we will be well matched."
There was no demurring to his polite manner; the
party thought it a very disinterested act of kindness to keep
the game out of their hands, but submitted with tolerable
grace, and Parke played only with him. Notwithstanding
his declaration that he was an indifferent player, he won all
of Parke's money, and, lastly, a beautiful and expensive
watch which he wore.
The sun was streaking the east with the first glow of
Christmas morning, when the revellers found themselves in
town again. Mrs. Madison had remained up until after
midnight, and then retired with some uneasy feelings. She




56               THE SENATOR'S SON.
heard the boys come in at day-break and go to their room,
and after that she had a long sleep. It was late when
brea]fast was placed on the table, but it had to wait some
time ror the young gentlemen; and Alice had abundance
of time to admire the good gifts of Santa Claus.  Parke
could not help blushing vividly when he entered his
mother's presence, and met her anxious, searching look;
Alfred was polite and self-possessed as usual. It was not
until the blush had died away that iMrs. Iadison discovered her son's pale and weary looks.
" You were out all night," she said, in a tone which
seemed to require an explanation, as she handed him his
coffee.
"Why the truth is, dear mother," he began in a confused voice, " that we met a party of my best friends going
out to Cross' for a sleigh-ride, and we were tempted to go
along.  There we stayed for supper, and it made us rather
late. I hope that you did not wait for us."
" Only until twelve o'clock.  It seems to me you look
ill this morning -is anything the matter?"
" Well!" with another blush, "I believe I took a confounded cold, for my head aches horribly. I wasn't very
well wrapped lip you know, as we only went out for a
walk."
Parke glanced at Alf. as he made this explanation, and
saw him very demurely breaking an egg into his glass.
"Poor Parke, I pity you," said Alice, bending her large
eyes tenderly upon his pale countenance; "shall I tell




TIE SENATOR'S SON.                 57
Bridget to make you a cup of strong tea? - it is good for
headache.
" I don't care if you do,- that's a good sister."
" I think, myself, it will be a fine thing for him," added
young Clyde, raising his keen glance from the egg-dish.
The child sped to the kitchen on her mission of kindness; then returning to her plate and the engrossing subject of her thoughts, she cried, with an arch look -
" Santa Claus didl pay me a visit last night!"'
"Ah!"  said the brother innocently, "dicd lie find a
stocking- and what did he bring you?"
" HI-e must have guessed what I wanted most, for these
were the very things he brought me.  A beautiful little
gold-bound prayer-book, just the right size- a pair of earrings to match with my necklace, and a silver paper-folder,
besides enough confectionary to last till New Year's, and
the drollest little man laughing at me from the top of the
stocking."
" A bountiful saint," said Parke.
"M lay I be allowed to inquire whether you had a
glimpse of his saintship?" asked Alfred.
"Yes, I did — I did!" cried Alice, laughing at the remembranee.
" You were not frightened I suppose?"
She looked at him quickly, and colored a little, to think
of her screaming out the previous night.
"I was rather astonished at the first peep I took of
him.  Such a horrid-looking saint may I never see again 




t'58IE ~dTt ST              E' ATOIH'S SON'.
But he was as good as lie was ugly," and her eye rested
affectionately upon her adored brother.
" I saw a strange-looking being, which might have been
him, paying visits to all those little wretches that you were
telling us about yesterday, that wouldn't have any Christmas, because they were so poor.  Had he a pipe in his
m outh?"
" Yes."
"And was he very bent in the back, and with a long,
mwhite beard?"
" Yes."
"And did he walk a little lamle, and have a very queer,
black face, and wear a funny cap, and look like -  Old
Nick?"
" Yes, sir, that was Santa Claus without doubt.  What
was he doing, I should like to know?"
" Ah! he was making a Christmas for the little children
you have condescended to notice with new pairs of shoes.
Such papers of raisins and almonds - such chickens and
turkeys - such little bundles of sugar and tea, proved him
to be a most worthy and liberal old fellow."
"Did you indeed do all that?"  asked Alice, when Alfred had finished his story, coming arouind to her brother,
and laying her arms softly about his neck.  " What a good
boy you are! "
"3e I"  he replied in affected surprise; " Am  I then
such a fright of a fellow as all that comes to."
His sister's kiss, the cup of green tea, and the recollec



TItE SENATOR'S SON.                59
tion of his innocent frolic in the early part of the preceding
cvening, made Parke a little more reconciled to himself,
though a sense of guilt still made him feel uneasy under the
eye of his mother. It was a feeling of relief with which he
flung himself upon the sofa after she and Alice went out to
attend. morning service in their church, his headache excusing him from that duty, and Clyde staying at home to keep
him company.
" I am heartily ashamed of myself and perfectly miserable," he said, with tears of contrition, as Alfred seated himself before his sofa, and mockingly felt the pulse in his
wrist. A" To think of boasting about self-control, and making a sot of myself thie very same night.  Oh! if mother
should hear of it."
" I've always told you it wouldn't do for you to take
wine," replied his companion coolly; "you like it too well.
Now Ican play with the fire and not get burned, but I'd
advise you to be a little more prudent, my dear Parke."
d "Why didn't you advise me last night? - you sat beside me."
" Oh, I wanted to witness your ability for self-protection, you know; it would have been arbitrary for me to
have interfered."
"Now don't be sarcastic, if you please, for my head
aches so that I can't stand it. By the way," after a pause,
" do you know who I lost my watch to, last night? I must
have thtat back if I have to redeem  it with a thousano dollars.  That was my fiather's watch, Alf,"




GO4)             THE SENATOR'S SON.
"You need not fret about that," said his friend with a
smile,"itwas I who won it, and I have it safe for you in the
dressing-case up stairs.  I only took it to show you what
would have been your fate if you had played with any one
else.  The fact is you know nothing about a game, as I've
often told you, and those older scamps knew it, and meant to
make you their victim. You are young and rich. I would
not allow you to play with any one but myself."
"[ Then you won my money too?"
"Yes, and here it is," producing a roll of bills from his
pocket.  "Its against my principles to gamble, and so I
return it to you with a little advice to be more wise in
future."
" Fie! you know that I would not be guilty of accepting it," said Parke, putting back the money with his hand.
"' I'm a thousand times obliged to you about the watch;
and I will be more careful hereafter."
" Very well. It ought to be some consolation to you to
know that it will be made good use of. It could not have
fallen to any one who needed it as much," and with a satisfied look, young Clyde put the bills back into his own
pocket.  " If you are in need of anything before you reecive another supply, just borrow of me," he continued;
" and now that I am so rich, I must think of something
that will please sweet Alice. She's a heavenly little creature,
that sister of yours, Parke, both in beauty and disposition."
" She is indeed," replied the brotlher, getting up fiom
his pillow and looking quite restored to health.  "You




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.                61
havn't any sister have you, Alf.? then you cannot imagine
how I love that child.  I would not have her hear anything
to make her love me less for the world.  I shall always be
a good man for her sake - that is, after I've got over these
confounded college scrapes.  I hope when she is grown a
little older that you will both fall in love with each other,
and be married.  That's a glorious idea, isn't it?"
" Too bright -too beautiful to last! B-ut," with sudden earnestness, " I hope you'll remember that, Parke, and
that my consent is already gained.  The lady, I am afraid,
will not look upon the matter with such favorable eyes."
" Any one that I love will have a claim upon her affections, said the brother; " my pretty, pretty Alice  "
" Sister's hearts take stubborn fancies sometimes," responded Alfred, and then he fell into a reverie.  A sudden
fire glowed in his black eyes, deep down, as if he were forging some future purpose in the furnace of thought.  Parke
subsided into a light slumber, leaving him free to work out
his ideas; and he sat silently musing until the return of
the ladies from church.
And now, while he is lost in thought, it will be a good
time for us to inquire a little into his character and history.
His parents died when he was about fourteen, leaving
him a poor inheritance. From his father, who was a speculator, and living magnificently died in poverty, he inherited
a love of luxury, a scheming, crafty mind, a hard heart,
much physical courage, an empty purse, and beautiful, slender hands and feet, of which he was secretly vain.  Froim
6




G62 2TIIE SENATOIt'S SON.
his mother he inherited a portion of her darkl, southern
beauty, of her impressable fancy, of her pride, her indolence, and her love of loveliness as revealed in the human
form, in works of art or scenes of nature.  This latter passion tinged his otherwise hard character with a glow of poetry, and enabled him to show a fine enthusiasm  on many
occasions, which concealed the cold depths of his heart, as
sunlight playing over the ocean conceals its darkness and
chilliness.  He was always older than his years in cautious
reserve and prudent calculations; and when at fifteen he
found himself thrown upon his own resources, he came to a
set determination that he would not labor for a living. His
pride, indolence, and love of splendor all cried out against
it.  "Better not live at all than to drudge through life with
the common herd," was his conclusion; and turning over
in his mind all feasible projects for establishing himself as a
drone in the bee-hive of society, his plans reverted to an old
bachelor uncle, living in an eastern State, who was only as
wealthy as he was penurious.' "I always wondered what that old miser was hoarding
up his money for, and now I know that it was for my partieular benefit," was his mental soliloquy.
Having settled this matter to his own satisfaction, he
left his birth-place in a western city and managed to introduce himself to his uncle.  He was looked upon with suspicious eyes by Mr. Benjamin Clyde, who regarded all his
relations as vultures waiting to prey upon his dead body.
But the boy had a winning way with him, and as he carre



THE SENATOItS'  SON.                  63
fully concealed his expectations of aid, and only asked his
-advice as to what pursuit he could engage in to procure him
an honest living, his uncle promised  to makle soine  efforts in
his behalf.
" Tlle truth  is, uncle," said Alfred, wthil a very grave
face,   that it will be pretty hard for a boy of my age, -ithout parents, friends or money, to work his way up to the
station a Clyde should occupy.  But I anm going to do:,my
best, Sir; and as I know you better capable of giving advice than any one else, and as a child naturally feels a yearninlg after some kind of kindrecd," with somethling like a tear,
I I have  come to you, to ask for your counsel.     v e a
pretty good pair of hands to work witfh, and I shall use
th em, Si.-'' A little too delicate! not quite the right color," said
the old gent;lelman with a short glance at tle white, taper
fingers.
" I can soon alter their color, uncle, if that's all."
" VTell, I have a friend, owner of a large  store, wants an
undeir cler.   Now you can get that situation, and if you
peas-, your e'mployers can work your way up, and probably
somictine be a partner in the concern.  If it suits you, I
rl. s-  th'l, accepts you."
" You are very kind, and I shall always remember the
interest you have taken in your poor nephew.  But I am
ambitious - proud as the rest of the Clydes, Sir; and if
you can propose anything at which I can support myself,
and at the same time acquire an education that would fit me




64               THE SENATOR'S SON.
for ~yomt' profession, Sir, I should indeed like it. I have a
bent, I believe, for the law, uncle, and perhaps might not
become an unworthy member of the bar which you have
distinguished.  It has proved a harvest, from which you
have reaped golden sheaves, too, has it not?"
In short, Benjamin Clyde was induced to consider his
nephew in the light of a youth who was very anxious to do
something for himself, with commendable ambition, energy,
and pride.  The spirit of family glory which had nearly
been smothered in bags of gold was aroused, and he resolved
that so fine a young Clyde must have an education which
would qualify him to do well for himself in the world.  He
was secretly pleased, too, at the thought of his nephew
stepping into his shoes when he should retire from practice,
which he designed soon to do; and it may be that into his
desolate old heart there stole some warmth of affection for
this orphaned relative.
Alfred's first grand manoeuvre for himself was successful. In a few weeks he was in college, for which he was
prepared before the death of his parents. It is true that he
was kept upon an extremely moderate allowance of pocketmoney, much smaller than his love of display could be contented with; but this only induced him to find out ways
and means for increasing it. It was his purpose to be the
envy and pride of his associates, to pass through school
with tolerable credit, and then to settle down at his ease in
his uncle's office. As for studying severely or becoming
profoundly versed in the law, he did not think of it. Ile




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 65
hoped that, by the time he had trifled away a few years
in pretended industry, the old gentleman would drop off,
and leave him in exulting possession of his close-hoarded
wealth.
In the rmeantime, being, like many city boys, old in
vice, and already an expert gamester, many of his fellowstudents became his victims in a small way, and he kept his
purse so well replenished as to keep up with the most extravagant.  He had so much tact, and affected so muclh
generosity, that his comrades thought his success a matter
of indifference to him.  He passed for the heir to a large
estate, beside being the _protega of an immensely wealthy
old uncle; so that whatever he chose to do was winked at,
and he was toadyed to an unlimited extent, which was just
what most pleased his selfish vanity.
He had been in College but a short time when Parke
Madison arrived.  As the son of a late distinguished senator, the descendant of an old aristocratic family, and the
heir of wealth and station, he more than rivaled the dark
Cincinnatian in his claims to attention.  By his beauty,
gentleness, and goodness, he won universal love, and by his
talents universal admiration. He was the pet of the learned
professors as well as of the students.  Alfred was no longer the lion of the academic groves.  He submitted with
excellent grace, making advances towards the warmest
friendship with the stranger.  They were classmates, and
together they buffeted their way through the junior, senior,
and sophomore degrees.  Parke returned Clyde's friendship
G*




66               THIE SENATOR'S SON.
with ardent affection, about which there was not a shadow
of falsehood. Honest and warm-hearted himself, he thought
the same of every one else. Alfred was so confidential
with him as to reveal to him that he was a poor boy, dependent upon the charity of a niggardly uncle for an education; and often complained bitterly of his privations.
He knew that in the frank soul of a noble fellow like young
Madison, it would awaken sympathy, and strengthen the
bonds of their attachment; and he was often able to turn
it to the best account.  If he wished to borrow a small
amount, it was heartily given, without a thought of asking
for it again. The sin and shame of this intimacy was, that
Alfred, instead of protecting his younger companion from
the temptations which surrounded him to secret dissipation,
craftily led him on, and while he seemed to be keeping him
from the hands of others, always let him fall into his own.
lie had great skill in concealing all infringements of college
rules of his own or Parke's from the eyes and ears of the
professors; laying his friend under tearful obligations to
him for preserving his character, and keeping his occasional
frolics from the knowledge of his mother.
It was in the third year of their college life that Parke
had permission from 3Mrs. Madison to bring his friend home
with him.  More skilled in reading the characters of others
than her son, she was disappointed in the impression Alfred
made upon her mind.  She liked his manners, wit, and apparent modesty; yet he did not gain her confidence. Something in his eye betrayed guile, and the lines of his mouth




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 67
told of craftiness. Thinking him a young man of excellent
habits and character, she said nothing to Parke, but that
she was entirely pleased with him.
"IIHow is your headache, Parke?" was his sister's first
question, as she came in with her mother from church.
" Oh, its quite gone, I thank you.  I have t1d the
nicest sleep; and now I'm ready for any quantity of Christmas pie, pudding, and fun. Look here, Allie, I've been
making Alf. a holiday present: guess what it was?"
" Oh, I cannot - you had better tell me."
" Its altogether the most precious thing that I possess."
"Perhaps its your watch and chain? "
"No, indeed.  I think enough of those; but its worthy
twenty watches."
Her brother regarded her puzzled face with a very
merry look.  She turned from him to Alfred, and perhaps
she read the secret in his eyes, for the color began to
deepen in her cheeks.
" You haven't given me away?" she asked, gravely.
"Yes, I have.  I have given my only sister to my
adopted brother. Isn't that generous? You must remember it when you get to be a young lady, Allic, and not
smile with those bright eyes upon any one else.  Give him
your hand in token of consent, and we'll consider the affair
settled."
Alice put her little hand into the white hand held out
to her.
"I shall not give my consent," she said, smiling seri



68               THE SENATOR'S SON.
ously; but I will promise to think about it. I have no
doubt I shall see some one I love better."
" Nay, little Alice, you must not do that," said Alfred,
kissing her fingers with a respectful, gallant air.
" But if I cannot help it?" she asked.
" Then you will have broken my heart; for from this
moment I shall have no lady-love save you. You have become the star of my destiny - the' bright, particular star'
-the arbitress of my fate —the saint of the shrine at
which I kneel. Your presence will be the Eden-land towards which I shall journey, - the light of your eyes, the
beacon-fire leading me on to happiness, - the sound of your
voice, the music for which I pine, - the hope of your love,
the crowning glory of my existence:
"'Like a shrine'mid rocks forsaken
Whence the oracle hath fled,Like a harp which none might waken
But a mighty master dead,Like a vase of perfume scattered,
Such would my spirit be;
So mute, so void, so shattered,
Bereft of thee!'"
"Bravo! Alf., you are eloquent beyond your years,"
cried Parke, laughing at his friend's affected air of tragic
sentiment. " You woo with the grace of an Apollo instead
of the becoming timidity of a sophomore."
"It is well enough to practice a little even now," was




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.              69
the reply.    Despite my eloquence, you see that I am not
very successful, for the frightened fairy has flown to the
piano to take refuge from my pathetic invocation of IMrs.
Heman's muse, deigning me only a saucy shake of her
pretty head.  Come back, lady Alice, and play backgamlmon with me, and by my faith, as a knight, I will no
further declare my love for you until I can kneel at your
feet, and offer there, not golden spurs, or glittering stars,
but the pride of a college-youth - my diploma."
Alice came shyly back at his bidding, and they played
a little while, until summoned to the sumptuous dinner
which graced the Christmas board.
After dinner the young gentlemen went down town, and
stopping at a jeweler's, Alfred purchased a beautiful ring
for his little betrothed, as he called her. Parke wished very
much to buy something elegant for his mother — but, alas!
the very profuse supply which had been allowed him for the
holidays was already gone, and he had not the wherewithal
to get for her the smallest gift. He said nothing to Alfred,
who was making a great display of his money.  He was secretly a little displeased with his friend's manner, and still
was angry with himself for his last night's folly.
The ensuing week flew rapidly by, bringing New Year's
the happiest holiday of all. The sleighing was still good,
for a wonder; and New York was alive with gayety and
merriment. Many of the poor and suffering were made
glad by the thoughtful kindness of the benevolent- but
oh!how few compared with those who might have shared




70               THE SENATOR S SON.
in the common rejoicing, had the majority of the rich and
happy taken note of them.
Alice had a children's party in the evening.  Mlrs. Madison knew well how to make little people enjoy themselves;
and Parke, who had faithfully avoided temptation, was the
delight of the whole fock of young people.  Alfred, too, exerted himself to be agreeable. He with the piano, and
Parke with the flute, made good music for them to dance
to; and Alfred was quite successful in introducing amusing
games. There were some at the party who were as old as
the two boys, and all the way down to little Rose Parish,
who was but four, and danced like a sprite. Alice was as
happy as she well could be; she took an opportunity after
supper to thank the boys for their important help in entertaining her company.  Mrs. MIadison, with her sweet, grave
face, and gentle manner, was constantly surrounded with
groups of children; and her little daughter was delighted to
see the love and pleasure with which she was regarded.
The brightest days must come to a close; and even this
long evening had to do the same. The visitors were sent
home weary, but still in high spirits.  The young gentlemen
went to bed with a sigh of regret that their holiday was over,
and to-morrow they must hie back to their musty books.
Early the next morning they were gone, leaving Alice
crying heartily by the window, and kissing her hands to
them as long as they could look back, as they trudged on
foot down to the rail-road depot, while John followed on
with their carpet-bags,




CHAPTER IV.
A VERY young girl of exquisite beauty sat by an open
"window, looking off upon a garden, blooming with roses and
the thousand fragrant flowers that unclose in the month of
June.  Fifteen such glowing Junes might have passed over
her bright brow.  Her form was round and slender, with
an etherial grace in all its movements; her classic head was
set daintily upon her beautiful neck, giving a spirited,
proud look to a countenance which was otherwise all sweetness.  IIcr forehead was fair as an infant's, and her eyes -
liquid, dark, beaming hazel eyes - were softened by rich,
black lashes; her hair, in youthful fashion, swept her crilllson cheeks and snowy shoulders in smooth and heavy curls,
dark-brown, with a golden tinge.  As she wove the roses
she had gathered in the skirt of her white dress into a
wreath, and fastened back the muslin. drapery from the window with it, she sang to herself in a low  voice, whose
lighted cadence was silvery sweet; while a smile, betokenC




72               TIHE SENATOR' S SON.
ing her pleasant thoughts, hovered around her roseate
mouth.
This lovely young creature was the carefully-reared Alice MIadison; she was sitting in the sun-set room, idling
away a summer hour, while her thoughts flew forwards a
few weeks to the time when her darling brother would be at
home to stay.
It was but a month until he would graduate, and  that
doubtless with honor and applause. The old family servants were already talking over the affair and making preparations for his reception. Bridget had made some fruitcake, good enough for a wedding she declared, and iced it
with his name in the centre, to adorn the table when lie
should come. His room daily received some addition to its
comforts, and John was paying particular attention to the
horses, and persuading Mrs. MIadison to have new cushions
to the carriage.
The young girl was thinking of all these things, and
how delightful it would be to have him at home through the
long evenings of the next winter, and how good and how
gifted, and how altogether incomparable her dear brother
was- her singing ended in a smile, her smile in a reverie,
out of which she came with a low murmur -
" Dear -dear Parke!"
And looking up she saw him standing before her. At
first she did not stop to think why he should be home so
soon, but flinging down her roses to the floor, with a cry
of joy, she sprang forward and clasFo his neck.




THE SENATOR' S SON.               73
"Oh! Parke, how glad I am to see you! what brought
you back so soon? "  He pressed her a moment tightly to
his heart, and then pushing her away stood gloomily before
her. She saw that he was pale and agitated; alarmed at
she knew not what, she pulled him down beside her on the
lounge and kissed him many times.
" Do tell me what is the matter? " she said.
" Nothing, Alice, only I am expelled from school."
She looked up in astonishment.
" Why, Parke, what will mother say to that?"
"Oh, that's the worst of it," he cried; "I should not
care for anything else, but it will grieve mother so," and
bowing his face into her lap he sobbed like a child.
" Well, dear, dear Parke, don't think of it, I know that
you are not to blame - you cannot be - some one has been
doing you a great injury."
" No one has injured me but myself. Its all my own
folly, Allie, and I shall never, never get over it. I got
drunk," he continued, bitterly raising up his flushed face,
"' and acted worse than a fool!"
"Why, Parke Madison  "
" Yes, its the truth, and everybody will know it now,
and I can never hold up my head again among respectable
people. I don't know why I did it; but the students, some
of the wildest, were having a supper in the room of one of
them, and they got me in and almost forced me to drink,
and when I have once a taste of wine, I always make a fool
of myself."




74               THE SENATOC'! 5 SUON.
"But you have always been so well-behavedl, and it was
so near commencement, I should have thought that your
teachers would have pardoned you. Its a shame for them
to have expelled you; and in a nlmnth you would have made
them proud of you."
Ali, Allie, I cannot blame the professors. For - for,
the fact is, hiding his face in his hand, " this was the second
time within a week, and I behaved so outrageously.  Yes,
they did excuse me the first offence, but my last was so conspicuous.  Oh, dear  I wish I hated and abhorred wine instead of loving it. I will tell you what I know, Allie, and
then perhaps you will pity me if you cannot forgive.  MIy
class were all jealous of me because I had surpassed them
all, and they knew that I would have the prizes. Even
Alf., who was second best, grew to be envious, and they
laid a plot to get me drunk, and then to induce me to act
disgracefully. I had not resolution enough to resist the
first glass, and after that they did whatever they had a mind
to with me. I shall never forgive them," he exclaimed, getting up and walking backwards and forwards across the floor.
" I shall never forgive Alf. - he acted like a coward."
"It was cruel - wicked - shameful," cried the young
girl, in an indignant tone, "and Alfred, too, I can hardly
believe it of him —I should hate him for being such a
traitor, if it was not wrong to hate anybody. Oh!Parkc, if
you had only remembered your mother's counsel, and read
your bible, and prayed daily for strength, I do not believe
you would have fallen."




THE SENATOR S  SO N.               T
" I have, Allie, the most of the time," le replied earnestly.  " I do not know how it is, but sometimes after the
most solemn resolutions, and asking God to give me grace
to keep them, I have been drawn away into temptation so
easily; I believe I have no energy, no self-reliance, or independence.  Even companions whom I despise have an influence over me - I do that which I dislike, and then have
only to be sorry and ashamed. If I could always be in such
society as your'sand mother's. where is mother, Allie i'"
" She is lying down in her room.  She is not as strong
even as she used to be; and she cannot keep about this oppressive weather without a long siesta.  Poor mother i how
will she feel "
" Don't say a word, or I shall go crazy, I do not see
how I can ever meet her; I had a notion to just go to Niagara Falls and throw myself over instead of coming home."
" Now please do not talk in that manner," said Allie,
affectionately linking her arm in his, and walking to and
fro with him.  "Go to your room and lie down and get
rested —you look pale and tired. Iwill break the news
to our mother, and secure her pardon before you see her
at all."
" You are a good sister," he said, kissing her, and with
something like a sigh of relief, he turned away and went up
stairs. Alice called John and sent him to the depot for
Parke's baggage. She blushed at his surprised inquiry of
"why he was home just at that time of all others, and if he
was sick?"




7G6               THIE SENATOR'S SON.
"The students laid a plot to get him expelled," she
answered, the tears starting to her eyes; and not waiting to
hear his observations she went to her mother's room thinking how hard it would be to have everybody hear of her
brother's disgrace.
Mrs. Madison was awake, and got up when her daughter
entered.
"You have come just in time to arrange my hair,"
she remarked. Now it was Allice's especial pleasure to dress
her mother's soft hair, as yet but slightly streaked with
grey, and she was particularly glad at that time to have
something to do to conceal her face, while making her unpleasant revelations.   Disappointment and mortification
were only passing emotions in the mind of the mother as
she listened. She was conscious of the defects in her son's
otherwise beautiful character, which made him  peculiarly
liable to temptation, and when she heard this sad story of
his weakness and error, the memory of his father's faults
and fate struck to her heart with a sudden thrill of dread.
A sense of danger overwhelmed her in an icy sea of terror.
The young girl set her brother's case before her with an
eloquence which would fain have exterminated all his fault.
The mother was not disposed to be harsh; her judgment
and inclination both said that the wiser way would not be
to irritate his already deeply-wounded sensibility, but to
heal the wound with tenderness, and to restrain him  from
future error by the strong bands of an unfailing love.
Wiping away a few tears, she went up stairs and knocked




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 77
at his door.  A choked voice bade her come in; she entered
and found Parke sitting gloomily upon the side of the bed,
his eyes cast down and his lip quivering.
" I do not believe you will ever punish yourself with
your own folly again," she said, sitting beside him, after
kissing him with all or more of her usual affection.  " But
cheer up, dear boy, and do not look so completely heartbroken.  Its a bad commencement in life, but you have
plenty of time to live down a mistake like this, if you only
do right hereafter."
" Oh, mother, I am so ashamed and miserable."
"You ought to be a little ashamed," she said with a
smile.
" If you would only scold me, mother, and treat me as
I deserve, I think I could bear it better, but you are so
kind, and Allie, too; I can't stand it!"
" A mother's love will outlast more than one fault," was
the gentle reply. Think no more about it now; nor ever,
only when you are tempted to the same again - the  you
may think of it as much as you like.  By the time you
have rested awhile, bathed and dressed, tea will be ready,
we shall be glad to have you with us to tea again."
Pressing his hand, she left him  to himself —no very
pleasant company in his present fralme of mind.
Bridget, when she heard of her boy, as she called hilm,
being at home, and had inquired out the reason, was very
angry fori an hour or two. She had the good name of the
family she served more at heart than any other thing; and




78                TlHE SENATOR'S SON.
to think that Parke, its pride and promise, should of all
others bring this blot upon it, was too much for her ecluanimity.  She vented her ill-humor upon luckless John, the
cook-stove, the coal, and a strawberry girl; and gave Alice,
who happened into the kitchen, a fine scolding on her
brother's account.
Looking up from  her ironing, and finding  the young
girl in tears, her anger suddenly subsided into a dismal fit
of weeping, during which all her old affection for her darling boy returned, and she concluded that she would treat
him as well as if he had come home loaded with prizes.
The cake bearing his name should grace the tea-table;
and they should have strawberries andc cream if they were
enormously dear.  When tea was ready, and she made an
errand into the room with an urn of hot water, and beheld
Parke leaning his elbow on the table with a very dejected
look, quite unmindful of the luxuries of which he used to
be so fond, eyeing with a melancholy look the cake which
seemed to mock him with a name which he had disgraced,
her kind, old heart was overcome.  She sat down the urn
hastily, and, marching round to him, clasped him about the
neck, and said, with a little tremble in her voice, that " she
was mighty glad to see him, no matter what he was sent
home about "-and hastened back to the kitchen with her
apron to her eyes.
The mortification, excitement, and grief of the young
student were too much for his delicately organized frame.
His sensitive soul could not bear so severe a shock.  He




TIIE SEr.NATORtS SONT.             79
fretted himself into a fever, and for a few weeks was seriously ill.  Alice was constantly with him, and no one
seemed to retain even a memory of his fault.  The most
censorious were disposed to pardon a youthful excess for
which so much sorrow and contrition were shown.  It got
about, too, in what manner he had been beguiled into it,
and for what purpose.  His mother's fiiends and his own
thronged the hall with inquiries, condolences, early fruit,
and boquets. His good name was restored to its pristine
brightness, and his apprehensions of having always to struggle against society's bad opinion were done away with. As
soon as he was well enough to go with them, Mrs. Madison
and Alice went into the country to remain through the hottest weather; and here he quite recovered his spirits, romping with his sister, wandering through cool, green woods
with her, fishing, gathering wild-flowers, talking classic
poetry at the trees and rocks and streams.
In September, the family returned to the city.  Parke,
resolved to atone for past misconduct, went immediately
into the law-office of his guardian; a gentleman of high
talent and character, who was admirably fitted to influence
him for better things. Here he studied perseveringly for
several months; but in the first part of the winter, Alfred
Clyde returned to New York. He had fallen out with his
uncle, through some lack of his usual caution. The old
man had been displeased with him  several times; and on
this occasion his displeasure was so severe that the crafty
youth could not turn it aside. Thrown for the present




80                TIE SENATOR S SON.
from  this track upon which he was riding with rail-road
ease to fortune, he bethought him of the plan he had already studied for reaching the same point by another way.
From his first acquaintance with young 3Madison, he had
resolved to make him serviceable in case of necessity. Like
many bad men, he was jealous of those purer than himself,
and he had no scruples about dragging his friend down to
his own level.
When Parke first encountered him  in the city, he declined any farther acquaintance with him, believing, what
was really so, that he had joined with others in effecting his
disgrace at college. Alfred soon made it appear that such
a suspicion was doing wrong to his best friend, who had
only joined with the rest in order to have a chance to warn
and protect him.  Why he did not do it was' never mnade
very plain; but he succeeded in restoring Parke's confidence, and they were better fiiends than ever.
He was invited to the house a great deal by PIare, and
kindly received by the family, who accepted the son's excuses in his behalf.  Despite of his pleasing address, Mrs.
3Iadison was suspicious of his good qualities.  When Parlke
began to study less and to stay away from home more and
more,- to be out late evenings, and be unwilling to give an
account of how they were spent — to come down late t,breakfast, with pale cheeks and heavy eyes-to ask his
guardian frequently for nioney, — the old deadly fear returned to her heart.  She warned him tenderly and often,
and finally exerted all her authority as a parent to break up




TIE SENATOR S SON.                81
the intimacy between the two young meil; but Parke only
became more infatuated, and resented his mother's interference in a manner very different from  his usual affectionate
and reverential behavior.
Alfred knew that he was no longer a welcome guest;
but he continued to come often and stay long.  1Mrs. M[ladison saw the reason.  He was deeply enamored of her lovely
daughter.  He would sit silent a whole evening to have her
sing, leaning against the piano and gazing down into her
face.  Her singing was like the Lady Geraldine's:
" Oh, to see or hear her singing! scarce I know which is
divinest -
For her looks sing too: she modulates her gestures
on the tune;
And her mouth stirs with the song, like song; and
when the notes are finest,'Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light, and seem
to swell them on."
That innocent countenance, unconscious of his passionate admiration, radiant with its own beauty, and giving a
divine expression to her music, would fix the glow of his
black eyes, until startled by the thought of the mother's
grave observation, he would withdraw them hastily, and perhaps join Alice in her song.
The young girl was unsuspicious of any other than a
brotherly attachment, and that by degrees grew unwelcome
to her, as she attributed her brother's pre, nt mode of




8?TTlLE SENATOR'S SON.
living more or less to his influence.  She did not dream of
half, and could hardly have realized it had it been told to
her, but she suspected enough to make her feel some bitterness towards him.
"' Where is the ring you was to wear until I received my
diploma?" he inquired one day, taking her fair hand in
his own.'" I took it off when Parke came home from college,"
she replied.
" But why have you not restored it to its former enviable place? Is the giver put away with the ring into your
casket of cast-off valuables, never to be restored to his old
station in your regards?"
" I fear that he is not worthy of restoration  " she said,
with a melancholy smile; and looking a little alarmed the
next moment at her own frankness.
"You must not think so - you shall not 1" he exclaimed, with a lowering of his dark eye.  " I cannot hear
it from you!"
He pressed her hand so hard that she shrank with the
pain.
" I hope that I shall have no reason," she said gravely.
These winter evenings to which Alice had looked forward
with so uch delight became the darkest hours of her hitherto happy life. They were long, long hours, spent many
of them in watching and weeping. Her mother, whose
health daily declined, was unable to remain up after nine or
ten o'clock, but nothing could induce the devoted sister to




THE SENATOR S SON.               83
retire to rest until Parke came in. Often the alabaster clock
on the library mantle would ring out twelve - one -two;
while she sat by the smouldering grate with a pale face, trying to interest herself in a book, nervously listening to every
sound in the nearly-silent street.
She always went out into the hall when he came in.
Sometimes he would brush rudely by her, with an angry exclamation at her silliness in sitting up —sometimes he
would kiss her hastily, looking guilty and unhappy —and
sometimes she could persuade him to come into the library
and sit down a little while, when she told him that he was
breaking his mother's heart, and her own too, and ruining
himself. He would confess with hot and bitter tears that
he was doing wrong —that he was very unhappy- and
that wine was the instigator of all his evil conduct. He
would promise amendment, and for a few days would be
the beloved, adored Parke of other days. Alice would go
singing about the house with a step light as a fairy; and
the youthful bloom upon her checks which belonged there.
The promise would be forgotten, the watching renewed, the
sad faces come back again. Even the servants had not the
independent, contented look they used to wear when all was
well with the family. Bridget petted and fretted about her
mistress' sorrowful, fading countenance. John drove his carriage down the avenue with a shade less dashing air than
the one which used to become him so well. Pete, the cunning-looking little negro waiter, who dusted the parlors, laid
the plates, and attended the bell, was the only personage




84               THE SENATOR'S SON.
who seemed to preserve indifference to surrounding perplexities.  His eyes were as bright, and his smile as sly as
ever; with good reason, for he never troubled himself about
the door after eight o'clock of the evening; his young mistress attended to that; and the young master threw him
more dimes than usual, probably out of gratitude to the
little imp for always grinning at him with imperturbable
good nature, whether he was in a state to deserve it or not.
M3r. Crawford, Parke's guardian, came often to see Mrs.
Madison, and consult what was best to be done with the
young gentleman; telling her that he spent enough money
to support five people in his station, and that he never liked
it when his guardian refused to let him have such extravagant allowances; that his studying law was a mere pretence, for he made no regular application to the books; and
that he was known to associate with some of the most reckless young men of the metropolis. The agony of the mother's heart was partly betrayed by her slow step and fading
form; but who can measure the depth of a mother's love,
or the anguish of her fear, when she sees a child like Parke
breaking from the tears, the prayers, the ties of home, to
madly follow his leaders to ruin, to death, and to the judgment. The secret misery corroding the peace of hundreds
of thousands of families, brought by one husband, father,
brother, or son who has gone astray, may speak to its victims of the despair which crowns with a ghastly death'shead the cup of glowing wine; but who else can think of it
as it is, or hate it with deserved hatred?




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 85
In the spring, following her own judgment, as well as
the advice of MIr. Crawford, Mrs. Madison rented her beautiful city residence and removed entirely to the farm where
they had spent a portion of the last summer.
It was a lovely spot, removed far enough from New
York to be out of the hearing of its witcheries. The house
was large and old-fashioned, with one great parlor, and a
nice room for a library opening off of it. The chambers
were airy and pleasant - each member of the family had a
room for him and herself; the mother had an apartment
opposite the parlor, whose beauty of situation more than
compensated for the loss of the sunset-room. A piazza run
round three sides of the main building, whose columns were
profusely draped with multi-flora and honey-suckle.
Alice's sleeping room looked off over the orchard, the
clover field, the great barn, into a lovely grove of maples;
Mrs. Madison's over a wide expanse of beautiful meadow-land, girdled with a silver stream, and crowned by distant hills; close under the window was a sloping green
sward, shadowed here and there by elm  and maple trees,
breaking her view of the scenery into picturesque patches.
Rose-bushes grew by the casement, and there was a little
bed of carnations and gilly-flowers under it.
The family who managed the farm had removed into a
smaller house which had been repaired for them; so that
iMrs. Madison kept house for herself, and retained her old
servants.  The piano, the pictures, the books, the furniture,
and the whole household were there.
8




TtIE SENATOR'S SON.
For the first few weeks Parke was sullen and restless.
He wandered about like some one tormented with thirst, and
seeking the means to quench it. The quiet, the beauty of
the place soon wrought a change in him. His character assimilated itself to the nature of things about him.  The expansion of the green leaves, the budding of the flowers, the
springing of the wheat, the swelling of the brook, became
objects of interest to him; his mind and body grew healthy.
He regarded his last winter's life as a fever, hateful to think
about.  Those things which had so attracted him, now appeared disgusting - his former pleasures degrading, his associates vile. By degrees all wish to return to the city. left
him.
Everything here was new.  There were a thousand
things to learn and to do. Alice bloomed more beautiful
than ever. The early roses could not compare with her
delicate grace. She had never been so happy before; the
weight which had depressed her spirits for so many months
was removed, and the rebounds left her on the summit of
happiness.
Parke was once more the handsome, gay, hopeful, affectionate brother. The great old mansion was a perfect playhouse for them; from the cellar to the garret all was envious and delightful. The stone dairy-house built over the
brook, the old log-house at the foot of the garden, built by
the first settlers, and now gone into romantic decay, with a
huge apple-tree growing in at the open window, and heaps of
last year's nuts in the rickety loft-the grape-vine swing




THE SENATOR S SON.                 87
in the woods — and the little quiet place in the stream
where the fishes most did congregate —all these received
their frequent visits. Nothing was so sweet as the fragrance of apple-blossoms when the night-breeze wafted them
into the windows, while Alice made the old mansion ring
with the melody of her voice, in concert with the piano.
But when the roses came, they were the sweetest; and when
haying-time came, there was nothing, positively nothing, so
refreshing as the fragrance of the new-mown hay, nor so delightful as tossing it about and following the loaded wagons
to the barns.
Parke was very efficient aid in time of hurry, and Alice
learned all the mysteries of butter-making from the farmer's
wife. Old Brindle sometimes came home, to the great astonishment of that good woman, with her head, neck, and
horns strangely bedecked with wreaths of leaves and flowers
which Alice had coaxed her into standing quiet to be
adorned with. The lambs when they could be caught were
similarly decked, and even the fat, nice, little pigs did not
always escape some marks of her favor.  Parke learned her
to ride on horseback.  IHe had been taught in a ridingschool, but she took her first lessons from him.
That was a happy summer.  It had one shadow, however, in the ill-health of Mrs. Madison.  Not even the
country air could restore her to her old animation; and as
the hot days of August came on, she drooped more and
more. She was confined a great deal to her room and her
sofa. The family physician came fiequently from the city




88                THE SENATOR' S SON.
to see her.  He seemed to think her present abode as favorable to her health as any could be; and she was glad to
hear it, for the children were doing so well, and she herself
felt such quiet and peace, that she dreaded the thought of
change.
Of visitors from town they had a great many during the
hot weather, whom they duly feasted with country luxuries,
and gave a glimpse of country pleasures.
After haying and harvesting came the fruit-season.
This was indeed a glorious portion of the year.  Even 3Mrs.
Madison rallied a little through September and October.
How beautiful were the golden autumn days; the purple
valleys, the misty hills, the fragrant air, the gorgeous maple grove.  HTow delightful to wander with rustling feet
through the wood, gathering up the various-hued leaves,
listening for the dropping nuts, and plucking the plentiful
wild grapes.
Parke Madison thought that he could never do another
sinful deed as long as he lived.
The Indian-summer came and went like a dream of Paradise. Then the young people had an opportunity of testing the pleasures of a winter in the country. The tongue
of the babbling brook was frozen into stillness; the trees
once beautiful with waving foliage were standing bare and
dreary, or sparkling with a thousand rainbow pendants of
ice, or muffled in heavy habiliments of snow.  The distant
hills stood grand and stately, like white-headed old men.
The fields, beautifully clothed in snowy garments, were




TIIE SENATOR'S SON.                89
lying at rest after their summer labor, gathering strength
for another season of toil. The dairy-house seemed to have
grown short and bulky, with its heavy cap hanging over
its brows. The portico, sometimes, after a litttle thaw
would be hung about with glittering fringes, and the graceful stems of the multi-flora would flash and gleam like
sprays of diamonds, while its red berries made a handsome
contrast.
Within-doors there was comfort and plenty.  The cellar
was full of fine apples and the garret was stored with nuts
As often as once a fortnight IMr. Crawford sent out new
books, and they had a paper almost every day in the week
But some of the apartments, which were so spacious and
airy in warm weather, could not be made comfortable now;
the great parlor was abandoned, and the little library became the favorite room.  Here reading, music, and games
of chess, knitting, painting in water-colors, and letterwriting, went smoothly on.  Here was stationed Mrs. Ma(lison's favorite sofa, and here the tea was made every evening.  Here Parke began to be ambitious to become a sculptor, littering the hearth every day with chips until he had
carved a strange-looking head out of a bit of wood, which,
he flattered Alice, was meant for a copy of her own.
Sometime in January, Mrs. Madison took a severe cold,
which confined her to her bed for a long time, and left her
with an alarming cough. The rest of the winter her health
was miserable. She grew more and more feeble, lying all
day upon her lounge, and being almost carried to her bed
8*




90                TIHE, SE.NATOR'S SON.
at night.  Alice slept with her, to be near her in case of a
sudden increase of her illneas, which sometimnes occurred.
Parke was devoted to her comfort.  He read to her by the
hour, in his rich, mellow voice; he carried her in his arms
when she was well enough to go out in the sleigh for a short
ride; he hung around her constantly, on the watch for solme
opportunity of serving her.  In his deep and solicitous tenderness might be traced the workings of remorse.  He
knew that the many hours of anxiety and anguish he had
caused her were partly the reasons of her present sufferings;
and he strove to atone, by faultless conduct and filial attentions, for the past.
Never had an invalid two children who were more affectionate nurses.  In cu;iet and happy occupations the winter
wore away, the cheerful spirits of the young people checked
only by an occasional fear of their mother's being taken
away from them.  The mother's own presentiments were
more constant and powerful.  She knew that she never
should be well again. She looked death in the face every
day, calmly, smilingly. Only when she thought of her
boy I only when she thought of Parke! - with his generosity, impressibility, want of purpose, love of gayetywho had been so nearly swept away in the vortex of vice,
and who could never play a moment upon its alluring shores
without danger of losing his foothold and being drawn into
the dizzy current,- then, in what an agony of prayer she
laid her fears before her Maker, and implored of Him to be
the Parent anid the Savior of her child.  Alice she -was con



TIHE SENATOR'S SON.                 91]
tent to leave with her own holy and religious heart, her
sweet temper, her gay disposition, and her habits of prayer;
satisfied that the dear and beautiful child had the promise
of happiness in her gifts of wealth, loveliness, grace, and
talent, well guarded by the golden breast-plate of her piety.
Still it was with yearning eyes that she followed the movements of that slender figure and gazed upon that blooming,
child-like face.  It is hard for a mother to leave her children, even when her destination is to the unspeakable
beauty of the promised-land.
Ever since she was a young girl IMrs. Mladison had been
a disciple of Jesus Christ.  In the palmiest days of her
brilliant career, when flattered, courted, and boundlessly
beloved, - the accomplished daughter of a superior family
- the admirable wife of a distinguished man, - she had
never been bewildered into forgetfulness of her professions
of an humble faith.  Would there were more professed
followers of the' meek and lowly Jesus,' who' went about
doing good,' to imitate the example of this lovely woman,
who was as familiar with the homes of the destitute and
the cry of orphans as with the glow of her own comfortable
hearth and the singing of her own fair children.  Her faith
was serene, her hope cheerful, and her charity boundless.
She always gave more than many who think that they have
done their whole duty.  To the golden droppings from her
purse was added the sweet smile, the ready tear, the words
of encouragement, consolation, or merited reproof.  Now




92                THE SENATOR S SON.
that the hand of sickness was laid heavily upon her, she
had a useful and beautiful life to look back upon, and a
glorious future to look forward to.  All her old sweetness
lingered about her, dying away like the sun at the close of
a bright day in a halo of radiance.  Her greatest earthly
happiness was in listening to the almost seraphic melody of
Alice's singing; it reminded her of the golden harps of
heaven; but sometimes it moved the passion of her mother's heart, until she felt that she could hardly part from anything so dear. A few concealed tears, a silent prayer, or a
holy and comforting psalm, would restore her mind to its
usual serenity.
With the soft winds and flitting showers of April came
the consciousness to the souls of the brother and sister that
they were to lose their mother.  Wasted and helpless she
lay upon her couch, which she could leave only for the dark
and narrow home.  A few brief days and she would be no
more.  So placidly she spoke of it, as if she were going on
a delightful journey, that in her presence they could hardly
realize the great sorrow that was coming upon them.  Eagerly they watched for every smile, growing now so rare and
radiant, and so soon to beam on them no more.  DPay and
night they lingered by her side, holding the thin, white
hands, the pressure of whose slender fingers thrilled them
with strange emotions of grief and love.
There was a house-full of friends and relatives attending
upon the last datlys of the beloved invalid, but the children




TIIE SENATOR'S SON.               93
would yield their places to none.  If they yielded to her
solicitations and sought rest from watching, they only wept
until they were back to her presence.
One day, early in May, she lay more at ease than usual.
The window of the room was open, and the faint fragrance
of the first lilacs was wafted around the bed.  Ier attendants thought that she slept; but while they gazed, a change
came over her face that all recognized as the sign of the
presence of the destroyer. Alice was afraid that she would
never speak again, and leaning pale and breathless against
her aunt, she looked upon the dying countenance; her
brother buried his face in the bed. Presently the eyes unclosed, bright and large; they wandered around until they
rested upon the head bowed down upon the counterpane.
"Parke," she said, in a clear whisper.
" Dear mother," and all in a tremble, he bent to hear
her last words.
" Promise m.e that you will never again touch the winecup. It brings only sorrow and remorse."
" I promise - willingly. I never meant to any more,
and with God's help I will keep this promise."
"Bring me that promise unbroken to heaven, Parke.
Now, oh, Heavenly Father, I do die content, and blessing
Thee." She fixed her eyes with a soft expression upon the
western sky which seemed opening its golden gates to let
her waiting spirit through. All sobs were hushed to silence,
while the friends gazed in reverential love upon the saintly
beauty of her face.




94               TIHE SENATOR S SON.
" Alice," she said again, speaking aloud, "you have
been a good child — you will come to me I know -- and
Parke - love one another -be faithful - remember your
Creator in the days," here the voice died away, the
unearthly radiance faded out of her countenance, and as the
sun sank suddenly below the horizon, she sighed and fell
asleep in Jesus.
There was a great burst of lamentation from the group
gathered around - the two oldest servants wept and groaned
- Alice threw herself upon the bed, shivering like a leaf
chilled by a winter wind.
"- Come, Alice, this is too much for you, - come out into
the open air with me," said Parke, mastering hilmself, and
speaking in a changed, husky voice.
I-Ie put his arm  around her waist and led her out to a
grassy knoll under the favorite elm-tree, and there, when
they sat down together alone, all composure forsook both.
Clasped in each others arms they gave uncontrolled expression to their sorrow. It was long after dark before they retured to the house.
"Oh!Parke," said Alice, as they went slowly back,
" we are all that is left to each other now."
" Let us remember our mother's dying injunction to be
faithful —let us indeed love one another," replied the
brother, speaking in an earnest and agitated tone.
" We will — we will," was the sobbing reply, as Alice
carried her brother's hand to her trembling lips.
Itrs. )Madison was buried beside her husband in a beau



TIlE SENATOR'S SON.                95
tiful spot in Greenwood Cemetery.  Countless friends followed the corpse of the honored and idolized woman to its
resting-place.  If compassion and sympathy could have alleviated the grief of the orphans they would have mourned no
more.  As they stood beside the grave, clasping each other
close, struggling for strength to go away, leaving their
mother behind forever. many tears were dropped for them.
There was mourning, too, in many a lonely dwelling and
lowly home where the remembrance of the kindness of the
dead lingered, and grateful hearts, thinking of their own
little ones clothed and nursed by the good departed, now
prayed for the brother and sister who were left alone.
There were many families of relatives and friends who
would have welcomed Alice Madison to their midst as a
cherished member; not only for her gentleness, accomplishments, and beauty, but a little too, perhaps, because a
youthful heiress has seldom any lack of attention. But to
Mlr. and Mrs. Crawford, who had been the best-beloved
friends of their father and mother, both Parke and Alice
decided to go. Having no children of their own, and having always envied Mrs. Madison her beautiful pair, they
were received at once into the hearts of this lady and gentleman. Their weary spirits were soothed, and their desolate hearts comforted.  A thousand acts of almost motherly
kindness from  Mrs. Crawford at last began to pierce the
veil of grief in which the young girl had wrapped herself.
The hopeless melancholy of her lovely face gave place to a
less dejected look - she began to eat more than a bird or a




96IG             THE SENATOR'S SON.
kitten - and the roses resumed their seat upon her checks,
though paler roses than those of old.
"If you would only let me love you more —if you
would only accept my love," the lady would say, laying her
hand upon Alice's drooping head, and looking yearningly
into her sweet face.
M[rs. Crawford was a pretty little woman, still youthfullooking, with large, blue eyes, a delicate, transparent comlplexion, and a charming smile. Alice's heart would melt
with gratitude at the touch of her light hand upon her head,
as she would tearfully reply to those fond looks which
seemed to beseech a daughter's love.
" I do let you love me - I am thankful for every bit of
affection which you give me, I am so grateful for it — so
glad of it —and you are so dear to me- dearer than any
one else in the world but Parke -but your speaking so
softly makes me cry, because it is so like my own mother.
Oh! Mrs. Crawford, how can I live without my mother!"
The lady would take the fair head upon her bosom, and
cheer away the flowing tears, while all the time her own
heart, yearning for a mother's bliss and blessing, would be
secretly jealous of that touching fidelity to a parent's
memory.
" You shall have two mothers, darling," she would say,
"one in heaven looking down upon you with the power of
an angel to protect and guard - and an humble earthly
mother who will never tire of taking care of you here."
Parke used a man's expedient for driving away grief.




THE SENATOR' S SON.               97
He became very much immersed in study and business.
He made fine proficiency in the law, and did a good many
little affairs of the office for his guardian.  He copied and
transacted commissions of trust which it might be convenient for Mr. Crawford to transfer to him.  His evenings he
invariably spent with Alice. The older people said and felt
that their house had never seemed so home-like as since
these young folks had come to gild its gloomy corners with
the sunshine of beauty and youth. Mr. Crawford was nervous, not naturally the most cheerful of men, and sometimes trifles would disconcert the harmony of his feelings
Alice's eye was so quick, her foot so fleet, her hand so
ready, and her voice so soft, that she pleased him more than
any one he had ever had about him. She must read to him,
sing to him, wait upon his morning meal, and attend upon
his evening easy-chair and slippers.
Parke must play chess with him, and let him beat about
three times out of four; so that with the acquisition of two
such excellent children, his happiness was greatly increased,
and his nerves kept comparatively comfortable.
9




CHAPTER V.
" PARKE MADISON has been playing saint since he got
that weed on his hat. Deuce take him! he used to be one
of us, and we can't afford to spare him."
"His acquaintance would be worth cultivating if he
were not so uncomfortably good all at once. I wish I stood
in his shoes. I tell you what it is Hal, to be coming into
such a property as he is in less than three months, to be the
adopted son of that rich old lord of a lawyer, to have the
entree of the most unexceptionable circles, the most distant
stars of the aristocracy, and to own such a glorious sister,
is too much for one man, if he is pretty bright and goodlooking. It makes me envious to think of it, while here T
am hanging on to the narrow skirt of an old aunt that may
live a thousand years to distress me with playing the dutiful.
If there's anything I hate its hypocrisy, -I'd rather be
known for what I am, a lover of good-living, and a patron
of Fleming's, than the discreet darling of a maiden-aunt,
As for Madison, I mean to bring him down."




THE SENATOR S SON.                99
"Pooh! let the fellow alone. I am glad he is doing
better. There is nothing to prevent his being an honor to
the town; and if he has a mind to be, I have no objections.
It would be a pity - it would seriously - to see him throw
himself away on a few years of dissipation. He's made of
fine stuff, I can assure you, and will not stand much wear
and tear."
" Those are fine sentiments for you, Henry Jenkins;
but you must remember that our pockets are not as well
lined as his; while our ambition is as great. He has more
than he wants, and he might as well pay for our suppers,
our horses, and our debts of honor as anybody else."
"That's a very sage remark of yours, my friend, but I
guess you'll have to give young Madison up.  I have heard
that he promised his mother upon her death-bed to never
taste of wine again, and you know a fellow that will not
drink, is too cool-headed to be victimized."
" I'll lay you a wager of anything you please, that I
will get him drunk within one week, despite of his promise."
" Pshaw! impossible! I'll stake my black horse, Otello,
against that diamond on your little finger, that you do no
such thing."
" Done. The living are more powerful than the dead,
my dear boy, and you may prepare your mind to part from
your favorite steed:','For he'll never bear his master more
Through the bright ranks of  -  Broadway.'"




100              THE SENATOR'S SON.
The speakers were two young men, occupying a private
room at Fleming's.  A bottle of wine, another of brandy, a
bowl of sugar, some iced water, a brilliant lamp, and a pack
of cards occupied the table at which they sat. This table
was drawn up to the coal-stove, whose ruddy glare threw a
warm lustre over the handsomely-framed pictures, the costly
curtains, and rich carpet which decorated the apartment.
The polished boots of Henry Jenkins rested their elegant
soles against the top of the stove; his stylish imperial, carefully arranged black hair, handsome but dissipated countenance, and bold, dark eyes, glimmered mistily through the
blue clouds, floating in airy undulations around his head,
and emanating, like the smoke from the crater of Vesuvius,
from the corners of his mouth, where glowed a fairy spark,
that was undoubtedly the nearly-consumed end of a fragrant
cigar. Below this misty personification of a volcano, his
shirt-bosom gleamed like a snowy plain. It was fringed
with dainty ruffles of cambric; and sparkling in its centre,
as a fountain might sparkle in the midst of a plain, was a
diamond pin of great brilliancy.
A well-shaped hand, unsoiled by contact with things
more useful and laborious than white-kid gloves, supple rattans, and dealing the cards, reposed gracefully in his bosom,
and its mate was employed alternately in removing the
mysterious fire from his lips, and in raising to the same
place a glass of brandy-and-water.  His companion, sitting
opposite, leaned his elbows upon the table, and dipped
lumps of sugar in brandy, displayed while nibbling at them




THE SENATOR'S SON.                101
a very fine set of teeth; but his features were not otherwise
prepossessing. His hair and whiskers could not be coaxed
into the elegant silkiness of his friend's; his cheeks and
nose had a certain glow that does not indicate early rising
and morning air, but evening staying-up and night airwhich speaks more of the freshness of mint than of roses.
A weak look in his light-grey eyes, which grey was originally designed for blue, but had faded out, indicated that
the jeweled eye-glass which hung at his watch-chain might
be designed for use as well as ornament.  His dress was
unexceptionable, and his manner might be agreeable when
guarded in the society of ladies; but here it was reckless
and almost vulgar.
"That ring was given me by my affectionate Aunt, on
my last birth-day," he said, with a light laugh, "and she
would be very inquisitive if she missed it from my finger;
but I am willing to run the risks. I never met a young
gentleman yet who could not call himself of age who could
not be coaxed or fooled into a peep at the mysteries of
Fileming's."
" But this one has cut his eye-teeth. He has been behind the scenes with the best of us, - the worst, I mean,"
— with a mocking smile; "so you'd better resign your
Aunt's diamonds and let the baby alone."
With an expression of infinite contempt upon his face,
that'one of us' could have been so weak as to have reformed, Harry Jenkins finished his cigar, buttoned up his
coat, rang the bell for the waiter, and, after paying for their
9*




102              THE SENATOR S SON.
evening's amusement, took his companion's arm and sallied
out in search of their hotel, four hours after their intended
victim was safely asleep under his guardian's roof.
A few evenings after this, as Parke was walking briskly
home, with a new book in his hand, which he designed
reading with Alice, one of his cast-off acquaintance, to
whom he had hardly spoken since his return to the city, six
months before, came up and put his arm in his.
" How do you do, Madison?" he said, familiarly.
"How do you do, St. Ormond?" was the cold response.
"Will you please to walk up here a moment?" continued the other, as they came opposite the rooms of the
speaker; "I have something that I wish your judgment
upon very much."
" I am in haste to-night; will it not do in the morning
when I am going to the office?" replied Parke, hesitating;
for he dreaded to even set foot in any of his old haunts.
" It is doubtful about my being out of bed at so unseasonable an hour," said St. Ormond, laughing; " I wish to
show you a statue of H-Ebe, which has just arrived from
Italy, to-day, by my especial order. They say it shows best
by lamp-light."
Sculpture we know was one of Parke's passions, and he
turned eagerly, and followed his companion up a flight of
stairs, where a door from the landing led them into two
large and handsome rooms.  Young Madison drew back
when he saw half-a-dozen or more of his old associates
lounging about the apartments. Ile would fairly have ran




THE SENATOR' S SON.               108
away had he not felt too dignified; and a glimpse of the
beautiful work of art which stood unveiled just within the
folding-doors, glowing with life-like loveliness in the blaze
of light arranged to fall over it, arrested him.
Every gentleman came forward and greeted him with
marked earnestness and cordiality, expressing in looks or
words their regret for his recent affliction, and making no
boisterous display of their pleasure at seeing him among
them. Thankful for their respectful sympathy, he went
forward with a more comfortable feeling to admire the
sculptured IHebe.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked the owner,
when the young amateur had stood several moments wholly
lost in delight and admiration.
I" Exquisite! wonderful!" replied he, in pleased tones,
gazing upon the lovely, uplifted head, with its backwardstreaming curls, its garland, and its face of smiling beauty;
upon the matchless grace of the bended knee and foot, the
delicate roundness of the arms, the perfect symmetry of
the hands bearing the cup, and upon the youthful buoyancy
of her kneeling posture.'" How naturally the drapery falls to her elegant limbs,
as if it were the pliable silken fabric itself, instead of unyielding marble," he continued, after a long contemplation.
"And how lightly the fingers of the left hand lie upon
the cup, as if all the duty of bearing it devolved upon the
right," said St. Ormond.  Harry thinks the fore-arm  is
shortened a little too much, and the upper-lip ditto. As for




104               THE SENATOR'S SON.
me, I think the mouth is lovely as a dream, and the exquisite upper lip is half the charm; but Jenkins is always
critical. If I could find a pair of lips like these, belonging
to a living, breathing woman, I swear I would kiss them if
they beautified the face of a nun!"
Parke was just about to say that the mouth was precisely like his sister Alice's, but the latter part of the remark checked him, and he was glad that he had not
breathed her name in that place.
" I see no fault in the work now," he said, as he turned to
go, " but I am probably blinded by profound admiration; I
congratulate you, St. Ormond, upon possessing such a gem."
s" It is a costly gem, I assure you. It was rather extravagant in me to order it, but I have a passion for such
things.  What! you are not going?"
" Yes, I must go. I thank you for this peep at your
glorious Hebe, and will come again with your permission to
look at her."
"We are going to have a bit of supper by-and-by, Madison, and I shall take it as a positive affront if you leave
us, for this is my birth-night, and my friends ought to take
pleasure in celebrating it.
" I have a sufficient excuse for not joining any such
party as this," said Parke, moving to the door.  "If I do
not visit any one, you cannot take it as a particular slight,
and will pardon me."  St. Ormond closed the door and
turned the key as he said with a most fascinating and overpowering manner -




THE SENATOR S SON.               105
"We do all respect your grief for your great loss. But
we hold that it is neither wise nor right for you to retire
any longer from all suitable society of your age, and mope
away your brightest years in the dust of a law-ofice.  No
one should desire that you should waste your health nor
deny yourself reasonable enjoyment.  Youth was made for
happiness.  Come, Parke, my dear fellow, be contented to
remain. It is only a quiet supper; and we are going to
break up early. If you consent to stay with us a little
while, just long enough to eat an English oyster, or a prairie chicken, we will pledge ourselves to be perfectly decorous while you remain."
Parke looked around. The fire of youth glowed warmly
in his heart, and emotions long slumbering in quiet thrilled
his frame. The youthful Hebe holding out the wine-cup
with that impassioned smile, as if she were a living, blooming woman, the fragrance of some costly flowers upon
the mantel, the bewitching odor of some purposely-spilled
wine, the glow of lamps, the sound of enchanting music
played softly in an adjoining room, the sight of cordial
faces, were all overcoming the placid purpose of his mind in
a sense of pleasure.
"' If I should stay, I would not touch wine, and would
only remain a half-hour at the table," he said to himself.
He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock, and Alice
had been waiting for him an hour. At that moment, folding doors opened into a third apartment, from whence proceeded the invisible music.  A table, bountifully decorated




106              THE SENATOR S SON.
with living flowers, and flooded with light, upon which a
faultless supper was delicately displayed, occupied this room.
" You see that I sup three hours earlier than I used to.
You can be at home, if you wish, by ten o'clock."
Up between the gorgeous apartment, with its music,
lamps and flowers, its pleasurable atmosphere and impure
faces, arose to the spiritual sight of Parke, a room flooded
with sunset radiance, sweetened with the faint breath of
lilacs, and his mother tranced in her dying visions.
" I thank you, but I cannot stay. Good evening, gentlemen."  He turned to open the door. It was fastened,
and the guests all came towards him in a body; laughing,
and laying hold of him, they would have carried him into
the supper-room.
"' Gentlemen!" he said, shaking them off, and standing
erect with flashing eyes.  "This is unpardonable rudeness.
If any one lays a finger upon me, it will be at his peril. St.
Ormond, unlock that door!"
His first anger and icy, untouchable look, caused his
detainer to open the door and forbear further effort.
Following Parke outside, he begged pardon for the
thoughtlessness of his guests, saying that they desired him
to remain so much that they had forgotten his claims to
their consideration.
"Come to-morrow at twelve and visit with Hebe as
long as you like," were his parting words, and Parke, somewhat abating his resentment, wended his way home.
"You have lost your bet," cried the delighted set as




THE SENATOR'S SON.                107
soon as their host re-appeared. Henry Jenkins wears the
ring!"
"Be quiet, my friends, if you please, and come to supper.
It will be cold, I am thinking, before we set down to it;
and, as it is rather early for our fashionable appetites, there
will be two drawbacks to its perfection."
" The man who cannot find an appetite for one of St.
Ormond's suppers, even at nine o'clock, is to be pitied,"
said one; and all gathered around the board enjoyed the
discomfited looks of their host.
" Gentlemen!" he said, after he had himself carved a
rare bird, which the waiters set before him, and gave a bit
of it to all who desired, " there remain two days yet before
this bet is decided. I do not doubt but that I shall ride
Henry's princely Otello yet.  You have all of you an invitation to be my guests to-morrow night; at what hour, and
in what rooms, I will let you know in the morning."
This speech, made with recovered composure and seeming confidence, was received with great applause. No one
seemed to think that there was anything more important at
stake than a fine horse and a diamond ring. The promise
given to a dying mother, the ruin of a noble soul, and the
unhappiness of a family of friends,werenot taken at all into
account. Some of the guests glanced over the costly exotics, the marble Hebe, the rare wine, and the celebrated musicians, and wondered what greater temptations money could
purchase.  The pleasure of anticipation added a new charm
to the present hour.




108              THE SENATOR S SON.
In the meantime Parke hurried home as if the tempter
still pursued him. It was not until he was fairly in the
presence of Alice that he felt safe. The beaming smile with
which she met him, the soft pressure of her arms about his
neck, and her lips upon his cheek, were never more welcome. And when he sat down beside her upon the sofa,
and she nestled her head in his bosom and looked up into
his face with a happier smile than she had worn since their
mother's death, his breast swelled with thanks to God for
saving him from imminent peril, and he secretly renewed
his vow, as he held his fair sister closely in his arms.
"' What if I had been tempted to remain - then tempted
to drink- and returned to her with the fumes of wine upon
my lips?" he asked himself, with a shudder. "Would she
not have paled and shrunk away from me? — would she
not have reproached and despised me, and tortured me with
the memory of my pledge? instead of clinging to me with
such love, such confidence, such innocent sweetness."
It was too late to cut the pages of the new book. The
rest of the family had retired, and after an hour of happy
conversation, the young Madisons followed the example,
leaving their volume for the next evening's entertainment.
But when the evening came, Parke bethought him of its
being the night of the weekly lectures upon law, the science
of government, and such other subjects, which he lately attended.  So Alice was fain to content herself with her music, and a new number of the Mirror, as they were resolved
to enjoy the reading of the book together.




THE SENATOR S SON.                109
It was ten o'clock when the lecture closed, and Parke
was walking briskly home through the sleet and rain of a
dreary November night, picturing to himself the fine warmth
of the grate in the back parlor, with Alice waiting for him
alone before the fire, perhaps ensconced in Mr. Crawfordc's
great chair, or perhaps leaning pensively with her forehead
against the mantel, as she sometimes did. He had reached
the square in which the house was situated. It was so
quiet and aristocratic a part of the city that the police were
not very watchful; and as he turned the corner he heard a
slight scream, and beheld, by the dim light of the streetlamp, a female struggling in the arms of a man.
" Scoundrel!" shouted the young man, with a powerful blow in the.face of the villain. Anger had given him
strength, and the reeling man, thinking such an opponent
not to be despised, took to his heels, leaving the object of
his pursuit fainting in the arms of her protector. Parke
feeling her slender figure sinking heavily upon his arm, bore
her closer to the light, and lifted the wet hood from her
face. It was a youthful face and beautiful, though now the
eyes were closed in terror.
" For heaven's sake, child, where do you belong?" said
the young man; "and why are you out unprotected this
dreary night?"  " Oh, Sir," she sobbed, unclosing her large
dark eyes, "if you will only take me home; my mother is
very sick —I was afraid she would die, and went out for
the doctor and got lost; oh, Sir, please to take me home! "
10




hlo)             P'TIlE SENATOR'S SON.
"Poor young creature!" said Parke, "where is your
home -where shall I take you to?"
She named a number in a miserable street of the suburbs. It was some distance, but the young man would
have walked miles in a colder storm than that, rather than
leave the shivering, frightened girl to find her way alone.
" I can take you there," he said, supporting her upon
his arm, and walking as fast as she seemed able to go.
" How Alice would pity her! " he thought, as he felt
her clinging tightly to his arm. She spoke only once as
they hurried along the pavement, and then she uttered,
sadly -" Alas! my mother!"
They came to the No., and he was about to leave her at
the foot of the wretched-looking stairs, when she asked him
in a soft voice if he would not go up with her and see her
parent?  " She may be dead,' she cried wildly, and fled up
the narrow way.
He followed almost as fleetly, and they entered a desolate-looking chamber, through which they passed into an
inner room. Parke stood amazed and bewildered when he
found himself in a large apartment, in which the defects of
age were so concealed by furniture that it looked quite comfortable, and surrounded by a party of gentlemen instead
of in the presence of poverty and sickness.
a Ge'ntlemen," said his conductress, "I have brought
you a guest;" and shutting the door on him, she disappeared.
He was greeted with shouts of merriment.




THE SE1NATOR'S SON.             111
" Well done, Mr. Madison!" cried St. Ormond, "to
decline our company so stoutly last night, as if it would
harm  your youthful innocence.  And now you stumble
upon us in that society. Well, we forgive you the past;
you are as welcome as unexpected."
Blushing with shame and confusion, he would again
have made good his retreat; but the door was barricaded
by the laughing group, and he could not now fall back upon
his dignity, appearances being so much against him.
" I beg of you to hear me," he cried earnestly.
"Oh, yes, it must be an excellent story," interrupted
another; " we are all anxious to hear it. But first take a
comfortable seat, and tell the tale at your ease."
They seized him by the arms and sat him down in a
chair.
" Take a sip of something to give spirit to your narrative," said St. Ormond, approaching him with a glass of
wine on a server.   The laughter and jeers of the company
maddened the sensitive young man into forgetfulness of
everything but his present situation. Humiliated, angry,
thrown entirely off his guard, he thought of nothing but
of being equal with them.
" I am neither a fool or a coward!" he said, seizing the
glass and tossing it off with an air of affected carelessness.
Yet the moment he had drank it, he felt that he was
both, and worse- oh, a thousand times worse!
"' What have I done?" he cried inwardly, with agony.
" That will make a man of you, I am sure," said Harry




T TIlE SENATORI S SON.
Jenkins, tauntingly.  "Now let us have the interesting
history of your adventures, and how you happened into
this out-of-the-way spot."
The wine, which was mingled with a goodly portion of
brandy, flew to Parke's already excited brain. He gave
them a grotesque account of his rescue of the young girl,
drinking, while he talked, all the liquor that was offered
him; and ridiculing his own tender-heartedness in coming
up to see her sick mother. St. Orniond soon had the pleasure of seeing him drunk as he well could be, and of being
congratulated as the owner of the splendid Otello.
" It has cost me five times as much as the horse is
worth," he said to himself.  " But I can make it pay well,
with that simpleton in my power;" and he glanced coolly
towards the unfortunate victim of their heartless wager.
He would hardly have thought the &lact of the thing
amongst his own set, nor the future spoils out of Parke
Madison's fortune, would pay, if he had thought of the account set down against him in the Book of the just Judge
of the Universe, which must sometime be accurately settled.
But he did not think of that, or if he did he dismissed the
unpleasant reflection, as he said in high good-humor," Good friends and fellows! you will now do me the
honor to sup with me at Fleming's.  Mr. IMadison, I dare
say you have no objections to accompanying us. Allow me
to offer you an arm -I see that your nerves are agitated by
the undue trial to which they were subjected a short time
ago; you do not walk with the boldness becoming a man




THE SENATOR S SON.               113
who has knocked down another and rescued a poor child
from being carried off."
The whole company fastened on their cloaks and made
their way to Fleming's with just little enough noise to escape from the embarrassment of being locked up for the
night. Here Parke, lost to all sense of propriety, caroused
as long and as high as the wildest of his gay associates.
His'promise to pay when he should become of age,' to
the amount of three hundred dollars, was in the hands of
Harry Jenkins when he left, and five hundred with St.
Ormond.
One of the company, whom liquor did not affect in so
woful a manner, escorted him to the door of Mr. Crawford's
residence, and there bade him good night, though it was
nearly morning.
Alice, who had waited through the long and dreary
hours, a cold weight of dread sinking heavier every moment
upon her heart, sprang to the door, as she heard him endeavoring to open it. Letting him in, she clasped his hand
and led him to the light.
" I was afraid you had been murdered," she murmured,
looking up into his face.
The next moment she sprang from him as if she had
been stung by an adder.
" Parke Madison! you are drunk!" she said in a stern
voice, while her face grew as pale as ashes.
" Oh no, my dear, you are mistaken," he said, smiling
upon her with an air of good nature.  "I know most
10*




114            THE SENATOR'S SON.
people would think so, but you ought to know me better,"
he continued, with drunken gravity.
" You have broken your promise to our mother -you
have degraded yourself- have sinned beyond repentance —
are lost!" she cried, walking hastily to and fro, wringing
her hands. "Oh, my brother, do you know what you have
done?"
She paused before him, with the tears streaming down
her white face — her hands were involuntarily lifted as if
deprecating the divine anger which might visit so dark a
perjury.
" I — I suppose I've been taking supper at Fleming's,
from my feelings," was the stammering reply to her solemn
inquiry.  "I What are you crying about, Allie?  I've -
I've not been drinking, though you may have some reason
to suppose so. Cheer up, sis, and if you hear anything
about the affair at Fleming's, you need not believe it."
She sank down in a chair in a stupor of indignation and
grief, which settled down into despair.
"Oh, Parke! Parke!" she cried in a low voice, "my
happiness is gone forever.  You have made me indeed
miserable."
HTe took up a small lamp and ascended the hall-stairs.
1" Do not make any more noise than you can avoid -
walk lightly," pleaded his sister coming after, for she did
not know but that this night's ruinous work might be kept
from their kind protectors.
She followed him to the door of his room and then ha1s



THE SENATOR'S SON.                115
tened to her own. She lay down upon her bed with a far
bitterer sorrow than had shaken her the night of her mother's death. That was chastened, holy, and in a measure
hopeful- this was burning, sudden, and dark, mingled
with shame, fear, and anguish. The brief remainder of the
night passed sleeplessly away. She arose at seven to breakfast with Mr. Crawford, as was her custom, the rest of the
family not breakfasting until nine, during the cold weather.
He noticed her pale cheeks and spiritless expression - said
he guessed she got up too early to make his coffee, and she
must not do it if she didn't like -kissed her as he went
out — and then she laid down on the library sofa, waiting
for and dreading, she hardly dared to think of what.
The two hours passed by, and neither MIrs. Crawford or
Parke came down to breakfast. The former was quite indisposed and had taken her coffee in her room. Alice went
in to see her a moment, and then stole to her brother's door.
She did not hear him dressing, and so opened it and entered. He was not there. Stricken by guilt and remorse
he had risen an hour before, and crept out into the open air,
where he might endeavor to fly from the faces of friends
and the reproaches of his own conscience. The first breath
of pure, morning breezes dispelled the illusions of the past
evening; he felt that he had been duped by a silly artifice,
and then betrayed by his own passions.  He dared not go
to the office, and, disgusted with himself and the world, he
called at a saloon and took a glass of wine to banish his horrible feelings.  Was a man in his situation capable of self



it;i              THE SENATOR'? SON.
control? had he the full use of his own judgment? and would
it have been arbitrary to have refused him what he called
for?  Or was the piece of silver which he laid upon the table a fair equivalent for this new sorrow in his sister's heart,
and this new link in the chain that was forging to drag him
down?
The air of his room was foul with the fumes of his feverish breath anid the odor of cigar-smoke which filled his
clothes.
Alice opened a window, lest the servant coming to regun
late the apartment should suspect more than was pleasant,
HI-s bible, which she had given him when he first went away
to college, lay upon his dressing-table; and the slippers
which their mlother had embroidered the last winter of her
life, set by the bed-side.  She sat down and leaned her forehead upon the treasured book.  Thoughts of his old errors,
and the old unhappiness-days of sorrow and doubt gone
by - came over her; the times when she used to watch and
weep, and her mother to go about with a smileless face:
then of the bright year rolling by in a golden round of
hopes and pleasures, and ended by that heavy mourning for
one that went with it to return no more with other years;
then of this worst grief of any.
" If he has broken from the vow that he made a dying
mother, and in so short a time, there is nothing that can
restrain him  now.  Mly love will come to nought; it will
be powerless.  Why should I love him? he is not worthy
any longer even of my forgiveness," she mused( bitterly.




THE SENATOR's SON.                117
But the stern resolution was followed swiftly by a
memory -
"Parke - Alice - love one another - be faithful."
"Oh, my mother, I too promised, and I will fulfil. I
will never forsake him for any degradation or crime that he
mnay be guilty of. I will cling to him through all - forgive
him - love him, and fulfil to the utmost the love and duty
of a sister."
She fell upon her knees and prayed to Christ to intercede for her erring brother, and for strength to endure the
day of trial.  It was long before a gleam of consolation entered her soul, but when she arose from her prayer, patience
and love sat upon her sweet features. She sat as long as
she could with Mrs. Crawford; and when her anxiety grew
too strong to be resisted, she went down and stood looking
out the front parlor windows at the passers-by, until her
guardian came into dinner.
He inquired for Parke, saying, that he had not been in
the office during the morning.  She tried to reply cheerfully that he went out quite early, and she did not know
where he was, unless he had ridden out to the farm.
So he had; and he came back at dusk, tired and
gloomy. The associations of the place had more than balanced the effects of the hard riding.
The ladies were sitting by the centre-table, knitting
while they waited for tea.
" You have not been a very dutiful boy, to-day," remarked Mrs. Crawford, pleasantly, as he drew his chair up




118              THE SENATOR'S SON.
to the fire.  "Here I have been kept in my chamber until
about an hour ago, and you never came to inquire after my
health, or to wish me better."
" I have been away all day to the farm," he replied,
glancing swiftly towards Alice, and back to the fire again.
" Good evening, Parke," said she in a gentle voice.
He looked up and met the sad but affectionate gaze of
her dear eyes, and his own fell moodily to the floor. She
drew her chair beside of his, and laid her hand upon his
shoulder.  Once the look and the touch would have melted
away the barriers of pride, and he would have wept his contrition upon her bosom. But he had grown into a man
now, and the impressibility of his nature was hardening into
less yielding stuff. In his present irritated humor he felt
her affection as the most humiliating reproach.  Hie saw
that she had guarded his secret from the family, and the
very gratitude which he was obliged to yield was more now
than he wanted to give. He was more discontented than
ever, because he could be discontented with no one but himself. He gazed gloomily into the fire while Alice gazed
tenderly into his face. She knew that it was the sullenness
of remorse which lowered upon the fine brow and drooped in
the dark fringes of those usually sunny eyes. She longed
to lighten his burden of guilt, and to make him feel the
greatness of her affection. The little hand pressed harder
upon his shoulder, constraining him to look again into those
pure and pitying eyes.
Itr. Crawford came in, shivering with the cold of the




THE SENATOR'S SON.                119
first snow-storm. He cast a keen glance at his ward as he
saw him sitting moodily in the corner; but hearing that he
had been at the farm, he, as well as his wife, concluded that
old recollections had something to do with his taciturnity.
Tea was served; and after that Alice beckoned her
brother to a seat beside her, and the new book was produced.
" I have kept it unopened to share with you," she said,
as she severed the first few pages with her silver paperfolder.
The work was one of absorbing interest, but they did
not get along very well. Each was heedless of when the
other turned a leaf, and both felt it a great relief when the
elder couple left them to themselves.
The book fell from Parke's hand as they went out, and
he sat gazing fixedly upon the carpet. Alice kissed him.
"' Can you caress me, then, Alice?" he cried, turning towards her; "me, a perjured wretch?"
" You are my brother still - and ever will be -"  was
the grave reply, as the tears at last overflowed her eyes.
" Oh, Parke, I know there must have been great temptation.
Tell me of something that will take away from the sinfulness of your act - not that I cannot and have not forgiven you -but that I may think of you with some consolation."
He received her hand and grasped it tightly in his own,
as he went on to tell of the plot that had been laid for him,
and how, carried away by sudden excitement, he had weakly
and miserably fell a victim to it.




120              THE SENATOR' S SON.
"Oh, my poor brother! their crime is greater than
yours! but if you had only resisted -if you had burst from
them in scorn as you should have done! Yet do not be
utterly discouraged. God will forgive even this, and he
asks only repentance. Let us put our trust in him."
"But I have lost all trust in myself," groaned the
young man.  " My self-respect, my confidence is gone!"
"Oh, no! oh, no! there is time and chance to redeem
yourself. Your truest friends, save me, know nothing of
this, why should they ever? God and your mother wait
only your asking to forgive. Let us pray for it now, and
then you can renew your promise."
"I dare not renew it, I have no more trust in myself.
But pray for me, my sister; never neglect to do that; however low I may fall beneath your love."




CHAPTER VI.
PARKE was banished from Mr. Crawford's house.
For several weeks after his first excess, he had, by his
sister's aid, concealed his conduct from the family; although
he had at three different times been out the most of the
night. In that time he had lost two thousand dollars at
the gaming-table.  When his guardian discovered these
facts, his indignation was overwhelming. Strict in the performance of his own duty, he was the sternest judge of the
faults of others. Of that calm, strong, unsusceptible temperament which is but little exposed to temptation, he could
tolerate in others of more yielding minds no dereliction from
the right.  Had Parke been his own son he would have
turned him out with still less regret.  He considered it
inexcusable for any young man to form bad habits — but
that a person educated as Parke had been by a christian
mother, and surrounded by every inducement to virtue and
goodnes, that he should pursue such a course was equally as11




122               TIL  SEE SEN.TOR S SON,
astonishing and awful — and that, with the first summer's
flowers withering over her grave, in the very days of mourning, that he should be faithless to the assurances required by
that dying mother, was to him a proof of the utter depravity of human nature. A person so lost to all remains of
goodness should not be allowed to approach the family-circle gathered around any hearth, and with the full weight of
his anger he crushed the young man in the presence of his
sister and Mrs. Crawford.  His words fell scorching upon
the bare soul of poor Parke, and the glances of his eyes
seemed to wound like blades of steel.  Pale and quivering,
the brother cast a look upon his sister, who stood weeping
in the room; and strode without a word into the hall.
Heedless of her guardian's reproof, she followed him,
laying her hand upon his arm just as he opened the outer
door.
" Parke!" she said, in a stifled voice, "for my sake,
for heaven's sake, do nothing rash.  Remember that l am
the same as ever."
He wrung her hand and darted away.  She returned to
the parlor.  Her heart was bursting to plead her brother's
ease; but IMr. Crawford was tramping through the room
with a tread as if his heel was ground down every time into
the brain of a wild young man; and his wife, although she
took the weeping girl to her bosom, did not dare to let her
open her lips in remonstrance.
Several days went slowly by.  Alice pined in silent
sorrow; for as her guardian gave no signs of relenting, she




THE SENATOR S SON,                123
could not approach him upon the subject which lay nearest
her thoughts. Redoubled kindness was shown to her, but
she could hardly receive it when the part that should have
been another's was refused him.  Her usually busy fingers
laid idly in her lap, the piano was closed, and she sat hour
after hour at the window, her sad eyes following the people
who passed by, in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of the
banished one.  But he never walked on that street.  Pride
and resentment both kept him from the most distant adances, even to an interview with his sister.
One afternoon there was a ring at the door-bell. Every:me that it rang of late, Alice's heart had given a great,ound at the thought that perhaps it was Parke who had
eturned, and several times she had opened the door herself.'he hastened to do so now; and was greeted by Alfred
Ilyde. He gave her a note from her brother; and she in-,ited him in.
"There may be an answer expected," he replied, and
iccepted her invitation.
She introduced him to Mrs. Crawford, and withdrew to
t distant part of the room to read her letter. Her hands
w.ere all in a tremble as she broke the seal.  As she read
the hastily-penned page, the tears gathered on her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks. She was unconscious
of the earnest glances fixed from time to time upon her face
by the old acquaintance who sat conversing cosily with the
elder lady.  The note ran thus:"My guardian did not know what he was about when




124               TIlE SENATOR S S0ON.
he sent me away, Alice. It may be that I would have
been ruined anyhow, but now  I certainly shall.  Why
should I be good, when I am thrust out as fit only to associate with the worst?- denied even a word of encouragcmient from you.  The moment it became known that I was
discarded by my guardian, the whole pack of my former
companions were after me like cats after a mouse.  They
know that I am rich, and that in a week or two I will be of
age, and they do not want any better fellow than Parke
Madison to pay for their champagne, or for a partner in a
little game, I am such a confounded fool as to gratify them
at my own expense.  I have taken rooms at       Hotel,
and if I am frowned upon by nice people like MIr. Crawford,
I am flattered and praised by a very dashing set of fellows,
I assure you, who can overlook a small indiscretion, drink
my wine, pocket my money, and eat my suppers with as
good a grace as if I were better than the Bishop. Do you
wonder that I seek to consol myself for the loss of my good
name? A young man who has been publicly disgraced,
and the door shut upon him by his bestfriends, must needs
go where the door stands wide open, and a hundred smiling
lips are calling upon him to enter and make himself at
home. So I have been drunk three days out of the eight
since I left you - I have lost another thousand at billiards,
and paid for two champagne suppers."
" Alice! Alice! can you forgive me this reckless talk?
Yet it is all too true. When I make a giant-effort to overcome all, and make a better man of myself, despite of dis



THE SENATOR'S SON.                125
couragement and bad reputation, the solitude to which I
flee for strength is peopled with such frightful shapes of
doubt, remorse, shame, and self-distrust, that I rush back to
temptation to get away from them. If I did not love wine
— if one taste of it did not awake such a fatal thirst, I
might save myself from these lesser evils. But with this
innate passion, what am I to do? There is no safeguard, for
I have already destroyed the most powerful; and I am in
despair. Oh, my sister, I am ready to cry out as my
mother once did -'would that every drop of alcohol in all
its Protean shapes was banished from the land.' My noble
father fell its victim - I shall be a still more hopeless one.
Fatal inheritance! my father has bequeathed me his inclination for the bowl, and I am coming into full possession
of the dread bequest.  You see I am trying to work my
way into your compassion, by laying a part of my faults
upon the shoulders of others. You, too, may have cast me
off by this time.  If not, send me some little word by Alfred. Do not be suspicious of him; he is sorry for me,
and trying to serve me. Tell me where I can see you,
and talk with you a little while.          PARKE."
Alice took a small sheet of paper from  between the
leaves of a book, and wrote with her pencil —
" DEAREST PARKE: — YOU must not., and shall not,
stay any longer where you now are.  I shall talk with Mr.
Crawford to-night, and if he sends you permission to come
home to-morrow, you must come- because I ask it of you.
If he will not consent, or if you will not accept, then I shall
1 1.9




1'2               THE SENATOR' S SON.
have to follow you to your rooms, for I aqm deter.minecl that
I will not give you up. Of course you will not compel me to
leave a safe home to track your wandering steps; so only return with good resolutions, and we will all be happy again."
Folding it and giving it to Mr. Clyde, she bethought
~herself of how her absorbing care for her brother had caused
her to neglect to pay him the attention he was entitled to,
and which she felt more disposed to give since she read
what Parke said of him.
Alfred was now three-and-twenty, and appeared two
years older.  He was elaborately dressed in the height of
the fashion, and still not showily; a rich diamond stud, glowing in the centre of the dainty frill of his shirt-bosom, was
the only article of jewelry he wore.  I-fe had lost a little of
his former reserve, and talked agreeably, though something
in the deep glance of his eye, and the low fullness of his
tones, seemed always hiding itself from the observer.
He informed Alice that his uncle, Mr. Benjamin Clyde,
was dead; that he had forgiven him the little quarrel that
had parted them the year before, and had died, regarding
him as a son.  Of course his listener understood that he
was heir to the large fortune which the old gentleman had
accumulated.  His splendid dress and haughty bearing were
becoming to him; and Alice would have felt a friendly joy
that he was at last in circumstances to do justice to his
tastes, had not the old suspicion of his sincerity returned to
her with every sentence which he uttered.
The very pure and good seeml often to be possessed of a




THE SENATOR S SON.               127
sympathy which repels them from falsehood, however speciously disguised. And the more she looked at that dark
face, with its restless lip and cautious, searching eyes, the
more distrustful she felt towards it.
He remained an hour, and went away with an invitation
from Mrs. Crawford to visit them again.  She had heard so
much of him from her young friends that she knew his station and claims to their acquaintance; and as she admired
him very much, she at once concluded that it would be
pleasant to have him for a visitor through the winter evenings. She was sure that society would enliven her sweet
child's drooping spirits. Pretty little Mrs. Crawford! she
had scarcely a fault; but she had one! She aspired to be a
match-maker.  Having had no children to occupy her leisure, she had taken great notice of the young people belonging to other folks. As many as half-a-dozen excellent marriages she was sure had been brought about through her
important management. Though Alice was but just seventeen, and so child-like, and so saint-like in her innocent
ways and looks, that she should have been regarded only as
a white rose-bud growing upon consecrated ground, too holy
and too fragile to be gathered and worn; yet her new
mother, looking smilingly at her, as she sat pensively by
the table, had already arranged how charming it would be
to fasten the bridal veil upon that beautiful head.
She had not failed to observe the earnest looks which
Alfred could not refrain from fixing upon the young girl
Lftcr an absence of more than a year.  That a young gen



128               THE SENATOR'S SON.
tleman so rich, elegant, refined, and of good family, should
at once fall in love with her pretty Alice, was delightful.
Her mind ran gaily on to the future, and she cast glances
up and down her parlors to imagine how they would appear,
illuminated for a wedding-party.  Yes! they should stand
there, just between those two large windows, to be married!
and there should be no lack of camelias for adornment!
and it might be that Mr. Crawford could be coaxed into the
purchase of new curtains! All this while the unconscious
performer of the chief part in this drama of the future sat
with her head upon her hands, thinking of how she should
most successfully approach her guardian on the sore subject
of recalling Parke. She replied at random to her companion's praises of their visitor, and was oblivious to all the
little wiles that were used to discover the state of her feelings towards him.
" I think Mr. Clyde was a little agitated when he first
came in.  What expressive eyes he has! at least, when he
is looking at my little daughter!"
Alice blushed; but it was with emotion at hearing Mr.
Crawford in the hall.  Her heart first gave a bound, and
then sank down — down! for his sternness was terrible to
her, who had been reared in an atmosphere of gentleness;
and if he should utterly refuse to listen to her plea! Then
-- ah! she was resolved what she would do then; and
her cheeks became so crimson at the thought, that her
guardian, entering, patted them cheerfully, and said that lie
was rejoiced to see her looking so much better.




T'ILE SENATOR'S SON.             129
Tea was over.  Mr. Crawford was established for the
evening in the cushions of his huge chair. Alice had arranged the lamp, brought him his slippers, paper, and
spectacles, and before he made use of the two latter, she
had perched upon his knee. She laid her little white hands
upon his shoulders.  He looked fondly at her, thinking this
young thing, with her shining curls and fairy form, the
fairest child he had ever seen; but when the dew began to
gather on her eye-lids, and her lips to tremble with what
she wanted to say, he pushed her farther back upon his
knee, and his countenance settled down into unpromising
severity.
Alice was frightened, but love made her bold.
" Father i" (it was not hard for her to call Mr. Crawford father, as she had but slight remembrance of her own)
"Ihave had a letter from Parke to-day, and I want you to
read it."
She held it out, but he would not take it.
" Does not Miss Madison remember that I have forbidden any intercession for that person?"
Miss Madison! when had he ever called her by so dignified a title before? But she could bear his cold tones as
well as her poor brother; and if other people were to be
harsh and unrelenting, why should she not take part against
them? She felt some of the real old family blood, which
she inherited from her mother's father, thrilling her breast.
A firmness of will which distinguished them, and which it
would have been well for Parke to possess, she now felt for




180               THE SEINATO1' S SO-N.
the first time springing into energy, called to life by the
dreadful anxiety she felt for one dearer to her than her own
life.
" You had better read the letter," she said, getting off
of the extreme edge of his lap to which he had pushed her,
and standing before him.
" Why so?" he inquired a little curiously; for, despite
of his gravity, he could scarcely forbear a surprised smile at
her commanding attitude and the firm tones of her voice.
" Because you ought to read it, father.  Certainly it can
do you no harm to read it; and, if you refuse, you may
sometime regret it.'Blessed are the merciful, for they
shall obtain mercy.'"
" And you think I may sometime need it - is that it?"
he asked, smiling at what mighlt seem like disrespect from
her.
"I don't think anything about it! I only wish to know
whether you will read this yourself; for if you will not,
then I shall read it to you."
He looked a little angry at this, and made no reply, except to call her a " saucy little girl."
So after waiting a moment she began.  It would have
been weak for him to have got up and ran out of the room,
and as she read in a clear, distinct voice, he was obliged to
hear every word. His brow darkened ominously at the beginning of the epistle; and where it came to the reckless
confession of his new sins, he stamped his foot as if he
would command silence.  The young girl continued to the




THE SENATOR'S SON.                131
end, with a slight falter towards the last; then turning her
bright, dark eyes upon her guardian, she seemed to be asking
him with that steady look, if it would not have been better
to have shown more mercy.
The look of a righteous judge had given way upon his
face to a more troubled expression, as his eye fell before
hers, and he repeated to himself her silent question. It had
never occurred to him before that his casting his ward back
upon his own inclinations was making him worse, for he
had flattered himself that there was no worse to such conduct.  Now he did not like the responsibility of four days
of intoxication, two suppers, and a large gambling debt,
thrust thus unceremoniously upon hian.
" Are you going to send for my brother to come back
home?" asked Alice, watching the changes of his brow.
Mr. Crawford was nervous at the thought of his having
been too hasty with the son of his dead friends; and when
he was nervous he was always irritable. If he answered
yes, after hearing the letter, it would be a tacit acknowledgment that he had done wrong; so he threw himself upon
his temper, and thundered - " No! "
" Very well! then," said Alice, folding up the letter,
"I consider it my duty to go to him."
Both her friends regarded her with amazement, as she
stood before them, her slight figure erect, her lips pressed
together, her cheeks burning, and only the tears softening
her eyes to show that she was their timid young ward.
"Go to him! "  cried her guardian, "where? —to
Hotel?"




132               THE SENATOR'S SON.
" Yes, Sir! if you drive me to that.  You may think
it your duty to be very severe with poor Parke, - I know
it is mine to be faithful to him to the last: oh, Sir," here
her voice trembled, "you heard my mother's last words,
that we should' love one another''I be faithful' -  and
now that he is left to the mercy of his own strong inclinations, and beset by temptation on every side, is now
the time for him to be without his friends -- his sister!
What would friends be worth if they deserted us in our
fall?  Oh, my mother," she continued with upraised eyes,
"3you would not thus easily have cast off your child."
The tears were now running down her cheeks, but she
walked with a proud step towards the hall.
"' Mr. Crawford," she said, turning at the door,"can I
have John to protect me through the street, or must I go
alone?"
"Are you going to-night, Alice," asked Mrs. Crawford,
in terror.
" Yes, madam! I must, — I must be where my poor
brother is, to watch over him, and, if possible, save him.
Who can tell what a night may bring forth of danger to
him."
"You will do no such wild, foolish thing," said her
guardian, rising. " Have you fogotten, Alice, that I have
the control of your actions? "
" It is the last command of my mother which controls
me now," she answered repsectfully.  "It is stronger than
the law - stronger than any love for you," and she passed
out into the hall.




THE SENATOR'S SON,               1.33
Mr. Crawford followed her.  She was already tying on
her hood, when lie laid his hand on her arm.
" You are a stubborn girl, Alice; but if you will have it
your own way, you must take the consequences.  Take off
that rigging and come back to the fire."
" You will send for Parke, then?" she asked eagerly.
"Of course, if I must to keep you out of such mad
mischief."' But to-night? to-night? shall John go right away."
" As well now as any time," he replied; and she flew to
write a note for the messenger.
In a moment it was ready, and John was dispatched.
" Its a mighty blustering night to be running about in,
but I would go to the bottom of the city to serve you, and to
search out Mr. Parke," he said, as he went out the door,
hurried by Alice.  This was their own old household servant, and who had been almost half as anxious as his young
mistress since Parke was sent away.' Oh, Mr. Crawford, my father, you are so good — so
good," said Alice, comling back to her old place on his knee.
" And now I know you will receive poor Parke kindly —
he will be so distressed and ashamed — "
" Deserves to be," was the gruff response.
"I know it- he ought to be - oh dear, I don't know
what punishment he doesn't deserve except to be turned
away from home — his only place of refuge, you see! —
But still, you will speak to him - try to forgive him, dear,
dear father."
12




THlE SENATOR'S SON.
"' Don't tease me any more to-night, or I shall be sorry
I didn't let you go where you wanted to," he said; but it
was with a smile, and something like a sparkle of water in
his eyes.
So the young girl was content, and kissing him, she
went to the window to listen.  The roar of the storm without prevented her hearing much; but after three quarters
of an hour passed in suspense, the stamping of feet was
heard in the hall.  Alice glanced towards her friends, and
then flew out to see if any one had returned with John.
There was Parke taking off his cloak. and lingering as if
loth to enter.
The same instant she lay sobbing in his arms.  His
tears fell hot and large upon her face.
" I should not have come had not you written the note,"
he whispered.
" Oh, hush, Parke, do not say anything of the kind.
We will love you as well as you deserve."
Radiant with tears and smiles she led the way in.  Her
tact and her emotion covered half the embarrassment of
the meeting.  If Parke and his guardian did not shake
hands very cordially, she embraced both with such affection
that they might haven mistaken her joy for each others.
Mrs. Crawford kissed his cheek and appeared really glad;
and then when all set down, and an awkward silence threatened the group, Alice opened the piano and played such delightful melodies and sung with such touching sweetness,




TIF:   SENATOR S SON.            1385
that all hearts were united, at least in love and admiration
of the singer.
When she came back, they talked about the storm, wondered if there were any vessels endangered along the coast,
spoke of a. new play which they all wished to attend the
next evening, and so gradually recovered their ease of
feeling.
When the others had retired to their room, Alice rested
her head upon her brother's bosom, and they sat silent for a
long time; at length he spoke.
"   did not think a short time ago that I should ever
be as happy again as I am at this moment."
"' There is a life-time of such happiness for you, if you
will only take it," she replied. " But there is no true enjoyment except in doing right, our mother always taught us."
" And I feel it as you cannot feel it, who know not the
misery of shame and remorse.  Oh, Alice, when I wake in
the morning, sick in body and soul, disgusted with the feverish excitement of the preceding night, - when memories
of rude revels, wild intoxication, of gas-light glaring upon
a chaos of wine and broken goblets, cigar-smoke, and billiard-tables, of profane jests and reckless merriment, stand
out deformed in the pure beams of the morning sun, - I
loathe myself and wish I had never been born. The thought
of the hours we spent together at the farm steal upon me like
glimpses of a lost heaven. Alice, I wish I was like you.
You are too good for earth.  But you are exposed to no
temptation - allurements do not rise up- before you every




136               THE SENATOR'S SON.
step that you take out of doors. The saloon and the gaming-table do not expect you nor invite you."
"If they did it would not lessen my abhorrence for
them.  The scriptures say, that we are tempted with no
temptation greater than we are able to bear."
" They say, too, what is truth of me; I find there a law
that when I would do good, evil is present with me.  For I
delight in the law of God after the inward man.  But I
see another law in my members warring against the law of
my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin
which is in my members.' 0, wretched man that I am!
who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' "
" Jesus Christ will become your deliverer, even from
such  straits as these.   Dear brother, to-morrow, let
us go to our mother's grave. It is long since we have
been there; and even the snow that now covers it is precious to me."
" It is lot long since I was there," said Parke, in a sad
voice. "Last night, I lay upon that grave more than half
the night, groaning in bitterness of spirit."
" Is it possible?  Why! my poor, poor brother, turned
from your home, did you take refuge in that solemn spot
from your unhappiness."
She shuddered and wept; then both knelt and prayed.
Their sleep that night was sweet; and the next day a kind
of chastened happiness sat upon each face. The day was
calm and bright, and they rode out in the carriage to the
cemetery. In the evening Alfred Clyde called early, and




THE SENATOR'S SON.               137
went with the rest of the family to the theatre to see the
"Lady of Lyons."
At every impassioned word from Claude Melnotte, Clyde
would turn his dark eyes to the face of Alice. And when
he described the palace-home, with its beautiful environs,
to the delighted Pauline, Alfred turned and whispered in
the ear of Alice-'" Such a home shall be yours if you will be true to the
promise which the little girl made to the school-boy."
The maiden shrank back, with a slight blush, saying
gravely-  It was not I that promised, Mr. Clyde."
The young man laughed, and affected to have spoken
only for the purpose of reminding her of their old frolics.
After this he became an almost daily visitor at the
Crawfords.  He was quite devoted enough to Alice to justify the little lady of the house in dreaming of a wedding
at some future day; but the heroine herself preserved a
most perplexing'indifference, and seemed more annoyed
than flattered by those distant allusions to the subject which
the match-maker ventured to indulge in. The house was
divided in its opinions of Alfred Clyde. Parke still cherished an enthusiastic friendship for him; and M3rs. Crawford admired him more than any young gentleman who
called at the house. Her husband, on the contrary, had
taken a decided aversion to him -not for any reason that
he could make satisfactory to others -but the first evening
which Alfred spent at the house he had taken a dislike to
something haughty and repelling in his manner. He had
12L*9




1 38             THE SENATOR'S SON.
met him frequently in Parke's company in former years,
but not to, form any acquaintance with him.  His prejudices did not prevent him from treating their visitor with
politeness, or lead to his objecting to Parke's intimacy with
him.  Alice, although she said nothing about it, and always
received him with friendliness, still cherished a distrust of
him.  She never heard of anything against his character or
habits; he had the respect of a highly honorable circle,
and was generally admired for the ease of his address, the
tasteful splendor of his attire, and his good judgment upon
men and things. But she could not feel attracted towards
him by that powerful sympathy that draws together kindred
natures.  It was in vain that she tried to conceal from herself that he loved her. The hints of her adopted mother,
the raillery of Parke, and the manner of Alfred, all made
it impossible for her to shut her eyes upon the unwelcome
fact. She appeared to do so, and always received any warm
avowal from him as if it meant no more than the old play
of brother and sister.  She sang and played for him when
he asked, was social and kind; but she could take but little
pleasure in his society, because she wished to give him no
encouragement.
"It is absurd for him to think of a child like me," she
thought.  " He will soon forget it when he meets ladies
older and more beautiful, and who take more care to please
him."
He met such ladies every day, saving the beauty, for
few could be more fair than Alice, although there was no




THE SENATOR'S SON.               139
stateliness or magnificence in her looks.  Slight and elegant, pure and etherial, graceful as a spirit of air, she
seeded to make no effort in order to please. Albert met
agreeable ladies; but his dreams were all of that youthful
figure attired in sorrowful black -that sweet, bright smile,
and those beaming hazel eyes, and the voice both sweet and
low.  Ardently as he had loved her for years, he dreamed
not of the volcano of passion in his breast until he saw her
the object of admiration to another.
St. Ormond, the brilliant, extravagant, and heartless
man of pleasure, who induced young Madison to break his
vow made to a dying mother, and gloried in the triumph,
called one evening to see Parke, upon some affair of little
importance. The object of his visit was to get a glimpse
of the beautiful sister of whom he had heard. Parke had
himself boasted of her angelic qualities once over his wine,
when the subject of beauty was introduced.  St. Ormond,
for a man who lived as fast, preserved a very good appearance before the world, being obliged to use great caution to
keep the good opinion of a maiden-aunt, from whom he expected a fortune.
Presuming that his true character was not known in the
family, he ventured to call on that evening to tell the young
gentleman something about a picture or an opera.  Parke
was anything but pleased to see him there, saying suave
things to Mrs. Crawford, and fixing burning glances upon
his sister. Alfred was also present, and his quick jealousy
detected the intense admiration which the young girl ex



140               THE SENATOR'S SON.
cited.  When she looked up with her innocent, bright
smile, and appeared pleased and interested in something
the stranger was saying about music, he was ready to bite
his lip through with chagrin.  St. Ormond, too, as Parke
had previously done, remarked the likeness of Alice's
mouth to his Hebe's.  He remembered vowing to kiss the
first woman whom he should meet with such a mouth; but
now he felt the vanity and emptiness of the boastful assertion. He could no more have approached that bright
young girl with such a thought, than as though the air that
seemed to encircle her with a different atmosphere was
alive with living lightnings. He soon arose to go, and bade
her good evening with profound respect. His fellows would
have had food for ridicule if they had guessed his thoughts
for the rest of that night. Visions of becoming a reformed
and useful member of society - of abandoning brandy, cigars, and billiards, for tea, books, and a game of chess at
home - of a quiet and elegant home, with a wife - a wife,
lovely, young, pure as the morning, flitted through his
brain. For twenty-four hours he was thoroughly disgusted
with his manner of living, and serious resolutions of becoming a better man agitated his reflections, as he denied
himself to callers, and sat musing in his arm-chair, lost in
his dreams and his dressing-gown.
For several days he went about with a dejected air.
The sight of so much innocence and goodness had reminded
him of the immense gulf lying between him and it. Con



THE SENATOR S SON.                141
science was awake, which for so long a period had lain dormant through the winter of guilt, and now stung the bosom
where it lay.  Ghosts of old sins -a long array of broken
hearts, broken oaths, broken promises to pay, and broken
goblets gathered around him and tormented him with their
unwelcome company.
Unable longer to resist the desire to gaze upon that
spiritual face again, and see if the charmer who had conjured up this burden of feeling could not remove the load,
he made another call at Mr. Crawford's.  But Parke, indignant at his former visit, and suspecting its object, had informed Alice that St. Ormond was the person who had
taken so much trouble to get him intoxicated, the particulars of the bet having afterwards become known to him.
If she could have cherished a sentiment of hate it would
have been bestowed upon the cruel and heartless destroyer
of their happiness. Parke was still occasionally drawn
away into dissipation, and when she thought of this, and
what imminent peril their safety was in, her heart struggled with bitter feelings. It was some small return for
the anguish he had caused, when St. Ormond retired in
haste and confusion from his second call. Alice had not
deigned him a word or look — the ineffable scorn she felt
for him curled her lip and flashed in her averted eye. Mrs.
Crawford had merely bowed, and Parke was the only one
who had addressed him. He found it convenient to speedily withdraw; and as he went down the steps, with burning




14'2              TIlE SENATOR'S SON.
cheeks and contracted brow, the late desire for amendment
was thrust from his breast. No such vision of purity ever
again returned.
His fleeting passion, however, had alarmed Alfred Clyde
with the fear that some more acceptable devotion might be
offered at the feet of Alice before he himself had besought
her favor. He resolved to seek the first opportunity of declaring his preference.  He had but faint hopes of her returning his love - he had never been given cause to think
that she loved him.  But he had not the slightest idea of
living without her. He had settled it with himself that no
other woman would ever be so pleasing to him as Alice
Madison, and he was determined to win her.  At present
he thought only of persuasion and perseverance.  lie looked
upon her as his future wife with as much complacency as
though she had already promised him as much.
One day they were out riding together. It was a clear,
cold afternoon in January. The earth was covered with
frozen snow, beat down into a smooth track along the road.
The fences had a comfortable, muffled look, and the trees
glittered with icy pendants. The air was still and keen -
it was just such weather as Alice delighted in —she enjoyed her ride very much; Alfred had not seen her in such
good spirits since their acquaintance was renewed.
As they sped rapidly along towards the city, he resolved
to take advantage of her happy frame of mind to induce a
favorable reception of what he wished to say.
" The day is so beautiful -the earth looks so fair, the




TH'IE SENATOR's EON.              143
very sense of living is so pleasant, and you, dear Alice, seem
so glad and bright, that I am full of happiness,- so happy,
that I can no longer repress the hopes that are rising in my
heart.  I wish to be always as happy as I am now, and I
shall be if you will only say that you will always be my companion. Dear Alice, promise it now! think how long a time
I have waited for you- ever since you were a little girl."
His tones were musical and tender; she cast a brief
look into his face to read — it was involuntary - whether
the usual concealed something was there. It was glowing
with feeling -the dark eyes were fixed upon her with an
intensity that made her tremble.
She was embarrassed, of course, and her timid heart
fluttered as if caught in silken meshes; but they were whirling swiftly along, and she turned her attention to the flittinlg trees and fences, while she replied —
"I cannot promise you, Alfred.  I am too young to
make any such promises, and if I were not, I do not think
that I 
" Could give yourself to le?  Do not say that, Alice,
after I have passed years in dreaming of our future - after
all my hopes and wishes have become unchangeably fixed
upon you. You know all about me - my character, my tastes,
and disposition.  If these are not displeasing to you, why
can you not say nozo whether you will be my wife or not?"
"I can say now.  I cannot be your wife, because I ami
sure that I do not love you.  Besides, I do not think that
I'know all about you.' I have always felt as if we were




144              TH.E S-ENATOLRS SON.
not perfectly acquainted — as if each had traits of character which the other did not understand -and with such
feelings, we could not be very happy."
" I think that I appreciate all the traits of your character. Your loveliness and goodness have made too deep an
impression not to have been understood.  That you can,
if you will, love truly and well, I know by your temperament, and by your noble devotion to Parke. Only love
me half as much as you do him, and for the present I will
be content."
"I shall never love you, I am certain," replied the
young girl with a sigh, but still earnestly.
She felt that she should not, and she did not wish to
deceive him by kindness now at the expense of future disappointment.
"But I shall wish to have you for my friend and
Parke's," she continued gently.
"Friend! you know that I cannot be anything so lukewarm -I must be more or less! oh, Alice, the sunshine
has gone out of the sky, the fairness has fled from the
earth! "
They were now in the city and nearly home. After a
pause he said again, in less disconsolate tones -
"Do not think that I have given you up, Alice.  I
cannot relinquish the hope of five years so easily. I shall
wait and wait, and love and aspire, until you are married
or dead, or gone to the Hebrides - or until you consent to
be my wife."




THE SENATOR'S SON.              145
They were at the door. He pressed her little hand
tightly a, he lifted her from the carriage; and she went in,
wondering why love was not mutual always, and thinking
what a pity and sorrow it was for affection to be unrequited.  Still she could not school her heart to love
where it was not inclined. Love has dreams and ideals of
his own which he will pursue, nor turn aside to worship at
other shrines, though the gods upon the altars beckon with
imploring hands.
True to his purpose, Alfred made no difference in his
habit of seeking the society of Alice.  He came and went
every day, and it was generally believed among their acquaintance, that when she laid aside her mourning they
would be married.  Mrs. Crawford finally asked her about
it, and said she hoped it was so. Alice said she hoped not,
and that it never would be; but kept to herself that she
had refused the young gentleman.  Parke knew it, however, for Alfred told him; and he was very much grieved
and surprised, and ventured to remonstrate a little with his
sister. The strong influence which the subtler mind of
Clyde first gained over his companion seemed to increase
instead of decline.
Parke thought that to have Alice married to Alfred,
and keeping house, and he, living with them, in a nice,
quiet kind of a way, was a " consummation most devoutly
to be wished." And why she was not willing to make the
rest happy in so easy a way, was what he could not understand!
13




CHAPTER VII.
THE sunshine of a spring morning gilded the little parlor of Mrs. Van Duyn. The light curtains were drawn
back, letting in a full sweep of fragrance through the windows, where the May roses were peeping curiously in. The
sunshine and fragrance seemed to hover most around the
form of a fair girl who was giving a child of twelve a
lesson in German. A guitar in the corner was almost the
only article of luxury in the room. A neat chintz-covered
lounge, a little sewing-chair; a round table, on which was
a boquet of flowers, a few books, a beautiful porcelain
basket, and a piece of muslin embroidery which was in
progress; an ottoman or two, likewise covered with chintz,
constituted the principle furniture. On the mantel were
some old-fashioned and expensive ornaments, which seemed
to have been brought from the Father-land; and a painting
in oil, of a lovely German scene, hung upon the wall.
Mrs. Van Duyn was a widow of middle age, and had
three or four children. Her father had conme to Amnerica




THIE SENATOR'S o S O.           147
when she was a baby.  He had been a man of wealth and
education among the middle-classes of Germany; and when
he settled near New York he had a competence. But he
had, too, a large family.  The boys were sent to school and
received thorough educations; the girls were also well instructed and accomplished in embroidery, singing, music,
French, and German.  This daughter married a prosperous
young emigrant from her own country, and received as a
marriage portion only the pictures and ornaments mentioned
above, and a tolerable set-out of clothes and furniture. Shel
was a happy, blooming, intelligent woman, lady-like and
accomplished; and besides being a fair wife, she was the
beloved mother of several children- when her happiness
was suddenly cut short by the death of her husband. One
of the children, a sweet little girl, died soon after; and for
a long time the widow strove with a great sorrow. But the
voices of her little flock called her back to do her duty to
them. With noble resignation she put aside the outward
expressions of mourning, and turned to the task of bringing
up a family of children alone, and in comparative poverty.
For the strong hand that had brought plenty and comfort
was mouldering in dust; and although there was their
pretty cottage-home and little lot of ground a few miles
fiom the city, and money in the bank, yet the income from
all was insufficient. The cottage made a charming home;
the brothers one or two of them came forward with cheerfully-offered assistance; so that poverty never did really
pass Mrs. Van Duyn's threshold.  It had stood there some




148             TIIE SENATOR'S SON.
hard winters and peeped in, but some kind relative would
step up and drive it away. The eldest of her children was
a girl, Lucy, the one now grown into a maiden of eighteen,
who sat by the window giving a lesson to her younger sister.
She was a lovely and spirited-looking girl.  Her face would
not have been so charming, but for its expression of intellect and refinement. She had the brown eye peculiar to a
class of Germans —large, soft, and expressive; a noble
forehead, a profusion of dark hair, neatly arranged, and a
mouth that would have been too large for beauty, were it
not so perfectly lovable, frank, and sweet, and adorned with
such an enviable set of teeth. The smooth German accents
fell from her lips with delicious richness, and the sympathizing smile with which she encouraged her scholar to attempt them was doubtless a greater aid than some teachers
may imagine.
Katy, the youngest, was peeping in to see if sister Lucy
could not come and do up her sun-bonnet, for she wanted
to run down to the meadow below the garden and look at
the tiny fishes in the water, and mother would not let her
go out in the sun without her bonnet. It may be that the
whole family were a little too careful of the fair complexion
of little Katy, so becoming to her blue eyes and golden hair.
Lucy promised to attend to the matter within five minutes;
and was proceeding with her lesson, when the quick clatter
of hoofs down the road caused her to look out the roseladen window. She had only time to note a fiery steed and
a youthful rider looking bravely in the spring sunshine;




TIIE SENATOR S NON.               149
when the spirited animal, frightened at the sudden apparition of little Willy Van Duyn swinging on the gate, with
a flaming soldier-cap on his head, and a piece of Katy's red
dress for a banner, sprang with a bound so unexpected, that
the careless rider, wondering who was concealed by the rosecurtains of that pretty cottage, came with terrible force to
the ground. The horse galloped madly away; and little
Willy, throwing down his mischievous flag, rushed into the
house.
" The man is killed, I'm certain, sister Lucy, for he lies
so still!"
She had raised from her chair with a cry when she saw
him fall; now trembling with alarm, she called her mother,
and they ran out to see what was to be done. Surely, the
unfortunate rider did appear to be killed. His head had
struck a large stone by the side of the road, and he lay
dead or insensible were he fell.
Lucy burst into tears, not knowing what else to do.
Her mother, more composed, but pale, tried to decide upon
something that might avail him.
" Ie may be only senseless," she said; "but he will
die, lying there. You and I can never get him into the
house in the world; and there is'nt a man, that I know of,
within a mile.  Willy! Willy! run to the nearest house
and ask them to come; or if you meet any one on the way,
send them."
Willy ran off, and the mother continued -
"It is dreadful to see his head lying there bleeding in
13*




150              THE SENATOR'S SON.
the dust.  Sit down upon the stone, Lucy, and lift it upon
your lap, while I get a bandage and the camphor." Lucy
sat down with a slight shudder, and raised the poor head
tenderly. The pale and youthful features were stained with
blood, and the rich masses of light-brown hair were clogged
with the same.
" So young - so gay - so' unprepared! Oh, I wonder
who he is, and where his friends are. I wonder if there
will never be any help - he will die."
Little help there was for some time, except that Mrs.
Van Duyn bathed his face with camphor and washed the
blood from his wounds. After a while, two gentlemen came
along in a buggy, and stopping, carried him in and laid him
upon the bed in a little room off the parlor. They were
going on into the city, and after doing what they could,
promised to send a physician immediately.  As they were
strangers, the lady gave them the name of an eminent Doctor, and they drove rapidly away. In about an hour, during which time the young man had uttered two or three
feeble moans, the physician arrived.
"Is it possible!" he muttered; "why this is young
Madison! I know him  well — distinguished family - a
little wild, but very superior young person, very — pity if
he should die —break his sister's heart - do'nt think he
will though. No - no," as he proceeded with his examinanation -" no danger of that - a fracture, but slight —
slight."
Here the young gentleman began to recover a conscious



THIE SENATOR'S SON.              151
ness of his calamity, and to groan so as to drive the color
from Lucy's face. But she was obliged to assist the Doctor, and did it so firmly and well that, he praised her fortitude.
" Young lady of some nerve - good - most ladies have
too many nerves but no control. -low's this? arm broken
— upon my word — humerus - that's what he's groaning
about. We must attend to this, Madam, really."
It was a happy thing for Parke Madison, since he fell
from his horse, that it should be befbre the door of Mrs.
Van Duyu's cottage; that is, unless he could have been
thrown especially before his own door.  51i,'.  Van Duyn
was the best of nurses, and so convinced the physician of
her skill, that he was content to leave his patient w;th her,
while he rode back to the city to attend to other engagements.
"I Be delirious - have fever for two or three days - be
kept quiet - be here some time, I'm afraid, but fine fellow,
and will know how to repay kindness.  Upon my word!
couldn't have dropped into a better bed!"
He glanced admiringly around the neat apartment -at
the refined-looking widow and her young daughter — and
out into the little parlor at the Father-Land painting.
" Shall bring Miss Madison with me this afternoon.
She won't be kept from her brother, I know - lovely girl!"
Taking his hat and gold-headed cane, Doctor Dreturned to his carriage. In the meantime Parke's horse had
galloped on until tired, and then drew up before a gate sev



152               THE SENATOR'S SON.
eral miles distant, to which he was tied by the proprietor of
the grounds until something should be heard from his owner.
About four o'clock in the afternoon Doctor D
returned, and with him came Alice. The first she had
heard of the accident was from him.  He was 3Ir. Crawford's family-physician, and knew the young lady well. He
told her that he should not permit the rest of Parke's
friends to see him at present, but she might go along with
him; if she would be a good girl, and not make any confusion.  Assuring the anxious MIrs. Crawford that there was
no danger of anything but a run of fever, and that her boy
was in the best of hands, he took Alice into his carriage,
and they soon arrived at the cottage.  Despite of his assurances, she had her secret fears, and her strength so completely left her, that he was obliged to carry her into the
house like a baby.
"This little girl is not as brave as you, Miss Van
Duyn," said the good doctor, as he sat his burden down on
the lounge.
" No wonder you are alarmed," said Lucy, gently untying the stranger's bonnet.  "But there is nothing to fear
— I am sure we may all have confidence in the assertion of
Doctor D."  Here, having removed the bonnet,
and seeing a beautiful, pale face, with a pair of trembling
lips and beseeching eyes, with the impulse of her affectionate nature she kissed the agitated girl and said more kind
words.
"Where is he?" was Alice's first inquiry.




TI-IF SENATOR S SON.             1.53
" He is in this room.  My mother is with him, and the
doctor says we must be quiet. I am sure you will be stillness itself! Come, let me help you."
She passed her arm around Alice's waist and they went
softly in. The latter could hardly repress a cry when she
saw her brother so dreadfully white, his head bandaged up,
and his arm splintered, lying with closed eyes upon the bed,
seemingly nearly unconscious, except an occasional moan.
Mrs. Van Duyn sat by the bed-side.  Faint and trembling,
Alice clung to her companion.
" 3My poor brother!" she whispered.
Lucy led her out to the dining-room, made her drink a
glass of water and compose herself; then she gave her the
particulars of the accident in the gentlest manner.
Parke was delirious for several days and his fever ran
high.  Alice remained with him  constantly —the only
sleep she took was upon the chintz sofa, in the adjoining
parlor M3rs. Van Duyn nursed him as carefully as if he
had not been a stranger, cast by accident upon her kindness.
At last he was slowly recovering. Never had an invalid so delightful a convalescence.  Lucy and Alice had
formed a friendship which was both natural and pleasing
between two girls so nearly of an age, and of such excellent
minds and accomplishments. Each considered the acquaintance of the other a new store-house of delight, and they regretted that the time must arrive for one to return to her
own home, much as they rejoiced at the well-doing of their
charge.  When Parke got so that he could be moved to the




1154              TIE ISENATOR'S SON.
sofa, and lie there nearly all day, listening to the conversation of the young girls, and plucking June roses to pieces
with his attenuated fingers, scattering the bloomy showers
over the carpet for Lucy to brush up, one might have
thought that with an easy carriage and a few pillows he
could get back to town. But neither he nor his sister had
any inclination.  They were enjoying  themselves very
much; and as Mrs. Van Duyn had given them a ready permission to stay as long as they liked, they were in no haste
to depart.
Lucy touched the guitar with melodious fingers; and
sang almost as sweetly as Alice. IIer voice was of a different quality, and she could accompany her friend's singing
with a deep, sweet alto.  These two harmonious voices
mingled with the tinkling of the guitar, and, heard in the
long June twilight, seemed to Parke, whose senses were refined by sickness, a music more of heaven or of dreams than
of earth.
IIe did not wish to get any better than he was - at
least for two or three years.  It was so pleasant to lie with
his head in Alice's lap, her loving fingers thridding his
curls, while Lucy sat near them busy with her embroidery,
or flattered his poor appetite with strawberries, gathered by
her own hands fresh from the garden, with real cream to
make them more delicious. It may be that he sometimes
fretted because it could not occur that Lucy should hold his
head, while Alice gathered the berries; but was this so, he
kept it to himself.  There was such nobility in the expres



THE SENATOR'S SON.               155
sion of Miss Van D)uyn, such dignity and grace in her gestures, that Parke reverenced while he admired. He wondered how such a regal flower could blossom in this cottagehome.  But the child had only the same nobility as her
mother, except that it now appeared in more youthful guise;
perchance, too, the trials of the parent had strengthened and
developed the attributes of her own and daughter's mind.
There was no longer any excuse for lingering in the
country; and Mrs. Crawford was so impatient to get her
children back again, that they were obliged to go.
The price paid for their board had made the stay of the
brother and sister a pecuniary gain to the widow, and after
the first discomfort of the illness was over, she had enjoyed
their society very much. The young couple loved her for
her motherly kindness as well as for her good sense and accomplishments. The children were desperately attached to
Alice, and cried heartily when she went away. And Willy,
whose red banner had caused such a serious accident, did
not know who would any longer carve him ships to sail in
the rain-barrel, or whistles to pierce the surrounding air, or
puzzle-boxes which all his ingenuity could not open, but that
when they did get open were sure to hold five-cent pieces.
Thinking of these things, as he saw Parke helped into the
carriage, he, too, was disconsolate, and lifted up his voice
and wept.
However, these partings were not without hope. It was
not a week before the Maadisons were back to spend the day.
That was a great day in the cottage history. All the chil



THE SENATOR'S SON.
dren had presents, and were given a holiday from their lessons.  Alice brought Mrs. Van Duyn a handsome blacksilk dress pattern to persuade her to let Lucy go back with
them and spend a week in the city.
Such a dinner the towns folks declared they never got
at home! Coffee was made, because it was such a luxury
with pure cream.  The strawberries had vanished, but there
was honey tempting to look upon as the crystal sweetness
dripped from the delicate cells.  The tender green-peas, the
sweet-corn, and the chickens smothered in cream, were the
better for being the earliest.  After dinner they passed the
afternoon out in the meadow, under the shadow of a huge
oak, and by the border of the creek now dwindled to a
brook that Willy could leap across.  Here Parke contrived
to make Katy fall into the water, and she had to be sent to
the house for a dry frock. He atoned for the misfortune by
completing her toilet when she returned with a string of
corals, which he fastened about her pretty neck by their
golden clasp.  The long, bright hours rolled by; they
stayed to tea; and a moonlight ride home, accompanied by
Lucy, crowned the enjoyment of the day.
Lucy Van Duyn's week in the city was a happy one.
It was not the season for gayety, but there were plenty of
things to be seen and enjoyed.  There was good music in
the evening, and picture-galleries, and works of art for the
day. She had seen and heard a great deal before; but in
the enthusiastic company of her young companions, all was
doubly appreciated.




TIE SENATOR S SON.
Alfred Clyde took Alice into his own care, so that Parke
could give his undivided attention to their guest.
Lucy, who had become acquainted with him at her own
house, where he visited the invalid often, also suspected,
with the rest of the world, that there was an engagement
between him  and her fiiend.  His manner was decidedly
that of an accepted lover, and Alice's demeanor was regarded as only timid. Lucy would have felt lonely when
she returned home, had not the children been so crazy with
joy to get her back, and her mother welcomed her so affectionately.
That she did have many lonely hours through the rest
of the summer was true; for in a few weeks, the Crawfords
went to Saratoga, then in the heighth of its glory, and took
with them the Madisons and Mr. Clyde.  The circle of her
associates sprang back to its old dimensions, and though her
own dear family were all there, how small it seemed, and
how much brightness it had lost. She had a letter every
week from Alice, with messages from the rest, and these
were a great happiness.
Alfred Clyde would not have thought it consistent to
permit Alice Madison to enter the splendid crowds at Saratoga, to be admired and coveted, unless he were present like
her shadow, intimating to all others that his right to her
favor was exclusive. She was too artless to think anything
about this, and as she had rather have his attentions than
those of strangers, she permitted him to linger by her side,
without much care for the opinions of the throng, with
14




158              THE SENATOR'S SON.
whom she mingled but little, and that with no attempt
at display.  She still wore mourning for her ever-remembered mother, and would not and could not be made a
belle of.
Parke, on the contrary, was a distinguished beaux; and
Alfred would have been, if his devotion to one person would
have permitted it. The young ladies were divided in their
admiration of the pair of friends. Parke was the handsomest, and interesting from being something of an invalid;
while Alfred had a Spanish look that'was adorable.
One appeared consumptive, and the other had such eyes
as ought to belong to a Spanish-bandit of the mountains
who turns out to be a lord in disguise; so that both were
perfectly fascinating. Their fortunes being nearly the same,
there was still a balance of favor on account of the distinguished name of Madison which was set off by a report of
the romantic southern origin of Clyde. Both dashed into
the highest of the high-life of the Springs; kept their spanl
of mettlesome horses each; and took the ladies to ride in
their own elegant barouches. Both paid for exquisite serenades, and were lavish of fresh boquets.  And when it became suspected how much they both expended for champagne, Mr. Crawford became uneasy about going home, and
Alice was feverish to depart. Mrs. Crawford was ready to
acquiesce in the wishes of the rest: the young gentlemen
would not remain without them, and all suddenly vanished
from  Saratoga, leaving a dreary blank in their brilliant
place,




THE SENATOR'S SON.                1 59
One day in the latter part of August, Lucy Van Duyn
sat in the old seat by the front window.  The foses were all
gone now, but the green leaves still made a grateful curtain,
wooing every passing breath of air.  Her hands were folded
idly in her lap — her eyes looked dreamily out upon the
dusty road — her whole attitude expressed utter unconsciousness to surrounding objects.  She had been sketching,
and her drawing-materials lay upon the round-table. The
sultriness of the weather justified any amount of indolence
even in the industrious Lucy, but it did not account for the
shade of melancholy upon that usually serene brow. Perhaps it was the shadow of the vines, leaves trailing to and
fro across her face as if in love with its fairness, which gave
it so pensive an expression.  So wholly was she absorbed in
reverie that she did not see the carriage which crossed directly her angle of vision until it drew up at the little gate.
Pit-a-pat! went her heart against her white boddice, and a
glow rich with emotion shot into her clear cheeks. Gay
laughter out of door and light feet running up the walk so
confused her that she could only rise to her feet and stand
waiting the expected entrance.
" Dear Lucy! we are all home again, and the first thing
Parke and I have done, is to come and see you! "
Alice Madison stood in the room, looking bright and
beautiful despite of six miles of suffocating dust. Behind
her came her brother; but as Lucy had first to give the
sister half-a-dozen kisses, and be clasped a full minute in
her arms, she had time to send the foolish heart down to




1 60           TIE SENATOR'S SON.
its proper place, before she held out her hand to Rim.  It
was a brilliant face, though, that she turned to hlhn; brilliant, even with the eyes hidden beneath their long fiinges;
and when the next moment, she lifted them, their soft fire
kindled a great glow in the bosom of the young man.
" We left Saratoga two weeks before we expected, and
as I had no time to write you about it, we thought we
would surprise you by a visit, before you should hear of our
return," said Alice, taking off her hat and gloves.
"A delightful surprise!" replied Lucy, carrying away
the mantilla and bonnet to the bed-room, where her visitors
followed to brush off a portion of the dust accumulated
upon them.
"Dear mother," cried Lucy, as Mrs. Van Duyn came
in from the arbor, where she had been sitting with her sowing; " we have some guests —can you guess?"  She had
hardly time to exercise her skill in guessing, and not being
a Yankee, except by adoption, she might not have made out
very well; but a pair of arms about her neck, and a sweet
kiss, answered for her. She returned Alice's embrace with
the most affectionate earnestness.
" I think your sojourn at the springs has done you good
-you look well for such warm weather - better than when
you went away," she remarked with a motherly look at the
young girl.
" It must be because I am so happy to get home, then;
I assure you it is a tiresome place at Saratoga. I would
not go again, if I wished to escape with life.  I was




THE SENATOR'S SON.                161
dclowned - I -was suffocatcd —  I was starved —  I was persecuted by day and night; no rest, no peace.  Melted by
day and kept awake all night by serenades.  It was aimusing though to see the people! Oh, Lucy, if you could only
go to Saratoga, and feast your eyes upon its fantastic multitude!"
" It has not done you any harm to go there, I know,"
replied Lucy, gazing admiringly upon her friend.  " Despite of your persecutions, you have escaped with several
pounds more of very rosy flesh, and a little gain of spirits
too."
Here Parke entered from the bed-room, and was welcomed by Mrs. Van Duyn.  His gratitude for her care
during his illness, and his respect for her fine qualities,
amounted to a goodly degree of affection, while she really
loved him. Of course his health had to be discussed, as it
was still delicate when he went away, and now did not appear much improved.  The widow had some suspicion of
the cause of his transparent complexion and the feverish
brightness of his dark-blue eye.  Rumors of dissipated
habits had reached her, and she now looked from his dazzlingly handsome countenance, to the face of her own child,
with anxiety. What she read in both caused a feeling of
uneasiness.
" You are an artist are you?" said Alice, in pleased
surprise, taking up a sketch from  the table; for she had
not been acquainted with her friend's talents in that way.
"Oh! I had forgotten!" cried Lucy, blushing with
14 




162              THE SENATOR'S SON.
more than the vividness of an artist's modesty, and springing for her drawings.  They were already in the hands of
Miss Madison.
"Look, Parke! here is a likeness of you —and perfect!"
"I do not think it as good as this one of you!U" said
Lucy, presenting the one she spoke of.
But all present declared the representation of the brother to be the best- although both were admirable.
" You must give me this sketch of my brother; it is so
very natural; and with his'happiest expression' too. That
earnest soul looking out of an eye that smiles with its own
beauty- that saucy curl floating over upon the temple - and
that half-gay, half-proud curve of the lip, are all Parke's."
"You flatter me, Allie," laughed he.
" Since I can make another easily, you may have that,"
said the artist. "But what do you think of this?"
She took out of a little box upon the table a miniature,
exquisitely painted upon ivory, of a female face.
"Did you really do it?" cried Alice; "why, you
witch! to never tell me you could do such delightful
things."
"Whose likeness is it?" asked Parke.
"I do not know the lady, except as a sitter. I sometimes paint these miniatures for the pecuniary reward they
bring, as well as the pleasure of doing them. " Else," and
she colored and smiled, "how should I have fit dresses in
which to visit my city acquaintance?"




THE SENATOR S SON.                163
" This will be a fine excuse for me to stay a week and
get my picture done for a locket," said Parke.
"And for me to stay three, and get mine," added
Alice.
"I am sure we can make a satisfactory arrangement"
was the smiling reply.  Here the children trooped in to be
welcomed and caressed, and the drawings were put away.
Lucy could have shown Parke another likeness of himself, already finished on ivory; but as it was something she
kept for her own especial delight, she said nothing about
it now.
When the visitors arose to depart, they perceived that a
thunder-shower was coming rapidly up. So the horses were
driven down the lane under shelter, and Mrs. Van Duyn
had the pleasure of setting her tea-table for guests.  The
storm was a real August storm, brief and wild.  The wind
tore the clinging vines from the window, and laid the tall
corn in the garden all aslant.  Darkness swept forward on
rushing wings, which seemed to pause just overhead; its
garments were torn every moment by lightning, and its
wings wounded by flaming swords.  Every time the lightning smote, its voice was heard; first in far and solemn
reverberations, then sharp and startling in the surrounding
air.  As long as Mrs. Van Duyn would permit them, the
girls stood, their arms encircling each other, upon the little
portico off the dining-room, watching with half-fearful delight the magnificence of the western sky.  But when the
storm came immediately overhead, and large drops of rain




164               THIE SENATOR'S,SON.
and hail clashed across the porch, she made them come in
and close the door.
" They who put their trust in the Lord, need have no
fear," she said.  "Still it is not well to mock at danger."
So the girls went in and sat down near the centre of the
room, with their pretty feet drawn up to the rungs of their
chairs, looking upon each other gravely through the gloom,
and listening with awe and pleasure to the close and deep
rolling thunder.
" I can never think of anything but the words of the
grand old Prophets during a storm like this," said Alice, in
one of the pauses.  " Their voices alone equal in sublimity
the voice of Nature as she speaks through her thunders."
" Byron's famous description of a storm amid the Alps,
always recurs to me," answered Lucy.  " Its majestic lines
seem to roll and reverberate with the very music he hea~rd
amid the mountains; and they shine in grandly with the
roar of the elements.  But above all, and in all, seems the
prevailing Spirit of God."
" What do you think of, Parke? you love a scene like
this, do you not?" asked Alice of her brother, who had
retreated long ago to the lounge, and laid with his face
buried in the pillows.
A sharper flash, a louder peal, a fresh sweep of winds,
and a wilder rattle of hail, deafened all ears, and prevented
the necessity of reply.  Ah  Parke little cared to reply to
that question! For guilt is always cowardly; and never,
since he broke the vow he vowed to a dying mother, could




THE SENATOR'Is SON.              165
the young man take pleasure in a thunder-storm.  The
lightning to him seemed a sword of vengeance, and the
thunder a voice calling upon him in threatening accents for
atonement. He would fain have flown from both; but as
that was impossible, he could only lie pale and trembling,
thinking of his mother's grave, of an offended God, and of
judgment. Had he convinced himself of the sincerity of
his repentance by the innocence of his life now, he might
have heard tones of hope and mercy as well as reproach.
But he was going farther and farther every day from good,
and conscience in such moments asserted her mute power.
The storm swept on towards the east, and again the doors
were thrown open, and the little party gathered on the portico.  What a delicious change its brief visit had wrought!
The air was cool and fragrant —the unhealthy heat was
gone - the fields sparkled with rain, and there was no fear
of being smothered in dust during the ride home. But the
west! the west! what a gorgeous sky was there! swimming and melting in a sea of azure, crimson and gold, the
light clouds floated, like white swans in a silver sea, or birds
of Paradise in Eden's amber air.
Parke could look now with composure; but his features
still wore the marks of his secret struggle.
Tea was eaten with an appetite. When the carriage
came round to the door, the sun was just sitting amid purple clouds, and a young moon lifted her silver brow timidly
from the orient.  With a promise to return soon and talk
over the matter of the pictures, the Madisons drove away.




166              THE SENATOR'IS SON.
As the horses sped lightly along through the clear twilight,
overcome by the beauty of the hour and the fervor of his
late emotions, Parke dropped his head upon his sister's
shoulder, while the tears ran swiftly down his cheeks. It
was the first time in months that he had wept, though the
tears used to gather on his eye-lids easily as on a girl's.
~Weakness was that? yes the weakness of a heart not hardened -a heart full of sympathy, laughing with the gay,
weeping with mourners, as hearts were made to do. Since
habits of dissipation had come upon him, and he had grown
familiar with the words of contempt and ridicule hurled at
goodness by reckless youth, tears had been less frequent visitors. Perhaps the vision of that noble and pure girl who
stood at the gate with the sunset radiance illuminating her
brown eyes and tinging her roseate cheeks - whose soft
good-bye still lingered in his ear — had a good deal to do
with this melting down of his heart.
Alice did not observe that he was weeping, but the
touch of his head upon her shoulder called up the olden
times when there was nothing but innocent, unquestioning
pleasure in the bosoms of each, when in each other's society.
Her love for him was still unchanged. Every wound he
inflicted by his misconduct seemed to incite deeper love, as
it awoke pity and forgiveness. The evening breezes blew
the curls from his temples against her face —one of his
hands she held in her's - her eyes were fixed upon Hesperus, who, large and bright, shone in the still faintly-glowing
west.




THE SENATOR'S SON.                167
"Parke! that star is so serene, so brilliant, so gcntle,
I can liken it to nothing but our mother's spirit. I can
imagine that she is standing there in the sky, smiling upon
us, holding one silver-white hand upward, and with the
other beckoning to us."
" Smiling upon you Allie; but not upon me! I dare
not raise my eyes to it," he replied, his glance following the
wheel-marks along the road, instead of Alice's look.  She
heard him weeping, and hardly dared to comfort him; for
his promises were so often made and so often broken, that
she almost dreaded to hear him renew them.  She kissed
his hand and his forehead, and he felt her tears falling
warm among his curls, but she said nothing.
Many and many times were scenes like these enacted;
when it seemed as if a "broken and contrite spirit" was
about to offer acceptable sacrifices upon the altar.
But darker clouds ever swept on over the glimpses of
sunshine, until it seemed as if there never again would be a
day of brightness and beauty.
The miniatures upon ivory were began and completed;
but a shadow rested on the brows of the painter and her
sitters -it hovered around the easel and flitted over the
pallet —it was not always there, but often —none spoke
of it, but all felt its weight. It affected the pictures too.
Do all she could to give it the beaming smile of Alice, the
artist could not do away with the melancholy in the eyes
and at the corners of the mouth in her picture.  As for
Parke, Lucy gave uip trying to satisfy herself with his




168              THIE SENATOR S SON.
present expressions either of excessive gayety or spiritless
fatigue, and painted from her old sketch of him, taken when
his physical powers, weakened by illness, were held in
bonds by the soul.
There was a musical and golden vein of poetry flowing
through Parke's nature, that leaped into light in his very
darkest hours, and would show itself in an hundred sparkling shapes in as many moments. So that when dull after
an excess, or just warmed enough with wine to be eloquent,
or when in the full tide of a riot, he preserved always some
glimpse of his original character.
In his palmy days, those days when the family dwelt
upon the farm, and those passed during convalescence in the
society of the Van Duyn's, he could make himself indescribably interesting in conversation, and agreeable as an associate. His father had been distinguished for wit; and the
son transcended him; to wit he added sensibility, humor,
and pathos, in a high degree.
His memory was stored with graceful anecdotes and
bright snatches of poetry - with stray bits of sentiment and
little tragedies in one act — with fanciful facts and happy
illustrations - all of which came from his lips with a winning
and genial grace. Now the spell came over him but seldom.
His dark-blue eye, instead of being fixed upon your face witl
that clear and sparkling glance, had a downcast and uneasy
expression, and the laugh, once so thrilling with its contagious mirth, was short and mocking. No wonder that the
two girls lost some of their happiness in his society.




CHAPTER VIII.
"GOOD-BYE, dear mother; I shall come home every
week, if I can.  Good-bye, Katy, darling.  Good-bye, Willie," cried Lucy Van Duyn, with a kiss for them  all, as
muffled in hood and cloak she came forth from the cottage.
A trunk was already in the sleigh; John, the driver,
and a goodly pile of lined buffalo-robes, took up nearly all the
rest of the room; so that there was just a place left for the
bundle of wrappings, with Lucy inside, which was lastly
added to its contents. Ugh! how cold it was! too cold for
Alice to venture out, who was not very well; so she had sent
John with the pleasant commission to bring back Miss Van
Duyn, who was to stay with her at least two months. This
had long been arranged between them, provided Lucy could
make up her mind to leave her mother so lonely; and as
Alice had promised that she might spend a day at home
every week, this was concluded very satisfactorily.
The cold made the spirited horses doubly fleet, and a
15




170              THIE SENATOR' S SOSN
very short time after the good-byes were spoken, the bundle
of wrappings and the trunk were set down in the hall of
MIr. Crawford's mansion.  Alice appeared from the parlor,
looking very glad, and helped bring down the pyramid of
cloaks until her entombed friend was brought to view, smiling and serene, not the least bit bitten by the frost- not
even her pretty nose.  She then led her in to IMrs. Crawford, who welcomed her warmly, and who was really very
glad that her daughter was going to have a companion, who
might do something towards calling back the roses to her
face and the laughter to her lips. For Alice was growing
sad —not the sacred sadness which mourned once for a
newly-lost mother - but a restless, pining melancholy, that
seemed fretting into her health.  It did not disturb her
temper, except to make her more patient and less gay;
over that, which was too gentle to need much governing, she
still had sweet control.
The young ladies had plenty with which to busy themselves.  It was near the holidays; and Mrs. Crawford was
bent upon giving a party on New Year's Eve. They interested themselves in her arrangements -there were some
new dresses to be made -- and Lucy painted Mr. and Mrs.
Crawford's miniatures, by means of the liberal reward for
which she was enabled to purchase a suitable evening toilet.
Besides all of this, Alice was composing some music,
for which she had always shown genius, and was capable
of doing more than passably well. They were not inter



THE SENATOR'S SON.                171
rupted much, evenings, for Alfred Clyde did not visit them
as often as formerly, and Parke seldom came in until after
they had retired.  Once or twice during the week he might
remain at home with them; but his eye was heavy, his
manner constrained.
Despite of all this business, they could not " drive dull
care away." If Alice wore a dejected look, Lucy's was as
spiritless; it was as often the latter whose heavy sigh first
startled an unconscious response. Yet there was no confidence between the two on the subject of their grief, except
the mute sympathy of looks.
New Year's Eve came, finding rIts. Crawford's rooms
a-blaze with light, and wearing a festive air in honor of expected guests.  The girls were in their chambers, taking a
last peep into the mirror before going down.  Mrs. Crawford, who had finished dressing, was giving them that careful survey befitting her important responsibility in bringing
out two such beautiful young ladies.  She might well look
satisfied and happy; there was but one fault to be found
with her youthful friends, and that was that both wore a
grave and anxioas expression little befitting the gayety of
the occasion.  She begged of them to look a little more animated; and to please her they tried hard, but down would
drop the corners of the mouth the next moment, and the
delicate brows would settle into gravity. Both wore elegant dresses of white. Lucy's sleeves were looped and fastened with two old-fashioned jewels which were heir-looms




172               THE SENATOR S SON.
in her family; her hair was braided in a rich coiffure by
Mlrs. Crawford's dressing-maid, and its dark beauty set off
by one or two white flowers.
The back of Alice's hair was prettily knotted, and the
rest fell in lovely curls down either cheek. As her friend,
being taller and more queenly in her look; wore the camelias, she contented herself with a few rose-buds from a rare
tree which blossomed in the conservatory.
The fans and delicate handkerchiefs were ready to be
taken up, when there came a light knock at the door. Alice
hastened to open it, and there stood Parke, looking more
like himself than she had seen him for weeks, and in fine
spirits.  He brought two costly bouquets, which he handed
to his sister, designating which one he had caused to be
made up for Lucy. It was wonderful to see how both the
ladies brightened up; the anxious expression fled, and they
went down to the parlors as happy as they were fair. A
dread lest Parke should appear in a condition to disgrace
himself and others had been the secret of their sadness;
and now to see him so well and bright was the removing of
a weight which allowed their spirits to rebound with more
than their usual buoyancy.
The evening was pleasant to all; to most of the guests
delightful. Little Mrs. Crawford, as we have said before,
had no children to occupy her mind, and as it was naturally
inclined to such matters, she excelled the most of her five
hundred friends in the arrangements of all kinds of parties
from a ball to a pic-nic.




THE SENATOR S SON.                    1 73
Alice was always urged for music - not that she had to
be urged -but people were never satisfied when she had
given them as much as she thought she had a right to.
After singing several times, she declined to sing again; but
she played an accompaniment while Lucy, who only had a
knowledge of the guitar, sang these words:
Return! return! a voice is calling,
I hear it down the stormy sky,
Distant and sweet the tones are falling
Like silver dew distilled on high.
It is an angel-mother crying
Unto a lost and wandering child
"From heaven - from me, why art thou flying.
Dash down — dash down the wine-cup wild!"
Return! return! I hear her praying,
A sister on her bended knee.:' Where are thy poor feet darkly straying? -
Return to happiness, and me."
Her tears and smiles so sweetly beaming
Call thee from the alluring way;
False is the light before thee gleamingDash down! dash down the wine-cup gay!
Return! return! they faint and falter,
Those accents with such sorrow breathe;
Dash down the wine on pleasure's altar,
Tear from thy brow the glowing wreath!
It is a maiden pale who calls thee -
" Come back, to love, to hope, to light! "
15*




174                TIIE SENATOR' S SON.
Break from the shining chain that thralls thee -
Dash down! dash down the wine-cup bright!
Return! return! it is the pleading
Of Jesus with a wandering lamb.
How darest thou still stray on, unheeding
That voice rebuking, heavenly-calm?
Ah! soon will cease the loving warning -
The sainted mother lose her child!
And thou be left to angel's scorning -
Dash down! dash down the wine-cup wild!
Her voice quivered a little through the first verse, but
after that she sang with thrilling sweetness and power. She
dared to let her eyes rest on nothing but the sheet of music
before her, but she seemed to be pleading with some one
present; with such impassioned pathos did she sing. The
words and music were both new; and while the listeners were
expressing their pleasure and asking some questions about
the song, Parke, who had leaned by the piano when it was
commenced, quitted the apartment. The first words had
fixed his eyes upon the singer; he had grown pale as she
proceeded, but he listened till the last quiver died away,
and then went out, and appeared no more during the stay
of the guests.
If others had not noticed his emotion, it was because all
were in a measure spell-bound by the earnestness of her
manner. There were others besides Parke who might have
felt the appeal -who did feel it for a moment, and then
forgot it as they had done other appeals.




THE SENATOR S SON.                1 j 5
After the company had left, as the young girls stood by
th3 library table, pulling the flowers from their hair, drawing off their gloves, and talking over the events of the evening, Parke came in, walking up to Miss Van Duyn, he
seized her hands in so tight a grasp that she nearly cried
out.
"Lucy, how dared you sing that song this evening?
Did you do it only to mortify me? Every one must have
known at whom it was sung with such effect; I shall never
forgive you - never!"
And flinging away her hands, he went out again, leaving the offender in tears.
A fortnight from then, Mr. Crawford again banished
Parke from his house, and with no hope of restoration to
his favor. Of age, and at liberty to pursue his inclinations,
the young man would have long ago left the home of his
former guardian, whose strictness of principle was a continual reproach to him, had he not been restrained from love
to his sister. She was still the star whose changeless ray
beamed brightly over his fortunes; the farther he fell from
self-respect the more deeply he reverenced and adored her.
She seemed to him a creature without fault, yet who, amid
all her own perfections, could love and cherish him. He
was unhappy if denied her society, and he was unhappy
when in it, as he felt the gentle sadness of her mannner
the severest rebuke to his wild behavior. He mockingly
thanked Mr. Crawford for dismissing him; and taking
rooms in a g-f part of the town, he furnished them with




176               THE SENATOR'S SON.
great splendor, and set up the establishment of a rich and
reckless young bachelor.
Alice did not this time propose to follow him. She
gave herself up for a while to dismay and despair; then
struggling with her cares, she endeavored to throw them off
and be free. She never failed in love, nor in making every
effort which seemed worth the trial, to save her brother.
Lucy was called home by the illness of little Katy, so
that the poor child had no real friend and comforter.  Mrs.
Crawford worshiped her, and could not bear to see her in
any trouble; but she was not a woman capable of giving
soand advice, or of bearing up a sinking spirit.
The most terrible hours of life are those passed alone in
struggles with one's self.  Whether it be a struggle for the
mastery over temptation, over an evil fortune, over fate,
over affliction, over remorse, we shudder at ourselves and
the power of our own passions. Parke Madison was holding such a war with himself.  Midnight had long rolled by,
and the lamps in his chamber were burning dim. He did
not think of sleep.
"Ruin! ruin!" he muttered, flinging himself into a
chair, and the next moment starting up again.  " It is all
over with me now. My fortune is gone — my health, my
good name- Alice's heart is broken, the family honor forever sullied —and I am a wretch, fated to pass the hours
of a cursed life within the walls of a prison. Yes, a prison!
Alice, can you bear that?"asking the question, with bitter
emphasis, as if his sister stood before him. " But I will




THE SENATOR S SON.                17 i
die and rot in the darkest cell before he shall have the reward which would purchase his silence. Alfred Clyde, you
are a traitor - oh, you are a traitor, or you would not force
upon me this bitter choice."
It had chanced to Parke, that having surrendered his
judgment, prudence, and reason, for a glass of intoxicating
beverage, while in that helpless situation where he had
placed himself, he had committed a crime. His suppers,
horses, cards, billiards, and bets, for the last eighteen
months, had amounted to nearly the whole of his once fine
fortune.
Added to the lavish expenditure upon his new rooms, he
had of late been very unfortunate at the ganling-table, so
that he found himself burdened with a I debt of honor'
which he could command no means to pay.  Hle dared not
ask Alice for the amount out of her fortune, for he knew
that she could not procure it without the knowledge of Mr.
Crawford.  He applied to his friend Alfred; but he decidedly refused to loan him anything for such a purpose.
Mortified and angry at this refusal from a friend, he went
home and drank several glasses of brandy-and-water, and
while in the excited mood induced by these, Alfred came in.
"I have been remembering our college-days," said he,
"when I was indebted to you for aiding me out of many a
tight place; and have repented, almost, my refusal; though
I blame your folly, and tell you truly that you will be a
beggar before the end of a year."
If I could only free myself from this affair, and win




178              TILE SENNATOR'S SON.
my money back again, I would be willing to forswear play,"
replied Parke.
" Well," said Alfred, sitting down at a table and writing, "I am going to write an order on my banker for five
thousand dollars, and leave it here, but I shall give it no
signature, so that it will be a mere piece of paper. Bring
it to me one week from now, with the assertion that you
have not been a drunken man for that length of time, and
I will put my name to it, and you may take your time
about returning it."
" That's a little more like it, Alf., my boy! but why
not sign it now? That debt was to be paid to-morrow, and
I'd rather have three thousand then, than the whole of it
in seven days."
" You can put them off a week easily. I've a fancy to
see if five thousand dollars will tempt you to keep sober a
week. I do it for Alice's sake, my friend - you know that
you are killing her. So be a good child for once," he added,
laughing as he went out, "and don't be tempted to fill out
that little piece of paper with my name until I see fit to do
it myself."
" Alf. always concludes to be generous, whatever ugly
freaks he may take," mused the young man when left alone.
" Why in the mischief, though, does he want to keep me
waiting? St. Ormond will suspect I am pretty hard up,
and cut my acquaintance. Very well! I hate him anyhow;
but he's such a sneering way with him, that I'd rather fail
to meet any other debt than that. By the way, that was a




TIIE SENATOR'S SON.               179
tinmely hint of Alf.'s.  If my hanJ was only steady enough,
I might just as well add the signatture to this and get the
money for to-morrow.  Of course I can keep my senses a
week if I have a mind to try, and it will make no difference
with him when the time is up."
A thousand times he had imitated Clyde's signature
when they were at school together; he now sat down, and
with a few flourishes of his pen, the paper was ready for
use. The mouse had nibbled at the bait so temptingly laid,
the trap was sprung and fastened upon its helpless victim.
Alfred Clyde hardly dared hope so easily to get poor,
foolish Parke into his power.  At the end of a week he
called upon him.
" So you have been a little up in the clouds once or
twice lately, despite of a weight of five thousand dollars to
attach you to earth?" he asked, carelessly. " You can give
me back that draft, Parke, for I am a man of my word."
" Pooh, Alf., I've been trudging along as soberly as any
man - only two bottles of genuine old Madeira,  Sheffield'
on the wax, that some unknown friend sent me. Too late
for you to repent now, at all events.  Your order was presented six days ago, money received, and, what's better,
spent."
" The deuce it was! without any signature?"
"I could always write more like you than you could
yourself," said Parke, laughing; "and as it was inconvenient for me to await your further action, I tried my skill
on your banker."




180               TIIE SENATOR'S SON.
" Ah-h! are you aware that was forgery?"
" Why I suppose it would have been to have used any
body else's name in that manner," was the easy reply; for
if he had served Alice so, he would as soon have looked for
its being taken up.
" And it is to have used mine," said Alfred, with icy
coolness.  "You shall learn, Mr. Madison, that I am not
to be trifled with."
Parke looked up in astonishment.  There was no appearance of affectation in the dark eye bent threateningly
upon him.
" You promised to lend me the amount, Alfred.  What
difference can it possibly make with you? you are not in
earnest?"
" Am I not? Well, perhaps I had better relinquish all
claims to anything of my own, since a man, who is half the
time less responsible than a fool, can at any moment help
himself to a few thousands, without as much as saying' by
your leave.' No, Sir! You have done a pretty deed, and.not with impunity."
"' As you please," replied Parke, offended at such language.  "I am very sorry that I ventured to' trifle' with
a brother. But since I have been guilty of such indiscretion, he shall be satisfied. By the sale of my black ponies,
disposing of these rooms, and a few other sacrifices, I can
have the money returned to you in a very few days."
"But that will not satisfy me.  You have committed a
forgery, and you are in my power."




THE SE.SNATOR'S SON.              181
" What would you have me do?" asked Parke, indignantly, the fire flashing from his eyes as he turned abruptly
and faced his companion, whose countenance wore a look of
unpleasant triumph.
" Nothing very difficult for you, but of vast importance
to me. You can keep your ponies and your establishment.
All I ask of you is to try and interest Alice in my favor.
Parke!" continued he, with sudden earnestness, that was
almost sadness, " I have loved her for years. You know
it. So well, that I have never, like all other young men,
had any passing fancy, any fleeting passion, that was not
true to her. I have been a faithful and humble worshiper
of her maiden beauty; and in return I have received nothing but the calmest friendship.  I cannot live so any longer, and since you have such influence with your sister, I
vish you to use it.  It is not that I wish you harm —it is
only that I cannot live without Alice."
4" I have not the control of my sister's affections; if I
had, they would have been yours long ago; you know that,
Alfred. It seems to me that your course of proceeding is
more worthy of her dislike than her love.  This is more
the act of a traitor than an honest man and a friend."
" Oh, it is a forger who talks about honesty. The devil
in the pope's robes! I have wooed Alice long and modestly,
and she would not be won. Now she shall take her choice
between a brother disgraced and in prison, or a husband
whose fault is that he has loved her so well as to stoop to
falsehood towards a friend, rather than give her up."
16




18 2              TITE S, ENATORPS SON.' I would bear the severest penalty attached to my error
- under the circumstances I will not call it crime - before
I would even make known to her youi di.;graceful proposition," cried Parke, waving his hand towards the door.
"Oh, undoubtedly! the son of the late Hon. Everard
Madison, convicted of forgery, sentenced to ten years in the
penitentiary- beautifully arrayed in striped drawers -
hair cropped - nobly employed in pegging shoes under the
eye of an overseer i "
With this f-scinating picture held up before the eyes of
the dismayed young gucleman, he made a mocking bow,
turned on his heel and departed; leaving his whilom friend
to ponder upon his frightful dilemma.
It was the master-hand of art which painted his parting
words. Had he referred to a lonely cell, where no ray of
light was permitted to enter, where years must be worn
away in solitary confinement, and untold pangs of anguish
endured in silence, Parke would have brought romance,
proud endurance, sublime fortitude to his aid, and taken a
gloomy comfort in looking upon himself as the victim to a
friend's perfidy, and of unparalleled devotion to a sister.
Now he saw himself the beau, par-excellence, of Broadway, the elegant, the accomplished Parke Madison, whose
horses were the finest, whose wines the oldest, whose dress
the most fastidiously graceful of all the admired aristocrats
of New York - he saw himself in a convict's dress! — he
turned to a mirror and ran his long, fair fingers through his
luxuriant locks, and shuddered.  It was more than hu



TTI:E sT',ENATOR'S SON.          183
man nature could endure!  There was no dignity-no
gloomy grandeur in such a sacrifice.  Would " The Prisoner of Chillon".be an object of noble synmyathy if presented to view in striped drawers, head shaved, sitting on a
bench, beating a lap stone?  Parke was beautiful, was
youthful, was fond of pleasure, was dainty in all his tastes.
HIis fortitude gave way - he sank into an arm-chair with a
groan of agony.
He had fretted the night away in contending with the
passions of fear, sorrow, remorse, anger. The first gleam
of morning found him exhausted, but with his mind still
undecided.  He threw himself upon his bed and slept heavily for three or four hours.  When he awoke it was with
that weight upon the breast which reminds us of the anguish under which we have sank to slumber.  He rang for
his servant, and dispatched a brief note to Alice, begging
her to come to him at once and without any other person's
knowledge.  Before he had finished dressing she was awaiting him in the adjoining rooms. She scarcely noticed the
air of voluptuous luxury which pervaded these bachelor's
apartments. Sinking into an arm-chair, with her feet nervously patting the carpet, and her eyes fixed upon his bedroom door, she passed the five minutes of delay, impatient
to learn what new calamity this wilful brother had brought
upon himself. She could hardly repress a cry when he
came into the apartment.  Late nights, late mornings,
brandy and cigars, the excitements of gambling and betting, with the anguish of the last sleepless hours, had nearly




184               TFTHE SENATORCS,SON.
erased God's inscriptions from that once eloquently expressive countenance.
"I Is this my brother?"
No wonder she asked the question in a tone of touching
reproach; for the eye sunken and dim with lowering lid,
the haggard brow, and colorless cheek, were these the ones
her mother kissed and praised? the ones she regarded with
a pride than was only less than the fondness which softened
it?  Acnd the tremblinfg of his hands!  A fear deadly and
dark rushed over her soul, staggering it beneath a weight
of horror, so that she could not rise from her seat to welcome him, nor could her tongue frame a syllable in response
to his agitated " Good morning, Alice."  To see a young
man of twenty-two so wrecked by excess, that he should
come from his morning toilet, trembling as with the infirmities of four score years, what a frightful spectre of approaching insanity did it conjure up i
" Do not look at me so, Alice!" implored Parke in a
flint voice, and, as if unable longer to stand, he sank into a
chair.
" Parke Madison,' said she at last, " I tell you truly,"
and she lifted up her right hand, "you are upon the very
verge of a horrible madness and death! you totter upon the
brink of delirium-tremens! be warned! be warned! "
" It is not the only brink upon which I stand," he replied, summoning up the last remains of his sinking courage, but shivering from head to foot; " I stand upon the
precipice of disgrace, and when I fall it will be into a prison,




TIIHE SENATOR S SON.              185
There is a chance of safety, but I will not avail myself of
it. You can be my savior, Alice, but you shall not be."
" How? go on with your story, sir!"
"Alice! for Heaven's sake be more pitying! —you
have no conception of what I suffer. It is mental agony,
not physical weakness, that shakes me so."
"It is both," she said, leaning forward in her chair as if
desirous to hear quickly what he might have to say.
He began in a faltering voice and explained the peril of
his present situation. He made no vain attempt to extenuate the extravagance and excess which had led him into
difficulty, but the manner of the forgery, and the advantage
which was taken of it, he spoke of, as one speaks who feels
himself wronged by a friend.
" I always knew.that Alfred Clyde was rotten at heart,"
said Alice; " but what are those conditions to which you refer which shall ensure your safety?"
"' You know he has always wished you to become his
wife;- but I do not ask it," he added, as he saw her grow
pale.
She arose and walked several times across the floor.
"Why do you not fly?" she asked.
"An outcast from society, disowning my own name,
penniless, what would I become?  Better submit to a
prison, where, at least, I cannot yield to my besetting sin!
No, I will not fly and leave disgrace behind only to rush
into a fresh ruin; but you, dear Alice, have suffered enough
for me, and shall suffer no more. No more! alasa what but
16'




186            THE SENATOR, SONN.
suffering is there for you in a brother's ignominy, in being
pointed at as a forger's sister?  Oh! my father — my
mother -I have dishonored your names upon the tombstone!"
Alice still continued her walk up and down the suite of
rooms.  Ever as she reached either extremity, she was confronted by her own image in the tall mirror — a pale,
troubled face shadowed by the bonnet which she had not
taken off, hands clasped tightly together, eyes which seemed
to ask their perplexed reflection for the solution of a problem the answer to which must still be- "sorrow"   resolve it as they might.
It was at least an hour before the eyes gave her the required answer; then she stood before her brother, who had
followed her light form with an eager, inquiring gaze.
" It is not to save our father's name from infamy, nor
you from being an outcast; it is not that I fear that portion
of the disgrace which will fall upon me; it is not even to
save your young years from being wasted in a prison workshop, that I tell you that I am resolved to marry Alfred.
All these things have their influence, of course, but I have
already suffered so much on your account that I do not
think they would have much power, but I cannot forget the
last words of my mother. Ever since I have been walking
here I have heard that dying voice - so precious, so beloved, saying, " Be faithful -love one another." I will be
faithful, even to this extremity. I will do the utmost that
can be expected from a sister; and if, through the grace of




TIE SFF.ATOR's So. 1O87
God, my love be rewarded by your final reform, I shall be
abundantly repaid for every sacrifice."
" It shall be - it shall be, Alice.  Hear me swear that
henceforth   --
"Parke, you have made too many promises.  I will
not hear one; I do not require any; I leave the matter
with your conscience, I am going home now; you may see
Alfred and tell him that I wish him to call at our house
this evening."
"After all, it is Alfred's great love for you which has
caused him to treat me so illy," said Parke, whose fault it
was to be too generous and forgiving.
She made no reply except the tears that dropped upon
her cheeks. It seemed to her - she knew, that her brother
could have no conception of the trial she was enduring for
his sake. He went down stairs with her, and accompanied
her part of the way to Mr. Crawford's. Here they parted on
the street, she simply remarking that she wished him now
to pursue such a course as his judgment and conscience
should approve.
She spent the rest of that dismal March day in a vain
attempt to become reconciled to her destiny.  Mrs. Crawford was going out for the evening to visit with a small
circle of friends; and an hour after tea, Alice was left alone
to receive the expected call. She stood up as she heard
Mr. Clyde come in, receiving him in the centre of the room.
He held out his hand, and she placed her's, which was icy
cold, in his clasp. He pressed it passionately, as if he




188               THILE SENATOR'S SON.
would in that tender action express the feelings which had
prompted his conduct, and at the same time make his excuse.
" Dear Miss Madison," he said, leading her to the sofa,
and sitting by her side; " the depth, the truth of my love
for you, is my only apology! - do I need a better?"
i" If you truly loved me, Mr. Clyde, you would most desire that which would make me the happiest. Love is not
selfish."
He almost smiled at those beautiful rebuking eyes.
"Human love is selfish," he replied; "I know not
about divine. Show me the man upon earth who doted on
a beautiful price of perfection like this, and yet would resign it, when, by any means not criminal, he could make it
his own, and you will show me a triumph of self-denial
which I have not yet witnessed.  This peerless hand! to
claim it as my wife's —the thought is enough to drive all
other considerations away! But how am I selfish? what
great sacrifice do I require of Parke, or you?  If I thought
it was a sacrifice I would not require it; but this fright will
perhaps recall him from otherwise certain ruin; and as for
you - why, Alice, what more of devotion can you ask? If
it is love that makes a woman happy, then you will be the
happiest of women, for you will be beloved beyond all others of your sex. If I did not think that I could make you
contented —that after you are my wife you will learn to
regard me with tenderness, I would say no more. But to
give you up - impossible! That would be requiring of me
a thousand times more than you are willing to do for a




THE SENATOR'S SON.               189
brother.  Give you up, Alice, after you have once said that
you would marry me?"
His eyes rested upon that bowed face as if it would be
an impossibility indeed to resign that fair and trembling
young creature.
" Is there no other way, then, of obtaining your mercy?
Will not the whole of my fortune buy of you the few days'
use of that miserable five thousand dollars?"
" There is none," he answered with a darkening brow.
"Alice, you are to be my wife, and it will be better for
both of us - for your happiness as well as mine, that you
betray no more coldness or reluctance. Come," he added
in a softer voice, " let us talk about Parke, and what we
can do for him, to protect him from his own follies."
He proceeded to give such excellent advice, and to display such good judgment and apparent kindness, that Alice
felt almost grateful. She wondered why a man of such
reason and discretion had not exercised a more powerful influence for the right over her brother's easily governed
mind. Clyde knew very well that hitherto his efforts had
secretly been the other way; but now, made generous by
the certainty of his own success, he was willing to undo the
past and make, if possible, some amends for it.
When he arose to go, he again took the young girl's hand.
"' Alice, will you not give me a kiss in token that I have
now some small portion of your good will? You will soon
be my wife; but even now I would think more of a smile
than a kiss."




190               TlHE SENATOR' S SONs
She held up her face with what she endeavored to have
a cheerful expression, but she succeeded only in wearing a
resigned one; and the moment he had left the apartment,
she brushed her cheek with an involuntary motion, as if
she would have brushed away the unwelcome kiss.
" It will never do to indulge such feeling," she murmured, sorry at herself;"if I am to be his wife, I must
school my thoughts as well as my actions."
So pure was her mind, so humble her religion, that from
the moment she was pledged to Alfred Clyde, she endeavored to exercise as firm a control over her very dreams as
over her outward behavior. If he was to be her husband,
she must not even think any ill of him.  Alas, poor child!
what a hopeless task was that, when the more intimately
they were associated, the more did her true spirit shrink
from the hardness and selfishness of his.
In a few days, Parke Madison had disposed of his bach
elor's hall and its extravagant furniture, his horses, carriagcs, jewelry; dismissed his groom and valet de chambre,
and with only the faithful John and his library of books reserved from his dashing establishment, he retired to the
farm. This farm belonged to Alice, but she sold it to him
for the sum of five dollars, that when she was married he
might still have something from which to secure a living,
his own fortune being almost dissipated. This Alfred proposed himself; and it was through his energy and good
management that the sales were effected, the removal made,
and Parke once more somewhat removed from temptation.




THE SENATOR'S SON.               191
It was not an idle life that Parke now proposed to spend.
His health was very much impaired, but what strength he
had left, he wished to expend in personal oversight of his
large and highly-cultivated farm.
Hie boarded in the family of the man who worked it on
shares, and who permitted him the control of a portion of
it.  Here he occupied the room which used to be his mother's, and in which she died. After a day of activity he
would return to this hallowed apartment, and with books,
music, writing letters, and rude attempts at sculptury, while
away the now brief evenings.
Alice's engagement was to be short. Alfred desired an
early day to be appointed for their marriage, urging the
length of time for which he had been a suitor, as one reason
why his wishes should be considered.  In the latter part of
May they were to be wedded.  Early in April, Lucy came
to stay with her friend until after the ceremony.  She was
surprised when Alice told her of the engagement, for she
had long come to the conclusion that if her friend did not
dislike Mr. Clyde, she did not at least love him; but as no
confidence was given her any further, she was not so indelicate as to hint her suspicions or to force her way to the
truth. Besides she knew of no compulsion, and could frame
no device why that good and beautiful girl should cast herself away upon one who did not have her affection.
IMrs. Crawford was in her element during the times of
preparation. She occasionally rallied her adopted daughter's pale checks into blushes, but she had not discernment




192              TI1E AENiATOl S SON.
to discover any sadness deeper than a bride's pensiveness
beneath that quiet, gentle manner.  Even Lucy was not
certain that the sadness was other than that subdued reserve into which a young maiden retires who is so soon to
change her position in life. There is something then with
which a young girl veils her hopes and fears which is sacred
from the acquaintances of friendship. The sadness at parting with home and freedom, the doubt when thinking of
the increased care and importance of the new life, the hope
of untried happiness, keep her thoughts in the sanctuary of
her heart, from the observation of others.  Alice would
sometimes look up from the pretty stitching she was doing
and find her companion's eyes fixed upon her face with a
grave and dissatisfied look, when she would smile and shake
her head as if denying the mute question.
" It is a very serious matter, this getting married," she
would say, as if in apology for her own abstracted demeanor.
Lucy had changed not less than Alice, who saw more
plainly into the reason of her melancholy smile and drooping eye-lashes.
" How much misery one victim of intemperance can
bring upon the hearts of others," was her thought. " Had
Parke not' tarried long at the wine' I should not have been
this unhappy creature that I am, nor poor Lucy be pining
her life away in a vain endeavor to stifle an unwise passion,
and conceal a wild regret."
It was not long until the twenty-third of May.  Mrs.
Crawford had wished for the show and splendor of an even



THIE SENATOR S SON.               193
ing wedding.  The fashion, the season of the year, and the
wishes of the parties were against her, and twelve o'clock
of the morning was the hour appointed.  The day was as
fresh and fair and beautiful as the bride herself- -more
fresh, for its roses were of the brightest, and the bride's
cheeks were pale.
Quite a party of fiiends, among them Mrs. Van Duyn,
were assembled in the parlors, where, as Mrs. Crawford had
so long ago determined, there was no lack of camelias.
Lucy and Parke were the attendants.  Finding that Parke
had once more abandoned his reckless habits, and had been
living industriously in the country for some time, Mr. Crawford had invited him to be present at his sister's wedding.
Colder and colder grew the heart of Alice in her bosom
as the hour drew nigh that was to unite her with one whom
she did not and could not love. Her fortitude would have
given entirely away had she not been encouraged by the
inproved appearance of her brother.  As it was, although
she exercised the greatest vigilance over herself, she knew
that Alfied was displeased and dissatisfied. It was true
that he need not then have compelled the marriage; but
since he did compel it, she must try to please him, let
his injustice be great as it would. She was dressed, even to
the typical vail; the bridal party stood in the room at
the head of the stairs ready to descend; when in arranging
some trifling part that was to be performed, she fretted the
already moody temper of Alfred, and he spake to her sharp
and quick.  The tyrant was already beginning to manifest
117




194              THE SENATO1'S SON.
himself.  A thought of the life to be led with one who
could speak in that tone in the very hour of their union,
rolled over her soul like a cold and drenching wave.  But
she smiled when she saw that the attendants look surprised,
as if her smile was to excuse his hastiness, and taking
Lucy's arm she said something about having forgotten to
wear her pearl bracelet, and drew her into the adjoining
apartment.  Here the mastery of her emotions gave way;
the tears rushed forth in a sudden torrent; leaning against
the wall, she shook with terrible emotion.
" Lucy! Lucy! I wish that I were dead i" she cried in
a low voice, with white and writhing lips.
Her friend stood, frightened and pale, not knowing what
to say or what to do.
" It is not too late, dear Alice, if you feel in that manllner," she ventured to suggest.
" Oh, yes, it is too late! there is no help for me now 
but in heaven.  Mother - mother - I implore your aid!
oh, heavenly Father, I know thou wilt be my comforter."
She sank a moment upon her knees, and when she arose
the spasm of agony had passed. A holiness and sweetness
came over her demeanor, and with this look she went out
again to the rest, and the party descended, took their places
before the hushed gazers, and in a few brief moments she
was the wife of Alfred Clyde. Wife! strange sweet name,
when heard for the first time! even to her it sounded inexpressibly soft and solemn.  The looks of the bride were
admired, and yet people were sure that she did not appear




THE SENATOR S SON,                 1953
precisely as it might be expected a bride should appear.
Beautiful she always was; and now their admiration wa3
mingled with a wonder at the exquisite and almost saintly
style of her beauty.  She did not seem sorrowful nor glad.
There were a few blushes, but no tears.  In her aspect
were resignation and sweetness; in the faint smile she gave
her husband there was forgiveness. IHe had recovered from
his transient anger, and strove to conceal his mortification
by a show of reverence and devotion.  Passion and worship
he felt; yet as the thought had lately chafed him that even
a husband could not compel answering love, and that a wife
might be his as a marble statue was his, and yet he have no
more control over her affections, her intangible spirit, her
will, than over the moveless beauty of the statue: as this
thought had forced its truth upon him, for the first time, lie
had hesitated in his selfish pursuit.  But pshaw! he had
no idea of relinquishing his object, for such a trifle as her
happiness, or even his own future conlfort.  If lie should
tire of her, he could neglect her.
Of course some of the guests said that the groomsman
would soon marry the bridesmaid; and others said not.
Some, that she was a noble girl, and would make too good
a wife for such a wild young man; others, that Parke Maclison would never choose a poor A fe with nothing but her
lady-like manner and fine looks to recommend her; and
still others, that a woman like Lucy Van Duyn would have
a great influence over him in keeping him o-ut of bad habits, and they hoped it would be a match.  What the two




196              TIE SENATOR'S SON.
themselves thought was known only to their own bosoms,
and certainly not spoken to each other. There was some
embarrassment in Parke's manner, and some sadness in
Lucy's.  After all, it was a grand wedding, and made the
same stir that the announcement of Miss 3Madison's marriage with MIr. Clyde would make anywhere.
The two were gone a short time upon their bridal tour.
Upon their return Mrs. Crawford, despite the lateness
of the season, gave a large party.  None of the elegantes
had left town, as it was yet June, and the weather continued delightfully moderate; so the lady's parlors were
thronged; and as she looked around upon the gay people
and beheld the attention bestowed upon the bride, she had
only to wish that she had a dozen daughters yet to be
married.
A week or two after, Mr. and Mrs. Clyde went to the
farm to spend the summer with Parke. This was the wish
of the brother and sister; and as Alfred was for the present
contented wherever his wife was, he made no objections.
Alice began again to enjoy the society of Parke, whose
health was rapidly mending, and whose conversation and
thoughts began to flow in nobler channels.  Iis gratitude
and love to her made him tireless in her service.  No effort
was too great that was rewarded by securing any pleasure to
her.  Hle hung upon her words and smiles with a devotion
that called forth the ridicule and wit of Alfred; and at the
same time his jealousy. He could not bear to be rivaled
even by a brother, and his vexation so often made itself ap



TIHE SENATOR'S SON.               197
parent, that Alice grew afraid to express her affection with
the old freedom.  Parke was innocent of this, for she
blinded his eyes with the rosy sweetness of her temper, and
allowed him not to suspect but that all was prosperous.
His loving, dependent disposition rested itself fondly
upon his sister and contentedly upon her husband's judgment and strength of mind.  The sumlmer was to him. as
happy as it could be with the past no more atoned for.
Hte dreaded the approach of winter, for then he was to
be left alone with his books, dog, gun, and sculpturing.
Alfred Clyde and his wife were going south to remain
until spring. Alice gave her brother plenty of good adclvice,
of love and prayers at parting; she was afraid to leave him
so long, lest in the meantime some temptation should occur
too strong for him to resist unaided.
They spent the winter in Cincinnati, and St. Louis,
where Alfred had acquaintances and distant relatives.  Alice would have been very happy had she been married to a
man whomn she respected and loved; but her husband gave
her a small chance to cultivate either her affection or esteem.  Itighly displeased at not meeting with the warmth
and tenderness which he could only have expected from  a
willing wife, he began early to exercise that tyranny which
flourishes and grows to full size in an indolent, self-loving,
passionate, luxurious nature.
Alice had not grown rosy or brilliant during her sojourn
at the south.  When they returned in April, her air was
languid; her aerial figure seemed to have acquired more




198              THE SENATOR'S SON.
airiness of outline, and her step had a weariness in it, as if
mind or body had lost its youthful buoyancy.
Her joy at finding Parke a better man than he had ever
been before revived for awhile her drooping spirits.  His
health was excellent - his affairs prosperous - and on the
anniversary of his sister's wedding-day Lucy and himself
were to be married.
Alice hastened to the cottage to see 3Mrs. Van Duyn,
and to wish happiness to her friend and soon-to-be sister.
What a soft light there was in Lucy's brown eyes, and what
a changing glow upon her dazzling cheeks! How prettily
she blushed - how brilliantly she smiled! - oh, she could
answer for herself now whether the hope was not stronger
than the fear, the bliss greater than the sadness.  While
she busied herself with adorning her not too costly wardrobe, any one regarding her might observe the hurried
brightness gathering beneath the silken lashes, the flitting
color of her cheeks changing with the beating of her heart,
and sudden gleams of joy stealing over her thoughtful face.
Oh, it almost maddened Alice to look upon her and
think of the desolate, dreary waste of her own life.  But
she was goodness and sweetness personified; patiently repressing the bursting regrets which she could not but feel,
she tried to be happy in her friend's happiness, and to find
in her brother's reform a consolation for her own trials.
Contrasting his joyful independence with a convict's doom,
and Lucy's happiness with a broken heart, she thanked God
and was silent.




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.                199'0, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft
Hath killed the flock of all affections else
That live in her! "
To the heart of Alice Clyde came never an answer to
this impassioned inquiry.  Loneliness came to it, and yearnings which drowned themselves in tears, wild wishes, unutterable pangs! for the most part, her life was a struggle
against her own lovely nature, to bow it to the rude will ef
a capricious and obstinate ruler.
How lovely a picture was the cottage upon the weddingmorning! There was nothing but tasteful simplicity. The
roses breathed their fragrant congratulations, and the birds
warbled the bridal anthems.  In Parke's frank and beaming face and proud carriage there remained no trace of
former sin. One there was though who could not forget,
and who trembled with secret forebodings.  What mother
ever gave a beloved daughter into the care of another, for
weal or woe, without some trembling? Mrs. Van Duyn could
not banish the reluctance she felt. She loved Parke as a
son, yet she knew the weaknesses of his character; and had
they obeyed her wishes they would have waited another
year before they were united. She left a tear on the bride's
cheek when she kissed her; and in the look she gave her
daughter's husband as she grasped his hand, she seemed to
implore of him a promise to bring no shame or sorrow upon
that innocent brow.




2Q0              THE SENATOR'S SON.
" She is my wife," said Parke, in a tone deep with feeling, as Alice came up to him, and they stood a moment
apart from the rest; " my wife and I owe this happiness
all to you. Oh, my sister, even in the lowest depths of
my degradation how I loved that noble girl. IHer perfections only made my faults the blacker, I saw that she loved
me, unworthy as I was, that she pitied while she loved, and
fdled beneath a sorrowful regret.  I longed to throw myself upon her compassion, and beg her to save me from myself. But I knew that if you, if my mother, could not
restrain me, that even Lucy could not, and I dared not approach her with the mantle of my guilt upon me.  Through
you, dearest Alice, I have been able to come to her, saved
and redeemed, with the humble offering of my love; and
now she is mine! You have made two happy heartshearts brimming over with happiness. God forever bless
you!"
Could Alice regret the offering she had made of herself?
There sat her husband moodily regarding her, as if inventing what new torture he should inflict upon the patient soul
of the woman whose fault and injury was, that what force,
tyranny, pride, and ill-himor demanded, her shrinking
spirit did not give. She had never failed in becoming respect or in silent endurance. But endurance was not what
he wanted in a wife. He wanted sympathy; and more, he
wanted her soul to be in subjection to his will. No matter;
she was his own; and she should feel his power to the inmost fibre of her quivering heart. He smiled at the thought.




THE SENATOR'S SON.                201
As she turned from Parke's fervent blessing, she met that
smile, sinister and threatening.
" No! - no! I will regret nothing," she cried silently.
"Surely I can find some recompense in the joy of others,
and after a time it may be that unresisting gentleness will
soothe this tiger into less ferocious moods."
3Ir. and MIrs. Madison were soon established in the old
country-house. He now had half the farm under his own
management.  A  comfortable house was erected for his
tenant, who boarded all the men employed. An excellent
superintendent of the kitchen and dairy relieved Lucy from
all care as to those matters.  With lone visits from little
Katy and short ones from her mother, she grew to be so
contented in her own home, as to lose those pinings after
the mother-home which disturb a young wife's joy.
nMr. Clyde purchased an elegant residence in the city,
and surrounded himself and wife with a golden halo of
splendor.   Although he was so indolent, there was a
strength and power of his mind which could not be smothered in ease, and this directed itself to the difficult study of
how he could most delight his senses and gratify his luxurious tastes with the least exertion, and to make the greatest
impression upon others. Art and science, genius and beauty,
were called into requisition to give a finish to his heartless
epicureanism. The more he lapped it in the sensuous softness of indulgence, the harder did his soul become.  The
tact, judgment, and intrigue of his character, which applied
to the lever of some noble purpose might have lifted him




202             TIE SENATOR S SON.
into enviable fame, were dedicated to giving a polish and certain distinction to his known extravagance of living.  To be
the slave of this self-lover was Alice's fate.  As a slave, he
would not set a value upon her, for she was something upon
which to exercise his refined tyranny; further than that,
he hated her.  Like the devotional nun, who binds the
thorny girdle over her bleeding heart, and conceals it with
a garment of white, she concealed her sufferings under a
calm and sweet demeanor.




CHAPTER IX.
TIIREE years of prosperity rolled over the dwellers at
the farm.  A baby, with flaxen ringlets and blue eyes, sat
upon Lucy's knee, or tottered with mighty baby ambition
across the floor. The whilom library was turned into a
nursery, where sat Lucy, one October evening, in a little,
low rocking chair, having a great frolic with the darling
Carrie.  Carrie, of course, was the baby; and by the way,
she had gained her name through much tribulation.  The
mother wanted her called Katy, after her own mother, and
sister Katy of the golden culls. The father said the name
was too German, and Alice must the little one be called.
But Alice wanted no child named after her, lest, as she said
with a smile and sigh, it should not be a gift which would
bring happiness.  Finally, an old bachelor, who lived alone
on an adjoining farm, proposed that if they would call the
pretty creature Caroline, he would stand god-father, and
make an heiress of the wee lady by deeding her a city lot.
Every one liked the old bachelor, and suspected that




)204              THIIE SENATOR'S SON.
Carobe   was the name of his lady-love who died in hler
youth, leaving him a faithful mourner and a solitary man.
They would.have pleased him with gratifying his wish withomu the oi~  of tile city-lot; but as he was rich, and h1atd.no childreun c his own,~ they allowed the unconscious baby't  ecept his sift.  No attention was paid to 3Miss Katy's
suggestiorn that she should be called Olive Olivia; and at
last,, after all these important undecisions, she rested safe
wih. the nokle appellkion of Caroline, abridged for short
and sweet to Carrie.
"' Will you have your tea served now, Madam?" asked
th'e house-keeper, looking in good-naturedly at tie gay
molther.
"No, H-Jester, not until MIr. Madison comes home; he
said he shbould be back by half-past seven."
He-ster.rult the door, and Lucy went on with her frol-'.' Now, baby, now — say papa! look at mother —
pa — pa "
But baby was pulling at mamma's dress and would say
nothing.
"' No, lady Carrie, you are not old enough to wear jewels
ytet;' let the brooch be. Now- pa - pa!"
" Ga!  Ga!" said lady Carrie, and laughed at her triumnph in achieving such a wonderful speech.
"You little darling! if father had only heard tfhat!
will Carrie say' papa' when he comes home? pa - pa."'" Ga! Ga!" repeated the little genius; and if she had




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.              205
been the " fairy who spoke pearls," her mother could not
have been more delighted.  She half smothered her with
kisses.
Then they had such a play-spell! Baby's fat fingers
would dive into mamma's hair, and pull down one of its
shining braids; then mamma would give a pretended, pretty
cry, which would set the baby into an extasy.  Then the
dimpled hands would be made willing prisoners, and patted
together in tune with the wonderful ditty of
" Rock-a-by, baby, upon the tree-top."
Next the chubby feet were made to illustrate the ballad of
"One foot up and one foot downThat is the way to London-town."
Presently Carrie grew tired of play; when she had had her
supper, been attired in her night-gown, and fell to sleep in
her pretty crib, it was eight o'clock.
Hester again presented herself at the door, and told
Mrs. Madison she had better have her tea, for more likely
than not, MIr. Madison would not be at home that night.
" John's at home an hour ago, and he says there's going to be great doings with their speeches and processions;
and some of Mr. Madison's friends were going to have a
supper at the Astor, and their candidate for Governor was
going to be there and make a speech."
" Oh! I hope he will not stay!" was the young wife's
thoughts, as a thrill of apprehension ran through her.
It was a time of great political excitement.  Parle,
18




TTE SENATOR'S SON.
now developed into the full grown man, with established
views and active purposes, was not contented with devoting
all his energies, talents, and education to farming.  Though
his farm  was a model, exhibiting all the latest improvements, and cultivated upon scientific principles; though it
was the admiration of the country around, and though it
brought him an income amply sufficient for a generous and
elegant way of living, he was not content.  Iie had plenty
of leisure, since he was only the head, not the hands, of his
farim, to turn his attention to other pursuits; andl the Senator's son, following in the path marked out by his father,
was fast becoming ambitious of political distinction.
His wife had a dread of this.  To her, who had always
lived in the country, there seemed no life so free, so happy,
so virtuous, so healthy as country-life; no occupation so
pleasant as the cultivation of land.  She did not see how
there could b-e any tameness, any want of variety in avocations which brought one continually to observe the changes
and endless industry of nature. The budding of the tree,
the ripening of its fruit, the gathering it into the winterstores —the springing of the grain, the forming of the
heads, the harvesting, the thrashing out, the carrying to the
mill —all the seasons of the year were full of beauty and
interest to her. The blessing of the deep, warm snow,
clothing the planted wheat, or the evil of the biting frost
killing it in its tender infancy, were things which called for
her gentle sympathy.  She felt a grateful solicitude for the
comfort of the sleek cows so richly contributing their flow



THET SENATOR'S SON.             207
ing bounties to the universal plenty.  She had a tender
affection for the pretty lambs, a kind care for the broods of
chickens, a great respect for the sturdy oxen, and a love for
the noble horses. Her heart and mind expanded while contemplating the broad stretch of land with whose features
and peculiarities she had become as familiar as with those
of a friend. She knew what soil was greedy for food, what
tired with successive years of labor, what thirsted for more
drink from the abundant stream, and what plead for relief
from its too bountiful supply. She knew what ground had
a fancy for feeding, with summer luxuries of clover-blossoms, the cattle- and what was willing to devote the warm
weather to growing a golden store of corn for their winter
uses. The earth to her personified one who conferred great
favors and required a few in return.  The plums had a dulcet voice, beseeching aid to free themselves from the tormenting curculio; even the cucumbers looked coolly up
and pointed to their yellow-backed destroyers.
The peas reached out their arms for ladders to aid their
climbing -the peaches turned their crimson cheeks lovingly towards her, and the rosy apples nodded and blushed
as if saying- "we grow for you!"  And that grove of
maples! was there ever a moment when it was not useful
and beautiful?  With the first sunshining days of March,
their veins, overflowing with sweetness, were yielded by the
stately trees to the farmer's lancet. Then came the time
for a woodland frolic with her; while the farmer and his
boys went about among the buckets, emptying the contents




208              TTIE SENATOR'S SON.
of each into a common receptacle in the shape of a hogshead, and from thence replenish the singing kettles, she
loved to find her a seat on some inverted trough under a
tree close by.  The blazing fire, the bubbling cauldron, the
mystic smoke, the grim  workmen, were objects which her
fancy did not hesitate to turn into sorcery and its accompaniments, or at least into the romance of gypseying. She took
a curious interest in the skilful abstraction of the natural
contents of an egg-shell, and the filling of the same with sugar-wax; and delighted in bringing her husband's talents at
sculpture, to the carving of various fanciful hollows in pieces
of wood, for the moulding of this wax into tempting cakes
for Kitty and her other juvenile visitors.  A bit of frozen
snow hid away in a hollow or corner of a fence was eagerly
searched for, to make a moulding-board, upon whose cold
surface the syrup might quickly obtain the wished-for
toughness.  After the sugar-making days were over, she
could mark from the windows of her room, the soft green
gradually breaking from the swelled buds; and when the
days grew oppressive with heat, there were the full grown
leaves, offering their fair shelter and murmuring of refreshment to be found in the shadowy alleys which they roofed.
In autumn the grove was past all description beautiful —a
tossing, waving sea of splendor, which every breeze changed
in aspect and color, lifting up sprays of crimson, edged with
scarlet, dashing down billows of gold capped with purple
and green. Even winter could not disrobe the maples of
their charm, for the sprites came down from  the mystic




TIIE SENATOR'S SON.              209
north on silent nights, and behold! in the morning sunshine, there they stood, so many crystal towers, of an architecture rivaling the Gothic, the pride of man; delicate
in structure and profusely ornamented from column to spire
with glittering yet chaste decorations.
Yes! Lucy found enough in country-life to interest, instruct, and ennoble. She thought that no one could accuse
her husband of an inactive or useless existence if he employed it only in such occupations as their present position
suggested. She had reason to dread his being drawn into
political whirlpools. She was suspicious of the strength of
his resolutions; and had no cause to think but that the
country would be just as safe if her husband took no part
in its debates. Feverish, unhealthy, and dangerous seemed
to her the ambition which was coming over him; the country was safer without him than he was with it. Therefore,
by all the tact and power of affection, she endeavored to divert his mind from its tendcencies.  But Parke was determined not to be satisfied with a wife, a baby, a home, and
a farm. Politics seem in this country frequently to take
the shape of a fever, which disturbs the quiet operations of
the physical and mental powers, exciting the brain to a kind
of delirium which for the time destroys its finely-balanced
qualities.  Mental blindness; a strange inability to discern
truth from falsehood; an insane conception that our institutions are tottering into the gulf of their opponent's treachery, and will soon fall unless they rush to the rescue and
make columns of support out of themselves; an itching at
18*




21.0             l'THE SENATOR'S SON.
their fingers-ends to dabble in the spoils, and a burning desire for office, are some of the symptoms apparent in many
of the victims of this disease.
Parke  Iadison had not the fever in ouch a violent degree.  He did not care about the emoluments, nor think
the sudden dissolution of the Union at hand; but there
were some principles he desired to see advocated, some more
he wished to uphold; and as he felt himself competent to
speak on certain questions, he was bound to make himself
heard.  The honor paid to the talents of his father encouraged him to believe that he could achieve eminence in the
same path.
LJpon the day which is introduced in the beginning of
this chapter, he had gone to New York to join his party in
a great outbreak of enthusiasm; he spoke, and was loudly
applauded; the excitement of the day was followed by a
supper given by the leaders to one of the great nien, and
to which Mr. Madison of course must remain.
The supper at the Astor was faultless, the wines were
such as great men may drink without doing injustice to
their taste, the remarks were profound, disinterested, and
logical.  Under the influence of the champagne and the
speeches the country came very near being saved I But,
alas, for one of its eloquent friends! Parke Madison, the
generous, the witty, the earnest, the well-meaning, could
control others better than he could himself. Forever striving after the right, and forever falling I That fatal weakness of resolution broke down this evening as it had done in




THE SENATOR'S SON.                211
days gone by.  Not more surely will a moth always flutter
into destruction when a lamp is by, than he would be
tempted to excess by a scene like this.  He knew it before
he placed himself in the way of temptation; but his ardent
temperament was already excited beyond prudence by the
events of the day.  He attended the feast given to the great
man, and became intoxicated in his honor.
Lucy followed the suggestion of her house-keeper, and
drank her tea, but it was with very little relish.  She then
returned to a charming employment, which was that of
sketching little Carrie as she lay asleep in her crib.  She
was intending to surprise Parke with a birth-day present of
the picture, painted on ivory, and handsomely set.  The
dimpled arm tossed up beside the rosy cheeks, the golden
lashes, and the still more golden curls, the pouting, parted
lips, made a fine subject for the mother artist.  She drew
the outlines and drapery, after which she laid her work
aside in order to do the coloring by the nicer light of day.
It was the usual hour of retiring; she no longer expected
her husband that night, but she could not go to bed as long
as there was a possibility of his returning.  She hemmed a
little on a piece of cambric, she played a short time on her
guitar, she tried to get interested in a book, but her mind
was uneasy, and she could not amuse it. At twelve o'clock,
weary but nervous, she retired to short slumbers and disturbing dreams.  It was her first night of watching for a
dissipated husband, but it was not her last.
At noon, of the following day, Mr. Madison came home.




212               THE SENATOR S SON.
He thought that his secret was safe from his wife.  He
greeted her gayly, and with many excuses for not sending
her word that he should remain in town over night, he
kissed Carrie, sat her upon his knee, and proceeded to astonish and delight her with the gift of her first doll-baby.
But the quick eye of affection detected the lurking shame in
his glance, its ear pined with the nervous hastiness of the
first greeting; and in his kiss, despite of the frequent confection he had been eating, remained the feverish complaint
of an ill-used stomach. Lucy kept her wretched discovery
to herself, and abated nothing of her gentle welcome.  She
would not humble the pride of her husband, by allowing
him to know that she was conscious of his error. But when
she found him more absorbed than ever in politics, and bent
upon walking right into the net - that he was restless until
the next day came for a public excitement, and that he
spent more than half of his time in the city, she was
obliged to remonstrate.  Such remonstrance might rather
be called the very gentleness of entreaty.  It was with
threads of silver and gold that she endeavored to keep him
within the sacred circle of home, where the evil genii that
surrounded him in the outer air could not intrude.
The worm of the still, when its eye is once fastened upon
a victim, must exercise a fascination more alluring than the
dreaded enchantments of the rattle-snake.  Else how could
it draw Parke Madison, held back as he was by past experience, by a wife like Lucy, a sister like Alice; how could it




THE SENATOR'S SON.                213
draw him from the holiness of his hearth-stone, downwards
to the old desperation of excess?
Upon that birthday, when Lucy designed to surprise
him with the exquisitely-finished portrait of Carrie asleep,
he came home, for the first time, in a disgraceful condition.
Hitherto he had carefully remained away until in a fit state
to return to his family.  It happened that Mrs. Madison
had company.  iMrs. Van Duyn was out, with an old friend
from Philadelphia, a lady of such mind and attainments as
secured for her the love and respect of whatever circle she
adorned with her presence. She had always made a pet of
Lucy, who, in her girlhood, had once or twice visited her
in her own city. Now she had come to see what kind of a
home the fair girl had to boast of, what kind of a husband,
and what kind of a baby; for she had heard a great deal
about all of these, but she had not beheld with her own
eyes the prosperity of this beautiful branch of the fatherland vine.
When they first arrived Mr. Madison was not at home.
Lucy gave them a cheerful welcome. There was not even a
shadow upon her brow that day, for Parke had been so good
for the past week, and she had so pleased herself with thoughts
of the present she had as a surprise for him, that her brown
eyes were seldom brighter, or her cheeks more glowing.
" I think you have chanced here to keep Parke's birthday, she said, as she drew chairs for them close to the grate
in the large parlor.




214             THE SENATOR'S SON.
It was a cold day for October, and they had rode from
iMrs. Van Duyn's on the other side of New York.
" Dear mother, I am so glad to see you; why didn't
you bring Katy or Willy with you? too cold! but they
would have been so delighted with Carrie, now that she can
run alone. It is an unexpected happiness to have you for a
guest, Mrs. Smythe; I am so much obliged to you for coming.  I wish Mr. TMadison was at home.  But he will be,
before tea; and of course you will not stay less than a
week, so a few hours will be no great robbery."
How musically the tongue of the young wife ran on.
The mother and friend smiled at each other to witness her
fine spirits.  As soon as they were warmed, and had partaken of the refreshments welcome after their chilly ride,
Margery, the maid, was sent after Carrie, who was taking
her afternoon siesta.  )Margery led her into the parlor with
triumph, walking  in her own tiny shoes, and not tumbling
down once all the illlense distance from the door to her
mamma' s arms.
" This only'leven months old," the maid informed Mirs.
Slmythe, who, eager as she was to get the little creature on
her lap, must wait for'grand-ma' to have done with her
caresess.
"Aye! she's not a year old yet, and she walks, and
says papa, and does a thousand such pretty things. Don't
you think, MIrs. Smnythe, that she is the greatest baby of the
age?       "
" I have not had very extensive opportunities for judg



THE SENATOR'S SON.                 215
ing," replied that lady with her genial smile.' I am  not
acquainted with over thirty of her size, but I think that she
compares favorably with the most of them.  Come here,
little one 1  Carrie is your name? let me look at you -
soft, fine hair, curling up like golden grape-tendrils aroundcl
your head - pure complexion - clear, full, violet eyes —
those are father's eyes, are they not? -a mouth so beautiful in its rosiness that I cannot tell yet whether it will be a
beauty's mouth or not — mother's neck, slender and peerless, as if the' blod of all the Howards' had taught it its
queenly mould -yes, MIadam  Madison, you may be forgiven for pride in your baby's looks.  But as for her talking and walking, she isn't a bit more precocious than the
rest of the thirty; andl you do not want to be, do you, Carrio?  You do not want to die of smartness in your infancy? nor to be a little wonder, in order to grow up a
great dunce? "  Probably Carrie did not, for she shook her
head and laughed.  " That is righlit.  You shall not be if I
can help it.  You shall know nothing for a good while yet
except to love papa, manmma and sugar-plums.  Here is a
sugar-plum  with which to engage your affections; it has
hidden itself in the depths of my pocket as if on purpose for
this occasion.  Do not look so gravely, TIrs. IMadison, there
is nothing poison in this confection; it is pure sweet and
will do no harml."
"' I shall be jeialous,"  said Mrls. Van Duyn, D: of my
grand-motherly rights, if Carrie -is to take to you so contentedly.  She is perchllel on your knee too quietly."




216              THE SENATOR S SON.
" The babies all like me -I am their aunt-in-general."
" Like your sweet gifts, perhaps," said Lucy.
"' No, they like me. It is seldom that I purchase their
love with sweets.  I want them to love me on the sympathetic principle that I love them."
" And I know that they do," said Lucy, looking affectionately into that countenance which beamed with kindness and intelligence.   "It isn't the little folks, alone,
either."
"I am not ungrateful," replied Mrs. Sinythe, gently.
That was the charm of her character.  To give as much
as was given, and more, of affection to all.  Her sympathies
were always ready to be enlisted, and her heart overflowed
with that christian charity and good will to her fellow-creatures, which secured her in return their confidence and love.
Lucy brought the picture of Carrie, which she had
caused to be set in gold and pearls the last time she was in
the city, and showed it to her visitors. They were warm in
their praises, and admired the design exceedingly.
" What does Parke think of it?" asked Mrs. Van
Duyn.
"Ah! I should like to know what he will think of it,
when he sees it!" replied Lucy.  " It is his birthday gift;
and you shall see the manner in which he receives it. I
hope it will please him!"
"It cannot fail to do that.  He ought to be enraptured," said her friends, and she put it in her bosom for
safe keeping until tea-time.




THIE SENATOR'S SON.             217
The three ladies had such a social and happy afternoon,
as confidential chit-chat among a kindly friend, a proud
grand-mother, a joyous mother, and a good-natured little
one ought to make.  Lucy inquired minutely into every
little circumstance of the life at the old home.  That sister
to whom she was teaching German, the eventful day upon
which she introduced herself to her future husband, as Sle
lay, regardless of elegance at her feet- that sister was now
a blooming young lady, who had taken her place in the
household circle.  Katy was growing into a slender maiden,
with a sentimental turn of mind, who read a great deal of
poetry, and had been known to scribble romantic verses
under the old oaks in the meadow.  Willie was begging
sturdily to go to his uncle Nold's in Philadelphia.  This
uncle was a forwarding merchant, who having not a boy,
although blessed with five girls, desired to adopt this of his
sister's.
The lamps were lighted before the sound of a carriage
rolling up to the door, and of steps in the hall, told Lucy
that her husband had returned.  A rich color rushed into
her cheek, and her dark eyes lighted up. Mrs. Smythe
smiled secretly to observe the unconscious pride and brilliancy that came over her demeanor. Lucy was indeed
proud of her husband, not only of his beauty and accomplishments, but of that eloquence of conversation and grace
of manner which he had inherited from his father.  She
arose as he came into the apartment, but hesitated as she
was about to advance to meet him.
19




218              TILE SENATOR'S SO:N.
"Lute, my love!" he began, in no very dulcet voice,
" how do you do?  Gen. Taylor will be President as sure as
-  ah! Mrs. Van Duyn!" he shook hands with her gaily.
She was astonished at his flushed face and disorderly
air; but as Lucy made no move to do so, she presented him
to her fiiend.
" "_Mrs. Smythe - Smythe! you are not the person who
makes shirts for me, by that name? ah, no! I remember
now - fiom Philadelphia?  I beg your pardon - how well
you are looking - extremely well!  I think I never saw
you looking so finely, Mladam."
" I presume you never did," replied that lady, not daring to glance towards the young wife, whose face had grown
pale, and who stood motionless as if from alarm.
He took a chair and sat down confidentially near her.
" Would you ever have thought Old Whitey's prospects
were so favorable?" he asked, in a muddled tone.  " I've
a bet of two thousand against one thousand that he will
never sit in the Presidential chair."
" I dare say you will win," replied his guest, a flash of
humor breaking through her gravity.  "A We have never
elevated horses to that dignity yet; though it has been aspired to by a still inferior animal."
"'M3y horse! my horse! a kingdom for my horse!'
says Iludibras.  So there,,3adalm, was a man who was willin.g to give his horse a kingdom, if we are not.  But you are
right, I intended to speak of Old Whitey - not his master."
" Ah?"' was all his companion ventured to say.




THE SENATOR'S  SON.               219
Mrs. Van Duyn was sitting opposite, her face burning
with indignation and surprise.  Poor Lucy retreated into
the nursery, where she sank down upon the bed, and burst
into tears of mortification.  Was this the husband she had
arisen in such a glow of pride to present to her old friend?
Bitter was her humiliation; but humiliation is not the
worst suffering of a drunkard's wife; and if we pity her
now, we shall have more to pity her for bye-and-bye.
" It seems to me that you are hardly yourself, Sir, this
evening," observed his mother-in-law, coldly.
I" Why - no - I am not.  At least I thought that I
was not a short time ago," he replied, looking at her comically.  "I imagined that I was a bottle of champagne
which the Whigs and Locos were playing a game of'brag'
for.  As I was only a bottle of wine they thought nothing
of my looking over, and from where I sat on the table, I
could see the Old General cheating furiously: I tried to inflate myself enough to get the cork out of my mouth, so
that I could cry out' fraud! treason!' and in trying to do
it I upset myself - crash! fizz!-I was a bottle of spilled
champagne, not worth quarreling about.  I had no hopes
of ever getting myself together again, when John picked
me up and put me, not in the broken bottle, but on nmy
seat. You see, the roads were so confounded rough, and he
had driven over a stone and jostled me off!"
He told this little story with great spirit.  The two ladies glanced at each other as if not knowing whether to
laugh or cry.




220              THE SENATOR'S SON.
"Are you satisfied now of your identity?" inquired
Mirs. Smlythe, after a pause.  "I suspect that you hold
more champagne now than a steady, respectable bottle
should do."
"You wrong me," Mrs. Brown," he replied, with an
air of dignity that would have been superb upon a sober
man.  "There no doubt appears something peculiar in my
nanner, but it is owing to the excitement of the times. I
have taken a glass once or twice to-day with a few of my
fiiends — but the condition of our party demanded it.
When the interests of the country are at stake a man must
not stand    "
"Nor fall - " suggested Mlrs. Smythe.
" There you have me again.  You are witty, Mrs.
Brown," with an admiring bow: " no, he must not fall, as
I did once to-day; but he must not stand upon trifles.  It
is against my principles to touch any kind of intoxicating
beverage. I swore to my dear Lucy, before I was married,
that I never would' toy with the dangerous flame;' did I
not, my love?" he turned to where his wife had stood, but
she was gone; " and I am bound to keep my promise sacredly after the first Tuesday in November. Excuse me,
my dear mother - pardon me, Mrs. Brown - I must leave
you a moment'to the society of your sweet selves' — I
haven't had a kiss from Carrie yet."
He made another princely bow, and retreated to the
nursery in search of his baby.
" Poor Lucy! my prophecy has come true!" cried the




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.               221
mother, as he disappeared, "woe and wretchedness are in
store for you, I fear."
"Displeasure and pride for a time kept baclf her tears,
and then they flowed accordant with her daughter's.
"I am  more than surprised! I had no suspicion of
this," said her friend.  Poor Lucy! indeed! He looks like
a splendid man though, what a pity - pity - pity!"
" It is the first time that I have known him to touch
wine for more than four years.  I had began to lose all my
old apprehensions; but I had reason for them, I could read
his character better than those young people who thought
that a few months of trial had proved him sufficiently.' Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,' is written upon
his destiny. It mars the brilliancy of his gifts, it makes of
no account his good resolutions. Yet how could I blame
Lucy for loving him - or for determining to share his fortunes, be they good or bad?  For if his character is unstable as water, like water it is fascinating — sparkling with
evanescent hues and shades, lit up by every gleam of
beauty, musical with depths that excite curiosity, and tones
that are strangely pleasing."
" I should judge as much of him.  But, alas! of what
avail are these excellencies, if all to be darkened in this
manner! Probably though, this is but a rare excess, and
will never lead to confirmed intemperance.  Surely the influence of a strong-minded and warm-hearted girl like Lucy
ought to prevent any man from becoming a brute."
" I pray heaven that it may! but I have no confidence
19 *




222               TIHE SENATOR'S SON.
in him.  With him it has always been to take one step and
then look back no more, until dragged by some powerful
effort of others into comparative safety."
Lucy interrupted them by coming to lead them to the
tea-table.
"It is the first time I have seen him so - but he has
been drinking for two or three weeks," she said in reply to
her mother's question.
Traces of tears were upon her cheeks, but she said nothing more upon the subject.  Mr. Madison was at tea, but
as the stimulus he had taken subsided in its exhilarating
effects he grew silent and sleepy. Immediately after the
uncomfortable meal was finished, he pleaded fatigue, and
politely withdrew.  The ladies gathered around the centretable in the parlor with their knitting, and tried to pass a
cheerful evening, but tried in vain.  Lucy was proud as
well as affectionate; so that whatever her secret fears were,
or however much she felt disposed to blame, she would not
touch upon her feelings, even to her mother. She remembered that mother's warning; and with a swelling heart she
resolved that the prophecy should not be realized if everything that a truthful and patient wife could do should have
any effect.
Of course the presentation of the portrait had to be delayed until morning. Something of the mortification which
had tortured Lucy the preceding evening was now endured
by Parke, as he, with a faint recollection of his yesterday's
absurdities, was obliged to be present at breakfast.  He




TIIE SENATOR'S SON.              22.3
would have given half his farm to be a hundred miles away
from the reproachful glance of lMrs. Van Duyn's eye, as she
took his hand at meeting. He felt that he had wounded
the mother through her child's heart —that beloved child
whom he had taken from her, to cherish with a husband's
fondness.  Lucy was all kindness; and Mrs. Smythe appeared to have forgotten the manner in which their acquaintance was made. The remembrance to him was intolerable; hearing that the guests designed returning home
that afternoon, he made an errand to town, that he might
be relieved from that society which would have been so
agreeable but two days ago; resolved not to return until
they had departed.
There was a silent language in the embrace Mrs. Van
Duyn gave her daughter at parting - unutterable love,
the wish to avert danger, to protect from coming sorrow.
It brought the quick drops to Lucy's eyes, but she bravely
drove them back.
" Mrs. Smythe," she said, " you must forgive Mr. Madison for my sake. It is his first offence, and I am determined that it shall be his last."
She smiled, but it did not hide the quiver of her lips.
That night, again, Parke did not return home.
From  that time began for Lucy Madison the untold
miseries of an inebriate's wife.  It had been hard and bitter
for a sister to wear out the midnight hours in waiting- to
wear out her hopes in watching -to wear out her heart in
sorrow; but a sister's wretchedness cannot be that of a wife's.




'.2 2 4           THTE SENATOR'S SON.
She looked upon her child with mingled feelings; it was her
consolation and her trouble.  Its pretty ways wiled her of
many a weary hour; but thoughts of its future, as cursed
by an unhappy father, gave her many another sleepless one.
It was with no tender thrill of joy that she found, before the
winter was past, that she had the promise of again becoming a mother.  Ah, no! why should she desire children?
that they might grow up ashamed, with an inheritance of
vice?  Her spirits ebbed to the lowest tide, but she never
for a moment gave up to despair.  Parke, wavering and unsteady as he was, could not have had a companion more
purposed for his good.  With all her affection, Lucy had
her mother's indomitable soul, her noble pride and persevering energy.  When she saw that he neglected his farm
affairs, and that his carelessness was taken advantage of by
his men, she, herself, stepped forward to the rescue of their
falling fortunes, and made their people feel that there was
still a head at work, if it was a woman's head. One third
of their beautiful estate went immediately after election into
the hands of those with whom  he had betted.  This loss
was not sufficient to diminish any of their comforts - it only
foreboded troubles that were vet to come.
A few months of dissipation produced their usual effects
upon Parke.  His nerves, unstrung by excess, grew irritablc, and as a natural consequence his temper grew harsh
and fr-etful.  His remorse did not tend to sooth them, a-nd
tihe result was coldness and unkindness towards his wife.
In vCain she tried now to wile hlin back to his former self




THE SENATOR'S SON.                 225
with the sweetness of her guitar, and the still softer music
of her voice.  In vain that she strove to keep him at home
by making their artless daughter the pretty pleader.  His
every-day stinulus was brandy now; and it eat into his
heart and brain as well as his stomach.  It preyed upon
those nice perceptions and glowing imaginations which once
added such spirit to his character; it gnawed ceaselessly at
those heart-strings once so finely strung to the lightest touch
of love, until they mouldered one by one, and when Lucy
would have waklened their melody as of old, there was silence where once was sweetest sound.  It inflamed the
coarser passions of his nature, those which could endure
the fiery lash; but his more delicate sensibilities fell and
perished under the infliction.  There grew less and less in
him to love.  It was not only that harshness and moodiness
repelled her affection; when Lucy looked for those qualities
which had won her passionate regard, they were gone.
Gone the soul-beaming glance - gone the glory and purity
of intellectual gifts —gone the gentleness of manner —
gone the playful fancy -gone the tender and reverential
admiration of her wifely excellence!  In their place, the
sullen and abashed look, the dull and diseased mind, the
reckless hardness of actions, the senseless gayety startling at
times out of stupidity, the cowardly coldness on the maudlin caress.
It takes more than a few months of trial to wear out a
woman's endurance.  Lucy's devotion. was more than ever,
if her affection was somewhat less.  Shle lovped him for what




~ -.,),           TIlE SENATOR,8 SON.
he had been and for what she still hoped he would yet be.
She loved him as the love of her youth, her husband, and
the father of Carrie.  A protector he had ceased to be, and
had become instead a persecutor.
The days came for maple-sugar making.  Lucy allowed
the fires to glare, the smoke to struggle with the leafless
trees, the kettles to bubble and sing, without going out to
enjoy this little piece of domestic romance.  She thanked
the farmer's boys when they brought her hearts, and doves,
and eggs of new sugar, with a smile that sent them  off
happy, but she neglected her old seat among the gnarled
roots of a maple; and giving the sweet devices to Carrie,
who could best appreciate them, she turned with a sigh to
other employments.
Dear little Carrie! playing a fairy's part in the drama
of home, with a wand of sunshine, whose power fell brightly upon all.  She was too little to fear the shadows gathering around the hearth; at last, they began to fall even upon
her.  IHer father, in his irritable moods, would let his illhumor rest upon her   a scowl, an impatient word, a cruel
shake of that tiny form, was enough to grieve her to the
heart, and send her sobbing to her mother.  She did not
run, as she was wont, to lead him by the hand the moment
she heard his step in the hall; but shrinking close to her
protecting mamma, she would wait until she had read his
face before she ventured to intrude her innocent affection
upon him.  Whenever he observed this it displeased him,
and he would accuse Lucy of teaching his child to dislike




THE SENATOR'S SON.                227
her father! There was another subject upon which he took
it into his disordered mind to be uncontented. They were
getting too poor, he said, to afford to raise a family, and he
did not see what Lucy was such a dunce for as to be troubling him with the prospects of more children, when they
could just manage to live now!  Well might her mother
exclaim, " Poor Lucy! woe and wretchedness are in store
for you!"
The warm  weather was trying to her health.  Her
mother, Mrs. Crawford, and Alice, all endeavored to induce
her to spend a few weeks with them; but she refused, because she was afraid that in her absence her husband would
feel still less restraint. It was " for better, for worse," that
she married him, and she was not going to desert him even
for a little while. In these dark days of his trial and temptation, if she did not cling to him, who would? If he had
no patience, she must have all; if he had no dignity, she
must have more; if he had no prudence, she must exercise
double vigilance. God, who knows the heart, knows that
Parke had hours of deep repentance, of mental agony; and
that Lucy knew of these, and pitied while she blamed, and
loved while she pitied. To others and to herself she urged,
in extenuation, his inherited defects of energy and passion
for stimulating drink, and they were good excuses as far as
they went. She cried out as Parke's mother and sister, as
he himself, had done"Since he cannot control himself, why is there no
power that can be brought to bear to prevent this worst of




228                TITE SENATOR S SON.
self-murders?"  In her anguish there was evidenee that no
sophistry, no policy of state, could refute.  If any one had
asked her in such moments "if the traffick in intoxicating
drinks was an evil? " she would have gazed at him in astonishment.  If he had went on with his questions and enquired 1" whether it was right to prohibit evil by law'?" shle
would still have regarded these simple propositions, already
decided in the hearts of every drunlkard's wife and ch'ild
and friendl, and of every drunkard himself, as so established
in the affirmative as to require no answer.  She would not
have stopped to enquire, " Will it add to or take away from
the income of this Government?"  but she would have
stretched out her hands to the nation and criedl,
1" Give me my husband! give me back my husband!"
One pleasant day in September, Lucy sat by the window
in that west room  where Parke's mother had died, and
which was always the pleasantest of summer rooms.  In
her lap was a variety of Carrie's out-grown baby-clothes
which she was preparing for the expected little stranger.
A tear would occasionally steal slowly down her cheek and
drop upon her work, as she mused upon the past, and with
what different and happier emotions she had first fashioned
those fine cambrics, soft flannels, and dainty embroideries.
Carrie sat on a footstool by her side, with a huge needle,
a long thread, and a wee-bit of cloth, taking her first lesson
in the womanly-accomplishment of sewing.
Suddenly she hushed her childish prattle, for she heard
her father coming around the portico with hasty steps.




TIHE SENATOR' S SON.              229
Curse it!"  he was swearing to himself, " that dog
Dixon has cheated me out of five hundred dollars- I know
he has; and he's so cursed impudent about it, too!  I'll
not have him on this farm another year — no! he shall
leave, if he goes to perdition! "
He came into his wife's presence and commenced his
complaints.  He was not intoxicated, though he had been
drinking some.  She ventured a remonstrance, when he
swore that he would discharge his farmer; for she knew
that Dixon would do better than anybody else, even if he
did not always do right, and she told him so.
" What do you women know about that? he asked, with
contempt.  " Here, Carrie, come to your father! "
Mrs. Madison thought that she had had good opportunities for learning something of his affairs, but she said
nothing. Carrie was hiding behind her chair, regarding
her father fearfully, one eye just visible through Lucy's
net-work of braided hair.  She hesitated to obey his command, which was spoken in no gentle tone.
" What are you skulking there for? are you afraid of
me?  This is some of your work, MIrs. Madison, teaching
our child to dislike me! I will have no such actions in a
daughter of mine.  When I call her, she shall come; and
without turning white, either."
He was terribly out of humor, and as he approached
the trembling little girl, Lucy was afraid that he would lay
violent hands upon her.  She stood up, and pushed Carrie
behind her.
20




THE SENATOR' S SON.
" Parke! what do you mean? I have taught your child
no disobedience.  You know very well that she has reason
to be afraid of you.  It is you who have taught her this
fear."
" Is she to witness your disrespect, Madam, and to think
that you are going to interfere with my colllmands?"
Hie put out his hand, not to strike, but to thrust her
rudely to one side.  In her present condition she was not
strong; she staggered and dropped to the floor, bruising
her temple against the window-easement.  Ashamed and
alarmed, her husband raised her, and found that she had
fainted.  At that moment his sister Alice confronted him.
She had rode out from town upon horseback to enquire after
Lucy's health, and coming silently up the greensward had
dismounted and entered the house without being perceived.
She stood in the door during this brief scene.  When she
stepped forward to the wife's aid, her face was colorless, and
her eyes flashed with a fire that had never been kindled in
their depths before.
" Go!" she said, in a clear, ringing voice, "leave her
with me! You are unfit to render assistance here."
She took the sufferer from  him, as if she had the
strength of a giant, laid her tenderly upon the lounge, dipped her handkerchief in a pitcher of ice-water which stood
upon the table, bathing that bruised forehead and wiping
the blood which trickled slowly from the temple.  He lingered until Lucy opened her eyes, and then retreated from
the room.  With mechanical composure, Alice continued




THE SENATOR'S SON.               231
her efforts, until consciousness had fully returned and Lucy
made an effbrt to sit up.
" I am not hurt," she said, (' I was only stunned for a
moment.  He did not intend to hurt  e - I know he
didn't- but I was so weak.  Now, Alie, do not tell
mother."
Alice turned away her eyes from that pleading faceshe could hear no more -rising abruptly she went from
the room.  She entered the parlor and closed the door.
Parke was there, moving restlessly about the room.  He
paused and gazed at her as she stood before him.  Despite
of his shanme, he could not but look at her in wonder.  She
seemed two or three inches taller than usual.  Her wasted,
delicate figure expanded and heightened with the inward
force of her emotions. Hier face and lips were hueless —
only those dark, large eyes burned with the flame that was
kindled within.
" Oh, wretched man!  will you have another victim?"
Was that his sister who was speaking?  Something in
her changed voice compelled his confused faculties to gather
into on. clear sense of hearing.
" Will you add murder to your crushing responsibility?
Look at me, Parke; is this the eye, the brow, the cheeks of
twenty-two?  I am one of your victims; I gave myself a
sacrifice to keep you from that prison where it were better
you now were. I have inflicted upon myself more misery
than a life of imprisonment in a dungeon could bring.  I
aml the wife of a man who esteems himself a god, and wor



O232             TTIE SENATOR'S SON.
ships himself accordingly.  I am the slave of a heartless
voluptuary.  To save you, I overcame that terror with
which my purer nature shrank from his, and stood beside
him at the altar. I lived with him, and found that I had
linked my earLthly fate with that of an infidel, a hater of
man and a scorner of God.  I could not love him.  He did
not demland my love.  It was enough for him to feel that I
belonged to him; he made no demand for those tender fancies and yearning affections which form so large a part of a
woman's nature.  He laughed at my religion.  I lived on
with the heart of youth growing cold in my bosom, and its
warm pulses declining to a weary slowness; associated with
a tyrant, wrapped in luxurious indulgences, who took all
that he could secure of pleasure in this world with no fear
or expectation of another.  At last he has grown tired of
me.  That coldness and resignation which he once delighted
in, because he could torture it, has become too cold and too
resigned for him.  He will have no more of me.. To-morrow, Mr. Clyde goes south, and leaves me behind.  He
never intends to see me again; but he does not wish the
world to think it a case of heartless desertion, for he lives
upon the honey of the world, and would keep its good opinion.  So he has instituted an understanding that business
calls him him away, and will leave people to discover in the
course of time what his real motives are.  I-He leaves me
alone, exposed to misrepresentation and calumny.  He
leaves me without sufficient means for my support, for my
fortune and his own are not too much for his pleasure.  I




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.              233
must either become dependent upon the kindcless of the
Crawford's or give lessons in music for a living.  Parke
Madison! this is your work. In being faithful to you as
my mother demanded, your own follies have led me into
this bitter and neglected state. What is my reward? Have
I a brother who will step forth like a man and demand the
rights of his sister?  Instead, I see before me a brute, who
has just stricken the wife of his bosom to the earth.  I see
two hearts breaking. I see a little child, learning in its infancy the language of curses, frowns, and blows.  And seeing this, I am tempted to renounce you, I think that I am
absolved from that dying injunction, since I have beheld
you strike your wife prostrate —and such a wife, and in
such a condition.  I wronged Lucy when I permitted her
to marry you, without vowing to her that it would be her
curse.  Now I am going to take her away from you until
she is in at least a less dangerous situation for enduring the
blows of an enraged husband.  I shall take her back to her
mother, this very day, whether she wishes to go or not, and
there she shall remain until you are worthy to claim her, or
until her health permits her to return to you. Oh! my
mother 1" she laid her hands together and lifted up her
eyes; " if thou canst look down from thy walks in Paradise,
my sunken cheek, my dreary brow, my lingering step, my
blighted heart, shall be to thee the assurance of my faith-..
fulness; thou canst require no more of me - thou wilt not
blame if I now forsake him!"
Had she ceased to speak? -- Parke stood shivering be20*




234              THE SENATOR'S SON.
fore her, thrilled through and through by her voice, as by a
blast of cold mountain wind.  He half expected to hear the
tones of his mother in response floating down through the
sky and sealing his condemnation.
" My God! Alice! " he cried with a sudden burst of despair, " are you going to forsake me? then I am indeed lost! "
It seemed as if he had some idea that as long as so pure
and etherial a creature as Alice clung to him, that the angels and their Lord might have compassion upon him and
consider him kindly for her sake.
She made no reply; but glided like a shadow out of the
room.
By her directions the family carriage was prepared as
comfortably as possible, and Lucy placed therein.  Carrie
and a trunk of clothing followed.  Lucy was loth to go.
She felt as if she ought to go, out of consideration for her
own comfort; but she could not endure to leave her husband to his own unhappy society.  Parke saw them  depart
from the parlor-window; Alice riding her pony close by the
carriage, looking in and talking to its occupants. Should he
let them go? it was his right and privilege to recall his
wife and child and compel them to obedience. The terror
which came over him when he saw Lucy lying senseless
before him, recurred to his mind; how should he answer
for himself, that to-morrow he might not again be as much
of a brute, or perhaps a murderer?  How could he give
surety for the conduct of a madman? and did he not make
a madmanl of himself ev;ery day?




THE SENATOR' S SON.               235
He turned from  the window, as the carriage slowly
rolled away, and walked rapidly back and forth, such fire
scorched his brain, such red shapes swam before his eyes,
such hideous images thronged his mind, that he was seized
with a fear of the drunkard's mania.  Was that madness
coming upon him, too? with a cry between a groan and
shriek he rushed out of the house and ran towards the
grove. Anywhere, anywhere, out into the open air where
no eye could behold him, nor ear take note of his distress.
He fled along; in gaining the grove, he had to cross the
stream which wound through the meadow.  Late rains had
swelled it to quite a little river. As his foot lingered on
the log which spanned it, a new sound confused him" Anywhere - anywhere out qf the world!" rang through
his ear; he obeyed the cunning suggestion and sprang into
the stream.  He fell face downwards, sank, and rose again
struggling.  He struck out his hands, but they clutched
not even a straw.  Demons were shouting in his ears and
sitting upon his breast. Off! off! would they not release
him from their dreadful weight upon his bosom? no! they
laughed and roared, and their pressure grew intolerable.
Then they slowly swam away, leaving him floating upon a
cloud airily through the sky, and Lucy singing her cradlesongs to Carrie, close by his side. Then * * * *
It was scarcely more than a week after Lucy was settled in her mother's home before her baby was born. She
was very ill, and the baby, a boy, was a feeble, tiny little
creature.  She had the best of nurses in Alice and Mrs.




236               THE SENATOR'S SON.
Van Duyn. The slow-spoken Doctor, who once attended
upon Parke's broken head and arm, was exceedingly interested in his patient and anxious to have her recover.  For
some time her life was in danger, but in the course of two
or three weeks she began to amend.  Every comfort and
kindness surrounded her sick bedc; every blessing except
that she most pined for, the presence of her husband.  He
was the father of a boy; and perhaps he did not even know
of it; he had never taken the little fellow in his arms,
kissed its puny face, nor thanked her for the peril she had
endured, nor the son she had given.  For long hours she
would lay with closed eyes, her whole being absorbed in an
intense yearning to look upon her husband, to feel his lips
upon her forehead, and to nestle her hand in his.  She
spoke to her mother about it every day; but the mother-inlaw could not forget, as her daughter had, the wrongs of the
sufferer.  She was not aware of how powerful Lucy's feelings were upon the subject, until the physician told her that,
as long as the cause for such nervous excitement existed in
his patient, he could not hope to see her get well.
Katy was very much disappointed because the baby was
not a girl.  She had a name ready for it, but it would not
sound well to call a boy'Jane Eyre,' and she was obliged
to relinquish the idea.  She puzzled her brain to decide between'Herbert Gray' and'Vivian.'  Poor little thing!
it needed no name. After a brief month of pain and pining
away, it closed its eyes upon a troublous earth.  The children wept over the corpse, tiny and white in its pretty




THE SENATOR S SON.                237
coffin, for'the baby' was a precious thing to them. Carrie
cried because'brother' was so cold, and because they took
him away and put him in the ground beneath the oak in
the meadow and left him alone in the dark.
Lucy mourned deeply over its loss. It was all the
dearer to her for being so surrounded by tribulations.  Its
sickliness and feebleness had awakened strange feelings of
tenderness; and it was born, and dead, and buried, and its
father had never beheld it.  What to her now were his
cruel taunts when he had declared himself too poor to be
burdened with a famiyf'nothing; she forgave him all and
felt that she should die if she should not see him.  She
sank again so rapidly that messengers were dispatched with
the news of her danger, and her desire to see him, to Mr.
Madison.
When Parke left the house with that fierce cry, he had
startled the house-keeper from her quiet seat in the diningroom, where she sat reflecting upon the wickedness of men,
and wondering when her mistress thought of returning.,
" Mercy sakes! I believe he's gone crazy!" she ejaculated, as she saw him flying across the meadow. " Here,
Dixon, set down that milk and come and see what's the
matter with Mr. Madison."
Dixon was in the kitchen helping himself to a bowl of
bread and milk; he did not stir at her bidding.
"I don't care what's the matter with him, I'm  sure.
He called me a liar and robber not three hours ago."
"Lord a'mercy! if he hasn't jumped plump into the




238              THE SENATOR'S SON.
creek! Hie's drowning; Dixon, you fool, aint you going to
start? "
The farmer's resentment did not extend as far as to
wish death for his landlord just then; so he threw down his
spoon, and started on a lumbering run to the rescue. The
drowning man was insensible when he dragged him out.
Hester prided herself on her skill as a doctress as well as
house-keeper; her strong arms and rude remedies were of
good account.  She threw over the first barrel she came to,
which chanced to be the swill-barrel, and helped Dixon to
bear him to it, and left him with injunctions to roll him
desperately every minute while she hastened after blankets,
and hot ashes, and the bellows.  Their united exertions
were crowned with success.  Parke recovered his breath,
with a portion of his senses, and passed a sick night with
only Hester to sit by his couch.  But the demons were
driven away for the present. Hydropathy had cured him
of incipient delirium-tremens.
The next day, haggard and weak, he rode on horseback
to the city, to give Alfred Clyde a warning not to ill-treat
his sister! but that gentleman had already left on the boat,
and Alice was out at Mrs. Van Duyn's.
" After all," he muttered, turning from the Clyde residence, "what could I have said to the villain, when my
own wife has taken refuge in her mother's home from my
ferocity?"
Truly he could have said nothing; for Alfred with cool
sarcasm, polished and sharp as steel, would have defeated




THE SENATOR S SON'.               239
him, and left him powerless on the field. As Alice accused
him, he was not fit to be a brother or protector.
This reflection was so humiliating that lie called at the
first saloon for something to exhilarate his self-esteem.
Another week of intoxication ensued, from which he was
aroused by hearing of Lucy's danger.  This appalling news
brought another of those seasons of repentance, when the
tempter was nearly overcome. Not daring to intrude into
the house, he haunted the vicinity of the cottage day after
day. Several nights he set under the window of the sickroom, as if there he could hear that feeble breathing which
might so soon be suspended. I-Is suspense was such that
he always contrived to be somewhere near when the physician took his departure, and from him he was informed of
her condition constantly.  I-ad Hebe then offered him a
goblet of nectar he would have dashed it to earth. Ie knew
when his boy died; he saw the grave hallowed and the
tiny coffin lowered; that night he lay upon the mound,
with the bible Alice had given him in his school days,
clasped in his hand, praying God to listen to his prodigal
prayers, to strengthen his renewed resolutions.
The messenger had not far to go, who was sent for him.
The doctor had informed him that lie should order Lucy's
wishes attended to.  I-Ie, with Mrs. Van Duyn and Alice,
sat in the outer room when Parke passed through to the
sick-chamber.  He did not look at them, but passed with a
quick, light step to his wife's bedside.
" Parke!"




240              THE SENATOR'S SON.
"Lucy!"
He bowed his head upon that thin hand and wet it with
his tears. A faint pressure of her attenuated fingers and a
wan smile was all the welcome she could give him.
" You are not going to die?" he asked, gazing eagerly
into her face.
"' No -I feel better this noon," she whispered.
In ten brief moments the physician separated them;
but Lucy knew that her husband was under the same roof,
and she sank into a refreshing sleep.
It was many weeks before she recovered strength so as
to return to her own home.  In the meantime Alice had
found a refuge, pale and weary dove! with MIrs. Crawford
As Mr. Crawford was gone, to be absent a year in the west
attending to extensive agencies, she was delighted to get
her adopted daughter back again.  Not even to her did Alice confide the truth that she was deserted.  Comparatively
happy to escape from daily persecutions, she made an effort
to regain some portion of her youthful vivacity. But her
spirits had been too long strained to an unnatural tension;
they would not spring back with the old buoyancy.
With no one who was meet to be her companion, Lucy
and Parke absorbed in each other, and no one of her own
age, in whose society to recover herself, she drooped, growing more silent, lily-like, and fragile every day.




CHAPTER X.
IN a small dwelling, upon the outskirts of a western village, a lamp burned late at night. Snow was heaped about
the steps, and upon the casement, which rattled to the tune
of a disconsolate wind. Within, a woman of twenty-five,
her chair and table drawn close to the stove, was busy with
some motherly employment. A box of water-color paints,
with brushes and drawing utensils, occupied a portion of
the small table, but these were not now in use. A pair of
small stockings, that had been darned for the fiftieth time,
lay beside them, and the solitary worker, shivering over the
stove, which contained only the pretence of a fire, was busily
sewing up the rents in a pair of shabby shoes. A little
girl, about four years of age, lay asleep in her crib, the
clothes tucked warmly about her; unconscious, during the
blessed rest of childhood. of the care her mother was giving
to her humble apparel. She had placed the patched shoes
beside the stockings, and was proceeding with a weary air
to wash out a couple of aprons in a kettle of water that
21




-214 2           THE SENATOR'S SON.
stood upon the stove, when the sound of an unsteady step,
and a hand feeling for the latch, arrested her.  She hastily
hid the painting materials in a drawer of the stand, before
she unfastened the door.
"What the deuce do you keep a fellow standing all
night in the cold for?" grumbled a cross voice, as a person, who had once been a gentleman, stumbled over the
threshold.
" I came as quickly as I could."
"No, you didn't come as quickly as you could.  Do
you call this a fire? a pretty way to treat a man when he is
out until midnight, to come home and find no fire, and the,weather cold enough to freeze the -."
He sat down and commenced rubbing his hands to
warm them, glaring half angrily, half stupidly at the
hearth; while his wife wrung out the aprons and hung
them upon a chair.
" I say, Lucy, where's that five dollars you got to-day?"
he suddenly exclaimed, lifting up his head.
"' What five dollars? - what do you mean?" she asked,
with an endeavor to look unconcerned, but a slight flush
arose to her care-worn cheek.
"Now, don't pretend ignorance in that style.  I mean
the five dollars that you got for painting little James Kinney.  I know that you have it, for his father told me today that he had just paid it to you."
"Mr. Kinney is a villain!" burst from the indignant
lips of the wife.




THE SENATOR'S SON.               243
Mr. Kinney was a grocer, whose little boy's miniature
she had done for the contemptible sum of six dollars; and
when she called for her pay he had the heartlessness to tell
her that her husband owed him nearly that for liquor.
Perhaps the arrows of scorn and resentment which shot
from the lips and eyes of a woman like Lucy Madison had
wounded him in the only tender part of his heart, his
vanity; for he doggedly paid her the money she had earned,
except one dollar which she took in sugar, coffee, and tea.
But you injure the self-esteem of such a man and he will
be revenged. The grocer's casual mention to his customer
of the picture his wife had painted, and the sum he had
paid for it, was not so carelessly done as it appeared to be.
"I say, Lute, I want that money I"
"You cannot have it. I have imperative use for every
penny."
"And so have I. Confound it! I've drank nothing
but whiskey for a month.  And to-morrow I am bound to
have a high; on genuine brandy, too, such as a gentleman
ought to drink."
" Wouldn't it be better to spend it for the children,
Parke? Carrie has no shoes; nor stockings either, for that
matter, that are fit to wear. Besides, we are out of wood,
and yet you complain of the fire."
" Oh, nonsense, Lute, let me have the money."
" I must not, and I shall not," she replied firmly.  "It
is after one o'clock, and you had better go to bed."
A baby, lying in its parents' bed, awaked at the sound




244              THE SENATOR' R   SON.
of their voices, and began to cry. Lucy went to it and
was soothing it, while its drunken father stumbled around
the room, searching in drawers, cupboard, and corners, for
the coveted five dollars.  He could not find them.
" If you don't tell me where it is, I will beat you to
death," he said, stamping his foot upon the floor, when he
found his search to be in vain.
She laid down her child and turned towards him.
"Parke, if I give it to you, it will do no good, and the
children will suffer. I will not do it for their sakes, nor
for your own. You are better without it.",
"Where is it?" he demanded, with increasing fury,
regarding that slender woman with a threatening air which
might well make her secretly tremble, though she tried to
be brave, at the thought of her little ones.  She folded her
arms over her swelling heart and stood silent and pale.
With an oath he seized the kettle from the stove and
hurled its contents towards her. The fire had truly burned
low, but the kettle was placed immediately above the wasting embers and retained enough heat to be dangerous.
It was the instinct of self-preservation -she forgot her
child - she stepped aside - and the scalding water fell into
Carrie's crib.  The piercing screams of the little sufferer
startled the midnight echoes.  The mother snatched up her
darling, and ran wildly about the room, holding her to L.,
bosom, too distracted to think of any means for her reliet
At last she sank into a chair, and tore the night-slip from
that quivering form. One side of the face, neck, and chest,




TIFE SENATOR'S SON.              245
and one arm, were dreadfully scalded; as the dress was removed, the blistered skin came with it, leaving the flesh
exposed and inflicting such excruciating agony that the child
went into convulsions.
" Will you go for some one - will you do something?"
cried the wretched mother to the man who stood like a
stone, sobered by those shrieks of pain and appalled at his
own deed.  " For a doctor - a doctor -- there is one upon
this street, quick i" He went out with so stupid a look,
that gazing upon those spasms of pain she hesitated whether
she should not leave the poor child alone, while she, herself,
ran for aid. Fortunately the physician was returning from
a very sick patient whom he had been called up to visit, and
encountered Mr. Madison, before he had taken six steps.
He returned with him.
"How does this happen, Madam?"
He looked around upon the drunkard's home and needed
no other reply. He took the little girl, and gave such directions as Lucy had gained composure enough to follow.
The wounds were soon dressed, in as soothing a manner as
possible, and the exhausted child laid carefully on a prepared bed where her mother sat by her side the rest of the
night, listening to her feeble moans with an aching heart.
Overcome by heavy sleep, the author of this misery lay before the stove, drawing long and noisy inspirations, and
filling the apartment with the odors of his corrupted breath.
The physician had assured her that the burns were not deep
21*




246               THE SENATOR'S SON.
enough to be dangerous, unless that upon the chest proved
more serious than he anticipated.
" I am almost tempted to vote for the Maine-law men,
after the scene which I have witnessed to-night," he told
his wife, as he returned to the comfortable bed from which
he had been roused.  " I can't do it very consistently, either, for there are not three of them  who belong to our
party; and, after all, if men will make fools and beasts of
themselves, I don't know who has a right to interfere."
" The heart knoweth its own bitterness," and none may
know what bitterness filled Lucy Madison's during her
watch that night.
Within less than a year after the birth of their second
child the farm had gone from Parke's hands.  His sister
Alice could furnish him with no further means, and Mr.
Crawford did not feel bound to do it.  After gathering together the small remnant of their property, he found that
there was enough to take them to some western village,
within whose thriving precincts he was sure some employment could be found.  And so there could have been for a
steady and energetic poor man. But what was there for
him, or what would he do if work was furnished, Lucy
asked herself and him. There was no living for them in
the city, however. Finding him bent upon going, and thinking it the best that could be done, Mr. Crawford offered
him  some business, which his knowledge of the law made
him  peculiarly competent to transact, in the village of




THIE,ENATOR S SON.               24 
A-  -, in a western State.  Lucy was urged by all her
friends to remain behind with her mother, at least until it
was seen whether Parke met with any success. She was
strongly tempted to do so. She felt homesick at the very
thought of parting with the scenes of her youth; and both
terror and loneliness at the idea of going into a strange place
with a husband who she well knew would bring mortification and disgrace upon her, instead of procuring for her and
himself that position which she was, and he had been, entitled to. Duty as well as affection whispered, " for better,
for worse." Striving nobly to overcome her repinings, she
bade a tearful farewell to all endeared associations, and with
beautiful little Carrie for her consolation, went with him to
sojourn in a strange land. For a short time, pride restrained
Mr. Madison from his worst excesses. His reputation as the
son of the late senator Madison, the known excellence and
fame of his family, procured for him a cordial welcome in
the limited society of A. His wife was esteemed as
a most accomplished and dignified woman.  They took a
small house and furnished it plainly.  Lucy's guitar and
their books was about all that they retained of their former
splendor; but good taste and refinement presided over their
poverty, and all would have been well had Parke continued
in respectable habits.  His restraint soon wore off, and
where he had been regarded as a dissipated gentleman he
soon found himself a wretched debauchee.
Although Lucy had anticipated severe trials, hundreds
that were unlooked for pressed upon her. Parke's situation




2-48             THE SENATOR'S SON.
was a sinecure; a respectable income and nothing of any
account to do. Every dollar though, which he received,
was wasted in self-indulgence. As long as he had the
means, he got drunk bravely and fashionably upon wine,
with cards and friends, and dishes of oysters. Want intruded its pinched face within their doors. Lucy advertised as an artist, and for a time received considerable patronage. Upon these earnings she supported the household
expenses. She secluded herself entirely within her humble
home. Ashamed of her husband, she felt unpleasantly to
receive respect and attention which was no longer shown to
him.  Friends and well-wishers she had, but they were
strangers. They pitied secretly, though they dared not condole. She shrank alike from pity and condolence.  Her
wardrobe began to grow shabby, and she had no purse from
which to replenish it. Her health, too, became poor; so
that in solitude and loneliness the days passed away. She
would have sunk under her afflictions had not Carrie been a
constant source of diversion, something to love, to live, to
hope, to work for. With her own hands Lucy performed
the household labor until nearly the time that her third
child was born. She was attended through her illness by
kind neighbors, who watched and nursed her, and brought
numberless delicacies to tempt her dainty appetite. She
was grateful for their attention and care, without which she
would have suffered much more than she did; but they
were not to her like her mother and Alice and Mrs. Smythe.
He who should have made every effort to lighten the tedi



THE SENATOR S SON.                249
ousness of her invalid hours, was passing the time in saloons and grog-shops, careless of her comfort and forgetful
of her loneliness. Great drops would roll down her cheeks
and fall upon her little baby's face, as he lay upon her bosom, while with a sigh the words would break from her
lips as if they could no longer be repressed -
" Oh! if I could see my mother once more! oh, if Alice was only here to stay with me!"
When she recovered so as to go about the house, she
found a sad lack even of the necessities of life.  With an
infant in her arms, little Carrie to do for, and the family
work to perform, she had no leisure for painting. That
source of income was cut off; besides, those who were
pleased with her work, had nearly all employed her before
this, and she had but few opportunities of profiting by her
talents.
During the summer, it was the second summer of their
stay in A, these privations could be endured.  A
fire was not necessary, nor warm clothing; and she and the
children could fare content upon simple food.  With cold
weather, matters grew infinitely worse. As Parke neglected
what little business he had to do, his receipts thereupon
grew less. Bad liquor - mean, contemptible stuff (not but
that the: best is bad enough) -was his food, drink, and
clothing. He took it from a dirty glass, at a dirty bar, and
then lounged in dirty attire upon a dirty bench.  This was
Parke Madison! The dwellers of the town of A,
who passed one of its numerous grog-shops, might cast care



TIIE SENATOR S SON.
less glances upon the shabby man, sunning his rusty broadcloth in the door or upon the vagabond's seat, without a
suspicion that he had once been the Count D'Orsay of
New York.  A lingering of gentility there was about him,
a nicety of language, a courtliness sometimes in his drunken
dignity; and some remains of his former beauty; but nothing else to distinguish him from the lowest sot who laid
his sixpence upon the bar and swallowed his abominable
whiskey.
Lucy disposed of her guitar- she had no heart to
touch its strings to sweetness now — for money to buy a
couple of cords of wood and a barrel of flour.  From  her
own worn-out attire she could still fashion comfortable garments for the children.  The first part of the winter passed
until at the time when we have seen her in her miserable
home sitting up until after midnight, to await a brutal husband, and to eke out the means of a wretched subsistence.
There were some chairs, a pretty sewing-stand, a carpet, and
some kniclk-knacks in her little sitting-room, which pride
had forbidden her to dispose of, and which prudence suggested her to reserve against a case of actual starvation.
When the grocer had come to have his boy's miniature
painted, she was not aware of who he was. She kept her
work concealed from  Parke, for she knew that he would
possess himself of the proceeds; and was carefully calculating in what manner the money could be most judiciously
distributed among so many wants. She was indignant to
find that she had been employed by one of those vampires




THTE FENATOR S SON.               251
who preyed upon the weakness of her husbaud; and when
Mr. Kinney would have reserved her dearly-earned dues to
pay the score of his most constant customer, her resentment
had taken some words and looks which smarted his small
soul with a sting which would not be appeased until he had
applied the balm of his characteristic revenge.
Here were some of the consequences.  The mother
watched by her suffering child. Bitter feelings arose. Her
sense of duty transferred itself from her husband to her
children.  He had chosen his own lot - they were helpless,
and she was their natural protector.  She blamed herself
for so long exposing them  to the dangers of their father's
presence.  She resolved that the coming day she would
write to Alice, and implore l,'r to seek from her friends the
means for her return to then,.
Circumstances had chalnged in the old home.  The sister next younger was happily married, residing in the cottage, and having her nmother and Katy with her, while
Willy had gone to his Uncle Nold's.  But Iucy knew that
somewhere they would cheerfully find a place for her and
her little ones.  She did not despair of being able to support them  well, if left unmolested to her own resources.
For the first time, she saw plainly that she was under no
farther obligations to live with one who was no longer a
man, but a something worse than brute. This was not the
person with whom she had stood at the altar -the mlan,
endowed with intellect, reason, judgment, heart, and tho:e
att ibutes which distinguish the immortal from the beast.




252              THFE SENATOR'S SON.
This was a sot, with whom it was an outrage upon refinement or decency to live -this was a madman with whom
it was dangerous to be associated -this was an animal who
had nearly drowned all indications of soul or mind in the
burning bowl.
Her resolution was taken.  If God spared poor Carrie's
life, she should never again be the victim of a father's insanity. She counted up the weeks until she could return
by the lake. It would be an impossibility almost to travel
by stage, with two such small children. It was nearly the
first of March. Courage - courage 1 she whispered to herself. "If it be necessary, I can at least claim the protection of the law, and have him imprisoned. Anything to
save my children."
Even with the moans of the sufferer setting her nerves
in a tremble, she felt a sense of relief. A crushing burden
seemed lifted from her shoulders -that feeling of'duty'
which had weighed upon her heart and prevented her taking
any steps for her own comfort or her babies. The thought
that she could leave this disgusting companion —be free
from his foul breath, his curses, and hateful caresses, and
yet do him no wrong, came over her with a thrill of strength
and hope. Her love had departed. She loved the Parke
Madison of old with a passionate, regretful love, as one
mourns for a friend who is dead; but this Parke Madison
she could not love. Soul and sense refused to be enchanted
with such loathsomeness.
When day dawned upon them, it found Lucy shivering




THE SENATOR S SON.               253
with cold, wrapped in a large shawl, Carrie sleeping under
the influence of an opiate, and Parke rousing from his
heavy slumber. Grumbling at the freezing state of affairs,
and rubbing his shoulders, which ached with their repose
upon the floor, he arose and stared at his wife.
" What are you up for? you look as if you had been
sitting there all night."
She pointed to the bed; he approached and gazed at
the poor little form lying there swathed in bandages. As
recollection of the scenes of the night broke upon him,
some thrilling screams rang again in his ears, his lips trem.
bled as he spoke with an effort -
" I suppose this is some of the work of that cursed
whiskey."
" It is a work which will bring you more sorrow than
it has your victim. As sure as there is a God in Heaven,
such things as these will bring retribution!"
"I know it —they will!" —he shook with cold and
fear.
"HItave you no fire?" he asked, to turn the subject;
shall I build one up?"
" There is no wood. This is no place for you, either,
Sir; I shall not complain of you this time, though the
neighbors will probably see fit to have you placed in safety;
but, if you dare to enter these doors again while Carrie
lies here in this condition, I will no longer forbear. You
shall have a home in the county-jail, where it will be impossible for you to beat your wife or burn your children."
22




25-1             TIlE SENATOR'S SON.
"Why, Lucy! I never heard you quite so bitter before.
But I suppose I deserve it.  I shall see first if I can get
anything for a fire, and then go, if I must.  Where do you
expect me to sleep? at the tavern?  You might at least
then give me a little money to pay for a bed, since you
know I cannot get trusted."
Her look of contempt would have blasted a man in his
senses; he only continued in a whining tone -
" Come! do be a little generous with your husband."
As she made no reply, he went out into the wood-shed,
looked up a board, split it to pieces, and with some barks
that were lying about, kindled quite a cheerful fire.  He
also filled the tea-kettle and put it on the stove.
" Hadn't you better get us a little breakfast first?" he
next inquired, lingering by the fire, while Lucy took up her
baby and nursed him.
As she made no move to do so, he ground some coffee in
the mill, and had just got it finely boiling, and was slicing
some bread and butter, when the doctor's step at the door
arrested him. As Lucy opened it, he dodged into the sitting-roonm, afraid and ashamed to be seen. As the physician's call promised to be a long one, and as he began to
feel the need of his morning bitters, he helped himself to a
handsomely-bound volume of Longfellow's poems, which he
hid in his coat and crept out the door, provided with the
means of obtaining a day's whiskey.
Doctor Browning was a humane man who visited his
poor patients almost as cheerfully as he did his rich ones.




TIHE SENATOR'S SON.            2-55
Familiar as he was with poverty and distress, he was touched
by the noble demeanor of Mrs. Madison, so superior to the
station in which he found her. In a kind and delicate manner, he informed her that if she was in want of any comfort, she must not hesitate to let him know it.  She smiled
sadly as she went to the Bible which lay on the mantel and
took from between its leaves five dollars.
" You see I am not quite destitute," she said.  " If you
will do me the favor to take two dollars and send a load of
wood here; I cannot go out to look for it; and, as you see,
I have none."
"Ah!" he gave a little sympathetic shiver at the
thought of a February day and no fire. You shall have it
in less than an hour, Madam. And if you will consent, I
will speak to my niece —she's a pleasant, warm-hearted
girl, and will be glad to come - to stay with you this afternoon and evening. She will be very gentle with the little
girl- a good nurse is Miss Mary."
Mrs. Madison thanked him gratefully.  He lingered
with his hand upon the door-latch.
" And, my dear Madam, if you wish to get rid of your
troublesome husband, we have a place where he will have a
quiet chance to reflect upon his conduct. I will have him
taken care of, if you say so; it is my opinion that it had
better be done."
" I have warned him not to return here," replied Lucy,
a faint blush mounting to her temples.  " If he does, I will
inform you, and you may take what steps you please."




256             THE SENATOR'S SON.
" Very well. But remember your children, Mrs. Madison, and do not be too merciful."
He bowed respectfully and went away. A load of wood,
and a man to prepare it, were soon at the door. It was
hardly noon, before the niece of Dr. Browning, Miss Mary
Browning, made her appearance, prepared to stay through
the day and night.  She was an amiable, rosy-cheeked girl,
to whom the baby took immediately, laughing and crowing
back answers to her smiles. Her hands were skilful in
holding and soothing the little sufferer; and she let more
than one tear fall amid the golden curls fastened back from
that poor, tortured neck and cheek. Perhaps the mother
saw these compassionate drops, for Mary had not been with
her an hour, before she felt both love and gratitude towards
her. As for Mary, she had conceived a kind of girlish
worship for Mrs. Madison from the first moment she beheld
those beautiful brown eyes and heard those sweet, touching
cadences in her voice. She would follow every movement
of that elegant figure with secret attention, wondering from
what circle of brightness this star had dropped to so forlorn a
sphere. Bits of poetry would come into her head — romances
of a princess in disguise -all the stories she had ever read of
fallen fortunes and the inebriate's home. Hitherto she had
thought that only low, ignorant people became drunkards
— at least such drunkards as Mr. Madison was a specimen
of- and that their wives, although to be pitied, were somehow incapable of very sensitive feeling, and that sympathy
would be somewhat wasted upon them.. She had enter



THE SENATOR    S RON.            257
tained a dim idea that when drunkards' children had their
limbs broken, or fell into the fire, or had hot water thrown
upon them, that the limbs undoubtedly ached and the
burns smarted, but not with any such pain as would set
the whole village in commotion had it chanced to her own
pretty cousin, or to Lawyer Harris' beautiful little boy.
Here, however, she saw a child, whose shining ringlets and
fair complexion, whose violet eyes and dimpled hands, might
awaken the pity of these fastidious people who were insensible to other distress than that of refinement and beauty
afflicted. She saw a woman, born to queenliness of station,
dragged down to share her husband's disgrace.  She would
have done just as much for the most ignorant; every
fellow-creature had claims upon her attention and kindness; but what she often did out of pity she now did out
of love.
Several people were in during the day. Numberless
little gifts accompanied their visits; a pitcher of milk for
the baby, a basket of pippins, a large paper of sweet crackers for Carrie to eat when she got well enough, and the like.
Doctor Browning dressed the burns again in the afternoon.
Mary ironed the aprons, played with the baby, brought in
the wood for night, made her bed while the mother held
Carrie, and did all that there was to be done.  Mrs. Madison was enabled to set out a very well-spread tea-table; and
had not her child been so injured, she would have felt a
glow of comfort in her heart as she sat opposite to her brighteyed fiiend.
22 *




-258             THE SENATOR'S SON.
There was something so caressing and genial in Mary's
manner, that she was almost unconsciously led on to speak
of things long past and obscured by the darkness of
the present. As they were putting away the tea-things,
their conversation chanced upon music. Miss Browning
listened with delight to the description of those rare singers
and great performances which her companion gave her; she
sighed to hear an opera and see a prima donna; to sit in
the midst of a wilderness of jeweled glasses, bouquets, and
light, and behold a splendidly-dressed cantatrice come out
upon the boards and thrill an audience with the wonders of
her divine execution; while the lorgnettes were all leveled
in that direction, ditto the bouquets - then an exciting murmur of applause, and the brilliant prima donna bowing low
and more lowly, smiling, dropping deep courtsies and retiring.
Mrs. Madison could not help laughing, as the fanciful
girl, who had read and imagined so much, but seen nothing, ran on with her voluble wishes. Mary, who played
the piano tolerably, was anxious to take lessons on the
guitar; and she promised when Carrie got better to give
them to her if she remained in the place any time.
Speaking of the guitar, they came to talk of Germany,
and from that, the older lady spoke of her own family, and
of her mother being German in birth, but American in education.  At ten o'clock that evening, Mrs. Madison was
telling in tremulous tones something of her history, while




THE SENATOR'S SON.               259
Mary sat at her feet, with her head in her lap, sobbing in
sympathy with her new friend.
" This will never do to sit here disconsolate all night,"
she said, with a return of her natural gayety. " You must
go to bed, Mrs. Madison, and sleep as securely as you have
a mind.  I will put on my dressing-gown and lie here upon
the lounge, where I can hear the slightest moan that little
Carrie makes, I will take good care of her."
"Are the doors fastened?" asked Lucy, trying them
all before she ventured to undress. She was worn out, and
needed rest so much, that she willingly obeyed the dictates
of her companion, and was just in bed by the side of her
baby, when she heard her husband's knock at the door.
" He has come," she whispered, slipping out of bed and
putting on her dress; "but we must not let him in."
" Of course not," responded Mary; " he must find other
lodging this night, as sure as I am Mary Browning."
A thundering rap at the door set the baby awake and
crying. Its mother hushed it at her breast, and her friend
went to make sure that the other door was secure.
" Can't you hear a fellow knock when he's knocked his
knuckles off?" they heard him muttering outside.  " Its
a pretty pass things have come to, when a gentleman's wife
locks him out on a night as cold as the Dickens. What's
the use of having a wife?  Lucy!"  raising his voice,
" Lucy -Lucy, let Mr. Madison come in, that's a lady! if
you don't I shall go back to Kinney's and sleep with old




260              TILE SENATOR'S SON.
Peter, and he's as dirty as the swine -got the measles too,
I suspect."
Finding that this threat produced no effect, his temper
rose like a gust of wind, as he rattled at the door.
" You'll be sorry, if ever I do get in there 1" he mumbled, giving a kick at the panels, which startled Lucy into a
faint shriek.
" He will burst the button off!" she cried, clasping her
hands. The door was only secured by a wooden button.
" And if he does, we will be a match for him," returned
Miss Browning, taking up a stick of wood.  " Two women
ought to conquer one drunken rascal."
There was a short silence, and they heard him going
away from the steps, but it was only to frighten them by
crashing in a pane of glass at the window.  The curtain
protected them from sight.
" Oh, dear, what will he do," ejaculated Lucy; for her
experience of the preceding night had made her cowardly.
Another assault upon the door sent the button so nearly off
that they saw their defence was nearly gone.  Mary was
a courageous girl and not to be subdued.
"Stand here, out of sight, Mrs. Madison, I am going to
hold a parley with the enemy."
Laying her stick close at hand, she opened the door.
" What do you mean, Sir, disturbing your neighbors at
this late hour, and breaking their windows? You will be
fined to-morrow for this tumult."
" My neighbors?" said he, putting a foot on the thresh



THE SENATOR S SON.              261
old, and winking at her with one eye, " perhaps this is not
my house, and you are not Lucy Madison, Esquire?"
"Well! am I?" she asked, turning her face so that
the lamp shone full upon it.
"Really, I do believe it isn't you, after all," he said,
drawing back; "but that's Carrie's crib, I'll be sworn,"
catching a glimpse at it, "and that's our bed and stove.
"' If you are not my wife, whose are you?" he inquired,
gazing at her with a mixture of suspicion, astonishment,
and incredulity.
"You will learn to your satisfaction when Mr. Brown
gets his boots on, Sir. Come! are you going away quietly
to the tavern where you belong) or will you wait until Mr.
Brown is ready to accompany you?"
" Well, I guess I'll go back to Kinney's, since I can't
find my own house. I was certain it stood here, and it did
this morning; but I'll be bound it isn't anywhere in the
neighborhood now. I beg your pardon, Ma'am, and Mr.
Brown's. He need not trouble himself to see me home.
But, really, I was sure -
While he took a puzzled survey of the premises, Mary
shut the door, with a word of warning against stirring up
Mr. Brown's indignation by making any more noise at their
door. As they heard him mutteringly depart, Mary laughed
over her stratagem — honorable in war —and Lucy again
retired to her couch.
There was no further disturbance that night. The next
day Mary, with Mrs. Madison's consent, informed her uncle




262               THE SENATOR'S SON.
of the affair, and Parke was arrested, and remained in the
jail for the next three weeks.
Carrie slowly recovered from her injuries; but that dear
cheek and once lovely neck and arm were so cruelly scarred,
that the physician would not promise that they should ever
regain their smoothness and beauty.




CHAPTER XI.
A' MAINE-LAw' banner had been hoisted in the principal street of the village of A  --, giving its blue and
white folds to the sultry breezes of a summer's day. A
party of men were gathered around the staff from which it
floated, and as the flag had just been placed there, their
conversation was of course upon the subject.
Lawyers, politicians, merchants, mechanics, and, as it
chanced, three notorious drunkards, were of the crowd.
Some listened in silence, but the most of them expressed
their opinion for or against the Maine Law, and its adoption
in that State.  One or two of the politicians made short
speeches, explaining the grounds upon which they stood in
its defence or condemnation.
" I propose," said a gentleman who warmly advocated
the law, "that we listen to the opinion of these three persons, whose approval or disapproval will be valuable, since
it is their' rights' which are to be'interfered with."'"




264             THE SENATOR'S SON.
He pointed to the trio of sots who disgraced the village
with their long-continued excesses.
"Aye! let us have your opinions, gentlemen," cried
another, thinking the proposition vastly amusing.
" Yes!" added a non-advocate, pleased with the idea"You, Peter Greene, speak first; you are the oldest, the
drunkest, and the worst of the three. Come, man, rouse
yourself, and tell the people what you think of their forbidding you your privilege of taking a dram when you
want it."
The old creature got upon his feet, but being already
considerably intoxicated, although it was but the middle of
the day, he found it difficult to keep there.
" We'll sustain you - opinions and all," laughed some
of the young men, taking hold of his arms, and keeping
him up. "' Speak out boldly, Peter Greene, for your rights,
or perhaps we will take them away."
"I don't know much what you're talking about," he
began in a weak, high-pitched voice, looking at the nonadvocate with red eyes, which were nearly hidden in a
bloated mass. " But if its about getting drunk, or not
getting drunk, why, drink as much whiskey as you can get;
and when you can't get it any longer, die, and go to the
place where I am going next week! I'll tell you how I
know. Last night, as I lay awake, feelin' mighty unwell,
I saw the door open, and a real gentleman, dressed all in
black, came in — he looked like a Doctor. I was just a
going to ask himll-   Doctor, what do you think is the mat



THE SENATOtR S SON.               965
ter with me?' when I sees his foot sticking out, and a pair
of horns on his head. I knew the rascal by them, and sat
up in bed, while a queer kind of shiver went all over me.
"I am not just ready to go yet," says I, thinkin' he
had come for me.  " I'm owing Stuck's widder for making
me these pants as much as two years ago, and I'd like to
settle up my affairs first."
"; Very well," says he, with a polite bow, and speaking
like a gentleman, " I didn't expect you to go along tonight; I only called to let ye know that I'd be coming for
you next week."
" Its very good of you to let me know," says I.
" Where's your bottle of rum?" says he.
"Its in the closet," says I; "'won't you step in and
take a little? you're welcome."
" Thank ye," says he; and goes into the closet after the
bottle, and I up like a streak and shuts him in and kept
him'til mornin'. I could hear him all night a-beggin' me
to let him out, and a promisin' to let me off and take Gus
Elliott in my place. But I allers' knew him for an liar,
and I jist kept the key turned on him till mornin'.  When
I went to let him out, about sunrise, he wasn't there! I
suppose he'll be along again at the time appointed; so I
expect to have one more' high,' and then bid ye all farewell."
He sank back, a loathsome object, upon his bench, amid
the rather curious applause of the crowd.
" Now, Gus Elliott, let's hear you."
23




26'THilE SENATOR'S SON.
The second person addressed was the youngest son of
one of the finest families in the State.  His brothers, one
in the Navy, one in the Army, were ornaments to society,
an-l highly respected men. He had sank so low that they
could no longer uphold him, and although still sharing a
corner of the hearth-stone when he chose to claim it, the
largest part of his time was spent upon the grog-shop settle.
He had just taken a glass of brandy, but was not intoxicated.
" Friends! if that law had been passed twenty years
ago, I should have been the richest man in this State.
Many is the night I have spent my three hundred dollars
on a champagne supper," he said, looking round as if some
of those gentlemen might have shared his prodigality in
years gone by. " What I am, and what my brothers and
sisters have tried to make me, you all know.  All that I
can say is, that I wish it had been passed before I was
born, I wish it could be passed this year -it might do for
otfers what it is too late to do for me."
After closing his brief speech, he sauntered down the
treet, trying to look less miserable than he felt; his hat
Dattered down, his cloth coat bearing the marks of the
gutter, and two or three little scamps of boys amusing themselves by throwing dust at him.
" Now, MIr. Madison, will you be as kind as your comnpeers and tell us whether you are going to vote for the
Maine Law?"  The last of the trio had eagerly regarded
Gus. Elliott while he spoke.  Something in the similarity




THIE SENATOR'S SON.             267
of their circumstances might have attracted him.  His
countenance had a pallor and ghastliness unlike the bloated
red of his companions. He was leaning against an awningpost when they addressed him; he straitened himself up
and advanced a step or two; a flush came into his haggard
cheeks, and he spoke in a clear, round tone which startled
them.
" I am no longer fit to address gentlemen; but if you
wish to know whether I intend to vote for the Maine Law or
not, I answer that if I live to go to the polls again, I shall
vote for it. Do you want to know my reasons? I, too,
have spent my three hundred a night on champagne-suppers
- I say it to my disgrace —not boastingly. I was intended to be a pretty fine man! God gave me talent, an
eloquent tongue, and a generous, affectionate heart.  He
gave me, too, a christian mother, and a sister! — a sister
worthy of the best man that ever lived. My father bequeathed me wealth and a good name. But he bequeathed
me, too, that weakness which made him " tarry long at the
wine," and which, at last, led directly to his murder, as
some of you may have heard. Well! what has this inclination led me into? After years of ambitious study it sent
me disgraced from college —it led me into all the accompanying temptations of a city, and destroyed my mother's
health with anxiety and sorrow. Upon that beloved mother's dying requirement I vowed to never again taste wine,
and it led me to break that vow. It led me to commit forgery; and that beautiful, that angelic sister of whom I




268              THE SENATOR'S SON.
scarcely dare speak, to save me from a prison, made the sacrifice I demanded of her, and married the villain in whose
power I was.  I wooed and won a noble, true-hearted and
lovely woman, and it led me to blast her happiness, to inflict upon her poverty, disgrace, and wordless wretchedness
-it led me to nearly murder my only and innocent little
daughter; she wears upon her once charming face the scars
which tell of a father's fiendishness. This passion has made
a pauper of me;. it has caused me to break the most powerful chains that were ever woven by the love of friends,
the pride of position, the desire to be a good man; it has
brought me days of anguish, such as I pray God none of
you may ever feel; it has gnawed my heart out with remorse, and yet drawn me on with its burning fascination
into this depth of degradation. It has killed my pride -
destroyed my intellect —hardened my heart-ruined my
soul! In my extreme youth, when I lifted the sparkling
goblet to my lips, I laughed and said-"  I can take care
of myself! - it is nobody's business but my own!"  N2Tow,
I would go down on my knees to the world if it would
stretch out its hand and save me. I ask of the law, of you
who make the law, to save me from this monster which
preys upon human hearts. Hercules was sent out to slay
the Namean lion, and to kill the dreaded boar of Erymanthus, but what were their ravages to that of this passion for
strong drink, that such thousands of your fellow-creatures
have to struggle with!  Will you aid them? will you send
out the Hercules of the law to protect themn? or shall




THE SENATOR'S SON.               269
they all perish, as I am perishing? Heaven knows I have
fought until I have fainted many times, and yet I am a
victim. You may throw a class of men out of employment,
but if they make their living out of the blood and tears of
the hearts of wives and children, why should they not abandon the unholy work, and turn to more righteous gains?
The serpents prey upon frogs, the frogs upon spiders, the
spiders upon flies, but need man to prey upon the weaknesses
of his brothers, in order to find food? If you throw this
grog-shop across the way out of business, and in return gain
three honest, industrious, and peaceable citizens, who are
now its patrons and the pest of society, can you answer
whether you gain or lose? You may say that rich men can
procure their costly wines and privately poison themselves,
and teach their children to do the same, even if you should
have this law. The rich are not the largest class of any
community; and if they refuse to be benefited, shall the
other classes all suffer for want of that protection which
their need demands? When they have sunk as low as I,
they will not refuse this rope which is thrown to keep them
from drowning. If every man in this State, who could not
pay five dollars for a bottle of wine twice or thrice a week,
was to stand up with steady hand, undimmed eye, clear
voice, and dignified demeanor, before the rich, free from all
marks of this vice, those who now grow pompous over their
costly decanters, would be ashamed of the wine-odor in
their breath and its flush upon their cheek.
"Speak! gentlemen, I cannot speak what I feel! My
2.3 *




270            THE SENATOR'S SON.
mother is dead- my sister's heart is broken - my wife has
gone from me to struggle alone against poverty and woe -
my children are afraid of me - they tremble at the mention
of my name - they too are gone, and I am left to my fate.
MAy fortune is gone - my health is gone - my religion, my
talents, my happiness. It is this passion which has stolen
all; now that I am weak and forlorn, incapable of taking
care of myself, have you not the heart of humanity enough
to try to obtain for me my rights? I charge you to do it!
in the name of all the misery I have inflicted and endured
— in the name of christian charity —in the name of a
DYING SOUL! —will you serve me?  Will you save my
soul? I know that Satan is bound to obtain it; he has
visited me as plainly as ever he did the disordered fancy of
Old Peter; but if you do your best you may cheat him of
his gains. Will you do it?"
IHe stretched out his hands for a noment.
As a lamp that has burned nearly out suddenly lifts itself into temporary brilliancy, after it is apparently extinguished, his mind had once more startled into life. The
group regarded him with astonishment.  He had not made
exactly that expression of his sentiments which they anticipated.  The flame blazed up a moment, betraying the shattered and ruined condition of the lamp, and sank back into
darkness. His strength was overtasked by the sudden excitement, and, as his arms fell to his side, he dropped fainting to the ground. After the little tumult attending his




THE SENATOR' S SON.             271
recovery had subsided, the crowd dispersed, satisfied for
that day with what they had heard about the Maine Law.
" I wish that I had a voice to speak with or a pen to
write with," said Mary Browning, with sudden energy, after
listening to her uncle's narrative of the above incidents.
" What would you have to say, Miss Mary?" asked he,
smiling, as the roses brightened in her already glowing
cheeks.
"Well! I should say - that - you know I am not accustomed to public speaking! uncle — that though I spake
with the tongue of a denouncing angel, from now till the
day of retribution, I could not depict all the evils of the
liquor traffic; that though I wrote with a pen inspired
with terror and winged with lightning, I could never write
out the half of its abominations. I should say that a poor
and virtuous nation was more secure of immortality and
dignity than a rich and wicked one; and that if it was going to impoverish this country to abolish this traffic, it had
better be honorably humble, than magnificently wicked;
and I would refer my hearers to those often quoted examples of the cities of the Plain, of Babylon, and Rome.' But
I would further affirm, that so far from decreasing agricultural and commercial prosperity, it would increase both, just
as certain as the wretched inebriates who support one rummery would invest the money which they there throw away
on food, rent, and clothing.  I would say that if there are
ten thousand men supported in this State by the trade, that




272               THE SENATOR'S SON.
they are supported by the entire ruin of thirty thousand,
and the injury of three hundred thousand.  I would ask if
that was political economy. I would state a very simple
proposition, and let them multiply the answer by as many
drunkards as there are in these United States.  If a man
instead of eating twelve bushels of grain, drinks eight and
eats four, will the farmer have any larger market for his
produce? - and by the loathing of food which liquor produces, the wasting of strength, and the shortening of life,
will he not lose ten years of that man's custom? while the
producers of clothing lose almost entirely his support, his
employers lose what might be a profitable workman, and the
man himself, and those whom he would have benefited by
it in honest exchanges, loses almost the whole of that comfortable income which his wasted strength and industry
would have achieved! The farmer sells ten dollars' worth
of grain; to support the distiller and rumseller, both need.
less and useless members of society, the consumer pays
thirty for it —the thirty dollars is all that he could earn
under the influence of the distilled grain, where he would
otherwise have earned ninety - the hatter, and shoemaker,
and landlord, and merchant are robbed of sixty — and the
many lose that the few may gain. Then there is another
loss in the diminished demands of his starving and naked
family; another in his requiring a police-officer or sheriff
to attend to him, a prison or workhouse to put him in -a
coffin and six feet of earth, at the expense of the community.
Another loss in his premature death. So much for the po



THE SENATOR'S SON.               273
litical economy.  Of some other losses I might not have the
courage to speak; the loss of health, of peace of mind, of
reason, of friends, of domestic prosperity, and the loss of
future happiness.  I am afraid my woman's voice would
fail if it touched upon such losses. Perhaps I should regain my courage, however, if I had little Carrie Madison by
my side, and could hold up her injured form in my arms
and point to the cruel proceeds of a shilling's worth of
whiskey."
" Of course - of course - you women try to prove everything by an appeal to our sympathies."
1" Well, what better part of you is there to appeal to?
Reason, of which you men are so boastful, forever and forever runs away with itself unless restrained and directed by
the heart.  Take those greatest and most subtle reasons,
and let them run the rounds of their mighty intellects, and
to what have many of the most brilliant returned? - to a
lower point than the humblest heart could ever fall to - to
a belief in their own brutishness and materiality.
"Pooh! my dear niece, what are you talking about?"
" I hardly know, uncle," replied MIary, a little confused.
" But is it not a principle in all good governments to adopt
those measures which will secure the greatest good to the
most people?  You know that the Maine Liquor Law, or
even a more stringent one, would do this. I tell you what
it is, dear uncle, there are a large class of people demand
this law, who have yet no voice in the matter. They are
the wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters of those who sup



27 74            THE SENATOR'S SO0N.
port the distillers and rumsellers.  Not that I wish women
to go to the polls," with another blush, as she saw Dr.
Browning opening his eyes; " but if every man, this coming autumn, would ask the female portion of his house who
to vote for, those men would be elected who would not fail
to give us this law."
" A pretty way that would be to place the reins of government in the hands of women!-' We'll even let them hold the reins,
But we'll show them the way to go!"
"Oh, you ladies are so crafty and so ambitious that I
should not be surprised to see some one of you stealing her
way into the Presidential Chair before ten years.  In that
case, farewell to Liberty and the American Eagle! the chair
would become a throne in less than three weeks, and there
would be an end of our' glorious Republic.' Of all tyrants,
women are the worst! no more to be trusted with power
than a child with a candle in a barrel of tow! "
"For shame, Uncle Browning! that sentiment is not
original, I know.  You have caught it out of some crabbed
book, and you don't believe it yourself: However, if you
wish me to play the tyrant, I will begin now and exercise
my power over your favorite - that talented, promising
young student of yours -and not one word of encouragement shall he ever receive from me, unless he approves of,
and gives his influence to, securing for our State the Maine
Law."




THE SENATOR S SON.               275
" In that state of affairs, I should like to know who
would do the voting? for his views lead him just the other
way; and if he is weak enough to become your waiter, to
carry your vote to the polls, then I shall no longer extend
to him my approval.  Ha I what didJI tell you? that you
were slily working to get the reins into your own hands! "
" Mrs. Browning, I do wish you had educated my good
uncle to be a little more sensible! ~ I do not care Who votes,
nor for what men, nor who induced them, only that we get
absolved from this terrible liquor-traffic.  There is where I
have set my foot down, and I have a thousand excellent
reasons for keeping it there.
" And yet reason has a tendency to -— "
" From what I have observed of your student's convivial inclinations, there may yet come a time when he will
gladly wear the'arbitrary' chain of this law, and I am
going to compel him to forge one of the rivets himself.
You, aunt, can do as much for your struggling and illdisposed partner, and will have them both under wholesome
restrictions,
"I wonder if you don't think we need restriction,"
spoke up the good Doctor, a little tartly, for he never drank
anything but his cherry-bounce in the morning, his currant
wine for dinner, and something warm, in the shape of a
punch or hot toddy, before going to bed.
"No," said Mary, lightly touching her pretty finger to
her uncle's ruddy nose; " not until tkis is twice as rosy as
it is at present., will we make any complaint against you."




276              THE SENATOR'S SON.
The Doctor was very sensitive about the peculiar glow
upon his nose; he could not imagine why it should be redder than the noses of other people who took their brandyand-water daily, lwhereas he only took cherry-bounce; starting after his mischievous niece, he caught her and pinched
both her cheeks. The effect was to make her look prettier
than ever; but being tired of her attempts at'publicspeaking,' she sat down demurely to a paper. Suddenly
she lifted up her head, -
" Here is something in point of fact, uncle.  Not a bit
of' romance:
"IIf England would sign the temperance-pledge, and
devote all the money now spent in intoxicating drinks to its
liquidation, she could pay her debt of four billions of dollars in fourteen years. What a fact! And we have calculated nothing but the mere money spent; not the waste of
time, labor, strength, health, and life.'
"Now if the temperance-pledge would do so much for
that little island, what would not the Maine Law do for
these United States? And when we add to the saving of
money, the saving of tears, of broken hearts, of midnight
watching, of neglected children growing up to ruin, of
wasted happiness, of lost souls, what a saving is that! Ah,
Uncle Browning, what economy is there! political, domestic, religious economy! I declare," here she threw aside
her paper and started to her feet, "I am going to lecture
on this subject. It is getting fashionable for ladies to lecture; and I have chosen my theme.  I can't keep still any




THE SENATOR'S SON.              277
longer - my heart and conscience won't let me! I would
write a book were it not for three reasons. Firstly, I cannot; secondly, no. one will publish it after it is written;
thirdly, no one will read it after it is published. But a lecture! people will come to hear a woman speak when she is
as young and as beautiful as I.  (Quoted, uncle, quoted
from that truly reliable source, the young medical student).
So you must have the advertisement in the next number of
the A     Republican; for I shall commence in this village, and from thence my eloquence shall diverge in widening circles until bounded by the Atlantic and Pacific."
" It would not be for the want of a'gift of tongues,'
if you did not succeed.  About the advertisement —we
will see - we will see! we will have to consult our younger
partner about that."
So saying, Dr. Browning composed himself for a siesta
upon the settee, which occupied a cool place on the back
portico.
It is improbable that his niece, Miss Mary Browning,
carried her sudden resolution into practice; though she
would fain have studied out some method by which she
could have made her enthusiasm felt on more hearts than
those of her worthy uncle and his gay protagee.
One or two of her youthful opinions, having been
shaken like unripe fruit into this book, may be gathered
up a moment and cast down again; but no wider range
will ever chance to her ambition, notwithstanding that allusion to the two great oceans which bound our continent.
24




278              THE SENATOR'S SON.
To her honor and wisdom be it said, however, that the
medical student, whose predelictions for the doctor's cherrybounce had prevented her giving any decided encouragement to his otherwise pleasing attachment, was converted to
her way of thinking before autumn, and became willing to
resign his own especial inclinations for the general good; so
that at the polls, his voice was heard, not for men against
measures, but for " inen and measures."
In the meantime, Parke Madison, while Dr. Browning
reposed in comfort upon his settee, reclined also upon a settee, seeking his afternoon's repose.  His couch was the
lounger's bench before the grog-shop, which stood opposite
to the liberty-pole, from which floated the newly-made banner. It was not as cool as the doctor's portico, for the sun
shone down upon his face, but poorly protected by a rimless
hat of straw. An awning would have made too comfortable
a refuge for his customers, and taken from the respectable
look of the place by encouraging loungers, and so Mr. Kinney had no awning before his shop. The August sun beat,
therefore, upon the inebriate's face and head in cruel power.
When he had recovered from his fainting-fit, nothing but a
glass of brandy could restore him to his feet or overcome
the trembling of his limbs.  Mr. Kinney, to whose tender
mercy he was left, furnished him with the restorative for
which he pleaded.  When he had drank it, he crept out
and stretched himself upon the bench.  His blood-shot
eyes, shaded somewlhat by the rimless hat, were fixed upon
the blue and white folds of that graceful flag.  His mind




THE SENATOR'S SON.                279
was confused, his memory was gone; but an idea, vague,
phantom-like, dim, swam in his brain, that that banner was
the precursor and proclamation of some great good that was
coming to him. HIe would fall partially asleep; the heat
would waken him, or the flies, or the step of a passer-by,
and his gaze would rest upon the flag, following its undulations with dull dreaminess in which there was the shadow
of a speculation. What good it was going to achieve for
him he did not know.  Whether it was going to bring his
wife back, with some angelic power, to restore him to his old
prosperity; whether it was the spirit of little Carrie hovering there on blue and white wings to bear him up and show
him the forgotten way to his mother, he could not think.
Once, opening his eyes upon it suddenly, he thought that
his mother was leaning out of heaven with the banner in
her hand, waving it gently to and fro.  Presently he fell
into so heavy a slumber that passing objects no longer
aroused him. The hot sun had retreated from the sky, and
the calm moon was shining in his place when the inebriate
awoke again.  He awoke with a cry.  He felt a huge serpent creeping and crawling over his breast; he put his hand
there and tried to thrust it off, but it would not go.  He
endeavored to fling it away, but it writhed and twisted itself
around his hand in slimy folds, while its fiery tongue pricked
him in his breast a dozen times.  With another cry and a
furious effort, he plucked at the noisome thing. A hiss was
the only answer, so loud, so threatening, that he sprang to
his feet in terror. His eyes fell upon the banner, hanging




280              TILE SENATOR'S SON.
against the sweet, blue sky, the moon just shining over its
softly-fluttering edge.  He fell upon his knees and raised
his hands; the serpent glided down his limbs and ran away.
It came back no more that night; but the unhappy man's
nerves were too keenly awake for him to slumber again.
Ile crossed the street, and leaning up against the libertypole, watched its long, slender shadow down the street, and
listened to the sighing, fluttering spirit in the folds that
rustled above his head.
"It is Lucy's voice," he whispered tremblingly; " she is
charming the serpents, to keep them from stinging me,.
She was always kind — but why is she'way up there beside the moon? — perhaps she is afraid of that reptile —
ugh! how cold, how horrible it felt."
The moon sank behind the horizon; poor Parke sank
too, to the friendly ground at last, pillowing his swimming
head upon the soft, fat side of a kind old porker, which animal is not denied street-room in the most of our western
villages.
From that time forward there grew upon his side a
strong attachment,-if it may be so called, for that banner
which waved its azure folds against an azure sky. He had
a dim perception that it hung there for his benefit — him
whom nobody in the world cared for except to misuse, who
slept with swine, who had no father, mother, wife, sister,
child, or friend.  In his most lucid moments he understood
its meaning; how it could advance his good, what principles it advocated, in what manner its friends might save




THE SENATOR'S SON.               281
him.  But the most of the time, unsubstantial fancies
thronged his disordered intellect; the banner became, by
turns, his old-time companions, one or another to whom he
muttered unmeaning jargon, on Kinney extending a glass
of champagne, inviting him to drink and be merry. His
favorite seat and couch was the bench upon which he could
recline and follow those playful folds with his half-idiotic
gaze.
Oh! most wretched, most forlorn of lives! what fate is
there so wholly miserable as that of the inebriate when he
is wearing out the last few months or years of his life, forsaken by heaven and earth, tormented with glimpses of
that punishment which is to overtake him at the close of
time?' Leaning above my paper, with the pen dropping
idly from my hand, I have fallen into a reverie over the fate
of Parke Madison, who has thus become a victim to an
inherited passion which has taken from him all and bestowed upon him nothing. I see that a mother and sister
have done all for him that they could do — I see that his
wife was compelled to leave him by a higher duty than
prompted her to remain -I see that society has abandoned
him - that he is left alone with the robber. I see that the
robber has taken already everything but the base remains
of a base life; but while there is life, there is hope. Hope
is calling in piercing tones upon the law to rush to the rescue of the dying; to chain and throw into prison, aye, and
execute this highwayman, who has cast his dead victims by
every road-side in the land.
24 *




282              THE SENATOR'S SON
Election day came, Parke understood that an effort
would be made to place such men in power as would give
him and others the protection they demanded. He endeavored to keep his senses enough about him to vote for these
men. But his friend Kinney had motives and designs the
opposite; he did not begrudge a few glasses of whiskey, if
it would make one vote the smaller the chance of interruption to his profitable employment.  Parke was not the
only poor fool to whom, that day, he proved himself generous; nor his the only vote he secured by this dishonest
means.
The Maine Law banner hung at half-mast, mourning
for the defeat of those who would have waved it high and
broad in triumph across the State. Parke lounged upon his
bench, staring drearily at its drooping lengths. A chilly
rain began to gather out of mist, and, dropping slowly from
the gray sky, saturated the soiled folds till they clung forlornly to the staff. It saturated Parke's shabby clothing
also — it chilled him to the heart. Dreary, desolate, shivering, miserable, he arose, and with one despairing glance at
the lowered flag, he turned into the grog-shop, muttering"They won't do anything for me, this year, and next
it'll be too late. I've given up doing anything to save myself long ago, and now I'll not wait any longer. I'm all in
a shiver -I can't live without whiskey; its the only comfort there is left, and I don't see, after all, what they wanted
to take it away for. How could I get warm if it was not
for whiskey, when I've no fire of my own, and Kinney's




THE SENATOR'S SON.                283
always driving me away from his of nights?  I shall never
stop again.  I shall take all I can get, and when I can't get
it, the old fellow will be after me."
His bottle was filled with liquor; he took it and wandered forth, filled with a momentary pleasure.




CHAPTER XII.
A LADY came up in the omnibus from the cars one
bleak November evening, and stopped at a hotel in AThe best private parlor was placed at her disposal, and tea
was served attentively in her room; for there was that in
her appearance which demanded respectful consideration.
She was young and beautiful; but her beauty was of a rare
and touching kind, such as emanates from the spirit and is
diffused over a fragile form for a little while before the
earth closes over it and it is no more. A pair of large, luminous hazel eyes lighted up a pale face with a soft, smileless, melancholy lustre, giving it so sad and lovely an expression that the maid who brought up the tea lingered at
the door, server in hand, lost in a maze of wonder. So fair
an apparition had never brightened that dull parlor before;
an apparition she almost seemed, so shadowy and yet beaming were her looks.  The lady leaned back in her chair as
if very much fatigued; she had just tasted the tea and toast
which were brought up.




THE SENATOR S SON.'285
"Is there nothing else you'll be pleased to have,
Ma'am?"
"Nothing at present; except you may ask the landlord
if he will be so good as to come up here for a moment."
The girl disappeared; in a short time the proprietor
stood bowing before the stranger.  She motioned him to
take a seat, and struggled a moment with some emotion before she spoke. As she fixed her eyes upon the fire, a hectic
flush stole through the transparent whiteness of her cheeks.
" Do you know anything of a person by the name of
Parke Madison?" she asked, after he had taken a chair.
He started at her inquiry, looking at her close.  This
was not Mr. Madison's wife, though; for he had seen her
several times - was it a sister? who? what?
"Yes, Madam, I have seen Mr. Madison nearly every
day for the last two years."
" I am his sister, Mrs. Clyde.  I have come to A —on purpose to visit him.  Can you tell me where he can be
found?"
The gentleman hesitated, giving a nervous hitch to his
chair.
" He is in this house," he replied, presently.
"Will you ask him to come in and see me?"
"He will not be able to do so to-night, Madam.  The
truth is, he is ill - very ill."
" Then I must go and see him, I have come just in
time to be his nurse."
"Indeed, Mrs. Clyde, he is in the best hands, now.




286              THE SENATOR'S SON.
You had not better think of seeing him to-night -you ar
tired."
"Oh, yes! I must.  What is the matter with him?"
The landlord gave another twitch to his chair.
I" Fever —dangerous kind.  He would not recognize
you, Madam, if you should go to him, and at present. he is
so raving that it might be unpleasant for you. You seem
too delicate to endure much. After a night's rest you will
have more nerve."
" I know what is the matter with him," she continued
with a slight shiver - "do I not?"
He bowed a silent reply in answer to those melancholy
eyes.
" Has he been sick long? is there any hope of his get
ting well?"
" But litttle, I am afraid.  He was brought here this
afternoon by some benevolent gentlemen, who promised to
see to the necessary expenses. I do not care for that; but
he will disturb my guests some, I apprehend.  However, I
am glad he is here. We will do all for him that can be
done."
"Thank you — thank you. You will be repaid here
and hereafter.  I must go to him," rising from her chair,
C perhaps I can soothe him, or recall him from his delirium
by the sound of my voice."
"Indeed, Madam, MIrs. Clyde, you have no idea — it
will be too trying. It is enough to make may blood run
cold, and I fancy that I have pretty strong —"




THE SENATOR S SON.               287
A shrill scream, rising from a distant room, interrupted
him. Alice sprang into the hall; before that shriek of
agony had died in prolonged echoes through the house, she
stood at the door of the chamber from which it emanated.
Opening it she passed in. Her brother, at that moment,
was lying quiet upon the bed, as if exhausted by the passion
of mortal terror which had given rise to that loud cry. It
was only a moment that his disease would allow him rest.
Turning his eyes to the door at the slight noise made by
closing it, they dilated with icy and staring horror, his teeth
chattered, the hair rose bristling upon his head; pointing
his finger at Alice, he spoke" It has come back! oh, my God! it has come back!"
So shivering was the sound, so dreadful the look, that
the intruder dropped fainting into a chair. Three or four
gentlemen were in attendance; one of them, Dr. Browning,
advanced to her side.
"In heaven's name, Madam, what are you doing here?"
" He is my brother," sobbed she, recovering herself
with difficulty.  " I promised never to forsake him."
": You can be of no service to him here, dear lady; you
had better retire; a few hours will close his sufferings."
" And he will die in such a state!" - she buried her
face in her hands - " oh, mother, intercede with Christ for
him! "
The Doctor lifted her gently from her seat and carried
her ioliiuO Ul -11.
" Should he have a lucid interval I will certainly call




288              THE SENATOR'S SON.
you; but I cannot permit you to remain here," he said,
~and returning, he bolted the door.
" Doctor!" whispered his patient.
" What is it, my dear Sir," he asked, as he approached
the bed.
"Do mad dogs always foam at the mouth so, just before they spring?" he pointed to a chair which stood in a
corner.
The physician looked around involuntarily, as if he expected to behold the dreaded animal upoa which that fixed
and fascinated gaze was riveted.
" There is no dog there," he said decidedly, recovering
himself.
" Yes there is, there -yes! hear him snarl and snap
— now! - here he comes - keep him off! Doctor! keep
him off!"
He struggled with the bed clothes desperately, until
his strength was once more gone.
" Why didn't you turn him out?" he queried in a
faint voice; " or at least let me have my pistols — I could
have finished him with one of them, without getting half
eaten up in this manner. Look at my arm! there isn't an
ounce of flesh left on it - but I strangled him - the cursed
cur! — I strangled him.  He's dead - he's dead - he's
dead!"
Suddenly his roving eyes were arrested and fixed upon
the wall with a look of such inconceivable fear and despair
that every one in the room turned theirs in the same direc



'THE SENATOR'S SON.               289
tion; they beheld only the blank white wall, but what
shape of horror he beheld, their frightened fancy dared not
devise. It was enough reflected in his countenance -rage
contending with an agony of terror.
" It was Satan's dog that I strangled," he shrieked.
l He's here to threaten me about it.  Hell and all the furies i! what do you stand there grinning for?"
He seized a candle-stick which chanced to be on a stand
at the head of the bed, and hurled it at the inoffensive wall.
His companions wanted no more definite idea of the expression of the ruined angel than was stereotyped in his
stony face, while he glared defiance at the foe.
It seemed that the missile did not overthrow his adversary, for the next moment he recommenced his struggles
and began a succession of those long and quivering screams
whose unearthly anguish curdled the blood of the remotest
listener.
Alice heard them, as she paced with restless steps her
apartment.  The hotel-keeper's wife, who had kindly volunteered to stay with her, shuddered, and placed her fingers in
her ears. Alice threw herself prone upon the floor. The nextinstant she started to her feet. Her quick ear had detected
another sound. She rushed to the window - threw it up
- and looked down. A dark mass, dimly revealed in the
stailight, lay upon the pavement, beneaih the window of
her brother's room: two or three heads were thrust from
that window, also looking down, and she heard exclamations
of terror. She turned away and ran into the hall - down
2)




290              TIlE SENATOR'S SON.
the broad stair-case — out the door - and fell with a cry
beside that quivering but lifeless heap.
She was the first to reach the spot. They raised her
from the dead body of her brother and bore her back to
her room.  She was indeed faithful to the last.  If a sister's love could have redeemed an erring man from ruin,
Parke Madison would not have died the drunkard's death.
The law refused to aid him  in his great extremity -
the last refuge of the lost was denied him -in what should
have been the pride and vigor of manhood he fell, and was
overcome by the Destroyer.
Alice was the only mourner at his funeral.  A grave
she gave him in a pleasant place, and a stone to bear his
dishonored yet beloved name.
Poor child I her own grave is ready for the marble now.
The sods lie fresh and chill upon it —the first light snow
has covered it with a cold, fair drift. The most tender
heart, the most beautiful form, lie fading in the coffin upon
which the mourner's tears are scarcely yet dry. The pale
and peerless dove has folded her wings over a breast that
grew cold and colder under the pressure of earth's bitter
cares; that voice which was the sweetest in mortal choirs
has gained a more inspired sweetness in the land to which
she has flown.
Alfred Clyde, having spent the most of his princely fortune in brilliant extravagancies, infests our southern cities,
living splendidly upon the weakness and inexperience of those,rich young men whom he can tempt to the gambling-table.




TIE SENATOR'S SON.              291
Lucy Madison has found a refuge for herself and children in her mother's home. By industrious application to
her art, she will obtain for them a comfortable living; and
she has friends who will see to the education of her boy.
Sad and resigned, in widow's weeds, she moves about; that
placid and noble expression which always characterized
her, receiving a yet higher beauty from the touch of patience and sorrow.
Even if lightened by christian faith and sweetened by
resign;tion, her future life will be one that claims sympathy
— left lonely, poor, and unprotected in the summer and
bloom of her youth, with two helpless little ones to cherish
and provide for.
But what a joy and comfort are these little ones; Carrie is a gay and affectionate child, the sunshine and music
of the house. The marks of the sad accident which so
nearly disfigured her for life are fading out, as its memory
has already vanished from her happy mind.
As for the boy, he is as promising as a boy of eighteen
months dares to be; but if he should grow up with the inclinations which ruined his father, we have only to pray
that, before he reaches the dangers of manhood, the law
will have woven about him a protection too arbitrary for
him to loosen. So prays his mother nightly as she lays
him in his crib and joins his tiny hands together while she
makes her mute appeal.