LOVERS AND EUSBA&DS: 
 
 A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE, 
 
 BY 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES," "INSUBORDINATION," 
 SIX NIGHTS WITH THE WASHINGTONIANS," &C., &C. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 HENRY F. ANNERS. 
 
 1847. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, bv 
 T. S. ARTHUR, 
 
 n the Clerk s office of the District Court of the Eastern 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. M ft 
 
 THE TWO MAIDENS 5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN AUTUMN WALK .... . . 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BRILLIANT LOVER 20 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DECLARATION 26 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WEDDING . 34 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MAN OF THE WORLD 44 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 FLORA S TWO SUITERS 51 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN ACT OF OPPRESSION 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DISCOVERY OF CHARACTER gg 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DECLINING AN OFFER UPON PRINCIPLE . ,74 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ANOTHER BRIDAL 82 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 TIME S DEVELOPMENTS 87 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SAD CONSEQUENCES OF A WRONG MARRIAGE . . 95 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LOST AFFECTIONS 103 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE NEGLECTED WIFE . . . . . . 113 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A GAMBLING HUSBAND 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FLEECING A PLANTER 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 X MELANCHOLY HISTORY 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DREADFUL CONSEQUENCES OF EVIL .... 140 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE WRECK OF EARLY HOPES 144 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CONCLUSION 152 
 
LOVERS AND HUSBANDS. . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TWO MAIDENS. 
 
 Two maidens sat in earnest conversation one 
 quiet afternoon in October, near the window of a 
 tasteful cottage which looked out upon a gently- 
 declining lawn, encircled by elms that still retain 
 ed their thick foliage. Beyond this lawn was a 
 dense wood, gayly attired in its many-coloured au 
 tumn robes. The rays of the setting sun fell broad 
 and unobstructed upon the bosom of this forest, 
 lending to each gaudy leaf, or to the half-revealed 
 silvery branches and trunks of the trees, a glittering 
 lustre that dazzled the eye. 
 
 " See, Flora !" said one of the maidens, suddenly 
 interrupting their conversation, and glancing out of 
 the window as she spoke : " is there anything in 
 nature more beautiful than an autumn sunset?" 
 
 " Nothing," returned her companion, half ab 
 stractedly, as her eyes followed the direction of 
 her companion s. Then speaking with a sudden 
 animation, inspired by the scene, she added, 
 
 " Beautiful, very beautiful ! See, Emily, how 
 the sun s declining rays fall in broad masses of 
 golden light over that more sombre and distant 
 portion of the forest, softening it down, and blend 
 ing it in exquisite harmony, like a skilfully-laid 
 A2 
 
6 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 background, with the brighter picture that stands 
 out nearer and in more, gorgeous colouring." 
 " A living and real picture not cold, inanimate 
 
 " Yes, living ar,d real. That strong-armed, 
 deep-bosomed oak, upon whose outermost branch 
 es lingers the sun s parting rays, is a different 
 thing from the oak of the painter, no matter how 
 perfect his work may be ; and in looking at it, we 
 have a different feeling. We admire the work of 
 art, but we love the work of nature. In looking 
 at the real tree, we have a consciousness that it is 
 the actual, living correspondent of something in our 
 selves. That there is between us, or a certain 
 principle in us and the tree, an affinity ; as there 
 is between us, or certain principles in us, and every 
 flower or bird between us and everything, ani 
 mate or inanimate, in the world of creation. It is 
 from this cause that we are peculiarly and vari 
 ously affected by the sight of natural objects af 
 fected in a different way than by objects the wcrk 
 of men s hands. The latter awake admiration, if 
 beautiful ; but nature stirs something within us 
 that is far deeper than a cold approval." 
 
 Flora Elton, who thus spoke, was the daughter 
 of a widow who owned the neat cottage in which 
 she lived, the same that stood near the fine old 
 woods just alluded to. She was not a maiden of 
 showy exterior, nor were her manners and ad 
 dress such as to attract the attention of a stranger, 
 unless he were more than a superficial observer ; 
 arid yet she had a mind that was richly stored, 
 and affections that were warm, chastened, and re 
 fined. Her companion, Emily Clarence, was her 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 7 
 
 opposite in temperament and manner. While 
 Flora half shrunk from observation, and, therefore, 
 attracted little notice, Emily s bright, animated, 
 really beautiful face, combined with her great 
 sprightliness and brilliant powers of conversation, 
 made her a general favourite in company, and, in 
 consequence, the recipient of the most general at 
 tentions. The one was quiet and thoughtful at all 
 times, the other gay and imposing, and pleased 
 with the admiration she won. Opposites in charac 
 ter, they were yet bosom friends, and had been for 
 years. 
 
 The pleasant cottage in which Flora dwelt with 
 her mother was in New-Jersey, about five miles 
 from the city of New- York. Mrs. Elton, during 
 the lifetime of her husband, resided in the city, 
 where she still had many friends. Among these 
 was Mrs. Clarence, whose daughter Emily spent 
 a portion of every summer at Rose Hill, Mrs. El 
 ton s unimposing yet tasteful seat. In turn, Flora 
 passed a part of her time in the city during the 
 winter. Thus were the two maidens brought 
 much together, and the consequence was, that 
 their attachment grew from a girlish preference 
 into a deep, sisterly regard. 
 
 The conversation, which had been interrupted 
 by Emily s remark upon the beauty of the old 
 woods, bathed in the golden rays of an autumn 
 sunset, was resumed after a brief interruption. 
 
 " And so you do not admire Mr. Whitney V 1 
 Emily said, assuming a gayer tone. 
 
 " I have seen but little of him," Flora replied. 
 " That little, however, I am free to confess, has 
 not prepossessed me in his favour." 
 
8 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 " I am sure he is a very handsome man," Emily 
 said. 
 
 " A handsome man and a good man are two 
 things." 
 
 " No doubt of that, Flora. But do you know- 
 that Mr. Whitney is not a good man ?" 
 
 " Oh no, of course I do not. I only made the 
 remark to show that I thought we ought to look a 
 little deeper than the surface." 
 
 " Of course. Still, external beauty and exter 
 nal accomplishments are to be regarded. For my 
 part, I could not love a dull-looking, awkward, 
 homely man. Could you ?" 
 
 Flora s cheek slightly flushed as she replied, 
 
 " Yes ; if his mind were clear, orderly, and 
 beautiful." 
 
 " It is more than I could, then. I would put 
 up, cheerfully, with some mental defects, if the 
 man of my choice were handsome in person, well 
 educated, refined in his intercourse with society, 
 and fairly to do in the world. I want a husband 
 of whom I shall be proud. To be tied to a mere 
 dull, lifeless drone, would kill me. I could not go 
 into society with him and avoid being mortified to 
 death ; and if I went without him, I should be sub 
 jected to remarks of an unpleasant kind. But see ! 
 if there isn t that insipid Doctor Arlington again ! 
 I wonder what brings him here ! If there wasn t 
 a scarcity of beaux in these parts, I would be half 
 inclined to ask him if he came to see Nancy, the 
 cook. But I would die if I didn t see a man s face 
 now and then. So I suppose I shall have to toler 
 ate the doctor as a necessary evil." 
 
 Doctor Arlington, the unconscious subject of 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 9 
 
 these disparaging remarks, had by this time reach 
 ed the door, and Emily felt it prudent to check her 
 rather free tongue. Certainly no one who looked 
 into his face for the first time would pronounce 
 him a very handsome man, and it is much to be 
 doubted whether any one would have called him 
 an agreeable companion after sitting an hour with 
 him during the first interview. Still, Doctor Ar 
 lington had his good points, and these were intrin 
 sic, like the good points in a piece of virgin ore. 
 He could not dance, nor play on the flute, nor talk 
 French ; nor was he, indeed, at all externally ac 
 complished. He was diffident, too, and awkward, 
 and reserved in company. But, although but 
 twenty-five, he was deeply skilled in his profes 
 sion, and, as a physician, had the fullest confidence 
 of the community in which he resided ; and, be 
 sides, he was a man of firm, well-arranged princi 
 ples, and possessed a warm heart. 
 
 In a moment or two after Emily uttered her light 
 remarks, Doctor Arlington stood in the door of the 
 room where the young ladies were seated. He 
 felt awkward and embarrassed, as he always did 
 when his visits were unprofessional, and to young 
 ladies. He looked just as awkward and embar 
 rassed as he felt. Emily, as she arose and cour- 
 tesied formally, could scarcely help smiling in the 
 young man s face, while Flora experienced a 
 want of self-possession which she had never be 
 fore known on meeting him. The colour rose to 
 her face, and it was some moments before she was 
 sufficiently composed to receive him with her usual 
 kindness and attention. Conversation dragged on 
 very heavily during the hour thai Doctor Arlington 
 
10 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 spent with the young ladies much more heavily 
 than it had ever done with him and Flora, even 
 while the mother of the latter made one of the 
 company. As the twilight began to thicken around, 
 the visiter arose to depart. He was urged by Mrs. 
 Elton, who had joined them, to remain to tea, and 
 spend the evening ; but he excused himself on the 
 ground of professional engagements, and withdrew, 
 not, however, without nearly falling backward, as 
 he bowed out, awkwardly, from the presence of the 
 young ladies. 
 
 " I wish in my heart he had fallen !" Emily said, 
 laughing gayly, as soon as he was out of hearing. 
 
 " Why so, Emily ?" asked Mrs. Elton, half smi 
 ling. 
 
 " Oh, because he is so ugly and awkward. I 
 have no patience with an awkward booby of a 
 man." 
 
 " While for a handsome fellow, even if a villain, 
 you would entertain the most exalted regard ?" 
 
 " As to that, Mrs. Elton," Emily returned, laugh- 
 ing, " I don t believe a real handsome man can be 
 a bad man." 
 
 " Time will teach you a different lesson from 
 that, child. The most heartless man I ever knew 
 had the most attractive external I remember to have 
 seen." 
 
 " Was he accomplished ?" 
 
 " Yes, in everything that could make him agree 
 able." 
 
 " Then I should say that he was the seventh 
 wonder of the world." 
 
 " No ; not a seventh wonder, nor any wonder at 
 all. Such specious, handsome, heartless, accom- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 11 
 
 plishod men, are to be found in almost every fash 
 ionable circle winning young hearts but to break 
 them." 
 
 " A story with which to frighten naughty chil 
 dren !" laughingly replied Emily Clarence. " But 
 I ll be a, good girl, Mrs. Elton never fear." 
 
 " Be wise as well as good, my child," was the 
 rather serious remark of Mrs. Elton, as she turned 
 away and left the room, half sighing for the gay 
 thoughtlessness of one whose many good qualities 
 had won from her more than an evanescent regard. 
 
 " For whom was that visit intended, Flora ?" 
 Emily asked, turning with a mischievous face to 
 her young friend as soon as Mrs. Elton had with 
 drawn. " For you or for me ?" 
 
 " For both of us, in all probability." 
 
 " Oh no, no ! Doctor Arlington never could 
 pick up the courage to visit two young ladies a 
 once. A call upon one is enough for his delicate 
 nerves." 
 
 " He knew there was more than one young lady 
 at Rose Hill." 
 
 " No one would have thought so this evening !" 
 
 " Why, Emily, what do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean as I have said, that no one would have 
 thought he knew there was more than a single 
 young lady present this evening. I don t believe 
 he looked at me when he came in, and I am sure 
 he did not speak to me while he remained. He 
 was either afraid to look at me, or unconscious of 
 my presence : the latter, more probably. Take 
 my word for it, Flora, the doctor is deeply smitten 
 with you !" 
 
 Flora coloured a good deal at this gay sally and 
 
12 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 seemed confused for a few moments. But she ral- 
 Ued herself, and replied, half jestingly, 
 
 " A young lady might attract a less harmless in 
 sect. The doctor is a very excellent man." 
 
 " Oh yes, one of the excellent of the earth, no 
 doubt. But I don t relish him." 
 
 " We should not suffer ourselves to entertain un 
 founded prejudices against any one, Emily. Doc 
 tor Arlington cannot help being homely in person, 
 nor can he help being diffident, and sometimes a 
 little awkward. But let us look at the good in him, 
 and estimate him accordingly. If we do that, we 
 shall find the unprepossessing country doctor to be 
 a man worthy of a high regard." 
 
 ** Well, let old women and clodpoles hold him in 
 as high regard as his good qualities deserve. I 
 shall not find fault with them, nor with him either, 
 if he keep out of my way. But, if he expects me 
 to treat him as a gentleman, he must learn the 
 manners of a gentleman." 
 
 Emily spoke with a little warmth. Flora made 
 no reply to this last remark, but dexterously chan 
 ged the subject of conversation. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN AUTUMN WALK. 
 
 FLORA ELTON and her friend sat at the same 
 window, and looked out upon the same grassy 
 lawn and deep-bosomed forest on the next morn 
 ing, engaged, as when first introduced, in close 
 conversation. The air, which had been chilled 
 for a week by an early frost, was again genial as 
 spring. A few lingering birds were fluttering 
 about, sending up an occasional song or brief 
 chirrup, while the mild south wind gently stirred 
 the branches and coloured foliage of the trees. 
 
 " Our little world within our sunny world, so 
 bright with promise, has closed our eyes and ears 
 to the beauty of a delicious autumn day," remarked 
 Flora, looking out upon the pleasant scene. " It is 
 not good to be so much absorbed in either the past 
 or the future, as to lose what the present has to offer. 
 Come, let us go out upon the lawn, and down 
 through that pleasant little grove, to the fields be 
 yond. There is much that we ought to feel on a 
 day like this. Nature has no phasis that does not 
 reflect itself upon the heart, if the heart only turn 
 towards it an undimmed surface. Spring, summer, 
 autumn, winter, are full of instruction, not given di 
 dactically, but in pictures, which the eye of all 
 who can look upon and love nature may perceive 
 and enjoy, at the same time that their deeper 
 meanings are whispered in the spirit s ear." 
 
 Flora arose as she spoke, and drawing her arm 
 B 
 
14 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 within that of Emily, the two maidens passed out 
 into the open air. A slight crepitation reached the 
 ear of the former as she stepped from the porch 
 upon the grass, causing her to look down upon a 
 withered leaf that her foot had crushed. 
 
 "Poor leaf! fallen to rise no more," she said, 
 half sadly. " And yet," she added, in a more 
 cheerful voice, " it is not the leaf that is dead, it is 
 only the material form of a leaf that my foot has 
 touched. The leaf yes, the thousand leaves that 
 were put forth by the tree from which this effigy 
 has but just fallen, are still in the tree in perennial 
 potency. They have only withdrawn from a de 
 caying form. They will take to themselves new 
 forms again when the warm springtime comes, as 
 they have done through many past seasons, and 
 gladden the eye of man with their beauty. No, 
 no, the leaf is not dead the grass is not wither 
 ed the flower has not faded : only what once 
 manifested the leaf, the grass, the flower, have lost 
 their life, their freshness, their loveliness. When 
 the winter is past the leaf will take to itself new 
 clothing, visible to our natural eyes ; the grass 
 will spring up, and the flowers will again gladden 
 us with their presence. Will not the rose be the 
 same, and the leaf the same ? Here is a bush 
 that every spring gives us its wealth of buds and 
 blossoms. Its flowers are more fragrant than any 
 in the garden. As the sultry heats of summer be 
 gin to burn around, the leaves of these blossoms 
 lose their freshness, their colour grows dim, and 
 at last they fall to the ground ; but when spring 
 returns, the same sweet flowers come again, and 
 their colours and fragrance are as lovely and de- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 15 
 
 lightful as before. They are, in fact, the same 
 flowers; I know them and love them as such." 
 
 " A sweet fancy, Flora, but only a fancy. How 
 full you always are of such pleasant dreams. You 
 look upon nature with the poet s eye, not with the 
 eye of reason." 
 
 " The eye of the true poet sees nothing in na 
 ture that the eye of reason may not also perceive. 
 It cannot, I think, require a dreamer of vague 
 dreams to see in a dead leaf merely the form of a 
 leaf, or in the new developments in the spring the 
 same leaves or the same flowers that before clothed 
 the branches or hung upon the stems. Are the ele 
 ments from which the potent leaf in the tree forms 
 a representation of itself visible to natural eyes, 
 changed in each successive season ? or is the 
 form-producing principle itself changed? No! for 
 if that were the fact, the leaf we saw this year 
 would not be like the leaf we saw last year ; the 
 flower would be a flower with different quality and 
 odour." 
 
 " I cannot look so deep as that, Flora. To me 
 a dead flower that I have loved is dead indeed, and 
 I mourn for it as a friend lost to me forever. With 
 Bryant, at this melancholy season, I can sigh 
 
 Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and 
 
 stood 
 
 tci brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
 Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers 
 Are lying- in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The wind-flower, and the violet, they perished long ago, 
 And the brier-rose and orchis died amid the summer glow ; 
 But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, 
 And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn s beauty stood, 
 Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on 
 
 men, 
 And the brightness of their smile was given from upland, glade, and 
 
 glen. 
 
16 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will 
 
 come, 
 
 To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 
 When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are 
 
 still, 
 
 And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill : 
 The south wind searches for the flpwers whose fragrance late he bore, 
 And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. " 
 
 " While I," returned Flora, " can feel and love 
 the more cheerful spirit of Waterston. Let me 
 repeat to you his sweet thoughts on Autumn. 
 
 Upon a leaf-strewn walk, 
 I wander on amid the sparkling dews ; 
 Where autumn hangs, upon her frost-gemm d stalk, 
 Her gold and purple hues : 
 
 Where the tall fox-gloves shake 
 Their loose bells to the wind, and each sweet flower 
 Bows down its perfumed blossoms to partake 
 
 The influence of the hour : 
 
 Where the cloud-shadows pass 
 With noiseless speed by lovely lake and rill, 
 Chasing each other o er the low, cnsp d grass, 
 
 And up the distant hill ; 
 
 Where the clear stream steals on 
 Upon its silent path, as it were sad 
 To find each downward- gazing flower had gone, 
 
 That made it once so glad. 
 
 I number it in days 
 
 Since last I roam d through this- secluded dell, 
 Seeking a shelter from the summer rays, 
 
 Where flowers and wild-birds dwell. 
 
 While gemni d with dewdrops bright, 
 Green leaves and silken buds are dancing there, 
 I moved my lips in murmurs of delight, 
 " And bless d them unawares." 
 
 How changed each sylvan scene ! 
 Where is the warbling bird ? the sun s clear ray ? 
 The waving brier-rose ? the foliage green, 
 
 That canopied my way T 
 
 Where is the balmy breeze 
 
 That fann d so late my brow 1 the sweet southwest, 
 That, whispering music to the listening trees, 
 
 My raptured spirit bless d 1 
 
 Where are the notes of spring 1 
 Yet the brown bee still hums his quiet tune, 
 And the low shiver of the insect s wing 
 
 Disturbs the hush of noon. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 17 
 
 The thin, transparent leaves, 
 Like flakes of amber, quiver in the light, 
 While autumn round her silver fretwork weaves 
 
 In glittering hoarfrost white. 
 
 Oh, autumn, thou art bless d ! 
 My bosom heaves with breathless rapture here : 
 I love thee well, season of mournful rest ! 
 
 Sweet Sabbath of the year! " 
 
 kl If the poet had only said cheerful rest instead 
 of mournful rest, he would have spoken a higher 
 truth. Autumn is the seasons rest after the mission 
 of spring and summer is accomplished ; the time 
 when, having finished her labour of love in giving 
 bountifully of her fruits to man and those below 
 him in the scale of animate creation, the earth 
 rests peacefully from her toil. The leaves and 
 flowers have not perished ; they live still in her 
 bosom, as green, as beautiful, as fragrant as ever, 
 and after her Sabbath of rest has passed she will 
 give them to us again. Is riot there in all this, 
 Emily, a moral of sweet import ? Our days will 
 pass on, and we shall arrive at the autumn of life, 
 the season of rest, the Sabbath of our year. Shall 
 it be a cheerful or a mournful rest? When our 
 leaves begin to fade and drop away, one by one, 
 and our branches, stripped of their beautiful foliage, 
 cut sharply the cold, clear sky, shall we feel that 
 the leaves and blossoms are still fresh and green 
 in our bosoms ? We may, Emily ! We shall live 
 in vain if such be not our experience if such an 
 autumn rest do not await us if, in the renewed 
 life we live beyond this region, our leaves do not 
 again put forth with a fresher greenness." 
 
 By this time the young friends had passed the 
 grove of tall trees to which Flora had alluded at 
 first, and were in a little island of green, through 
 B2 
 
18 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 which went rippling over white pebbles a nar 
 row brook, that farther on widened into a lake, 
 around which, in the summer days, the wild flow 
 ers and tall grass had gathered. Now the former 
 had all departed, and the latter bent down until it 
 lay drooping upon the bosom of the water, over 
 which floated many faded leaves. Near this lake 
 was a rustic seat, and here the maidens rested 
 themselves, hand clasped in hand, and hearts im 
 pressed with the scene around them. Nature was 
 mirroring herself in their bosoms ; but to each the 
 spectrum was different. To one it was a well-de 
 fined image, to the other dim and distorted ; to 
 one it was cheerful, to the other sad. One could 
 look at nature with the eye of poetic reason, to the 
 other, its hidden meanings were not revealed. 
 
 " See, Flora," said Emily, pointing to the little lake, 
 and speaking in a subdued and saddened voice, " how 
 many leaves are floating there ! Ah ! how many 
 hopes will thus be stripped from us, and fall as those 
 withered leaves have fallen, forever lifeless !" 
 
 " Yes. Emily, if our hopes regard nothing more 
 intrinsic than leaves the graceful, the beautiful, 
 the excellent, the useful in exterior they will fade 
 and fall when the autumn-time comes, and then 
 shall we be sad indeed ; but if, like the tree, our 
 leaves do not exist for themselves alone, but to aid 
 the interior life of our souls, to assist the work of 
 fruit-bearing, we shall not mourn when they are 
 stricken from our branches. Their work will be 
 all done. The fruit will have been gathered, and 
 garnered, and then a sweet Sabbath of rest will be 
 our portion. The tree has produced its fruit, and 
 now is about to rest from its labours. It needs no 
 longer the leaves that before reacted in externals 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 19 
 
 upon the active life within, and assisted in the de 
 velopment, growth, and maturity of fruit. It there 
 fore casts them aside. Let us be glad that it has 
 performed its true use. Let us think of the fruit, 
 and not of the leaves ; and, still farther, let us see 
 in this rest the regathering of its productive ener 
 gies, that shall again clothe its branches with foli 
 age, and load them with generous fruit." 
 
 " Ah, Flora, I wish I could think and feel as 
 you do. I wish I could see a truth concealed, as 
 you do. beneath every object in nature beneath 
 every change of her varying countenance. To me, 
 the cloud that veils the sky shuts out the thought 
 that far above the sun still shines in peerless splen 
 dour. I live too fully in the present, and feel too 
 absorbingly the influence of the present. In the 
 springtime my heart beats lightly : when au 
 tumn comes I am sad. I cannot bid adieu to the 
 summer flowers and summer foliage without a sigh 
 of regret. The seasons Sabbath rest, to which 
 you have so beautifully alluded, I can think about. 
 I perceive that all you say is true ; but my heart 
 is too sad at losing the glories of summer in 
 missing the birds and blossoms to feel the sweet 
 confidence in the leaf and flowers return that you 
 do, and to be content to await their coming after 
 the dreary sleep of winter has passed. But see !" 
 and the whole expression of the maiden s face 
 changed a light passed over it " there is Charles 
 Whitney. How kind in him to come all the way 
 from the city to cheer the loneliness of pleasant 
 Rose Hill !" 
 
 Flora did not seem so much delighted as her 
 companion ; but she welcomed the young man, 
 who soon joined them, with cordiality. 
 
20 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN ATTRACTIVE LOVER. 
 
 CHARLES WHITNEY was the son of a New- York 
 merchant. He had received the very best educa 
 tion that money could procure him ; but, as he 
 had no settled aims in life beyond the enjoyment of 
 himself in all accessible ways, that education was 
 not applied assiduously to any practical purpose. 
 On leaving college, his father took him into his 
 store, and endeavoured to initiate him into the sci 
 ence of trade ; but he made little progress in the 
 acquirement of this science. He could, it is true, 
 perform the mechanical operations required for 
 daybook, journal, and leger entries could take 
 off a balance sheet make equations or do any- 
 hing that brought into requisition the mathematical 
 knowledge he had gained at school. But out of 
 the counting-room he was of little use. He had 
 no fancy for a salesman s duties. Where he sold 
 a bill of five hundred dollars, any one of his father s 
 clerks would sell a bill of as many thousands. To 
 illustrate this, let us give a single example. 
 
 One morning, contrary to his habit, he was at the 
 store earlier than any of the young men who acted 
 in the capacity of salesmen. He was leaning back 
 in an arm-chair, with his feet on a table, reading the 
 newspaper, when a country customer came in. Af 
 ter shaking hands with him, and passing a few 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 21 
 
 words of mere compliment, he asked the merchant 
 to go out into the store and look at some goods. 
 As the purchase of goods was the merchant s busi 
 ness, he went with young Whitney, and, after ex 
 amining sundry cases, both upon the first, second, 
 and third floors, laid out goods to the amount of 
 six hundred dollars. 
 
 " Is there nothing else that I can show you ?" 
 asked the young man, when the merchant had 
 completed his examinations and purchases. 
 
 " Nothing more, I believe," was the half-thought 
 ful reply. 
 
 No farther attempt was made to show or sell 
 goods, and the country merchant, after directing 
 bills to be made out, parted with Whitney at the 
 door of the counting-room. Just as he was leaving 
 the store, the senior salesman intercepted the satis 
 fied buyer. 
 
 " Ah, good-morning ! good-morning! How are 
 you ? I am really glad to see you !" was the warm 
 salutation of the salesman, grasping the customer s 
 hand, and shaking it warmly. " What can I sell 
 you to-day ?" 
 
 " Nothing more, I believe," returned the mer 
 chant. " I have looked over your stock, and laid 
 out all I want." 
 
 " But we ve a large variety of the very styles of 
 goods suited for your market. We opened them 
 only yesterday. I know you haven t looked over 
 these already." 
 
 " Prints, do you mean ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I ve seen them all, and laid out the patterns that 
 I like best." 
 
22 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 " Did you look at our stock of berages ? We 
 have some sweet patterns among them." 
 
 " Yes, all of them." 
 
 " And our fresh India goods ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, come in, any how. You must go over 
 our stock again. I am certain you haven t seen 
 half of it." 
 
 And so, leading back the customer, the salesman 
 took him through the house again. When they 
 came down from the upper stories and into the 
 counting-room, the merchant s bill was four thou 
 sand dollars instead of six hundred ; and, what 
 was more, he had not purchased a single piece of 
 goods that was not wanted by him, and which he 
 would not have purchased at some other store. 
 The truth was, the salesman understood his busi 
 ness thoroughly. He knew, just as well as his 
 customer, the exact style and quality of goods re 
 quired ; and these he did not leave him to ask for 
 or hunt out for himself, but took him at once to 
 the case or bale where they were to be found. In 
 this way, he secured to the establishment the full 
 benefit of his customer s real wants as a merchant. 
 
 This shows the little interest that was taken by 
 young Whitney in the business. He could have 
 made as good a sale as the clerk, had he qualified 
 himself to do so, by acquiring the necessary in 
 formation in relation to the wants of customers from 
 different sections of the country. But he did not 
 care to do this. His thoughts were elsewhere. 
 Business was a mere drudgery, and he attended to 
 it only to satisfy his father and keep up appear 
 ances. It mattered but little to him whether a 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 23 
 
 customer made a large bill or a small one. He 
 never thought of its result upon the general busi 
 ness. Pleasure was of much more consequence, 
 and in the pursuit of this, he was often, much too 
 often, away from the store. 
 
 Mr. Clarence, the father of Emily, was also oc 
 cupied in mercantile pursuits, though in a different 
 branch from that engaged in by Mr. Whitney. He 
 was a man who, in his eager pursuit after wealth, 
 had neglected the interests of his child so far as 
 the judicious training of her mind, and the gradual 
 inculcation of true principles were concerned. He 
 sent her to the best schools, and provided for all 
 external accomplishments to the full extent that 
 money would do so. Beyond this he thought but lit 
 tle. He had no doubt but that his daughter would 
 get a good husband that is, a wealthy and respect 
 able one, as she deserved. He had made her fully 
 worthy of such good fortune, and, as a matter of 
 course, he had no doubt but that it would come. 
 When, therefore, young Whitney began to show 
 signs of preference for Emily, the father was grati 
 fied, as might be supposed. Whitney was a very 
 desirable match all he could wish for his child. 
 He was well educated, handsome, accomplished, 
 of a good family, and, more than all, was in cir 
 cumstances to provide handsomely for a wife. 
 
 To Emily, his attentions, which, a s-hort time 
 before the opening of our story, had become quite 
 marked, were particularly gratifying. His elegant 
 figure, his polished manners, his fascinating con 
 versation, had long before won her admiration. It 
 was not hard for this feeling to subside into a 
 warmer sentiment ; and it was rapidly subsiding. 
 
24 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 On the part of Whitney, a preference for Emily 
 had been a feeling that soon became apparent to 
 himself. The attractiveness of her manner and 
 the beauty of her face made her a general favour 
 ite. She was toasted by the young men when ab 
 sent, and courted by them when present. There 
 existed among them a pleasant rivalry for her fa 
 vour : each one who gained it in reality, or only 
 in appearance, making it a matter to boast about 
 among his companions. From these, Flora, who 
 spent many weeks in the city during the winter 
 season, attracted but little attention. By some she 
 was called " the Old Woman," in allusion to her 
 plain appearance and quiet manner ; by others, 
 the " Little Quakeress." But there were a few of 
 her own sex who knew her and loved her, and a 
 few of the other sex who always thought a place 
 by her side a peculiar favour. Once a bright but. 
 terfly of fashion came fluttering around her, care 
 lessly at first, but soon attracted by her half-con 
 cealed loveliness the loveliness of heart, and 
 mind, and manner, when both were seen to exist, 
 the one from the other, in a beautiful and perfect 
 series. He lavished upon her his most devoted 
 attentions, and soon asked her hand. He was 
 rich, educated, accomplished ; but she declined 
 the offer. He was a brilliant lover, but had not 
 the sterling qualities required for a good husband ; 
 and this she had the common sense to see. 
 
 In the plain, unpolished Doctor Arlington, she 
 saw more to really love than in arty of the showy 
 young men it had been her fortune to meet in the 
 city. Accomplished herself thoroughly, the doc 
 tor s utter want of external ease and grace always 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 25 
 
 slightly annoyed her, especially when others were 
 present to see it. She would look at him some 
 times, and wish, involuntarily, that either nature 
 or art had done something more for him. There 
 was good in him, but it needed true expression 
 to let it be seen in its own excellence. When 
 they were alone, she did not see so much of this. 
 Then she attended only to his conversation, which 
 was always interesting ; for his mind was well 
 stored, and his eye saw, and his heart felt the 
 beauty and sentiment of nature. But when she 
 met him in the company of others, especially with 
 young men or women of really polished exteriors, 
 his awkwardness, his shyness, and his embarrass 
 ment annoyed her. The reason of this she did not 
 know : at least, it had never come into conscious 
 thought ; the reader will not, perhaps, deem him 
 self quite so ignorant on the subject. 
 C 
 
26 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A DECLARATION. 
 
 " IT was too lovely a day to remain cooped up 
 in the city," said Whitney, after he had joined 
 Emily and Flora, " and so I mounted Bucyrus 
 and gave him the reins. The sagacious animal 
 set out direct for Rose Hill, and here I am, thanks 
 to the noble beast ! I hope I am welcome ?" 
 
 " Yes, right welcome," returned Flora, smiling. 
 " Bucyrus is certainly a very sensible fellow." 
 
 " That he is. After this evidence of it, I shall 
 consider him worth his weight in gold. He could 
 not have done better if he had known my very 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Perhaps he did." 
 
 " Perhaps so, indeed. Horses have minds ; that 
 is one of my doctrines." 
 
 " And, no doubt, was able to read your wishes 
 in your face." 
 Exactly." 
 
 Or," remarked Emily, " in your fingers. It is 
 wonderful how, almost unconsciously, our hands do 
 the will of our minds." 
 
 Yes yes, Emily is right," said Flora. " The 
 whole case is clear. You gave Bucyrus the rein, 
 it is true, but you kept it in your hand, in order to 
 check him, should he start from sudden alarm. 
 Your thoughts were on Rose Hill, and without 
 your knowing it, those thoughts flowed down into 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 27 
 
 your fingers, and they contracted on the reins in 
 voluntarily." 
 
 " Yes yes, that explains the whole thing. I now 
 understand the matter perfectly !" the young man 
 said, with mock gravity. " It is wonderful, is it 
 not ?" Then changing his tone and manner, he 
 added, glancing around as he spoke, 
 
 " This is truly a lovely spot. A sylvan scene, 
 and you the nymphs of the place. God made the 
 country, and man made the town, is often said, by 
 way of indicating the country s superior loveliness. 
 I never saw much force in the saying until now. 
 The city gives us nothing like this. We have red, 
 and yellow, and brown, and orange yea. even all 
 the colours of the rainbow, ou house and roof, on 
 dome and spire ; but nothing like that magnificent 
 wood in its autumn robes. The seasons change, 
 and we hardly know it, except by the heat or cold 
 of the atmosphere ; nothing of this is there nothing 
 of this deep quiet nothing of this pulsating still 
 ness. The breeze awakens, but we see not its 
 motions among the leafy boughs ; we hear not the 
 song of birds, nor see the bright waters of the 
 gliding stream." 
 
 " You could love the country, then ?" Flora re 
 marked. 
 
 " Yes, for a time, at least ; but, after all, the 
 city has its attractions ; and for me, 1 think, more 
 permanent ones than the country can afford. There 
 is reality in the city, and we can t get along with 
 out realities. In the country our delights are too 
 pure and poetical. As, for instance let me give 
 you some fine ideas on this subject from an Ameri 
 can poet : 
 
28 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 Seek ye the solemn wood, 
 Whose giant trunks a verdant roof uprear, 
 And listen, while the roar of some far flood 
 Thrills the young leaves with fear ! 
 
 1 Stand by the tranquil lake, 
 Sleeping mid willowy banks of emerald dye, 
 Save when the wild bird s wing its surface break, 
 Checkering the mirror d sky ; 
 
 And if within your breast, 
 Hallow d to Nature s touch one chord remain, 
 If aught save worldly honours find you bless d, 
 
 Or hope of sordid gain ; 
 A strange delight shall thrill, 
 A quiet joy brood o er you like a dove ; 
 Earth s placid beauty shall your bosom fill, 
 
 Stirring its depths with love. 
 Oh, in the calm, still hours 
 The holy Sabbath hours, when sleeps the air, 
 And heaven and earth, deck d with her beauteous flowers, 
 Lie hushed in breathless prayer 
 Pass ye the proud fane by, 
 The vaulted aisles, by flaunting folly trod, 
 And, neath the temple of the uplifted sky, 
 Go forth, and worship God ! 
 
 " There is the poetry ; but this don t always do 
 for us. We can t always remain suspended far up 
 on the wings of imagination. We have to walk 
 upon the earth for the most of our time." 
 
 Flora and her young friend listened to all this, 
 yet affected by it differently ; the former with 
 admiration of some of the sentiments uttered, the 
 latter with admiration for him who uttered them. 
 In varied conversation an hour passed, and then the 
 little party returned to the cottage, Emily leaning 
 upon the arm of Whitney, and listening to his 
 words with a heart trembling in the fulness of its 
 own delight. He was a man well calculated to 
 win the admiration of one who could not look far 
 below the surface. The exterior graces of his 
 mind were many, and varied in their attractions. 
 He conversed well in French, and was familiar 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 29 
 
 with the German language and German literature. 
 He had a taste for music, and had cultivated that 
 taste a good deal. He sang with much grace and 
 feeling. In external accomplishments he was a 
 perfect gentleman ; but he had no fixed aims in 
 life. Like the butterfly, he flitted from flower to 
 flower, sipping honey j but, unlike the bee, he laid 
 not up a store for future use. As to principles, he 
 had none that were fixed upon a sound, rational 
 basis. But this a woman like Emily had not the 
 perception to discover. Herself governed more by 
 impulse than reason, she could not estimate another 
 by a higher standard than was in her own mind. 
 Still she was a woman in heart ; she could love 
 like a woman, tenderly, deeply, devotedly. In her 
 bosom were treasures of affection, garnered up like 
 hidden waters in the rock. It required only a touch 
 to bring them forth, but when once revealed to the 
 light, the fountain must gush unceasingly, whether 
 the bright waters flowed peacefully on, blessing 
 and blessed, or were wasted where they fell. Ah! 
 little does fond woman dream, when, in the lovely 
 springtime of life, with everything around her as 
 beautiful, as innocent as her own thoughts, she 
 gives up all her hopes and all her heart to one she 
 loves, that so many pure drops from the outburst- 
 ing stream of affection will fall upon the arid 
 ground, as in after years she sadly finds have thus 
 fallen and sunk forever fruitless. No man, as men 
 now are, is able fully to meet and reciprocate a true 
 woman s love. The best, with all their willingness, 
 with all their efforts, fail. There are deep places 
 of the heart unreached aching voids unfilled. And 
 yet it is wonderful how small a return will seem to 
 C 2 
 
30 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS! 
 
 satisfy a woman, and make her breast glow with 
 sunlight. A pleasant word, a tender look, a kiss 
 of love ah ! these seem but small returns for the 
 deep tenderness that ever burns in her bosom ; and 
 yet, alas ! too often even these are withheld ; and 
 the selfish, reserved, cold, and at times morose 
 " lord of creation," comes in and goes out daily, 
 never dreaming that by this very coldness, reserve, 
 and moroseness, he is breaking the heart of her 
 who loves him better than her own life ! But it is 
 ever so. Hundreds, thousands, yea, tens of thou 
 sands, are performing hourly and daily their round 
 of duties, unblessed by smiles that warm the bosom, 
 or words that make the heart tremble with interior 
 joy, while, all unconscious of their cruel indiffer 
 ence, they who provide fine houses, fine furniture, 
 and fine garments for their victims, proudly imagine 
 that they are the best of husbands. 
 
 Maiden innocent, loving maiden ! do not turn 
 away from this picture now, or else the time may 
 come when you will seek to turn from it, and shall 
 not be able. When one comes asking your love, 
 know well if he be worthy of such love as you can 
 give. Look not alone at his attractive exterior ; 
 seek to know what ends actuate him. It is the 
 loveliness of pure, high principles that remains 
 verdant longest yea, forever verdant. These, 
 and these alone, can make you permanently happy. 
 Without them, an angel s grace, an angel s form 
 would lose its attractions ; with them, the plainest 
 exterior soon grows beautiful to the eye of a loving 
 wife. Lay this up in your heart ; think of it in the 
 morning, and when your head presses at night 
 your pillow. It may save you from a woman s 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 31 
 
 hardest lot that of being bound for life to a man 
 who does not even try to make her happy. 
 
 During the day, Flora, who saw that Whitney 
 was inclined to say things intended only for Emi 
 ly s ear, managed to leave her young friend and 
 her lover alone, frequently for an hour and more 
 at a time. These opportunities were improved by 
 the young man. He had made up his mind to ask 
 of Emily her hand in marriage, which he did du 
 ring one of their walks. He was tremblingly and 
 blushingly referred, as a matter of course, to her 
 parents. 
 
 In the afternoon, Doctor Arlington came over to 
 Rose Hill again, and spent a couple of hours. His 
 awkwardness and plainness of exterior were never 
 more annoyingly apparent to Flora than they were 
 on this occasion, being contrasted with the polished 
 manners and elegant person of Charles Whitney. 
 The latter conversed fluently on a great variety of 
 subjects, while the former said but little, and that 
 seemingly not to the point, until a sentiment was 
 dropped by Whitney that the doctor s conscience 
 would not let him pass without correcting. He 
 did so at first by merely objecting to it with mild 
 ness ; this brought upon him quite an avalanche of 
 sentences, uttered with great ease and in well- 
 chosen language. His reply was brief, but much 
 to the point, and given with more than his usual 
 elegance of expression. Flora felt its force, and 
 so did Whitney ; but the latter rallied to the 
 charge with a renewed flourish of words. On his 
 ending his argument, Arlington, in a calm, collect 
 ed, thoughtful voice, laid down certain positions 
 bearing upon the subject, and from these demon- 
 
32 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 strated, in a beautiful and lucid manner, the falla 
 ciousness of all that Whitney had said, showing 
 that he had taken mere appearances of truth for 
 truth itself. So fully did he establish the point 
 assumed, that the other had the good sense to drop 
 the discussion. This little incident made the 
 breast of Flora glow with pleasure. A veil had 
 been lifted from off the exterior of both the young 
 men, and she could see deeper beneath the sur 
 face, and estimate both by a more correct standard. 
 Doctor Arlington seemed no longer awkward ; she 
 listened with more attention to all he said, and 
 perceived more in his words than she had ever 
 before perceived. When he took her hand at part- 
 ing, and held it in his longer than usual, looking 
 her earnestly in the face as he did so, she felt her 
 heart flutter and her cheek burn. 
 
 " We shall always be happy to see you at Rose 
 Hill, doctor," she said, her voice changed a little 
 from its usually calm tone. 
 
 The doctor bowed low, pressed her hand slightly, 
 and departed. Emily had noticed this little inter 
 view from the window, and, with a maiden s intu 
 ition, understood just what it meant. 
 
 " The doctor s over head and ears in love with you, 
 Flora," she said, laughing, as her friend came in. 
 
 Flora could not entirely conceal her blushes at 
 this remark. 
 
 " I thought," the other resumed, " that he didn t 
 come here so often, unprofessionally, without his 
 eye being upon somebody. I was vain enough to 
 suppose, at first, that I was the object of his re 
 gard ; but I see that I have been mistaken. He 
 has been looking past me." 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 33 
 
 " The doctor is quite a character," remarked 
 Whitney, laughing ; " but it wouldn t be a perfect 
 world if there were no characters in it. He has 
 his good points, I suppose, as every one has, and 
 makes, no doubt, a capital country doctor." 
 
 " I have met with city doctors, in my time," 
 Flora said, " with double Arlington s pretensions, 
 and not half his merit. A rich gem is sometimes 
 concealed in a rude casket." 
 
 " Oh, very true," returned the young man ; " Doc 
 tor Arlington is doubtless a gem of the very first 
 water." 
 
 There was more in the manner than in the 
 words that displeased Flora. The latter had not 
 been spoken from a right spirit. She said no 
 more, and the subject dropped. Towards evening 
 Whitney mounted Bucyrus, and returned to the 
 city. The maidens were again alone. 
 
34 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 
 " I AM the happiest creature alive !" Emily said 
 to her young friend, as soon as Whitney had rid 
 den out* of sight, throwing her arms around Flora s 
 neck and bursting into a flood of joyful tears. 
 
 Flora more than guessed the cause of this ex 
 citement of Emily s feelings, although she said, as 
 she returned her embrace, tenderly, 
 
 " What has occurred to make you so happy ?" 
 
 " Can t you tell ?" asked Emily, looking into the 
 other s face, with tears and smiles blending upon 
 her own in rainbow beauty. " Whitney has opened 
 up to me all his heart ; he loves me. Oh, what 
 more than this could I ask in life !" and she hid 
 her face in her friend s bosom, and sobbed for very 
 
 joy- 
 Flora, while she had reason for supposing that 
 such a denouement would sooner or later take 
 place, was yet startled by it, now that it had come 
 upon her. She loved her young friend like a sis 
 ter ; but she did not admire the character of Whit 
 ney ; she did not believe that he could make her 
 happy. She had tried to speak out on this subject 
 to Emily several times, in order to guard her 
 against him ; but she could not make herself un 
 derstood. Now the declaration had been made 
 now the die was nearly cast. She felt troubled, 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 35 
 
 and her face showed that Emily s communication 
 had fallen as a shadow upon her mind. 
 
 " You do not rejoice with me at this happy re 
 sult," her young friend at length said, lifting her 
 self up from Flora s bosom, as soon as she felt the 
 coldness with which her words had been received. 
 " Why is this ?" 
 
 " Have you accepted this offer of Mr. Whitney s 
 hand ?" 
 
 " Virtually, by referring him to my parents." 
 
 " But not in word. Then you are still uncom 
 mitted, fully. I am glad of that." 
 
 " Are you beside yourself, Flora ! What do you 
 mean by such strange words ?" 
 
 " Frankly, then, as a true friend should speak, T 
 do not think you will be permanently happy as 
 the wife of Charles Whitney." 
 
 " Your reason ?" briefly returned the maiden. 
 
 " I think, for one thing, that he loves himself too 
 well ever to make a woman happy." 
 
 " Loves himself! How strangely you talk, 
 Flora. No man could love himself less than he 
 does ; his generous feelings are proverbial." 
 
 " And yet, I never heard him speak kindly of 
 any man in my life. He sees defects quickly ; 
 but good points in character do not seem to meet 
 his eye." 
 
 " You certainly must be thinking of some one 
 else." 
 
 " No ; I was several times in his company last 
 winter, and observed him closely. He was lavish 
 even to flattery in his praises of our sex, but cen 
 sorious in regard to his own. This is never a 
 good sign. But that is not all. I am satisfied that 
 
36 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 all his best points are on the surface, and easily 
 seen. His mind does not seem to rest upon a 
 good basis. He has personal and intellectual 
 beauty ; but what do you know of his moral quali 
 ties ? High moral excellence does not shine out 
 in every act, word, and tone, as they should beam 
 forth, were they within ; and without moral worth, 
 no man can make a right-minded woman happy. 
 This too many have found to their sorrow when 
 it was too late. His constant habit, too, of com 
 plimenting flattering, I should say our sex, does 
 not look well. No one flatters another who does 
 not expect to gain some favour of which he is re 
 ally unworthy. True worth true merit disdains 
 all art ; it is its own all-sufficient advocate." 
 
 Flora ceased, while her friend looked at her in 
 silent astonishment. 
 
 " What I have said," she resumed, her earnest 
 manner changing into one more quiet and subdued, 
 " affects you, I see, with surprise. I wish it were 
 not so. I wish your mind could view this whole 
 subject more calmly. You cannot be happy as a 
 married woman unless you love your husband 
 with a deep, true, and permanent love, nor unless 
 he, in turn, loves you with a like devotion ?" 
 
 " Of course not ! That is self-evident." 
 
 " Yes, it is self-evident to every woman s heart. 
 Now tell me why you love Mr. Whitney." 
 
 " I love him because he is worthy of my love ; 
 for what other reason could I love him ?" 
 
 " In what consists this worthiness ?" pursued 
 Flora. 
 
 " He is high-minded, noble, intelligent," returned 
 the blushing maiden, proudly. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 37 
 
 " What do you mean by high-minded and no 
 ble ?" 
 
 " He is above a low action," was replied, after a 
 slight pause. 
 
 " Ah, my dear friend," Flora said, with affec 
 tionate earnestness, " I fear that in your mind there 
 is no well-defined appreciation of his character 
 no whole view of it, that is the result of a distinct 
 knowledge of the various qualities that make up 
 his intellect and affections ; and without such 
 knowledge of a man s character, no experiment 
 can be more hazardous than for a woman to enter 
 the marriage relation. In the matter of wedlock, 
 a maiden should unite the serpent s wisdom with 
 the harmlessness and innocence of the dove. It 
 is impossible to know a man too thoroughly." 
 
 " I am not suspicious. A woman s heart, like 
 the magnetic needle, points to its true pole. Rea 
 son is no guide in love," was the reply of Emily. 
 " I cannot look into the mind of him who tells me 
 that he loves me truly, and see all that is there. 
 I can only question my own heart, and be guided 
 by its answers. This I have done ; and it responds 
 joyfully to his words of tenderness." 
 
 " Have you never," said Flora, " let your mind 
 rise into an abstract state, wherein you could ima 
 gine future circumstances and future feelings so 
 perfectly as to make them, for a time, present? 
 
 " Yes, often." 
 
 " Then so abstract your mind now. Think of 
 the time when beauty shall fade when all exter 
 nal attractions shall lose their power, and see if 
 you have a distinct perception of qualities in the 
 mind of Mr. Whitney, that will still hold your 
 D 
 
38 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 heart to him with even a firmer love than you had 
 before experienced. If this be so, accept his offer ; 
 if not, beware how you sacrifice your heart upon 
 that shrine." 
 
 But Emily could not really understand her friend 
 could not so abstract her mind. Her eyes were 
 dazzled by the brilliant qualities of her suiter, and 
 her heart trembling under the first strong impulses 
 of awakened love. Much more passed between 
 the friends ; but enough has been given to show 
 their different characters and different views. On 
 the next day. Emily, who had intended to pass a 
 week or two more in the country, left for New-York. 
 Whitney s declaration of love had stripped Rose 
 Hill of its attractions. After her departure, Doc 
 tor Arlington continued his visits regularly, but 
 without losing much of his awkward reserve in the 
 presence of Flora, who, however, managed, usu 
 ally, to carry on a conversation with him, that 
 always grew more and more interesting as it pro 
 gressed, and the doctor so far forgot himself as to 
 let his thoughts act freely and naturally. Some 
 times she would really admire the beauty, order, 
 and strength of his mind ; and at other times have 
 her own sense of the chaste and elegant in manner 
 sadly offended. Thus time wore on, until towards 
 Christmas, when Flora, after repeated urgent invi 
 tations from Emily, who had soon after her return 
 to the city accepted Mr. Whitney s offer, left Rose 
 Hill to spend a part of the winter in New-York. 
 Doctor Arlington was at the cottage to bid her 
 farewell. He slightly pressed her hand, or, at 
 least, Flora thought so, as he shook it ; and his 
 voice trembled a little as he said " Good-by ;" if 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 39 
 
 not, Flora s quick ear deceived her. He had 
 never before appeared to better advantage in her 
 eyes. She could not help glancing back frequently 
 from the coach window, nor help feeling an emo 
 tion of strange delight, as she observed him stand 
 ing in the porch of her mother s cottage, gazing 
 after the vehicle that was bearing her away from 
 Rose Hill. 
 
 In the city she found much to absorb her atten 
 tion. Emily s marriage was to take place in Feb 
 ruary, and this afforded a topic of constant interest, 
 especially to Emily herself, and through her to 
 Flora. Then there was a succession of brilliant 
 parties, with the opera, to keep up a pleasing ex 
 citement. It is no matter of great wonder that 
 Flora s mind should not very often turn towards 
 Rose Hill with a strong affection, except on ac 
 count of her mother. If she thought of the plain 
 country doctor at all, it was with no particular in 
 terest. His unattractive exterior appeared in her 
 mind more unattractive still as contrasted with the 
 polished elegance of city beaux, who thronged 
 every drawing-room, and lavished upon herself and 
 others the most assiduous attentions. 
 
 Among these was a young man, a member of 
 the New-York bar, named Allison, who was really 
 pleased with Flora. He was a personal and inti 
 mate friend of Charles Whitney, and had been 
 chosen by him to act as one of the groomsmen at 
 the approaching marriage ceremony. Flora was 
 to act as bridemaid to her friend Emily. All this 
 was understood for many weeks before the wed 
 ding, which made the intercourse between the 
 parties thus related more familiar than other cir- 
 
40 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 cumstances would have warranted. The conse 
 quence was, that Allison had an opportunity not 
 only of meeting Flora frequently, and without re 
 serve, but of seeing her more in her real character 
 than any woman is seen in society. The more 
 intimately he knew her, the more highly did he 
 esteem it might be said, love her. 
 
 Nor was Flora altogether indifferent to the at 
 tractions presented by the young attorney. Al 
 most unconsciously to herself, her thoughts would 
 turn towards him when he was away, and her heart 
 quicken its pulsations the moment he came into 
 her presence. His invitations to attend the opera 
 were never declined, nor was the offer of his 
 hand for a cotillon ever felt as obtrusive. Thus 
 the days wore on, until winter drew towards its 
 close, when the time came for the celebration of 
 the marriage rites between Whitney and Emily. 
 These passed, and also the attendant festivities, 
 involving a series of brilliant parties, in which 
 Flora and Allison attracted much attention, and 
 caused many whispered allusions to the possible 
 result of their intimacy. To the former, no winter 
 had passed so pleasantly ; why, she did not ven 
 ture to ask herself. The latter understood his 
 own feelings much better ; he had decided to offer 
 Flora his hand. In this he was warmly encour 
 aged by Whitney, who gave him the assurance 
 that there was not a shadow of doubt as to the suc 
 cess of his suit, promising, at the same time, to 
 get his young bride to sound her friend on the sub 
 ject, so as to make assurance doubly sure. This 
 delicate task Emily readily undertook. She was 
 alone with Flora one day, about two weeks after 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 41 
 
 her marriage. The topic of conversation turned 
 upon the bride s happy state of mind, and this 
 naturally enough opened the way for her to ex 
 press a wish to see her friend speedily enter the 
 marriage relation. 
 
 " I m in no hurry," Flora returned, laughing, while 
 the colour on her cheek heightened ; " and, be 
 sides, I don t think I have yet seen the man into 
 whose keeping I would be willing to trust my hap 
 piness." 
 
 " I think I know of some who would be very will 
 ing to trust their happiness into your keeping," was 
 the smiling reply. 
 
 " Indeed ! I ve been making some conquests, 
 then 1 I ought to feel flattered, really !" Although 
 this was said gayly, there was something forced 
 about her manner an effort to seem indifferent. 
 
 " I know many a girl who would feel flattered, 
 had she made the impression you have made at 
 least upon one heart that has, till now, been thought 
 invulnerable." 
 
 " And pray what heart is that ?" 
 
 Emily affected to seem embarrassed by this ques 
 tion. She was silent for an instant, and then said, 
 
 " Perhaps I have gone a little too far. A young 
 wife must be careful how she betrays secrets 
 learned from her husband." 
 
 A remark like this had a very natural effect upon 
 Flora that of exciting her curiosity. This was 
 shown in her face, not by words. 
 
 " You would give a little finger to know whose 
 heart you have broken !" Emily laughingly said, 
 as soon as she read Flora s thoughts in her counte 
 nance. 
 
 D2 
 
42 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 " No, not a little finger quite," returned the 
 friend, smiling. 
 
 " But what would YOU give to know ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Then I ll tell you for nothing ;" and bending 
 over to the ear of her friend, Emily whispered the 
 name of Allison. Flora started, coloured, and 
 looked confused. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! 1 thought my calm, cold friend could 
 not withstand his attractions !" almost screamed 
 Emily, in a transport of delight at perceiving these 
 evidences of Allison s successful inroads upon her 
 heart, at the same time throwing her arms around 
 Flora s neck, and kissing her cheek with real af 
 fection. 
 
 Much to her own surprise, Flora found that this 
 intelligence, meeting her ear so unexpectedly, 
 caused a glow of delight to fill her whole bosom. 
 Why is this ?" she resolutely asked herself, 
 arousing her mind up at once. The pleasure 
 Emily s communication had given, betrayed both 
 to herself and the fond young bride, was changed, 
 as soon as she could begin to think, into serious 
 ness. 
 
 " What you say," she remarked, with a sober 
 face, as soon as she could control herself, " sur 
 prises me, and throws my mind into confusion. 
 But perhaps you are only jesting ?" 
 
 " Oh no, that I am not !" Emily said, still with 
 animation. " Mr. Allison has stated to Charles 
 freely the decided preference he has for you, a 
 preference that 1 have seen all along. He is just 
 the one for you. Charles says he doesn t know a 
 better match among all his acquaintances ; and 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 43 
 
 they are such intimate friends, too ! Just as inti 
 mate as you and I are. Won t it be delightful " 
 
 " Won t what be delightful ?" Flora inquired in 
 a grave tone. 
 
 Emily was thrown aback by the manner in 
 which this question was asked. A silence of 
 nearly a minute followed, during which both Flora 
 and her friend felt much embarrassed. At length 
 the former said, in a firm voice, 
 
 " Emily, I shall leave for Rose Hill to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh no, no ! You must not think of such a 
 thing for a moment !" 
 
 " Nothing could induce me to stay here for a 
 day longer," was Flora s resolute reply. Then 
 rising, she asked to be permitted to retire to her 
 own room, as she wished to be alone for a short 
 time. Emily offered no objection, and she left the 
 apartment. 
 
44 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 IT was some time after Flora entered her own 
 room before her mind became sufficiently com 
 posed, and her thoughts calm enough to enable her 
 to ascertain the true nature of her own feelings. 
 As soon as she could read her heart with anything 
 like an accurate perception of its true state, she 
 found that she had been far too well pleased with 
 Mr. Allison s attentions. 
 
 " Who and what is he ?" was a question that she 
 put to herself with unflinching resolution. The 
 answer was not entirely satisfactory. He was a 
 young man of education his tastes had been well 
 cultivated his exterior was attractive. But of his 
 moral qualities she could not speak from any cer- 
 f ain knowledge. Her heart plead for him ; but 
 reason was not satisfied, and reason s voice con 
 firmed her first perception of a right course, which 
 was to return at once to Rose Hill, and there, en 
 tirely removed from his society, and from the half- 
 bewildering excitement of a city life passed amid 
 a round of festivities, weigh the whole subject dis 
 passionately. In her mother s judgment she had 
 the highest confidence, and on this judgment she 
 determined to repose if Allison pressed his suit, as 
 Emily s words led her to believe that he would. 
 
 As she had declared, so she acted. On the even- 
 vng of the next day she was with her mother at 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 45 
 
 Rose Hill. On the same evening Allison called 
 in to see her at the newly-arranged dwelling of 
 Charles Whitney and his young wife. The former 
 sat alone in one of their handsome parlours. 
 
 " Ah, good-evening, good-evening, Allison !" said 
 Whitney, taking his friend s hand : " you are just 
 too late ; the bird has flown." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Flora is at Rose Hill long before this." 
 
 " At Rose Hill !" said Allison, with surprise and 
 chagrin. " What is the meaning of this ?" 
 
 " Emily hinted to her that you felt something 
 like a preference for her, and she fluttered off in 
 instant alarm !" 
 
 " George ! but that is a good sign ; don t you 
 think so ?" 
 
 " I don t know perhaps it is ; but Flora is an 
 odd creature, and apt to get crotchets into her 
 head ; and, what is worse, these crotchets are too 
 apt to stick there." 
 
 " What is your opinion about the matter as it 
 now stands ? Or, what is your wife s opinion ? 
 that is worth a dozen of yours." 
 
 " My own opinion is, that it s a little ruse an 
 attempt to play shy, to see if you think her worth 
 taking some trouble to secure. I have always 
 thought her as proud as Lucifer himself ; and with 
 a little something hanging to one corner of her 
 heart, shaped like an icicle." 
 
 " But your wife s opinion ? I wouldn t give a 
 snap for yours when hers is to be had. What 
 does she think ?" 
 
 " She ? Why, she thinks you can win Flora 
 easily enough if you will follow her up." 
 
46 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS! 
 
 " She does ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that s her opinion." 
 
 " And mine too ; but plague take the girl ! there 
 was no use in her flying off at a tangent. I don t 
 see any sense in that." 
 
 " He that wins Flora Elton must woo her ; don t 
 you say so, Emily ?" 
 
 The young wife entered at this moment. 
 
 " Say what ?" asked Emily, after she had briefly 
 greeted Allison. 
 
 " That whoever wins Flora must woo her ?" 
 
 " Certainly. No maiden is won before she is 
 wooed." 
 
 " How in the world came you to let your friend 
 run away in such a hurry ?" Allison now said, 
 smiling, and in a less concerned voice. 
 
 " Oh, as to that," was the reply, " Flora is a 
 resolute little body, and when she makes up her 
 mind to do a thing, all the world couldn t stop her. 
 She took it into her head all at once that she would 
 go back to Rose Hill. I coaxed, and persuaded, 
 and scolded, but it was all to no purpose. Home 
 she had determined to go, and home she went." 
 
 " Rose Hill ? How far is that from the city ?" 
 
 " About five miles." 
 
 " In New-Jersey V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I must call on her, then, at Rose Hill, I sup 
 pose. Do you think I would be welcome ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Everybody receives a warm wel 
 come at Rose Hill. But there is a rival there !" 
 Emily laughed as she said this. 
 
 " Indeed !" ejaculated Allison, looking half 
 alarmed. " A formidable one ?" 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 47 
 
 " That I can hardly tell. You never know ex 
 actly how to take Flora. If it was any other girl, 
 I should hardly think a booby of a country doctor 
 to be feared as a rival, where you came into the 
 field." 
 
 " Thank you for your compliment ! But who 
 or what is this booby of a country doctor, as you 
 call him ?" 
 
 " He is just what I have called him. The term 
 booby expresses the idea capitally ; but if you 
 wish me to be more explicit, I will say, that of all 
 the awkward, ungainly, boorish-looking fellows that 
 I have met in civilized society, Doctor Arlington 
 bears off the palm." 
 
 " And he, you think, is a rival ?" 
 
 " I can hardly believe so ; but still, it is true that 
 Flora would never let me laugh at him without 
 bestowing on me a lecture for my pains." 
 
 " Does he visit her regularly ?" 
 
 " As clockwork." 
 
 " With serious intentions ?" 
 
 " No doubt in the world of it ; but, of course, 
 he cannot stand a moment s chance if you seriously 
 contend for her favour." 
 
 " That I intend doing in right good earnest." 
 
 " I hope you will. I should never get over it in 
 the world if she were to throw herself away upon 
 such a fellow as that Arlington. She is too lovely 
 a girl to be sacrificed thus. But if you address 
 her, I have no doubt of your success. My word 
 for it, a lovelier one than she lovely in mind 
 especially is not numbered among either your ac 
 quaintances or mine." 
 
 " So I think," returned Allison. " From the 
 
48 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 first she interested me. A more intimate acquaint 
 ance has only made apparent new features of love 
 liness, that are more attractive than those at first 
 seen." 
 
 " And the longer and more intimately you know 
 her, the more she will charm you. Flora is one 
 who wears well. Her best points are not at first 
 seen are no t, it seems to me, ever all seen. 
 Each recurring day shows something new to ad 
 mire." 
 
 This only had the effect to stimulate Allison in 
 the pursuit of Flora. He, as may have been seen, 
 was indulging for her more than a mere passing 
 preference. As has been already stated, he was 
 a young attorney, in practice at the New-York 
 bar. His family was reputable and wealthy, and 
 he an only son. Great expense had been lavished 
 upon his education by his father, who felt ambi 
 tious that his son should become distinguished in 
 some way. The young man promised well that 
 is, promised to become eminent as a man of talents. 
 Inheriting from his father a love of distinction, he 
 was stimulated to application and activity in his 
 profession, by the hope of one day occupying in 
 the eye of his country a high position. Already 
 he was beginning to rise above the struggling, but 
 less gifted mass of young attorneys already he 
 had been alluded to in warm terms of commenda 
 tion by some of the newspapers. These indica 
 tions of success flattered his vanity, quickened the 
 energies of his mind, and confirmed him in his 
 already well-formed resolution to stand high in the 
 estimation of his countrymen not as a benefactor, 
 but as a man of distinguishing talents 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 49 
 
 Like that of the great mass, his ambition regard 
 ed his own glory, not his country s good, and therein 
 lay his danger. A genuine love of country will 
 sustain a man, no matter how high his elevation, 
 as it sustained the great and good Washington, 
 amid the strongest trials ; but mere self-love, after 
 it has carried a man up to a pinnacle of the tem 
 ple of fame, will, like another Satan, tempt him to 
 cast himself down headlong, and too often, alas ! 
 with success ; but no promised angels bear him 
 up ; he is dashed in pieces by the fall. 
 
 The end which Allison set before him being his 
 own elevation, for the sake of the honour that would 
 become his due, he regarded all the means to the 
 attainment of that end which could be used as per 
 fectly legitimate. It made no difference to him 
 whether a cause that came into his hands was 
 clearly just or clearly unjust. Indeed, the worse 
 the cause, the more willing was he often to under 
 take it ; for then he had the chance of displaying 
 the force of his talents, and, by that mere force, 
 turning even the course of justice aside. To gain 
 a just cause was not, in his estimation, half so 
 creditable as to gain a bad one. In the former, 
 he had in his favour the court s common sense of 
 justice ; but. in the latter, he had to put down by 
 sophistical reasonings that common sense of justice, 
 or so obscure it that it could no longer clearly dis 
 criminate the right from the wrong. Nor had he 
 much clearer perceptions in regard to his duties 
 in ordinary society ; or, to speak more correctly, 
 as a man acting out of the sphere of his regular 
 calling. The gratification of something in himself 
 was always a governing end. Thus, in the prefer- 
 E 
 
50 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 ence he felt for Flora, there was no thought of 
 mutual happiness no careful scanning of his 
 ruling loves and hers, to see if there could be that 
 true unity between them, whose natural products 
 is mutual happiness. What really captivated him 
 was her strong, discriminating mind, which had 
 been well educated. He looked confidently to a 
 high position in society, and he wanted a wife 
 who could do her husband credit as an intellect 
 ual and accomplished woman. Flora, he soon 
 perceived, was fit to shine, and that with lustre, 
 place her as high as he could ; and this was his 
 leading inducement in determining to secure her 
 hand. Those who have true ideas in regard to 
 marriage can readily determine how far such an 
 end, as the leading one, could produce happiness 
 between two partners. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 51 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 FLORA S TWO SUITERS. 
 
 ON the evening after Flora s return to Rose Hill, 
 Doctor Arlington called over to see her. Never 
 had he before appeared in her eyes to less advan 
 tage. The plainness of his exterior seemed plainer 
 than ever ; his manners more awkward ; his speech 
 less elegant. She felt embarrassed while he stayed, 
 and conversed with less freedom and interest than 
 she had ever done before. His departure was felt 
 as a great relief. 
 
 To her mother she had not yet confided the real 
 cause of her sudden return from the city. She 
 hardly knew how to do so. Mr. Allison had not 
 made overtures to her; nor was there about Emi 
 ly s communication a definiteness that could be re 
 lied upon. Half regretting her hasty return, she 
 retired early to bed, but not to sleep. For hours 
 she lay awake, deeply pondering the new position 
 in which she found herself. The longer she 
 thought thinking, as she did, too fully from her 
 predominant feelings, and not above them the 
 more was she inclined to favour the advances of 
 the young attorney. His personal accomplish 
 ments, which were of a high order, claimed her 
 fullest admiration ; and, like too many, she suffered 
 herself to fall into just the error she had not many 
 months before condemned in her friend Emily, that 
 of inferring from a fair exterior the existence of 
 
52 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 true principles. When she at last fell away into 
 sleep, it was with the image of Allison pictured 
 pleasantly upon her mind, where it still lingered 
 through the night-watches, the presiding genius of 
 sweet dreams. 
 
 In the morning she felt less inclined than ever 
 to open her heart to her mother, for fear that her 
 colder mind might quickly find reasons for a pru 
 dent suspension of favourable impressions, until the 
 character of the young man were more fully known. 
 This her own judgment told her, as it had told her 
 at first, was the only safe course, and this course 
 she intended to pursue ; but she was afraid that 
 her mother would endeavour to make her pursue 
 it too rigidly, and, therefore, felt as if she would 
 rather not yet open up her whole mind. That day 
 passed, and the next morning came. Soon after 
 breakfast a letter from Emily was brought to her. 
 She retired to her own room, and there broke the 
 seal. It read thus : 
 
 " MY DEAR FLORA Everybody is asking why 
 you have left for Rose Hill so suddenly. What 
 shall I say? What can I say? I know the true 
 reason ; but it will not do to tell that. Allison is 
 surprised and troubled. He intends riding over 
 to see you ; but hadn t you better return ? He is 
 serious in the regard he feels for you, and, I think, 
 is eminently worthy of your hand. But this you 
 will have to decide for yourself; and, in doing so, 
 you ought to have the very best opportunities for 
 forming a correct judgment. This you cannot do 
 if you remain where you are, and see him only 
 occasionally. If he is in all things such as your 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 53 
 
 heart can approve, you ought to know it ; and if 
 not, it is just as necessary for you to know the 
 truth, that you may decide for yourself from clear 
 rational convictions. I wish you could have seen 
 how disappointed he was when we told him that 
 you had gone home. He did not hesitate to say 
 that you had interested him more than any one he 
 had ever seen, and that the loss of your society 
 would be felt as no ordinary privation. The fact 
 is, dear, you have fully made a conquest of him ; 
 he is yours if you will take him ; and if you do 
 not, I shall think you the strangest girl I have 
 ever known. Won t you come back to the city ? 
 Do, just for my sake. I can t tell how much I 
 miss you. Nothing seems to me as it did. Write 
 me immediately, and say when we shall see you, 
 or bring an answer to this yourself. Ever your 
 friend, EMILY." 
 
 Flora read over this letter twice before she fully 
 understood it. The first reading threw her mind 
 into confusion. It was only after the second pe 
 rusal that she could compose her thoughts. But 
 even after thinking for an hour, with a mind tolera 
 bly clear, she was unable to determine how she 
 ought to act. To return to New-York, after having 
 left it as she did, presented itself to her as un- 
 maidenly ; her delicacy of feeling shrunk from it ; 
 it would be like courting the attentions of Mr. Al 
 lison ; but her inclination to do so was active, and 
 furnished its reasons, which were strongly urged. 
 At length she sat herself down to reply to Emily s 
 letter. Among other things, she said, 
 
 " I do not think I shall go back to New-York 
 E 2 
 
54 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS . 
 
 for at least some weeks. I want time for reflec 
 tion. I cannot conceal from myself that Mr. Al 
 lison has made more than a mere favourable im 
 pression upon me. This is, of course, for your 
 own ear alone. This confession you must keep 
 even from your husband. A wife may hold sacred 
 the heart-secrets of her maiden friends, without 
 any violation of mutual confidence. Perhaps, after 
 the time I have mentioned has elapsed, I may re 
 turn to you again ; but I am unable now to speak 
 with certainty. In the mean time, I want my mind 
 to remain as calm and clear as possible. I want 
 to know truly the nature of my own feelings." 
 
 Emily did riot deem the concealment of her 
 friend s secret from her husband a very sacred ob 
 ligation, and he was in no way scrupulous about 
 informing Allison of the admission made in his fa 
 vour. The latter had changed his mind about go 
 ing immediately to Rose Hill, it having been de 
 termined that Emily should first write, and thus a 
 knowledge of Flora s real sentiments be obtained. 
 This knowledge being now in his possession, Al 
 lison could determine for himself how to act. In 
 stead of adopting an open, manly course, and visit 
 ing Flora at Rose Hill without any disguise, he 
 spent several days in studying the best method of 
 approaching her. During this time he had fre 
 quent interviews with the husband of Emily, and 
 with Emily herself. 
 
 " If I visit her at Rose Hill immediately," he 
 said to the latter, while he was now yet undeter 
 mined how to act, " I may seem to her too anxious 
 to press my suit ; or, were I to do so, her delicacy 
 of feeling might prevent her returning to the city 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 55 
 
 as then the appearance would be that she did so 
 in order to meet me more frequently. Besides, if 
 I seem indifferent towards her, the thought of this 
 indifference may act as a foil to the preference she 
 has confessed, and make it much more distinct in 
 her own mind. What do you think 1" 
 
 Emily s thoughts were not decided on the sub 
 ject, and she could not, therefore, advise. 
 
 " I believe I had better hold off a while, at all 
 events," was the conclusion of Allison. " In the 
 mean time, do you keep up a constant correspond 
 ence with her ; and, above all things, try and get 
 her back to the city." 
 
 " Trust me for that. Perhaps you are right in 
 deciding not to visit her in the country. Her mind 
 is delicate. To do so might cause her to remain 
 there, for fear her coming to the city might be 
 thought to be for the purpose of throwing herself 
 into your company." 
 
 Tact, not an open, high-rninded course of action, 
 was finally resolved upon. It proved successful. 
 Emily soon ceased to speak of Allison in her al 
 most daily letters to her friend, but never omitted 
 to urge strenuously her return to the city, for a 
 few weeks at least, if no more. The solicitations 
 of her friend, strongly seconded by her own incli 
 nations, prevailed. Flora went back to New- York 
 in about ten days after her sudden withdrawal from 
 gay city life. During the time of her stay in the 
 country, Doctor Arlington visited her several times, 
 but soon perceived a change in her. She was not 
 so kind a friend, nor, to him, so agreeable a com 
 panion as she had formerly been. This he natu 
 rally attributed to the influence upon her mind of 
 
56 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS . 
 
 the winning allurements of society in a city like 
 New- York. To city scenes, a quiet country life 
 and quiet country friends contrasted too strongly. 
 They could not satisfy a mind which the former 
 had filled with delight. 
 
 The change in Flora s manner was sensibly felt 
 by Arlington, who had for her a well-based affec 
 tion ; for it was grounded in a thorough apprecia 
 tion of her moral and intellectual qualities. Nothing 
 had been said to him by Flora of her intended re 
 turn to New-York, although he visited her on the 
 evening previous to her departure. On the day 
 subsequent to that on which she left, the doctor 
 again called in at Rose Hill. His manifestation 
 of surprise on learning that Flora was in New- 
 York, gave the mother a more accurate knowledge 
 of his feelings than she had before possessed. 
 She was not displeased at this, for she knew him 
 well, and understood his real worth. The reason 
 of her daughter s return was, she supposed, the 
 urgent solicitations of the young bride, from whom 
 a letter had come almost every day. Of the real 
 cause she had no suspicion. A whisper of that 
 would have awakened great concern. 
 
 Arlington really loved Flora ; but it was, with 
 him, no suddenly-inspired sentiment. For a year 
 and more he had looked at her attentively, and 
 marked the unfolding beauties of her mind. Her 
 strong good sense, her quick appreciation of the 
 beautiful in external nature, her love of truth, her 
 entire freedom from maidenly arts and affectations, 
 had for him a charm, and gave to their possessor 
 the uppermost place in his affections. From ad 
 miration of these qualities in her mind, the transi- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 57 
 
 tion to love of her person for their sakes was easy 
 and natural. But Arlington, at the same time that 
 he could duly appreciate and ardently love a be 
 ing like Flora Elton, was towards the whole sex, 
 for whom he had a profound regard, amounting al 
 most to admiration, timid and bashful. He never 
 came into their presence that his mind did not lose 
 its calm, even, philosophic tone. This rendered 
 him awkward and very uninteresting ; and, as the 
 reader has seen in the case of Emily, subjected 
 him often to ridicule : though it is but justice to 
 say that Emily s description of him, when she 
 chose to allude to his manners and appearance, 
 were exaggerations. 
 
 The sudden and unannounced return of Flora to 
 New- York caused Doctor Arlington much pain of 
 mind. He very naturally came to the true con 
 clusion, strengthened by the indifference of her 
 manner towards him, that her affections had been 
 interested while in the city, and, influenced by 
 these, she had gone back, to be near their object. 
 As best he could, he solaced himself in this state 
 of uncertainty, steadily discharging all the while 
 the duties of his calling with unabated skill. No 
 one saw that there was anything upon the mind of 
 the quiet doctor, as, answering the calls upon him, 
 he went from house to house, administering to the 
 maladies which Providence had permitted to reach 
 the bodies of his patients ; and no one received 
 fewer attentions, or had medicinal prescriptions of 
 a less accurate nature, because the mind of the 
 physician was not so tranquil as before. The rea 
 son was, because Doctor Arlington was governed 
 in all the relations of life by strictly conscientious 
 
58 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS . 
 
 principles. No pain of mind that he might suffer 
 could make him neglect his duty. That was his 
 fello\v-man s inalienable right, and he never with 
 held it ; to have done so would have been a crime 
 of equal magnitude with theft would, in fact, have 
 been theft, in intention and effect. In such a dis 
 charge of duty, there was a compensating effect. 
 In it, he found much to soften the pain which, 
 when not thus engaged, he naturally felt. 
 
 As for Flora, she met Mr. Allison, on her re 
 turn to New-York, with shrinking modesty, and 
 yet with a heart-warm glow of pleasure. She 
 knew that he loved her ; for that had been de 
 clared to Emily, and, as the reader knows, at 
 once communicated by that too officious friend. 
 His appearance, manners, tones, sentiments, all 
 had for Flora new charms ; she looked upon 
 him with new eyes ; her naturally cautious, dis 
 criminating character her disposition to look at 
 qualities rather than appearances no longer ex 
 isted, or, at least, only in a passive state. He 
 seemed, in her eyes, perfection. But why ? That 
 question had not yet been seriously asked. 
 
 Every evening found him by her side, either in 
 the quiet parlours of Mr. and Mrs. Whitney, or in 
 public assemblies, prosecuting his suit with tact 
 and caution. He endeavoured to avoid awakening 
 her clear judgment by too direct advances, prefer 
 ring to throw over her heart toil after toil, until he 
 should be sure of a conquest when the time came 
 to push at once for victory. Within the charmed 
 sphere that Allison had thus thrown around her, 
 Flora s strong mind lay almost passive, suffering 
 her heart to rule all her conduct. That she was 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 59 
 
 deeply interested in him, she did not attempt to 
 conceal from herself; nor was she unconscious of 
 the willingness she felt to accept his hand, if he 
 should offer himself. 
 
 The present position of our characters will ena 
 ble us now to introduce one or two more actors, 
 whose influence upon subsequent incidents is im 
 portant. This will be done in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN EVIL DEED. 
 
 THERE dwelt in a quiet, retired way in New- 
 York, a widow, Mrs. Harper by name, her only 
 child a daughter fourteen years of age. Their 
 means of subsistence was the rent of two houses, 
 that gave them an annual income of one thousand 
 dollars a year. A house adjoining these two was 
 also owned by Mrs. Harper ; in this they lived. 
 While Mrs. Elton resided in New-York, she had 
 been on terms of close intimacy with this lady. 
 The daughter of the latter and Flora had likewise 
 been fast friends. During her stay in the city, she 
 visited Anne Harper and her mother very frequently, 
 and often spent with them many days at a time. 
 
 On calling in, one morning, about a week after 
 her return to New- York, she found Mrs. Harper 
 and Anne in evident trouble of mind. Her inti 
 macy warranted inquiries a*s to the cause, which 
 were made at once, when she received for answer, 
 
60 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 that a technical defect in the title by which the lit 
 tle all they possessed in the world was held had 
 been discovered, arid that a suit had been brought 
 against them in order to test the validity of their 
 claim to the property. This suit Mrs. Harper had 
 all along believed would not be prosecuted ; but 
 she had just learned that it would come before 
 the court in a few days, and that, as one of the 
 most subtle young lawyers at the bar had been 
 well feed to press it vigorously, there was great 
 danger of her losing every dollar she had in the 
 world. 
 
 This intelligence caused Flora much distress of 
 mind. Deeply and tenderly did she sympathize 
 with her old friends in the danger that threatened 
 them. From all she could learn from Mrs. Harper, 
 it was plainly apparent that a great wrong was in 
 tended her. The title deeds which she possessed 
 set forth, that when her husband had paid to the 
 father of the prosecutor certain sums of money, the 
 full value of the property, that he would come into 
 undisputed possession of the same. The receipts 
 for these sums of money Mrs. Harper could ex- 
 .dbit; and yet, in the final release of the property, 
 which had remained under mortgage until the 
 whole of the purchase money was paid, there was 
 an informality which legally vitiated the title. 
 The son of the original owner of the property, a 
 man known throughout New- York as a heartless 
 oppressor, wherever oppression would bring him 
 the god he worshipped gold had, by some acci-. 
 dent, discovered the flaw in Mrs. Harper s title to 
 property which had greatly increased in value since 
 it had passed from his father s hands. The knowl- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 61 
 
 edge of this fact was followed by the instant de 
 termination to make a resolute effort to gain pos 
 session of the widow s three houses. For some 
 time he weighed in his own mind the relative 
 merits of two attorneys, as fitted, both in disposi 
 tion and ability, to undertake such a cause. There 
 were men at the bar in New-York to whom he 
 would no more have thought of offering the case 
 tnan of asking them to share in the results of a 
 premeditated robbery ; but he had come in con 
 tact with others whom he knew better. One of 
 these was Allison, and to him he finally deter 
 mined to apply. Accordingly, some months be 
 fore the period to which the reader s attention 
 has been fixed, he called upon the shrewd young 
 lawyer, and laid the matter before him, in the 
 shape of copies of all the legal documents rela 
 ting thereto. Allison saw at a glance that the case 
 would be a hard one to manage ; that, in fact, 
 Hartzog, the individual who sought his services, 
 had not a shadow of equitable right to the property ; 
 but the very difficulties that the case presented 
 stimulated him to undertake it. After he had 
 thoroughly understood its merits, he said. 
 
 " I don t think your chance is a very good one, 
 Mr. Hartzog." 
 
 " That is the reason of my application to you," 
 was the prompt reply. 
 
 This flattered Allison s professional pride, and 
 abated the small portion of disinclination to under 
 take the case that had been felt at the moment of 
 its first presentation to his mind. 
 
 " Whoever gains this case, will have to do more 
 than oress the claims of justice ; for thev are, evi- 
 F 
 
62 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 dently, in favour of the present owner of the prop 
 erty," he said to his client. " To prosecute a suit 
 successfully, when your cause cannot be sustained 
 by arguments founded in equity, is a difficult and 
 delicate matter. The court is never disposed to 
 lend much favour to mere points of law, and de 
 lects in legal instruments, where no fraud was per 
 petrated in the original transaction." 
 
 " I am well aware," returned Hartzog, " that it 
 will require no ordinary degree of tact, talent, and 
 perseverance to gain this suit. Therefore, as just 
 said, I have chosen you to represent my claim. 
 If successful, one of the houses shall be yours ; 
 or, if preferred, the value of it cash in hand." 
 
 " I agree to the terms," Allison replied ; " and 
 will, besides, pledge myself not to ask one dollar 
 if the suit is lost." 
 
 To this Hartzog had no objection. All the pa 
 pers were placed in the young lawyer s hands, and 
 he set himself industriously to work upon the 
 case. In due time a suit against the estate of the 
 deceased Manville Harper was entered upon the 
 docket, to be tried at the ensuing term of the court. 
 Mrs. Harper employed skilful counsel to defend 
 her title to the property left by her husband. Her 
 legal representative had assured her, from the first, 
 that her title was so clearly an equitable one, that 
 there was no danger of its being set aside on ac 
 count of the mere omission of a word or two in the 
 release ; but, as the trial approached, and her law 
 yer looked more closely into the matter, after 
 having had several interviews with the opposing 
 counsel, his views changed, and he saw, with real 
 alarm, that in the subtlety of his opponent he had 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 63 
 
 much to fear. Nay, more, that the defects in the 
 title were of such a nature as to be easily made to 
 prove fraud on the part of Harper, although he had 
 not the remotest idea that any such fraud had been 
 committed. These fears he had honestly expressed 
 to his client. The consequence was, great con 
 sternation in the minds of Mrs. Harper and her 
 daughter, whose only means of support was the 
 income derived from the property in question. 
 
 On the evening succeeding the day of her call 
 upon Mrs. Harper, Flora met Mr. Allison again. 
 The facts mentioned had greatly troubled her 
 mind, and caused her to think more than usual of 
 Allison, to whom she wished to mention the sub 
 ject, under the vague hope that he could throw 
 some light upon the dark picture. But. although 
 it was on her tongue half a dozen times during the 
 evening to allude to it, some new topic, introduced 
 just at the moment, most inopportunely, would al 
 ways prevent her from speaking of the thing near 
 est her heart. Much disappointed, Flora saw Al 
 lison depart, without having made to him the de 
 sired communication. 
 
 The deep interest felt by Flora in her friend 
 absorbed almost every other thought. She went 
 to them early on the next morning, and stayed 
 throughout the day. The consternation that had 
 seemed almost to paralyze the mind of Mrs. Har 
 per on the day previous had subsided. She was 
 now calmer, and more thoughtful. To the ques 
 tion of Flora, as to whether she had heard any 
 thing encouraging in regard to the suit, she re 
 plied, 
 
 " No, my child. The case stands, doubtless, as 
 
64 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS . 
 
 our lawyer has represented it to us. But whether 
 our little all be retained or pass away, we shall 
 still remain in His hands who careth for the spar 
 rows. I have thought a great deal about this mat 
 ter since you were here yesterday. Then my 
 mind was too much agitated ; I could not think 
 calmly* My conclusion is, as it should have been 
 at first, that, as in the moral government of Him 
 who ruleth all things well, no mere gratuitous evil 
 is permitted, this evil thing which has come to 
 pass is for good. What I mean by evil is the 
 effort made to do a great wrong. The suffering 
 we have felt in anticipation of our loss, or what 
 we may really suffer should the loss occur, I do 
 not call by the name of evil evil is sin, and ap 
 pertains only to him who committeth sin. Sor 
 rows, privations, distress, losses, are not evils : 
 they are only blessings in disguise sent for our 
 good. We are not perfect we are not wholly 
 good ; we therefore need something to agitate the 
 stagnant surface of our minds. This trouble, I feel 
 sure, has been permitted for this very end. It is 
 thus that I am endeavouring to look at the whole 
 subject ; and it is this view that causes me to feel 
 calm, though serious. If we lose what we have 
 of worldly goods, it will be a painful trial ; but 
 should the loss come, I will strive riot to murmur. 
 I will see in it the hand of Him who doeth all 
 things well." 
 
 A state of mind so elevated did not excite 
 Flora s wonder. Sentiments like those uttered by 
 Mrs. Harper were familiar to her ears. Her 
 mother s character was formed upon a like basis 
 of profound trust in a Divine Providence that re 
 
A STORY/ OF MARRIED LIFE. 65 
 
 gards even the minutest particulars in the life of 
 every individual. 
 
 " What you say," she replied, " I feel to be true. 
 But it must be hard to rest in such a faith, when 
 all is dark around and above." 
 
 " Not so hard as it may seem to those with 
 whom all is sunshine," Mrs. Harper said. "Ah, 
 my dear young friend ! when the shadow falls 
 upon our path, there is a sweet compensation in 
 the full conviction that the sun is still shining 
 brightly in the heavens. In such an hour, to the 
 heart that will look up, there comes a trust and 
 confidence that all things will work together for 
 good. This is an all-sustaining assurance. This 
 I now feel, and I can say, in truth, that it is more to 
 me than all my fears." 
 
 From this state of reliance upon Providence the 
 mind of Mrs. Harper relapsed in a few hours, 
 when she became anxious and troubled. This 
 continued for some time, until she again struggled 
 to lift her eyes upward, and see the hand filled 
 with blessings, that seemed only to hold the rod of 
 correction. It was, at best, a hard trial ; but it 
 proved a salutary one, as are all the trials we are 
 permitted to endure. 
 
 F2 
 
66 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 FLORA would have stayed all night with Mrs 
 Harper and Anne but for the fact that she wished 
 to get Mr. Allison s opinion of the case, which she 
 hoped to do in the evening. She therefore left 
 her friends and returned to Mrs. Whitney, with 
 whom she stayed ; but, what was very unusual, 
 Mr. Allison did not come. Most of the next day, 
 which was the one preceding the trial, she spent 
 at Mrs. Harper s. She found less composure in 
 the minds of her friends than before. Still, they 
 were struggling hard to be calm, and willing that 
 all should be taken from them, if such were to be 
 the result. Both Mrs. Harper and her daughter 
 intended being present to hear the evidence brought 
 forward against the validity of their title, and also 
 to observe the progress of the trial. 
 
 As evening approached, Flora, anxious to see 
 Mr. Allison, returned home, promising to call in 
 again early in the morning and see them before 
 they went to the courthouse. Shortly after tea, 
 Mr. Allison dropped in at Mr. Whitney s. 
 
 " We didn t see you last evening," Emily said. 
 
 " No," replied Allison ; " an important suit that 
 comes on to-morrow has occupied much of my at 
 tention for some days past. Matters appertaining 
 to this snit kept me in my office until a late hour. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 67 
 
 I have only now dropped in for a few minutes just 
 to look at you." 
 
 " You will spend the evening, of course," Whit 
 ney said. 
 
 " No, that, is impossible, and yet discharge my 
 duty to my client. Business first, then pleasure." 
 
 " What suit is it ?" asked Whitney. 
 
 " It is one of Hartzog s tough cases. I have 
 managed two or three for him successfully ; but 
 this will put me, as the jockeys say, on my met 
 tle." 
 
 " Hartzog s. The heartless old skin-flint ! I 
 wonder you would touch one of his suits, for suc 
 cess must inevitably wrong some one." 
 
 " We lawyers have nothing to do with that. 
 To us a client s cause, good or bad, must be 
 gained, if possible. This is but simple justice to 
 him. Besides, as regards Hartzog, the very hard 
 ness of all his cases spurs a young lawyer to do 
 his very best. If he can gain over an opponent 
 who has justice as well as the sympathies of the 
 court in his favour, he must do it by superior skill 
 and talents. Every successful termination of a 
 bad cause in a lawyer s hands is so much added 
 to his reputation, and is worth a dozen good 
 causes, that are gained by their own intrinsic 
 merit more than by the skill of their advocate." 
 
 Such sentiments Flora had never before heard 
 from the lips of Mr. Allison. They shocked her 
 greatly. Emily, who knew well how her friend 
 would regard the declaration just made, trembled 
 for the consequences. To her mind they consti 
 tuted no objections to him ; but she had good 
 cause to fear that Flora would so regard them. 
 
68 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 For this reason, as Flora said nothing by way of 
 controverting what had been uttered, Emily re 
 marked, addressing Mr. Allison, and smiling as 
 she spoke, 
 
 " Of course, this is only a pleasant burlesque. 
 You would not undertake a bad cause if you knew 
 it to be so." 
 
 " On the contrary," returned Allison, promptly. 
 " This very cause, that I hope to gain to-morrow, 
 is an exceedingly bad one. Hartzog has no just 
 claim to the property in suit. It was bought from 
 his father, and honestly paid for ; but he has dis 
 covered a flaw in the title, and upon that hopes to 
 recover what he has no right to whatever." 
 
 " And you wish to gain it for him ?" Flora said, 
 in a firm voice, looking into Allison s face as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " I certainly do, and will gain it, if possible. 
 That is my duty to my client." 
 
 " No matter who is wronged ?" 
 
 " With that I have nothing to do. The court is 
 accountable for injustice, not the lawyer." 
 
 Flora said no more, and Emily, seeking to 
 change the conversation, introduced another topic. 
 Allison remained for an hour, and then went away. 
 During the time Flora made no remark except in 
 answer to such as were addressed" to her, but she 
 was thoughtful. After Allison had retired, she ex 
 cused herself and went up to her room. A new 
 light had broken in upon her mind. She had heard 
 enough to satisfy her that the suit which Allison 
 was about to prosecute was against Mrs. Harper. 
 This was as unexpected as it was startling. 
 Could it be possible, she asked herself, with pain- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 69 
 
 ful resolution, that one who had so deeply interest 
 ed her one to whom her hand, if asked, would 
 have been yielded with little hesitation, could en 
 ter the ranks of the oppressor, and wilfully seek to 
 wrest from the widow and orphan their all of 
 worldly possessions ? and this, too, in order that 
 his own reputation as an acute lawyer might stand 
 out in bolder relief? She shuddered as she re- 
 plied to her own question, " Yes, alas ! it is too 
 possible." 
 
 It was a late hour when she retired to rest. 
 The time was spent in close self-examination. 
 She had striven to read aright her own heart, 
 and also to compare the real admiration she felt 
 for Allison with all she had previously known of 
 his character, to see if the former were a healthy 
 consequence of the latter. The result, she was 
 forced to acknowledge, proved her to have yielded 
 more to the fascinations of his person than to the 
 more genuine attractions of sound moral qualities. 
 This discovery, made under such peculiar circum 
 stances, was not merely glanced at and then turned 
 from, but it was kept resolutely before her mind s 
 eye, while her reason rebuked her for having suf 
 fered herself to be deceived as she had been by 
 a mere specious exterior. 
 
 In the morning, immediately after breakfast, she 
 went over to Mrs. Harper s, and, unexpectedly to 
 both Mrs. Harper and her daughter, declared her 
 intention of accompanying them to the courtroom. 
 In order to avoid being unpleasantly noticed there, 
 she had dressed herself as plainly as possible, and 
 came provided with a close veil. A male friend 
 of Mrs. Harper s accompanied them, and saw that 
 
70 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 they were provided with good places. At ten 
 o clock, precisely, the trial began. Unseen by 
 Allison, who had not the remotest idea of her 
 presence, and, therefore, remained unaffected by 
 it in any way, Flora could now observe him under 
 new, and, for a correct formation of an opinion in 
 regard to him, most advantageous circumstances. 
 To do this,, she had ventured into a place so uncon 
 genial to her feelings, and so inappropriate to her 
 sex. She had resolved to do both him and herself 
 full justice. 
 
 The manner in which the case was opened by 
 Allison, before any testimony was brought forward 
 to substantiate the claim set up, shocked Flora s 
 mind as much as the declarations he had made on 
 the previous evening. In this opening there was 
 a levity in his manner of treating the defendants, 
 and a covert insinuation throughout of fraud on 
 the part of Mr. Harper in his purchase of the 
 property, that made her cheeks burn with indigna 
 tion. But after all the evidence had been laid be 
 fore the court, and he then went on to advocate 
 the claim of Hartzog, there was an ingenuousness, 
 plausibility, tact, and force about his positions and 
 arguments, that, while it half convinced even Flora 
 herself, made her cheeks, that a short time before 
 burned, now pale with anxiety. She had never 
 before seen him out of the social circle she had 
 never before seen his mind under the excitement 
 of any strong impulse. Now she listened to his 
 powerful eloquence in wonder and fear : wonder 
 at his masterly command of ideas, arguments, and 
 language, even in a bad cause ; and fear, lest he 
 should use his talents too successfully. Acutely 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 71 
 
 did she follow him throughout the whole course of 
 his speech, marking here his sophistry, there his 
 ungenerous and untrue allusions to the defence, 
 and here, again, his too palpable efforts to mislead 
 the opinion of the court. When he gave to the 
 counsel for Mrs. Harper the floor, her heart trem 
 bled for the result. But soon the power, the force, 
 the beauty, and eloquence of truth, as it was pre 
 sented, calmly, clearly, and in just connexion, 
 cheered her heart with the prospect of justice. 
 The unfafrness of Allison s argument was exhibit, 
 ed in a few words, and the subtlety with which he 
 had attempted to mislead, exposed. Then the firm 
 basis, injustice, upon which the title of the property 
 rested, was shown with daylight clearness. 
 
 In reply to this, Allison, evidently discomfited, 
 tried to rally and rearrange his forces, but the at 
 tempt was a poor one. They were all scattered 
 again by a few words from the counsel on the side 
 of the defence. The case finally closed, and the 
 court gave notice that its opinion would be declared 
 on the next day at ten o clock. There were doubts 
 in the minds of but few as to the nature of the de 
 cision ; those doubts were with the parties most 
 interested. 
 
 That night was spent by Flora at Mrs. Harper s. 
 Allison called in, as usual, to see her at Whitney s, 
 and was much disappointed at not finding her there. 
 He stayed until near ten o clock, and then retired ; 
 not in a very satisfied state of mind, for Emily had 
 intimated to him the possibility of Flora s finding 
 an objection to him in the sentiments he had im 
 prudently uttered on the evening before. 
 
 Morning came, and found Mrs. Harper, her 
 
72 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 daughter, and Flora nervously anxious about the 
 anticipated decision. The former struggled hard 
 to fortify her mind by reasons drawn from her 
 knowledge of the wonderful care over all His crea 
 tures which is exercised by Him who made and 
 continually sustains all parts of His creation, both 
 moral and physical : but this she found an almost 
 impossible task. The crisis that was to decide 
 her earthly condition, leaving her in competence, 
 or casting her down into the low vale of poverty, 
 was too near. Tremblingly anxious as they all 
 were, the time passed with them slowly and 
 silently. Expressed hopes could do no good. 
 The point of time in which the decision was to be 
 made was too near to leave room for a fond ima 
 gination to create airy palaces. Reality was at 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. R , the advocate who had represented 
 
 Mrs. Harper in the case, had promised that he 
 would see her immediately on the announcement 
 of the court s decision. For his appearance they 
 were now waiting. Ten o clock at last came. 
 From that time each of the three anxious expect 
 ants could distinctly hear the sound of her own 
 labouring heart. The first, second, and third quar 
 ter passed, arid yet there was no tidings. A few 
 minutes more must decide. How much hung upon 
 those minutes ! 
 
 Just then drew near the sound of carriage- 
 wheels. Every heart ceased to beat. It passed ! 
 Another instant, and the bell was rung violently. 
 The servant opened the street door, heavy foot 
 steps were heard in the hall, but the smiling face 
 of the kind advocate in a moment after assured 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 73 
 
 every one. The decision of the court was all right. 
 Mrs. Harper could not restrain her tears at the 
 announcement ; they flowed freely, and mingled 
 with those of her daughter and Flora. 
 
 Thus terminated an affair that took at once the 
 scales from Flora s eyes, and enabled her to see 
 deeply into the character of her lover. As from a 
 frightful precipice, to which, lured by beautiful 
 flowers that grew upon its very brink, she started 
 back in alarm. There was nothing now attractive 
 for her in the once fascinating Allison. The dra 
 pery that shrouded a loathsome form had been 
 drawn aside for a moment, and the illusion that 
 had kept her beside that form was gone forever. 
 One glance sufficed. 
 
 G 
 
 
74 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DECLINING AN OFFER UPON PRINCIPLE. 
 
 As Allison had made no direct proposal to Flora, 
 her course was not a difficult one. That such a 
 proposal was to be made she had no reason to 
 doubt, for she had been so informed by Emily. 
 In the afternoon she returned to the house of Mrs. 
 Whitney, and very frankly stated to her where she 
 had been, what she had heard, and, still farther, 
 what effect had been produced upon her mind. 
 
 To the effect Emily mainly looked. That dis 
 turbed her. In the cause there was nothing to her 
 adequate to such an effect. 
 
 " My dear friend," she said, anxiously, " surely 
 you do not intend making a matter of this kind a 
 reason for declining the attentions of a man like Mr. 
 Allison ?" 
 
 " I certainly do, Emily," was the firm reply. 
 
 " But why should you ? His profession, and the 
 manner of his prosecuting it, has nothing to do 
 with him as a lover, or, indeed, as a husband. It 
 is at home, not in business, that we are to regard 
 the man of our choice. If we are truly loved and 
 cared for, we need not trouble ourselves about how 
 business is conducted. That is a matter out of 
 our province a matter of which we cannot judge 
 correctly." 
 
 At this moment a sealed note, enveloped in per- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 75 
 
 fumed tinted paper, was handed to Flora by the 
 waiter, who had just received it at the door.. She 
 broke the seal, without retiring. It was from Al 
 lison, and contained an offer of his hand in mar 
 riage. The face of the maiden grew instantly 
 pale. Twice she read the note, and then handed 
 it to her friend. A silence of some moments en 
 sued, when Emily said, 
 
 " Flora, you will not, you cannot decline this 
 offer !" 
 
 " I both will and can," was the firm reply, al 
 though her face still remained very pale. " I will 
 never marry a man whose principles I despise as 
 heartily as I despise those of Mr. Allison." 
 
 " You are beside yourself, Flora. How can ever 
 false principles, assuming them to be such, acted 
 upon in the mere business relations of life, affect 
 the strength and purity of a man s love for his 
 wife ?" 
 
 "They must and will affect it," Flora said, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " I cannot conceive how." 
 
 " It is no problem to my mind, Emily." 
 
 " It is, to mine, a problem hard to solve." 
 
 " You will admit," said Flora, " that one man 
 may have a love of truth and justice grounded in 
 the internal of his mind, and another a love of 
 truth and justice that is merely assumed ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well. The first of these characters, 
 then, will show his love of truth and justice in 
 every relation of life ; the latter, merely when it 
 subserves his own ends. Cannot you see a great 
 difference between the two ?" 
 
76 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 "Yes, I think I can." 
 
 " Let me lay down another axiom. A man can 
 only truly love in another what has some affinity 
 for like things in himself. I then ask myself, For 
 what am I loved? Is it for those principles of 
 truth and justice that I am seeking to love su 
 premely, or is it for something external to these ? 
 For my person or accomplishments, for instance ? 
 If I discover that the individual who thus seeks my 
 favour does not really love these good interior prin 
 ciples, then it is clear that he cannot love me, even 
 if he sees them in me, from any genuine affection 
 for them. He must love me for my person and 
 accomplishments only. Now, if for these alone I 
 am love^ these external things, which must, from 
 familiarity, lose daily and hourly their influence, 
 by what power am I to hold permanently a hus 
 band s affections ? If he have no real love for the 
 principles from which I act can see no beauty in 
 them, but rather feels them as opposed to all his 
 ends of life, how is it possible for us to be more 
 and more conjoined interiorly as time progresses, 
 and we get to know each other more and more in 
 teriorly ? Can you answer that question, Emily ?" 
 
 " You are merely supposing objections of a na 
 ture too abstract to bear upon real life," was the 
 cold reply to this. 
 
 " Emily !" ejaculated her young friend, in pain 
 ful surprise. 
 
 " I confess I cannot see anything very conclu 
 sive in your axioms or arguments. They fly far 
 above my head." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," Flora said, in a changed 
 voice. " Certain it is, however, that between me 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 77 
 
 and the writer of this note" (holding up the propo 
 sal of Allison) " there is a great gulf fixed and 
 fixed forever. I tremble when I think of the in 
 fatuation in regard to him under which I have been 
 labouring." 
 
 It was in vain that her friend urged her to take 
 time for reflection before deciding to reject the 
 offer just made to her to meet Allison, and let him 
 explain the things to which she objected. Flora 
 was immovable. On the next day she returned to 
 her suiter his note, with an answer, in which she 
 declined meeting his proposal ; and in the evening 
 was at Rose Hill, opening up to her mother her 
 whole heart. 
 
 As soon as Allison had received the answer to 
 his note, he sought out his particular friend Whit 
 ney, and asked of him an explanation of Flora s 
 conduct. 
 
 " She s a fool ! That s the best explanation I 
 can give," was the impatient reply of Whitney. 
 
 "But I want a more satisfactory reason than 
 that," Allison said. 
 
 " You were so unfortunate as to be retained in 
 a case against a particular friend of hers." 
 
 " What case ?" 
 
 " That of Hartzog against the estate of Harper." 
 
 " Is Mrs. Harper her friend ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the families are intimate." 
 
 " The result was, however, in her favour." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but the prying, forward gipsy, 
 
 if I must so speak of her, went to the courtroom in 
 
 disguise, for the very purpose of seeing how you 
 
 would conduct the case. You happened not to do 
 
 G2 
 
78 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 the thing exactly according to her liking, and for 
 this reason she has given you the mitten." 
 
 " You must certainly be jesting," Allison replied 
 to this, the colour mounting to his face. 
 
 " No, I am not. She told Emily all about it ; 
 and how you tried your best, as a lawyer, to wrong 
 Mrs. Harper out of her property, or, in other words, 
 gain your client s cause." 
 
 " As I was in duty bound to do." 
 
 " Of course ; but the girl thinks herself a won 
 derfully wise one. Emily tells me, now, that she 
 tried her best to persuade her not to marry me, al 
 leging it as her opinion that I would neglect and 
 abuse my wife before ten years had passed over 
 our heads." 
 
 " Really, I am confounded ! Can all this be 
 true ?" 
 
 " Yes, as true as that you are alive." 
 
 " And she really disguised herself and carne into 
 the courtroom during the progress of the trial ?" 
 
 " She did, upon her own confession." 
 
 " And took a prejudice against me because I 
 strove, like an honest man, to gain my client s 
 cause 1" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And tried to break off the match between you 
 and Emily ?" 
 
 " She did." 
 
 Was ever such a piece of bold-faced duplicity 
 acted out in real life before ? Am I not fortunate 
 in having escaped before a discovery of my mis 
 take would have been in vain ? Happy riddance ! 
 say I." 
 
 " Yes, that you may say with truth and feeling. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE.. 79 
 
 For my part, I confess myself to have been 
 strangely deceived in Flora Elton. I always 
 thought her a frank, sensible girl ; but this affair 
 has presented her in other colours. Poor Emily 
 is greatly troubled by her conduct, and tries to 
 make excuses for her ; but I won t hear a word in 
 her favour, and have told Emily that she must 
 cease to hold any farther intercourse with her. 
 I think her a very dangerous person. She knows 
 too much." 
 
 " Where is she now ?" 
 
 " She left this morning for Rose Hill." 
 
 " Where I hope she may stay." 
 
 " Where she will stay, for all I can do," Whit 
 ney said, angrily. 
 
 " There are good fish yet in the sea," Allison 
 remarked, after a short silence, in a gay tone, 
 rising and walking the floor with a brisk air. 
 
 " Yes, and much more easily caught than that 
 floundering torpedo that has just broken the meshes 
 of your net." 
 
 " And, when caught, worth a thousand of her." 
 
 " Oh ! ay, in more senses than one. I have 
 several times wondered that the modest little Rose 
 Hill should have outweighed in your estimation 
 the more substantial claims of a certain splendid 
 estate on Long Island, that could be named, backed 
 by half a million in city expectancies." 
 
 " Haven t you guessed the reason before this ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Flora is a girl of brilliant mind. She would 
 shine with the best, so far as intelligence is con 
 cerned." 
 
 " Well t" 
 
80 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 " The heir-presumptive of the Long Island es 
 tate and the city expectancies is a simpering, silly 
 little creature ; well enough to dance with, but 
 not exactly the kind of companion wanted by a 
 man with my views in life." 
 
 " Oh yes ; you are looking forward to becoming 
 an M. C., or something higher." 
 
 " I am, and, what is more, will attain my end. 
 And when that is attained, I wish to have a wife 
 of whose intellect I shall not be ashamed ; one of 
 whom I shall feel really proud. It was this rea 
 son, and this only, that induced me to pass by many 
 golden attractions and fix upon Flora Elton." 
 
 " But the golden attractions will now take the as 
 cendant, I presume." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I am not yet able to speak 
 upon this subject. I have been knocked down so 
 suddenly, that, although on my feet again, I do not 
 yet see clearly. After a while I shall understand 
 myself better, I hope." 
 
 The young lady to whom allusion was made so 
 ^ightly was named Arabella Lyon. She resided 
 in the family of a rich uncle and aunt in the city, 
 who had no children of their own. In the eyes of 
 every one, Arabella was the heir in expectancy, as 
 Whitney had said, of the large fortune of her un 
 cle, Mr. Lorman. This tempting expectancy had 
 exercised a strong influence, in times past, upon 
 Allison ; but ambition was a powerful principle in 
 his mind, and from this, looking to a high position 
 in society, not from wealth, but talent, he felt 
 bound to seek one for a wife of more intellect than 
 was displayed by the sprightly little Arabella Lyon. 
 
 Disappointed in his suit with Flora Elton, he 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 81 
 
 soon began to think, with something of his former 
 seriousness, of Miss Lyon. " After all," he ar 
 gued with himself, " it might be bad policy to get 
 a woman of too much sense for a wife. She might 
 prove hard to manage ; and to be checked and 
 called to account by a wife is what I never could 
 stand." 
 
 Finally, Allison came to the conclusion that 
 half a million of dollars would be much more 
 easily managed than a wife who had too much 
 sense, and upon this conclusion he acted. His 
 attentions to Arabella were renewed, but did not 
 meet with much favour from Mr. Lorman, who 
 had never fancied the young attorney. An offer 
 for her hand was next made. This the uncle de 
 clined, although the niece was very willing. A 
 secret marriage was the result. When this be 
 came known to Mr. Lorman, he was deeply in 
 censed ; but, being much attached to his niece, she 
 was, after a time, forgiven, and received again into 
 the old man s affections. 
 
82 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ANOTHER BRIDAL. 
 
 IN Flora s sudden resolution and precipitate 
 action, her feelings were consulted less than her 
 judgment. Had she suffered the former to speak, 
 they would have pleaded hard for Allison. This she 
 well knew, and, therefore, acting from a clear con 
 viction of right, she gave her heart no time thus to 
 plead for the object of its regard, until it was too 
 late. After she had, with tearful eyes, related all 
 to her mother, dwelling upon the deep interest she 
 had felt for him, the latter said, 
 
 " Ah, my child, you have escaped, I doubt not, 
 a lifetime of wretchedness. I knew Mr. Allison s 
 father well. His wife was one of my dearest 
 friends ; we were girls together ; she married 
 about the same time that I did ; ten years after 
 she died, I think, of a broken heart. Her husband 
 was riot a man of good principles, nor had he for 
 his sweet wife any well-grounded love. Young 
 and beautiful, her lovely person was his admira 
 tion ; he offered himself, and was accepted. A 
 year or two sufficed to bring on satiety. Ill health 
 rendered her less attractive than at first. He grew 
 cold, then careless, and then unkind. The tears 
 he shed for her when the clods of the valley sound 
 ed upon her coffin-lid were for the eyes of others, 
 not for his loss. Like father like son is not an 
 unmeaning adage. It is founded in the nature of 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 83 
 
 things, and, having been confirmed by general ob 
 servation, has passed into a proverb. The son of 
 a man who has called bad principles good, and not 
 only called them so, but made them rules of con 
 duct in life, must inherit a tendency to like moral 
 obliquities. It does not necessarily follow that he 
 will, in actual life, make these tendencies to evil 
 his own. He need not, if he will oppose them ; 
 but, if he yield at all to their impulses, he is in 
 great danger of becoming their slave. In such 
 danger I should naturally suppose young Allison 
 to be ; and, if ignorant of all that you have dis 
 covered, and he were now to ask me for your 
 hand, I would not yield it up until I possessed 
 the most indubitable proofs that he had actually 
 risen above his hereditary inclinations. That he 
 has not, in one respect at least, what you have 
 yourself heard and seen, clearly shows. How far 
 he has been influenced, in the passion declared, by 
 external accomplishments alone, it is not possible 
 for me to say. I must believe, however, that these 
 have mainly influenced him." 
 
 " To that conclusion my own mind has already 
 come," Flora said. " He could not have loved 
 goodness in me, for he seems not to regard good 
 ness in the abstract as anything." 
 
 " And no man who does not seek to love what 
 is good and what is true, can make a woman, 
 really happy. This, believe me, my child, is an 
 immutable truth." 
 
 Thus Mrs. Elton sought to encourage and 
 strengthen her daughter s mind, that, she could 
 plainly see, was suffering keenly. The image 
 stamped upon her heart could not be effaced in a 
 
84 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 moment. It still rested there, and it required a 
 constant effort to keep from regarding it with 
 pleasurable feelings. More difficult than she had 
 at first imagined it would be was her self-imposed 
 task. Many a sleepless hour, through the night- 
 watches, did it cause her, robbing her cheek of its 
 bloom, her eye of its brightness, and her step of 
 its buoyant grace ; but she struggled hard, sus 
 tained by an ever undimmed consciousness that 
 she had acted right. In this way months elapsed, 
 during which time she had not once left Rose Hill, 
 nor once heard from her friend Emily. With her, 
 under the circumstances, she did not venture to 
 communicate. She rightly imagined the cause of 
 her silence to lie in her husband s anger at her re 
 fusal of his friend s offer, upon the ground of al 
 leged unworthiness from base principles. 
 
 Doctor Arlington heard that Flora had come 
 back, a day or two after her return from New- 
 York ; but, remembering the reserve and coldness 
 with which she had treated him, he did not ven 
 ture, for some time, to call upon her. When he 
 did do so, he noticed, with pain, that there was a 
 change in her a change that indicated mental 
 suffering. Her manner was kind, sincere, and 
 altogether unaffected ; but there was something 
 about her that he could not comprehend. Of one 
 thing he was satisfied, that she did not feel the 
 same interest in him that he felt in her. A whole 
 week elapsed, and he called in again and spent an 
 hour with Flora and her mother. The former 
 looked thoughtful, and said but little. Something 
 evidently preyed upon her mind. The effect of 
 this was to produce in Arlington a deeper tender. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 85 
 
 ness for her, that had in it little of a regard to self. 
 Gradually, as he continued his visits, evincing all 
 the while a delicacy of feeling that Flora had never 
 before perceived, she began to find pleasure in his 
 society. After a while her thoughts turned to 
 wards him while absent, and her mind pondered 
 over some of the sentiments he had uttered, finding 
 in them both purity, truth, and beauty. From this, 
 by an easy transition, contrasts began to arise in 
 her thoughts between the brilliant, attractive Alli 
 son, and the plain country doctor. She took senti 
 ments that both had uttered, and weighed them 
 calmly ; she compared known acts of each. The 
 result was in favour of the less imposing of the 
 two personages. Doctor Arlington was sound to 
 the core, if the external he presented was not so 
 pleasing ; and, as her good sense quickly told her 
 that what was within must come out, she readily 
 saw that, in the end, both the external and the in 
 ternal of Doctor Arlington would be far more at 
 tractive, and gain a wider commendation, than the 
 other s possibly could. So far as the power of 
 rendering a wife happy was concerned, she* felt 
 that there was no comparison between them. 
 
 A willingness to admit so much as this, even in 
 thought, would have been a good omen for the 
 doctor, had he only been able to read the maiden s 
 thoughts ; but if he could not do this, he could 
 very easily perceive something nearly resembling 
 a likeness of them in her manner : at least, a like 
 ness of so much of them as favoured himself. The 
 natural result was an increased regard, manifested 
 with a delicacy that touched more deeply the heart 
 of Flora. She felt the truth, that one was seeking 
 H 
 
86 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 to win her, not by dazzling her mind, and thus 
 taking her captive, but by endeavouring to inspire 
 her with the same tender sentiments that pervaded 
 his own bosom. After this, there were few obsta 
 cles to be overcome by Arlington, but he was in 
 no hurry to consummate his wishes. Marriage, in 
 his eyes, was too pure and holy a state to be rushed 
 into from any suddenly-inspired impulses. For 
 himself, he was fully satisfied in regard to Flora, 
 but he would have shuddered at the thought of 
 marrying her while she was not as fully and as 
 rationally satisfied in regard to him. That she 
 might be able to know him well, he made no offer 
 of himself for nearly a year after her return from 
 the city, although, during that time, he visited her 
 constantly, and showed her the most delicate at 
 tentions. When he did ask the happiness of call 
 ing the hand he tenderly clasped his own, that 
 hand was yielded with a thrill of interior joy. 
 The love that united them was based upon an ac 
 curate knowledge of each other s moral qualities, 
 the exponents of which existed in a truly corre 
 sponding intelligence. These could not grow old 
 nor fade, but ever bloom in vernal beauty. On 
 these the corroding finger of time could make no 
 impression. Sickness might blast, "or pain de 
 vour ;" the eye lose its brightness, and the cheek 
 its soft vermilion, yet love like this would burn on 
 with a brighter blaze. 
 
 Long before this event, she had heard of the 
 marriage of Allison to Arabella Lyon without an 
 emotion of pain. But a short period elapsed after 
 Doctor Arlington s declaration of love before a 
 happy wedding-party assembled at Rose Hill. 
 We need not say who was married. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 67 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TIME S DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 AFTER the lapse of ten years, we will again in 
 troduce our characters. It rarely takes even so 
 long as that comparatively brief period of time to 
 prove the quality of any marriage to take off all 
 deceiving externals, and show the partners whether 
 their union be for happiness or misery. Alas ! 
 that it should so often bring a sad consciousness 
 that there is between the man and wife no truly 
 uniting principle. 
 
 Doctor Arlington we find in the city of New- 
 York. He lives in a handsomely-furnished house, 
 situated in Park Place. Some years after his mar 
 riage he removed with his wife to the city, where 
 he entered upon the practice of his profession. 
 For a time he had hard struggles ; then he began 
 to feel something like solid ground under his feet. 
 A few important cases in families of influence, 
 skilfully managed, attracted attention. Practice 
 began to increase. Four years afterward his 
 standing with the profession was so high, that he 
 was elected to fill a vacancy that occurred in the 
 medical department of the New- York University. 
 One year subsequent to this time we again bring 
 him before the reader. 
 
 It is an evening late in the fall of the year. A 
 bright fire is glowing in the well-filled grate, that 
 
88 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 diffuses through a beautiful parlour the genial 
 warmth of summer. Before this a sofa has been 
 drawn ; on the sofa we find Flora and her estima 
 ble husband. He seems more changed than his 
 wife. His face does not look so uninteresting as 
 it did ; its thoughtful air accords more with the 
 years and standing of the medical profession of 
 thirty-five, than it did with the country doctor of 
 scarce twenty-five. And more than this, the bring 
 ing out into active usefulness the principles he was 
 then storing up, has given to his countenance an 
 elevation that has in it the beauty of wisdom. 
 Still, there are to be seen the defects of early edu 
 cation, which are never wholly eradicated. " Just 
 as the twig is bent the tree s inclined," is as true 
 of external accomplishments as of the moral ten 
 dencies for good or for evil that are stamped upon 
 the mind in youth. Both may be changed in a de 
 gree, but the bias will remain forever. The move 
 ments of the doctor had never been, and were not 
 now, easy and graceful. He had not entirely over 
 come his bashful modesty, and was too much in 
 clined to be reserved and silent in company ; but 
 none of these defects were now apparent to his 
 wife. The high sense of honour, founded in truth 
 and justice, that governed every action his ten 
 derness towards her, that was ever the same, or 
 that increased rather than diminished the rich 
 ness of his intellectual endowments, and the clear 
 ness of his mind these were all seen and loved 
 these concealed from her merely external defects. 
 She had, too, a wife s pride in her husband s repu 
 tation. In his honour she was honoured. 
 
 " I have been thinking all the afternoon about 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 89 
 
 my old friend Emily Whitney," Flora remarked, as 
 she sat with her husband, on the evening just men 
 tioned. " It is now more than ten years since I 
 parted from her. During this time we have not 
 met, nor passed even a letter. I wonder if she is 
 still alive. I believe she went south with her 
 husband after the death of his father, which took 
 place before we left Rose Hill, but I am not cer 
 tain. If she were still residing in the city, I think 
 I should have heard of it in some way. Her own 
 father became a bankrupt, and died years ago." 
 
 " I have not met with Mr. Whitney since our 
 residence here, and think it more than probable 
 that he has left New-York, as you suppose. His 
 father left him only a small portion of his proper 
 ty, alleging in his will, it is said, that twenty 
 thousand dollars were enough for him to squan 
 der, if he continued his habits, or capital enough 
 for a young man to build a fortune upon, if he 
 chose to give proper attention, as every young 
 man should, to some business, whereby the whole 
 community as well as himself might be benefited. 
 I am afraid the foolish young man confirmed his 
 father s fears by soon squandering his little for 
 tune." 
 
 " Poor Emily ! If such be the case, she has 
 sadly realized, I fear, the truth of what I tried in 
 vain to impress upon her mind. She did not seem 
 to think it of any consequence what principles gov 
 erned her husband, so that he loved her. She 
 judged of a man by his exterior. Into his motives 
 and ends of action she never thought of inquiring." 
 
 " Such being the case, she has, you may well 
 fear, long ere this discovered her mistake." 
 H2 
 
90 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 Just at this moment a messenger came in haste, 
 requiring Doctor Arlington s immediate attendance 
 on a lady represented to have been taken suddenly 
 ill. His carriage was ordered and the summons 
 at once obeyed. The house at which he had been 
 directed to call was a large and elegant residence 
 in Broadway, at some distance beyond Niblo s. 
 On entering this, he was met by the owner, whose 
 face showed much concern, and asked to go up im 
 mediately to his wife s chamber, who was labour 
 ing under a sudden attack of illness, the nature of 
 which he did not attempt to define. 
 
 " This is the fourth attack that she has had, 
 doctor," he remarked, " in each of which I have 
 called in a different physician, hoping to find some 
 one with skill enough to remove the predisposition 
 as well as the disease. Your high reputation has 
 led me to place her in your hands now. Let me 
 beg of you to give to her case your most skilful 
 attentions. Her disease is a sudden prostration, 
 without an apparently adequate cause, of both 
 physical and mental powers, from which her re 
 covery has, heretofore, been very slow. The 
 thousand questions and suggestions of visiters and 
 friends as to the real cause have become painfully 
 annoying to both of us. Occasionally a scanda 
 lous rumour accounting for the illness will faintly 
 reach our ears, and make my poor wife unhappy 
 for days at a time. The affection is nervous al 
 together, and ought, I think, to be reached by 
 some medicaments or course of treatment known 
 to your profession." 
 
 After saying this, the husband conducted Doctor 
 Arlington up to the chamber of his patient. He 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 91 
 
 found a small, delicately-formed woman, with a 
 face as white as marble, lying in a state of perfect 
 unconsciousness upon a bed. A single female 
 servant was in the room. He took her thin, al 
 most transparent hand, in his. It was cold and 
 clammy. There was no perceptible motion of the 
 artery in her wrist, upon which he laid his fingers, 
 nor could he discover that her heart beat at all, by 
 pressure over the region where it lay. If there 
 was any respiration, it was not apparent to the un 
 assisted senses. A small mirror, held before her 
 face, however, soon became dimmed with con 
 densing moisture, showing that she still breathed, 
 and was, of course, alive. As soon as he had 
 ascertained this fact, the doctor turned to her hus 
 band, and said, 
 
 " Will you now be kind enough to tell me, as 
 far as you can conjecture, the cause of the present 
 condition of your wife ?" 
 
 " As I have before said, doctor," was the reply, 
 " I am utterly ignorant of the cause. This morn 
 ing she was, to all appearance, as well and happy 
 as ever she was in her life. When I left her after 
 dinner, she seemed, I thought, to droop a little ; 
 but I did not think anything of it until I was sud 
 denly recalled from my office an hour since, where 
 business detained me later than usual, by the pain 
 ful intelligence that she had been again attacked 
 with a paralysis of both mind and body." 
 
 " And you are ignorant of the cause ?" As the 
 doctor asked this question, he looked the man 
 steadily in the face. 
 
 " As ignorant as yourself," was the unhesitating 
 reply. 
 
92 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS 
 
 This positive declaration did not satisfy the mind 
 of the physician. The husband was too ignorant, 
 apparently, of the cause of this illness. The fact 
 of there being no one with her but a domestic, 
 created a suspicion in his mind that all was not 
 right. The concern evinced seemed more to re 
 gard appearance than to arise from a real anxiety 
 about the suffering wife ; but his duty was to ad 
 minister to the patient in accordance with the best 
 information in regard to her condition that he could 
 devise, and he proceeded to do so. Three hours 
 were spent in efforts to restore animation, but no 
 success followed. Doctor Arlington then went 
 away, stating, as he did so, that he would visit her 
 again by daylight on the next morning. 
 
 At daylight he was there. Little or no change 
 had taken place since the night before, except that 
 her features looked more shrunken, and had a 
 ghastliness about them, that made him fearful 
 about the result. Three children were in the par 
 lour when he entered, sporting in gay unconscious 
 ness of their mother s real condition. The sight 
 touched his .heart. Much to his surprise, there 
 was yet no one with the sick woman but the do 
 mestic first seen in attendance. This strengthened 
 his fears that all was not as it should be between 
 her and her husband. 
 
 In the course of three hours he called in again, 
 and continued to do so through the day, at about 
 like intervals of time. Not until near night did he 
 perceive any signs of returning animation. Then 
 the rising and falling of her chest in respiration 
 could be distinctly seen, and the motion of her 
 heart felt. About nine o clock she roused up, and 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 93 
 
 lifting her head, looked anxiously about the -room. 
 But two countenances bent over her, that of her 
 husband and that of the physician. She fixed her 
 eyes first upon one and then upon the other for a 
 moment or two ; then, sighing deeply, she closed 
 them, and lay with a shade of most touching sad 
 ness resting upon her pale, thin face. 
 
 After leaving prescriptions, and giving directions 
 in what manner to have them given, Doctor Arling 
 ton retired, promising to call in early on the follow 
 ing morning. It was after ten when he reached 
 home. Flora was alone in the parlour, reading. 
 She put down the book, and looked smilingly into 
 her husband s face as he came in. 
 
 " You are late to-night," she said, as he sat 
 down by her side. 
 
 " Yes, rather later than usual ; but the detention 
 has relieved my mind a good deal, for it has ena 
 bled me to see a- change for the better in a pain 
 fully interesting case. For the last two or three 
 days I have been attending a lady most singularly 
 affected, and under, it seems to me, rather singular 
 circumstances. I was called in by her husband, 
 who is a lawyer standing high at the bar here, and 
 found her in a kind of catalepsy, for the occurrence 
 of which he could not give me any reason. This, 
 he said, was her third attack. That he knows the 
 real cause, I am well satisfied. That his conduct 
 towards her, in some respect or other, is in fact 
 the true cause, I have little doubt. In nothing that 
 I observed, in his actions or words, could I see any 
 concern for his wife s condition, above the fear that 
 it would excite strange rumours in regard to the 
 family. Ah, Flora ! no one even faintly dreams 
 
94 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 of the heart-corroding misery that is shrouded from 
 every eye by the secresy of the marriage-chamber 
 The physician, in his daily rounds, catches, at 
 times, a glimpse of what a neglected, suffering 
 wife is struggling to conceal. But the tithe is 
 never known even by him." 
 
 " The lady you speak of is better ?" Flora said, 
 in a concerned manner. 
 
 " Yes ; after lying for more than twenty-four 
 hours perfectly insensible, and almost lifeless, she 
 revived and became apparently conscious ; but it 
 did not seem to be a glad consciousness. Like 
 one awakened from a pleasing dream to some sad 
 reality, she closed her eyes and seemed anxious to 
 sleep again." 
 
 Who is she ?" 
 
 " The wife of an eminent lawyer here, named 
 Allison." 
 
 Mrs. Arlington started as if a current of elec 
 tricity had suddenly passed through her nerves, 
 while her face turned pale. 
 
 " It is not Mr. Allison s wife, surely ?" she said, 
 laying her hand upon that of her husband. 
 
 " Yes, Flora, it is ; but did you know her ?" 
 
 " Know Arabella Lyon ? Oh, yes. Gay little 
 Arabella was once a favourite friend. A heart full 
 of innocence and trusting confidence was hers. 
 I wonder not that it has been broken." 
 
 " Did you know her husband likewise ?" 
 
 At this question Flora closed the hand she had 
 laid upon her husband s tightly, and looked into 
 his face with moistened, but tender and confiding 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, dear, I knew him also. He was a man 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 95 
 
 of winning exterior, and once interested me deeply 
 but I discovered, ere it was too late, that he was 
 void of true principles, and when he offe-red him 
 self, declined the proposal without a moment s hesi 
 tation. He then addressed and married Arabella 
 Lyon, against the wish of her uncle, who had 
 raised her from a child. A kind Providence then 
 sent you to me, with words of affection, my kind, 
 good husband ! For that boon how can I ever be 
 sufficiently grateful ?" 
 
 The dim eyes of Mrs. Arlington overflowed, and 
 laying her head upon the breast of her husband, 
 she wept tears of thankful gladness. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SAD CONSEQUENCES OF A MARRIAGE ENTERED 
 INTO FROM WRONG ENDS. 
 
 ARABELLA LYON, from a playful, sprightly girl, 
 became a fond and devoted wife. Won by the 
 personal charms of her husband, her heart invest 
 ed the object of its tender regard with virtues to 
 which he was an utter stranger. Years passed 
 before the veil fell from her eyes. When it did 
 fall, and she awoke to the sad reality, her heart 
 received a wound that nothing on earth could heal. 
 Of the principles that governed her husband s con 
 duct in the general affairs of life, she knew nothing 
 she perceived and felt only what regarded her 
 self. In fact, her mind was not a very discrimi- 
 
96 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 nating one, and in all matters that did not affect 
 herself, his representations were taken without a 
 doubt of their truth ; but her affections were strong. 
 To love her husband was to make him an idol ; 
 and, though he might be hideous to all the world 
 from moral deformity, if he smiled upon her she 
 asked no more. 
 
 Four years passed without a cloud dimming her 
 bright horizon. At the end of that period, both her 
 uncle and aunt died suddenly. Nearly the whole of 
 their great wealth was bequeathed to a distant rela 
 tive. A few thousands of dollars alone were left to 
 the niece. Allison, who, with expectations raised 
 to a high pitch, was present at the opening of the 
 will, left the room the moment its contents were 
 known. He was terribly disappointed. Returning 
 home, he entered the room where his wife sat, and 
 throwing himself into a chair, said, with bitter em 
 phasis, and a dark scowl upon his brow, 
 
 " Your cursed old fool of an uncle has cut you 
 off with the paltry sum of five thousand dollars !" 
 
 " Oh, Henry !" ejaculated the young wife, start 
 ing to her feet in alarm not at the announced loss 
 >f anticipated wealth, but at the strange words and 
 still stranger manner of her husband, " do not 
 speak so." 
 
 " The old wretch !" was all the response of Al 
 lison, as he ground his teeth in anger. 
 
 Arabella had never seen anything like this be 
 fore in her husband. She had often noticed that 
 he was easily excited, but towards her, and in her 
 presence, his mariner had been mainly gentle since 
 their marriage, though not as affectionate as she 
 could have desired. To her uncle and aunt he 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 97 
 
 had ever been kind and attentive ; and yet all had 
 been assumed. He had married Arabella, not be 
 cause he loved her above all other women not 
 because he thought her the most congenial com 
 panion he could find, but for money. As to her 
 intellect, that he despised. The wealth for which 
 he had married was in the hands of the uncle. 
 To make sure of this, he strove to appear one of 
 the best and kindest of husbands. He deceived 
 only Arabella. Her shrewd relative saw much 
 more deeply into his character ; and justly in 
 censed that his wealth should have been the prize 
 aimed at in running away with his niece, he re 
 solved to disappoint the sordid money-hunter ; and 
 he did so effectually. 
 
 " Henry," said his wife, going up to him and 
 laying her hand gently upon his arm, after the last- 
 mentioned bitter ejaculation had been uttered, " let 
 us be thankful that we are yet left to each other. 
 My uncle had the power to give his money to 
 whom he chose, but he cannot rob us of mutual 
 love. Think of that, Henry." 
 
 Her husband did not reply to this. He only 
 looked at her coldly and sternly. The expression 
 of his countenance made her shudder. Covering 
 her face with her hands, she shrunk away from 
 him, and, dropping into a chair, began to weep. 
 At this Allison arose, and muttering something, 
 the import of which she but half comprehended, 
 left the apartment. The street door closed a min 
 ute after with a heavy jar. The sound of this 
 made Arabella start to her feet. For some mo 
 ments she stood with a bewildered air, and then 
 sunk into the chair from which she had risen, 
 I 
 
98 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 burying her face in her hands and again crying 
 bitterly. 
 
 This occurred early in the day. The dinner 
 hour came, but Allison did not return. He cared 
 as little to eat as he did to see his wife. Arabella 
 waited anxiously, and wept at the long delay. 
 The food was removed untasted. Slowly and 
 wearily passed the hours until nightfall. At last 
 the sound of his footsteps was heard below, and 
 his wife sprang down the stairs to meet him ; but 
 he received her coldly, and declined answering 
 her questions as to why he had not come home at 
 the usual hour. Checked and chilled to the heart, 
 Arabella shrunk away from him, while he showed 
 no inclination to confer with her upon any subject. 
 When tea was announced, he took his place at the 
 table in silence. She did not, venture to speak to 
 him again, and he said nothing to her. He sat 
 but a little while, and then retired into the parlour. 
 Thither his wife did not follow, but went up into 
 her chamber to attend to her child, a boy now 
 nearly three years old. The prattle of the bright 
 little fellow did not charm her ear as it had ever 
 done before. Her thoughts were away from him. 
 Not until his tiny hands were pressed to her face, 
 and his voice, changed to a saddened tone, uttered 
 the words, 
 
 " Don t cry, mamma Henry be a good boy," 
 was she conscious that she was really weeping. 
 Drying her tears hastily, she lifted him in her 
 arms and clasped him tightly to her bosom, mur 
 muring as she did so, 
 
 " Dear, dear child !" then laying him in his lit 
 tle bed, she kissed him tenderly, and, after return- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 99 
 
 ing his " good-night," went down stairs. As she 
 entered the parlour, she heard the street door close. 
 Her husband had left the house. A heart-sicken 
 ing thought came into her mind the thought that 
 he had never loved her that he had sought her 
 hand in the hope of obtaining with it the riches 
 that common rumour said she was to inherit from 
 her uncle ; but this was instantly repelled as an 
 idea not to be entertained for a moment. 
 
 In the mean time, Allison, whose disappointment 
 had been so sudden and so severe as to deprive 
 him of even decent self-control, went from his 
 house to his office, where he threw himself into a 
 chair, and sat for nearly half an hour almost as im 
 movable as a statue. There was but one feeling 
 and one thought active in his mind. Rousing him 
 self up at last, and rising to his feet as he uttered 
 a bitter imprecation against the individual who had 
 chosen to cut him off with a mere nominal bequest, 
 he sought the mechanical relief of walking hur 
 riedly the floor of his office. As he did so, a 
 thought of the cruelty of his conduct towards Ara 
 bella crossed his mind, and also the necessity of 
 keeping up appearances in regard to her. This 
 thought was but the germ of others of a like char 
 acter. Shame, if not a better feeling, caused his 
 cheek to burn, as he remembered how rudely he 
 had treated her, and how apparent it must be to 
 her mind that he cared little for her in comparison 
 with the wealth of her deceased uncle. Influenced 
 by these thoughts, he had already made a move 
 ment to leave his office and return home, when the 
 door opened and his wife glided in. 
 
 " Arabella !" he exclaimed, in surprise. 
 
100 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 " Dear husband !" she said, endeavouring to 
 smile as she advanced towards him, " I tried to 
 compel myself to wait until you returned home, but 
 I could not. My heart fluttered so, try all that I 
 would to keep it still, that I was frightened. Do 
 not be angry with me for coming here in the hope 
 of finding you. I could not help it. And now I 
 am here, tell me why you turned from me so coldly. 
 You will kill me if you do not." 
 
 There was a wildness about the eyes of Ara 
 bella that her forced smile could not hide, while 
 she panted rather than breathed. This her hus 
 band saw, and it alarmed him. 
 
 " Don t be a foolish child," he returned, in a half- 
 playful, half-reproving tone ; " I was too much mor 
 tified and disappointed at the will to be myself; 
 and still, I cannot get over it." 
 
 " Surely we needn t mind that, dear husband !" 
 returned Arabella, earnestly. " Mere wealth can 
 not give happiness. If you will never think of it 
 again, I will not. Your lot, be it what it may, I 
 am willing to share." 
 
 The fond devotedness of his wife, expressed 
 with an eloquence of feeling that gave power to 
 every word, touched Allison, and led him to change 
 his whole manner towards her. He answered kind 
 ly, and at once returned with her to their house, 
 where he spent the evening in a forced effort to 
 appear as he had before appeared ; but the strong 
 incentive that had for years caused him to act in 
 an assumed character so perfectly as to deceive 
 even the eyes of his wife, no longer existed. It 
 was hard work, therefore, to be as he had been, 
 especially as the shock that undeceived him in the 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 101 
 
 matter of his great expectations had been of such 
 recent occurrence. Arabella felt that her husband 
 was indeed changed. There was no affection in 
 his words no heart in his smile. All appeared 
 to her as it really was^ iead,-cQld acting. It was 
 not long before conversation 1 . ceased, altogether, 
 and both husband and,, wife, became, buried in 
 thoughts that neither >vould like to IIAVO utte^d. 
 
 From that time there was a gradual change in 
 Allison s manner towards his wife. He was not 
 openly unkind, but silent at first, then cold, and, 
 finally, indifferent. Through her, he had long done 
 homage at the shrine of Mammon, but his golden 
 hopes had proved vain ; and when he turned from 
 the false god he had worshipped, he no longer re 
 garded the priest with interest. Fixing his eye 
 once more with a steadier gaze upon the star that 
 had charmed his vision, ere the hope of attaining 
 great wealth had caused him to look away from 
 it, he resolved to make more rapid strides than 
 had yet been made Towards reaching that emi 
 nence among men after which his soul longed. 
 He had talents, already stood high as a skilful 
 lawyer, and had a large and increasing practice. 
 A proud eminence among men of talents awaited 
 him. 
 
 In selecting Flora Elton, years before, as the 
 one most suited tc become his partner in life, he 
 had looked, above all other merits that she possess 
 ed, to the fact that she had a strong, well-stored, 
 finely-balanced mind, and would reflect honour 
 upon her husband as a man of talents, no matter 
 how high in the social rank he might be able to 
 place her. But she whom he now called his 
 12 
 
102 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 wife could throw no such lustre upon her hus 
 band ; she had not a strong, brilliant mind ; she 
 was not an intellectual woman. This fact was 
 continually pressing itself upon him, the more ac 
 tive the spirit of ambition became within him : and 
 the more he allowed Uns?.lf thus to think, the 
 more h3-s,aw th& weakness of her mind, and the 
 more- ,coiKen>pt .he fell for it: \t was impossible 
 for such thoughts to exist without their exhibi 
 tion to his wife in some form or other. Poor Ara 
 bella soon learned the sad truth, that she had 
 lost all power over her husband. His indifference 
 he no longer attempted to conceal, except in com 
 pany, and then a consciousness that he was indif 
 ferent led him to show her unnecessary attentions, 
 in order to deceive the general eye. In this he 
 was ordinarily successful so much so, that Ara 
 bella was often congratulated on possessing so de 
 voted a husband, at the very moment that her heart 
 was aching on account of his neglect. 
 
VTORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 7-tfST AFFECTIONS. 
 
 > v VUT a year after tue death of Arabella s un- 
 cl<*, M>e circ. e in wnich Allison and his wife 
 moved t*a,s rendered more attractive than usual by 
 the presence ot a young lady from Boston of a very 
 high orclei 01* mind. Her name was Agnes Benton. 
 All were arike fascinated some by her beauty, 
 others by her wit and vivacity, and more by her 
 superior intellectual attainments. Among the lat 
 ter was Allison. The first hour passed in com 
 pany with Agnes Benton caused him to sigh that 
 he was not free to ask her, or one like her, to 
 share his lot in life to struggle up, with him, into 
 eminence, and, from a high position, reflect back 
 upon society the brightness ol his fame. Neve* 
 before had his own wife appeared bo insignificant 
 in his eyes never before had he fert 60 profound 
 a contempt for her mental endowments. From 
 that time he went oftener than before mto com 
 pany. The charm that allured him was th^ fas 
 cinating Miss Benton. Unhappily, the young lady 
 not only perceived the admiration felt for her 6y 
 the talented lawyer, but her vanity led her to court 
 his attentions. With all her brilliant qualities of 
 mind, she had not a true woman s high sense of 
 honour ; in this she was far below Mrs. Allison, 
 whose heart was in its right place. 
 
104 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 Love of admiration, not the love of high intel 
 lectual communion, as she flattered herself was the 
 case, caused Agnes to affect a great regard for the 
 wife of Allison, and to visit her frequently, always 
 remaining when she did so until towards teatime, 
 and then yielding to the polite request to stay and 
 spend the evening, which Arabella could not well 
 help making. Allison never went out when Ag 
 nes was there ; even engagements were broken 
 for the pleasure of her society. Poor Arabella 
 could not help noting the great difference in her 
 husband when he came in and found only herself 
 at home, and when, as it now frequently happen 
 ed, Agnes was there. To the latter, his manner 
 exhibited all the warmth that had blessed the heart 
 of his wife in former days, when she was the ob 
 ject upon which he lavished his attentions. Al 
 though little inclined, by nature, to jealousy, the 
 devotion of her husband to this fascinating woman, 
 and the mutual interest which they seemed to take 
 in each other, alarmed her fears, at the same time 
 that it awakened her indignation. She still loved 
 him, and had a wife s pride in his talents. To see 
 him made the dupe of a designing creature, who 
 flattered his vanity that she might be courted and 
 flattered in return, pained and mortified her, on the 
 one hand, while this stronger evidence than she 
 had yet seen of diminished love, wounded her 
 heart in its tenderest region. 
 
 For a time, merely to gratify her husband, Ara 
 bella strove to seem pleased with Miss Benton. 
 But soon perceiving that they grew more and more 
 intimate, and less inclined to conceal that intimacy, 
 her eyes became at once fully opened. Before, 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 105 
 
 she had tried to persuade herself that the pleasure 
 they took in each other s company arose altogether 
 from a congeniality of intellect, that is, from the 
 mutual pleasure they felt in conversing on subjects 
 in which both took an interest ; but the scales at 
 length fell from her eyes, and she saw the real 
 truth in the broad light of day. It happened in 
 this wise. 
 
 Miss Benton called in, some months after the 
 date of her first acquaintance with Allison, to 
 spend an afternoon with his wife. Her manner 
 of treating Arabella had, unperceived by herself, 
 changed. Allison had not hesitated to allude, in 
 some of his conversations with her, to the fact of 
 his wife s intellectual inferiority, even basely ven 
 turing to express regret that he should be united 
 for life to one so altogether uncongenial. " Had 
 my lot been cast with a mind as brilliantly endow 
 ed as yours," he went so far as to say, " how happy, 
 instead of miserable, from the clog that hinders my 
 feet, would I have been !" 
 
 This remark, instead of causing Agnes Benton, 
 as it would have caused any pure-minded woman, 
 to turn away from Allison with indignant contempt, 
 was received with silent pleasure. It was a tribute 
 to her self-esteem to her proud consciousness of 
 intellectual superiority ; and, as such, it had a lull 
 ing sound for her ear. After that, her manner to 
 wards his wife changed ; she did riot treat her 
 with the attention she had formerly shown ; her 
 visits were as frequent, but there was less effort to 
 conceal the real estimation in which she held her. 
 
 On the occasion just alluded to, she called in 
 late in the afternoon. Mrs. Allison received her 
 
106 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 coldly. Contrary to the determination she had 
 formed, she requested her to take off her bonnet 
 and shawl ; but she could not ask her to remain to 
 tea. This was not necessary. Miss Benton did 
 not need such an invitation. Compelling herself 
 to put on the external of politeness, Mrs. Allison 
 forced a conversation with her visiter, in which 
 the latter exhibited a well-bred indifference, that did 
 not escape Arabella s notice. At length evening 
 closed in, and Mr. Allison returned from his office. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss Benton ?" he said, a 
 bright smile spreading over his face as he per 
 ceived the visiter ; " I am really glad to see you ;" 
 and as he spoke he advanced to her, and, taking 
 her hand, shook it warmly. 
 
 The manner of Miss Benton changed in an in 
 stant. Her countenance lightened up, her eye 
 dilated, her whole frame quivered with a new 
 inspiration. For a moment Mrs. Allison looked 
 at them, as they became engaged in an anima 
 ted conversation upon some topic that had no 
 interest for her, sighed, and then left the room 
 to look after some domestic duties that her efforts 
 to entertain her unwelcome visiter had caused her 
 to neglect. As she did so, her husband paused, 
 and glanced after her. As soon as he thought her 
 beyond the reach of his voice, he turned to Agnes 
 and said, in a tone of sadness, 
 
 " Ah, Miss Benton, no one can imagine how 
 deeply, how constantly I regret having, in a mo 
 ment of weakness, united myself to a woman who 
 is excellent enough in her way, but who cannot 
 sympathize with me in that which is nearest my 
 heart. I look up, up, up, to a high and glorious 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 107 
 
 position. I seek to win the world s high meed of 
 fame ; but she looks down at the little things about 
 her feet. She would have made a man of less am 
 bition than myself happy. Me she cannot !" 
 
 As he said this, Allison sighed, and cast his 
 eyes upon the floor. Miss Benton sat in breath 
 less silence. 
 
 " How madly," resumed Allison, " do we often, 
 in earlier years, commit follies for which no after 
 repentance can atone ! Such a folly I committed 
 when I married Arabella." 
 
 " Certainly your wife is an excellent little wom 
 an," was replied to this, " but does not, I should 
 think, possess a mind congenial with yours." 
 
 " Congenial with mine ! No ; there is nothing 
 in common between us. Ah, Miss Benton, I some 
 times think, if it had only been my good fortune to 
 have met with you before " 
 
 A groan, instantly succeeded by the sound of a 
 heavy body falling close by the door of the room 
 within which they sat, startled the infatuated pair. 
 Allison rushed into the passage. The body of his 
 wife lay insensible at his feet. Lifting her in his 
 arms, he carried her up stairs, followed by Miss 
 Benton. It seemed an ordinary fainting fit, and 
 efforts were made to restore her by the ordinary 
 means resorted to in such cases ; but hours passed 
 without the least sign of returning animation. 
 Then, in alarm, a physician was sent for. No 
 satisfactory account was given to him of the cause 
 of this sudden suspension of vitality. That cause, 
 truly guessed by her husband and Agnes Benton, 
 could not even be remotely hinted at by either of 
 them. All through the night and the next day 
 
108 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 Mrs. Allison remained like one dead. No pulsation 
 of the heart, no respiration was visible. Her face 
 wore the hue of death. No one out of the house 
 was informed of her condition. Agnes, alarmed 
 at what had taken place, more on account of the 
 cause, and dreaded consequences to herself, than 
 the fact, remained with Arabella throughout the 
 whole of the day and the next night. On the 
 second morning some signs of returning animation 
 were visible. These gave light to the physician 
 in the application of remedies, so that he was able 
 to meet the effort of nature, and guide it in its 
 healthy action. He was standing by her bedside, 
 with her husband and Agnes, when consciousness 
 came back to Mrs. Allison. She raised herself up 
 slowly, looking first steadily into the physician s 
 face, then glancing towards her husband, and 
 finally fixing her eyes upon Agnes, who half 
 shrunk from their penetrating gaze, like a guilty 
 thing as she was guilty of having trampled upon 
 a heart already crushed and bleeding. 
 
 " A beautiful serpent to carry so deadly a sting," 
 murmured the wife, in a wandering mariner, point 
 ing, as she spoke, to Miss Benton. 
 
 The latter shrunk away instantly, and left the 
 room. The patient seemed relieved at this, laid 
 herself back upon her pillow, and breathed more 
 freely. With professional tact, the doctor seemed 
 not to notice this remark ; but it startled Allison 
 almost as much as it had Agnes Benton. When 
 the doctor left the house, it was found that Agnes 
 had gone also. Allison was relieved at this. He 
 had gone too far with her ; the effect upon his 
 wife who had, he rightly conjectured, overheard 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 109 
 
 their conversation of his intimacy with another 
 woman, made him conscious of this. 
 
 Months passed before Mrs. Allison was anything 
 better than a drooping invalid. Friends wondered 
 at the great change that had taken place, but guess 
 ed not at the real cause. A sudden and unaccount 
 able asphyxia was given as the reason for subse 
 quent ill-health. This was enough to satisfy or 
 dinary observers. A few, more- curious or more 
 penetrating than the rest, surmised causes still 
 deeper than the one alleged the cause, in fact, of 
 that cause. But these were careful how they 
 made suggestions in regard to the case. As for 
 Agnes Benton, the result of her unprincipled con 
 duct caused her immediate return to Boston. A 
 few months afterward she again visited New- 
 York, but Allison and she mutually avoided each 
 other. 
 
 The birth of another child, some six months af 
 ter the terrible discovery she had made in regard 
 to the state of her husband s affections, gave a new 
 direction to the thoughts of Mrs. Allison. She had 
 now two children, one a helpless babe, that required 
 her constant care. To these children she devoted 
 herself with unwearied assiduity, rarely going into 
 company, unless strongly urged to do so by her 
 husband. When she did go abroad, her changed 
 appearance made her the subject of many remarks. 
 Some perceived, in her pale, thin face, and eyes 
 that seemed to be looking inward instead of upon 
 external things, only the indications of ill-health. 
 But others knew the signs of mental suffering too 
 well. 
 
 Thus time passed on, the neglected wife wasting 
 K 
 
110 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 slowly away from disease of the mind, that weak 
 ened rather than gave life to" the vital organs. 
 
 Slight causes often lead to painful consequences. 
 When Henry, their oldest child, had gained the age 
 of five years, the father proposed that he should be 
 sent to school. To this Arabella objected. She 
 thought him yet too young. 
 
 " But / do not," was the rather domineering re 
 ply of Allison. 
 
 The mannef in which this was said was felt 
 more than the words. From the first, she had 
 never opposed her husband in anything, meekly 
 submitting to his will, no matter how arbitrarily 
 expressed. But the question that now came up 
 concerned her child, and her love for it not only 
 gave her clear perceptions, but also the resolution 
 to express any difference of opinion she might hold 
 in a matter affecting its welfare. 
 
 " I can teach him at home all that it is yet ne 
 cessary for him to learn," she said, mildly, yet 
 firmly. " He already knows his letters, and is 
 beginning to combine them into words." 
 
 " But I wish him to go to school ; and I think a 
 father ought to be the best judge in matters con 
 cerning his son s education. Already you are be 
 ginning to spoil the boy by over-indulgence ; for 
 this, if no other reason, he ought to be in a good 
 school, under a judicious teacher." 
 
 " But consider, dear, how very young he is." 
 This was said by Mrs. Allison in a trembling 
 voice. " Only five years old ; and he is such a 
 timid, gentle, sweet little fellow. I don t see that 
 he is spoiled in anything. I don t know that I in 
 dulge him in what is not right. He minds every- 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. Ill 
 
 thing I say. Does lie not do the same to you ? 
 I am sure he does." 
 
 " It is in that very timidity and backwardness 
 that you are spoiling him. I wish him to become 
 a man, not a woman. If he is so very gentle, it 
 is high time that he should put on more of a boy 
 ish character. He will have to take it rough-and- 
 tumble with the world by-and-by, and the sooner 
 we begin to educate him for what 4s to come, the 
 better. So, make up your mind <to have him sent 
 to school at once." 
 
 " I cannot do that, Mr. Allison," was the wife s 
 firm reply. 
 
 "Humph! cannot you, indeed !" This was spoken 
 sneeringly. Its effect was to rouse up the mind of 
 Arabella. 
 
 " No, I cannot," she replied ; " he is my child 
 as well as yours. My interest in him is as deep 
 as yours ; and I claim a mother s right to have a 
 voice in all that concerns him. I do not ask to 
 have my own way, and I cannot consent to let you 
 decide all questions that regard our children by 
 mere dictation. I will yield my judgment as far 
 as I can to yours, and I ask, as an act of justice, 
 that you will consider my reasons as entitled to 
 some consideration." 
 
 Never before had Mrs. Allison spoken to her 
 husband with so much spirit and firmness. He 
 was surprised for a moment, and then retorted 
 with a look and tone of contempt. 
 
 " Your judgment ! your reasons ! I would not 
 give that for them !" snapping his fingers. 
 
 A quick shiver ran through the delicate frame 
 of his wife. It was the first time his indifference 
 
112 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS. 
 
 towards her, and the real contempt he entertained, 
 had been uttered without disguise. The shock 
 was too great. Her face grew deadly pale in a 
 moment, and, sinking down upon the sofa where 
 she had been half reclining, she fell over, to all 
 appearance perfectly lifeless. 
 
 For twelve hours she lay in this" state of sus 
 pended animation, and then vitality again came 
 forth from the interior regions where it had retired, 
 and restored the circle of life. 
 
 Allison deemed it prudent not to press the mat 
 ter, the agitation of which had produced such un 
 happy consequences. Little Henry was not sent 
 to school until he had entered upon his sixth year. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 
 
 Two years afterward, Arabella suffered from 
 another attack, brought on by the conduct of her 
 husband. In each of these a new physician had 
 been called in. The reason was, that the cause, as 
 existing in himself, might not be traced out, even 
 by the medical attendant. His love of reputation 
 was strong, and this, seeing that his manner to 
 wards his wife produced, when not too well guard 
 ed, such dreadful results, caused him, after that 
 time, to treat her with more apparent consideration 
 than he had been in the habit of doing. Even this 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 113 
 
 was grateful to the suffering wife, as little reason 
 as she had to believe in its sincerity. 
 
 Time passed on, and the lawyer rose into emi 
 nence at the bar. His aid was sought in difficult 
 cases, where large fees tempted him to put forth 
 the very best energies of his mind. Notwith 
 standing the failure to grasp the golden prize at 
 which he had looked so long that he felt a right in 
 it, there was no lack of means to enable him to 
 live in a style suited to his taste. His talents 
 brought him wealth. 
 
 As there was little at home to hold his affections 
 there, he spent but a small portion of his time in 
 the society of his wife, who rarely stepped beyond 
 her threshold, and knew but little of what was 
 passing in the gay world around her. She had 
 now three children. They occupied her whole 
 attention. Anxious to keep them within the pure 
 atmosphere of home, she devoted much time to 
 their instruction, so as to make their father satis 
 fied in respect to their intellectual progress. The 
 oldest boy went to school. This the father de 
 sired, and she did not object. 
 
 It was a thing of ordinary occurrence for Mr. 
 Allison to be away until midnight. Gentlemen s 
 parties, or other engagements of a like nature, 
 were usually given at first as the reason ; but the 
 statement of any reason at all soon ceased. The 
 husband went and came, as suited his own pleas 
 ure, thinking not, or caring not for the heart his 
 coldness and indifference was breaking. 
 
 Thus things had gone on, year after year, until 
 Mrs. Allison was little more than a hermit. None 
 saw her beyond the precincts of her own home. 
 K2 
 
114 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 Her husband thought little about her, and cared less, 
 except so far as her pale face, drooping form, and 
 sad, patient look, rebuked him for neglect. 
 
 One day, late in the afternoon, a note was hand 
 ed in by some one, unsealed, and addressed to her. 
 She opened it, and read the contents. Only con 
 sciousness enough remained to crush it into her 
 bosom for concealment, when she fell upon the 
 floor in the swoon, to restore her from which Doc 
 tor Arlington, as has been seen, was summoned. 
 The contents of that note were such as to prevent 
 their declaration here. It is enough to say that 
 they were of a character to inflict upon the heart 
 of a virtuous wife a wound that no balm can heal. 
 
 At the same time that this note was left at his 
 dwelling, another was thrown into the office of Mr. 
 Allison, giving him notice of the fact. The deed 
 was prompted by disappointment and revenge. It 
 was the work of one who had long since laid aside 
 virtue and humanity. No sooner had Allison re 
 ceived intelligence of what had been done, than, 
 in alarm for the consequences, he hastened home. 
 When he found his wife insensible, he understood 
 too well the cause. If he needed confirmation, he 
 had it in the contents of the note she had received, 
 which he found in the folds of the dress that cover 
 ed her bosom. It was instantly destroyed. 
 
 The reader now understands the case much bet 
 ter than even Doctor Arlington, who visited his pa 
 tient early on the morning succeeding her restora 
 tion to consciousness. He found her in a very 
 low state, and altogether indisposed to answer even 
 the questions that were put to her professionally 
 Her husband was not present. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 115 
 
 " How is Mrs. Allison to-day ?" asked the wife 
 of Doctor Arlington, when her husband joined her 
 at the dinner-table. 
 
 The doctor shook his head, and looked grave. 
 
 " Not worse, I hope ?" Flora said, in a concerned 
 voice. 
 
 " No, not worse than she was yesterday, but 
 very little better than she was last night. The 
 fact is, I don t know what to make of her case. 
 There is something wrong. If there ever was 
 a heart-broken woman, she is one. I never saw 
 just such an expression upon any face, nor just 
 such a look out of any eyes. Her husband was 
 not with her. He had already left the house, 
 although it was quite early." 
 
 " Poor Arabella !" Flora said, the tears starting 
 to her eyes. " Ten years ago she was the most 
 light-hearted, happy girl I knew. To think that 
 so hard a fate awaited her, for whom life seemed 
 all sunshine and gladness. And Emily my old 
 friend Emily, where can she be ? How does it 
 fare with her ? Badly, I fear. Mr. Whitney was 
 not a man of sound principles. He had not the 
 qualities of mind required to make a woman truly 
 happy. It pains me when I think of her. Ah, it 
 makes the heart sad to look back in life, and recall 
 the bright young faces of many maidens who grew 
 up with us side by side, and then to glance around 
 in search of them now. Here and there may be 
 found a countenance over which has been thrown, 
 it is true, a veil of thoughtfulness, but which still 
 wears, at times, the smile that played upon it in 
 younger days." But where are the many, and how 
 do they fare ? Some have gone down into the grave 
 
116 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 in the freshness of virgin beauty ; others have wan 
 dered far away from their early homes and early 
 friends by the side of a brother or husband ; and 
 others may still be seen, occasionally, in the old 
 places that knew them years ago. But few of 
 these seem happy." 
 
 " They may be happier, Flora, than you think," 
 the doctor replied, smiling. " The cares of life 
 make us thoughtful, and, to the eyes of others, 
 sad." 
 
 " True ; and I know that I am too apt to think 
 no one can be as happy as myself." 
 
 " And why not, Flora ?" 
 
 * Because I think no one can have so kind, so 
 good, so excellent a husband." The face of Mrs. 
 Arlington glowed as she spoke. 
 
 " Too partial, my dear Flora," returned Arling 
 ton, with a smile of affection. "But, besides you, 
 there are many very many happy wives. I see 
 both sides of the picture ; and one is as bright as 
 the other is dark. Too many a fond, trusting girl, 
 *hrows herself away upon a man who is unworthy 
 of her, and pays for her mistake the penalty of a 
 whole lifetime of misery. But others act more 
 wisely ; and this number is large. The pale 
 cheek and sunken eye do not always spring from 
 mental causes." 
 
 Doctor Arlington visited Mrs. Allison again on 
 the next day, but there was little apparent im 
 provement. Life played but feebly in her pulses. 
 It was, indeed, a question in his mind, whether 
 she were not actually sinking instead of growing 
 better. He met her husband this time. 
 
 " What do you think of her, doctor ?" he asked, 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE 117 
 
 with some concern upon his face, as they left her 
 chamber together. 
 
 " I hardly know what to say," was the reply. 
 " She may be better than she was yesterday, but 
 the change, if any, is to me imperceptible." 
 
 The husband looked thoughtful, but said no 
 more. He attended Doctor Arlington to the door, 
 and bowed to him in silence as he left the house. 
 
 There was little or no change perceptible at the 
 doctor s next visit. Mrs. Allison still lay in a state 
 of semi-consciousness. 
 
 " Bring me," said he to the domestic who at 
 tended in the sick, chamber, " the little girl I saw 
 down stairs just now. What is her name ?" 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 " Bring her up stairs to me." 
 
 In a few minutes the attendant brought into the 
 room a lovely child, scarce two years of age, 
 around whose blooming cheeks played a mass of 
 sunny ringlets. The doctor lifted her in his arms, 
 and taking her to the bedside, held her so that she 
 could look down upon her mother s face. 
 
 " Mamma !" instantly burst from the lips of the 
 child, in glad accents, as she bent forward eagerly 
 towards her mother. 
 
 The eyes of the half-unconscious invalid flew 
 open at the sound of her darling s voice. A fee 
 ble smile lit up her almost inanimate face. As 
 she reached her arms towards the child, the doc 
 tor gently laid it within them. Hope for the 
 mother, if not for the wife, revived as he saw the 
 emotion with which that dear one was held to her 
 bosom, and marked the fervent kisses that were 
 imprinted upon its lips. After giving directions to 
 
118 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS. 
 
 take the child away at the end of ten or fifteen 
 minutes, and restore it again should the mother 
 ask for it, Doctor Arlington retired. 
 
 Towards evening he called again. There was 
 a change for the better. The pulse of the invalid 
 beat less feebly ; the hue of her countenance was 
 not so death-like. Little Margaret was seated 
 upon the bed, amusing herself with some toys. 
 The mother s eyes were upon the child. 
 
 "Dear^little one!" said Doctor Arlington, put 
 ting his hand upon the head of Margaret, and play 
 ing with her golden hair, that had been sweetly 
 curled by the nurse, who perceived, instinctively, 
 the worth of the doctor s prescription. 
 
 Mrs. Allison s eyes brightened. The doctor 
 had spoken of the child purposely, to see how far 
 the mother s feelings had become active. The 
 result assured him that there was now hope of her 
 recovery. In this he was not mistaken. The 
 mother s love for her offspring won her back to 
 life. For her children s sakes, she once more 
 took up her burdens, that were grievous to be 
 borne. At the expiration of a few weeks, she 
 was so far recovered as no longer to need a medi 
 cal attendant. Doctor Arlington parted from her, 
 at his final visit, with feelings of deep commisera 
 tion. He saw that her existence was a living 
 death. What she farther suffered he knew not. 
 He was never again summoned to attend her. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A GAMBLING HUSBAND. 
 
 WE will now transport our readers to a Southern 
 city Charleston, and into a small room of a third- 
 rate hotel there. In this we find a woman and two 
 young children, alone, at midnight. The children 
 are asleep, but the woman is sitting up, engaged in 
 sewing. Her countenance, that of a woman in 
 the prime of life, is care-worn. At intervals she 
 pauses in her work, listens for a few moments, and 
 then, with a half-suppressed sigh, resumes it. 
 
 This was continued until after the clock had 
 announced the hour of two. Then a man entered 
 the hotel, and ascending quietly, opened the door 
 of the room just mentioned, and glided in. 
 
 " Emily !" he said, a little sternly, when he per 
 ceived that the woman was not in bed and asleep, 
 " I shall get angry with you if this is continued. 
 You must not sit up so late." 
 
 " It s no use for me to go to bed, Charles," was 
 the low-spoken reply ; " I cannot sleep while you 
 are out." 
 
 Nothing more was said. The wife, for such 
 was her relation to the man, laid aside her work, 
 and both retired to rest. 
 
 At an early hour she left her pillow, and dressed 
 herself and children. The husband still slept on, 
 and continued to do so until eleven o clock. Then 
 
120 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 he arose, and went away without speaking a word, 
 except to the children, who prattled around and 
 seemed to annoy more than please him. A few 
 minutes after his departure there was a tap at the 
 door of the room he had left. His wife opened it, 
 and found the barkeeper with a bill for the last 
 two months boarding. 
 
 " Mr. Whitney has just gone out," she said ; " I 
 will hand it to him as soon as he returns." 
 
 " Do so, if you please," the man said, in a re 
 spectful tone. Then, as if reluctantly, he added, 
 
 " And sky to him that Mr. T wishes it settled 
 
 at once." 
 
 Emily the reader has of course recognised 
 her shut, with a deeply-drawn sigh, the door, as 
 the barkeeper turned away. Then sitting down, 
 she remained thoughtful for some time. From this 
 state a thrice-urged request from one of her chil 
 dren aroused her. 
 
 In the mean time, Whitney, after leaving the 
 house, went to a refectory, and calling for a glass 
 of liquor, drank it off slowly, helping himself freely, 
 as he did so, to the lunch that had been placed on 
 the bar. This was all the food usually taken by 
 him before dinner. While thus engaged, a man 
 placed his hand upon his shoulder, saying in a fa 
 miliar, but low tone, as he did so, 
 
 " I have been looking for you all the morning, 
 Whitney. There is good game abroad to-day." 
 
 The two then retired to a private room up stairs, 
 whither the new-comer ordered a bottle of wine. 
 
 " What is the nature of the game ?" asked Whit 
 ney, bending over towards his companion with ea 
 ger interest, as soon as they were seated. " I m 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 121 
 
 cursed low. This very day I owe for three months 
 board, and if I don t manage a part of it, I m afraid 
 
 old T will turn my wife and children out of 
 
 doors ere a week passes over their heads. Poor 
 Emily ! it makes me sick when I look at her ; and 
 she is so mild and patient. I would not speak a 
 harsh word to her for the world ; and yet I am 
 breaking her heart, I know. She sits up regularly 
 until I get home, whether I am out until twelve, 
 one, two, or three o clock. If I were to stay out 
 all night, she would not go to bed at all. I some 
 times wish I were dead." 
 
 " Nonsense, man ! You are too chicken-hearted 
 by half," returned the friend, gayly. " I never saw 
 the woman yet who could make me put on the lu 
 gubrious phiz you now wear. I believe I ve got a 
 wife, and half a dozen responsibilities, somewhere ; 
 but I never trouble myself about them." 
 
 "Well, what s in the wind to-day?" Whitney 
 said, after a little while, throwing off by a power 
 ful effort, aided by two or three glasses of wine 
 taken in quick succession, his gloomy feelings. 
 
 " Something worth while, I assure you. Nothing 
 less than a young planter from the up-country, with 
 the cash for a large crop in his pocket-book. He s 
 quite green, and full of his own importance." 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 At the ." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " You must bring him in to-night." 
 
 " If I can." 
 
 " You must. If you let him slip through your 
 fingers, you and I are done." 
 
 " I haven t a dollar. Last night I won fifty from 
 
122 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 a young clerk, but he proved in the end too much 
 for me, not only getting back all he had lost, but 
 stripping me of every cent." 
 
 " That was a poor business. You will never 
 make your fortune in our profession, unless as a 
 whipper-in. You are capital at that, however. 
 Here is a ten-dollar bill. Use it skilfully, and 
 we ll divide handsomely to-morrow morning." 
 
 After putting the bill into his pocket-book, Whit 
 ney drank another glass of wine, and then left the 
 
 refectory alone and proceeded to the Hotel. 
 
 He had first taken an accurate description of the 
 young man. He found him reading a newspaper 
 in one of the parlours. Seating himself near by, 
 with a paper in his own hand, he commenced 
 reading also. Soon a paragraph of unusual inter 
 est arrested his attention, causing him to say aloud, 
 as if involuntarily, 
 
 " That s a serious affair, really !" 
 
 The young planter raised his head and looked 
 towards the stranger, half inquiringly. 
 
 " Did you see that ?" asked Whitney, pointing 
 with his finger to a particular part of the paper he 
 held in his hand. 
 
 " No ; what is it ?" 
 
 " The late affair in New-Orleans." 
 
 No." 
 
 " Some black-leg scoundrel, it appears, came 
 across a young planter from the Red River coun 
 try, whose pockets were well lined with cash. 
 By some hocus-pocus or other, he enticed him 
 into some den, and there cheated him out of every 
 dollar he had. In a fit of desperation, the young 
 man blew out his brains. It is said that he left a 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 123 
 
 lovely wife, to whom he had but just been mar- 
 ried. A sad affair, truly !" 
 
 " It is indeed," returned the young countryman ; 
 " but I m sorry for one thing." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " That the fellow had not blown out the gam 
 bler s brains instead of his own. There would 
 have been a moral power in that." 
 
 " You are right," replied Whitney, with prompt 
 ness. " If an example of that kind were made 
 now and then, it would have a good effect." 
 
 " No doubt of it ; but a man who is weak 
 enough to let one of these fellows approach, and 
 then lure him off, deserves to lose his money. I 
 should like to see the man who could make such 
 a fool of me." 
 
 " So should I. He would have a harder row to 
 hoe than ever he attempted in his life before." 
 
 " I m of the same opinion in regard to my own 
 case. Several planters from my section of the coun 
 try have been caught and fleeced ; but they must 
 have been blind or drunk. Any black-leg is wel 
 come to all he can get out of me." 
 
 " Ditto say I," returned Whitney ; " but isn t it 
 surprising how men can become so utterly regard 
 less of the rights of their fellows as to go regularly 
 to work to entrap and cheat them out of the reward 
 of their honest toil ?" 
 
 " It certainly is ; but it is a painful evidence of 
 man s deep depravity." 
 
 " If I had my way, I would make the penalty 
 for gambling ten times as severe as it is." 
 
 " I would agree with you there. It is a most 
 detestable vice." 
 
124 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 In this way, Whitney led his intended victim to 
 form an idea of his character as the very opposite 
 to what it really was. A stranger in Charleston, 
 and feeling the want of some one to talk to, the 
 planter met his advances more than half way. 
 From gamblers the conversation changed to other 
 topics. Whitney was well informed in political 
 matters, and ascertaining the bias of the planter in 
 regard to the two great questions then agitating the 
 public mind, readily came over to the same side, 
 and eloquently advocated the leading measures of 
 the party. Satisfied with the favourable impres 
 sion made, Whitney then effected an engagement, 
 and left the stranger. An hour after, they met, 
 seemingly by accident, in the street. Whitney 
 showed a disposition to pass on, but the stranger 
 paused, and asked him if he would not step into 
 the bar of a house opposite and take a drink with 
 him. To this he consented. 
 
 " Have you been about the city much ?" he 
 asked of the planter, as they returned to the street, 
 
 " No," was the reply ; " I have been so much 
 engaged in business until to-day, that I have not 
 seen anything." 
 
 I have an hour or two to spare. If you have 
 any curiosity, I will show you about." 
 
 " You are very kind, sir. I will accept your 
 offer without a word." 
 
 From that time until the dinner hour, Whitney 
 kept the unsuspecting stranger s mind constantly 
 interested. 
 
 " You are a planter, I believe ?" he said during 
 the morning. 
 
 " Yes, and I came here to sell my crop." 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 125 
 
 " Have you disposed of it ?" 
 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 " Who bought ?" 
 
 " Hatfield and Homer." 
 
 " At eleven ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " We are above them a quarter." 
 
 " Indeed ! Are you in the cotton-brokerage 
 business ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. I belong to one of the oldest firms 
 in Charleston. For the last five years we have 
 done the most extensive business here. The rea 
 son is, we always give the highest possible price 
 the market will afford." 
 
 " What is the name of your house ?" 
 
 " Lily, Frogmore, & Co. I am a junior partner." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! The reputation of your house is 
 well known throughout our country. I was advised 
 to put my crop into your hands ; but I brought let 
 ters to Hatfield and Horner, and therefore gave 
 them the management of my cotton. You think I 
 could have obtained a quarter of a cent more ?" 
 
 " I know you could. We would have given it." 
 
 " I wish we had met before ; but it is too late 
 now regrets are useless." 
 
 During a pause in a subsequent conversation, 
 the planter said, 
 
 " You will dine with me ?" 
 
 " Thank you ; but I believe I must ask to be ex 
 cused." 
 
 " Are you a married man ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I will take no excuse. No one will 
 miss you." 
 
 L2 
 
126 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 Whitney affected still to hesitate, but the warm 
 hearted Southron would not be refused. At din 
 ner they drank freely, but the former could bear 
 twice the number of glasses. 
 
 " Have you seen the country around Charles 
 ton ?" asked Whitney, while they sat smoking, 
 half an hour after the removal of the cloth. 
 
 " No," was the reply. 
 
 " I have a pair of splendid ponies. If agree 
 able to you, I will have them brought round. I 
 usually drive out in the afternoon." 
 
 " I will accompany you with pleasure." 
 
 Whitney then went to the bar, and giving the 
 barkeeper a five-dollar bill, told him to send round 
 to a livery stable close at hand, and get for him 
 the handsomest buggy wagon, and the most splen 
 did pair of horses that could be furnished. Half 
 an hour brought them to the door. In these the 
 two men flourished about the city, and into the 
 surrounding country, highly enjoying themselves. 
 
 Nothing would do but that Whitney must re 
 turn with the planter and take tea. Seeming anx 
 ious to get off, he yielded, finally, to importunities 
 that were pressed upon him. After tea he pro 
 posed a visit to the theatre. No objection, of 
 course. A new company had just appeared in 
 town, with sundry attractions. The curtain fell at 
 eleven o clock, and the planter and his interesting 
 friend left the building with the delighted crowd. 
 
A STORY^OF MARRIED LIFE. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FLEECING A PLANTER. 
 
 DURING the afternoon and evening that Whit 
 ney and the planter were together they drank fre 
 quently, sometimes at the suggestion of one, and 
 sometimes the other. Whitney had been more 
 guarded as to the quantity taken at each successive 
 " drink ;" and, besides, he could bear as much 
 again as the other. When they stepped from the 
 theatre, the planter was not in a very sane state ; 
 many indications of this had been seen by Whit 
 ney while the play was in progress. 
 
 " You remember," said the latter, as they walked 
 towards the hotel, arm-in-arm, " what we were talk 
 ing about this morning 1 The subject, in fact, that 
 made us acquainted ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; about the young man in New-Orleans 
 who was such a fool as to blow his brains out." 
 
 " Yes, that was it. He got into the company of 
 a regular sharper, who fleeced him in less than no 
 time. One of your cut-throat black-legs." 
 
 "The only thing about it that vexed me," re 
 turned the stranger, " was. that the chap didn t put 
 his pistol to the cheating scoundrel s ear instead 
 of his own. It could have been just as easily 
 done." 
 
 " Just as easily ; and certainly a much more ra 
 tional proceeding," chimed in Whitney. " The 
 world would have been rid of another villain." 
 
128 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 " Truly said. Get me into such a predicament, 
 and see how neatly I d do the thing." 
 
 There was an earnestness about the manner in 
 which this was said that sounded rather unpleas 
 antly to the ear of Whitney ; but he trusted to its 
 being mere braggadocio. The time had now come 
 for him to bring the game he had been playing all 
 day with such consummate skill to a termination. 
 This required some address ; but the " pigeon" 
 was in a very good condition, and quite ready to 
 be " spitted." 
 
 " Well, I believe we have seen about all that is 
 worth looking after?" he said, pausing a short dis 
 tance from the public-house, " unless you have the 
 curiosity to look into one of those execrable places, 
 well named hells. There are two or three in 
 this neighbourhood. I never was inside of any 
 of them but once in my life, and then I was in 
 search of an infatuated friend. But it might be a 
 matter of interest to you just to see how such 
 things are managed. I merely mention it. If you 
 had rather not, I m sure I have no curiosity in re 
 gard to the matter." 
 
 " Can you go in and come away without attract 
 ing attention ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly. No one will take any notice 
 of you." 
 
 " Then I should like to go above all things in 
 the world. I want to know how the thing is 
 done." 
 
 " Well, just as you like," Whitney said, indif 
 ferently. " Let me see. Where shall we go first ? 
 Oh, yes ! we ll drop into Corbini s. That s worth 
 a visit. It s close at hand into the bargain. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 129 
 
 The two companions then turned down a dark- 
 looking street, along which they proceeded for the 
 distance of two or three hundred yards, when they 
 paused before what seemed a house of entertain 
 ment. And so it appeared only to be at least to 
 the countryman on entering it ; for the first thing 
 that met his eye was a handsome bar, with two or 
 three attendants, around which a number of per 
 sons were standing, some talking, some eating 
 oysters, and others drinking. The " pigeon" had 
 taken quite as much as Whitney wished him to 
 lake. Still, he insisted on another drink. Lemon 
 ade was proposed, and agreed to ; so they took a 
 glass of lemonade together. 
 
 " Now let us go up and look about us," said 
 Whitney. 
 
 " Up where ?" 
 
 " Up stairs into the gambling- room. No one 
 will know us." 
 
 Saying this, Whitney led the way, and the other 
 followed. The first room they entered was richly 
 furnished with carpets, marble-slab tables, and mir 
 rors. There was no one in it but themselves. After 
 looking around for some time, and admiring its ar 
 rangement, they passed into a second. There they 
 found a party of four at " brag." The individuals 
 composing this party were so intent upon their 
 game, that they only glanced at the strangers, and 
 then became entirely absorbed in their occupation. 
 Two considerable piles of money lay upon each 
 side of the table. Portions of these were every 
 now and then changed from one to the other, back 
 ward and forward, according as the game progress 
 ed. The planter looked on for some time, until he 
 
130 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS! 
 
 became quite interested. Whitney at length touched 
 his arm, and the two passed into a third apartment. 
 Several tables were in this room, and two or three 
 little groups engaged at cards. One or two men 
 were walking about, as mere spectators, looking 
 first at one table and then at another. As Whit 
 ney and his new friend came in, one of them ad 
 vanced to the former, and taking him cordially by 
 the hand, said, in a low tone, 
 
 " Why, hallo, Bob ! what, in the name of seven 
 wonders, are you doing here ? It s about the last 
 place in all creation I should expect to see you." 
 
 " And I might ask the same question of you 
 though, like myself, I suppose you have come out 
 of mere curiosity, to see what is to be seen ; but 
 let me make you acquainted with my friend, Mr. 
 
 Melton, from P . This, Mr. Melton, is Mr. 
 
 Hope well, of the house of Thompson, Hope well, 
 and Smith." 
 
 Hands were shaken and beavers tipped quite 
 gracefully, when W 7 hitney went on. 
 
 " Mr. Melton and I have been riding about most 
 of the afternoon to see what was worth seeing in 
 our environs. To-night we went to the play ; and 
 now we are here to finish the day in sight-seeing. 
 I thought it would be a rare treat for my friend to 
 get a glance within this charmed circle. It must 
 be a new world to him." 
 
 " Indeed it is," said the planter, " quite a new 
 world ; and much indebted am I for your kindness 
 in taking so much trouble to oblige me." 
 
 " There are many more rooms besides those we 
 have yet been in," Whitney returned to this, moving 
 towards a door that seemed to open into a suite of 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 131 
 
 rooms beyond. " Won t you walk around with us, 
 Mr. Hope well ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, with the greatest pleasure ;" and 
 Mr. Hopewell joined them in their perambulations. 
 After going through several apartments, and linger 
 ing among them for some time, they came to a 
 small but more richly-furnished room than any 
 they had yet seen, far back from the street, in the 
 third story of the building. A neat chandelier 
 with a profusion of brilliants hung from the ceil 
 ing immediately over a table covered with a slab 
 of beautiful variegated Italian marble. Upon this 
 was a pack of cards, that looked as if they had 
 never been handled, except for a very few times. 
 
 " Really this is beautiful !" ejaculated Whitney, 
 gazing around for some moments with well-affected 
 astonishment, and then quietly seating himself upon 
 a sofa. His companions imitated his example. 
 
 " One can hardly believe that this handsome 
 apartment is dedicated to the nefarious purposes 
 that it is," the individual introduced as Hopewell 
 said. 
 
 " It seems scarcely possible," replied Whitney ; 
 " and yet, it has seen the ruin of many a poor 
 fellow." 
 
 " No doubt of it ;" and as Hopewell said this, he 
 drew a chair up to the table and commenced look 
 ing over the pack of cards. Some remark about 
 them brought Whitney to his side, and the planter, 
 of course. 
 
 " It would be quite a novel affair, wouldn t it, 
 Bob," remarked Hopewell, laughing, " for us to 
 take a quiet game here, with the very cards that 
 have done so much mischief?" 
 
132 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS : 
 
 Whitney shook his head. " Perhaps my friend 
 here would rather not." 
 
 " Oh no, gentlemen, I have not the slightest ob 
 jection to a game or two. I am very fond of 
 whist," replied Melton, promptly. 
 
 " Three can t play at whist," objected Whitney. 
 
 " I saw Harry Sanders down stairs," the man 
 called Hope well immediately said. u Harry San 
 ders, of the firm of Max and Pimlico. I ll ask him 
 to join us, if you ve no objections." 
 
 " You may do so if you choose," Whitney re 
 plied, half indifferently. 
 
 Hopewell went down stairs, but returned in a 
 short time with a fine, gentlemanly-looking indi 
 vidual, who was greeted by Whitney with famili 
 arity. Between him and the planter an introduc 
 tion took place. Then cotton-planting and cotton- 
 selling were talked about for some time. 
 
 " But didn t you say that you wanted me to take 
 a hand at whist ?" Sanders at length remarked, in 
 terrupting the conversation. 
 
 " True," returned Hopewell ; and the four at 
 once surrounded the table. 
 
 We need not follow, step by step, the progress 
 of the games that succeeded, nor go into a detail 
 of the little artifices resorted to in order to induce 
 the more than half-intoxicated planter to stake his 
 money. It is sufficient to say that he was gradu 
 ally led on and on, until he was fairly in the toils 
 so skilfully laid for his feet. When he left that 
 " infernal region," at an hour far advanced towards 
 morning, he had seen the last of thirty thousand 
 dollars pass from his trembling hands. 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A MELANCHOLY HISTORY. 
 
 A FEW words only are required to enable the 
 reader to understand the new and somewhat start 
 ling position in which he finds his former acquaint 
 ance, Charles Whitney. After his marriage he 
 showed as little disposition to attend to business as 
 before. It was in vain that his father remonstrated 
 with him. Why should he vegetate in a counting- 
 room, over old legers, or trouble his brains about the 
 prices of goods, when his " old man" had enough 
 for all his future wants ? It was much more agree 
 able to spend his time in idle pleasure-taking, and 
 he consulted his inclination rather than the wishes 
 and judgment of his father. For a year or two, old 
 Mr. Whitney allowed his son to draw whatever 
 money he wanted ; but, as his draughts grew heavier 
 and heavier, while his attention to business was 
 less and less constant, he felt it to be his duty to 
 lay some restrictions upon him. This caused the 
 young man to become excited, and betrayed him 
 into rather hasty and imprudent remarks, the con 
 sequence of which was a separation between him 
 and his father, attended by a material reduction of 
 supplies. 
 
 During this time, Emily, his wife, had been 
 treated by her husband with as much kindness as 
 one like him was capable of showing to a woman. 
 M 
 
134 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 He was away from her a great deal, and had nearly 
 all of his pleasures independent of her. But still 
 he was fond of his wife, and proud of her beauty. 
 His manner, when at home, was uniformly kind. 
 She did not complain of his absence, although she 
 felt it keenly, and this prevented the occurrence 
 of anything personally unpleasant between them. 
 
 Not long after the rupture which took place be 
 tween Mr. Whitney and his son, the old man died, 
 leaving to Charles twenty thousand dollars, as a suf 
 ficient sum to commence business upon if disposed to 
 pursue any business, and quite sufficient to squan 
 der, if he felt no disposition to change his habits. 
 Deeply incensed at his father, Whitney at first re 
 fused to touch the " pitiful sum" assigned to him 
 by the will ; but the pressing demands of creditors, 
 who had heard the rumour about his being cut off 
 with a mere pittance, led him to change his mind. 
 He took the money, and paid away five thousand 
 dollars in the settlement of sundry bills. Instead, 
 then, of seeking to invest the balance profitably, he 
 continued his idle alas ! that we should have to 
 say, vicious courses. His elegant establishment 
 was still kept up. Brilliant entertainments were 
 given as before ; and thus he wasted rapidly the 
 little that remained. But worse than this. The 
 pleasure-seeking sons of rich fathers move in a 
 sphere beset with temptations hard to be resisted. 
 In this sphere Whitney felt the force of strong al 
 lurements to evil. One of its most direful tempta 
 tions is that of gaming. There is, in all large 
 cities, a class of men who live upon the ruin of 
 others gamblers. A young man with plenty of 
 money to spend, and plenty of time upon his 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 135 
 
 hands, is almost sure to be either entrapped or 
 strongly tempted from virtue by some one of this 
 class. The danger is imminent. The business 
 of these men is to win money, instead of earning 
 it by honourable industry in the various branches 
 of trade, and they study their business thoroughly. 
 
 A man, whose profession was gambling, saw 
 Whitney, understood him thoroughly, and resolved 
 on making him a victim. He insinuated himself 
 dexterously into his confidence, and then gradually 
 led him away into the vice of gaming. After this, 
 by accomplices, he won from him, while he yet 
 had control of as much money as he wanted, large 
 sums. After the death of his father, this man pro 
 fessed to feel a great interest in him, arid held out, 
 as a means of sustaining himself, the certain gains 
 of his own profession, that was now openly de 
 clared. Hitherto, Whitney had not suspected that 
 his friend was a principal, with an extensive ar 
 rangement of subordinates not only in New-York, 
 but in various parts of the country. Under other 
 circumstances, such a discovery would have been 
 startling to him. Now it affected him differently. 
 He soon learned many of the tricks of the pro 
 fession, and entered upon their practice with some 
 success. In return for the favours done him by his 
 pretended friend, that individual managed, through 
 one of his subordinates, whose relation was unsus 
 pected by Whitney, to get at least ten thousand 
 dollars of his legacy. 
 
 For about three years after his father s death, 
 Whitney managed to keep up appearances ; but at 
 the end of that period, fortune turned upon him a 
 less smiling countenance. During this time, his 
 
136 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS! 
 
 irregular habits, and more especially his altered 
 appearance and manner, troubled much the heart 
 of his uncomplaining wife. Her face had become 
 thoughtful her eye dreamy. This change he 
 could not help seeing, nor help feeling its silent 
 rebuke. Had she questioned him too closely of 
 his habits had she complained of her loneliness 
 had she wept before him on account of neglect, 
 his heart would have grown hard towards her ; but 
 the smile with which she always greeted his re 
 turn, and the fond allurements with which she so 
 unobtrusively strove to keep him by her side, made 
 him feel for her much tenderness. The fading 
 rose upon her cheek, whose delicate tints grew 
 paler and paler every day, often awoke bitter up- 
 braidings in his bosom. But it was too late, he 
 deemed, to change his course. 
 
 Seven years had passed since her happy wed 
 ding-day, when Emily, seated by a window in a 
 house far less imposing than the one she had lived 
 in during the first five or six years of her married 
 life, and far less elegantly arranged within, looked 
 dreamily out upon the busy street, her thoughts 
 unaffected by the scene before her. Two children 
 were playing quietly about the room. A third, her 
 first-born, was sleeping its mortal sleep. Three 
 months before, it had fallen beneath the sickle of 
 the reaper Death. The thoughts of the mother 
 were with her lost one. While thus sadly musing, 
 her husband, unexpectedly, came in. He sat down 
 by her side, and taking her hand with more tender 
 ness than he usually displayed, said, in a slightly 
 hesitating voice, 
 
 " Emily, I shall have to leave New-York." 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 137 
 
 The wife started, turned pale, and looked her 
 husband earnestly and inquiringly in the face. 
 
 " I find it impossible to keep up here. I strug 
 gle ha rd" (in what business, Emily really did not 
 know ; her husband had never ventured to inform 
 her truly ; she had been easily satisfied by his 
 vague accounts). " Still, it is of no use. New- 
 York is not the place for me ; but I have an offer 
 of business, if I will go South, that is very advan 
 tageous. Are you willing to go, Emily ?" 
 
 " I will go anywhere with yon, dear Charles," 
 the wife said, leaning heavily against him as she 
 spoke, and looking into his face with dim, but af 
 fectionate eyes. His unusual tenderness of voice 
 and manner had touched her feelings. " But it 
 will be hard to leave my mother. There is little 
 in New- York besides her that has any power to 
 hold me." 
 
 " If you had rather stay with her," Whitney 
 said, after sitting thoughtful for some time, c< I will 
 not object. Money to meet your expenses can be 
 regularly transmitted." 
 
 " Oh no, no, Charles !" she quickly returned, 
 " I am ready to go with you anywhere. Am I not 
 your wife ? and are not these your children ? We 
 must not be separated." 
 
 In one month, Emily, with a sad, foreboding 
 heart, parted with her mother. She sailed, with 
 her husband and children, in a packet for New- 
 Orleans. At that city she spent nearly two years, 
 her husband absent from her most of the time 
 He was engaged in business up the river, and only 
 visited New-Orleans about once in two or three 
 months and then for only a few days or a week 
 M2 
 
138 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 He kept his wife moderately supplied with money, 
 enough to meet her own and the children s wants. 
 How he obtained this she did not certainly know, 
 although, by this time, she more than guessed the 
 truth. 
 
 One day, after the expiration of about two years, 
 he was brought home in a very low state. He had 
 been severely wounded (shot accidentally, he sta 
 ted to Emily) in an affray, in which he was at 
 tacked by a man from whom he had won a con 
 siderable sum of money. The victim suspected, 
 justly enough, that there had been foul play, and 
 he sought revenge by an attempt to kill Whitney. 
 In this he came very near being successful. The 
 wound, which was from a rifle-pistol, proved to be 
 a very dangerous one, and was rendered doubly so in 
 consequence of a violent fever. From the effects 
 of both combined, he was brought very near to 
 death. As soon as he could be moved, he caused 
 himself to be placed on board of a steamboat, and 
 thus conveyed to New-Orleans. By the time he 
 arrived there, he could sit up in a carriage, sup 
 ported on either side by the captain and clerk of 
 the boat. In this way he was taken home to his 
 wife. 
 
 To Emily his sudden appearance in so alarming 
 a condition was a dreadful shock. As he gradu 
 ally recovered, she urged Jiim not to leave her 
 again, or, if his business still required him to be so 
 much of his time in the upper country, to take her 
 with him. To this he replied that he should not 
 go on the river again ; that he would remain in 
 New-Orleans. This he did for some months, then 
 he removed to Charleston, South Carolina, where 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 139 
 
 the reader has been introduced to him as an agent 
 in a very disreputable affair indeed. Here he did 
 not meet with the success, as a regular gambler, 
 that had crowned his efforts on the Mississippi and 
 Ohio, in the steamboats of which he had spent a 
 greater portion of his time. Often he was much 
 straitened. At last, rinding that he lacked the pe 
 culiar ability required to ensure success, he con 
 nected himself with the keeper of an extensive 
 " hell," as a " stool pigeon," or one whose business 
 it is to entice people by deceptive arts, and bring 
 them in contact with men who will either win their 
 money by superior skill, or cheat them out of it by 
 playing unfairly. Even in this detestable calling he 
 had hard work to make enough to minister to the 
 wants of his family or, rather, to minister to their 
 wants, and supply himself with the means of dash 
 ing about, and spending freely with the free. From 
 the best hotel in the place, where he had at first 
 lived, he found himself compelled to go down to one 
 less expensive, and again to descend still lower. We 
 find him and his family in this last position, their 
 bill for boarding, the accumulation of three months, 
 unpaid. Emily is greatly changed. Poorly clad, 
 broken down in health and spirits, toiling on early 
 and late for her children, and yet clinging to her 
 husband with undying affection to that husband 
 who might have lifted her up instead of depressing 
 her who might have made her sky bright with 
 sunshine, instead of dark with clouds. 
 
140 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DREADFUL CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 IT was about nine o clock on the morning of the 
 day succeeding the one on which the occurrences 
 took place that have been described in the chapter 
 before the last, that a man, in a disturbed condition, 
 entered the store of Lily, Frogmore, and Co., and 
 asked to see the junior partner of the house. 
 
 " I am the individual," returned the man he ad 
 dressed. 
 
 11 You ?" and the stranger looked incredulous. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am he. Do you wish to see me 
 particularly ?" 
 
 " I want to see the junior partner of the firm of 
 Lily, Frogmore, and Co." 
 
 " There is but one junior partner, and I am the 
 man." 
 
 " Is Mr. Lily in ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. There he stands in the store." 
 
 The stranger s eye followed quickly the direction 
 given ; but as soon as he saw Mr. Lily, he shook 
 his head. 
 
 " And now, be so kind as to point me out Mr. 
 Frogmore," he said. 
 
 " Here he is," turning to a man close by. 
 
 Again the interlocutor shook his head. He now 
 seemed confused, and stood thoughtful for some mo 
 ments. Then he said, 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 141 
 
 " A cursed villain, calling himself the junior part 
 ner of your house, has assisted to cheat me out of 
 about thirty thousand dollars. I am now in search 
 of him. My money or his life must come !" and 
 the stranger ground his teeth with rage. 
 
 " That was doubtless but a trick to deceive you 
 the more perfectly," replied the merchant, at once 
 comprehending the situation of the stranger : " a 
 gambler s stool pigeon has many characters." 
 
 " Yes, but he introduced me to several mer 
 chants in your city, with whose names and stand 
 ing I am perfectly familiar. Mr. Hopewell, for 
 instance." 
 
 " What kind of a looking man was Mr. Hope- 
 wellV 1 
 
 " About your size and age, I should say, with a 
 pair of black whiskers." 
 
 " Ha! ha! Another villanous deception. The 
 real Mr. Hopewell is fifty years of age, and as un 
 like the man you describe as two persons can be." 
 
 This caused a new light to flash upon the mind 
 of the planter, for he it was. He stood thoughtful 
 for a little while, and then said, 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see it all now. It was a regular 
 scheme to make me a victim ; lo fleece me out of 
 the earnings of a whole year ; but they ve missed 
 their man. They ll not find me fool enough to 
 blow out my brains. No, no. I ll play on the 
 other string. Here in this town I stay until I 
 meet this junior partner, if it be for ten years. 
 He can t escape me. And when we do meet! 
 Aha !" With a look of bitter revenge, as his voice 
 lingered menacingly on the closing interjection, he 
 turned away and left the store 
 
142 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 All the morning he walked the streets of the 
 city, or visited the various public houses, in search 
 of Whitney, but without effect. The barkeeper of 
 the hotel where he lodged knew his countenance 
 well enough, but not his name, nor the place where 
 he was to be found. After dinner the planter start 
 ed out again. In the first tavern he entered, he 
 saw Whitney, with two or three others, drinking at 
 the bar. Walking up to him, he laid his hand 
 heavily upon his shoulder. Whitney turned sud 
 denly round, and seeing who it was that had 
 made so familiar with him, affected anger at such 
 an insult from a perfect stranger. 
 
 " And pray who are you, sir ?" he asked, in re 
 turn for the bold, fixed look that the other placed 
 upon him. 
 
 "You don t know me, then, ha?" and Melton 
 smiled sneeringly. 
 
 " I do not recollect your face, certainly," was 
 the cool reply. 
 
 "You don t?" 
 
 " No." Whitney s face had on it a dark scowl 
 as he said this. 
 
 " You don t remember anything about the young 
 man in New-Orleans who fell among a parcel of 
 thieving gamblers, and who was fool enough to 
 blow out his brains in consequence, ha ?" 
 
 " No, I don t." 
 
 " Perhaps this will assist your memory." The 
 young man quickly drew a pistol, and placed it at 
 the ear of Whitney, the hammer clicking sharply 
 as the cold barrel touched his face. Half a dozen 
 persons seized the partially deranged planter, but 
 their interference only made the horrible catas- 
 
A 8TORY OF MARPIED LIFE. 143 
 
 trophe more certain. The pistol exploded, and 
 Whitney fell instantly lifeless. 
 
 It would add but little either to the interest or 
 moral of our story to present to the reader s mind 
 a picture of the anguish that smote the heart of 
 poor Emily when the awful tidings came to her 
 of her husband s death, or when she bent over his 
 ghastly corpse in a delirium of grief. She had 
 loved him on through evil and good report. As 
 their way grew darker and more toilsome, she 
 drew the closer to his side, seeking rather to sus 
 tain than lean against him. He, with the children 
 she had borne him, were all the world to her. For 
 him, it may be said that his manner towards Emily 
 was never harsh, though too often cold. He loved 
 her as tenderly as such a man could love a wife, 
 and was as kind to her as he was capable of being. 
 This small return for her deep devotion was taken 
 without a murmur ; if it did not satisfy her heart, 
 it did not weaken the strength of her affection. 
 The sky that had for years bent over her was a 
 dark and stormy sky. A single star glimmering 
 through a rifted cloud was all the light it shed 
 upon her weary way. Now that cloud had sud 
 denly closed its severed fragments the star was 
 hidden forever! 
 
 Of the true cause of her husband s death, Emily 
 remained ignorant. The full account of it, which 
 appeared in the city papers of the next day, was 
 not seen by her. All she knew was, that he had 
 been suddenly assailed by one who mistook him 
 for a person that had wronged him, and killed ere 
 the mistake was discovered. After the funeral, a 
 sufficient sum of money was placed in her hands 
 
144 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS \ 
 
 to convey her, with her children, to New-York. 
 This was done by several of her husband s pro 
 fessional friends. 
 
 As for the planter, he was arrested, tried for 
 murder, and acquitted. We give the fact. The 
 principal in the affair left the city an hour after 
 the death of his accomplice, with the booty he had 
 gained, and was never afterward seen in Charles 
 ton. Thus terminated the affair, leaving at least 
 one of the actors a wiser man. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE WRECK OF EARLY HOPES. 
 
 " POOR Mrs. Allison !" was the sympathizing 
 remark of Doctor Arlington, uttered almost invol 
 untarily, as he sat musing on the evening after 
 having dismissed her case. " She lives on only 
 for her children." 
 
 " Mrs. Allison ! Oh yes ; how is she ?" said 
 the wife of the doctor, lifting her eyes from a 
 newspaper she held in her hand. 
 
 " She is better than she was ; but better only for 
 the sake of her children. Nothing but her love for 
 them keeps her alive. There is something very 
 mysterious in her manner towards her husband. 
 She seems to be struggling with herself to keep 
 from loathing him. And he certainly has no af 
 fection for her. When I left him this morning, 
 after informing him that my attendance was no 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 145 
 
 longer required, he thanked me coldly for what I 
 had done, and said he hoped there would not be 
 another recurrence of the disease that had render 
 ed medical treatment necessary. I certainly hope 
 there will not. If so, his conduct will be changed ; 
 for that his treatment of her has something to do 
 with the sudden illness from which she has just 
 recovered, I have little doubt. To me it has been 
 a very painful case. I can bear with professional 
 composure to see the body wasting away under a 
 disease that does not depend upon the patient s 
 state of mind ; but when the mind s distress is so 
 acute as to prostrate the physical system, my sym 
 pathies are all alive. The cause of Mrs. Allison s 
 severe illness is evidently a mental one, and has 
 particular reference to her marriage relation." 
 
 Mrs. Arlington did not reply to these remarks of 
 her husband. They awakened thoughts which 
 she did not wish to utter. They led her to con 
 trast her own happy condition with what it must 
 have been had she married the fascinating, but un 
 principled individual who, at one time, had drawn 
 out towards him her young affections. An inward 
 shudder caused her heart momentarily to pause, as 
 imagination pictured herself in the position of Al 
 lison s wife j but the consciousness of a glad re 
 ality sent quickly a warm glow through her bosom. 
 
 A bright little boy came in at this moment, and 
 taking his place upon his father s knee, began to 
 relate the wonders he had seen in Broadway, 
 while walking out that afternoon with the nurse. 
 Mrs. Arlington resumed her newspaper, but soon 
 interrupted the prattle of her child by saying, with 
 some concern in her voice, 
 N 
 
146 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS: 
 
 " Just listen, dear. * Died on the 14th inst., 
 Mrs. Emily Clarence, aged fifty-seven years. " 
 
 " Mrs. Emily Clarence ! who is she ?" inquired 
 the doctor. 
 
 " The mother of Mrs. Whitney." 
 
 " Indeed ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it is my old friend, Mrs. Clarence, in 
 whose house I have spent many a happy hour. 
 But where can her daughter be ? I wonder if it 
 is possible that she is in New-York? I really 
 feel condemned to think that I have not, since our 
 residence in the city, sought out Mrs. Clarence, 
 and renewed our acquaintance. She was an ex 
 cellent, kind-hearted, but rather weak woman. Af 
 ter my refusal of Mr. Allison s offer, Emily, influ 
 enced by her husband, I have no doubt, ceased to 
 communicate with me by letter, as formerly ; and, 
 under the circumstances, I did not feel inclined to 
 visit at her mother s, where I would be likely to 
 meet her, especially as two notes written to her 
 remained unanswered." 
 
 " I don t know that you have any particular 
 cause for self-condemnation," the husband said ; 
 " I should think you acted pretty nearly right." 
 
 " Perhaps so. Still, I can t help wishing that I 
 had made some effort to find Mrs. Clarence. 
 Through her I should have learned whether Emily 
 were still living, and, if alive, her condition. My 
 old feelings for this pleasant friend of early years 
 have not yet subsided. I often think of her with 
 much interest." 
 
 " Is the residence of Mrs. Clarence given in the 
 notice you have there ?" 
 
 No ; there is nothing but what I hare read to 
 you." 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 147 
 
 " When did she die !" 
 
 " On the 14th." 
 
 " And this is the 21st of the month." 
 
 " Yes ; she has been dead for a week." 
 
 Here the conversation dropped again. While 
 the doctor sported with his prattling child, the 
 thoughts of his wife continued to rest upon her 
 friend of other days ; and with these thoughts 
 came also the yearnings of old affections. An 
 hour after, the doctor was called out to see a pa 
 tient. He did riot return until a late hour. 
 
 At breakfast on the next morning, he was more 
 than usually thoughtful and silent. Flora noticed 
 this, and rightly conjecturing that he was occupied 
 in some professional matter of more than ordinary 
 interest, made no remark that referred to his ab 
 sent-mindedness. That evening, after the little 
 ones had retired, and they were alone, Doctor Ar 
 lington said, 
 
 " Flora, I met with a case to-day as strange, in 
 some respects, as that of Mrs. Allison." 
 
 " What was it, dear ?" his wife asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Strange as it may seem, I find that a lady 
 whom I saw last evening is no other than your 
 old friend, Mrs. Whitney." 
 
 " Why, husband !" exclaimed Flora, starting 
 forward. 
 
 " Yes, it is true ; and she is almost as much a 
 wreck as Mrs. Allison." 
 
 Mrs. Arlington looked into her husband s face 
 with mute surprise. 
 
 " She is now," continued the doctor, " lying 
 very ill at the house where her mother died. She 
 arrived from Charleston, in a packet, two days 
 
148 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS . 
 
 ago, with one child. She had two when she left ; 
 but the other sickened on the way, and was taken 
 from the evil to come. I have learned that her 
 husband, who for years has lived by gambling, be 
 came involved in some difficulty with a man from 
 whom he had won a large sum of money, and that 
 the man shot him dead. His wife then took her 
 two children, and returned to New-York by sea, to 
 find a home once more with her mother ; but, as 
 you are aware, that mother was dead. The death 
 of her husband, under such terrible circumstances, 
 shocked both mind and body ; the loss of one of 
 her children at sea, and then the dreadful news 
 that her mother was likewise in the grave, com 
 pleted the work. When called in, I found her body 
 under the influence of a raging fever, and her mind 
 in delirium." 
 
 " Dreadful !" ejaculated Mrs. Arlington. 
 
 " To-day there is some abatement of the fever, 
 though her mind still wanders. She talks continu 
 ally in a sad, mournful strain ; sometimes incohe 
 rently, but often uttering whole sentences that ex 
 press most touchingly how much she has suffered 
 from loneliness and neglect. Oh, Charles, she 
 said once, * why do you stay away so long, so very 
 long ? I sit up and work until I ache with weari 
 ness. There ! it is three o clock, and he hasn t 
 come yet. Where does he stay so long so long 
 oh ! so very long ? A great deal like this she 
 utters, with touching pathos." 
 
 " Does she look at all as she used to look ?" 
 asked Flora. 
 
 " I shouldn t have known her. The brow that 
 was once so smooth is now seamed with many 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 149 
 
 lines ; there is no bloom upon her cheeks, now this 
 and sallow ; her eye has lost its brightness ; she is 
 indeed a wreck." 
 
 Tears were rolling down the face of Mrs. Ar 
 lington, as, rising from her chair, she came up to 
 the doctor, and laying her cheek to his, while she 
 drew her arm around his neck, murmured, 
 
 " Thank God for giving me a good husband !" 
 
 This little act of affection these brief words 
 came from a full heart. Two of her friends had 
 made shipwreck of all that is dear to a woman ; 
 but her bark still moved gently on a summer sea. 
 This thought, coming home to her so vividly, 
 touched her heart, and brought forth the almost in 
 voluntary act and words that have been just re 
 corded. 
 
 On the next morning it was agreed that Flora 
 should accompany her husband in his visit to Mrs. 
 Whitney. Her heart fluttered as she ascended to 
 the chamber where her old friend lay, after enter 
 ing the house in which Mrs. Clarence had lived 
 with a distant relative for some years previous to 
 her death. From the door of the sick room, she 
 moved with a quiet step to the bed upon which 
 Emily rested, and there, by the side of her hus 
 band, in fact, leaning upon his arm, she stood 
 looking down upon the pale, shrunken, and marred 
 face of Emily for nearly a minute. The sick 
 woman slept. Her quiet breathing, and the moist 
 ure that rested upon her forehead, showed that 
 her fever had left her, while her calm, infant-like 
 sleep indicated the return of reason. 
 
 " She is better," the doctor said, in a low tone, 
 to the woman who had the care of her. 
 N2 
 
150 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 " Yes, she seems better. Her fever left her 
 several hours ago," was replied. 
 
 The sound of voices reached the ear of Mrs. 
 Whitney. Her lids unclosed, and she looked up 
 with surprise to find that strangers were standing 
 beside her. For a moment or two she closed her 
 eyes as if to shut out an illusion ; then opened 
 them again, to find that she had only looked upon 
 what was real. 
 
 " Emily," said Mrs. Arlington, in a low. earnest 
 voice, bending over towards her old friend as she 
 spoke. 
 
 The sick woman started at the sound of her 
 voice, while her cheeks flushed, and her eyes 
 scanned eagerly the countenance of the strangers. 
 
 " Emily r do you not know me ?" 
 
 " Flora ! Flora ! Oh ! is it indeed you ?" quickly 
 burst from the lips of Mrs. Whitney, as she rose 
 up from the pillow upon which she lay, and threw 
 herself forward upon the bosom of Mrs. Arlington. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear friend !" returned Flora, as 
 she drew her arms around the almost skeleton form 
 of Emily, and held it tightly to her heart. 
 
 " To think that we should ever meet thus," the 
 almost heart-broken creature said, an hour after 
 ward, as Mrs. Arlington sat holding her hand, at 
 the same time that she caressed a flaxen-haired 
 child, some four years old, the sweet image of her 
 mother, that had climbed up confidently into her 
 lap. In the hour that had passed, much of Mrs. 
 Whitney s sad history had been related, while mutual 
 tears mingled freely. " To think that, a few years 
 ago, all was so bright above and around, and so 
 full of promise ; and that now, all is sorrow and 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 151 
 
 gloom. Ah, Flora, life s early promise is a cheat 
 ing dream !" 
 
 To this sentiment Mrs. Arlington could not 
 respond. To her, early promises had been more 
 than fulfilled. She had chosen wisely her lot; 
 the mere external form of good was not enough for 
 her ; she had looked for the substance within the 
 form. Her friend, deceived by the semblances of 
 good, had rested her all in life upon an unstable 
 foundation, that had crumbled beneath her, when 
 it was too late to seek another habitation. 
 
 All the assurances of undecayed affections, all 
 the consolations and hopes that she could present 
 to her mind, were freely offered by Mrs. Arling 
 ton. They had their effect, small though the ap 
 pearance was, upon the mind of Emily. 
 
 " You will come and see me again, will you not, 
 Flora ?" she said, as she clung to the hand of her 
 friend, who had risen at last to leave her ; " there 
 is now no one left to care for me, or to love me." 
 
 " Yes, Emily, I will come again, and often. I 
 am glad to find you so much better than I had ex 
 pected, from the doctor s account of your situation 
 when he left you yesterday. You will soon be 
 able to walk out, Thope, and then I shall expect 
 you to be one of my most frequent, as you cer 
 tainly will be one of my most welcome visitors." 
 
 Then kissing tenderly the moist cheek of her 
 unhappy friend, Mrs. Arlington left her and re 
 turned home. 
 
152 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 " MRS. WHITNEY is still recovering, I suppose," 
 the wife of Doctor Arlington said to him one even 
 ing, about a week after her first visit to Emily. 
 She had seen her nearly every day since. Not 
 on that day, nor the day previous, however. 
 
 " Yes," returned the doctor, " she still continues 
 to improve ; but to-day I thought she seemed more 
 than usually depjessed. She must be lonely and 
 desolate." 
 
 " Desolate enough. She seems to feel acutely 
 the loss of her husband. He was always kind to 
 me, she said, the last time I was with her. He 
 was not like other men ; he could not struggle suc 
 cessfully with the world ; but he was good to me. 
 If he were disturbed by anything that occurred from 
 home, it never caused him to speak harshly to his 
 wife ; though, to have shared all his thoughts, to 
 have known all he felt, I could have borne even 
 unkindness. " 
 
 " He was her husband ; and she best knows 
 what was good in him. But that, in resting upon 
 the love of such a man as he was a man without 
 honest and honourable principles she laid her 
 head upon a pillow of thorns, the result has sadly 
 proved. She may still love, in memory, that pil 
 low ; but the wounds it has given will never cease 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 153 
 
 to afflict her while life in this world remains. Time 
 may heal them over ; but the scars will be left, and 
 there will occur seasons when they will cause her 
 bitter anguish." 
 
 " The cause of her unusual depression may 
 arise from the destitution that threatens her," Mrs. 
 Arlington said. " I learned, in a conversation that 
 I had with the woman in whose house she is, that 
 there was some doubt whether the small legacy on 
 which her mother had lived would be continued to 
 Emily. She has nothing herself; and, if this 
 should fail, she will be thrown entirely upon her 
 personal resources for a subsistence for herself 
 and child. I wish you would make some inquiries 
 into the matter, and see if anything can be done to 
 secure it." 
 
 This Doctor Arlington promised to do at once. 
 He found, on examination, that there was some 
 danger of the legacy passing into other hands than 
 Mrs. Whitney s, although he soon learned enough 
 in regard to it to make him satisfied that to her it 
 rightly belonged. Prompt and judicious measures 
 were taken by him to prevent the wrong that was 
 intended. He was successful. Instead of being 
 left penniless, and almost helpless, Mrs. Whitney 
 came into the receipt of three hundred dollars a 
 year, which gave her every external comfort she 
 desired. On this, blessed with the friendship of 
 Mrs. Arlington and her husband the latter much 
 more highly appreciated now than in former times 
 she lived a more peaceful life than she had known 
 for many long years. The world presented to her 
 a new aspect. She looked beyond the surface, and 
 clearly discriminated the real from the apparent ; 
 
154 LOVERS AND HUSBANDS I 
 
 but wisdom had come too late to give her its 
 choicest, because its earliest and best fruits. 
 
 Time passed on pleasantly with the amiable, yet 
 strong-minded doctor, and his lovely wife. Each 
 day brought its renewed blessings, for which they 
 were humbly thankful to Him whose gifts are ever 
 good, whether they appear in the storm or the sun 
 shine the drear winter, with its snows covering 
 and protecting the good seed that has been sown 
 in the rich and tender soil of early years ; or in 
 the genial spring and warmer summer-time, bring 
 ing forth and ripening the grain, filling the vines 
 with rich foliage, and swelling the grape into de 
 licious maturity. 
 
 A year after the return of Emily from the South, 
 Mrs. Allison died. One more shock severed the 
 golden cord of life. She went down into her 
 grave unwept and unhonoured by a husband who 
 had never loved her. 
 
 Thus closes our narrative. Its lessons are too 
 plain, it seems to us, to need a single word more. 
 Much has been written in the fictitious histories 
 of the past, much continues to be written in the fic 
 titious histories of the present day, about love and 
 marriage. They form themes of inexhaustible in 
 terest, and no wonder. They are central to all 
 things. All that exists external to them must be 
 tinctured with their quality ; for from centres every 
 thing proceeds in just order towards externals, or 
 circumferences. Whatever is the quality of a 
 man s real thoughts in regard to marriage, will be 
 the quality of his moral life. If he does not regard 
 
A STORY OF MARRIED LIFE. 155 
 
 marriage as the holiest of all relations, and does 
 not enter into it from pure ends, its bands will rest 
 neither upon him nor the unfortunate being he has 
 called by the name of wife, like silken fetters, all 
 imfelt. As years accumulate, and what is within 
 comes more and more into manifest life, that is, is 
 less concealed from the pressure of external causes, 
 such as love of reputation, place, or some other 
 motive, married partners who are not united by a 
 genuine love of each other s moral beauties, are 
 less guarded about displaying their real feelings. 
 Then indeed comes the winter of old age, in which 
 no green thing cheers the eye, and no mild south 
 wind ever and anon warms the sunken cheek. 
 Few of our writers of fiction have gone deep 
 enough into these subjects. Few have understood 
 the real quality of the things presented few have 
 comprehended the nature of a marriage union. 
 Our own feeble efforts have in them only a glim 
 mering of the real truth. Such as they are, we 
 give them forth, trusting that they will at least 
 do some good ; that the crude illustrations and 
 vague hints presented may become thought-in 
 spiring to other minds ; and other reapers enter 
 the field from which we have taken only a few 
 ripe shocks, and bear thence a rich and abundant 
 harvest. 
 
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