CLARENCE; 
 
 OE, 
 
 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF i! HOPE LESLIE," &c. 
 
 l< Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep my lore, 
 The lesser wealth, the lighter load small blame betides the poor. 
 
 BISHOP 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 f AREY & LEA. CHESTNUT STREE 
 
 im 
 
 A 
 
tout hern iJisirict of New York, to wit. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the seventeenth day of March, inttK 
 fifty-fourth year of the Independence of the United States of Ame 
 rica, A. D. 1830, CARY & LEA, of the said district, have deposited 
 in this office the title of a book, the rig-tit whereof they claim as 
 proprietors, in the words following 1 , to wit : 
 
 "Clarence; or a Talc of our own Times. By the Author of 
 : Hope Leslie, &c. &c. 
 
 Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep my lore, 
 
 The lesser wealth, the lighter load small blame betides thee poor. 
 
 BISHOP HEBEK 
 In two Volumes." 
 
 In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, 
 entitled, "An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
 the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprie 
 tors of such copies, during the time therein mentioned." And also, 
 to an Act, entitled, "An Act, supplementary to an Act, entitled, An 
 Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of 
 Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such 
 copies, during the time therein mentioned, and extending the be 
 tiefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching his 
 torical and other prints." 
 
 FREDERICK J. BETTS. 
 Clerk of the Southern District of New York. 
 
 Sleight & Robinson, Printers, New York. 
 
 
v, I 
 
 v* 
 
 e6 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To my Brothers my best friends, the following 
 f>ages are inscribed, as a tribute of affection, by 
 
 THEIR AUTHOR, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 We had intended to affix a precise date to the fol 
 lowing narrative, when we seasonably recollected the 
 prudent counsel of my Uncle Toby ! "Leave out 
 the date entirely, Trim," quoth my Untie Toby 
 " leave it out entirely Trim, a story passes very well 
 without these niceties, unless one is pretty sure of 
 em !" " Sure of em !" said the corporal, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 The reader will be pleased to suppose the events 
 of our story to have occurred at any period with 
 in the present century, and will have the indul 
 gence to pardon sundry anachronisms, particularly 
 the liberty the author has taken in anticipating the 
 masquerade of 1829. 
 
t- 
 
 \ 
 
CLARENCE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ; Dis moi un peu, ne trouves tu pas, comme moi, quelque chose 
 Uu ciel, quelque effet du destin, dans 1 aventure inopinee de notrc 
 fonnoissanceT , 
 
 MOLIEHE. 
 
 IT was one of the brightest and most beautiful 
 days of February. Winter had graciously yield 
 ed to the melting influence of the soft breezes 
 from the Indian s paradise the sweet southwest. 
 The atmosphere was a pure transparency, a perfect 
 ether ; and Broadway, the thronged thoroughfare 
 through which the full tide of human existence 
 pours, the pride of the metropolis of our western 
 world, presented its gayest and most brilliant aspect. 
 
 Nature does not often embellish a city ; but here, 
 she has her ensigns, her glorious waving pennons 
 in the trees that decorate the park, and the entrance 
 to the hospital, and mantle with filial reverence 
 around St. Paul s and Trinity churches. A sud- 
 
8 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 den change from intense cold to rain, and then 
 again to frost, changes and successions not un 
 common in our inconstant climate, had encircled the 
 trees, their branches, and even the slightest twigs thai 
 bent and crackled under the little snowbird, with a 
 brilliant incrustation of ice, and hung them with 
 countless crystals nature s jewels how poor in 
 the comparison a monarch s regalia ! 
 
 The chaste drapery of summer is most beautiful ; 
 but there was something in all this gorgeousness, 
 this ostentatious brilliancy, that harmonized well 
 with the art and glare of a city. It seemed that 
 nature, for once, touched with the frailty of her 
 sex, and determined to outshine them all, had don 
 ned her jewelled robe, and come forth in all her 
 queenly decorations in the very temple of art and 
 fashion ; for this is the temple of these divinities, and 
 on certain hours of every auspicious day is abandon 
 ed to the rites of their worshippers. 
 
 But the day has its successive scenes, as life its 
 seven ages. The morning opens with servants 
 sweeping the pavements the pale seamstress has 
 tening to her daily toil the tormented dyspeptic 
 sallying forth to his joyless morning ride the cry 
 of the brisk milkman the jolly baker and the 
 sonorous sweep the shop-boy fantastically ar 
 ranging the tempting show, that is to present to the 
 second sight of many a belle her own sweet person, 
 arrayed in Flandin s garnitures, Marquand s jewels, 
 Goguet s flowers, and (oh tempora ! oh mores !) Ma 
 nuel s * ornamental hair work of every description. 
 
 Then comes the business hour the merchant, 
 full of projects, hopes, and fears, hastening to hi? 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 9 
 
 counting house the clerk to his desk the lawyer 
 to the courts the children to their schools, and 
 country ladies to their shopping. 
 
 Then come forth the gay and idle, and Broad 
 way presents a scene as bustling, as varied, and 
 as brilliant, as an oriental fair. There, are 
 graceful belles, arrayed in the light costume of 
 Paris, playing off their coquetries on their at 
 tendant beaux accurately apparelled Quakers 
 a knot of dandies, walking pattern-cards, faith 
 ful living personifications of their prototypes in , 
 the tailor s window dignified, self-complacent mat 
 rons idle starers at beauties, and beauties willing 
 to be stared at blanketed Indian chiefs from the 
 Winnebagoes, Choctaws, and Cherokees, walking 
 straight forward, as if they were following an ene 
 my s trail in their own forests girls and boys 
 escaped from school thraldom young students 
 with their backs turned on college and profes 
 sors merry children clustering round a toy-shop 
 servants loaded with luxuries for the evening 
 party, jostling milliners girls with bandboxes a 
 bare headed Greek boy with a troop of shouting 
 urchins at his heels a party of jocund sailors 
 from the farthest Ind a family groupe of Al 
 sace peasants and, not the least jolly or envi 
 able of all this multifarious multitude, the company 
 of Irish orangemen stationed before St. Paul s, 
 their attention divided between the passers-by, their 
 possible customers, and the national jibes and jokes 
 of their associates. 
 
 It was on such a day as we have described, and 
 through such a throng, that one lonely being was 
 
10 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 threading his way, who felt the desolateness oi 
 that deepest of all solitudes the solitude of a 
 crowd the loneliness of the tomb amidst abound 
 ing life. He was a stranger. No one of all that 
 multitude, high or humble, saluted him ; no familiar 
 eye rested on him. He was not old, but the frosts 
 of age were on his head, and his cheek was indented 
 with furrows of * long thought and dried up tears. 
 There was not one of all the gay and reckless, con 
 fident in happiness, and secure in prosperity, that 
 could sympathize with the sullen, disappointed, and 
 wretched aspect of the stranger ; but the beggar as 
 he passed him forgot his studied attitude and mock 
 misery, and the mourner in her elaborate weeds 
 threw a compassionate glance at him. The stran 
 ger neither asked nor looked for compassion. 
 Though his dress indicated poverty, there was that 
 in his demeanour that would have repressed in 
 quiry, and seemed to disdain charity.- Something 
 like a scornful smile played on his features, a smile 
 of derision, of hostility with a species that could be 
 thus occupied and amused ; such a smile as a show 
 of monkeys might extort. 
 
 A knot of ladies stopped his way for a moment. 
 " Was you at Mrs. Lay ton s last night ?" asked one 
 of the fair ones. " Indeed was I something quite 
 out of the common way, I assure you. Nothing 
 but Italian sung nothing but waltzes danced." 
 
 11 Do you know poor Mrs. Bruce is just gone?" 
 " Poor thing ! is she ? Where did you get your 
 Marabouts?" " Is not that hat ravishing?" " Do 
 you know Roscoe s furniture is to be sold to-mor 
 row ?" " Julia, look, what a sweet trimming !" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 1 1 
 
 " My ! let that old man pass." For an instant the 
 gaze of the pretty chatterers was fixed on the ashen 
 countenance of the stranger, and there was some 
 thing in the expression of his large sunken eye, as 
 its sarcastic glance met theirs, that arrested their 
 attention and steps. But they passed on, and their 
 thoughts reverted to trimmings, parties, and Mara 
 bouts. 
 
 The stranger pursued his way slowly and pen 
 sively as far as Trinity-church, and then crossing 
 Broadway turned into Wall-street, where he eyed 
 the bustling multitude of merchants, merchants 
 clerks, brokers, and all the servants, ministers, and 
 followers of fortune, with even a more bitter mental 
 satire than the butterfly world of Broadway. As 
 he reached the corner of William-street, his attention 
 was attracted by a beautiful boy who stood at a 
 fruit-stall stationed there, trafficking with an ill- 
 favored old woman for a couple of oranges. The 
 love of childhood is a tie to our species that even 
 misanthropy cannot dissolve. Perhaps it was this 
 bond of nature that strained over the stranger s 
 heart ; or there might have been something in the 
 aspect of the boy that touched a spring of memory ; 
 a faint colour tinged his livid cheek, and the veins 
 in his bony forehead swelled. The boy, unconscious 
 of this observation, completed his bargain, and 
 bounded away, and the stranger perceiving that he 
 in turn had become the object of notice to some 
 loiterers about the stall, purchased an apple and 
 passed on. In taking a penny from his pocket, 
 he dropped his handkerchief. The old woman 
 saw it, and unobserved, contrived by a skilful sweep 
 
12 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 of her cloak to sequester it, and at a convenient 
 opportunity transferred it to her pocket, saying 
 to herself as she did so, "It is as fine as a spi 
 der s web, a pretty article for the like of him 
 truly ; it s reasonable that my right to it is as good as 
 his," and with this comment entered on the records 
 of conscience, she very quietly appropriated it. 
 
 In the mean time the stranger pursued his way 
 down William-street, and the little boy, who, for 
 some reason had retraced his steps, was running in 
 the same direction, tossing up his oranges, and 
 amusing himself with the effort to keep both in the 
 air at the same moment. 
 
 Intent on his sport, he heedlessly ran against the 
 stranger, dropped his oranges, knocked the man s 
 cane from his hand, and nearly occasioned his 
 falling. Something very like a curse rose to his lips. 
 The boy picked up the cane and gently replaced it, 
 saying at the same time, with such unaffected earnest 
 ness, " 1 am very sorry, sir," that softened by his 
 manner, and perceiving it was the same child who 
 had before attracted his attention, he replied, 
 " Never mind, boy ; pick up your oranges." He 
 did so, and looking again at the stranger, who to 
 his unpractised eye seemed old and poor ; he said 
 modestly, " Will you take one, sir ?" 
 
 " No, no, boy." 
 
 "Do take one." 
 
 "No, thank ye, child." 
 
 " I had much rather you would than not ; I don t 
 really want but one myself." 
 
 "No, no; God bless ye." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 13 
 
 By this time they had reached an old Dutch 
 domicil, with a gable end to the street, one of the 
 few monuments that remain of the original settlers 
 of our good city. 
 
 The steps or (to use the vernacular word) the 
 stoop had just been nicely scoured : the boy per 
 ceiving the stranger breathed painfully, and moved 
 with difficulty, sprang forward to open the door. 
 The sound of the lifted latch brought out an old 
 woman who appeared by the shrill tones of autho 
 rity and wrath that issued from her lips, at the sight 
 of the boy s muddy footsteps on the clean boards, y 
 to be the " executive" of the establishment. 
 
 She stood with a scrubbing brush in her uplifted 
 hand, and the boy started back, as if he expected 
 farther and more painful demonstrations of her an 
 ger. " Stay, stay, my child," said the stranger, 
 14 and sit down on that bench," and then turning to 
 the old woman, " hold your foul tongue," he said, 
 " and let the lad alone." 
 
 " Leave him be ! It s my own house and my 
 own tongue, and neither you nor any other man 
 can master it." 
 
 " God knows that s true," replied the stranger, and 
 without wasting any farther efforts on the confessedly 
 impossible, he very unceremoniously extended his 
 cane, and poked the woman s garments within th^ 
 door, so as to enable him to shut it in her face, 
 which he effected without delay. Perhaps the boy 
 laughed from instinctive sympathy with the power 
 of the superior sex ; he certainly laughed most 
 heartily at its timely demonstration, and shouted 
 again and again, " Cracky ! cracky !" an excla- 
 
 VOL. I. 2 * 
 
14 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 mation that the young urchins of our city often send 
 up, equivalent to " a palpable hit, my Lord !" 
 
 The saturnine features of the stranger relaxed, 
 and from that moment there was a tacit compact 
 between him and his young friend, who seemed the 
 only link that connected him with his kind. He 
 received even his pity with complacency, for he felt 
 that the pity of a child was tolerable, because with 
 out any mixture of blame or counsel. 
 r . The boy s father, Mr. Carroll, was clerk in an 
 / insurance office opposite the stranger s lodgings. 
 Frank came daily to his father s office, and as he 
 passed and repassed the stranger s door, he stopped 
 with some good humored greeting, or to share with 
 him his fruit, cakes, or candy. His bonbons were 
 received with manifest pleasure, but never eaten, at 
 least in Frank s presence, and when he inquired the 
 reason of this extraordinary abstemiousness, his 
 friend would answer, " I keep them to console me, 
 Frank, when you are away." 
 
 Mr. Carroll s desk was stationed at his office-win 
 dow, and his eye often involuntarily glanced from 
 his books to his boy, whose benevolent friendship 
 for the forlorn stranger, he secretly watched, and 
 promoted, by permitting him to loiter in his society, 
 and by daily largesses of pennies. 
 
 What draught is so delicious to a parent as a 
 child s virtue ? What spectacle so beautiful to man 
 \s- as the aspect of childhood ? childhood flushed with 
 health and happiness; its buoyant step, its loud 
 laugh, and joyous shout ; its little bark still riding 
 in its secure and guarded haven ; its interminable 
 perspective of an ever brightening future? And in- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 15 
 
 f anc y w ho has not looked with prophetic eye on 
 the fair face of infancy, the dawn of never ending 
 existence, and seen in -vision the temptations, the 
 struggles, the griefs, the joys, that awaited the un 
 conscious little being ? Who has not contemplated 
 the placid minute frame, enveloping such capacities 
 for suffering, and not longed to withhold it from its 
 fearful voyage? Peaceful infancy! must those 
 senses that now convey to thee but the intimations 
 of thy new existence, become the avenues of all good 
 and evil? Must these pulses which now beat so 
 softly, harmoniously, throb with passion ? Must this 
 clear eye be dimmed with tears ? this soft cheek, 
 this smooth brow be furrowed with care and sorrow ? 
 Even so ; for the destiny of humanity is thine, with 
 its joys and its triumphs. Enfolded in this minute ] 
 frame are the capacities of an angel. Go forth 
 then, labor, struggle, and knowledge shall fill thy 
 mind with light of thine own endure, and resist, 
 and from the fires of temptation shall rise and soar 
 to heaven, the only phrenix virtue. 
 
16 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Vous avez de 1 argent cache." 
 
 L AVASE. 
 
 THE stranger with whom Frank Carroll had con 
 tracted so intimate an acquaintance was known to 
 his hostess, and to Frank, and with them only did 
 he appear to have any communication, by the name 
 of Flavel. Frank was satisfied with finding that he was 
 always glad to see him, interested in his little wants,, 
 attentive to his prattle, and reluctant to part with 
 him ; and his Dutch hostess being regularly paid 
 the pittance of his board, felt no farther curiosity in 
 his conduct or history. 
 
 This remarkable exemption of Dame Quacken- 
 boss from one of the ruling passions of her sex, was 
 more strikingly illustrated towards another lodger, 
 who had, for ten successive years, rented her mise 
 rable garret. All she knew of this man was, that 
 his name was Smith, that he was employed in copy 
 ing papers for lawyers, that he thus earned his sub 
 sistence, that he practised the most rigid economy (a? 
 she suspected) and accumulated money. Economy 
 was a cardinal virtue in the eye of Mistress Quacken- 
 boss the virtue, par excellence, and she reverenced 
 Smith as its personification. Every one has a beau- 
 ideal, and Smith was hers. To him alone was she 
 ever known to defer her own convenience. He was 
 allowed, whenever he wished it, a quiet place in her 
 chimney-corner, where he was wont to warm hk 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 1? 
 
 benumbed fingers and toes, while he heated on herl 
 coals the contents of a tin cup, that served him for I 
 tea-kettle, shaving-cup, gruel-pot, and in short was \ 
 his only culinary utensil. 
 
 The indulgence of a fire in his own apartment 
 was limited to those periods of intense cold when it 
 was essential to the preservation of life, and then it 
 was supported by the faggots and coal-cinders, 
 which in the evening he picked up in the streets. 
 His apparel was in accordance with this severe fru 
 gality. For ten years he had worn the same coat, 
 hat, neckcloth, and waistcoat, and he still preserved 
 their whole and decent appearance, from his "prudent 
 way," as his landlady called it, of dispensing with their 
 use altogether when he was in-doors, and substituting 
 in their stead, in summer, a cotton, and in winter, a 
 well patched red baize-gown. Our inventory of his 
 wardrobe extends no farther. He did his own wash-"; 
 ing within the walls of his little attic, and they told 
 no tales. That they could have betrayed secrets 
 was evident from the extreme caution with which he 
 always locked the door of his apartment, whether he 
 was in or out of it. This was the occasion of u 
 semi-annual altercation with his landlady, who very 
 reluctantly conceded to him his right to an exemp 
 tion from her house-cleaning. With this exception, 
 he was the subject of her unvarying respect and com 
 mendation. "A saving and a thrifty body was 
 John Smit," she was wont to say ; " and if there 
 were more like him in our city we should not have 
 to pay for an alms-house and a bridewell, beside 
 having the Dominies preaching the money out of 
 our pockets for an Orphan- Asylum," 
 2* 
 
18 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 She magnified his virtue by contrasting him with 
 Mr. Flavel. " No wonder," she said, " that lie 
 had come to the fag-end of his money. Every day 
 he left sugar enough in his cup, and victuals on his 
 plate to serve John Smit a week. And such loads 
 of clothes as he put out to wash a clean holland 
 shirt every day it was enough to make a body s 
 heart ache ! and clean linen on his bed twice a week. 
 True, he paid for it but she could not abide the 
 waste, how long would his money last at that rate ?" 
 Thus she passed in review the common habits of a 
 gentleman, in which Mr. Flavel indulged, though 
 in the main he seemed to observe a strict frugality. 
 She usually concluded her criticisms with a bitter 
 vituperation of Mr. Flavel s and Frank s friendship, 
 "What business had he to bring that rampaging 
 boy there, slamming the door, and tracking the 
 entry ; in all the ten years John Smit had lived in 
 the house, he had never had one track after him." 
 She kept up a sort of thinking aloud, an incessant 
 muttering like the low growl of a mastiff in his 
 dreams, and this last remark was repeated for the 
 hundreth time, as she passed by Mr. Flavel s door 
 on her way to Smith s room, and with a harsher em 
 phasis than usual, from her seeing some dark traces 
 of poor Frank s footsteps, and hearing his voice in 
 a merry key in Mr. Flavel s apartment. 
 
 Smith had appeared to be declining in health for 
 some months for several weeks he had rarely left 
 the house, and for the last week Dame Quacken- 
 boss had not once seen him. She remembered the 
 last time he came to her kitchen was late in the 
 evening that he was then trembling excessively, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 10 
 
 obliged to sit down for some minutes, and that when 
 she had lighted his lamp for him, he supplicated her. 
 in the quivering voice of a sick or frightened child, 
 to carry it for him as far as his chamber door. She 
 had imputed his agitation to physical exhaus 
 tion, and all unused as she was to such manifesta 
 tions of pity, she had, on the following morning, 
 deposited some soup and herb tea at his door, with 
 the proper intimations of her charity. Smith s 
 emotion was, in truth, owing to a cause known 
 only to himself, and far different from that naturally 
 assigned by Mrs. Quackenboss. 
 
 He had come in that night as usual with his little 
 bundle of sticks and shavings, and was groping his 
 way up stairs with his cat-like inaudible tread, when 
 Mr. Flavel with a lighted lamp in his hand, wrap 
 ped in his white dressing-gown, and looking more 
 ghastly than usual, passed from his room across the 
 entry to the parlor, and after remaining there for a 
 moment, returned, without perceiving Smith, who re 
 mained riveted to the spot where Mr. Flavel had 
 first struck his sight. To Smith s excited imagina 
 tion, he appeared a spirit from the dead, and a 
 spirit invested with a form and features of all hu 
 man shapes, to him the most terrible. 
 
 From that night he had never left his room, and 
 his landlady deemed it prudent to defer no longer 
 investigating his condition, lest it should be be 
 trayed in the mode Hamlet suggested for the dis 
 covery of Polonius. She found his door, as she 
 expected, locked. She knocked and called there 
 was no answer. She screamed, but in vain ; not 
 the faintest sound, or sign of life, was returned; 
 
"20 CLARENCE; Oil 
 
 and concluding the poor man was dead, and with 
 the usual vulgar fear of encountering the spectacle 
 of death alone, she hastily descended the stairs, and 
 communicating her apprehensions to Mr. Flavel. 
 she begged he would stand by, while she forced 
 open the door. He attended her, followed by 
 Frank. The weak fastenings gave way at once to 
 her forcible pressure, and they all entered the apart 
 ment so long and so sedulously concealed. Smith 
 was living, but insensible, and apparently in a deep 
 lethargy. Nothing could be more miserable and 
 squalid than the room, its furniture, and tenant. 
 He lay on a cot-bed, tucked so close under the in 
 clining ceiling, that he seemed hardly to have 
 breathing space. There was no linen on his bed, 
 and his coverings were made of shreds and patches, 
 which he had himself sewn together. A little pine- 
 table, with an ink-stand carefully corked, crossed 
 by two pens worn to the stump, and as carefully 
 wiped, stood by his bed-side. A broken basin, 
 mug, tea-cup, and plate, bought at a china-shop for 
 a few pennies a single chair, the bottom of which 
 he had curiously repaired with list, and a small 
 box-stove, comprised his furniture. His thread 
 bare garments were hanging around the room. A 
 six-penny loaf, half-eaten and mouldy, a dried ner 
 ving, and a few grains of rice rolled in a paper, 
 and tied, lay on the table. 
 
 Quiescent as the landlady s curiosity had hitherto 
 been, it was now called into action by what usually 
 proves a sedative the means of present gratifica 
 tion. After a glance at the sick man, she made a 
 rapid -survey of the room, and holding up both 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 21 
 
 hands, exclaimed, " John Smit s a fool ! and that s 
 what I did not take him for lock his door indeed ! 
 he might as well bolt and bar a drum-head a pretty 
 spot of work, truly, to have to wrench off a good 
 lock to break our way into this tomb, where there s 
 nothing after all but his old carcass ! Ah ! what s 
 this ?" A new object struck her eye, and stooping 
 down she attempted to draw from beneath the bed 
 an iron box ; she could not move it ; her predilec 
 tion was confirmed; her long cherished faith in 
 Smith s worldly wisdom re-established, and looking 
 up with an indescribable expression of satisfaction 
 and triumph, and laughing outright, for the first 
 time for many a year, she exclaimed, " Johny a n t 
 a fool but!" 
 
 Her look appealed to Mr. Flavel. He did not 
 notice it. Frank enforced it by taking hold of his 
 arm, and saying, "See, see, Mr. Flavel!" But 
 Mr. Flavel saw but one object. His eyes were 
 riveted to Smith. For a moment he gazed in 
 tently, and then uttered his thoughts unconsciously 
 and in a half suffocated tone " Good God ! It 
 cannot be and yet how like! He removed 
 the black and matted lock from Smith s forehead. 
 It was wrinkled and furrowed. u Seven and twenty 
 years might do this No, no, it is impossible." 
 He turned away and covered his eyes, and then 
 again turned towards the dying man, and exclaimed 
 vehemently, "It is it is it must be he!" and 
 putting his lips down to the dull ear, he shrieked in 
 a voice of agony. Savil ! Savil!" The poor 
 wretch made a convulsive struggle, half opened his 
 eyes, and looked mistily on Mr. Flavel. A slight 
 
22 CXARENCE; on 
 
 shudder passed over his frame, and he sunk again 
 into his deathlike sleep. 
 
 The landlady now interposed, and rudely seizing 
 Mr. FlavePs arm, "Clear out!" she said, " what 
 right have you to be tormenting him ?" Mr. Flavel 
 shook her from him, and again bending over Smith, 
 he murmured, " No, no, it cannot be I was wild 
 to hope it and if it were oh God !" He turned 
 away abruptly, and said hastily, "Come, Frank 
 come down stairs with me. Frank followed him, 
 and when he was again in his own room, he took 
 the boy in his arms, and wept aloud. Frank gazed 
 at him in silence. . To a child there is something 
 unnatural and appalling in the tears of a man, but 
 the benignant tenderness of the boy, however, 
 soon surmounted every other feeling. He wiped 
 away Mr. Flavel s tears, and caressed and soothed 
 him ; and then whispering, as if he were afraid to 
 speak aloud on a subject that had called forth so 
 much emotion, " had I not best," he asked, " run 
 and beg Dr. Eustace to come and see that man ?" 
 " Dr. Eustace ! who is he ?" 
 " Our doctor mother s doctor the best doctor 
 in New York!" 
 
 " God bless you yes why did not I think of 
 it ? tell him 1 beg him to come instantly. No, 
 say nothing of me here Frank say nothing to 
 any one, not to your father even, of what you have 
 seen to-day but this doctor will not come to this 
 poor devil what shall we do? I have money 
 enough to pay him for half a dozen visits tell him 
 so, Frank." 
 
 "Dr. Eustace does not care for the money, sir;" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 23 
 
 said Frank, as he ran off, with all possible haste, on 
 his benevolent errand. 
 
 "Poor boy," thought Mr. Flavel, "you must 
 yet learn that there are no disinterested services in 
 this world !" The doctor arrived in a few moments, 
 but not before Mr. Flavel had disciplined himself 
 into perfect self-command. As the doctor came 
 from Smith s room, Mr. Flavel stopped him in the 
 entry, and inquired if the poor man were still alive. 
 The doctor said "yes," and that he thought it pos 
 sible he might "be revived for a short time, as he had 
 probably fallen into his present state from extreme 
 exhaustion and helplessness. 
 
 " You hear what the doctor says," said Mr. Fla 
 vel to the landlady, who was also listening to the 
 doctor s report " do your utmost if the man dies 
 now, he dies from your neglect." 
 
 The landlady put in her protest, and a just one, 
 but Mr. Flavel did not stay to listen to it. 
 
 Either his reproach, or the thought of the strong 
 box, which, it had already occurred to dame Quack- 
 enboss, might, in default of heirs at law, escheat to 
 the mistress of the tenement, roused all her energies. 
 She prepared a warm bath, and did every thing 
 else the physician required, in the shortest possible 
 time. The warm bath and powerful stimulants 
 produced such an effect on the patient, that the stu 
 por gradually subsided, and when the physician saw 
 him in the evening, he was restored to conscious 
 ness. This the doctor told Mr. Flavel, and said at 
 the same time, " the man must have died but for 
 the assistance given him to-day the discovery of 
 his situation was quite providential." 
 
24 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " Presidential !" echoed Mr. Flavel in a sar 
 castic tone, "the same Providence has interposed 
 that left the poor wretch pining in desertion, and 
 exposed to the accidents of starvation and death ! " 
 
 11 Yes, Sir," replied the physician, " the same 
 Providence. I suspect, if we could read this man s 
 history, we should find that he is now enduring the 
 penalty which the wise government of Providence 
 has affixed to certain offences. I infer from all I 
 can learn from your landlady and from my own ob 
 servation, that this Smith is a miser, and that he is 
 dying of self-inflicted hardships, which have induced 
 a premature old age. I do not believe he is more 
 than fifty." 
 
 "Fifty! good God!" exclaimed Mr. Flavel, in 
 a voice so startling that Dr. Eustace turned on him a 
 look of surprise and inquiry; but he instantly recover 
 ed his self-possession, and added, " are you skilled? 
 are you accurate, doctor, in your observation of 
 a g es ? The man seemed to me much older." 
 
 " I am not infallible," replied the doctor, " but 
 my profession naturally leads me to make nice ob 
 servations on the subject. I perceive in this man 
 indications of vigor quite incompatible with ad 
 vanced age in his present circumstances. The first 
 thing he did when he recovered a glimmering of 
 consciousness, was to look for a key which was 
 under him in the bed he grasped it and held it 
 firmly clenched in his hand so firmly that it would 
 have been difficult to have wrested it from him. A 
 painter could hardly have invented a better illustra 
 tion of miserliness than the apartment of this poor 
 wretch the iron chest peeping from beneath his 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 25 
 
 bed, and its key still tenaciously held by the fa 
 mished, dying creature. My blood ran cold as I 
 looked at him. This evening his reason is stronger, 
 and I have persuaded him, as the fear of dropping 
 the key increased his restlessness, to let me attach it 
 to a cord and fasten it around his body." 
 
 "Do you think him then quite rational this 
 evening f" 
 
 " Perfectly perfectly himself, I fancy. I pro 
 posed to send a nurse to him, but he protested most 
 vehemently against it, repeating again and again 
 that he was a poor man a poor man nurses 
 were extortionate. I told him I would defray the 
 expense for a night or two, for I thought I should 
 sleep better if I had not left him to die alone, but 
 he still remonstrated, saying that a nurse would 
 burn a light all night ; would eat up all he had ; 
 would keep a fire ; and on the whole I thought so 
 violent an interruption of his usual habits might do 
 him more harm than good." 
 
 " He is then entirely alone ?" 
 
 " Yes, but nothing can make any material dif 
 ference in his condition. This is but a temporary 
 revival. The man must die in the course of a day 
 or two." The conversation was now turned from 
 Smith, but Dr. Eustace still prolonged his visit. 
 He found Mr. Flavel far more stimulating to his 
 curiosity, than the poor mendicant miser. He had 
 a variety of knowledge, a keenness of perception, 
 a lucid and striking mode of expressing his 
 thoughts, and withal, a vein of deep and bitter 
 misanthropy, that indicated a man of marked cha 
 racter and singular experience. The doctor s pro- 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
26 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 fessional interest, too, was awakened. He saw Mr 
 Flavel was suffering from severe physical derange 
 ment, and he hinted to him the necessity of some 
 medical application, which Mr. Flavel declined, in 
 timating at the same time, his complete infidelity in 
 the science of medicine. The doctor soon after 
 took his leave, with a somewhat abated estimation 
 of his new acquaintance s sagacity. Few men, 
 however liberal, can bear to have their profession 
 disparaged. 
 
 At his usual hour Mr. Flavel retired to bed, but 
 not to sleep the strange and strong emotions of the 
 morning had been soon subdued, and his subsequent 
 reflection had convinced him they must be ground 
 less. These reflections were in daylight, when 
 reason bears sway ; but alone, in the stillness, dark 
 ness, and deep retirement of the night, his imagina 
 tion resumed its ascendancy. That face, so well 
 known, so well remembered, so changed, and yet 
 the same, haunted him. The bare possibility that 
 it was the same, had awakened passions that he had 
 believed dead within him. He passed in review the 
 last few weeks of his life. He was himself changed 
 
 - he no longer dwelt in despair. His soul had 
 
 revived to kindly influences. The instrument, that 
 he believed broken and ruined, and that had sent 
 forth nothing but discord and wild sounds, had 
 responded music to the touch of nature to the 
 Breath of sympathy. "What was it in this boy, 
 whom he had so recently known, that had melted 
 his frozen affections? what, in his mild tender eye, 
 that pierced to the very depths of his soul ?" 
 thoughts again reverted to the strange agitations of 
 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 27 
 
 the morning and again, the electric flash of hope 
 darted athwart his mind. He started from his bed. 
 " Are these the mysterious intimations of Provi 
 dence? Providence! If such a power exists, it 
 has been to me oppressive obdurate. Have I not 
 ceased to dread it ? to believe it ? Still the web 
 of nursery superstition clings about me. I had 
 dreams last night of the long dead forgiven for 
 gotten forgotten ! Singular, that such dreams 
 should be followed by this strange event ! Am I 
 floating ? I must still this throbbing heart. I will 
 see him again, though the opened wound should 
 bleed to death !" Thus deciding, and obeying an 
 impulse of inextinguishable hope, Mr. Flavel took 
 his lamp, wrapped his dressing gown about him, 
 and cautiously ascended to Smith s apartment. He 
 found the room in darkness. He closed the door 
 after him and advanced to the foot of the bed. 
 The sick man was in a sweet slumber, but the sud 
 den light of the lamp falling directly across his 
 face awakened him. At first he seemed confused, 
 doubtful whether he still dreamed, or whether the 
 apparition before him were a reality or a spectre, 
 but in an instant the blood mounted into his pallid 
 face, and he made an effort to shriek for help. The 
 sound died on his powerless lips drops of sweat 
 burst out on his forehead he stretched out his arm 
 as if to repel the figure, and articulated in the lowest 
 whisper " Not yet ! I am not dead yet ! oh don t 
 come yet !" 
 
 " Fool ! madman ! What do you take me for ? 
 I am a living man speak, speak to me once more." 
 The affrighted wretch was confounded with a min- 
 
28 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 gled horror of the dead, and dread of the living 
 the terrors of both worlds were before him his eyes 
 were glued to Mr. Flavel, and his features seemed 
 stiffening in death. " Oh, speak to me !" reiterated 
 Mr. Flavel, agonized with the apprehension that he 
 was already past utterance. " Speak one word 
 am I deceived ? or are you John Savil ?" 
 
 " Clarence!" murmured the dying man. 
 
 Flavel staggered back and sunk into the chair 
 a deadly faintness came over him, but in one instant 
 more the tide of life rushed back, and he darted to 
 the bed, crying, " Tell me, is he living?" 
 
 The poor wretch made an effort to reply, but the 
 accents died on his lips there was a choaking 
 rattling in his throat he attempted to sign with his 
 hand, but the weight of death was on it, and he 
 could not move a finger he fixed his eye on Flavel 
 its eager glance spoke but was there life or 
 death in its language ? who should interpret it ? 
 
 Flavel bent over him in torturing, breathless 
 expectation. The faint hue of life faded from his 
 lips. There was a slight convulsion in his throat, 
 and his eyes closed. Mr. Flavel rushed to the door 
 and called aloud, again and again, for help no 
 one answered no one heard him. 
 
 Again he returned to the bed and laid his hand 
 on the dying man s heart. It was still feebly beat 
 ing. " There is yet a spark of life," he thought. 
 "It may be possible once more to revive him." 
 A bottle of spirits of hartshorn was standing on 
 the table ; he dashed it over his face, bosom, and 
 hands. Smith gasped, and unclosed his eyes. Mr. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 29 
 
 Flavel administered a powerful stimulant .the effect 
 seemed miraculous th mysterious energies of na 
 ture were quickened consciousness returned and 
 after repeated efforts, he articulated, " he lives 
 wait." 
 
 Mr. Flavel pressed both his hands on his own heart, 
 which seemed as if it would leap from his bo 
 som ; and warned by the effect of his first impetuo 
 sity, he attempted to be calm, and to say delibe 
 rately, " Savil, I ll forgive you every thing, if you ll 
 rouse your powers to tell me all you know." He 
 again offered the medicinal draught. 
 
 The dying man received it passively, and shortly 
 after said, " 1 am too far gone to tell it !" 
 
 " God help me !" exclaimed Flavel, in utter de- 
 cpair. 
 
 "It is all written," murmured Smith. 
 
 " Written ! where ?" 
 
 "Oh! do not speak so loud to me. It is all 
 written ; when I m gone, you ll find it. 1 
 
 " Where ? tell me where !" 
 
 " In my iron box." 
 
 What the physician had said of the box and key 
 flashed upon Mr. Flavel s mind ; he instantly dragged 
 the box from beneath the bed, threw open the blan 
 kets, and tore the key from the skeleton body. 
 
 The ruling passion, strong in death, nerved 
 Smith with supernatural strength. He raised him 
 self in the bed " Oh, don t take my money," he 
 cried " there is not much^- tis but such a little 
 while I want it it is my all. Oh, there s somebody 
 coming they ll gee it they ll see it Oh, shut the 
 box!" 
 
 3* 
 
30 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 Mr. Flavel did not hear him ; he heard nothing* 
 saw nothing but a manuscript, which he seized, and 
 dropping the lid and turning the key, he threw it on 
 the bed, and left the apartment, without seeing the 
 | tears of joy that streamed from the miser s eyes, as, 
 sinking back, he breathed out his last breath, mut 
 tering, " My money is safe !" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Come and sit down by me ! 
 
 My solitude is solitude no more. MANFHED. 
 
 " Who is this Mr. Flavel, Frank, that you make 
 such an ado about?" asked Mrs. Carroll, as she 
 was adjusting a napkin over a cold partridge which 
 her son had begged for his friend. 
 
 " Who f why, mother, you know the person 
 who lives in William-street." 
 
 " Ah, that I know very well ; but he is only a 
 lodger there : where does he come from ?" 
 
 " I am sure, mother, I do not know." 
 
 " What countryman is he ? You must know that, 
 Frank." 
 
 " An American, I believe ; he speaks just as we 
 do; no, I guess he s English; he speaks shorter, 
 and cuts off his words just in that crusty way thai 
 father says is English." 
 
 " Does he never say any thing about himself?" . 
 
 " No, never. Oh, yes ! I remember the day 1 
 carried him some of those superb peaches cousin 
 Anne sent us, he said I was the only person in the 
 world that ever thought of him ; and he said it in a 
 choking kind of way, as if he could scarcely help 
 crying." 
 
 " Does he seem extremely poor ?" 
 
 "Yes oh, no ; not so very poor I never think 
 of his being poor when I am with him, any more 
 than if he were a gentleman." 
 
 "Is he well looking ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother ; at least I like his looks very much 
 
32 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 now ; but when I first saw him, I thought him such 
 a fright ! He has very large black eyes, and the} 
 are so sunken in his head, that they looked all black 
 to me ; his hair is a dark brown, like father s excepting 
 where it is gray ; and his skin looks like some of the old 
 shrivelled parchment in father s office ; and he is very 
 tall, and so thin that it seems as if his bones might 
 rattle ; and he has turns of breathing like a cracked 
 whistle. But for all, mother, I like his looks ; and 
 one thing I know, I had rather be with him, than 
 with any body else." 
 
 Making all due allowance for the juvenile super 
 latives of Frank s description, Mrs, Carroll was at a 
 loss to understand what attraction there could be in 
 the stranger to counteract the first impression of such 
 a figure as her son had depicted. After a moment s 
 pause, " Does Mr. Flavel give you any thing, 
 Frank?" she asked. 
 
 " Mother ! he has nothing in the world to give ; 
 that he very often says to me." 
 
 " What can make you like him so mucto, Frank ?" 
 
 " Because I do, mother. Now don t say that s no 
 reason ; just give me the partridge, and let me go." 
 
 " Not quite so fast, if you please, Mr. Frank f 
 You surely can tell me, if you will, what it is that 
 attaches you to this stranger f Does he talk to you. 
 does he tell you stories ?" 
 
 " Not very often. He has told me of some ship 
 wrecks, and of the Obi men in the West Indies." 
 
 " It s extremely odd you should care so much 
 about him ; what can the charm be ?" 
 
 " I am sure I do not know, mother ; only he is al- 
 / ways glad to see me, and he seems to love me, and 
 he has not any body else to care for him." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 33 
 
 Mrs. Carroll smiled, kissed her boy, and added to 
 the partridge she had arranged, a small jar of jelly, 
 and Frank ran off, happy in the indulgence of his 
 affection, without being compelled to give a reason 
 for it. When he arrived at the little Dutch domicil, 
 a hackney coach was standing before the door; and as 
 Frank put his hand on the latch, the coachman called 
 after him, " Here, my lad, tell the folks in there to 
 make haste ; it s bad enough to wait for my betters, 
 without being kept standing for the alms-house 
 gentry." 
 
 The sound of Frank s first step in the entry was 
 usually greeted by a welcoming call from Mr. Flavel ; 
 but no kind tone saluted him now, and alarmed by an 
 unusual turmoil in his friend s apartment, he hastened 
 forward to his door, which stood a little ajar, and 
 there he remained riveted to the threshold, by the 
 scene that presented itself. Mr. Flavel lay extend 
 ed on the bed, his eyes closed, and his head 
 awkwardly propped with chairs and pillows ; his 
 hostess was bustling about him, and at the moment 
 arranging a neckcloth around his throat, while two 
 strapping blacks stood at the foot of the bed await 
 ing the conclusion of her operations to convey him 
 to the coach. He appeared entirely unconscious, 
 till an involuntary exclamation of " Oh, dear !" 
 hurst from little Frank s lips. He then languidly 
 opened his eyes, and attempted to speak ; but fail 
 ing, he made a violent muscular effort, and succeed 
 ed in beckoning the child to him, took his hand, and 
 laid it first on his heart, and then to his lips. Frank 
 burst into tears. " Stand away, boy," cried Mrs. 
 Quackenboss, rudely pushing Frank, " stand away, 
 the men can t wait." 
 
34 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Frank maintained his ground : " Wait for what r . 
 what are you going to do with Mr. Flavel ?" 
 
 " What am I going to do with him ! send him to 
 the alms-house, to be sure." 
 
 " Oh ! don t send him to the alms-house." 
 
 " And what for not to the alms-house ?" 
 
 " Because because he is so very sick, and the 
 alms-house is such a strange place for him to go to. 
 Oh don t don t send him there." 
 
 " Pshaw, boy ! stand away I tell you there s no 
 time to be lost." 
 
 " Let him stay one minute then, while I can run 
 over the way, and speak to my father about him." 
 
 " No, no, child, what s the use ?" replied the old 
 woman. But when Mr. Flavel again attempted to 
 speak and failed, and tears gushed from his eyes, 
 still intently fixed on Frank, her obduracy was 
 softened and perhaps a superstitious feeling awa 
 kened. " It s an ugly sight to see the like of him 
 this way," she said, " go but, boy, and be quickly 
 back again." 
 
 Frank ran, found his father, and touched his 
 heart with the communication of his benevolent 
 grief. " Well, my son," he said, " what do you 
 wish me to do ?" 
 
 Frank hesitated ; his instinct taught him that the 
 proposition his heart dictated was rather quixotic, 
 but his father s moistened eye arid sweet smile en 
 couraged him, and when Mr. Carroll added, 
 " speak out, Frank, what shall I do ?" he boldly 
 answered, " take him home, to our house, sir." 
 
 " My dear boy ! you do not consider." 
 
 " No, father, I know it there s no time to con 
 sider ; the men are waiting to take him to the 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 35 
 
 alms-house. The alms-house is not fit for Mr. 
 Flavel, father ; and besides, I can never go there to 
 see him. Oh, don t consider do come and look at 
 him." 
 
 Nature inspired the truth of philosophy, the j 
 senses "are"the most direct avenues-to the heart, and j 
 Frank Carroll felt that the sight of his friend would 
 best plead his cause ; and he deemed it half gained / 
 when his father took up his hat and returned withj 
 him. As they entered the apartment together, Mr, 
 Flavel, whose eye, ever since Frank left the room, 
 had been turned towards the door in eager expecta- 
 tion, rose almost upright on the bed, stretched his 
 hand out to Mr. Carroll, drew him to the bed-side, 
 and perused his face with an expression of intelligent 
 and most mysterious earnestness. He then sunk 
 back quite exhausted, and articulated a few words, 
 but so faintly that they were not audible. 
 
 Mr. Carroll was confounded. He first thought 
 the stranger must be delirious ; but after a mo 
 ment s more consideration he was assured of his 
 sanity, and he felt that there was something in his 
 appearance that accounted for Frank s interest, and 
 justified it. It was the ruin of a noble temple. 
 Humiliating as the circumstances were that sur 
 rounded him, there was still an air of refinement 
 about him that confirmed Frank s opinion that the 
 alms-house " was not a fit place for him," and when, 
 a moment after, the old man fondly laid his hand 
 on Frank s head, and the tears again gushed from 
 his eyes, the boy turned to his father as if the ap 
 peal were irresistible, saying, " There, sir, you will 
 take him home with us, won t you f" 
 
36 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 To tell the truth, Mr. Carroll s heart was scarcely 
 less susceptible than his son s, and he only hesitated 
 from dread of a certain domestic tribunal, before 
 which some justification of an extraordinary and in 
 convenient charity would be necessary. Therefore, 
 while the hackman was hallooing at the door, the 
 blacks were muttering their impatience, and the old 
 woman kept a sort of under barking, he proceeded 
 to make an investigation of the subject. 
 
 He took the old woman aside : " Who is this Mr. 
 Flavel ?" he asked. 
 
 " The Lord knows." 
 
 " How long has he lodged here ?" 
 
 " Six weeks." 
 
 " Has he paid you his board regularly f 
 
 " What for should I keep him if he had not ?" 
 
 " Then I am to understand he has ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and in good hard money too ; for I 
 ran t read their paper trash." 
 
 * And how do you know that he has not money 
 to pay any farther expenses you may incur for 
 him?" 
 
 " How do I know? how should I know, but by 
 finding out ? When I came in the room to make 
 his fire this morning, he laid in a stiff fit, and I 
 made an overhaul of his pockets and trunk, and 
 nothing could I find but a trifle of change." 
 
 " Has he not clothes enough to secure you ?* 
 
 " Yes, he has lots of clothes ; but who wants 
 dead men s clothes to be spooked all their lives; and 
 besides, a lone woman, like I am, what should I do 
 with a man s clothes ?" 
 
 " You can sell them to the pawn-brokers." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 37 
 
 " No, no ; its bad luck to meddle or make with 
 daut clothes. Come Tony," she continued turning 
 to the black men, " take hold; and Jupe, as you go 
 by the ready made coffin store, call and tell them 
 to send a coffin for Mr. Smit. The body is short, 
 and narrow at the shoulders ; let them send an under 
 sized one, that will come at a low price ; for poor 
 Mr. Smit would not like waste in his burying. 
 Come, boys, up with him." 
 
 "Oh, father !" exclaimed Frank, in a voice of 
 the most pathetic entreaty. 
 
 " Stop, fellows !" cried Mr. Carroll, and then 
 turning again to the surly woman, " keep Mr. 
 Flavel for the present," he said, " spare no atten 
 tion. I will send a nurse and physician here, and 
 see that all your charges are paid." 
 
 " No, no ; there s one death in the house already, 
 and he d soon make another the place will get a 
 bad name let him quit." 
 
 Mr. Carroll perceived that her dogged resolution 
 was not to be moved, he was disgusted at her bru 
 tal coarseness, and not sorry to be in some sort 
 compelled to the decision which his heart first, 
 prompted, he asked Mr. Flavel if he thought he 
 could bear to be carried on a litter to Barclay- 
 street. For a moment Mr. Flavel made no sign 
 of reply, but pressed his hand on his head as if his 
 feelings were too intense to be borne. Then again 
 taking Mr. Carroll s hand in both his. he murmured 
 " Yes." 
 
 Every expression, every movement heightened Mr. 
 Carroll s interest in Flavel, and strengthened his reso 
 lution to serve him. He ordered the blacks to go im- 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
38 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 mediately to the hospital for a litter, and himself hur 
 ried home to prepare his wife for the reception of 
 her unexpected and extraordinary guest. This was 
 a delicate business ; but he executed it with as much 
 skill as the time admitted. Mrs. Carroll, though 
 kind-hearted and complying to a reasonable degree, 
 never lost sight of the appearance of the thing, 
 nor was she ever insensible to the exactions and 
 sacrifices that render many forms of charity so 
 costly. She heard her husband through, and then 
 exclaimed, " What have you been about, Carroll 1 
 You may as well turn the house into an alms-house 
 at once. I don t know what people will think of 
 us ! You and Frank are just alike ! There s 
 some excuse for him ; but really, Carroll, I think 
 you might have some consideration. W hat are we 
 to do with the man f" 
 
 " Whatever you please, my dear Sarah, it can be 
 but for a very little while. If he lives, I will get 
 lodgings for him. I had not the heart to refuse 
 Frank." 
 
 " Frank should be a little more considerate ; but 
 men and boys are all alike. I never knew one of 
 them have the least consideration. They just de 
 termine what they desire must be done, and there s 
 an end of their trouble. A sick man is so disagree 
 able to take care of, and who is to do it here ? You 
 surely would not have me nurse him ; and as to Bar 
 bara and Tempy, they have their hands full already/ 
 
 " I have already thought of this trouble, my dear 
 wife, and have obviated it. On my way home I 
 met Conolly ; he appliecfHo me to recommend him to 
 a place as nurse, or waiter ; I have directed him to^ 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 39 
 
 come immediately here ; he is perfectly competent 
 to all the extra labour necessary, and as to the rest, 
 my dear Sarah, no creature beneath your roof will 
 ever suffer for attention or kindness." 
 
 Mrs. Carroll smiled, in spite of her vexation, at 
 this well-timed, and in truth, well-deserved compli 
 ment ; and when Frank at the next moment bounded 
 in, looking beautiful with the flush of exercise and 
 the beaming of his gratified spirit through his lovely 
 face, and springing into his father s arms embraced 
 and thanked him, and kissed his mother, and ex 
 pressed the joy of his full heart by jumping 
 about the room, clapping his hands, and other 
 noisy demonstrations; Mrs. Carroll went with as 
 much alacrity to make the preparatory arrange 
 ments, as if the charity were according to the ac 
 cepted forms of this virtue, and as if it had origi 
 nated with herself. 
 
 Before an attic room, which was most suitable to 
 the condition of the expected guest, could be pre 
 pared, he arrived ; and Mrs. Carroll alarmed by his 
 pale and exhausted appearance, which seemed to her 
 to portend immediate death, threw open the door of 
 her neat spare-room and thus instated the poor sick 
 stranger in the possession of the best bed and most 
 luxurious apartment of her frugal establishment. 
 
 Mrs. Carroll had a worrying vein, but the serene 
 temper, superior qualities, and affectionate devotion 
 of her husband duly tempered the heat and pre 
 vented its rising to the curdling point. 
 
 There were a good many annoyances in this be 
 nevolent enterprise that none but a housewife as pre 
 cise as Mrs. Carroll could rightly appreciate. " Any 
 other time," she thought, " she should not have cared 
 
40 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 about it, but the room was just white-washed and 
 the curtains were so uncommonly white, and though 
 the chimney smoked the least in the world, it did 
 smoke, and every thing would get as yellow as 
 saffron, and it was such a pity to have so much 
 racing over the new stair-carpet if she only had 
 not given away the old one and Tempy would get 
 no time for the street-door brasses, and nothing did 
 try her so much as dirty brasses; and in short, 
 though every inconvenience seemed to her peculiar 
 to this particular case, her good dispositions finally 
 triumphed over them all, and her sick guest was as 
 scrupulously attended as if he had derived his claim 
 from a more imposing source than his wants. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Tis nature s worship felt confess d 
 
 Far as the life which warms the breast !~ 
 
 The sturdy savage midst his clan 
 
 The rudest portraiture of man, 
 
 In trackless woods and boundless plains. 
 
 Where everlasting- wildness reig-ns, 
 
 Owns the still throb the secret start 
 
 The hidden impulse of the heart." BYHOST, 
 
 A few days of skilful medical attendance from 
 Dr. Eustace, the care of a tolerable nurse, and the 
 kindest devotion of the whole Carroll family, worked 
 miracles on Mr. Flavel s exhausted frame. 
 
 He seemed no stranger to the little comforts 
 and modest luxuries he now enjoyed. No Chris 
 topher Sly awaking from his dreams, but as if he 
 might have been both * Honor and * Lord all the 
 days of his life. But, though the refinements of 
 Mrs. Carroll s spare-room did not produce any 
 marked sensation, the kindness of the family did : 
 no look or word escaped his notice ; never was man 
 more sensible more alive to the charities of life* 
 Dr. Eustace said he appeared as much changed 
 since the first time he had seen him, as if an evil 
 spirit had been driven from his breast to give place 
 to the ministry of good angels. 
 
 " Do you mean to pay a compliment to my chil 
 dren, Doctor?" asked Mr. Carroll, to whom the 
 Doctor had addressed his remark. 
 
 " No ; not to them exclusively. I think your 
 
42 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 influence, Carroll, on Mr. Flavel is more striking 
 than theirs than Frank s even though he doats on 
 Frank ; but I have noticed that you excite an obvi 
 ous emotion whenever you come into his room ; and 
 once or twice I have been feeling his pulse when you 
 were coming up stairs, and feeble as they were, the 
 sound of your approaching footsteps has quickened 
 them even to throbbing." 
 
 " It s very odd," said Mrs. Carroll, " if he really 
 feels so much, that he never speaks of it ; not that I 
 care about it at all, you know ; but I think it is but 
 civil, when one is receiving all sorts of favors, to 
 express some gratitude for them." 
 
 " I am sure he feels it, and feels it deeply," re 
 plied Doctor Eustace. "He betrayed so much 
 emotion yesterday in speaking of your husband, 
 that I thought it prudent to leave the room ; and to 
 day he begged me, in case he should suddenly lose 
 his speech or faculties, to request Mr. Carroll to 
 keep him under his roof while he lived. He knew, 
 he said, that Carroll s means were too limited to 
 allow him to indulge his generous dispositions, and 
 he wished him to be informed, that he had sufficient 
 funds in the hands of the Barings to indemnify him 
 for any expenses he might incur. He has made 
 some memorandums, to that eflect I presume, to be 
 given to you in case of his sudden death."* 
 
 " That is just what I should have expected," ex 
 claimed Mrs. Carroll, " true John Bull, keeping up 
 a. show of independence to the last gasp ; as if a 
 few dollars were a compensation for all this trouble 
 hi a gentleman s family. Now, my dear husband 
 don t look so solemn ; is it not a little provoking, 
 4* 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 43 
 
 considering- all our trouble, to say nothing of ex 
 pense ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear; a little provoking." 
 
 " Oh! nothing ever provokes you. I should not 
 think any thing of doing it for a friend, but for a 
 stranger it is quite a different affair." 
 
 " Few would scruple doing for a friend, Sarah, 
 all you have done for Mr. Flavel, but I know few 
 beside you that would have done it for a stranger." 
 
 Mrs. Carroll was mollified by her husband s 
 praise. She knew she in part deserved it, and she 
 was too honest to put in a disclaimer. " I know, 
 Charles," she said, " that I am not half so generous 
 as you are ;" that was true ; " but I have really 
 done what I could for the old gentleman ; gentle 
 man he certainly is ; that is a satisfaction ; poor 
 man, I do feel for him. Yesterday, doctor, after 
 you told me that a recurrence of the fits might 
 carry him off at any moment, I thought it my duty 
 to hint to him the importance of seeing a clergyman, 
 and I proposed to him to send for Mr. Stanhope. 
 He replied very coldly that he wished to avoid all 
 unnecessary excitement. Unnecessary! said I. My 
 dear madam, said he, do not give yourself any 
 uneasiness on my account. I must take my chance. 
 Quackery cannot help me." 
 
 " He has, no doubt, had a singular experience," 
 said Mr. Carroll, " and has probably peculiar reli 
 gious views, but I trust, better than these expres 
 sions indicate. When I went into his room last 
 evening, Frank was reading the bible to him, and 
 Gertrude stood ready with her prayer book, to read 
 the prayers for the sick. He had, it seems, re- 
 
44 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 quested this. His face was covered with his hand 
 kerchief, and I left them to their celestial ministry. 
 Mr. Flavel has probably lived in a corrupt state of 
 society and has become distrustful of religious 
 teachers has involved them all in a sweeping pre 
 judice against the priestly office. Such a man s de 
 votional feelings would have nothing to resist in the 
 ministry of children. He would yield himself to 
 their simplicity and truth, and feel their accordance 
 with the elements of Christian instruction. I feel 
 an inexpressible interest in him, and I cannot but 
 hope that the light of religion has, with healing on 
 its beams, penetrated his heart." 
 
 " That is hoping against hope, Charles ; if he has 
 any such feelings as you imagine, why, for pity s 
 sake, does not he express them ?" 
 
 " There are various modes of expression ; his 
 present tranquillity may be one. There are persons 
 so reserved, so fastidious, that they never speak of 
 their religious feelings." 
 
 " Well that s what I call being more nice than 
 wise," replied Mrs. Carroll, "especially when one, 
 like Mr. Flavel, has doneVith the world." 
 
 Mr. Carroll made no reply. His wife s mind 
 was of a different texture from his, and the sensa 
 tion her remarks sometimes produced was similar to 
 that endured by a person of an exquisite musical 
 ear from a discordant note. He said something of 
 not having seen Mr. Flavel since dinner, and went 
 to his apartment. He was sitting up in his bed and 
 looking better than usual. Frank sat on one side 
 of him, abstracting the skins from a bunch t of fine 
 grapes, and giving them to the invalid. His little 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 45 
 
 sister, Gertrude, on the other, reading aloud. 
 " Where did you get your grapes, Frank ?" asked 
 his father. 
 
 " Cousin Anne Raymond gave them to me, but 
 I would not have taken them if I had not thought 
 to myself, they would be good for Mr. Flavel." 
 
 "Why not, my son?" 
 
 " Because cousin Anne is such a queer woman. 
 I wish I had not any rich cousins ; or, at least, I 
 wish mother would not make me go and see them. 
 I am glad we are not rich, father." 
 
 " Riches do not, of course, Frank, make people 
 like your cousin Anne ; but how has she offended 
 you ?" 
 
 " In the first place, I met her in the entry, and 
 without even saying, how do you do, she asked 
 me if I had scraped my shoes." 
 
 " There was surely no harm in that." 
 
 "I know that, sir; but then she might have 
 looked first, as you would have done. Mother told 
 me before I left home, about cousin Anne s famous 
 carpets, and charged me to scrape my feet, and I 
 had. Blame her new carpets ! I wish I had soiled 
 them." 
 
 "My son!" 
 
 "Well father, I was too provoked with her; 
 there was ever so much fine company in the parlor, 
 and I went to get myself a chair, and they were all 
 looking at me, and I stumbled, I don t know how, 
 but at any rate I broke the leg of the chair, and 
 cousin Anne laughed out loud, and said to one of 
 the gentlemen, I expected it, and then she whis 
 pered to me, * always wait for a servant to hand 
 
46 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 you a chair, my dear ; and then she ordered the 
 man to give me some cake I was determined I 
 would not take any if I died for it, and one o-f the 
 ladies said, the young man is quite right, it is too 
 rich for him." 
 
 Mr. Carroll laughed at the boy s simplicity. 
 "Frank, * he said, ^ she meant too rich to be 
 wholesome." 
 
 " I don t know what she meant, sir, but I hate 
 the very word rich. Soon after, when most of her 
 visiters were gone, she said, so Frank, your mother 
 has a famous new hat where did she get it ? 1 
 told her it was a present from aunt Selden ; I 
 thought so, said she, I thought she would hardly 
 buy such an expensive hat. I hope mother will 
 never wear it again I wish she would not wear 
 any fine presents." 
 
 " I wish so too, Frank ; but was this all that our 
 cousin said ?" 
 
 " No, not all ; but I will tell you the rest some 
 other time, sir." The rest, which Frank s delicacy 
 suppressed, was in relation to his father s singular 
 guest. Mrs. Raymond made many inquiries about 
 him ; said it was absurd to take in a man of that 
 sort. It was making an alms-house of your house 
 at once ; and beside, it was an enormous expense ; 
 but, as to that, it seemed to her, that poor people 
 never thought of expense ; to be sure, benevolence, 
 and sentiment, and all that, were very fine things, 
 but for her part, she did not see how people that 
 had but fifteen hundred dollars a year could afford 
 to indulge them. This scornful railing was not, 
 of course, addressed to Frank, but spoken, as if he 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 47 
 
 had neither ears nor understanding, to another rich 
 supercilious cousin. This, conspiring with the 
 mortifying incidents of the morning visit, filled the 
 generous boy s bosom with a contempt of riches 
 that all the stoicism of all the schools could not 
 have inspired. When he, afterwards, related this 
 supplement to his cousin s conversation, Mr. Car 
 roll s only reply was, "It is true, my dear boy, 
 that our income admits few luxuries but the luxury 
 of giving shall be the last that we deny ourselves." 
 
 But we must return to the little circle around the 
 invalid s bed, which was soon enlarged, by the ad 
 dition of Mrs. Carroll, and the following conversa 
 tion ensued, and seemed naturally to arise from what 
 had preceded. 
 
 " Suppose for a moment, Frank," said Mr. Fla- 
 vel, "that one of the good genii of your fairy tales 
 were to offer to make your father rich, would you 
 accept the offer ?" 
 
 " No, no ; not if he must be like other rich peo 
 ple." 
 
 " What say you, my little Gertrude ?" 
 
 " Not if he were to be at all different from what 
 he is." 
 
 " I am not in much danger," said the delighted I 
 father, " of sighing after fortune while I possess you, I 
 my children." 
 
 "Then," said Mr. Flavel, whose countenance 
 seemed to have caught the illumination of Carroll s, 
 "you do not desire fortune ?" 
 
 " No, I do not; at least I have no desire for if 
 that in the least impairs my contentment. Every 
 day s observation strengthens my conviction that 
 

 
 48 C LARENCE; OR 
 
 mediocrity of fortune is most favorable to virtue, 
 and of course to happiness." 
 
 "And you would not accept of fortune if it were 
 offered to you ?" 
 
 " Ah, that I do not say ; money is the represen 
 tative of power of the most enviable of all power, 
 that of doing good. I have my castles in the air as 
 well as other men my dreams of the possible hap 
 piness to be derived from using and dispensing 
 wealth." 
 
 " And you flatter yourself that with the acquisi 
 tion of wealth you should retain the dispositions that 
 spring naturally from the bosom of virtuous medio 
 crity ?" 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Flavel, some men have resisted the 
 corrupting influence of money, and have used it for 
 high and beneficent purposes. At any rate, if I flat 
 ter myself, the delusion is quite innocent, and in no 
 danger of being dispelled. It is scarcely among the 
 possible casualties of life, that I should possess 
 wealth ; my decent clerkship only affords moderate 
 compensation to constant labor. I have not a known 
 relative in the world, and I never gamble in lotte 
 ries" 
 
 "Life is a lottery, my dear friend," replied Mr. 
 Flavel ; " your virtue may yet be proved." 
 
 " Heaven grant it !" sighed Mrs. Carroll. 
 
 " Then you do not share your husband s philoso 
 phic indifference to wealth, Mrs. Carroll ?" 
 
 " Wealth, that is out of the question ; I do not 
 care for wealth, but I confess that I should like a. 
 competency I should like a little more than we 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 49 
 
 have ; my husband works from morning till night 
 for a mere pittance." 
 
 " Why should not I ? Labor is no evil." 
 
 "Pshaw! Mr. Carroll, I know that; but then 
 one does like to get some compensation for it. You 
 seem to forget the children are growing up, and 
 want the advantages of education " 
 
 "Pardon me, that I never forget; but the essen 
 tials of a good education are within our reach, and 
 as to accomplishments, they are luxuries that may 
 be dispensed with, and for which I, certainly, would 
 not sacrifice the moral influences of our modest 
 competence." 
 
 " I do not see, Charles, that moral influences 
 need to be sacrificed. If you were as rich as Crce- 
 sus, you would be careful to instil good principles 
 into your children." 
 
 " Perhaps so; but I have more confidence in the 
 influence of circumstances favorable to the forma 
 tion of character, than in direct instruction. The 
 most energetic, self-denying, and disinterested per 
 sons I have ever known, have been made so by the 
 force of necessity. Mr. Flavel, you must have seen 
 a good deal of the world are you not of my opi 
 nion ?"J 
 
 " My opinions," replied Mr. Flavel, with a sigh, 
 " have been moulded by peculiar circumstances, and 
 scarcely admit of any general application. Mrs. 
 Carroll has given honorable reasons for coveting 
 more ample means; she may have others equally 
 strong" he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Carroll, as 
 if anxious she should speak her whole mind on the 
 subject, and she frankly replied* " Certainly, I have 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
50 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 other reasons ; I should like to be able to live in a 
 better house to have more servants and furniture- 
 in short, to live genteelly." Mr. Flavel s countenance 
 for a moment resumed its sarcastic expression, and 
 Mr. Carroll rose and walked to the window ; but 
 Mrs. Carroll, without observing either, continued, 
 " By living genteellv, I mean merely, being able to 
 move in good society, on equal terms." 
 
 " Is cousin Anne good society ?" asked little 
 
 Frank. 
 
 " Yes, my son," replied his father ; " all your mo 
 ther s connections are good society." 
 
 If there was satire in the tone of Mr. Carroll s 
 voice, it passed unnoticed by his. wife, who said, 
 with the most perfect self-complacency, " Yes, that s 
 true ; my family has always been in the very first 
 society, and it is natural that I should wish my chil 
 dren to associate with my relatives." 
 
 " Perfectly natural, my dear wife, but perfectly 
 impossible, since wealth is the only passport to this 
 good society, at least, the only means of procuring a 
 family ticket of admission." 
 
 " Well, that s just what I say, just what I desire 
 riches for ; but then," she continued, with a little 
 petulance in her manner, " if you had not been so 
 particular, Mr. Carroll, we might have kept on vi 
 siting terms with some of our connections. We have 
 been repeatedly invited to uncle Henry s and cousin 
 William s." 
 
 " Yes, we might have been guests on sufferance, 
 and have gone to weddings and funerals at sundry 
 other uncles and cousins, but I was too proud, Sa 
 rah, to permit you to receive your rights as favors." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 51 
 
 " There is such a thing, Mr. Carroll, as being too 
 proud for one s own interest; and for our dear 
 children s interest, I think we should sacrifice a little 
 of our pride." 
 
 " It can never be for the interest of our children," 
 replied Mr. Carroll, with decision, " that they should 
 sacrifice their independence of character for the sake 
 of associating with those to whom the mere accidents 
 of life have assigned a superior no, I am wrong a 
 different station. I have no ambition that my chil 
 dren should move in fashionable society ; I do not 
 believe that in any country it includes the most ele 
 vated and virtuous class ; certainly not in our city, 
 where the aristocracy of wealth is the only efficient 
 aristocracy. No, I thank God that there is a bar 
 rier between us and the fashionable world ; that we 
 cannot approach it near enough to be dazzled by its 
 glare : for like the reptile that fascinates its victims 
 by the emission of a brilliant mist, so the polite 
 world is encircled by a halo fatally dazzling to com 
 mon senses." Mr. Carroll spoke with less qualifi 
 cation, and more earnestness than was warranted by 
 his more deliberate opinion ; but he was particular 
 ly annoyed at this moment by the display of his 
 wife s ruling passion. 
 
 " It does not signify talking, Mr. Carroll," she 
 replied ; " you and I can never agree on this sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " Not exactly, perhaps, but we do not materially 
 disagree. Indeed, if the old rule hold good, and 
 actions speak louder than words, you have already- 
 given the strongest opinion on my side, by allying 
 
52 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 yourself to a poor dog, who you well knew could 
 not sustain you in the fashionable world." 
 
 Mrs. Carroll felt awkwardly, and was glad to be 
 relieved by a summons to the parjor, where she 
 found the * cousin Anne, from whose gossiping 
 scrutiny the insignificance of her humble condition 
 did not exempt her. While Mrs. Carroll was par 
 rying her ingenious cross-examination relative to 
 her guest, her husband continued the conversation 
 with him : " Fortunately in our country," he said, 
 " there are no real, no permanent distinctions, but 
 those that are created by talent, education, and vir 
 tue. These fashionable people, who most pride 
 themselves on their prerogative of exclusiveness, 
 feel the extreme precariousness of the tenure by 
 which they hold their privileges. A sudden reverse 
 of fortune, one of the most common accidents of a 
 commercial city, plunges them into irretrievable ob 
 scurity and insignificance ; for to them alj that por 
 tion of the world that is not shone upon by the sun 
 of fashion, is a region of shadows and darkness. 
 Perhaps I overrate the disadvantages and tempta 
 tions that follow in the train of wealth ; but if my 
 estimate of them increases my own fund of content 
 ment, my mistake is at least useful to myself. The 
 fox was the true philosopher ; it is better to believe that 
 the grapes which we cannot reach are sour, than to 
 disrelish our own food by dwelling on their sweetness. 
 But, Mr. Flavel, I beg ten thousand pardons for my 
 prosing, i have wearied you with all this common 
 place on the commonest of all moral topics." 
 
 " No, not in the least ; it is a common topic, be 
 cause one of universal interest. No, my deav 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 53 
 
 mend, your sentiments delight me. I find myself 
 in a new region. I feel like one awakened from a 
 confused, distressful dream. Life has been a dream 
 to me ; strange, eventful, suffering." 
 
 His voice faltered, and Conolly, his nurse, enter 
 ing at the moment, and observing his agitation, 
 whispered to Mr. Carroll that he had best remove 
 the children, for he believed the old gentleman was 
 going in his fits. The children were accordingly 
 dismissed, and a cordial administered, though Mr. 
 Flavel protested it was unnecessary, for he felt 
 stronger than he had done for some time, and 
 lowering his voice, he requested Mr. Carroll to 
 send Conolly away, and direct him to remain below 
 till called for. " I must be alone with you," he 
 said, " I must not, I cannot delay this longer." 
 
 Conolly was dismissed and not recalled till after 
 the lapse of an hour, when the bell was rung re 
 peatedly and so violently that the whole family, in 
 excessive alarm, ran up to the sick chamber. Mr. 
 Flavel was in violent convulsions in Mr. Carroll s 
 arms, who was himself bereft of all presence of mind. 
 He gave hurried and contradictory orders. He sent 
 for Dr. Eustace, and on his appearing, appealed to 
 him, as if happiness and life itself were at stake, to 
 use all his art to restore Mr. Flavel to conscious 
 ness. For twenty-four hours he never left his bed 
 side scarcely turned his eyes from him; but at 
 the first intimation that he was recovering his senses, 
 he quitted him, retired to his own room for a few 
 moments, then came out and took some refreshment, 
 and returned with a calm exterior to his bed-side. 
 Still the unsubdued and intense emotions of hw 
 5* 
 
4 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 mind were evident in his knit brow, flushed cheek, 
 and trembling nerves. He could not be persuaded 
 to leave Mr. Flavel for a moment, day nor night, 
 He would not suffer any one else to render him the 
 slightest service, and he watched him with a mother ^ 
 devotion a devotion that triumphs over all the 
 wants and weakness of nature , 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 55 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 :( When just is seized some valued prize. 
 And duties press, and tender ties 
 Forbid the soul from earth to rise, 
 How awful then it is to die !" Mns. 
 
 WEARY days and nights succeeded. To all Mr. 
 Carroll s family it seemed as if he were spell-bound. 
 His color faded, his eye was red and heavy ; he 
 had forgotten his business, his family, every thing 
 but one single object of intense anxiety and care. 
 His altered deportment gave rise to strange and 
 perplexed conjectures ; but curious glances and 
 obscure intimations alike passed by him as if he 
 \yere deaf and blind. Dr. Eustace said in reply to 
 his anxious demand of his medical opinion, " If Mr. 
 Flavel has quieted his mind by the communication 
 he has made to you, he may again have an interval 
 of consciousness. The mind has an inexplicable 
 influence on the body, even when to us it appears 
 perfectly inert." Mr. Carroll made no answer. 
 Nor, when Conolly s curiosity flashed out in such 
 exclamations as that " Sure, and its well for him, 
 any way, that he s made a clear breast of it," did 
 he .reply word or look to the insinuation. He per 
 severed in his obstinate silence even when Mrs. 
 Car-roll, impatient at this new exclusion from conju 
 gal confidence, said, " I am sure I don t wish any 
 one to tell me any thing about it ; but your silence, 
 Charles, does wear my spirits out ; where there is 
 
56 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 mystery, there is always something wrong. I had 
 misgivings from the first ; you must do me the jus 
 tice to remember that. A great risk it was to take 
 in such a singular stranger. I always thought so, 
 you know. We could not tell but he had committed 
 some great crime. Dear ! it makes my blood run 
 cold to think what sort of a person we may have 
 been harboring." All this was said, and passively 
 endured, while Mr. Carroll was swallowing his 
 hasty breakfast. He moved abruptly from the table, 
 and, as usual, hurried to Mr. FlavePs apartment. 
 
 Frank was startled by his mother s suggestions. 
 He dropped his knife and fork, and signed to 
 his sister to follow him out of the room. " Oh, Ger 
 trude," he said, " do you believe Mr. Flavel is a 
 bad man !" 
 
 " No, Frank, I know he is not" 
 
 " How do you know it ?" 
 
 " Why perfectly well. He does not seem so." 
 
 Gertrude certainly had given an insufficient rea 
 son for the faith , that was in her ; and it had little 
 effect in allaying Frank s apprehensions; and im 
 pelled by them he ventured, though he knew it was 
 forbidden ground, to steal into Mr. FlavePs room. 
 His father was at his constant station at the bed 
 side. Frank drew near softly, took Mr. FlavePs 
 hand, looked at him intently, and then hiding his 
 face on his father s breast, he sobbed out, " He has 
 not committed any crime, has he, father ?" 
 
 Mr. Carroll disengaged himself from his son. 
 and locked the door. " My dear child," he said, 
 " 1 am fearful, but I must trust you. While the 
 breath of life is in him you shall know." 
 

 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 5 
 
 Know what, father ? Oh, don t stop." 
 
 " You shall know whom you have brought to 
 me." He stopped, almost choaked by his emo 
 tion. 
 
 14 Oh ! tell me tell me, sir." 
 
 "My father!" 
 
 Frank was confounded ; he scarcely compre 
 hended the words ; his mind was still fixed on his 
 first inquiry. " But has he committed any crime ?" 
 he repeated. 
 
 " My dear boy, I do not know ; I only know he 
 is my father." 
 
 " Father father," repeated Frank, as if the 
 words did not yet convey a distinct idea to his 
 mind, but as he uttered them they penetrated Mr. 
 FlavePs dull sense, he languidly unclosed his eyes, 
 and looked up with something like returning intel 
 ligence, but it seemed the mere glimmering of the 
 dying spark ; his eyelids fell, and he was again per 
 fectly unconscious. 
 
 Mr. Carroll shuddered at his own imprudence. 
 He knew that Mr. FlavePs life hung by a single 
 thread. Till now he had resolutely acted on this 
 conviction, and had now been betrayed by a coer 
 cive sympathy with his child. He summoned Co- 
 nolly, and taking Frank into his own apartment, 
 impressed on him the importance of keeping the 
 secret for the present, and Frank s subsequent dis 
 cretion proved what self-government even a child 
 may attain. 
 
 Doctor Eustace, at his next visit, announced a 
 slight improvement in his patient, which was fol 
 lowed by a gradual amendment. This, the Doctor 
 
58 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 said, could not last ; the powers of nature were ex 
 hausted. Of this, Mr. Flavel was himself perfectly 
 aware, and said, with his characteristic firmness, " if 
 it is in the power of your art, Doctor, suspend the 
 last stroke for a little time." 
 
 Medical skill did its utmost ; happy circumstances 
 shed their balmy influence on the hurt mind ; and 
 the mercy of Heaven interposed to protract the 
 flickering flame of life. Mr. FlavePs countenance 
 assumed an expression of serenity, and when his 
 eye met Carroll s, it beamed forth a bright and ten 
 der intelligence, that seemed almost supernatural. 
 As his strength permitted, he had short and private 
 interviews with him, during which he communicated 
 his history. We shall recount it in his own words, 
 without specifying each particular interruption. 
 
 " Do not expect, my son," he said, " minute par 
 ticulars. I scarcely dare to think of past events. 
 I dare not recall the feelings they excited; you 
 will sufficiently comprehend them by their ravages. 
 
 " My father was a gentleman of Pembroke 
 shire, in England. At his death his whole 
 property, a large entailed estate, went to my 
 
 eldest and only brother Francis Clarence. 
 
 We never loved each other ; he had no magna 
 nimity of temper to reconcile me to the injustice of 
 fortune. He was a calculating sensualist, governed 
 by one object and motive, his own interest. I was 
 naturally of a generous and open temper. Our 
 paths diverged. He entered the fashionable and 
 political world. I drudged contentedly in mercan 
 tile business for an humble living. He married a 
 woman of rank and fortune. I a beautiful unpoiv 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 59 
 
 tioned girl. Her name was Mary Temple. It is 
 now almost thirty years since I have pronounced 
 that name, save in my dreams. She was your mo 
 ther. I have forgiven her. 
 
 w You were born at a cottage near Clifton. When 
 I first took you in my arms, I was conscious of a 
 controlling religious emotion ; I fell on my knees 
 and dedicated you to Heaven ; I now believe my 
 prayer was heard. 
 
 " I must not stir the embers of unholy passions ; an 
 evil spirit entered my paradise ; I was persuaded 
 that it was imbecile and ignoble passively to bear 
 the yoke of a lowly fortune ; and to permit my lovely 
 wife to remain in obscurity. Favor and patronage 
 were offered, and a road to certain wealth opened 
 to me in a lucrative business in the West Indies. 
 My wife and child could not be exposed to a tropi 
 cal climate, they were to be left to my brother s 
 protection. My brother was my tempter. Oh ! the 
 folly of foregoing the certain enjoyment of the best 
 gifts of Heaven in pursuit of riches at best a 
 perilous possession, and when the foundations of 
 human happiness are gone, virtue and domestic 
 affection, a scourge, a curse ! Two years passed j 
 my wife s letters, the only solace of my exile, became 
 infrequent. Some rumors reached my ear. I em 
 barked for England. My brother and wife were in 
 France ! Be calm, my son I can bear no agi 
 tation 1 followed them I found them living in 
 
 luxury in Paris. I broke into their apartment; 
 I aimed a. loaded pistol at my wife; my bro 
 ther wrested it from me; we fought; I left him 
 
60 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 dying ; returned to England, got possession of you. 
 and re-embarked for Jamaica." 
 
 Here, in spite of the force Carroll had put on 
 his feelings, " My mother ?" escaped from his lips. 
 
 "Your mother; she died long since in misery 
 and penitence." 
 
 " In penitence ; thank God for that." 
 
 " I returned with a desperate vigor to my business : 
 by degrees, my son, you won me back to life ; but 
 I had horrid passions ; passions, that never slum 
 bered nor slept, tormenting my soul, and I was not 
 to be trusted with the training of a spirit destined 
 for heaven. When you were five years old, your 
 health drooped. The physicians prescribed a 
 change of climate. I had a clerk, John Savil, a 
 patient, and as I thought faithful drudge. He was 
 going to England on business for me, and was to 
 return directly. I intrusted you to his care, and 
 also a large sum of money to be remitted to Eng 
 land. This money was the price of the sordid 
 wretch s virtue. While the English ship in which 
 he was embarked lay in the harbor, awaiting the 
 serving of the tide, he escaped with you, in a small 
 boat, to an American vessel. During the night a 
 hurricane arose. All night, wild with apprehension, 
 I paced the beach. The morning dawned; the 
 sun shone out, but I could neither be persuaded 
 nor compelled from the shore, till the news was 
 brought in by a pilot-boat, that the English ship was 
 capsized and that every soul on board had perished. 
 " 1 was then first seized with epileptic fits ; the 
 effect of exposure to a vertical sun, combined with 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 61 
 
 my grief and despair. This malady has since re 
 curred at every violent excitement of my feelings. 
 The wretch who robbed me of my only treasure wa- 
 the same whom I discovered at my lodgings in 
 Wiiliam-street ; the miser. In my trunk you will j 
 find a manuscript I obtained from him. It contains 
 the particulars and explanation of his crime, and 
 the fullest proof that you are my son. This disco 
 very brought on a return of my disease, which had / 
 well nigh ended my suffering life, when Frank 
 brought you to me. God only knows how I sur 
 vived that moment of intense joy. 
 
 " But I must return to those years which have worn 
 so deep their furrows. Time seared, without heal 
 ing my wounds. I resumed my business ; all other 
 interests were now merged in a passion for the ac 
 quisition of property. I seemed endued with a ma- / 
 gic that turned all I touched to gold. I never mis-j 
 took this success for happiness ; no, the sweet fbun-i 
 tains of happiness were converted to bitterness. Me-; 
 mory was cursed and hope blasted ; I was not sordid, 1 
 but I loved the excitement of a great game, it wasj 
 a relief to my feverish mind. 
 
 " After a while, I formed one of those liasons 
 common in those islands, where man is as careless 
 of the moral as the physical rights of his fellow- 
 creatures. Eli Clairon was the daughter of a French 
 merchant ; she had been educated in France, and 
 added to rare beauty and the fascinations of a ver 
 satile character, the refinements of polished life. 
 Though tinged with African blood, I would have | 
 married her, but I was then still bound by legal tiesj 
 Her mother, whose ruling passion was a love of ex^" 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
CLARENCE; OH 
 
 pense, to which I gave unlimited indulgence, con 
 nived at our intimacy, till the arrival of Eli s father 
 from France. He had contracted there an advan 
 tageous matrimonial alliance for her. I was absent 
 from her in the upper country. She was forced on 
 board a vessel, in spite of her pleadings and protes 
 tations. The first accounts from the ship brought 
 i the intelligence that she had refused all sustenance, 
 and thrown herself into the sea. 
 
 "O my son, did not the curse of Heaven fall on 
 every thing I loved ? I believed so. Eli left a son ; 
 I resolved never again to see him never again to 
 bind myself with cords which I had a too just pre 
 sentiment would be torn away, to leave bleeding, 
 festering wounds. I supplied the child s pecuniary 
 wants, through his grandmother. She contrived af 
 terwards to introduce him, without exciting my sus 
 picion, among the slaves of my family. He was a 
 creature of rare talent, and soon insinuated himself 
 into my affections. It was his custom to sit on a 
 cushion at my feet after dinner, and sing me to 
 sleep. There was a Spaniard, a villain, whom I 
 had detected, and held up to public scorn. The 
 wretch found his way to my apartment when I was 
 taking my evening repose. I was awakened by a 
 scream from Marcelline. He threw himself on my 
 bosom, and received through his shoulder the thrust 
 of the Spaniard s dirk. The assassin escaped. I 
 folded the boy in my arms ; I believed him to be 
 dying ; he believed it too, and fondly clinging to 
 me, exctaimed, * I am glad of it I am glad of it 
 I have saved my father s life ! 
 
A TALE OF OTJR OWN TIMES. 
 
 63 
 
 -" From that moment he recovered the rights of j 
 nature, and became the object of my doating fond-| 
 ness ; but no flower could spring up in my path 
 but a blight was on it. My temper was poisoned ? 
 I had become jealous and distrustful. Poor Mar- 
 celline was facile in his temper, and was sometimes 
 the tool of his sordid grandmother, to extract money 
 from me. I was often unjust to the boy. Oh ! how 
 bitterly I cursed the wealth, that made me uncertain 
 of the truth of my boy s affection! 
 
 " Marcelline was passionate in his attachments, 
 guileless, unsuspicious, the easy victim of the artifices 
 of bolder minds. At sixteen, he was seduced into an | 
 affair in which his reputation arid life were at hazard... J 
 He believed he owed his salvation to the interference 
 of a young Englishman. In the excess of his gratitude, 
 and at the risk of disgrace with me, he disclosed the 
 whole affair to me, and claimed my favor for the 
 stranger, who proved to be my nephew, Winstead 
 Clarence. My soul recoiled from him ; he was the 
 image of my brother : but for Marcelline s sake, I 
 stifled my feelings, permitted Winstead to become a 
 member of my family, and thus was my self the pas 
 sive instrument of my poor boy s destruction. 
 
 " I have not strength for further details. Young 
 Clarence was no doubt moved to his infernal machi 
 nations by the hope of ruining Marcelline in my fa 
 vor, and, as my heir at law, succeeding to my for 
 tune. My broken constitution stimulated his cupi 
 dity. Practised as I was in the world, his arts de 
 ceived me. My poor boy was a far easier vic 
 tim. He destroyed our mutual confidence. While, 
 to me, he appeared the mentor of my son, he 
 
4 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 was decoying him into scenes of dissipation and 
 vice ; and while, to Marcelline, he seemed his friend 
 and advocate, he magnified the poor fellow s real 
 faults, and imputed to him duplicity and deliberate 
 ingratitude. Incited by Winstead, Marcelline gamed 
 deeply ; and on the brink of ruin, he confessed to 
 me his losses, and entreated pardon and relief. I 
 spurned him from me. He was stung to the heart. 
 Winstead seized the favorable moment, to aggra 
 vate his resentment and despair. He retired to 
 his own apartment, and inflicted on himself a mortal 
 wound. I heard the report of the pistol, and flew 
 *o him. He survived a few hours. We passed them 
 in mutual explanations, and mutual forgiveness. 
 Thus did I trample under my feet the sweet flower 
 that had shed a transient fragrance in my desolate 
 path! 
 
 "I once again saw Winstead Clarence; I in 
 voked curses on his head. I now most solemnly 
 revoke those curses. 
 
 " As soon as I could adjust my affairs, I left the 
 West Indies for ever, execrating them as the pecu 
 liar temple of that sordid divinity, on whose altar, 
 from their discovery to the present day, whatever is 
 most precious, youth, health, and virtue, have been 
 sacrificed. 
 
 " My brother was dead ; but Winstead Clarence 
 had returned to England : and I abjured my native 
 land, and came to the United States, where I was 
 soon known to be a man of great riches, and preca 
 rious health. I was, or fancied myself to be, the ob 
 ject of sordid attentions, a natural prey to be hunted 
 down ty mean spirits. My petulance was patiently 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 65 
 
 endured; my misanthropy forgiven; I was told 
 I was quite too young to abandon the thoughts of 
 marriage, and scores of discreet widows and estima 
 ble maidens were commended to my favor. Lite 
 rary institutions were recommended to my patron 
 age, and emissaries from benevolent societies opened 
 their channels to my meritorious gifts. Wearied 
 with solicitations, and disgusted with interested at 
 tentions, I determined to come to New York, where 
 I was yet unknown. 
 
 " Scorning the consequence of wealth, and indif 
 ferent to its luxuries, I assumed the exterior of po 
 verty ; and the better to secure my incognito, I hired a 
 lodging at the old Dutch woman s, where I remained 
 in unviolated solitude till my meeting with Frank 
 stimulated once more to action, that inextinguish 
 able thirst of happiness which can alone be obtained 
 through the ministry of the affections. Frank s 
 striking resemblance to you _at the period when I lost 
 you revived my parental love -a deathless affection. 
 Jle seemed to me an angel moving on the troubled 
 waters of my life. I sedulously concealed my real 
 condition from him, even after I had determined to 
 bestow on him the perilous gift of my fortune. I 
 distrusted myself I dreaded awaking those horrid 
 jealousies that had embittered my life I wished to 
 be sure that he loved me for myself alone. 
 
 " You may now conceive my emotion when I dis 
 covered that my son lived was near me was the 
 father of Frank Carroll when you saved me from 
 being sent to the alms-house, an accident to which 
 I had exposed myself by my carelessness in not pre 
 paring for the exigency that occurred. But you 
 
66 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 cannot comprehend who can, but He who breathed 
 into me this sentient spirit, who knows the whole 
 train of events that have borne it to the brink of 
 eternal ruin who but He, the All-Seeing One, can 
 comprehend my feelings when I found myself be 
 neath my child s roof: when I found what I be 
 lieved did not exist a disinterested man, and him 
 my son ! when I received disinterested kindness, 
 and from my children ! 
 
 " Forgive me, my son, for so long concealing the 
 truth from you ; it was not merely to strengthen my 
 convictions of your worth, but I deferred emotions 
 that I doubted my strength to endure. When I am 
 gone, you will find yourself the heir of a rich inhe 
 ritance ; it may make you a more useful I fear it 
 will not a happier man. 
 
 " In my wrongs and sufferings, my son, you must 
 find the solution, I do not say the expiation, of my 
 doubts of an overruling Providence my disbelief 
 of the immortality of that nature which seemed to 
 me abandoned to contend with the elements of sin and 
 suffering, finally to be wrecked on a shoreless ocean. 
 Believe me, human life, without religious faith, is a 
 deep mystery. 
 
 " But, my dear father," said Mr. Carroll "you 
 have now the light of that faith ; you now look back 
 on the dark passages of life without distrust, and for 
 ward with hope ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, my son; my griefs had their appointed 
 mission ; the furnace was kindled to purify ; it was 
 my sin if it consumed. But how shall I express my 
 sense of that merry that guided me to this hour of 
 peace and joy, by those dark passages through which 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 67 
 
 I blindly blundered! My son, there is an exaltation 
 of feeling in this full trust, this tranquil resignation, 
 this deep gratitude, that bears to the depths of my 
 soul the assurance of immortality. I now for the | 
 first time feel a capacity of happiness, over which 
 death has no power it is itself immortal life, and 
 I long to pass the boundary of that world whence 
 these glorious intimations come. 
 
 " My beloved son, do not wish to protract my ex 
 hausted being. I should but linger, not live; to 
 morrow, if I am permitted to survive till then, I will 
 press your children to my bosom and give them my 
 farewell blessing. Kneel by me, my son, and let us 
 send up together an offering of faith and thanksgiv 
 ing to God." 
 
 During the following evening, Mr. Carroll com 
 municated the secret to Dr. Eustace and his family. 
 The doctor commended his prudence in so long 
 withholding it, sympathized with his sorrow, and 
 congratulated him on his prospects. Mr. Carroll 
 shrunk from his congratulations. The wealth that 
 had been attended by such misery to Mr. Flavel, and 
 must come to him by the death of his parent, seemed 
 to him a doubtful good. 
 
 Nothing could be more confused than Mrs. Car 
 roll s sensations. She was half resentful that the 
 precious secret had so long been detained from her ; 
 and quite overjoyed to find it what it was. She was 
 afraid some attention to Mr. Flavel might have been 
 omitted, and from the first he had appeared to her 
 such an interesting person ! such a perfect gen 
 tleman ! and then there was a deep, unhinted 
 leeling of relief at finding out at last that her hus- 
 
68 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 band her dear husband, was of genteel extrac 
 tion. 
 
 From his children Mr. Carroll received the so 
 lace of true sympathy. " Is Mr. Flavel our grand 
 father ?" said Gertrude, " and must he die ?" Frank 
 remained constantly in a closet adjoining the sick 
 room, listening and looking, when he might look, 
 without being perceived. Doctor Eustace made his 
 morning visit at an earlier hour than usual. He 
 found his patient had declined so rapidly during the 
 night, that life was nearly extinct. 
 
 " Tell me truly, my good friend," he said to the 
 doctor, " how long you think I may live ?" 
 
 " Your life is fast ebbing, my dear sir." 
 
 " Then, my son, call your wife and children : let 
 me call them mine before 1 die." 
 
 They were summoned, and came immediately. 
 Mrs. Carroll s heart was really touched ; she said 
 nothing, but knelt at the bed-side. The children 
 did not restrain their sorrow ; Frank sprang on the 
 bed, kissed Mr. Flavel s cheek, and poured his tears 
 over it. Mr. Carroll would have removed him, but 
 his father signed to him to let him remain. " Frank, 
 jny sweet child," he said, " God sent you to me ; 
 you saved me from dying alone, unknown, and 
 in ignorance of my treasures you brought me 
 to my long lost son !" 
 
 Here Conolly, the Irish nurse, who was sitting 
 behind Mr. Flavel supporting him in an upright po 
 sition, gave involuntary expression to his pleasure 
 at the solution of the riddle that had wrought his 
 curiosity to the highest pitch. " Sure," he said, " and 
 it s what I thought, he s his own son s father, sure 
 is he!" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 69 
 
 This exclamation was unheeded by the parties in 
 the strong excitement of the moment, but afterwards 
 they had ample reason to recall it. 
 
 "My children, my children;" continued Mr. 
 Flavel, " live to God ; I have lived without Him ; 
 the world has been a desert to me ; I die with the 
 hope of his forgiveness; God bless you, my chil 
 dren ; kiss me, my son ; where are you, Frank ? 
 I see you; farewell!" His voice had become 
 fainter at every sentence, and died away at the 
 last word. Still his eye, bright and intelligent, 
 dwelt on his son, till after a few moments he closed 
 it for ever. 
 
 A deep silence ensued; Mr. Carroll remained 
 kneeling beside his father; his eyes were raised, 
 and his lips quivering. But who can give utter 
 ance to the thoughts that crowd on the mind at 
 the death of the beloved ; when aching memory 
 flashes her light over the past, and faith pours on 
 the soul her glorious revelations ; when the spirit 
 from its high station surveys and feels the whole of 
 human destiny! 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ;> That there is falsehood in his looks 
 
 I must and will deny : 
 They say their master is a knave. 
 
 And sure they do not lie." 
 
 " AT this moment I must think for you," said 
 Dr. Eustace to Mr. Carroll, after the family had 
 withdrawn from the cha her of death ; " of course 
 you will wish to avoid for the present the public 
 disclosure of the circumstance recently developed?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Then lay what restrictions you please on Mrs. 
 Carroll and the children, I will take care that Co- 
 nolly does not gossip." Accordingly the funeral 
 rites were performed in a private and quiet manner. 
 The clergyman, and the few necessary assistants 
 were struck with the grief of the family being dis- 
 proportioned to the event ; < but, said they, * death 
 is always an affecting circumstance, and the Carrolls 
 are tender-hearted. 
 
 On the morning after the funeral Mrs. Carroll 
 was washing the breakfast-things, her head busy 
 with various thoughts. To some she gave utterance 
 and suppressed others, pretty much after the follow 
 ing manner : " Charles, my dear, I think we had 
 best give Conolly Mr. Flavel s la! how can I al 
 ways forget our dear father s clothes ; I believe it 
 is customary in England for people of fortune to 
 do so." 
 
 "Give Conolly what consideration you please, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 71 
 
 Sarah, but leave my father s personal effects undis 
 turbed." 
 
 Mrs. Carroll nodded assent, " I do wonder," she 
 continued, " what cousin Anne will say now ! she 
 did ridicule our taking in a pauper, as she called 
 him, beyond every thing" to herself, " I did keep 
 it as secret as possible, but we shall be rewarded 
 openly ! what a mercy Charles never suspected his 
 riches ; if he had, he would just have sent him to 
 lodgings ;" aloud, " Only think, dear, the children 
 the other day in Mr. Flavel s how can I ! our 
 father s room, asked me to send them to dancing 
 school; I told them I could not afford it; he 
 smiled, I little thought for what dear souls ! they 
 shall go now as soon as it is proper" to herself, 
 " can t afford it thank heaven, I have done for 
 ever with that hateful, vulgar phrase." " By the 
 way, Charles, I saw in the Evening Post, that the 
 Roscoes house is to be sold next week ; it would 
 just suit us." 
 
 " The Roscoes house ; my dear wife, the Ros 
 coes have been my best, at one time, my only 
 friends ; I could not be happy where I was con 
 tinually reminded of their reverse of fortune." 
 
 " Oh, well ; I do not care about that house in 
 particular ; there are others that would suit me quite 
 as well ; but I hope you will attend to it at once ; 
 this house is so excessively small and inconvenient." 
 Mr. Carroll assured his wife that she must suppress 
 her new-born sensibility to the discomforts of her 
 dwelling ; " for his own part," he said, " he had no 
 heart for immediate change. His mind was occu 
 pied with sad reflections, softened, he trusted, by 
 
CXARENCE; OR 
 
 gratitude for singular mercies. Besides, it was 
 necessary, and he rejoiced it was so, before he 
 could receive any portion of his father s property, 
 that his claim to it should be admitted in England, 
 where it was vested ; he wished, therefore, that Mrs. 
 Carroll would not at present make the slightest va 
 riation in their mode of life. She submitted, but 
 not without betraying her reluctance, by saying, 
 she wondered what forms of business were for, they 
 were too provoking, too stupid, and so utterly un 
 necessary ! 
 
 Mr. Carroll made no farther secret of the change 
 in his prospects. He assumed the name of Cla 
 rence, and forwarded the necessary documents to 
 England. In other respects he kept on the even 
 tenor of his way. 
 
 About six months after a certain John Ri 
 der, Esq., a lawyer better known for his profes 
 sional success in the mayor s court than for his dis 
 tinction before any higher tribunal, joined a knot 
 of Irishmen who were hovering round a grocery- 
 door, and earnestly debating some question that 
 had kindled their combustible passions. It ap 
 peared they were at the moment particularly jealous 
 of the interference of an officer of the law, for one 
 and all darted at him looks of impatient inquiry and 
 fierce defiance. The leader of the gang advanced 
 with a half articulated curse. He was pulled back 
 by one of his companions. " Be civil, man," he 
 said, "it s his honor, Lawyer Rider ; he ll ne er be 
 the one to scald his mouth with other folks broth, 
 
 " Ah, Conolly, is that you ?" 
 
 " Indeed is it, your honor ; was it me your honor 
 was wanting?" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 73 
 
 "Yes; I have been to your house, and Biddy 
 told me I should probably find you here." 
 
 " And what for was she sending your honor to the 
 grocer s ? She might better have guided you any 
 way else to find me." 
 
 " To seek you, may be, Conolly, but not to find 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, your honor s caught me there ; but I ll 
 tache the old woman." 
 
 Rider perceived from Conolly s flushed cheek, 
 that he was in a humor to demonstrate some do 
 mestic problems that might not be agreeable to a 
 spectator, and therefore instead of accompanying 
 him to his own room, to transact some private busi 
 ness he had with him, he proposed to him to walk 
 up the street. Conolly assented, saying to his com 
 panions as he left them, " Stay a bit, lads, and I ll 
 spake to Lawyer Rider about it." 
 
 " About what is that, Conolly ?" 
 
 "Is it that your honor has not heard about 
 Jemmy McBride and Dr. Eustace ?" The doctor s 
 name was followed by an imprecation that expressed 
 but too plainly, Jemmy and the whole Irish nation 
 versus the doctor. 
 
 "I have heard something of this unlucky affair, 
 but you may tell me more, Conolly." 
 
 " Indeed can I ; for wasn t I there while his 
 knife was yet red with the blood of him ? and wasn t 
 Jem my father s own brother s son?" 
 
 " But Conolly, yofe do not believe the doctor had 
 any thing to do with McBride s death ?" 
 
 " That I do not say. But I believe, by my soul I 
 do, the doctors have more to do with death than 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
74 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 life, the heretics in particular, saving your honor s 
 presence. Any way, Jemmy McBride died in his 
 hands, and the very time he had said the poor fellow 
 was mending ; but that was all to keep the priest 
 away. Never a confession did Jem make ; never a 
 bit prayer was said over him, nor the holy sign put 
 on him ; nor, Mr. Rider, as true as my name s Pat 
 Conolly, was there a light lighted for his soul to 
 pass by. The next night the doctor told Jemmy s 
 wife, a poor innocent cratur that knew no better, 
 that he was going to examine the body to look after 
 the disease a bit ; and so she, God forgive her, gives 
 him a light, and he goes in the room and makes 
 fast the door. But you see, the old woman, Jem s 
 wife s mother, looked through the key-hole, and she 
 saw him at his devil s work, and she ran, wild-like, 
 to the neighbors, and there were a dozen of us at 
 Roy McPhelan s, that were thinking to keep poor 
 Jemmy s wake that night, and we made a rush of it, 
 and forced the door, and there stood he over poor 
 Jem, and such cutting and slashing, och ! my heart 
 bleeds to think of it; indeed does it, and poor 
 Jemmy s soul tormented the while ; for it s sure, 
 your honor, his soul was there looking on his body 
 handled that way by a heretic. Roy seized his 
 knife, and would have had the life of him, but Jem s 
 wife set up such a howling, and she held Roy s arm, 
 and made us all stand back while she said the doctor 
 had shown kindness to her and hers, and we should 
 first kill her before a hair of him should be the worse 
 for it. And then he calls to me, and he says, 
 * Conolly, for he knew me, it s six months past 
 when I was nurse to one Flavel, and he says, { Co- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 75 
 
 uolly, my friend, (the devil a bit friend to the like of 
 him!) Conolly, he says, you ll get yourselves 
 into trouble at this mad rate. Go, like honest men, 
 and make your complaint of me, and let the law 
 take its course. And there was one Mclnster 
 among us, wjj# is but half an Irishman, for his 
 grandmother was full Scotch, and he s always for 
 keeping the sword in the scabbard, and he would 
 be for persuading us to the law, and while we were 
 all giving our advice, in a breath like, Jemmy s 
 wife whips the doctor through a side door, down a 
 back passage ; and once at the street-door, he made 
 a bird s flight of it. Btit we ll have our revenge. A 
 hundred oaths are sworn to it." 
 
 " Don t be rash, Conolly.- Have you consulted 
 a lawyer?" 
 
 " That have we, Mr. Rider, and he says there s 
 no law for us, and sure is it the laws are made for 
 cowards, and we ll stand by ourselves." 
 
 " Listen to my advice, Conolly, you know I 
 am a friend to the Irish you know how hard I 
 worked for you all in Billy McGill s business." 
 
 "Ay, your honor, sure you did make black 
 white there. Did not I say you was a lawyer, 
 every hair of you ?" 
 
 Rider was compelled to swallow Conolly s com 
 pliment, equivocal as it was, and he replied, " I do 
 indeed know something of the law, and believe me, 
 it will be the worse for you all if you take any vio 
 lent measures. The doctor, though a young man, 
 is well known, and has many friends in the city. 
 That Mr. Carroll, or Clarence as he calls himself, 
 at whose house you first knew him, is ready to up- 
 
*> CLARENCE; OR 
 
 hold him in every thing. You have not heard, 
 perhaps, Conolly, that the old man you nursed left 
 a grand fortune ?" 
 
 "Lord help us! no. I have been out of the 
 city ever since the old gentleman s funeral, till 
 Easter Sunday, the very day poor Jemmy died." 
 
 "I suppose you know that this Carroll claims to 
 be son to the old gentleman ?" 
 
 " Ay, sure, did not I hear him with my own ears 
 call him so ?" 
 
 " Just state to me, Conolly, precisely what you 
 recollect about this matter." 
 
 " Some other time, your honor, the fellows are 
 waiting for me now." 
 
 " Heaven and earth, man ! you must not put it 
 off; it s a matter of the first importance, and here s 
 something to make all right with your friends." 
 
 Conolly pocketed the douceur, smirking, and 
 saying, " Sure I ll do my best to pleasure you Mr. 
 Rider ; but my head s all in a snarl with Jemmy and 
 this d d doctor." 
 
 " Begin and you will soon get it clear you were 
 some time at Carroll s ?" 
 
 " That was 1, and for a time it was all plain sail 
 ing, though the old gentleman used to mutter so 
 in his sleep, and look at Mr. Carroll so through and 
 through like, that I thought there was more on his 
 mind than we knew of; and, I was sure from the 
 first he was no poor body, for he had the ways of a 
 gentleman entirely, and you know they are as differ 
 ent as fish and flesh." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Conolly j go on, we all know he wa 
 a gentleman." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 77 
 
 " And you know too, maybe, that he had epileptics. 
 Well one day after they had had a long nonsense 
 talk about riches, Mr. Carroll sent us all out of the 
 room to stay till he rung, and sure he did ring, dis 
 tracted like ; when we came in the room the old gen 
 tleman was in fits, and Mr. Carroll was not much 
 better ; and from that time he was an altered man ; 
 he had been kind before, but now it was quite en 
 tirely a different thing. It was plain, his life was 
 bound up in the old gentleman s. I had nothing 
 worth speaking of to do any more, he gave him all 
 his medicines, and his eyes was never off him day or 
 night, and they would often be alone together. I 
 had my own thoughts, for there was something in 
 their looks, I need not describe it to ye, Mr. Rider, 
 for if you ve had either father or son you know what 
 it is." 
 
 For an instant the current of Rider s feelings 
 turned, it was but an instant, and he said, " Yes, I 
 understand you, go on." 
 
 * "I have not far to go, for the fire burned too bright 
 to burn long. It was but two or three days after 
 that he found himself to be just on the launch, and 
 he told Mr. Carroll to call in the family, and then it 
 all came out just as I expected, your honor. He 
 called them all his children, and Mr. Carroll my 
 son again and again, and talked to the child, that s 
 Frank Carroll, about being his grandfather. I could 
 tell you just the words if you please." 
 " No, they are of no consequence." 
 " Then, your honor, there s not much more to 
 tell. They all cried of course you know, and 1 
 cried too, and that s what I have not done before, 
 7* 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 since I quitted home. He spoke but few words, 
 but they were rightly said as if he d had them from 
 the priest s lips, and then he just sunk away like an 
 infant falling asleep." 
 
 Rider hesitated for a few moments; Conolly s 
 statement was particularly hostile to his wishes, and 
 the course to be pursued required some delibe 
 ration ; " These epileptic fits," he said, < are very 
 apt to derange the mind the doctors tell me they 
 always weaken it." 
 
 " Sure they lie then ;" and here followed an exe 
 cration of the whole faculty ; " I ve seen men die, 
 many a one, both at home and here in America, 
 and never did I see one behave himself to the very 
 last, in a more discreet, regular, gentale-like man 
 ner, than this Mr. Flavel ; I don t know how he 
 lived, but he died like a gentleman, any way." 
 
 " I must strike another key," thought Rider ; 
 " Conolly," he said, " jt is not worth while to dilly 
 dally about this matter any longer ; I know I may 
 confide in you. This Mr. Flavel, or rather Cla 
 rence, had an own brother s son in England, whom 
 he hated, and had wronged. If he died without 
 children, and without a will, his nephew would, of 
 course, be his natural heir. Now, is it not possi 
 ble, that, feeling very grateful to this Carroll, he 
 might consent to pass him off for his son ; just to 
 call him so, you know ?" 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Rider ; he did not die like a man 
 that was going off with a lie in his mouth." 
 
 "Perhaps you don t consider the whole, Conolly; 
 it was an innocent deceit stop, hear me out Car 
 roll, who, besides getting the fortune, would gladly 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 79 
 
 wipe off the disgrace of having been an alms-house 
 slip, might beguile him on ; Eustace combined with 
 him, at least I suspect so, and," he added, cautiously 
 looking about him, "if he keeps the fortune, one 
 thing is sure, the doctor will have a good slice of 
 it; he will swear through thick and thin, every 
 thing Carroll wants." 
 
 " Och ! the villain ! what will he swear ?" 
 " That the man was of perfect and sound mind ; 
 Conolly, this is a hard case and we must try every 
 expedient every way to get justice done ; now if 
 you will stand by us my client is generous, and he 
 has authorized me to spare neither pains nor money 
 to get witnesses for him name a particular sum, 
 my good fellow." 
 
 " For what ? tell me what I am to do just." 
 " Why, in the first place, you are to right youv 
 cause with this doctor ; he s more than suspected 
 already of leaguing with Carroll, and if your testi 
 mony goes against his, he can t live in the city." 
 "Ah ; that would pleasure me !" 
 "And if three or four hundred dollars ?" 
 " Three, or four ! four ! I have one hundred al 
 ready, and that would just make up the sum, and 
 fetch them all over ; the old man, and Peggy, and 
 Roy, and Davy, and Pat, and just set them down 
 gentalely in New York- -but tell me how deep in, it 
 is you want me to go ?" 
 
 " That we must consider ; if we could prove the 
 old gentleman was not in his right mind." 
 
 "No, no, Mr. Rider, I would not like that; it s 
 ill luck dishonoring the dead that way." 
 
 Rider 3 like a careful angler, had prepared various 
 
80 
 
 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 baits for his hook. One refused, he tried another ; 
 " Well, my good fellow, if you cannot on your con 
 science say, that you think the old gentleman was a 
 little out, may you not have been mistaken in 
 thinking you heard those words, grandfather, son, 
 father ? hey, Conolly .?" 
 
 "You marie, Mr. Rider," said Conolly with an 
 indescribable leer, " whether I can t quite entirely 
 forget them ; that is to say, swear I never heard 
 them at all ?" 
 
 Rider, hardened as he was, felt his cheeks tingle 
 at this sudden and clear exposition of his meaning ; 
 " Why, Conolly, on my honor," he said, " I believe 
 that my client has the right of the case, and we 
 are sometimes forced, you know, to go a crooked 
 path to get to the right spot. Those words 
 might have dropped from the old man acci 
 dentally, just as he was going out of the world, and 
 then Carroll and the doctor between them might 
 have contrived the rest. The doctor is as cunning 
 as the devil himself; you know how he hoodwinked 
 
 your cousin s wife a scandalous affair that was 
 
 and yet I don t know how you are to right your 
 selves ; we have no law for you, Conolly, and you 
 know our people don t like club-law." 
 
 " D n the law ; the law was made for villains ; 
 I beg your pardon, Mr. Rider. Its true I can t 
 sleep till we re revenged on the .doctor four hun 
 dred dollars ye say, Mr. Rider ? It would be hea 
 ven s mercy to the poor souls that s starving at 
 home. What is it ye ll have me forget f" Conol- 
 ly s conscience had by this time become as confused 
 as his mind. The opportunity of gratifying his 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 81 
 
 resentments against the doctor, and of obtaining 
 the means of bringing to this land of plenty, this 
 full sheaf, his lean and famished brethren at home, 
 overpowered his weak principles, and his real good 
 feeling, and he listened to Rider s lucid and impres 
 sive instructions in relation to the testimony he was 
 to deliver, with strict attention and with reiterated 
 promises to abide by them. Rider did not forget 
 to make Conolly fully sensible of the importance of 
 keeping the purport of their interview a profound 
 secret, and then giving him a farther earnest of fu 
 ture favors, he bade him good night. As Conolly s 
 * God bless his honor, and < long life to him, died 
 away on the lawyer s ear, he was entering a plea in 
 arrest of judgment before the tribunal of conscience. 
 After all, he thought, * if I have saved Eustace s 
 life from these violent devils, I have done more 
 good than harm ; another man might have let them 
 go on ; certain it is, Eustace once out of the way, 
 the property would have been ours ; his thoughts 
 diverged a little ours ? yes, I may say ours ; five 
 thousand pounds if I gain it ; one should work 
 hard for such a fee ! 
 
 Mr. Rider s client had found a fit instru 
 ment to manage his cause; a most unworthy 
 member of that profession which from Cicero s 
 day to our own times, has called forth the genius, 
 the ardor, the self-sacrificing zeal of the noblest 
 minds of every age. 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "Are you good men and true?" 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 
 
 MR. CLARENCE, (we shall hereafter call this gen 
 tleman by his rightful name,) as has been stated, trans 
 mitted to his deceased father s agents in England, 
 such documents as he deemed necessary to establish 
 his claim. They were admitted as sufficient, and 
 satisfactory, and the property, amounting to about 
 ninety thousand pounds sterling, was transferred to 
 his account, and transmitted to him. 
 
 Mr. Winstead Clarence was, at the same time, 
 apprized of the death of his uncle, and of the fact 
 that the property, which in case of his uncle s death 
 without a will, devolved on him as his nearest 
 blood-relative, was intercepted by an American, 
 claiming to be Edmund Clarence son. This, Mr 
 Winstead Clarence declared, and perhaps be 
 lieved to be, an incredible story. His lawyer 
 examined the papers, and was of opinion that the 
 claim might be contested, but as the ability of 
 the English agents to respond for so large an 
 amount of property was doubtful, he advised that 
 the suit should be commenced against the pretended 
 heir, and prosecuted in the American courts. Ac 
 cordingly, Mr. Winstead Clarence wrote to John 
 Rider, Esq., to institute a suit, and instructed him to 
 rest its merits on the ground of collusion between 
 Mr. Carroll and the doctor ; and to procure ade 
 quate testimony at any cost. As a sort of insurance 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 83 
 
 on the cause, he promised Rider, in case of success, 
 five thousand pounds. He had formerly had some 
 acquaintance with Rider in the West Indies, and had 
 had occasion to admire the professional ingenuity 
 with which he had there managed a very suspicious 
 business. 
 
 Whatever confidence Rider might have had in 
 his own talent, he was too well aware of his ques 
 tionable standing at the bar, to assume the exclu 
 sive conduct of the suit ; he therefore associated 
 with himself a counsellor of the highest reputation 
 for integrity as well as talent; taking care, of course, 
 in his statement of the case to this gentleman, to re 
 present Conolly as a bona fide witness. 
 
 The facility with which lawyers persuade them- 
 selves of the righteousness of a cause in which they 
 have embarked, is often alleged as a proof of the 
 tendency of the profession to obscure a man s 
 original perception of right and wrong. Perhaps s 
 no class of men have a deeper sense, or a more ar 
 dent love of justice, but they are of all men best ac 
 quainted with the uncertainty of human testimony, 
 and most conversant with the dark phases of human 
 character. In the case in question, the honorable 
 counsellor was persuaded that Mr. Clarence had 
 been guilty of deliberate villany. Had he not been 
 so, nothing would have tempted him to attack and 
 undermine, by the power of his eloquence, the cha 
 racter of an innocent and high-minded man. 
 
 The cause produced a considerable sensation. It 
 not only involved a large amount of property, 
 but the reputation of individuals which had been 
 hitherto unquestioned. Mrs. Clarence relationship 
 with some of the most distinguished families in the 
 
84 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 city, was, at the dawn of her prosperity, remembered, 
 and the cause became a topic in fashionable circles. 
 The trial before one of the Judges of the Supreme 
 Court, then holding The Sittings, was announced 
 in the morning papers. At an early hour the court 
 room was crowded to overflowing, and notwithstand 
 ing the opinion of certain of our English friends, 
 that the decorum of judicial proceedings can only 
 be secured by the necromantic presence of gowns 
 and wigs, the most silent and respectful atten 
 tion was given to the proceedings. Mr. Clarence 
 sustained himself through the whole cause with un 
 varying dignity. Nor even when it assumed an un 
 expected and most threatening aspect, did he mani 
 fest any emotion. His manly calmness contrasted 
 well with the disinterested enthusiasm of a young 
 friend, who never quitted his side during the trial. 
 This youth, Gerald Roscoe, with the fervid feeling 
 of fifteen, confident in his friend s right, and in 
 dignant that it should be contested or delayed, 
 expressed his feelings with theunreservedness natural 
 to his age ; sometimes by involuntary exclamations, 
 and then as unequivocally by the flashings of one of 
 the darkest and most brilliant eyes through which 
 the soul ever spoke. 
 
 Rider s assistant counsel opened the cause for the 
 plaintiff, and in his behalf appealed to the jury, as 
 the natural guardians of the rights of a stran 
 ger, a foreigner, and an absent party. He then 
 proceeded to state, that he rested the cause of 
 his client on two points, which he expected to 
 establish: first, that in default of heirs of the 
 body, he was heir at law and next of kin to the 
 late Edmund Clarence, Esquire, who had died in- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 85 
 
 restate ; and secondly, he pledged himself to prove 
 fraud on the part of the defendant, a collusion be 
 tween him and his witnesses, by which he had ob 
 tained possession of, and still illegally detained the 
 property which by the verdict of the jury could alone 
 be restored to the rightful claimant. He should state 
 what he could support by adequate testimony if ne 
 cessary, but what he presumed would not be contro 
 verted, viz. that the deceased, Edmund Clarence, 
 after having resided in a sister city for some 
 months, and his condition having been well known 
 there, had come to the city of New York, where, 
 for reasons irrelevant to the present case, he had as 
 sumed the name of Flavel, concealed his real conse 
 quence and fortune under the garb of poverty, and 
 lived in mean and obscure lodgings. That during 
 this time he had made an accidental acquaintance 
 with the child of the defendant ; that their acquaint 
 ance and intercourse had been watched and pro- 
 mated by the defendant; that all this time Mr. 
 Clarence health was- manifestly declining, under 
 the encroachments ojf a most threatening ma 
 lady; that during a frightful attack of this con 
 stitutional malady, he was removed to the house of 
 the defendant, still personally an utter stranger to 
 him ; that there, with seeming good reason, but cer 
 tainly most unfortunately for the cause of*his client, he 
 was secluded from the observation of all but the fa 
 mily of the defendant, his family physician, (a most 
 intimate friend^md a male nurse. 
 
 That Mr. Clarence survived his removal to the 
 house of the defendant about three weeks ; that im 
 mediately after his decease, the defendant had for- 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
86 GXARENCE; OR 
 
 warded to England documents containing evidence 
 of his consanguinity and claim to the property ot 
 the deceased. The evidence of this newly dis 
 covered relationship was supported by a written 
 declaration, assumed to have been wrested from 
 a dying miser by Mr. Clarence, and by him given 
 to the defendant by the testimony of the child of 
 the defendant and by the dying declaration of Mr. 
 Clarence, attested by Dr. Eustace. 
 
 He then proceeded to say he should rest the cause 
 of his client on the powerful, and to him he must 
 confess irresistible deduction from circumstances, 
 and on the direct testimony of a single witness. This 
 witness was the nurse to whom he had already al 
 luded. In the documents sent to England no men 
 tion had been made of this man, though he presumed 
 it would not be denied that he was present when the 
 deceased gave utterance to those startling declara 
 tions, which Dr. Eustace had so fully vouched. 
 This nurse had gone from the defendant s service- to 
 his own humble walk of life, and had never received 
 any communication from the defendant ; and had first 
 heard of the present controversy when summoned by 
 the plaintiff s counsel to appear as a witness on the 
 trial. He therefore begged the gentlemen would 
 listen attentively to his testimony, and would give it 
 the weight it deserved, as coming from a man who 
 could not possibly have any motive for disguising, 
 or perverting, or withholding the truth. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonishment of Mr. 
 Carroll, his counsel, and his friends, when Conolly 
 was named as a witness on the part of the plaintiff; 
 they exchanged looks of inquiry and alarm, and as 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 87 
 
 Conolly brushed past them to take his station 
 at the witness stand, Doctor Eustace, who had 
 a grudge against his whole nation, half ejaculated, 
 
 "The d d Irishman!" The words reached 
 
 Conolly s ear, and nerved his half-shrinking resolu 
 tion ; and once having girded on the battle-sword, 
 he was determined with true blood to fight out the 
 cause, right or wrong. 
 
 After some prefatory and unimportant interroga 
 tories, the counsel for the plaintiff asked Conolly to 
 state how he came into the service of the deceased 
 Mr. Clarence. " You see, gentlemen," he said, " 1 
 was just leaving service next door to Mr. Carroll s, 
 a big house it is, where they keep more servants 
 than they pay ; and so they were going to hold back 
 my dues, and I thought to myself I could not go 
 astray to take a bit of advice of Mr. Carroll ; and 
 said he to me, Conolly, is it that you re going 
 to leave the place ? Indeed, sir, and that am I not, 
 said I, for I ve left it already. And he seemed right 
 
 glad of it, and said he d a bit of a job for me a sick 
 
 man to nurse arid if I would come straight away 
 to his house, he would spake to my employer, and 
 he was a very fine gentleman, and sure ne was he 
 would pay me. l Och ! Mr. Carroll, said I, < it 
 takes more nor a gentleman to know a gentleman. 
 They don t scruple showing their hands dirty to us 
 servants God forgive me, for myself calling me go 
 here in America. " 
 
 Conolly was interrupted, and told to go straight 
 to the point. " Well, your honor, I did go straight 
 to the gentleman s chamber ; for gentleman I saw he 
 was, and nopoorbody,withthefirstglanceofmyeye." 
 
88 ClARENCE; OR 
 
 "How long did he live ?" 
 
 " Somewhere between three and four weeks, your 
 honor; but that was nothing to signify, for Mr, 
 Carroll paid me the full month s wages, like a free 
 hearted gentleman as he is, any way." 
 
 " How was Mr. Clarence treated by Mr. Carroll 
 and his family ?" 
 
 " Trated, your honor ! As a good subject would 
 trate the king, or a good Christian the Pope. He d 
 every thing that money could buy for him, and all 
 that hands could do for him, and Mr. Carroll and 
 his boy, that s Frank Carroll, were by his bed both 
 day and night, sure were they." 
 
 " Did Mr. Clarence, a short time previous to his 
 death, have a confidential, that is to say, a private 
 conversation with Mr. Carroll ?" 
 
 " Yes, your honor, that did he, and I dont belie 
 him in saying so. It was just three days before he 
 died, and the family had all been about him, and 
 they d had a flummery talk about riches, and Mr. 
 Carroll spoke as if he cared nothing at all about 
 them, and by the same token ye may know he s 
 neither rich nor poor, for it s they that have got more 
 than they want that set store by riches, and we that s 
 poor that are tempted to sell our souls for them 
 God forgive us !" 
 
 " Spare your reflections, my good friend, and tell 
 us what happened after this private conversation ?" 
 
 " Well, your honor, when the bell rang distracted- 
 like we all ran up together ; the poor old gentle 
 man was in his fits again, and he d been making a 
 clean breast of it, and it seemed a heavy unloading 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 he d had it had like to have brought him to his 
 
 death struggle." 
 
 " But he revived, and was himself again after 
 
 this f" 
 
 " Yes was he, but weak and death-like." 
 41 Did you perceive any change in Mr. Carroll s 
 manner?" 
 
 " That did we ; as the doctor will remember for 
 he said to me, Conolly, said he, I am afraid Mr. 
 Carroll will go astray of his reason, for he s quite 
 entirely an altered man, and so was he his eye was 
 down-cast, and his cheek flame-like, and I thought 
 it was watching and wearying with the old gentle 
 man, and I tried to get him to take rest, but not a 
 word would he hear of it ; he never left him for one 
 minute day nor night, and for the most tun* he kept 
 us all clear of the room, till the morning the doctor 
 told the old gentleman he d but scant breathing-time 
 left, and he asked to see the family, and especially 
 the boy, that s Frank Carroll, to thank them for all 
 their kindness to him ; and they all come in, and the 
 boy was on the bed by him and kissed the poor old 
 gentleman and cried over him, and then he took the 
 hand of each of them and he gave his blessing to 
 each and all, and he says to me, God bless you 
 Pat, said he ; and that was the last word he spoke. 
 I think, your honor, he called me Pat for shortness 
 sake, and knowing it was all one to me ; for when 
 I first came to his service, Conolly bothered him, and 
 I told him if it plased him better, he might call me 
 Pat McCormic, for McCormic was my father s name 
 and Pat my godfather gave me ; but McCormic 
 bothered him still worse than Conolly, and then I 
 8* 
 
CXARENCE; OK 
 
 told him if it were asier, to call me i Pat Ford, for 
 that was my grandfather s name, that rared me, and 
 the boys at home called me that just, and it s only 
 since I came to America that I took the name of 
 my mother s brother, which is Conolly." 
 
 Here Conolly was interrupted, and told that the 
 court had no concern whatever with his cogno 
 mens. 
 
 Conolly s excursiveness was doubtless partly 
 owing to his natural garrulity, but quite as mach to 
 his desire to get through his testimony as to the last 
 scene with the least possible quantum of lying. He 
 had a common superstitious feeling about the supe 
 rior obligation to tell the truth of the dying, and he 
 would have preferred traducing Mr. Clarence 
 whole life to misrepresenting his death-bed. 
 In reply to some farther questions that were put to 
 him, as to Mr. Carroll s deportment after Clarence 
 death, he testified to his having been closeted a 
 long time with the doctor. 
 
 The plaintiff s counsel then having signified, with 
 an air of complete satisfaction and even triumph, 
 that they had completed their examination, Mr. 
 Carroll s counsel cross-examined the witness, acutely 
 and ingeniously, but without eliciting the truth. 
 There was a strange mixture in Conolly s mind, of 
 malignant resentment towards the doctor, and good 
 will to Mr. Clarence ; of determination to secure 
 the price of his falsehood, and of desire not to 
 aggravate the injury he inflicted ; a compound of 
 good-heartedness and absence of all principle, and 
 that mixture of simplicity and cunning, that charac 
 terizes his excitable and imaginative nation. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 91 
 
 During his cross-examination he was questioned 
 in relation to his. exclamation when the fact of Mr. 
 Clarence relationship to the Carrolls first flashed 
 across his mind. He denied it entirely; denied 
 ever having heard a word indicating such a fact 
 from any person whatever, till he was summoned to 
 the trial. 
 
 Mr. Carroll s counsel then ably stated his 
 grounds of defence, which, as they are already well 
 known, it will not be necessary to recapitulate. 
 
 Doctor Eustace, as witness in behalf of the de 
 fendant, was next examined. His calm philosophic 
 countenance, strongly contrasted with the san 
 guine complexion, large open lips, low forehead, 
 bushy hair, and little, keen, restless gray eye of Co- 
 nolly, at another time would have commanded re 
 spect and confidence. 
 
 But now, watchful and distrustful eyes were fixed 
 on him, and by some he was even regarded as de 
 posing in his own cause. Next, to the misery of 
 conscious guilt, to a delicate mind, is the suffering 
 of being saspected by honorable persons. Doctor 
 Eustace was embarrassed ; there was neither sim 
 plicity nor clearness in his testimony, and though he 
 never contradicted himself, yet there was a want of 
 directness, and of self-possession, that darkened 
 the cloud gathering over him and his friend. 
 
 Frank Carroll was the next witness offered in be 
 half of the defendant. His face was the very mir 
 ror of truth. Her seal was stamped on his clear, 
 open brow. His whole aspect was beautiful, artless, 
 and engaging, and after a single glance at him, the 
 
CXARENCE; OR 
 
 plaintiff s counsel objected to the admission of his 
 testimony. He contended that a child of eleven 
 years was too young to be disenthralled from his 
 father s authority certainly was too flexible a 
 material to resist his influence that he would 
 be merely the passive medium of his dicta 
 tions. His objections were strenuously opposed 
 by the opposite counsel, and overruled by the 
 court, and Frank was directed to take his station. 
 He was intimidated by a discussion which he did 
 not perfectly comprehend, and not aware of the im 
 port of his evidence to his father, and occupied only 
 with a wish to shrink from public notice, he entreated 
 Mr. Clarence, so loud as to be overheard, to excuse 
 him, and permit him to go home. His father endea 
 voured to inspirit him, but finding his efforts inef 
 fectual, he sternly bade him go to the assigned 
 stand. He obeyed with trembling and hesitation. 
 
 After a few unimportant preliminary questions, 
 to which he replied in scarcely audible monosylla 
 bles, he was asked to state all that he could recol 
 lect of Mr. Clarence death-bed scene. It requires 
 far more presence of mind to tell a story than to an 
 swer questions. Poor Frank was abashed. His 
 manly spirit quailed ; he tried to gather courage ; 
 he looked up and looked around ; every eye was 
 fixed on him, and it seemed to him as if every man 
 were an Argus. His lips quivered, his crimsoned 
 cheeks deepened to fever heat, and when the judge in 
 u voice of solemn authority bade him proceed, he 
 burst into tears. 
 
 His father now interposed, and sternly command- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 93 
 
 ed him to speak. The voice of his offended father 
 was more terrible than even the eyes and ears of 
 the staring and listening crowd, and he at last told 
 his story, but with down-cast eyes, hesitation, and 
 blundering. 
 
 He was asked to relate all he remembered of Mr. 
 Clarence visit to the miser s room, when he (Frank) 
 was with him. He did so ; but he could not f be 
 sure of any particulars. He was sure Mr. Clarence 
 was very much agitated ; but when cross-examined, 
 he was not at all sure but it might have been the expres 
 sion of sympathy at the extreme misery of the famished, 
 dying old man. He thought he recollected Mr. Cla 
 rence pronouncing the name of Savil ; but on the 
 cross-examination he was not sure he had not 
 first heard that name from his father. On the whole 
 his testimony appeared, even to Mr. Carroll s 
 firmest friends, confused and suspicious. A fatality 
 seemed to attend his cause. When it was opened, 
 there was not, on the part of the defendant s 
 friends, a doubt of its favorable issue ; but the most 
 confident among them now began to fear the result, 
 and many there were who secretly asked themselves 
 if it were not possible they had been deceived in 
 him. His counsel, in this threatening position of 
 affairs, offered to bring forward any number of 
 witnesses to the hitherto unimpeached integrity of 
 his, and of Doctor Eustace character. The plain 
 tiff s counsel said they would concede that point to 
 the fullest extent it could be required. 
 
 Nothing then remained but to present before 
 the court the miser s manuscript. This was ob 
 jected to as an isolated, unattested document, and. 
 
94 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 of course, null and impotent in the present cause. 
 The judge, however, remarked that it might throw 
 some light on the impeached testimony of the de 
 fendant s witnesses, and he overruled the objections 
 of the plaintiff s counsel. 
 
 The document was accordingly read as fol 
 lows : "I, Guy Seymour, formerly of England, 
 since an inhabitant of Jamaica, and now of the 
 city of New York, United States, ~ do declare that 
 this writing contains the truth and nothing but the 
 truth, so help me God. Twenty-seven years ago 
 this 5th day of August, A. D. 181-, I was sent 
 from the island of Jamaica by Edmund Clarence. 
 Esq. with the sum of $10,000, which by me was 
 to be remitted to England ; and with his only son, 
 Charles Clarence, who was sent on the voyage for 
 the benefit of his health. The devil tempted me to 
 abscond with the money. I took the child too to 
 guard against discovery. I left the vessel in 
 which I had embarked in the evening, hoping I 
 should not be missed till it was at sea, and they 
 would believe I had retained to shore with my 
 charge. 1 got on board an American vessel. 
 When I arrived in New York I heard the English 
 vessel was lost. Therefore no inquiry was made 
 about me. I put the child to a decent lodging. 
 The woman imposed on me, and made me pay a 
 cruel price for his board, charges for washing be 
 sides. On the 25th day of the following January, 
 being A. D. 1 81-, I took him to the city alms- 
 house. He was then five years old. I marked his 
 age and the name I had given him, Charles Carroll 
 on a card, and sewed it to his sleeve. I did 
 
A TALI; OF OUR OWN TIMES. 95 
 
 uot lose sight of the boy. One year after he was 
 taken from the alms-house by one Roscoe, and has 
 since got well up in the world. I now declare, that 
 when I die he shall be heir to all I possess : eight 
 thousand dollars in my strong box, besides one 
 half-jo, one Spanish dollar, three English pennies, 
 and a silver sixpence, all contained in my knit 
 purse, which my grandmother (a saving body she 
 was, God bless her !) knit for me when I was eight 
 years old. When she gave it to me, Johnny, son y, 7 
 said she, * mind ye well these words I have knit 
 into your purse, and ye ll live to be a rich man. 
 The words are there yet, { a penny saved is a penny 
 gained, betimes I think the devil branded them 
 on my soul. I put my ten thousand dollars in dif 
 ferent banks and insurance companies. They all 
 failed ! I lost all ! all but my luck-penny, my 
 silver sixpence. What I have now, I ve earned, 
 and I ve saved all I earned. I have always 
 meant it should go to Mr. Clarence son when I 
 am dead and gone, and I pray he prove no spend 
 thrift of my hard-gotten gains. All I have got now 
 I ve come by honestly. I never was guilty of but 
 the one crime, and I was sore sore tempted. It 
 is my intention, before I die, to employ an attor 
 ney to draw my will ; but it s a great cost, and for 
 fear of accidents, I have written this paper, and 
 hereunto I put my name and seal. 
 
 " JOHN SAVIL. 
 " August, 5th, 181-." 
 
 All the evidence in the case was now before the 
 court. The defendant s counsel rose to sum up. 
 He contended that the evidence, on the part of his 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 client, deemed sufficient in England, where it was 
 necessary to overcome the universal and strong 
 feeling against alienating property, still remained in 
 full force. He insisted that it was overthrowing 
 the basis of human confidence, to withdraw their 
 faith from men of the age and unimpeached integrity 
 of his client and his witnesses, and transfer it to an 
 ignorant unprincipled foreigner, who had no name 
 and no stake in society. There were thousands of 
 such men in the city, they could be picked up any 
 where, from the swarms about the cathedral, to the 
 dens of Catharine-lane ; men who for a few dollars 
 or shillings, would swear whatever pleased their pur 
 chasers. Was the property and reputation of our 
 best citizens to be put in jeopardy by such testimony f 
 6 One of the plaintiff s counsel, (and he glanced 
 his eye with honest scorn at Rider,) < was a man 
 familiar with the use of such instruments ; he had 
 been long suspected of practices which should exile 
 him from the society of honest men ; which should 
 banish him from this honorable tribunal, and that 
 by their own official sentence. The counsel 
 was interrupted, and reminded that such vitupera 
 tion was irrelevant and not admissable. 
 
 He contended that it was in order, and a neces 
 sary defence against a secret and criminal pro 
 ceeding, which could only be exposed by unmasking 
 the true character of the chief agent, who had shel 
 tered himself from suspicion behind the unspotted 
 shield of his able and upright associate. Testimony 
 brought forward under the auspices of this gentle 
 man would receive a false value. Advantage had 
 been taken of his client s conscious integrity, and 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 97 
 
 his just confidence in the sufficiency of the testi 
 mony he had adduced to support his cause. Co- 
 nolly was absent from the city at the time his client 
 prepared the documents to be sent to England, and 
 deeming his testimony superfluous, he had taken no 
 pains to obtain it. For the same reason, and be 
 cause he had not before adduced it, he had omitted to 
 bring him forward on the present occasion. His 
 client had been betrayed by his confidence in the 
 truth of his cause. He had not anticipated that 
 the instrument he thought worthless, could be whet 
 ted to his destruction; he would not believe it 
 could be so ; it would recoil from the armour oi 
 honesty, the panoply divine, in which his client 
 was encased. There had been a dark conspiracy 
 to defraud and ruin, but * even-handed justice would 
 return the ingredients of the poisoned chalice, to 
 the lips that had dictated, and had borne false wit 
 ness. He declared that the evidence for his client, 
 which he luminously and forcibly recapitulated, 
 could not be overthrown by a thousand such wit 
 nesses as Conolly. He begged that the jury 
 would not permit their minds to be warped by 
 the train of singular circumstances that had led 
 his client to the discovery of his parent. He ad 
 mitted they had been correctly stated by the oppo 
 sing counsel ; but what then ? was not the remark 
 as true as it was trite, that the romance of real life 
 exceeded the most ingenious contrivances of fiction ? 
 Who should prescribe, who should limit the mys 
 terious modes by which Providence brought to 
 light the secret iniquities of men ? He intreated 
 that gentlemen would allow due weight to that cir- 
 VOL. I. 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 cumstance which ought to govern their decision < 
 the character of his client. The opposite counsel, 
 coerced by his own sense of justice, had paid it 
 involuntary tribute, when he conceded all testimony 
 on that point to be superfluous. The same just 
 homage had been rendered to the witness, Doctor 
 Eustace, a man of whom he might say what had 
 once been as truly said of the political integrity of 
 an honorable citizen : The king of England was 
 not rich enough to buy him. He then adverted to 
 the testimony of the child, and asked if it were cre 
 dible that the father should be the corrupter of his 
 son the destroyer of his innocence f 
 
 All these and other arguments were urged 
 at length, and so ably, that when the counsel 
 finished, the current seemed to have set in Mr. 
 Carroll s favor. Animated whispers of encourage 
 ment were heard from his friends, and Rider, 
 who had hitherto been forward and officious, was 
 quite silent and crest-fallen, and slunk away as far 
 as possible from observation. 
 
 The counsel for the plaintiff now rose to make 
 his closing argument. He began by expressing 
 his deep and unaffected regret that he must be the 
 instrument of justice in exposing to dishonor and 
 scorn, the character of two gentlemen who had been 
 held in esteem by the community. It had become 
 his painful duty to array circumstances in such a 
 light that it could no longer be doubted that the de 
 fendant s integrity had been too deeply infected with 
 human infirmity to resist the solicitations of temp 
 tation, temptation double-faced, alluring him with 
 offers of fortune, and of rank. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 99 
 
 It might seem strange it was most strange that 
 man should barter virtue for money. But had not 
 this base instrument slain its thousands and its tens 
 of thousands f He would refer those who questioned 
 whether it were of all agents most powerful in van 
 quishing human virtue, to the daily occurrences of 
 their commercial city, to the records of their courts, 
 to their own observation, to the page of history, to 
 its darkest, most affecting page the story of thirty- 
 pieces of silver. 
 
 He would not magnify the crime it was his duty 
 to unveil. He wished that all the indulgence might 
 be extended to the defendant which human frailty 
 claimed ; for the sins of our common nature should 
 be viewed in sorrow rather than in anger. 
 
 He should endeavor to show how the unhappy 
 man had been led astray ; how temptation had at 
 first suggested but a slight departure from the straight 
 path ; but that once left, how her victim had been 
 darkened, entangled, and lost. 
 
 He adverted to Frank Carroll s first accidental 
 meeting with the deceased. He dwelt on his father 
 not only having permitted, but encouraged the 
 child s intercourse with the repulsive stranger. 
 
 Subsequently when he was seized with a frightful 
 disease, and apparently near death, the defendant, 
 instead of suffering him to receive relief through the 
 appropriate and adequate channels of public cha 
 rity or, even like a Howard or a man of Ross, 
 maintaining him in a private lodging suited to his 
 apparently humble condition had removed him to 
 his own house, placed him, not in some attic room, 
 or homely apartment suited to a mendicant, bnt m 
 
100 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 the best apartment of his house, with a nurse, an 
 expensive male nurse, especially provided for him, 
 and the luxury of medical attendance twice and 
 thrice a day. It must be remembered that the de 
 fendant was a man, not of wasteful, nor even of free 
 expenditure, but of very limited means, and living 
 carefully within his means. It had not been pre 
 tended that the defendant had been led on by the 
 mysterious instinct of nature no, the circumstances 
 remained unexplained, unadverted to by the defend 
 ant s sagacious counsel. Where then was the key to 
 this extraordinary, this romantic charity ? Was it not 
 possible that the defendant was previously acquainted 
 with the real condition of his pensionary ? His per 
 son was well known in a sister-city his immense 
 wealth and peculiarities had been a topic of com 
 mon conversation there. The supposition that the 
 defendant was in possession of this knowledge, and 
 kept it secret, furnisU d a complete, and the only 
 solution to the riddle. He saw a lone old man, on 
 the verge of life, divorced from his species, without 
 apparent heirs. Why should he not take innocent 
 measures to attract his notice, and secure his favor f 
 It certainly was not an unnatural nor extravagant 
 hope, that the old man s will, made under the im 
 pression of recent kindness, should render an equi 
 valent for that kindness. Thus far the defendant s 
 fraud was not of a deep dye, and probably would not, 
 offend against the standard of most men s virtue. 
 
 " The instruments of darkness 
 
 Win us with honest trifles to betray us 
 
 In deepest consequeuce ." 
 
A TALE OP OUR OWN TIMES. 101 
 
 It is a presumptuous self-confidence that hopes to set 
 limits to an aberration from the strict rule of inte 
 grity. Had a voice of prophecy disclosed the 
 dark future to the still innocent man, would he not 
 have shrunk with horror from the revelation ? But 
 temptation, fit opportunity, convenient time, assailed 
 him, and he fell ! 
 
 He now begged the particular attention of the 
 jury to a most important circumstance in the testi 
 mony, the private interview which occurred between 
 the defendant and the deceased, three days before 
 his death. 
 
 The late Mr. Clarence, as the defendant s coun 
 sel had admitted, then disclosed to him the particu 
 lars of his life. The effort of recalling past events, 
 and living over far-gone griefs, brought on a recur 
 rence of his disease. 
 
 He had revealed, among other events of a cloud 
 ed life, one which naturally struck the imagination 
 of the defendant. 
 
 The old man, seven and twenty years before, 
 had lost a child at sea. The defendant, about the 
 same time, had been abandoned at the gate of our 
 city alms-house ! 
 
 He did not allude to the circumstance as a re 
 proach to the defendant. He did not unnecessarily 
 present it before the public ; but he would ask what 
 feeling was more natural, more universal, than a de 
 sire of honorable parentage ? He could almost 
 forgive the defendant for grasping an opportunity 
 to wash this stain from his family escutcheon. His 
 family escutcheon! alas, it was a blank! He 
 dated his existence from the moment when, a desert- 
 9* 
 
102 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 ed, shivering, half-starved, half-clad child, he was 
 received under the shelter of public charity ! 
 
 Is it strange that the project being once conceived 
 by evil inspiration, of ingrafting himself on the stock 
 of an honorable family, his invention should have been 
 quickened to fertility in producing and maturing the 
 means? The old miser s singular and solitary 
 death was remembered. The documents in question 
 might be forged ; who should disprove its authen 
 ticity ? It might be pretended that it was received 
 through the hands of the deceased Mr. Clarence ! 
 
 Still it was an unattested and insufficient docu 
 ment; and other testimony must be provided 
 where was it to be obtained ? Where 1 Did the ene 
 my of our souls ever fail to present fit agents to ex 
 ecute a plotted mischief? 
 
 He would only remind the jury of the pro 
 tracted and secret interview between the defendant 
 and the physician, immediately after Mr. Clarence 
 death. 
 
 He could not raise the protecting curtain of secresy ; 
 he could not paint the first shrinking of the confede 
 rate he could not calculate the amount of the bribe 
 it had been enough for the price of integrity, but 
 not enough to stifle the voice of conscience, as they 
 had all witnessed in the consequences of her vio 
 lated law, the blundering and confusion of the 
 testimony given by a man, on all ordinary occasions, 
 clear-headed and self-possessed. Much had been said 
 by the opposite counsel on the superior claims of this 
 medical gentleman to their confidence, over the 
 humble witness of his client. Did he hear this ar 
 gument brought forward in a country of boasted 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 163 
 
 equal rights f A new privileged class ! a new aris 
 tocracy was this! that was to monopolize esteem 
 and confidence, and to disqualify and disfranchise 
 the poor and humble. Thank God, truth and virtue 
 grow most sturdily in the lowly bosom of humility ! 
 The opposite counsel had adopted a plausible ex 
 planation of what he no doubt felt to be a very sus 
 picious circumstance the neglect of the defendant 
 to take the testimony of Conolly. He would sug 
 gest the obvious explanation ; it had probably already 
 occurred to them. The defendant had not antici 
 pated a legal investigation in this country. He had 
 calculated wisely the amount of proof necessary for 
 the agents in England. It was certainly prudent to 
 have as few instruments as possible in a conspiracy 
 of this dark nature. Conolly, as was apparent, was 
 of that frank, sociable, communicative disposition, 
 which characterizes his amiable nation. If it had 
 been possible to corrupt him, he might, in some con 
 vivial moment, disclose a secret which neither in 
 volved his fortune nor reputation. Fortune, poor 
 fellow ! he had none ; and reputation, alas ! it had 
 been seen at what a rate the reputation of a poor 
 Irishman was valued. 
 
 He begged the jury would not be misled by the 
 relative standing of the witnesses, but in their ver 
 dict would imitate that holy tribunal, that was no 
 respecter of persons. 
 
 He had now come to the last point of the evi 
 dence. He would willingly pass it over ; he would 
 for humanity s sake efface it from their memories, 
 But his duty to his client forbade this exercise of 
 mercv. He need not tell them he alluded to the 
 
104 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 testimony of the child. Surely the unhappy father 
 must have stifled the voice of nature must have 
 ( stopp d up the access and passage to remorse, be 
 fore he practised on this innocent boy ^before he 
 effaced or blotted the handwriting of the Creator, 
 still fresh on his beautiful work. But he had not 
 effaced it. All had witnessed the struggles of Hea 
 ven and truth in that little heart against falsehood, 
 fear, and authority. All had seen him yield at 
 last with tears and sobbings to the stern parental 
 command. 
 
 He begged the jury would mark by what appa 
 rently feeble instruments Heaven had thwarted a 
 well-contrived plot; and finally, he resigned the 
 cause to them, confident, that guided by the light 
 which Providence had thrown across their path, 
 their verdict would establish his client s right. 
 
 We have given an imperfect abstract of a power 
 ful argument, but inadequate as it is, it may show 
 how ably men may reason on false premises ; how 
 honestly good men may pervert public opinion ; and 
 how hard it is to adjust the balance of human judg 
 ment. 
 
 The Judge then proceeded to charge the jury. 
 He told them that the question before them was one 
 of fact, to be decided by them alone ; that they must 
 perceive that the testimony of the Irishman was ut 
 terly irreconcileable with the truth of the defendant s 
 witnesses. It was for them to estimate the credibi 
 lity of his apparently honest testimony. A great 
 array of circumstances, favorable to the plaintiff s 
 claim, had been presented before them. It was for 
 them to decide what weight should be allowed to 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 105 
 
 them. On the other hand, they must determine how- 
 much consideration should be accorded to the hitherto 
 unassailed reputation of the defendant and his wit 
 nesses. Their good faith established, the defendant s 
 right to the property was incontestible. Thus he 
 dismissed them with the unadjusted balance in their 
 hands ; and the court was adjourned to the fol 
 lowing morning, 
 
106 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Dead ! art thou dead 1 alack ! my child is dead ; 
 And with my child, my joys are buried !" 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 MR. CLARENCE relumed to his home at a late 
 hour in the afternoon, in a state of mind in which 
 there was nothing to be envied but a consciousness 
 of rectitude. For six months his righteous claim 
 had been suspended, and by the interposition of 
 Winstead Clarence, that man, who, of all the world 
 ought not to have profited by the fortune of his in 
 jured relative ; and now, when Mr. Clarence had 
 flattered himself that all uncertainty was about to 
 end, his reputation had become involved with his 
 fortune, and both were in jeopardy. He had 
 never coveted riches ; neither his day nor his 
 night dreams had been visited with the sordid 
 vision of wealth. He had had the good sense 
 and firmness never to attempt to conceal, or for 
 get, or cause to be forgotten, the degraded condi 
 tion of his childhood ; and he now thought there 
 was a species of injustice, a peculiar hardship in 
 his suffering the reproach and consequences of 
 these vulgar passions, and disquietudes. It was 
 true, that since he had known himself to be the heir 
 of wealth, the exemptions and privileges of fortune 
 had obtained a new value in his eyes. His usual 
 occupations and pleasures had lost their interest in 
 the anticipation of elegant leisure, refined pursuits, 
 
A TALE OF OtlR OWN TIMES. 101 
 
 the application of adequate means to high 
 objects. 
 
 There was a feeling too, not uncommon when 
 any thing extraordinary and peculiar occurs in our 
 own experience ; a feeling of the interposition of 
 Heaven in our behalf; a communication with Pro 
 vidence ; an intimate revelation of his will, and 
 his concurrence in our strongest and secret 
 wishes. Mr. Clarence ruling sentiment was his- 
 parental affection ; his children appeared to him, 
 and really were, highly gifted. His boy had been 
 the instrument, as far as human agency was con 
 cerned, of the singular turn in the tide of his for 
 tunes, and he had regarded him as distinguished by 
 the signal favor of heaven, and destined to gratify 
 his honorable ambition. These had been his high 
 and happy visions ; but he had been harassed by 
 suspense and delay, and he was now beset with un 
 expected dangers, and tormented with unforeseen 
 anxieties. 
 
 After the adjournment of the court, he had 
 passed some hours with his lawyers in balancing 
 the chances for and against him, and had pretty 
 well ascertained their opinion of the desperateness 
 of his cause. As he entered his house he met his 
 little girl, Gertrude, in the entry. She bounded 
 towards him, exclaiming, " Good news ! good news! 
 dear father !" 
 
 " What news ? what have you heard, Gertrude f" 
 
 " I have received the first prize in my class," 
 and glowing with the emotion she expected to ex 
 cite, she drew from beneath her apron a prize-book, 
 bright in new morocco and gilding. 
 
108 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 "Pshaw! * exclaimed her father, "I thought 
 you" had heard some news from the jury, he 
 was going to add ; but he suppressed the last half 
 of the sentence, half-amused and half-vexed at his 
 own weakness. He then, almost unconsciously, 
 kissed the little girl, and turning from her, paced 
 the room with an air of abstraction and anxiety. 
 
 " You don t seem at all delighted, father," said 
 the disappointed child, " I am sure I don t know 
 the reason why ; you used to seem so pleased when 
 I only got the medal." 
 
 Her father made no reply, and a few moments 
 after Frank came limping into the room. Mr. 
 Clarence turned short on him, " A pretty piece of 
 blundering work you made of it in court, Mr. 
 Frank, how came you to disgrace yourself and me 
 in that manner ?" 
 
 "Oh, father, I was so horribly frightened, and 
 besides, sir, you know I felt sick." 
 
 " Sick ! what ailed you f" 
 
 " Father, have you forgotten that I run a nail 
 into my foot yesterday? I have not been well 
 
 ice." 
 
 " My dear boy, I beg your pardon ; but I have 
 had concerns of so much more moment on my hands. 
 If your foot still pains you, go and ask your mo 
 ther to poultice it." 
 
 " Mother has gone to Brooklyn. She said she 
 should get a nervous fever, if she staid at home 
 waiting for the decision of the cause." 
 
 " Well, go to Tempy ; she will do it as well." 
 
 " Tempy has gone to Greenwich, to speak to her 
 brother about coming to live with us, for mother 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 109 
 
 says we must have a man-servant immediately after 
 we get the cause." 
 
 " Have a little patience, Frank, I am going to 
 Doctor Eustace s, and I will ask him to step over 
 and look at your wound." Mr. Clarence snatched 
 up his hat and went to Doctor Eustace s ; but in 
 his deep interest in discussing the occurrences of 
 the day with his friend, he forgot the apparently 
 trifling malady of his boy. 
 
 " Gertrude," said Frank, as his father shut the 
 door, " don t you wish our grandfather had not 
 Jeft father any money ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, I don t wish any such thing. But 
 why do you ask me, Frank ? I am sure it is all 
 the same, since he has not got it." 
 
 " No it is not all the same, by a great deal, Ger 
 trude. Don t you see how different father has been 
 ever since : he does not play to us and talk to us as 
 he used to ; he never helps me with my lessons ; he 
 always seems to be thinking, and every body is 
 talking to him about the cause ; and mother, too, 
 she seems more different than father." 
 
 " How do you mean, Frank ?" 
 
 " Why, she always used to be at home, and had 
 something pleasant for us when we came from 
 school, and so forth ; but now she is always talking 
 about how we are going to live, and what she is 
 going to buy when we get the cause." 
 
 " Oh, but Frank, we shall have such pleasant 
 times then ; mother says so. She says we shall be 
 richer than cousin Anne ! and I shall have a piano ; 
 and we shall keep a carriage of our own ; and 
 we shall have every thing we wish and th?t 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
110 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 will be like having Aladdin s lamp at once, yoo 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! all I should wish if I had Alad 
 din s lamp, would be for somebody to cure my foot, 
 Can t you be my good Genius, Gertrude ?" said the 
 poor boy, with a forced smile. 
 
 " Yes, Frank. Just stretch your leg out on the 
 sofa, and lay your head in my lap, and I will read 
 to you a beautiful Arabian tale out of my prize- 
 book. You will forget the pain in a few minutes." 
 
 The sweet oblivious draught administered by his 
 sister s soothing voice, operated like a charm. 
 Frank s attention was rivetted, and though he now 
 and then startled Gertrude with a groan, he would 
 exclaim in the next breath, " Go on go on !" She 
 continued to read till he fell asleep. Neither his 
 father nor mother returned till a late hour in the 
 evening. 
 
 Early next morning it was known to all persons 
 interested in the cause, that the jury were still in so 
 lemn conclave, and it was rumored that they were 
 nearly unanimous in favor of the plaintiff. Those 
 .who understood the coercive power of watching and 
 fasting over unanimity of opinion, predicted that the 
 verdict would be forthcoming at the opening of the 
 court. 
 
 It is an admitted fact, that notwithstanding the 
 precautions that are taken to maintain the secresy of 
 a jury s deliberations ; notwithstanding the officer 
 who attends them, and who is their sentinel, locks 
 them in their apartment, and is sworn neither to hold 
 nor permit communication with them ; the state of 
 their opinions does marvellously get abroad. What 
 is the satisfactory solution of this mystery to those 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. Ill 
 
 who believe that the nobler sex scorn the interchange 
 of curiosity and communication ? 
 
 At the opening of the court, the court-room was 
 crowded as if a judicial sentence were about to be 
 passed upon a capital offender, but by a different 
 and higher class of persons. Some were attracted 
 by the desire to see how Mr. Clarence would receive 
 the annunciation of the ruin of his hopes ; how he and 
 his friend Dr. Eustace would endure the consequent 
 dishonor. These were disappointed, for neither of 
 these gentlemen were any where to be seen. Ge 
 rald Roscoe too was absent he who the day be 
 fore had so boldly scorned every opinion unfavor 
 able to Mr. Clarence. There could be no coup dc 
 theatre without the presence of these parties. The 
 general conclusion was, that they were too well ap 
 prised of the probable result to meet it in the public 
 eye. 
 
 The proper officer announced that the jury were 
 ready to present their verdict. They were accord 
 ingly conducted to their box, and the foreman arose 
 to pronounce their verdict for the plaintiff, when he 
 was interrupted by a noise and altercation at the 
 door, and Gerald Roscoe entered, and pressed im 
 patiently forward. He was followed in the fone he 
 made by an old woman, who seemed utterly regard 
 less of the dignity of the presence she was in, looked 
 neither to the right nor left, and elbowed her way as 
 if she had been in a market-house. The young 
 man cast one anxious glance back to see she follow 
 ed, and then sprang forward and whispered to Mr. 
 Clarence counsel. This gentleman was electrified 
 by the communication ; but he was anxious not to 
 
112 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 betray his sensations, and he rose, and with great 
 coolness begged the suspension of the verdict, and 
 the indulgence of the court for a moment. His 
 young friend, Mr. Gerald Roscoe, he said, had 
 found a witness whose testimony might have an im 
 portant bearing on the case. 
 
 Rider interrupted him. He was astonished at 
 such an application. The gentleman must be aware 
 that it was utterly inadmissible ; he seemed to have 
 forgotten all legal rules, and all his judicial experi 
 ence. Had he taken counsel of the unfledged youth 
 who was certainly a most extraordinary volunteer in 
 the defendant s cause ? The young man s imperti 
 nent obtrusion of his sympathies on the preceding 
 day had deserved reproof; he trusted his honor the 
 Judge would not pass by this gross violation of the 
 decorum of that tribunal. 
 
 Roscoe s boyish, slightly-knit frame seemed to di 
 late into the stature of manhood, as he cast an indig 
 nant glance at Rider, whose eye fell before him, and 
 then turning to the court, he said, " I pray the Judge 
 to inflict on me any penalty I may have incurred 
 even in that man s opinion," pointing to Rider, " by 
 my unrepressed sympathy with integrity ; but I en 
 treat that my fault may not prejudice Mr. Clarence* 
 
 cause." 
 
 "It shall not," said Rider s associate counsel, 
 willing to humor what he considered the impotent 
 zeal of the youth. " I pray your honor that the 
 new witness may be heard. In the present state of 
 our cause, we have nothing to fear from the machi 
 nations of this young counsellor our beardless bra- 
 ther will scarcely untie our gordian knot," 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 113 
 
 The judge interposed. " This is somewhat irre 
 gular, but as the counsel on both sides consent, let 
 the witness be sworn." She was so. 
 
 " Be good enough to tell us your name, Mistress," 
 said Mr. Clarence counsel. 
 
 " Olida Quackenboss." 
 
 " You keep a lodging-house in William-street, 
 Mrs. Quackenboss ?" 
 
 " You may call it what you like ; it s my own 
 house, and 1 take in a decent body or two now and 
 then, as sarves my own convenience." 
 
 "Did a man, calling himself Smith, die at your 
 house last April ?" 
 
 " No, he died there the thirtieth day of March ;" 
 then, in an under voice, and counting on her fingers, 
 i Thirty days hath September, and so on " No, 
 no but, it was the thirty-first of March." 
 
 " That is immaterial, good woman." 
 
 " What for did you ask me then ?" 
 
 " Because I wanted to ask you further, if you 
 knew any thing of a certain purse, which this man, 
 calling himself Smith, died possessed of?" 
 
 " Yes, do I ; and the lad there," pointing, or ra 
 ther jerking her elbow, towards Gerald Roscoe, 
 " laid down ten dollars to answer for it, if any of 
 you wronged me out of it ; and that would not be as 
 good as the purse, for it s got Smit s luck-penny in it." 
 
 " How came you by it, Mrs. Quackenboss f" 
 
 " Honestly, man." 
 
 " No doubt ; but did Smith give it to you ?" 
 
 The old woman grinned a horrible smile. " Are 
 you a born-fool, man, to think Smit, a sensible 
 body, would give away money like your thriftless 
 10* 
 
114 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 spend-all trash, that s flashing up and down Broad 
 way ? Why look here, man ;" and she thrust her 
 arm to the almost fathomless abyss of her pocket, 
 and brought up an old sometime snuff-box, which 
 she opened, took from it the purse, undrew the 
 string, and piece by piece dropped into her hand, 
 the half jo, the Spanish dollar, the English pennies, 
 and the lucky sixpence, specified in Smith s docu 
 ment. " All this was in it, good money as ever rung 
 on a counter." 
 
 " Then it was paid to you as due from Smith, 
 was it ?" 
 
 " Not that neither ; Smit paid his own dues ; all 
 but a week s hire of the place, that run up against 
 him, poor man, while he lay sick and arning no 
 thing. But leave me be ; I ll just tell you how it 
 was. You see, the man that they call the public 
 administrator came to take Smit s strong box, and 
 he said the money was all to go into the public chist : 
 and right glad was I it was to be locked up, and not 
 go to any heirs, to be blown away with a blast like 
 the leaves that s been all summer a growing. And 
 so when this man that they call the administrator 
 came, I helped him fetch the box from the garret, 
 and he looked round poor Smit s room upon his 
 clothes that were hanging about as if they were but so 
 many cobwebs dangling there, and he said to me. 
 1 You may keep these duds they ll serve you for 
 dusting cloths. I asked him, c Do you mean I shall 
 keep them, and all that s in them ? and he said 
 Yes ; and to make sure, I called in a witness, and 
 he said Yes again. And then I shut and locked 
 the door after us ; for I knew of the purse, that 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 115 
 
 Smit once showed me in his life-time, and I went 
 straight back and got it, and it has not seen .the 
 light since till the lad came this morning ; and now 
 no man, nor lawyer either, dare to take from me 
 what s honestly mine own. And now ye may take 
 one look at it; it s just as good as when his granny 
 knit it for him, with them words in it next to a gos 
 pel verse are they * a penny saved is a penny gain 
 ed; and if ye d all hare to it, especially yon gay- 
 looking younkers, ye d have mighty less need of 
 your courts, and your judges, and your lawyers, and 
 your jails. Now you have my word and my coun 
 sel, ye may let me go." 
 
 " Stop one moment, Mrs. Quackenboss. Who 
 apprised the public administrator that Smith had 
 left the money ?" 
 
 " He told me one Mr. Carroll had sent him 
 there." 
 
 The truth of the miser s document was now 
 attested, and the evidence, of course, conclusive in. 
 Mr. Clarence favor. All, who had watched the 
 progress of the trial, remembered that he might 
 have rested a claim to the miser s money, on the 
 declaration of his manuscript; and his delicacy and 
 disinterestedness in avoiding to do so swelled the 
 tide that was setting in his favor. Murmurs of 
 honest joy, at the triumph of innocence, ran through 
 the court-room. The counsel for the plaintiff 
 rose ; * he had nothing, he said, to allege in answer 
 to the last witness. He was himself convinced, he 
 magnanimously added, of the validity of the de 
 fendant s claim to the name and fortune of the late 
 Edmund Clarence, Esquire* 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " Ye re right, your honor, ye re right," cried a 
 voice that made breathless every other in the court 
 room, " and didn t I tell ye, Lawyer Rider, didn t 
 I tell ye that I heard Clarence that s dead tell him 
 that s living, that he was his own father s son ; 
 didn t I tell ye so, Lawyer Rider? spake man." 
 
 But Rider did not speak. He had no portion of 
 the warm-heartedness of the poor misguided Irish 
 man. He could not throw himself on the wave of 
 generous sympathy, and forget it might engulf him. 
 Both the offenders were ordered into custody, 
 and both subsequently punished. Rider with the 
 heaviest, Conolly the most lenient infliction the law 
 permitted. 
 
 Nothing now remained but for the jury to make 
 out their formal verdict. As soon as this was done, 
 Gerald Roscoe, to whose thought and ingenuity 
 the happy issue of the cause was owing, rushed 
 from the court-room to be the bearer of the happy- 
 tidings to Mr. Clarence. He ran breathless to 
 Barclay-street. His glad impatience could not 
 brook the usual formalities. The street door was 
 open. He entered he flung open the parlor-door; 
 no one was there. He heard footsteps in the room 
 above ; he sprang up stairs, threw wide open the 
 door, and thejoyful words seemed of themselves to 
 leap from his lips, " It s yours it s yours, Mr. 
 Clarence !" 
 
 Not a sound replied not an eye was lifted. 
 Silence, and despair, and death, were there ; and 
 the words fell as if they had been uttered at the 
 mouth of the tomb. Where were now all the 
 hopes, and fears, and calculations, and projects, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 117 
 
 that a few hours before agitated those beating 
 hearts ? 
 
 Where was that restless, biting anxiety, that 
 awaited the decision of the cause as if it involved 
 life and happiness ? Gone forgotten ; or if it for 
 a moment darted through the memory, it was as the 
 lightning flashes through the tempest, to disclose 
 and make more vivid all its desolation ! 
 
 What was wealth ? what all the honor the world 
 could render to that father on whose breast his only 
 beloved son was breathing out his last sigh ? What to 
 the mother who was gazing on the glazed, motionless, 
 death-stricken eye of her boy ? What to the poor 
 little girl whose burning cheek was laid to the 
 marble face Of her brother, whose arms were clasped 
 around him as if their grasp would have detained 
 the spirit within the bound of that precious body ? 
 
 The flushed cheek of the messenger faded. His 
 arms that a moment before had been extended with 
 joy, fell unstrung beside him; and he remained 
 awe-struck and mute till the physician who stood 
 bending over the foot of the bed, watching the suf 
 ferer for whom his art was impotent, moved round 
 to his side, and bending over him, uttered those 
 soul-piercing words, " he is gone /" 
 
 Gerald Roscoe closed the door, and with slow 
 footsteps, and a beating heart, returned to the bus , 
 rling court-room < 
 
118 CLARENCE; OK 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The graceful foliage storms may reave, 
 
 The noble stem they cannot grieve." SCOTT. 
 
 OUR readers must allow us to take a liberty with 
 time, the tyrant that takes such liberties with us all, 
 and passing over the three years that followed the 
 events of the last chapter, introduce them into the 
 library of Gerald Roscoe s mother, now a widow. 
 The apartment was in a dismantled condition. A 
 centre-table was covered with files of papers. The 
 book-cases were emptied of their precious contents. 
 The walls stained with marks of pictures just taken 
 down. The centre-lamp removed from its hang 
 ings, vases from their stands, and busts from their 
 pedestals, and the floor encumbered with packages, 
 labelled with various names, and marked * sold. 
 
 Mrs. Roscoe was sitting on a sofa beside her son, 
 and leaning her head on his shoulcter. Their faces 
 in this accidental position, had the very beauty and 
 expression that a painter might have selected to 
 illustrate the son and mother the widowed mother. 
 The meek brow on which the fair hair, unharmed 
 by time, was parted, and just appeared in plain 
 rich folds from beneath the mourning-cap ; the 
 tender, vigilant, mothers eye ; the complexion, soft, 
 and fair, and colorless, as a young infant s ; and the 
 slender form, which, though it had lost all beauty 
 but grace and delicacy, retained those eminently ; 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 119 
 
 wereall contrasted as they should be with the firmly 
 knit frame and manly stature of her son ; with the dark 
 complexion, flushed with the glow of health ; a pro 
 fusion of wavy jet black hair ; the full lustrous eye 
 of genius ; an expression of masculine vigor and 
 untamed hope, softened by the play of the kind 
 affections of one of the most feeling hearts, and 
 happiest temperaments in the world. One could 
 not look at him without thinking that he would 
 like to take the journey of life with him ; would 
 select him for a compagnon du voyage, sure that he 
 would resolutely surmount the steeps, smooth the 
 roughnesses, and double the pleasures of the way. 
 And who to look at the mother would not have 
 been content to have travelled the path of life with 
 her, heaven born and heaven bound, as she was, 
 unencumbered with the burden of life, and unsullied 
 with any thing earthly? She bore the traces of 
 grief, deep and recent, but endured with such filial 
 trust that it had not disturbed the holy tranquillity 
 of her soul. There was such feminine delicacy in 
 her appearance, her voice was so sweet and low- 
 toned, her manners so gentle, jthat she seemed made 
 to be loved, cherished, caressed, and defended from 
 the storms of life. But she was overtaken by them, 
 the severest, and she endured them with a courage 
 and fortitude, not derived from the uncertain springs 
 of earth but from that fountain that infuses its own 
 celestial quality into the virtue it sustains. 
 
 " This has been a precious hour of rest, my dear 
 Gerald," said his mother, " but we must not pro 
 long it. We have still some matters to arrange 
 before we leave the house." 
 
120 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " No, I believe all is finished. I have just given 
 your last inventory and directions to the auc 
 tioneer." 
 
 " Then nothing remains but to dismiss Agrippa. 
 I had determined to have no feelings, but I am 
 not quite equal to this task. You must do it for 
 me, Gerald." 
 
 " I have already arranged that business. Agrippa 
 would not be dismissed. He says he is spoiled for 
 new masters and mistresses ; and to tell you the 
 truth, my gentle mother, Agrippa is half right, your 
 servants are not fit for the usage of common fami 
 lies. 
 
 "I certainly would retain Agrippa, Gerald, if we 
 had any right to such a luxury as the indulgence of 
 our feelings. But my annuity will hardly stretch 
 to the maintenance of a servant, and you, my dear 
 boy, have yet to learn how hard it is to earn your 
 own subsistence." 
 
 " That s true, mother ; but it will be only a little 
 harder to earn Agrippa s too; and I shall work 
 with a lighter heart, if I toil for something beside 
 my own rations. Thank heaven ! in our plentiful 
 country there is many an extra cover at nature s 
 board, and those who earn a place there, have a 
 right to dispense them. Agrippa, poor fellow, 
 would follow our fortunes even though * he died for 
 lack of a dinner. When I asked him where he 
 meant to go when we left the house, he drew up 
 with the greatest dignity, and said, * With the family, 
 to be sure. Who could ever think of madam and 
 Mr. Gerald living without a servant ? 
 
 "Well, Gerald, if the fancy that his services con- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 121 
 
 tier granduer or benefit on us, makes him happier, 
 we will not destroy the illusion. Your exertions to 
 support the old man will give me more pleasure 
 than a thousand servants. My mind has, of late, 
 been so occupied with inventories, that I have- 
 thought of making a list of my compensations for 
 the loss of fortune. I should place first the power 
 of adversity to elicit the energies of a young man 
 of eighteen." 
 
 " Pass over the mother s compensations, if you 
 please, and specify some other particulars. For 
 instance, is adversity the touchstone of friendship ?" 
 
 " No, I think not that is the common notion ; 
 but it seems to me that the misanthropic complaints 
 of human nature, with which most persons embitter 
 their adversity, result from accidental connnctions 
 and ill-assorted unions. In prosperity intimacies 
 are formed, not so much from sympathy of taste 
 and feeling, as from similarity of condition. We 
 associate with those who live in a certain style, 
 and when this bond is dissolved, why should not 
 the friendship be ?" 
 
 " Friendship ! mother ?" 
 
 " True, Gerald, it is an absurd misnomer. We 
 iancy the shadow is a substance, and when the 
 light enters complain that it vanishes. Those who 
 are not intoxicated by fortune, nor duped by vanity, 
 do not need adversity to prove their friends. I 
 have been disappointed in one instance only, and 
 there the fault is my own. I humbly confess I was 
 blinded by his flattery. I ought always to have 
 known there was nothing in Stephen Morley to de 
 serve our friendship." 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
122 CLARENCE; OK 
 
 " Stephen Morley ! the poor scoundrel, lie doe. 
 not deserve a thought from you, my dear mother. 7 
 
 " But we must bestow a few thoughts upon him 
 just now, Gerald. Run your eye over Jhat power 
 of attorney," she added, giving him a paper, " and 
 if you find it correct, send it to Denham." The 
 paper authorized Denham, Mrs. Roscoe s lawyer- 
 to convert a certain property into money, and 
 therewith to pay a debt due to Stephen Morley 
 from the late Edward Roscoe, Esquire. 
 
 " This is superfluous," said Gerald, " Morley * 
 debt is already provided for in the assignment." 
 
 " True, but Morley is dissatisfied and impatient." 
 
 " Good Heaven! does the fellow dare to say so?" 
 
 " Read his note, Gerald, and you will think with 
 me that a release from even the shadow of an obli 
 gation to Mr. Morley is worth a sacrifice." Ge 
 rald read the following note : 
 
 " My dear Madam A severe pressure of pub- 
 " lie business (private concerns I should have put 
 " aside) has prevented my expressing in person, the 
 41 deep sympathy I feel in your late bereavement. 
 " The loss of a husband, and such a husband is 
 ** indeed a calamity ; but we must all bow to the 
 <( dispensations of an all-wise Providence. 
 
 " It is painful to intrude on you, my dear madam, 
 41 at such a moment a business concern, and no- 
 " thing but an imperative sense of duty to my fa- 
 mily, would compel me to do it. I understand 
 ( you have assumed the settlement of my late friend s 
 " affairs a task, suffer me to say, my dearest madam, 
 ** en parenthese, ill-suited to one of your delicate 
 t; sensibilities. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 123 
 
 44 1 hesitate to allude to my late friend s debt to 
 me a debt, I am bound in justice to myself to 
 < say, contracted under peculiar circumstances ; still 
 " I should not refer to them as a reason for an 
 " earlier settlement of my claim than is provided 
 " for by your assignments, (which Denham has ex- 
 " hibited to me,) was I not constrained by that stern 
 "necessity that knows no law, to intreat you to 
 " make arrangements for an immediate payment. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear madam, with the sincerest 
 - condolence and respect, 
 
 " Your very humble, and 
 " devoted Servant 
 " STEPHEN MORLEY. 
 
 Gerald threw down the note ; "the sycophantic, 
 selfish rascal !" he exclaimed, "yes, pay him, my dear 
 mother if it were the pound of flesh, I would pay 
 him peculiar circumstances, pecuiar enough, 
 Heaven knows ! The only requital he ever made for 
 loans from my father that saved him, time after time, 
 from a jail * peculiar, peculiar indeed, that after 
 our house has been a home to him he should be the 
 only one of all the creditors dissatisfied. Pay him ! 
 Yes, mother, pay him instantly." 
 
 A servant opened the door " Mr. Morley, madam I 
 He asks if he can see you alone." 
 
 " Show Mr. Morley up leave me, Gerald." 
 Gerald paused at the door : " Let me see him. 
 mother," he said earnestly ; " he does not deserve 7 
 his sentence was broken off by Morley s entrance. 
 Gerald looked as if he longed to give him the inti 
 mation the Frenchman received who said of the 
 
CLARENCE; OR * 
 
 gentleman who kicked him down stairs, * he intimated 
 he did not like his company. Morley seized his hand, 
 gave it a pressure, and said in a voice accurately de 
 pressed to the key of condolence, " My dear Ge 
 rald!" and then elongating his visage to its utmost 
 stretch of wofulness he advanced towards Mrs. Ros- 
 coe. She baffled all his preparations by meeting him 
 with a composure that made him feel his total insig 
 nificance in her eyes. The bidden tear that welled 
 to his eye was congealed there, and the thrice conned 
 speech died away on his lips. " You have business 
 with me, Mr. Morley," she said in a manner that 
 excluded every other ground of intercourse. 
 
 " Yes, my dear madam, I have a small matter of 
 business ; but it is particularly painful to intrude it 
 at this moment. I am really quite overwhelmed 
 with seeing preparations for an auction in this house. 
 God bless me, my dear Julia, was it not possible to 
 avoid this consummation of your misfortunes ? And 
 now, when the details of business must be so ex 
 tremely trying to yod ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, Mr. Morley, they are of ser 
 vice to me." 
 
 " Ah ! I fear you are overtaxing yourself an un 
 natural excitement, depend on it. I fear too suf 
 fer me to be frank my deep interest in you must be 
 my apology I fear you have been ill-advised. In 
 your peculiar circumstances, nothing would have 
 been easier than a favorable compromise with the 
 majority of your creditors certain debts, of course, 
 to be excepted." 
 
 " Fortunately, Mr. Morley, there was no neces- 
 
1 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 125 
 
 ity for exceptions ; I have the means to pay them 
 all." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, madam ; but by the surrender of 
 your private fortune to that my friend s creditor? 
 had no claim ; of course I except those debts in 
 which my friend s honor was involved." 
 
 " You must pardon me, Mr. Morley ; as a wo 
 man, I am ignorant of the nice distinctions of men 
 of business. Gerald has not yet learned an artifi 
 cial code of morals ; and we both thought all honest 
 debts honorable." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, madam, in one sense ; you have 
 high notions on these subjects ; the misfortune is, 
 they do not accord with the actual state of things ; 
 such sacrifices are not required by the sense of the 
 public." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Mr. Morley, but we were govern 
 ed by our own moral sense." 
 
 " Fanciful, my dear madam ; and suffer me to say 
 that whatever right you may have to indulge your 
 romantic self-sacrifice, you seem to me to have 
 overlooked your duty to Gerald." 
 
 " A mother," replied Mrs. Roscoe, with a faint 
 .smile, "is not in much danger of overlooking such 
 duties to an only son. Had our misfortunes occur 
 red at an earlier period of Gerald s life, the surren 
 der of my fortune would have been more difficult. 
 But Gerald has already had, and availed himself 
 worthily, of every advantage of education that our 
 country affords. His talents, zeal, and industry 1 
 speak somewhat proudly, Mr. Morley are his pre 
 sent means, and adequate to his wants. His agency 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 CLARENCE; OK 
 
 for Mr. Clarence, and another honorable employment 
 he has been so fortunate as to obtain, will furnish 
 him a respectable support without encroaching on 
 his professional studies." 
 
 " Very fortunate, very respectable, undoubtedly, 
 my dear madam ; but then my friend Gerald is so 
 very promising such an uncommonly elegant young 
 man he would have come into life under such ad 
 vantages. Why, there are the Vincents, Mrs. Ros- 
 coe. Who are more sought and visited than the 
 Vincents ? Mrs. V. was left in circumstances precisely 
 analogous to yours. She had, I may say, if not an 
 able, a fortunate adviser at least. We called the 
 creditors together, and exhibited rather a despe 
 rate state of affairs. She was, you know, at that 
 time a remarkably pretty woman, and looked un 
 commonly interesting in her widow s weeds ; her 
 children were assembled around her in their deep 
 mourning it was quite a scene. I assure you the 
 creditors were touched ; they signed a most favora 
 ble compromise compounded for ten per cent. I 
 think. Mrs. Vincent lived in great retirement 
 while her daughters were being educated spared 
 no expense and now they have come out in the 
 very first style, I assure you. Nobody has a 
 more extensively fashionable acquaintance nobody 
 entertains in better style, than my friend Mrs. Vin 
 cent. 1 
 
 " I believe I must remind you that you have bu* 
 siness with me, Mr. Morley." 
 
 Morley bit his nails ; but after a moment he reco^ 
 vered his self-possession, and reverted from the na- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 127 
 
 tural tone into which he had fallen, to that of senti 
 mental sympathy. " Yes. my dear madam, I have 
 business ; but really my own concerns were quite 
 put out of my head, by seeing this house, in which 1 
 have passed so many pleasant hours, in preparation for 
 an auction ! I hardly know how to proceed ; I could 
 not fully explain myself in my note. It is too deli 
 cate an affair to commit to paper I was particularly 
 solicitous not to excite your feelings." Mrs. Roscoe 
 listened with that quiet attention, that said, as plainly 
 as words could speak it, You cannot excite my feel 
 ings, Mr. Morley. She was however mistaken. 
 Morley proceeded : " I perceive, by the exhibit of 
 your affairs, that you have placed me on the same 
 footing with the other creditors of my late friend ; 
 I know it is your intention they shall all be fully 
 paid, principal and interest but permit me to say 
 this is a fallacious hope a case that rarely occurs ; 
 there are invariably great losses in the settlement of 
 estates if the creditors get fifty percent., they esteem 
 themselves fortunate. I am compelled to say, though 
 reluctantly, that there is something a little peculiar 
 in this debt to me, which renders its immediate and 
 entire payment very important important, 4 mean, 
 to the memory of my late friend." 
 
 " Will you have the goodness, Mr. Morley, to 
 explain to me the peculiar circumstances attending 
 this debt?" 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear madam ; it would be too 
 painful a task ; take my assurance that my friend s 
 honor is implicated. I beg," he added, lowering 
 his voice, " that you will not communicate to Ge 
 rald what I am going to say. He is hot-headed, and 
 
128 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 might be rash. An exposure of the circumstances 
 attending the loan would be most unfortunate; I 
 could not avert the consequences to my friend s re 
 putation. The dishonor, I am sorry to say it, 
 would be great, and the disadvantage to your 
 son, inestimable. It is therefore on his account, 
 far more than my own, that I urge immediate pay 
 ment." 
 
 " Let me understand you distinctly, Mr. Morley ,: 
 do you mean that there were circumstances attending 
 the borrowing of that money dishonorable to my 
 husband ?" 
 
 " I grieve to say there were, madam." 
 <-And those circumstances must transpire if the? 
 money is not immediately refunded ?" 
 " This is the unhappy state of the case." 
 " Will you run your eye over that power of at 
 torney, Mr. Morley f" Morley did so, and felt a 
 mingled sensation of joy, at finding himself so se 
 cure of immediate possession of the total amount of 
 his debt, and of vexation that he had taken so much 
 superfluous trouble ; however, the pleasure prepon 
 derated and sparkled in his eyes, as he said, " This 
 is perfectly satisfactory, my dear madam, entirely 
 so; it wants nothing but your signature." 
 
 " And my signature, sir, it never will receive." 
 Morley s face fell. He looked as if he felt much as 
 a fox might be supposed to feel, who sees the trap 
 door fall upon him, just as he is in the act of grasp 
 ing his prey. Mr. Morley," continued Mrs. Ros- 
 coe, "that instrument will convince you how soli- 
 ritous I was to escape from a pecuniary obligation 
 to you galling as it is, I will continue to endure it. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 129 
 
 to show you that neither your broad assertions, nor 
 malignant insinuations, can excite one fear for the 
 honor of my husband s memory. I shall not com 
 municate what you have said to my son, for he 
 might not be able to restrain his indignation against 
 a man who has slandered his father, to his mother s 
 ear. Our business is now, sir, at an end." Mrs. 
 Roscoe rang the bell. Morley fumbled with his 
 hat and uttered some broken sentences, half remon 
 strating, and half apologizing. The servant ap 
 peared. " Agrippa, open the street-door for Mr. 
 Morley." Mr. Morley was compelled to follow 
 Agrippa, with the mortifying consciousness of 
 having been penetrated, baffled, and put down, by a 
 woman. 
 
 It may appear incomprehensible to our readers, 
 that Stephen Morley should ever have been honored 
 with the friendship of the Roscoes, but they must 
 remember we have shown him without his mask. 
 " The art of pleasing," says Chesterfield, " is 
 the art of rising in the world," and one of the 
 grossest but surest arts of pleasing is the art of 
 flattery. Morley flattered women for their love; 
 men for their favor, and the people for their suffrages. 
 From the first he received all grace, from the second, 
 consideration, and from the last, office and political 
 distinction. When the Roscoes were affluent and 
 distinguished, Morley was as obsequious to them as 
 an oriental slave to his master. But when a sudden 
 turn in the tide of fortune changed the aspect of 
 their affairs, and cloud after cloud gathered over 
 them, Mr. Stephen Morley, who resembled the fe~ 
 
130 
 
 OR 
 
 line race in their antipathy to storms, as well as in 
 some other respects, shook the damps from his coat, 
 and slunk away from the side of his friends. 
 
 The Roscoes, occupied with deep sorrows and 
 difficult duties, had almost forgotten him, when he- 
 consummated his meanness by the conduct we have 
 related, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 131 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 By my trotl) 3 we that have good wits have much to answer for," 
 
 As YOU LIKE IT 
 
 THE following letter was addressed by Mrs. Lay- 
 ton, whom we take the liberty thus unceremoniously 
 to present to our readers, to Gerald Roscoe, Esq. 
 
 " Upton* s-pur chase, June. 18 . 
 
 " Tell me, my dear friend, if you love the coup- 
 k< try, (to borrow your legal phrase,) per se ? Here 
 lam surrounded by magnificent scenery, in the 
 " midst of bowery summer, in the month of flowers, 
 ** and singing-birds, the leafy month of June, and 
 yet I am sighing for New York. It is Madame 
 * de Stael, I think, who says that Move and religion 
 only can enable us to enjoy nature. The first, 
 alas! alas! is (for is read ought to be,) passe to 
 ; me ; and the last I have exclusively associated with 
 " the sick-chamber and other forms of gloom and 
 misery. 
 
 " I honestly confess, I do love the town ; I prefer 
 " a walk on a clean flagging to daggling my 
 vi flounces and wetting my feet in these green fields. 
 ; I had rather be waked in the morning, (if waked 
 u I must be) by the chimney-sweeps cry, than by 
 the chattering of martins. I prefer the expressive 
 ( hum of my own species to the hum of insects, and 
 ; * T had rather see a few japonicas, geraniums, ana 
 
132 CLARENCE; OH 
 
 "jasmines, peeping from a parlor-window, than aii 
 " these acres of wheat, corn, and potatoes. 
 
 " Oh, for the luxury of my own sofa, with the 
 " morning-paper or the last new novel from Good- 
 il rich : with the blinds closed, and the sweet security 
 "of a not at home order to faithful servants. 
 " Country people have such a passion for prospects, 
 "as if there were no picture in life but a pay sage ; 
 " and for light too, they are all Persians >worship- 
 "pers of the sun. My friends here do not even 
 " know the elements of the arts of life. They have 
 " not yet learned that nothing but infancy or such 
 "a complexion as Emilie s can endure the revela- 
 " tions of broad sunshine. It would be difficult, my 
 " dear Roscoe, to give you an idea of the varieties 
 " of misery to which I am exposed. My friends 
 " pride themselves on their hospitality on their de- 
 " votion to their guests. They know nothing of 
 " the art of letting alone. I must ride, or walk, 
 " or sail. We must have this friend to dine, or 
 "that charming girl to pass the day My old 
 " school-mate, Harriet Upton, whom in an evil hour 
 "I came thus far to see, was in her girlhood quite 
 " an inoffensive little negative. She is now a posi 
 tive wife a positive house-wife a positive mo- 
 "ther and Mrs. Balwhidder, the busiest of bees., 
 " nay, all the bees of Mount Hymettus are not half 
 " so busy as Harriet Upton. She has the best din- 
 ners, pies, cake, sweetmeats, in the country her 
 " house is in the most exact order, and no servants 
 " or next to none a house full of children too, and 
 " no nursery ! She is an incessant talker, and no 
 " topic but husband and children and house-affairs-. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 133 
 
 She is an economist too, and like most female sages 
 " in that line, that I have had the misfortune to en* 
 " counter, she loses all recollection of the end in her 
 " eternal bustle about the means. Every thing 
 " she wears is a bargain. All her furniture has 
 " been bought at auctions* She tells me with infi- 
 " nite naivete (me of all subjects for such a boast) 
 * that she always makes her visits to town in the 
 a spring, when families are breaking up, and mer- 
 " chants are breaking down when to every tenth 
 *< house is appended that prettiest of ensigns, in 
 " her eyes, a red flag, and half the shop-windows 
 - are eloquent with that talismanic sentence, selling 
 " off at cost, Oh Roscoe ! would that you could 
 * see her look, half incredulous and half contemptu- 
 " ous, when I tell her that my maid, Justine, does 
 " all my shopping, and confess my ignorance of the 
 ;< price of every article of my dress. 
 
 " But even Dame Upton, a mass of insipidities as 
 " she is, is as much more tolerable than her hus- 
 " band, as a busy, scratching, fluttering, clucking 
 " motherly hen, than a solemn turkey-cock. He } 
 " I fancy, from the pomp and circumstance with 
 " which he enounces his common-places is Sir Ora- 
 " cle among his neighbors. He is a man of great 
 " affairs, president of an agricultural society, colo- 
 " nel of a regiment, justice of the peace, director of 
 " a bank in short, he fills all departments, milita- 
 " ry, civil, and financial, and may be best sum- 
 " med up in our friend D. s pithy sentence l he is 
 " all-sufficient, self-sufficient, and insufficient. 
 
 " I am vexed at myself for having been the dupe 
 * of a school-day friendship* You, Roscoe, are 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
134 
 
 CLARENCE; OH 
 
 if partly in fault for having kept alive my youthful 
 " sentimentalities. What a different story would 
 " Emilie tell you, were she to write ! Every thing 
 " is couleur de rose to her ; but that is the hue of se- 
 * venteen and besides, from having been brought 
 " up in a tame way with her aunt, common plea- 
 * sures are novelties to her. From the moment we 
 " left New York, she had a succession of ecstacies. 
 The palisades were * grand ; the highlands 
 " * Alps ; and the Caatskills < Chimborazo, and 
 ;t * Himlaya. She could have lived and died at 
 " West Point, and found a paradise at any of those 
 pretty places on the Hudson. Albany, that little 
 " Dutch furnace, was classic ground to her, and she 
 " dragged me round at day-light to search among 
 " the stately modem buildings for the old Dutch 
 " rookeries that the alchymy of Irving s pen has, iu 
 " her imagination, transmuted to antique gems. 
 " Even in traversing the pine and sandy wilderness 
 " from Albany to Schenectady, she exclaimed, how 
 " beautiful! and when I, half vexed, asked < what 
 " is beautiful ? she pointed to the few spireas and 
 11 sweetbriars by the road-side. Alas for her poor 
 " mother ! the kaleidescope of her imagination was 
 " br6ken long ago, and trifles will never again 
 " assume beautiful forms and hues to her vision. 
 " There are pleasures, however, for which I have 
 " still an exquisite relish a letter from you, m\ 
 " dear Gerald, would be a { diamond fountain in 
 " this desert. 
 
 " By the way, what do you know of the Cla- 
 :t rences of Clarenceville ? They called on us a 
 :( few days since ; the father, daughter, and a young 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 135 
 
 - man by the name of Seton, an artist, who resides 
 " in the family and teaches the young lady paint- 
 " ing. She, if one may judge from the poor fellow s 
 " blue eye and sunken cheek, has already drawn 
 " lines on his heart, that it will take a more cunning 
 " art than his to efface. He seems to regard her as a 
 " poet does his muse, or a hero his inspiring genius, 
 " as something to be worshipped and obeyed, but 
 " not approached. She appears a comely little body. 
 " amiable, and rather clever at least she looked 
 " so : she scarcely spoke while she was here ; once 
 " I fancied she blushed and at what, do you think? 
 " Your name, Gerald. The father was very curious 
 " about you. He is a melancholy Jacques of a 
 " man, but he is a dyspeptic, which accounts for all 
 " moral maladies. They are evidently the lions of 
 " this part of the world. Harriet Upton has a con- 
 ic stitutional deference for whatever is distingue in 
 " any way ; and she was in evident trepidation lest 
 " Mr. Clarence, who, she took care to tell me, was 
 ;f very particular, should not accord his suffrage 
 ;< to her friend. I was piqued, and determined to 
 " show her there was more in woman s power than 
 " was dreamt of in her philosophy. I succeeded so 
 " well that she kindly assured me she had never 
 " seen Mr. Clarence take so to a stranger, and 
 " < husband said so too. Husband says, in Harriet 
 i{ Upton s mouth, is equivalent to scripture says 
 ;{ from an orthodox divine. 
 
 " Mr. Clarence betrayed some surprise at my 
 " particular knowledge of you, and your affairs ; for 
 " to confess the truth, I was a little ostentatious of 
 " the flattering fact of our intimacy. I cannot ac- 
 
136 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 ;f count for his curiosity about you, but on the fe- 
 il minine supposition, you will call it that he has 
 " designs, or rather hopes, in relation to you ; and 
 " on some accounts the thing would do remarkably 
 " well. But then there is your genuine antipathy 
 " to rich alliances to be overcome ; and, Gerald, you 
 " are such a devotee to beauty, that this young lady 
 " would shock your beau-ideal ; and besides, to a 
 i young man who is a romantic visionary in affairs 
 of the heart, there is something chilling and re- 
 - l volting in the sort of exemplary, mathematical cha- 
 " racier that I take Miss Clarence to be ; and finally 
 lt and thank Heaven for it you are not a marry- 
 ;< ing man, Gerald. 
 
 " I wonder that any man that is, any man of 
 " society should trammel himself with matrimony, 
 ;; till it becomes a refuge from old-bachelorhood. 
 " An old bachelor is certainly the poorest creature 
 " in existence. An old maid has a conventual asy- 
 " lum in the obscurity of domestic life ; and besides, 
 " it is possible that her singleness is involuntary, and 
 " then you feel more of pity than contempt for her ; 
 but an old bachelor, whether he be a fidgety, cy- 
 " nical churl, or a good-natured tool who runs of 
 " errands for the mamas, dances with the youngest 
 " girls in company, (a sure sign of dotage,) and 
 41 feeds the children with sugar-plums ; an old ba- 
 i; chelor is a link dropped from the universal chain, 
 " not missed, and soon forgotten. 
 
 " But to the Clarences once more. Miss Clarence 
 ;< and Emilie have taken a mutual liking, and Emilic 
 :< has accepted an invitation, received to-day, and ex- 
 < pressed in the kindest manner, to pass a week at Cla- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 137 
 
 V renceville. The invitation to the Uptons and me is 
 i: limited to a dinner. If Miss Clarence were a wo- 
 ;f man of the world, she would not care to bring her- 
 i{ self into such close comparison with such exqui- 
 " site beauty as Emilie s. Is it not strange that 
 " Emilie, Hebe as she is, should have so little influ- 
 ; ence over the imagination. She is a great deal 
 " more like Lay ton than like her poor mother. By 
 i; the way, will you tell Layton he must remit us 
 " some money, and also that I shall conform to his 
 ( wishes in respect to going to Trenton, and shall of 
 * { course expect the necessary funds. Be kind enough 
 " to say I should have written to him if I had had 
 " time. 
 
 " Oh, that my friend would write not a book 
 ;< heaven forefend ! but a letter. Do gratify my 
 " curiosity about the Clarences. I mean in rela- 
 - tion to any particular interest they may have in 
 - you. I know generally the history of Mr. C. s 
 * discovery of his father, and his law-suit. 
 
 " Adieu, dear Gerald. Believe me with as much 
 " sentiment as a wife and matron may indulge, 
 " Yours, 
 " GRACE LAYTON." 
 
 Gerald Roscoe to Mrs. Laytou. 
 
 "New York, June, 18 . 
 
 " My dear Madam It is I believe canonical to 
 " answer first the conclusion of a lady s letter. My 
 ;< reply to your queries about the Clarences will ac- 
 * count for Mr. C. s interest in me, without involv- 
 " ing any reason so flattering as that you have sug- 
 12* 
 
138 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 i; gested. My uncle, Gerald Roscoe, was one of 
 ;{ that unlucky brotherhood that have fallen under 
 " your lash, and so far from being a * dropped link, 
 ;< not missed, and soon forgotten, he had that 
 il warmth and susceptibility of heart, that activity 
 and benevolence of disposition, that strengthen 
 u and brighten the chain that binds man to man, 
 5t and earth to heaven. Blessed be his memory I 
 <{ I never see an old bachelor that my heart does 
 " not warm to him for his sake. But to my story. 
 " My uncle a Howard in his charities (you 
 " touched a nerve, my dear Mrs. Lay ton, when 
 44 you satarised old bachelors) my uncle, on a 
 " visit to our city alms-house, espied a little boy, 
 44 who, to use his own phrase, had a certain some- 
 u thing about him that took his heart. This certain 
 * something, by the way, he saw in whoever needed 
 " his kindness. The boy too, at the first glance 
 - was attracted to my uncle. Children are the 
 " keenest physiognomists never at fault in their first 
 Cloves. It suddenly occurred to my uncle, that an 
 " errand-boy was indispensable to him. The child 
 " was removed to my grandfather s, and soon made 
 " such rapid advances in his patron s affections that 
 " he sent him to the best schools in the city, and 
 " promoted him to the parlor, where, universal 
 " sufferance being the rule of my grandfather s 
 " house, he was soon as firmly established as if he 
 " had equal rights with the children of the family. 
 " This child was then, as you probably know, 
 " called Charles Carroll. He was just graduated 
 " with the first honors of Columbia College, when, 
 " within a few days of each other, my grandfather 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 139 
 
 * and uncle died, and the house of Roscoe & Son 
 " proved to be insolvent. Young Carroll, of course, 
 " was cast on his own energies. He would have 
 " preferred the profession of law, but he had fallen 
 " desperately in love with a Miss Lynford, who 
 " lived in dependence in her uncle s family. He 
 " could not brook the humiliations which, I suspect, 
 " he felt more keenly than the subject of them, 
 " and he married, and was compelled, by the actual 
 " necessities of existence, to renounce distant ad- 
 " vantages for the humble but certain gains of a 
 " clerkship. These particulars I had from my mo- 
 " ther. You may not have heard that at the moment 
 " of his accession of property he suffered a calamity 
 " in the death of an only son, which deprived 
 " him of all relish, almost of all consciousness, of 
 " his prosperity. He would gladly have filled 
 * the boy s yawning grave with the wealth which 
 " seemed to fall into his hands at that moment, to 
 ;t mock him with its impotence. The boy was a 
 " rare gem. I knew him and loved him, and hap- 
 *< pened to witness his death ; and being then at the 
 " impressible season of life, it sunk deeply into 
 " my heart. It was a sudden, and for a long time, 
 " a total eclipse to the poor father. The shock 
 " was aggravated by a bitter self-reproach, for 
 ;t having, in his engrossing anxiety for the result of 
 " his pending lawsuit, neglected the child s malady 
 " while it was yet curable. 
 
 " He was plunged into an abyss of melancholy. 
 " His health was ruined, and his mind a prey to 
 " hypochondriac despondency. He languished for 
 a a year without one effort to retrieve his spirits. 
 
140 
 
 CLARENCE j OR. 
 
 u His physician prescribed entire change of scene, 
 " as the only remedy, and a voyage to Europe was 
 i{ decided on. His daughter was sent to Madame 
 " Rivardi s in Philadelphia, where, by the way, if 
 " she had been of a polishable texture, she would 
 now be something very different from the unembel- 
 1 < lished little person you describe. Mrs. Clarence wen* 
 " abroad with her husband. My mother, who is a 
 " sagacious observer of her own sex, says she was a 
 " weak and worldly-minded woman, quite unfit to 
 if manage, and certainly to rectify, so delicate an 
 " instrument as her husband s mind. They had 
 " been in Europe about eighteen months, when Mr. 
 " Clarence received the news of my father s death. 
 " the last, and bitterest of our family misfortunes. 
 " This event roused Mr. Clarence generous sym- 
 " pathies. It gave him a motive for return and ex- 
 ertion. He came home to proffer assistance in 
 " every form to my mother. He found that she 
 " had heroically surmounted difficulties with which 
 " few spirits would have struggled ; that she had 
 " declined a compromise with my father s creditors, 
 < and had succeeded in paying off all his debts : 
 and that we were living independently, but with 
 a severe frugality almost unparalleled in our boun- 
 " tiful country. I mention these particulars in jus- 
 " tice to Mr. Clarence, and to do honor to my 
 11 mother. My mother ! I never write or speak 
 " her name without a thrill through my heart. A 
 " thousand times have I blessed the adversity that 
 " brought forth her virtue in such sweet and beau- 
 " tiful manifestations. It was there, like the per- 
 * ; fume in the flower, latent under the meridian sun, 
 * but exhaled by the beating tempest, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 141 
 
 " I should not care my wife should honor myme- 
 mory by mausoleums, cherished grief, and moping 
 " melancholy, and their ostentatious ensigns. Deep 
 " and even unchanging weeds, do not excite my 
 "imagination; but the tender, cheerful fortitude 
 " with which my mother endured pecuniary reverses ; 
 " the unblenching resolution with which she met 
 " all the perplexing details of business, never falter- 
 4 ing till my father s interrupted purposes were 
 " effected, and till his memory was blessed, even by 
 " his creditors ; this is the honor that would make 
 " my ghost trip lightly through elysium shame 
 " on my heathenism ! that would enhance the hap- 
 " piness of heaven. 
 
 " But to return to Mr. Clarence. He insisted 
 " that he owed a debt to my father s family, and that 
 " my mother ought not to withhold from him the 
 " right as he had now the opportunity to can- 
 " eel it. 
 
 " My mother, with the scrupulousness which, if 
 " it is an infirmity, is the infirmity of a noble mind, 
 " recoiled from a pecuniary obligation. Mr. Cla- 
 " rence, however, was not to be baffled. Inspired 
 " with confidence in me, as he said, by the ability 
 " with which I had assisted my mother in the man- 
 u agement of our private disastrous affairs, he made 
 " me his man of business, and paid me a salary that 
 " relieved us at once from our most pressing neces- 
 " sities. I soon after entered on my profession, and 
 from that time have received a series of kindnesses, 
 " which, in the temper of his noble nature, he has 
 " bestowed as my dues, rather than as his favours. 
 ^ It is now five years since I have seen him. His 
 

 
 142 CLARENCE; OB 
 
 " daughter I have never seen since her childhood ; 
 " though far less striking than her brother, she 
 " was then interesting. I am mortified, on her 
 " father s account, that she should have turned out 
 " such an ordinary concern. But it is a common 
 " case ; the fruit rarely verifies the promise of the 
 " bud. However, I fancy her father has his conso- 
 " lations. I infer from his letters that she is ex- 
 " emplary in her filial duties. They have resided at 
 " Clarenceville ever since her mother s death, when 
 " Miss C. was withdrawn from school. It is cer- 
 " tainly a merit in a girl of her brilliant expecta 
 tions to remain contentedly buried alive in the 
 " country a merit to point a moral, not adorn a 
 " tale. Is it natural depravity, my dear Mrs. Lay- 
 " ton, or artificial perversity, that makes us during 
 " the romantic period of life so insensible to useful 
 " home-bred virtues ? l A comely little body 
 "amiable and rather clever! Heavens! such a 
 " picture would give Cupid an ague-fit. The words 
 " raise the long forgotten dead in my memory and 
 "carry me back to good Parson Peabody s, in 
 " Connecticut, where I was sent to learn Latin and 
 14 Greek, and where, even then, my wicked heart 
 " revolted from * a comely little body amiable and 
 " rather clever, a Miss Eunice Peabody a pat- 
 " tern damsel. I see her now knitting the parson s 
 " long blue yarn-stockings, and at the same time 
 " dutifully reading Rollin, Smollett, (his history !) 
 " and Russell s Modern Europe knitting, andread- 
 . " ing by the mark. Many a time in my boyish 
 " mischief I have slipped back her mark, and seen 
 :l her faithfully and unspectingly retrace the pages. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 143 
 
 though once, when 1 had ventured to repeat the 
 experiment on the same portion of the book, she 
 < very sagely remarked to the admiring parson that 
 " there was considerable repetition in Rollin.. How- 
 " ever, I beg Miss Clarence pardon, and really 
 "take shame to myself for any disrespect to 
 " one so nearly and dearly allied to my excellent 
 " friend, her father. The truth is, I have been a. 
 "good deal vexed by having her seriously proposed 
 "to me as a most worthy matrimonial enterprise, 
 " by several of my friends, who flatter me by say- 
 " ing, it would be an acceptable alliance to the 
 " father, and that I want nothing but fortune to 
 ;( make a figure in life. Now that is just what I 
 " do not want. I have my own ambition, but, 
 u thank God, it does not run in that vulgar channel. 
 ; I honor my profession, among other reasons, be- 
 < cause it does not hold forth the lure of wealth. 
 " I would press on in the noble career before me, 
 { my eye fixed on such men as Emmet and Wells, 
 " and if I attain eminence it shall be as they have 
 " attained it, by the noblest means the achieve- 
 ; ments of the mind ; and the eminence shall be 
 -too, like that holy hill of the Lord, to which 
 none shall ascend but those that wash their hands 
 in innocency. If you have the common prejudice? 
 against my profession, you may think this holy 
 ;; hill as inaccessible to lawyers, as the promised 
 i{ land was to the poor sinning Israelites. But 
 " allow me, by way of an apt illustration of my own 
 ;; ideas, to repeat to you a compliment I received 
 - { from Agrippa, an old negro-servant of my fa*- 
 
144 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 "ther. He came into my office and looking 
 " round with great complacency, said, * Well, Mas- 
 " ter Gerald, you ve raly got to be a squire. 
 
 " * Yes, Grip; but I hope you do not think that 
 " lawyers cannot be good men. 
 
 " No, that I don t sir; clean hands must do a 
 " great deal of dirty work in this world. 
 
 " I shall never undertake a doubtful cause ane- 
 " cessity wlnYh I believe the best ethics include 
 " among our legal duties without consoling myself 
 " with Agrippa s apothegm. But enough, and too 
 " much, of egotism. One word as to your womanly 
 " fancy that Miss Clarence blushed at the mention of 
 " my name ; I never knew a woman that had not a gift 
 " for seeing blushes and tears. Poor Miss Clarence ! 
 " Never was there a more gratuitous fancy than 
 " this. 
 
 " And now, my dear madam, for a more agreea- 
 " ble topic. When do you return to the city ? I 
 " am becoming desperate. My dear mother has 
 " been at Schooley s mountain for the last four 
 " weeks; and since your parting God bless you, 
 " I have not exchanged one word with * Heaven s 
 " last, best work. My condition reminds me of a 
 play, written by a friend of mine, which was re- 
 " turned to him by the manager, with this comment. 
 " It will not do, sir. Why there is not a woman in 
 " it; and if your men were heroes or angels, they 
 " must be damned without women/ Now I am far 
 " enough from being hero or angel ; but there is no 
 " paradise to me without women without you, my 
 " dear madam and rny mother. I put her in, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 145 
 
 " not so much for duty s, as for truth s sake. Com- 
 mend me to Miss Emilie; it is no wonder she 
 " should love the country all that is sweet, beau- 
 tiful, and inspiring in nature, is allied to her. 
 
 " My temper was put to the test the other day on 
 her account ; or more on yours, than hers. Tom 
 " Reynolds joined me on the Battery. < So, said 
 ; he, your friend Mrs. Layton has made a grand 
 4 * match for her peerless daughter! 
 
 " How ? to what do you allude ? 
 
 " Bless me ! you have not heard that Emilie 
 " Layton is engaged to the rich Spaniard, Pe- 
 " drillo ? 
 
 " * Pshaw ! that is too absurd. Pedrillo is a fo- 
 vi reigner, unknown, and twice Miss Layton s age. 
 
 " Mere bagatelles, my dear sir. He is rich ; and 
 " put what you please in the other scale, and it kicks 
 " the beam, that is, if fathers and mothers are to 
 " strike the balance. 
 
 " Upon my word, you do them great ho- 
 ; nor ; but in this case I fancy Miss Layton s own 
 inclinations will be consulted. 
 
 " Tant mieux. Pedrillo is a devilish genteel 
 " fellow, handsome enough, and has a very insinu- 
 { ating address. What more can a girl ask for? 
 
 " I was not, as you may suppose, my dear ma- 
 dam, fool enough to throw away any sentiment on 
 " a man destitute of the first principles on which 
 " sentiment is founded. So we parted; but I was 
 " indignant that rumor should for a moment class 
 " you with persons who are degraded far below the 
 " level of those pagan parents who abandon their 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
146 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " children to the elements, or sacrifice them to theii 
 u divinities. Of all the mortifying spectacles of ci- 
 " vilized life, I know none so revolting as a parent 
 < a mother who is governed by mercenary mo~ 
 " tives in controlling the connubial destiny of a 
 " daughter ! But why this to you, who are inde- 
 " pendent, to a fault, (I should say, if the queen could 
 " do wrong,) of all pecuniary considerations ? 
 
 "But my letter is so long, that my moral has 
 ; < little chance of being read; so here is an end 
 " of it. Return, I beseech you, my dear Mrs. Lay- 
 " ton ; nothing has any tendency to fill the vacancy 
 " you make in the life of your devoted friend and 
 " servant, 
 
 ;< GERALD ROSCOE. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ( Rural recreations abroad, and books at home, are the innocent 
 pleasures of a man who is early wise, and gives fortune no more 
 hold of him than of necessity he must." DRYDEN. 
 
 THE sentiment of Dry den, which we have prefix 
 ed to this chapter, accorded with Mr. Clarence 
 views, and will in part explain his preference of a 
 rural life. But he had other reasons reasons that 
 neither began nor terminated with himself. The 
 formation of Gertrude s character was the first object 
 of his life, and he wished, while it was flexible, to secure 
 for it the happiest external influences. He believed 
 that direct instruction, the mos{ careful inculcation 
 of wise precepts, and the constant vigilance of a sin 
 gle individual, (even though that individual be a 
 parent,) are insignificant, compared with the indi 
 rect influences that cannot be controlled, or with 
 what has been so happily called the * education of 
 circumstances. He wished to inspire his child with 
 moderation and humility. She was surrounded by 
 the indulgencies of a luxurious town-establishment, 
 and exposed to the flatteries of the frivolous and 
 foolish. He wished to give her a knowledge and 
 right estimate of the Justuses and responsibilities of 
 the fortune of which she was to be the dispenser. 
 His lessons would be counteracted in a society where 
 wealth was made the basis of aristocracy and fashion. 
 He wished to infuse a taste for rational and intelleo 
 
148 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 tual pursuits. How was this to be achieved amidst 
 the * dear five hundred friends she had inherited 
 from her mother the flippant idlers of fashionable 
 life ? 
 
 Mr. Clarence was too much of a philosopher to 
 condemn en masse the class of fashionable society. 
 He knew there were individual exceptions to its ge 
 neral character, but he regarded them as the golden 
 sands borne on the current, not giving it a new di 
 rection. He esteemed the devotees to morning vi 
 sits and evening parties as the mere foam on the 
 fountain of life as having no part in its serious uses 
 or purposes. He felt a benevolent compassion for 
 them ; they seemed to him like the uninstructed deal* 
 and dumb, beings unconscious of the rich faculties 
 slumbering within them ; faculties, that if awakened 
 and active, and directed to the ends for which they 
 were designed by their beneficent Creator, would 
 change the aspect of society. 
 
 Mr. Clarence was not diappointed in many of tho 
 benefits he expected from his daughter passing the 
 noviciate of her life in the country. She learned to 
 love nature from an acquaintance and familiarity 
 with its sublimest forms, and most touching aspects. 
 Those glorious revelations of their Author refined 
 her taste, and elevated her imagination and her af 
 fections to an habitual communion with Him. 
 
 In a simple state of society, she felt the power of 
 her wealth only in its wise end benevolent uses. She 
 learned to view people and things as they are, with 
 out the false glare of artificial society. Her domes 
 tic energies were called forth by the necessities of a 
 rountry-establishment, which, with all the facilities of 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 149 
 
 wealth, does, it must be confessed, sometimes re 
 quire from the lady of the menage the skill of an ac 
 tual operator. 
 
 In this education of circumstances, there was one 
 which had a paramount influence on the character 
 of Gertrude Clarence her intercourse with her 
 father. Gibbon has said, that the affection subsist 
 ing between a brother and sister is the only Platonic 
 love. Has not that sentiment that binds a father to 
 his daughter, the same generosity and tenderness 
 arising from the distinction of sexes, and with that 
 something higher and holier ? 
 
 A parent stands, as it were^ on the verge of two 
 worlds, and blends the fears and hopes of both. He 
 feels those anxieties and dreads that arise from an 
 experience of the uncertainties of this life, and that 
 inexpressible tenderness, and those illimitable desires, 
 that extend to the eternal hereafter. 
 
 Mr. Clarence had perhaps an undue anxiety in 
 regard to the possible evils of the present life. His 
 mind never quite recovered from the melancholy 
 infused into it by the relation of his father s history. 
 The shocking death of Jiis son nearly destroyed 
 for the time his mental faculties, and perma 
 nently impaired his health. He timidly shrunk 
 from every form of evil that might assail his child, 
 not considering that she had the unabated ardor, and 
 the elastic spirit that are necessary to sustain the bur 
 den of life. Gertrude s character, originally of a 
 firm texture, was strengthened by her father s timi 
 dity. Her resolution and cheerfulness were always 
 equal to his demands, and these were sometimes un 
 reasonable. His solicitude sometimes degenerated 
 13* 
 
150 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 to weakness, and his sensibility to petulance. To 
 these Gertrude opposed a resoluteness, and equa 
 nimity, that to a careless and superficial observer 
 might seem coldness ; but such know not how care 
 fully the fire that is used only for holy purposes is 
 concealed and guarded. 
 
 But our fair readers may be curious to know 
 whether Gertrude s rustication was to be perpetual : 
 whether the matrimonial opportunities of a rich 
 heiress, were to be circumscribed to the few chance? 
 of a country-lottery ? and whether she had arrived 
 at the age of nineteen without any pretenders to her 
 exclusive favor ? Certainly not. The spirit of enter 
 prise, in every form, is too alert in our country to 
 permit the hand of an heiress to remain unsoli 
 cited, and Gertrude Clarence was addressed by 
 suitors of every quality and degree. Clergymen, 
 doctors, lawyers, and forwarding merchants, ad 
 dressed, we should perhaps say approached her, for 
 they soon found something in the atmosphere of 
 Clarenceville that chilled and nipped their young 
 hopes they soon felt, all >but the most obtuse, that 
 Gertrude Clarence was no game for the mere for 
 tune-hunter. 
 
 But, ask my fair young readers, did she pass the 
 most susceptible years of her life without any of 
 those emotions and visions that disturb all our ima 
 ginations ? She had her dreams, her beau-ideal. 
 Her memory had retained the image of a certain 
 youth who had appeared to her in all the graces of 
 dawning manhood when she was a very young 
 and unobserved child. In her memory he had 
 been associated with her brother, so fondly loved. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 151 
 
 so long and deeply lamented. In her hopes 
 no, her thoughts did not take so definite a form 
 in her visions, there was one personification of all 
 that to her imagination was noble, graceful, and 
 captivating. Her father unwittingly cherished this 
 preposession. 
 
 His debt to the Roscoe family, and his love to its 
 departed members, inspired, naturally, a very strong 
 interest in Gerald, now its sole representative. Ge 
 rald s personal merit confirmed this interest. Mr. 
 Clarence delighted to talk of him to Gertrude, to 
 dwell on and magnify his rare qualities. He main 
 tained a constant correspondence with Mr. Clarence, 
 and his graceful and spirited letters seemed to im 
 part to her acquaintance with his character, the 
 vividness of personal intercourse. 
 
 It was natural that Mr. Clarence, in looking for 
 ward to the probable contingency of Gertrude s mar 
 riage, should in his own mind fix on Gerald Roscoe, 
 as the only person to whom he would willingly re 
 sign her ; but it certainly was not prudent to infuse 
 :i predilection into her mind, and to nourish that pre 
 dilection without calculating all the chances against 
 its gratification, and that fatal but unthought of 
 chance, that her sentiment might not be reciprocated. 
 
 But we are in danger of anticipating, and we 
 proceed to give a day at Clarenceville which will 
 enable our readers to judge of our heroine s cha 
 racter, from its developement in action, a mode as 
 much more satisfactory than mere description, as a 
 book than its table of contents. 
 
 Mr. Clarence house was no shingle palace, but 
 u well built, spacious, and commodious modern edi- 
 
152 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 fice, standing on a gentle slope on the northeast 
 shore of one of the beautiful lakes in the western 
 part of the state of New York. The position of the 
 house was judiciously selected to economize sun 
 shine, and soft breezes, the luxuries of a climate 
 where winter reigns for six months. Literally, the 
 monarch of all he surveyed, Mr. Clarence right of 
 property had enabled him to save from the relentless 
 axe of the settler, a tine extent of forest trees that 
 sheltered him from the biting north winds, and 
 rising in strait and lofty columns, a lonely depth 
 of unpierced woods offered a tempting retreat to the 
 romantic and the contemplative ; or to those more 
 apt to seek its l lonely depths, the sportsman and 
 deer-hunter. Between the house and the lake, not a 
 tree had been suffered to remain to intercept the 
 view of the clear sparkling sheet of water, the soul 
 of the scene. 
 
 The lawn was circular, and surrounded with 
 shrubs and flowers, which Gertrude loved better 
 than any thing, not of human kind. 
 
 Sweet-briars, corcoruses, passion-flowers, and 
 honey-suckles, wreathed the pillars of the piazza ; 
 and the garden which was a little on the right of 
 the house, and filled with fruit-trees, and arranged in 
 terraces, covered with grapes, tempered the bolder 
 features of the scene with an air of civilization, re 
 finement, and even luxury. The opposite shore of 
 the lake, was mountainous, wild, and rugged, and 
 enriched with many an Indian tradition. The lake 
 was not a barren sheet of water, but dotted with 
 islands, some without a tree or shrub, green, fresh, 
 and smooth, looking as if they might have been 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 153 
 
 the cast-off mantles of the sylvan deities ; others 
 were embowered with trees, and overgrown with 
 native grape-vines, that had leaped from branch 
 to branch, and hung their leafy draperies on every 
 bough. 
 
 Less romantic, but not less agreeable objects ter 
 minated the perspective ; a thriving village, with its 
 churches, academy, and court-house, and all the in 
 signia of an advancing, busy population. 
 
 The day we have mentioned was that appointed for 
 Mrs. Layton and the Uptons to dine at Clarenceville, 
 Any interruption of his customary occupations was 
 apt, before breakfast, to disturb Mr. Clarence se 
 renity. The demon of dyspepsia was then lord of 
 the ascendant. When he entered the breakfast par 
 lor, Gertrude and Mr. Seton only were there. 
 " Where is the breakfast, Gertrude ?" he asked. " I 
 hope you do not mean to wait for Miss Emilie. 
 Young ladies should really learn that good man 
 ners require them to rise at the family hours." 
 
 " Emilie was up with the birds, papa, and ha> 
 gone to walk." 
 
 "To walk! my dear child, how could you per 
 mit her to expose herself to the morning air ?" 
 
 " I was asleep." 
 
 " Asleep ! Nothing is more fatal to health than 
 sleeping in the morning. I have mentioned to you 
 the anecdote of Lord Mansfield, Gertrude ?" 
 
 " O yes, papa." And Gertrude could scarcely 
 repress a smile, when she recollected how many times 
 it had been mentioned to her. 
 
 " I presume, Gertrude, it is not necessary to wait 
 breakfast for Miss Layton." 
 
154 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; I have ordered it already." 
 
 Mr. Clarence walked to the window, and unhap 
 pily espied his favorite riding-horse. "What a 
 stupid scoundrel John is !" he exclaimed, " to leave 
 Ranger in the sun." 
 
 Seton started from his seat : "It was not John, 
 sir ; I have been riding, and I took it for granted 
 that John would see the horse." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Seton ; but really, sir, 
 it is not agreeable it is not the thing to use a horse 
 in this way." Poor Seton went with all possible 
 haste to repair his fault, while Mr. Clarence conti 
 nued, "Such imbecility is really too bad; twenty 
 good shades within as many yards. He took it for 
 granted John would see the horse ; this * taking it 
 for granted is just the difference between those that 
 get along in the wurld, and those that slump 
 through. Do you know why Sarah does not bring 
 the breakfast, Gertrude f" 
 
 " I hear her coming, sir." 
 
 "What are you looking at, Gertrude? Oh, I 
 see Ranger has got away from Louis ; I expected 
 it. Sarah, send John instantly here." Mr. Cla 
 rence threw up the sash, and would have expressed 
 his impatient displeasure to Seton, but Gertrude laid 
 her hand on his arm : 
 
 " My dear father ! Lewis is not well this morn 
 ing." 
 
 Mr. Clarence put down the window, walked once 
 or twice across the room, and asked for the Edin 
 burgh-Review. Gertrude looked on the tables, on 
 the book-shelves, on the piano, on every thing that 
 could support a book ; but the London Quarterly, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 155 
 
 I he North American, the Literary Gazette, New 
 Monthly, Ladies Magazine, the Analectic, Eclec 
 tic, every thing but the Edinburgh, was forthcom 
 ing- >to had vanished. 
 
 " There is no use in looking, Gertrude ; it s gone 
 of course ; it s of no consequence ; the breakfast is 
 here." They sat down; but here a new series of 
 trials commenced. The coffee was burned too much, 
 and Mr. Clarence made his daily remark, that he 
 believed all the difficulty might be remedied, if peo 
 ple would say roast coffee, instead of burnt coffee. 
 Then the dyspeptic bread had been forgotten, and 
 the family bread was underbaked ; the fish was cold, 
 and the eggs were stale. Sarah was inquired of, 
 * why fresh eggs had not been gotten from John 
 Smith s. 
 
 "Mr. Smith don t calculate to part with any 
 more till after Independence." 
 
 " I dare say ; it is all independence to our farming 
 gentry ! Has Mrs. Carter brought the fowls for 
 dinner, Sarah ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; she has concluded not to." 
 
 "What is the meaning of that?" 
 
 " Why, sir, she says poor Billy reared them, and 
 <he don t love to spare them." 
 
 " Nonsense ! tell John to go down and tell her I 
 must have them." 
 
 "I have another errand for John to do at the 
 same time," whispered Miss Clarence to the girl ; 
 " tell him to wait till after breakfast." 
 
 While these domestic inquiries had been making, 
 Miss Clarence had prepared some remarkably fine 
 black tea, just received from New York the gar- 
 
156 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 dener had sent in a basket of strawberries, the first 
 product of the season and the cook had found a 
 mislaid loaf of the favorite bread ; and when Miss 
 Emilie Layton returned from her walk, all radiant 
 and glowing with beauty, health, and spirits, Mr. 
 Clarence was in the best humor possible. " Up 
 rose the sun, and up rose Emily !" he exclaimed. 
 "Pardon me, my dear little girl, I do not often 
 quote, even prose ; but you look so like the spirit of 
 the jocund morning" he drew her chair close to him 
 self, kissed her white dimpled hand " the privilege 
 of an old man, Miss Emilie don t look cast-down, 
 Louis ; every dog must have his day." 
 
 " What delightful spirits you are in, Mr. Cla 
 rence !" said the young lady. 
 
 "Spirits! ah my dear Miss Emilie, bless your 
 stars that you did not see me half an hour sooner. 
 I have been tormenting poor Gertrude and Louis ; 
 but I can t help it I believe spirits, sensibility, eve 
 ry thing, as" a friend of mine says, depend on the 
 state of the stomach. Don t eat that egg take 
 some of these strawberries, Miss Layton ; they are 
 delicious haut bois." 
 
 " I prefer the egg, sir ; I am very hungry." 
 
 " Stop, my dear girl ! don t you know you should 
 always open an egg at the obtuse end, and if it is 
 perfectly full to the shell, it is fresh ; I have tried the 
 experiment all summer, and I have not found half a 
 dozen good ones." 
 
 " And I have broken all mine in the middle, and 
 never found a poor one," said Miss Layton, dashing 
 hers out, and proceeding to eat it with the keen relish 
 of a youthful and stimulated appetite. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 157 
 
 " I like that I like that, Miss Emilie ; that makes 
 ill the difference in life, the difference between such 
 a poor fidgetty creature as I am, and such a happy 
 spirit as yours. Go on, my dear child, and break 
 your eggs in the middle for ever ; but excuse me, I 
 have an errand that must be done immediately," and 
 he rose to leave the room. 
 
 " Are you going to the widow Carter s?" asked 
 Gertrude, with a very significant smile. 
 
 " Yes," and though Mr. Clarence bit his lip, he 
 smiled in return. 
 
 " It is unnecessary. John was directed not to do 
 the errand till after breakfast." 
 
 " There it is see there, Miss Emilie My good 
 Gertrude has saved me from playing Blue Beard 
 on a poor widow s chickens this morning. The 
 brood of a Heaven-forsaken boy of hers who 
 has been drowned in the lake this summer the 
 only good thing the graceless little dog ever did, was 
 to rear these chickens. It would have been a worse 
 case than that of the widow s cow, immortalized by 
 Fenelon all the poultry in Christendom would nol 
 have made up the loss to her, and she would have 
 sent them, poor soul ! she would have surrendered 
 her life, if either Gertrude or I had required it." 
 
 Mr. Clarence had resumed his seat, and taken up 
 a newspaper, when a servant entered with letters 
 from the post-office ; they were distributed accord 
 ing to their different directions. Miss Layton 
 looked conscious and disturbed, and retreated to her 
 apartment. Mr. Clarence broke the seal of his r 
 saying it was a short business-letter, and that he 
 had left his spectacles in the library; he asked 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
158 CLARENCE; os 
 
 Gertrude to read it to him. She accordingly leaned 
 over his shoulder, and read as follows : "I have 
 " thought over and over again what I told you the 
 " day we parted. I am right- It is all fudge there 
 41 is no lion in the way. I tell you again, make hay 
 " while the sun shines strike while the iron is hot 
 " clench the nail" Louis started from his seat, 
 but Miss Clarence without observing him, read on, 
 46 straws show which way the wind blows. If I have 
 " eyes, it sets from the right quarter delays arc 
 " dangerous. A certain person s life hangs by a 
 41 thread, and when he s gone, she s off to the city, 
 " and snapped up by the dandies three hundred 
 
 "thousand " 
 
 " Stop, for God s sake !" cried Seton, and snatch 
 ing the letter, flushed and trembling, he instantly dis 
 appeared. Mr. Clarence closed the door after him, 
 and turning to Gertrude, asked her what could be 
 the meaning of this. Gertrude was in tears ; for a 
 moment she could not reply, but taking up a letter 
 Seton had dropped, and, glancing at it and looking 
 at the signature, " It is so," she said ; "the letters 
 are both from that vulgar brother of Seton they 
 were misdirected this was meant for you." 
 
 The letter designed for Mr. Clarence eye, was as 
 follows : " Respected Sir I take the liberty, by 
 " return of mail, to tender my sincere thanks to you 
 and Miss Clarence, for your politeness to me 
 - ( during my late visit to my esteemed brother. It 
 * was very gratifying to me to find your health so 
 cc much improved, and my brother so pleasantly 
 ;e situated in your valued family. I think I may 
 = say Lewis deserves his good fortune he has al- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES, 
 
 159 
 
 -ways been a remarkably correct young man, 
 i{ Louis has. It was a disappointment to my father, 
 after giving him a liberal education, that he 
 :t should take such a turn for painting ; but Allston, 
 " our great painter, says he has a remarkable talent 
 " that way, so that there is a good prospect, if he 
 " should go to foreign countries, that he may, at some 
 " future day, become as celebrated as Sir Benjamin 
 < West; but I for one should be perfectly content to 
 - have him settle down in the country, and only 
 "handle the brush for his amusement. My wife 
 "would be very glad to accept Miss Gertrude s 
 " invitation, as she is remarkably fond of Louis, as 
 JC indeed we all are. The rose for Miss Gertrude, 
 " and the calliflower for yourself, I shall do myself 
 " the pleasure to send by the first opportunity. Till 
 : < then believe me, sir, with much respect and esteem. 
 " and gratitude, to you and to Miss Gertrude, 
 " Your very obedient, 
 
 " humble servant, 
 
 " WILLIAM SETON. * 
 
 ; It is too bad," said Mr. Clarence, " to be ex 
 pected to be the dupe of such a vulgar, grovelling 
 wretch. Is it possible, Gertrude, that Louis has 
 any thing in common with this base fellow ?" 
 " Nothing, my dear father, nothing." 
 " Has he in any way indicated an intention oi 
 addressing you ?" 
 " Never." 
 
 Mr. Clarence paused for a moment, and then 
 added, " Pardon me, my dear child, for catechising 
 you a little further : have you any reason to think 
 that Louis loves you ?" 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " I believe he does." 
 
 Gertrude s tears dropped fast on the letter whicit 
 she still held in her hand, folding and refolding it. 
 Mr. Clarence walked up and down the room, till 
 suddenly stopping, he said; " Seton is not all I 
 could have wished for you, my dear Gertrude his 
 delicate health the nervous, susceptible constitution 
 of his mind, are, according to my view of things, 
 great evils but he is pure, and disinterested, and 
 talented. I reverence a sentiment of genuine affec 
 tion. It is cruel to disappoint or trifle with it. 
 I see your emotion, Gertrude, your wishes shalf 
 govern mine." 
 
 Miss Clarence subdued her agitation "You 
 misunderstand my emotion, sir," she said ; " I was 
 grieved that Mr. Seton should have been so out 
 raged, insulted, that I should myself have dragged 
 forth feelings that he has never betrayed but in 
 voluntarily my dear father, my only wish is to live 
 and die with you." 
 
 " Do you mean deliberately to abjure matrimony. 
 Gertrude?" asked her father, reassured, and ani 
 mated by discovering the real state of his daughter s 
 heart. 
 
 "No; that would be ridiculous; but I am sure, 
 fery sure, I shall never marry." 
 
 " Oh ! that is all. That resolution and feeling 
 will last, Gertrude, till you see some one worthy to 
 vanquish it ; but that it exists now is proof enough 
 that you are yet fancy free. But what is to be done 
 for poor Seton f one thing is certain, he must leave 
 
 5." 
 
 " Do not say so. We certainly can convince 
 
A TALE OP OUR OWN TIMES. 161 
 
 liow deeply we feel the injustice his brother has done 
 him he is sick at present incapable of the labor 
 of his profession he has no refuge but the house of 
 his sordid brother. From you, my dear father, I 
 would not hide a shade of feeling I do love Louis 
 Seton with sisterly affection" (Mr. Clarence 
 smiled) " you are incredulous I could voluntarily 
 confess to Louis all I feel for him can that be 
 love?" 
 
 " No ; but how soon may it become so ?" 
 
 N ever I am confident of that I have involun 
 tarily robbed Louis of his happiness I know 
 the exquisite sensitiveness of his mind If he 
 were to leave us now he might never recover the 
 shock and mortification of his brother s disclosure. 
 If he remains, I think we may by degrees restore 
 his self-respect, his self-confidence, and his serenity. 
 At least let us try." 
 
 "Do as you please, my noble-minded girl. I 
 am satisfied to trust every thing to you, superior as 
 you are to the heartless coquetries and pruderies of 
 your sex ; but remember we are handling edged 
 tools." 
 
 " But not playing with them," replied Gertrude 
 with a faint smile ; and then kissing her father, and 
 thanking him for his compliance, she left him and 
 went to a difficult task. She met a servant in the 
 entry; "Have you seen Mr. Seton?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes ma am; and Miss Clarence," he added, 
 
 drawing closer to her, and lowering his voice, 
 
 u there s something the matter with Mr. Seton he 
 
 just called me to pack his clothes, and he was all in 
 
 14* 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 ?i flutter, and just walked about the room without 
 doing the least thing for himself." 
 
 "Mr. Seton is ill, John, and insists on leaving 
 as ; but we must prevent him. You would all bt 
 willing to nurse him, would you not, John ?" 
 
 " Indeed, that would we, Miss Clarance a nice, 
 quiet young man is Mr. Louis." 
 
 " Then I will try to persuade him to stay. Tell 
 him, John, I wish to speak with him in the library. 
 Miss Clarence having thus adroitly averted the gos 
 siping suspicions of the inferior departments of the 
 family, repaired to the library. Seton soon fol 
 lowed her. He had an expression of self-command 
 and offended pride, bordering on haughtiness, and 
 so foreign to his customary, gentle, and sentimental 
 demeanor, that Gertrude forgot her prepared speech 
 and said, " You are not offended, Louis ?" 
 
 " Offended, Miss Clarence ! I am misunder 
 stood defamed disgraced !" 
 
 " Louis, you are unjust to yourself, and unjust to 
 usj do you think that my father or I would give a 
 second thought to that silly letter . ? " 
 
 Seton was soothed. He fixed his eye on Ger 
 trude, and she proceeded. "It is essential to our 
 happiness that we should understand one another 
 perfectly. Have we not in two years too firmly es 
 tablished our mutual confidence and friendship to 
 have them shaken by the accidents of this morning ?" 
 She paused for a moment, and proceeded with morr 
 emotion. " Louis, you know I lost my only bro 
 ther. It is long ago that he died, and I was very 
 young at the time, but I perfectly remember the ten- 
 derness I felt for him remember ! I still feel it. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 163 
 
 The chasm made by his death has never been filled. 
 You know my father is all that a father can be to 
 me, but for perfect sympathy there must be similar 
 age, pursuits, and hopes." While Gertrude dwelt in 
 generals, she could talk with the coolness of a philo 
 sopher ; but as she again approached particulars, her 
 voice became tremulous. 
 
 " I can, I do feel for you, Louis, the sentiments of 
 a sister a sister s solicitude for your honor and 
 happiness. I would select you from all the world 
 to supply poor Frank s place to me. You will not 
 permit false delicacy, fastidious scruples, to deprive 
 me of the brother of my election ? Forget the past." 
 Seton made no reply. " You do not mean to re 
 ject me, Louis ?" she added, playfully extending 
 her hand to him. He turned away from her. 
 
 " Oh Gertrude ! Gertrude ! why should I deceive 
 you ? why rather should I suffer you to delude yourself: 
 You might as well hope to distil gentle dews from 
 consuming fire, as to convert the sentiment I feel 
 for you into the tranquil, peaceful, fearless, satisfied 
 love of a brother. Mine was no common love it 
 subsisted without hope or expectation a self-sus 
 taining passion the light of my existence the es 
 sence of my life a pure flame in the inmost, secret 
 sanctuary of my heart that sanctuary has been vio 
 lated. I betrayed, and another has dishonored 
 it. Forget the past / forget that my thoughts of 
 you have been linked with sordid expectations and 
 base projects. God knows I never, in one pre 
 sumptuous moment aspired to you, but not because 
 you were rich. In my eyes, your fortune is your 
 meanest attribute my poverty makes no part of 
 my humilit} 7 . 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " You must not interrupt me, Gertrude. I know 
 your generosity 1 know all you would say ; but 
 hear me out, now, while I have courage to speak 
 of myself. I have been injured, and the worm 
 trodden on, you know, will turn." 
 
 " I must interrupt you, Louis ; I cannot bear to 
 hear you speak of yourself in these unworthy, de 
 grading terms." 
 
 " You misunderstand me. I do not mean to de 
 grade but rather to justify myself, by making yon 
 acquainted with the short, sad history of my mind. 
 I know I am weak and pusillanimous. Nature and 
 circumstances have been allied against me. I was 
 born with a constitutional, nervous susceptibility 
 that none of my family understood or regarded. I 
 was a timid, sensitive boy. My brothers were bold 
 and bustling. They were steel-clad in health and 
 hardihood, while I shrunk, as if my nerves were 
 bare, from every breath. This, in their estimation, 
 was inferiority, and so it became in mine. I was 
 humbled and depressed ; my life was an aching 
 void. I rose in the morning, as poor Cowper says 
 lie did, like an infernal frog out of Acheron, 
 covered with the ooze and mud of melancholy, and 
 my days flowed like a half-stagnant and turbid 
 Uream, that gives back no image of the bright 
 heaven above it, and takes no hue from the pleasant 
 objects past which it obscurely crawls, My spirit 
 was crushed ; I felt myself to be a useless weed in 
 creatioB, and when I first discovered that I possessed 
 one talent one redeeming talent my heart beat 
 with the ecstasy that an idiot may feel when his 
 mind is released from its physical thraldom, and 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 165 
 
 throbs with the first pulse of intellectual life. That 
 talent introduced me to you, Gertrude, gave me 
 estimation in your eyes, was the medium of our 
 daily intercourse, and I cherished and cultivated it 
 as if it were, as it in truth was, the principle of life 
 to me. The exercise of this talent, and the secret 
 indulgence of my love for you, were happiness 
 enough. I expected nothing more : I did not look 
 into the future I forgot the past. I was satisfied 
 with the full, pervading sense of present bliss. But 
 you are wearied, Miss Clarence, and I am in 
 trusive." 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Seton," replied Gertrude, raising 
 her head, and removing from her face the handker 
 chief that had hidden from Seton the deep emotion 
 with which she listened to him. " No, Louis," she 
 continued in the kindest and firmest tone, " but 
 such disclosures are useless they may be worse 
 than useless." 
 
 " Gertrude, I have no terms to keep with con 
 sequences, and I pray you to hear me out. My 
 tranquillity vanished like a dream, when, last week, 
 I betrayed my passion to you. Your calmness and 
 gentle forbearance soothed me, but it was not, it is 
 not in your power to restore the self-confidence I 
 felt while my* passion was unknown. A fever is 
 preying on my life ; my spirits are disordered. 
 This cruel letter of my brother will shorten the 
 term of my insupportable existence for this I thank 
 him. Nothing now remains but to pray you to 
 render me justice with your father; and to beg you, 
 Gertrude, to bear me kindly in your memory." 
 He took her hand and pressed it to his burning lips, 
 
166 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Gertrude was agitated with the conflicting sug 
 gestions of her own mind. She had sought the in 
 terview with a definite and decided purpose. That 
 purpose was now nearly subdued by seeing the 
 strength of a sentiment which she had hoped to 
 modify or change. She shrunk with instinctive 
 delicacy from the manifestation of a passion that 
 had no corresponding sentiment in her own heart. 
 Her first and strongest impulse was to escape from 
 the sight of misery which she could not relieve. 
 But < were not these selfish suggestions ? * Could 
 she not mitigate it ? At least, she thought, as 
 the current of generous purpose flowed back through 
 her heart, 4 at least I will try what persevering 
 efforts may do, and bodying her thoughts in words, 
 "Louis," she said, " I will not part with you: 
 you must stay with us. If I have power over you> 
 it shall be exercised for some better purpose than to 
 nourish a sentiment which I can never return. It 
 may be because I am inferior to you certainly not 
 superior that was the suggestion of your excessive 
 humility, arising from circumstances to which you 
 have already alluded. You have erred, by your 
 own confession, you have all your life erred in dis 
 trusting and undervaluing your own powers. You 
 have now only to put forth your strength to 
 subdue all of your feelings that should be sub 
 dued." 
 
 " Do you believe this, Gertrude ?" 
 
 " Believe it! I am sure of it. The frankness of 
 our explanation has dissolved all mystery. Hob 
 troblins vanish in the light. Your feelings have 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 167 
 
 been aggravated by concealment. They are toro 
 intense for any earthly object. Louis, let me use a 
 sister s liberty and give you sisterly counsel; let 
 sne remind you of one of the safest passages of a 
 book that you have read and admired perhaps too 
 much for your own happiness. Se rendre dignc 
 de Fimmortalite est le seul but de Fexistence 
 bonheur souffrance-tout est moyen pour ce but. 5 * 
 
 Seton caught one moment of inspiration, from 
 the sweet tone of assurance in which Gertrude 
 spoke. There is a medicament for my wounded 
 spirit, he thought ; but the light was faint and 
 transient, like the passing gleam reflected by a 
 dark and distant object. " Ah, Gertrude," he- 
 said, " you are happy, and have the energy and 
 hope of the happy ; but for me there are no bright 
 realities in life ; it is stripped of its illusions. Oh, 
 most miserable is he who survives the illusions of 
 life ! I am yet in my youth, Gertrude, and I look 
 forward with the dim, disconsolate eye of age. Life 
 is a dreary desert to me, beset with frightful forms, 
 and inevitable perils. I am sick, and steeped in 
 melancholy ; why should I drag my body of death 
 along your bright path ?" 
 
 " You shall not, Louis ; we will drive out the 
 foul fiend, and court the spirit of health and cheer 
 fulness. You know I have had all my life to con 
 tend with the demons of disease in my father. 
 Practice has given me some skill in detecting and 
 expelling them. I will be your leech; and you 
 shall promise to be docile and obedient. I shall 
 lock up your easel for the present. My father ha> 
 
168 CXARENCE; OR 
 
 proposed a jaunt to Trenton. We will go there. 
 Beautiful scenery should minister to the mind dis* 
 eased of a painter. Shall I tell papa that I have 
 your consent to go with us ?" 
 
 "Do what you will with me. You will be 
 blessed in your ministry, if I am not." 
 
 This conference, which had been long enough, 
 was now broken off by the entrance of Becky, 
 an old and privileged domestic. " I should think. 
 Mr. Seton," she said, " you might have con 
 sideration enough to put off your lessons to-day, 
 when there is but every thing for Miss Gertrude 
 to see to." Seton tacitly acquiesced in the repri 
 mand, and left the apartment. 
 
 Gertrude was alarmed and oppressed with the 
 depth of poor Seton s sorrow ; and though, to him, 
 she had assumed a tone of firmness and serenity, 
 his despondency had infected her, and as he left the 
 room, she sunk back in her chair, her mind ab 
 stracted from every thing around her, and filled 
 with gloomy and just presentiments. 
 
 "Miss Gertrude," said Becky. 
 
 Gertrude made no reply, she did not even hear 
 Becky, shrill and impatient as her tone was. Her 
 vacant eye accidently rested on a fine game-piece 
 Seton had recently finished, which was standing be 
 fore her on the library-table. Becky gave her own 
 interpretation to her mistress gaze. I 
 
 " It s well enough done to be sure, but," she added 
 with professional scorn, " it s a shame and a sillinesv 
 to take the creaters* lives in midsummer, just to draw 
 their pictures, when they d make such a relishinp 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 169 
 
 uish in the fall. But come, Miss Gertrude, I should 
 be glad you would tell me what we are to do f 
 
 " Do, do about what, Becky ?" 
 
 " Did not Amandy tell you ?" 
 
 " Tell me what ?" 
 
 " Why Miss Gertrude ; I never saw you so with 
 your thoughts at the end of the world, when sure \vc 
 had never more need of them ; but you will have to 
 make up your mind to it, for the dinner has fallen 
 through the whole entirely." 
 
 This was indeed an alarming annunciation to the 
 mistress of an establishment, who expected invited 
 company to dinner, and who, like Gertrude, con 
 sidered a strict surveillance of her domestic concerns 
 as among the first of woman s temporal duties. She 
 therefore recalled her thoughts from their wander 
 ings, and roused all her powers, to avert the 
 shower of grievances which she saw lowering on 
 Becky s clouded brow. 
 
 We advise all those who have not experienced the 
 complicated embarrassments of giving a dinner-par 
 ty in a country- town, unprovided with a market 
 and other facilities, to skip the ensuing conversation, 
 for they will have no sympathy with the trials that 
 beset rural hospitality trials that, like woes, cluster 
 ;md sometimes so thick and heavily, that their poor 
 victim wishes, but wishes in vain for the bottle 
 which the good little man in the fairy legend gave to 
 Mick, that did its duty so handsomely, and spread the 
 poor fellow s table so daintily. But alas, among all 
 our settlers, we have none of these kind-hearted 
 little people they are the true patriots and never 
 emigrate, and unassisted human female ingenuity is 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
170 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 put to its utmost stretch. Fortunately Miss Cla 
 rence was not often, and certainly not on the pre 
 sent occasion, of a temper to be daunted by the 
 minor miseries of human life, and she now demand- 
 ed of her domestic, with an air of philosophy which 
 Becky deemed quite inappropriate, what was the 
 matter ? 
 
 " Matter, Miss Gertrude ! matter enough to turn 
 a body s hair gray ; and to cap all, Judge Upton 
 has just sent down word that he shall bring a grand 
 English gentleman with him. 7 
 
 " Oh, is that all, Becky f Then I have nothing 
 to do but to order John to lay an additional plate." 
 
 "An additional plate, indeed! I think, ma am, 
 you had better order something to put on it." 
 
 " I ordered the dinner yesterday," said Miss 
 Clarence, with faint voice and faint heart ; for she 
 well knew that the result of ordering a dinner, bore 
 a not very faint resemblance to that of calling 
 spirits from the vasty deep. 
 
 " "fes, ma am, I know you ordered it ; but I told 
 Amandy to let you know that the butcher did not 
 come down from the village this morning, and 
 we ve neither lamb nor veal in the house." 
 
 " But we have Neale s fine mutton ?" 
 
 " Not a pound of it. He came up yesterday to 
 say his fat sheep had all strayed away." 
 
 u Why did not you tell me?" 
 
 " You were riding out, ma am, and I sent John 
 to Hilson for a roaster." 
 
 " Oh, spare me, Becky ; a roaster, you know, is 
 papa s aversion, and mine too." 
 
 " I know that, Miss Gertrude, but then I thought 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 171 
 
 10 myself, it s no time to be notional when there s 
 company invited, and not a pound of fresh to be 
 had for love or money ; but as ill luck would have 
 it, Hilson had engaged the whole nine for the Inde 
 pendence dinner, a delightsome sight they ll be, all 
 standing on their feet with each an ear of corn in 
 his mouth. But thinking of them," added Becky, 
 mentally reproaching herself for this gush of pro 
 fessional enthusiasm, " Thinking of them wont 
 fill our dishes ; and so, Miss Gertrude, I want you 
 to send word to the Widow Carter, you must have 
 her fowls, whether or no. To be sure they ll be 
 rather tough, killed at this time of day." 
 
 " Yes, Becky, since we know why she refuses 
 them, they would be too tough eating for any of us. 
 No, I had rather give our friends a dinner of straw 
 berries and cream." 
 
 " Cream ! the thunder turned all that last eve- 
 Ming." 
 
 " The elements against us too !" 
 
 * Elements ! ice creams, you mean. No, ma am, 
 they were mixed last night ; but Malviny says she 
 can t stay to freeze them. She must go down to 
 the village to Mrs. Smith s funeral. She says the 
 general expects it." 
 
 "It is a hard case, Becky; but we must make 
 the best of it. You must not let this Englishman 
 spy out the nakedness of our land. Your fingers 
 and brains never failed me yet, Becky. Now let 
 us think what we have to count upon." 
 
 " There s as good a ham as ever came from 
 Virginia." 
 
 " Yes, or Westphalia either, and as beautiful 
 
172 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 lettuces as ever grew. Ham and salad is a dinner 
 for a prince, Becky ; and then you can make up a 
 dish from the veal of yesterday with currie bouillic 
 a tongue prepare a dish of maccaroni see that 
 the vermicelli soup is of your very best, Becky 
 papa says nobody makes it better and the trout, 
 you forgot the trout, here comes old Frank up the 
 avenue with them now bless the old soul, he never 
 disappoints us boil, stew, fry the trout; ever} 
 body likes fresh trout. As to the ice-creams, tell 
 Malvina she shall go down to the village to every 
 funeral for a year to come, if she will give up the 
 general s lady. The dinner will turn out well yet, 
 Becky. As you often say, 4 it s always darkest just 
 before day. " 
 
 " And you beat all, Miss Gertrude, for making 
 day-light come," replied Becky, pleased with her 
 mistress compliment, and relieved by her read} 
 ingenuity. " There s few ladies use what little- 
 sense they have got to any purpose. If there were 
 more of them had your head-work, the house-busi 
 ness would not get so tangled, and that s what John 
 and I often say." Thus mutually satisfied, mistress 
 and servant parted. 
 
 Miss Clarence thoughts reverted to Seton ; and 
 she repaired to her own apartment, happy in the 
 consciousness of a firm resolve to make every 
 effort to secure his tranquillity. Alas, that human 
 judgment should be so blind and weak, that its best 
 wisdom often leads to the most fearful consequences ! 
 
 When Gertrude entered her own apartment, she 
 found Emilie Layton sitting at a writing-desk, busily 
 employed in answering her letters. Her face was 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 173 
 
 Benched in tears, but so unruffled that it seemed as 
 if no accident could disturb its sweet harmo 
 nies. " You put me in mind, Emilie," said Ger 
 trude, kissing her cheek, " you put me in mind of 
 a shower when the sun is shining." 
 
 Emilie dashed off her tears. " I will not be 
 miserable any longer ; would you, Gertrude ?" 
 
 " No, I never would be miserable if I could help 
 it, Emilie." 
 
 " It is too disagreeable," replied Emilie, with 
 perfect naivete, " it makes one feel too bad ; but 
 I really have enough to make me miserable. If I 
 dared, I would show you all these letters ; but, 
 dear Gertrude, you can advise me without knowing 
 what the real state of the case is, only that papa and 
 mama want me to do something that I hate to do 
 that I would rather die than do. Now would you 
 do it if you were I f" 
 
 Gertrude did not need second sight to conjecture 
 what the nature of this parental requisition might be. 
 " It is difficult to answer your question, Emilie; but 
 there are things that it is not right to do, even in 
 compliance with parental authority. This may be 
 one of them." 
 
 " Oh, it is, I am sure. You have divined it 
 most certainly, Gertrude ; but I have not told you 
 a word, you know. Mama charges me not in her 
 letter. I am so glad you think as I do ; but I am 
 afraid mama will persuade me. She suffers so 
 much when any thing crosses her. If she could 
 only be persuaded to think as I do about it. I 
 have written a letter to a certain person who has 
 great influence over her. You may read it, Ger- 
 15* 
 
174 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 trude. You cannot understand it, though he will. 
 Read it aloud, for I want to hear how it sounds." 
 
 Gertrude read aloud, " To my mother s best and 
 dearest friend." "Your father, of course?" she 
 said, looking up a little perplexed at Emilie. 
 
 Miss Layton blushed, and there was an expres 
 sion of acute pain passed over her face, as she said 
 with quivering lips, " Oh no, Gertrude, I wish it 
 were so ; but perhaps you think I have addressed it 
 improperly if you do, just run the pen through 
 that line." Gertrude did so, and read on, "As 
 mama has told me, Mr. Roscoe, that you already 
 know all about a certain affair, I trust I am not 
 i{ doing wrong in begging you to intercede with 
 " rny dear mother in my behalf. Do convince her 
 "that it is not my duty to sacrifice my happiness to 
 k my father s wishes. It is very hard to make 
 * c one s self miserable for life, and is it not an odd way 
 to make one s parents happy ? Papa says there is 
 " no use in being romantic. I am sure I am not 
 ;{ so. I would as lief marry a rich man as a poor one* 
 if I loved him. Any person, however romantic, 
 " might love Miss Clarence, in spite of her fortune. 
 " Therefore it is not, as my father says, an absurd, 
 " girlish notion about love in a cottage, that gives 
 
 " me such an antipathy to . Do intercede 
 
 " for me, if I have not made an improper request, 
 " and if I have, forget it, and remember only your 
 " friend, E. L." Gertrude laid down the letter 
 without comment. "It is a very poor letter" I 
 know, said Emilie, " and poorly written, for I blot 
 ted the words with my tears as fast as I wrote 
 them." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 175 
 
 Gertrude smiled at her simplicity. " No, Emilie, 
 it is a very good letter, for it is true ; and truth 
 from such a heart as yours is always good. But 
 would it not be best to burn the letter ? It seems to 
 me you may trust to your own representations to 
 your mother. No intercessor can be so powerful 
 as her tenderness for you." 
 
 " Oh, Gertrude, you do not know mama. She 
 can talk me out of my five senses, and she says no 
 body in the world has such influence over her as 
 Mr .Roscoe." On second thoughts, Gertrude be 
 lieved that Emilie might need a sturdier support 
 than her own yielding temper, and she acquiesced 
 in the letter being sent; and Emilie despatched it. 
 and drove from her heart every feeling of sorrow 
 almost as easily as she removed its traces from her 
 heart s bright and beautiful mirror. 
 
170 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 1 will tell thee a similitude, Esdras. As when them asketh the 
 earth, it shall say unto thee that it giveth much mould whereof 
 earthen vessels are made, but little dust that gold cometh of; even 
 so is the course of this present world." ESDRAS. 
 
 MADAME ROLAND has left it on record let any 
 woman who fancies she may soar above the natural 
 sphere of her sex, remember who it is that makes 
 this boast that she never neglected the details of 
 housewifery, and she adds, that though at one period 
 of her life she had been at the head of a laborious and 
 frugal establishment, and at another, of an expensive 
 and complicated one, she had never found it ne 
 cessary to devote more than two hours of the twenty- 
 four to household cares. While we have this illus 
 trious woman before us, as evidence in the case, we 
 would venture to intimate, in opposition to the vul 
 gar and perhaps too lightly received opinion, that 
 talents are as efficient in housewifery as in every 
 other department of life ; and that, ceeteris paribus, 
 she who has most mind will best administer her do 
 mestic affairs, whether her condition obliges her ? 
 like the pattern Jewish matron, to rise early and 
 work diligently with her own hands, or merely to 
 appoint the labors of others. 
 
 If our opinion be not heresy, we would commend 
 it to the consideration of scholars, and men of 
 genius, and all that privileged class, (privileged in. 
 every thing else,) who have been supposed to be 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 177 
 
 condemned by their own elevation to choose an hum 
 ble, grubbing companion for the journey of life, at 
 best not superior to Johnson s beau-ideal of a fe 
 male travelling companion. 
 
 But to return to our heroine. Her happy geniu 
 had rode out the storm threatened in the morning, 
 by her trusty Becky, and she saw the dinner hour 
 draw nigh with a tranquillity that can only be in 
 spired by the delightful certainty that, to use the 
 technical phrase, all is going on well. She was in 
 the parlor with Miss Layton, and awaiting her 
 guests, when Judge Upton, who, true as a lover to 
 his mistress, never broke the thousandth part of a 
 minute in the affair of a dinner, arrived. After the 
 most precise salutations to each and all, he expressed 
 his great satisfaction in being punctual. He had 
 done, what indeed he seldom did, risked a failure 
 in this point. He must own, that with a certain 
 divine, he held punctuality to be the next virtue to 
 godliness ; but it had been impossible for him to dis 
 pense with attending the funeral of general Smith s 
 lady. The general expected it ; such a respectable 
 person s feelings should not be aggravated on so 
 afflicting an occasion. He must own he had been 
 uncommonly gratified ; the general behaved so 
 well ; he bore his loss like a general. 
 
 Miss Clarence suppressed, as nearly as she might, 
 a smile at the conjugal heroism of a training-day 
 general, and asked Mrs. Upton why Mrs. Layton 
 was not with her. 
 
 Mrs. Upton s volubility, which had emitted in lo\\ 
 rumblings such tokens of her presence, as are heard 
 from a bottle of beer before the ejection of the cork 
 gives full vent to the thin potation, now overflowed 
 
178 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " Oh my dear," said she, " Mrs. Layton chose 
 to come on horseback with Mr. Edmund Stuart, 
 our English visiter. Don t be frightened, Emilie, 
 dear, husband s horses are remarkably gentle ; in 
 deed he never keeps any others, for he thinks dan 
 gerous horses very unsafe. Oh, Mr. Clarence, by 
 the way, do you know we must change our terms. 
 Mr. Stuart says that it is quite vulgar in England 
 to say, we ride, when we go in a carriage. We 
 must call a ride a drive only think ! He says we 
 cannot conceive how disagreeable Americanisms are 
 to English ears." 
 
 " My dear madam," replied Mr. Clarence, who 
 was rather sensitive on the subject of Anglo-criti 
 cism, " do let us remember that in America we 
 speak to American ears, and if any terms peculiar 
 to us have as much intrinsic propriety as the Eng 
 lish, let us have the independence to retain them." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, certainly," said the good lady, 
 who had no thought of adventuring in the thorny 
 path of philological discussion, " husband says he 
 don t see why ride is not as proper as drive, espe 
 cially for those who don t drive. But girls, I must 
 tell you before Mr. Stuart comes, that he is remark 
 ably genteel even for an Englishman. He is the son 
 of Sir William Stuart, and, of course, you know, 
 will be a lord himself." Our republican matron 
 was not learned in the laws that regulate the de 
 scent of titles ; but, in blessed unconsciousness of 
 her ignorance, she proceeded : " I was determined 
 he should see Clarenceville, for, as husband says, it 
 is all important he should form favorable opinions 
 of our country." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 * Why important ?" asked Mr. Clarence, in one 
 of those cold and posing tones that would have 
 checked a less determined garrulity than Mrs. Up 
 ton s. But her impetus was too strong to be resisted, 
 and on she blundered. " Oh, I don t know ex 
 actly, but it is, you know. He is to pass six 
 months in the United States, and he is determined 
 to see every thing. He has already been from 
 Charleston to Boston. Only think, as husband 
 says, what a perfect knowledge he will have of the 
 country." 
 
 " Does he propose," asked Mr. Clarence, " to 
 enlighten the public with his observations ?" 
 
 " Write a book of travels, you mean, sir ? Oh, 
 I have no doubt of it, and that made me in such a 
 fever to have him see the girls. Girls, you must be 
 on the qui vive The dinner party will be described 
 at full length. Your dinners, Gertrude, are always 
 in such suberb style. Husband told Mr. Stuart he 
 did not believe they were surpassed in England." 
 Gertrude blushed when she thought of the disas 
 ters of the larder, and the miscellaneous dinner pre 
 ceded by such a silly flourish of trumpets. " Oh, 
 don t be alarmed, Gertrude, dear," continued the 
 good lady, 1 am sure it will be just the thing, 
 and then you know a beauty and a fortune," 
 glancing her little glassy eye, with ineffable gratu- 
 lation from Emilie, to Gertrude, " a beauty and a 
 fortune will give the party such eclat ! Oh, I 
 should have given up, if any thing had happened 
 to prevent our coming. The children gave me 
 such a fright this morning ! Thomas Jefferson fell 
 down stairs ; but he is a peculiar child about falling, 
 
180 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 always comes on his feet, like a cat. Benjamin 
 Franklin is very different. He has never had but 
 one fall in his life, so husband calls it Ben s fall, 
 like Adam s fall, you know ; very good, is not it ?" 
 That solemn, responsible person, husband, whose 
 sententious sayings were expanded like a drop of 
 water into a volume of steam, by that wonderful 
 engine, his wife s tongue, was solemnly parading the 
 piazza, his watch in his hand, and his eye fixed on 
 the avenue, while with lengthening visage he groaned 
 in spirit under that misery for which few country 
 gentlemen have one drop of patience in their souls 
 a deferred dinner. 
 
 " Oh, there they come !" he was the first to an 
 nounce, and after the slight bustle of dismounting, 
 &c., and a whisper from Mrs. Upton of do your 
 prettiest, girls, Mrs. Layton entered the drawing- 
 room, her arm in Mr. Stuart s, who with his hat 
 under? his other arm, his stiff neckcloth, and 
 starched demeanor, looked the son of an English 
 baronet at least. His stately perpendicularity was 
 the more striking, contrasted with the grace and 
 elasticity of Mrs. Lay ton s movements. This lady 
 "deserves more than a transient glance. 
 
 Mrs. Layton was somewhere on that most disa 
 greeable stage of the journey of life, between thirty 
 and forty most disagreeable to a woman who has 
 once enjoyed the dominion of personal beauty ; for 
 at that period she is most conscious of its diminu 
 tion. If ever woman might, Mrs. Layton could 
 have dispensed with beauty, for she had, when she 
 pleased to command them, graceful manners, spirit 
 ed conversation, and those little feminine engaging 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 181 
 
 ways, that though they can scarcely be defined or 
 described, are irresistibly attractive. But never 
 were the arts that prolong beauty more sedulously 
 studied than by this lady. She owed much to the 
 forbearance of nature, who seemed to shrink from 
 spoiling what she had so exquisitely made. Her 
 eyes retained the clearness and sparkling brilliancy 
 of her freshest youth. Her own profuse, dark 
 hair was artfully arranged to shelter and displa}- 
 her fine intellectual brow, and the rose on her 
 cheek, if too mutable for nature, claimed indulgence 
 for the exquisite art of its imitation. She was yet 
 within the customary term of deep mourning for a 
 sister, and as she was not of a temper to crusade 
 against any of the forms of society, her crape and 
 bombasin were in accordance with its sternest re 
 quisitions ; but their sombre and heavy effect was 
 skilfully relieved by brilliant and becoming orna 
 ments. Like the Grecian beauty who sacrificed her 
 tresses at her sister s tomb, she took care that the 
 pious offering should not diminish the effect of her 
 charms. Mrs. Layton resembled a Parisian artifi 
 cial flower, so perfect in its form, coloring, and ar 
 rangement, that it seems as if nothing could be more 
 beautiful, unless perchance the eye falls on a natural 
 rose, and beholds His superior and divine art whose 
 pencil paints it, and whose breath perfumes, 
 Such a contrast was Emilie Layton to her mother. 
 There was an unstudied, child-like grace in every 
 attitude and movement, the dew of youth was on 
 her bright lip, and her round cheek was tinged 
 with every passing feeling. 
 
 Mrs. Layton presented her English acquaintance 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
182 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 to Miss Clarence and her father, and returned theis 
 salutations with an air of graceful self-possession that 
 showed she was far too experienced to feel a sensa 
 tion from entering a country drawing-room. Her 
 brow contracted for an instant as she kissed her 
 daughter, and whispered, " I see you are going to 
 be my own <3ear girl, Emilie." Emilie turned 
 away, and her mother s scrutiny was averted by the 
 outbreaking of Mrs. Upton s ever ready loquacity. 
 " Would you think, Mr. Clarence," she asked, 
 " that Grace Lay ton and I were girls together. I 
 don t deny I have a trifling advantage of you, 
 Grace, dear ; but, as husband says, when I die, you 
 will shake in your shoes." 
 
 " Do, Miss Clarence," interposed Mrs. Layton, 
 " convince our friend Mrs. Uupton, that such fa 
 miliarity with time is quite rustic and barbarous 
 Time is as obsolete in civilized life as his grim per 
 sonification in the primer. We never talk of 
 time in good society, Mrs. Upton." 
 
 " Not talk of time !" retorted her good-natured 
 contemporary, " that s odd for a married woman. 
 Old maids are always particular about their ages, 
 but it s no object for us ; besides, as husband says, 
 children are a kind of mile-stones that measure the 
 distance you have travelled. That was quite 
 clever of husband was not it ? Husband," she 
 continued, stretching her neck out of the window, 
 and addressing her better half, " when was it you 
 made that smart comparison, of children to mile 
 stones ?" 
 
 " Children to mile-stones ! what are you talk 
 ing about, my dear ?" 
 
A TALE OF OTJR OWN TIMES. 183 
 
 * Oh, I remember, it was not you it was" but 
 on drawing in her head she perceived no one was 
 listening to her. Mrs. Layton, unable as she con 
 fessed, any longer to endure the odious flapping of 
 time s wings, had adroitly turned the conversation. 
 " What are those pictures you are studying, Mr. 
 Stuart ?" she asked. 
 
 The gentleman colored deeply, and replied, 
 " Some American representations of naval engage 
 ments, madam." 
 
 " And if the British lion were the painter he would 
 have reversed the victory ?" said the lady archly. 
 
 Miss Clarence felt that the rites of hospitality de 
 manded the interposition of her shield : " That 
 picture," she said, " does not harmonzie well with 
 our rural scenery, but my father values it on ac 
 count of the artist, who is his particular friend." 
 
 " An ingenious young person, no doubt," replied 
 the traveller, with an equivocal emphasis on the 
 word ingenious, and a supercilious curl of his lip. 
 
 " Oh, remarkably ingenious," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Upton, "by the way, Gertrude, dear, where is 
 Louis Seton to-day ?" 
 
 " Confined to his room by indisposition," replied 
 Miss Clarence, without hesitation, or blushing. 
 
 " Hem hem hem" thrice repeated the vul 
 gar little lady, who like other vulgar people thought 
 the intimation of something particular between any 
 marriageable parties always, agreeable to a young 
 lady. Miss Clarence looked deaf, and Mrs. Upton 
 was baffled ; but she good-humoredly continued " I 
 do wish, Mr. Stuart, you could have ssen the young 
 gentleman who painted that picture. Husband 
 
184 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 thinks him an uncommon genius, almost equal to 
 that celebrated American who is such a famous 
 painter I forget his name I do believe husband 
 is right, and I am losing my memory ; but at any 
 rate I remember the interesting anecdote about him 
 I forget exactly who told it to me, but I believe it 
 was husband however, that is of no consequence 
 yet it is so provoking to forget if I could only 
 remember when I heard it." 
 
 "Oh, never mind when," exclaimed Mrs. Layton. 
 " tell the story, Mrs. Upton. We shall never for 
 get when we heard it." 
 
 " Well, he was born oh, where was he born : 
 you remember, Gertrude, dear ?" 
 
 "If you mean West, I believe he was born in 
 Pennsylvania." 
 
 Oh, yes, it was West ; now I remember all about 
 it it was husband told me his parents were 
 wretchedly poor ; wer nt they, Gertrude, dear ?" 
 
 " Too poor, I believe, to educate him." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; that is just what husband told me 
 and being too poor, and being born, as it were, a 
 painter, he invented colors or brushes which was 
 it, Gertrude, dear ?" 
 
 " Neither, I believe," replied Gertrude, suppress 
 ing a smile, and glad of an opportunity to shelter 
 Mrs. Upton s ignorance, and save her friends from 
 her farther garrulity, she proceeded to relate the 
 well known story of West having made his first 
 brush from the hairs of a cat s tail, and of his 
 having, instructed by the Indians, compounded his 
 first colors from the vegetable productions of the 
 wilds around him. Mr, Stuart took out his tablet? 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 185 
 
 apparently to note down the particulars Miss Cla 
 rence had related. " I beg your pardon," he said, 
 " have the goodness again, Miss Clarence, to tell 
 me the name of the painter of whom you spoke." 
 
 " West." 
 
 " West ! ah, the same with our celebrated artist." 
 
 " Is there an English artist of that name ?" asked 
 Mrs. Lay ton, with seeming good faith. 
 
 "Indeed is there, madam, an exceeding clever 
 person too, Sir Benjamin West ; his name is known 
 throughout Europe, though it may not have reached 
 America yet, owing probably to the ignorance of 
 the fine arts here. My eldest brother received 
 with the estate two of his finest productions. One 
 of the happy effects of our law of entail, is that it 
 fosters genius by preserving in families the chef 
 d oeuvres of the arts. It is much to be regretted," 
 he continued turning to Mr. Clarence, " that your 
 legislators have deemed this law of primogeniture 
 incompatible with your republican institutions. It 
 is an unfortunate mistake, which will for ever retard 
 your advance in the sciences, arts, and manners."* 
 
 " Do manners go with the estate ? How can 
 tiiat be ? asked Mrs. Upton in all simplicity. 
 Whatever replies to this question might have been 
 suggested by the presence of the unportionedyoungei: 
 son, they were suppressed by the common instincts 
 of good breeding, and dinner fortunately being an- 
 
 * There may appear to be a striking coincidence between the 
 opinions of our traveller and those announced in Captain Basil 
 Hall s travels; but no allusion was intended to those volumes. 
 This chapter was written a year before their appearance. 
 
 16* 
 
186 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 nounced, the party repaired to the dining-room, 
 where we shall leave them to the levelling process 
 of satisfying appetites whetted to their keenest edge 
 by an hour s delay of a country dinner. Perhaps, 
 in confirmation of the assertion already made of 
 Miss Clarence housewifery, it should be stated, 
 that there was not a dish on table of which Mrs. 
 Upton did not taste, and ask a receipt. 
 
 The dinner being over, Mrs. Layton, evidently 
 anxious for some private conversation with her 
 daughter, proposed a stroll in the wood. 
 
 She arranged the party according to her own 
 wishes. " Mr. Clarence," she said, " you are, I 
 believe, condemned to some business discussions 
 with the judge. Mrs. Upton, Miss Clarence, I am 
 sure, will give you a quiet seat in the library, and her 
 receipt book. Miss Clarence, you will do Mr. 
 Stuart the honor to point out to him the beauties of 
 an American forest ; and Emilie shall be my Ari 
 adne. I wish," she added in a voice spoken alone 
 to Miss Lay ton s ear, " that like her you were 
 dreaming of love." 
 
 " Pshaw ! mother," replied Emilie. There was 
 nothing in her words, but there was something in 
 her manner and looks that abated her mother s 
 hopes. She had, however, too much at stake to 
 leave any art untried to achieve her object ; and 
 when, after an hour s walk, Miss Clarence again 
 met the mother and daughter, EmihVs cheek was 
 flushed, and her eyes red with weeping. Her prac 
 tised mother veiled her own feelings, and inquired 
 of Mr. Stuart, with as much carelessness as if she 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 187 
 
 had thought of nothing else since they parted, " how 
 he liked an American forest ?" 
 
 " With such a companion," he replied, courteously 
 bowing to Miss Clarence, " quite agreeable, but in 
 itself monotonous." 
 
 "A quality, I presume," answered Mrs. Layton, 
 " peculiar to American forests. But, my dear girls, 
 where are you going ? spare me a little longer 
 from the din of Mrs. Upton s tongue. I had as lief 
 be doomed to turn the crank of a hand-organ. My 
 dear Miss Clarence, you must not be all EmihVs 
 friend. Sit down on this rustic bench with me, and 
 let Emilie show Mr. Stuart the pretty points of 
 view abuut the place. He has come forty miles to 
 see the lake, or the fair lady of the lake," she whis 
 pered, as the gentleman withdrew with Miss Layton. 
 "I see everywhere about your place, Miss Cla 
 rence," continued Mrs. Layton, plucking a honey 
 suckle from a luxuriant vine that embowered the 
 seat where she had placed herself, " indications of 
 the refinement of your taste. Flowers have always 
 seemed to me the natural allies and organs of a deli 
 cate and sensitive spirit. I admire the oriental 
 custom of eliciting from them a sort of hieroglyphic 
 language, to express the inspirations of love love. 
 4 the perfume and suppliance of a moment, so beau 
 tifully shadowed forth in their sweet and fleeting 
 life. I see you do not agree with me." 
 
 " Not entirely. Flowers have always seemed to 
 me to be the vehicle of another language : to ex 
 press their Creator s love, and, if I may say so, his 
 gracious and minute attention to our pleasures. 
 Their beauty, their variety, their fragrance, are 
 
188 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 gratuities, for no other purpose, as far as we can 
 see, but to gratify our senses, and through those 
 avenues to reach the mind, that by their ministry 
 may communicate with the Giver. To me the 
 sight of a flower is like the voice of a friend. You 
 smile, but I have great authority on my side. Why 
 was it, that the French heroine arid martyr could 
 exclaim, * J oublie 1 injustice des hommes, leurs sot- 
 tises, et mes maux avec des livres et des fleurs, but 
 because they conveyed to her the expression of a 
 love that made all mortal evils appear in their 
 actual insignificance." 
 
 " Bless me, my dear Miss Clarence ! how seclusion 
 in a romantic country does lead one to refine and spin 
 out pretty little cobweb systems of one s own. Now 
 my inference would have been that Madame Roland s 
 books and flowers helped her to forget cabals and 
 guillotines, and perhaps I should have come as near 
 the truth as you. You are a very Swedenbor- 
 gian in your exposition of nature. However, you 
 have no mawkish, parade sentiment, and your hid 
 den and spiritual meanings certainly exalt* flowers 
 above mere ministers to the senses. But how did 
 we fall into this flourishing talk ? I detained you 
 here to make a confession to you," 
 
 u A confession to me !" 
 
 " Yes ; you know I told you you must be my 
 friend as well as Emilie s." Ah, thought Ger 
 trude, * she is going to confide to me poor Emilie s 
 affair. I will have the boldness to give her my real 
 opinion. Mrs. Layton proceeded, " I must be 
 frank with you, Miss Clarence frankness is my 
 nature. I have wronged you." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 189 
 
 " Wronged me, Mrs. Lay ton ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear Miss Clarence, in the tenderest 
 point in which a woman can be injured ; but do not 
 be alarmed, the injury is not irreparable. You 
 recollect the day you called on me at Mrs. Upton s 
 with that woe-begone, love-stricken devotee of 
 yours f" 
 
 " Mr. Seton ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Seton. Now spare me that senti 
 mental, rebuking look. I will not be irreverent to 
 the youth, though I know better than to give credit 
 to the gossip of Goody Upton, and her cummers 
 about you. His love-passages, poor fellow, will 
 never lead to your hymeneal altar. But to my 
 confession. You must know that on the aforesaid 
 day I had a fit of the blues, and I saw every thing, 
 even you, through a murky cloud. To speak lite 
 rally, (ergo disagreeably,) I did not perceive one of 
 your charms." 
 
 " Oh, is that all, Mrs. Layton ? woman as I am, 
 I can pardon that." 
 
 " All ! no, if it were, I would not have mentioned 
 it, for one woman s opinion of another is a mere ba 
 gatelle. Idleness, you know, is the parent of all . 
 sin. I had nothing to do, and moved and incited 
 thereto by the demon of ennui, I sat down and de 
 scribed you to one of my correspondents as you had 
 appeared to my distempered vision." 
 
 "And is that all?" 
 
 " Yes, that is all ; but that you may know the 
 whole head and front of my offending I must show 
 you my cerrespondent s reply." 
 
 " Do so that may make a merit of my pardon. 
 
190 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Mrs. Layton took a letter from her reticule, but 
 before she opened it she said, " I must premise in 
 my own justification, not to conciliate you, that 
 when I met you to-day you seemed perfectly trans 
 formed from the little demure lady you appeared at 
 first. I feel now as if I had known you a year and 
 could interpret every look of your expressive face. 
 Something had happened this morning I am sure 
 of it to give a certain elevation to your feelings. I 
 1 would not flatter Neptune for his trident, nor Jove 
 for his power to thunder. I could not flatter yow, Miss 
 Clarence, and it is no flattery to say your beauty is 
 of that character which Montesquieu pronounces the 
 most effective. It results from certain changes and 
 flashes of expression it produces the emotion of 
 surprise. When you speak and show those brilliant 
 teeth of yours, your face is worth all the rose and 
 lily beauties in Christendom. You remind me of 
 Gibbon s description of Zenobia do you remem 
 ber it ?" 
 
 " No ; I seldom remember a description of per 
 sonal beauty." 
 
 " I never forget it. You have not been enough 
 in the world to learn that beauty is the sine qua non 
 to a woman a young woman unless, indeed, she 
 has fortune." 
 
 " We are graduated by a flattering scale, truly !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear girl> but you may as well know 
 it ; there is no use in going hoodwinked into socie 
 ty ! But now for our document." Mrs. Lay ton 
 unfolded Gerald Roscoe s letter, which our readers 
 have already perused, and read aloud from the pas 
 sage beginning, l Is it natural depravity, 7 and end- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 191 
 
 ing with the anecdote of Miss Eunice Peabody. 
 When she had finished reading, a comely little bo 
 dy, amiable and rather clever, " is a quotation from 
 my letter," "she said, " and was my libellous descrip 
 tion of you, Miss Clarence." 
 
 " Libellous ! Mrs Lay ton. I declare to you 
 after your frightful note of preparation it sounds 
 to me quite complimentary ; but who is the gentle 
 man to whom I have this picturesque introduction ?" 
 
 " Ah ! there s the rub. He is undoubtedly the 
 most attractive young man in New York the prince 
 of clever fellows ; and, honored am I in the fact 
 my selected, and favorite, and most intimate friend." 
 
 * Oh ! thought Gertrude, Emilie said Roscoe 
 was her mother s most intimate friend, and the pang 
 that shot through her heart at this recollection was 
 evident in her face, for Mrs. Layton paused a mo 
 ment before she added " Gerald Roscoe." At 
 this confirmation of her mental conjectnre, Gertrude 
 involuntarily covered her face with her hands, and 
 then, disconcerted to the last degree at having be 
 trayed her sensations, she said, half articulate!} , 
 something of her being taken by surprise at the 
 mention of Gerald Roscoe s name, that he was her 
 father s friend, but she concluded with hoping Mrs. 
 Layton would not think she cared at all about it. 
 But Mrs. Layton was quite too keen and sagacious 
 an observer to be imposed on for a moment by such 
 awkward hypocrisy as Gertrude s. She saw she 
 did care a great deal about it, and giving a feminine 
 interpretation to her emotion, and anxious to efface 
 every unpleasant impression from her mind, she said 
 in her sweetest manner, "I enjoy in anticipation 
 
192 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Roscoe s surprise when he shall see you. It will be 
 quite a coup de theatre. On the whole, Gertrude 
 I must call you Gertrude dear Gertrude I think 
 I may claim to have done you a favor. I have pre 
 pared Roscoe s mind for an agreeable surprise, and 
 for the still more agreeable feeling that his taste is 
 far superior to mine that to him belongs the merit 
 of a discoverer, and as he is after all but a man, he 
 will enjoy this, and I shall enjoy particularly your 
 triumph over his first impressions." 
 
 * Ah, thought Gertrude, those impressions will 
 never be removed, I shall be paralyzed, a very Eu 
 nice Peabody, if ever I meet him. But she smiled 
 at Mrs. Layton s castle-building, and though she 
 assured that lady that nothing was more improbable 
 than that she should ever encounter Gerald Roscoe, 
 as he never left town, and she never went there, yet 
 she did find something very agreeable in Mrs. Lay- 
 ton s perspective ; and being human and youthful, she 
 was not insensible to the flatteries addressed to her 
 by the most fascinating woman she had ever seen. 
 
 Mrs. Layton s expressions of admiration were not 
 all flattery. There was something in Gertrude that 
 really excited her imagination. She saw she was of 
 a very different order from the ordinary run of well- 
 bred, well-informed, decorous, pleasing young la 
 dies a class particularly repulsive and tiresome to 
 Airs. Layton. She foresaw that Miss Clarence, far 
 removed as she was from being a beauty would, set 
 off by the eclat of fortune, become a distingue when 
 ever she appeared in society, and she took such 
 measures to ingratiate herself as she had found most 
 generally successful. She had shown Roscoe s let- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 193 
 
 vcr to manifest and enhance the value of her changed 
 opinion. She spared no pains to efface the impres 
 sion the letter evidently left on Gertrude s mind. 
 She taxed all her arts of pleasing talked of her 
 self, alluded to her faults, so eloquently, that the 
 manner was a beautiful drapery that covered up and 
 concealed the matter. She spoke with generous 
 confidence of the adverse circumstances of her ma 
 trimonial destiny, and Gertrude, in her simplicity, 
 not doubting that she was the sole depository of this 
 revelation, felt a secret self-gratulation in the quali 
 ties that had elicited so singular a trust, and the 
 tenderest sympathy with the sufferer of unprovoked 
 wrongs. Then Mrs. Layton again reverted to 
 Roscoe, the person of all others of whom Gertrude 
 was most curious to hear. She had a kind of dot 
 and line art in sketching characters, and with a few 
 masterly touches presented a vivid image. She 
 spoke of society ; and its vanities, excitements and 
 lollies, like bubbles catching the sun s rays, kindled 
 in the light of her imagination. 
 
 Gertrude listened and felt that her secluded life 
 was a paralyzed, barren existence. Her attention 
 was rivetted and delighted till they were both arous 
 ed by the footsteps of a servant, who came to say 
 that Judge Upton s carriage was at the door. Half 
 way to the piazza they were met by Mrs. Upton. 
 " Gertrude, dear," she said, " I hope you mil ex 
 cuse our going rather early. You know I am an 
 anxious mother, and the Judge is so important at 
 home but we have had a charming day ! I am 
 sure Mr. Stuart has been delighted. I asked him if 
 he had ever seen any thing superior to Clarence- 
 
 VOL. I. 17 
 
194 CLARENCE; oil 
 
 vjlle as a whole, and I assure you he did not say 
 yes. Indeed, sub rosa, (you understand, between 
 you and I,) I do think you have made a conquest." 
 
 " Do not, I entreat you, Mrs. Upton, ask the 
 gentleman whether I have or not." 
 
 " Oh no, my dear soul ; do you think I would 
 do any thing so out of the way ? I understand a 
 thing or two ; but I do long to know which will 
 carry the day, you or Emilie fortune versus 
 as husband says versus beauty. One thing I am 
 certain of, we shall all be in the book." 
 
 " Not all," said Mrs. Layton, and added in a 
 whisper to Gertrude, " who but Shakspeare could 
 have delineated Slender ?" 
 
 Gertrude was surprised and disappointed at find 
 ing Emilie on the piazza, prepared to return with 
 her mother ; but there was no opportunity for ex 
 postulation. Judge Upton stood at the open car 
 riage door, as impatient as if a council of war were 
 awaiting his arrival at home, and the ladies were 
 compelled to abridge their adieus. 
 
 When Mr. Clarence had made his last bow to 
 his departing guests, he seated himself on the 
 piazza. " There goes our English visiter, Ger 
 trude," said he, " enriched no doubt with precious 
 morceaus for his diary. Judge Upton will repre 
 sent the class of American country-gentlemen, and 
 his miscellaneous help-meet will sit for an American 
 lady. I heard him ask Mrs. Upton, who has, it 
 must be confessed, an anomalous mode of assorting 
 her viands," (Mr. Clarence spoke with the disgust 
 of a dyspeptic rather than a Chesterfieldian,) 
 whether it were common for the Americans to eat 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 195 
 
 
 
 -salad with fish ? Notwithstanding her everlasting 
 good nature, she was a little touched at his surveil 
 lance, and for once replied without her prefix hus 
 band says, that she supposed we had a right to eat 
 such things together as pleased us best." 
 
 " It is unfortunate," said Gertrude, " that travel 
 lers should fall into such hands." 
 
 " No, no, Gertrude ; it makes no difference with 
 such travellers. They come predetermined to find 
 fault to measure every thing they see by the Eng 
 lish standard they carry in their minds, and which 
 they conceive to be as perfect as those eternal pat 
 terns after which some ancient philosophers sup 
 posed the Creator to have fashioned the universe. I 
 had a good deal of conversation with this young 
 man, and I think he is about as well qualified to de 
 scribe our country, and judge of its real condition, 
 as the fish are to pass their opinion on the capaci 
 ties and habitudes of the birds. I do not mean 
 that ours is the superior condition, but that we are 
 of different elements. It does annoy me, I confess, 
 excessively, that such fellows should influence the 
 minds of men. I do not care so mnch about the 
 impression they make in their own country, as the 
 effect they have in ours, in keeping alive jealousies, 
 distrusts, and malignant resentments, and stirring 
 up in young minds a keen sense of injustice, and a 
 feeling of dislike bordering on hatred to England 
 England, our noble mother country. I would have 
 our children taught to regard her with filial venera 
 tion to remember that their fathers participated in 
 her high historic deeds that they trod the same 
 ground and breathed the same air with Shakspeare, 
 
196 
 
 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 and Milton, and Locke, and Bacon. I would have 
 them esteem England as first in science, in litera 
 ture, in the arts, in inventions, in philanthropy, in 
 whatever elevates and refines humanity. I would 
 have them love and cherish her name, and remem 
 ber that she is still the mother and sovereign ot 
 their minds." 
 
 "But my dear, dear father, you are giving Eng 
 land the supremacy and preference over our own 
 country." 
 
 "Our country ! she speaks for herself, my child ; 
 if there were not a voice lifted throughout all this 
 wide spread land of peace and plenty, yet how loud 
 would be the praise ! I do not wish to hear her 
 flattered by foreigners, or boasted or lauded by our 
 own people. Nor do I fear, on her account, any 
 thing that can be said by these petty tourists, who, 
 like noisome insects, defile the fabric they canno? 
 comprehend." 
 
A. TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 19 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Is there in human form that bears a heart 
 A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
 
 That can with studied, sly, ensnaring- art, 
 Betray sweet Jenny s unsuspecting- youth ?" 
 
 i*~ 
 
 Gerald Roscoe to Mrs. Layton. 
 
 " ON looking over your letter a second time, my 
 " dear Mrs. Layton, I find there is enough of it 
 " unanswered to give me a pretence for addressing 
 "you again; and as I know no more agreeable 
 ** employment of one of my many leisure hours 
 * than communicating with you, I will contrast 
 " your picture of the miseries of rustic hospitality 
 " and rustic habits, with the trials of a poor devil, 
 " condemned to the vulgarity and necessity of drag* 
 " ging through the summer months in town. We 
 "** all look at our present, petty vexations, through 
 " the magnifying end of the glass, and then turning 
 " our instrument, give to the condition of others, the 
 softness and enchantment of distance. 
 
 11 But to my picture. Behold me then, after 
 ;< having waited through the day in my clientless 
 ;i office, retired to my humble lodging, No. 
 "Walker-street, in a garret apartment, (by courtesy 
 " styled the attic,) as hot, even after the sun is 
 " down, as a well-heated oven when the fire iswith- 
 " drawn, or as hot as you might imagine accom- 
 " modations for a single gentleman in tophet. The 
 17* 
 
198 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " room is fifteen feet square, or rather the floor, 
 " as the ceiling descends at an angle of forty-five 
 " degrees, so that whenever I pass the centre of my 
 " apartment I am compelled to a perpetual salam, 
 " or to having my head organized in a manner that 
 " would confound the metaphysical materialism of 
 " a German. 
 
 " My dear mother, nobly as she has conformed 
 " herself to our fallen fortunes, has not yet been able 
 " to dispense with certain personal refinements for 
 " herself, or for her unworthy son. I believe in my 
 " soul, she has never wafted a sigh from our land- 
 " lady s sordid little parlor to the almost forgotten 
 "splendors of our drawing-room; but there is 
 " something intolerably offensive to her habits and 
 " tastes in the arrangements of a plebeian bed-room. 
 " Accordingly she has fitted up my apartment with 
 " what she considers necessaries ; but that first ne- 
 " cessity that chiefest of all luxuries space, she 
 " cannot command ; nor can all her ingenuity over 
 borne the principle of resistance in matter, so that 
 " my * indispensable furniture limits my locomotive 
 " faculties to six feet by four. The knocks I get 
 " in any one day against my bureaus, writing- 
 " table, book-case, &c., would convert a Berkleian 
 " philosopher. 
 
 " I have but one window, an offset from the roof. 
 " to which my dormant ceiling forms a covert way* 
 " My horizon is bounded by tiled roofs and square 
 " chimneys. No graceful outlines of foliage; no 
 " broad lake to sparkle and dimple on the verge of 
 " the starry canopy ; no * heaven-kissing hill ; but 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 199 
 
 4i chimneys and roofs, and roofs and chimneys, for 
 " one who counts "it high pleasure to behold 
 
 1 The lofty woods the forest wide and long-, 
 
 Adorn d with leaves and branches fresh and green. 
 In whose cool bowers the birds, with many a song-, 
 
 Do welcome with their quire the summer s queen ; 
 The meadows fair, where Flora s gifts among 
 
 Are inter mix d with verdant grass between ; 
 The silver scaled fish that-softly swim 
 
 Within the sweet brook s crystal, watry stream. 
 
 " These are the sorrows of my exile from nature 
 u in this her glorious ascendant. I say nothing, 
 " my dear Mrs. L., of being chained to the city. 
 " when the sweet spirits that gave it life are fled, 
 "In short, I will say nothing more of my miseries 
 " and privations. I will even confess that my little 
 " cell has its pleasures ; humble though they be, still 
 " they are pleasures. I do not mean the dreams 
 " and visions that sport about the brain of a young 
 "man who has his own fortunes to carve in the 
 "world, and who of course indemnifies himself for 
 "the absolute negation of his present condition by 
 " the brilliant apparition of the- future. It is well 
 " for us that our modesty is not gauged by our an- 
 " ticipations ! My humble attic pleasure consists in 
 " looking down, like Don Cleofas, on my neigh- 
 ;< bors in guessing at their SgfrJt and history from 
 l their outward world. You, my dear madam, 
 
 ** who live in the courtly luxury of street, if 
 
 u your eye ever glanced through your curtained 
 " window at the yards of your neighbors, would 
 " only see the servile labors of their domestics. 
 # You can therefore have no imagination of the 
 
200 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 i{ revelations of life to my eye. A curious contrast 
 "there is between the front and rear of these esta- 
 " blishments of our humble citizens -the formal 
 " aspect of the ambitious front parlor, and the laisser 
 " oiler style of the back apartments. Suffer me, 
 " in this dearth of parties, operas, and whatever 
 " makes an accredited drawing-room topic, to in 
 troduce you to one of my neighbors and his l petit 
 paradis? for so Abeille calls and considers his 
 "yard, a territory of about thirty feet by fourteen. 
 * Poor Abeille ! poor what can make a French- 
 man poor ? They ride through life on the virtu- 
 " oso s saddle, which will be sure to amble when 
 "the world is at the hardest trot. They have 
 " heaven s charter for happiness. 
 
 " Abeille was a seigneur of St. Domingo, and 
 :< possessed one of the richest estates of that Hes- 
 perian island. Did you never observe that a 
 " Frenchman s temperament is the reverse of the 
 ungracious state that never is, but always to be 
 " blessed. Let his present condition be abject as it 
 i; vrill, he has been blest. Abeille revels now in the 
 " retrospective glories of his seigniory, from which 
 " the poor .fellow was happy to escape, during the 
 " troubles, with his life, his family, and a few jew- 
 " els, with the avails of which he has since purchased 
 " this little property ^.and a scene of perfect French 
 " happiness it is. Abeille has two lodgers, an old 
 " bachelor, bitten with the mania of learning French, 
 i{ and a clerk qualifying himself for a supercargo. 
 " He teaches young ladies to paint flowers. His 
 "pretty daughters, Felicite and Angelique, embroi- 
 * der muslin and weave lace, and by these mean?, 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 201 
 
 4 and the infinite ingenuity of a French menage 
 " they contrive to live in independence, and so far 
 " from any vain misery about their past magnifi- 
 " cence, it seems merely to cast a vivid hue a sort 
 " of sunset glory over their present mediocrity. 
 
 " Abeille s little parterre gives him far more 
 "pleasure, he confesses, than he ever received 
 " from his West-India plantation. This parterre is 
 "the triumph of taste over expense. He has 
 " covered with a trellis a vile one story back-build- 
 " ing, that protrudes its hideous form the whole length 
 of the yard, and conducted over it a grape-vine, that 
 " yields fruit as delicious and plentiful as if it grew 
 " in sunny France. The high board-fence, over 
 " which once flaunted a vulgar creeper, is now em- 
 " bossed with a multi-flora. In the angle of the 
 " yard next the house, and concealing with exquisite 
 " art an ugly indentation of the wall, is a moss-rose, 
 " Abeille s chefcPceuvre. This he has fed, watered, 
 " pruned, and in every way cherished, till it has 
 "surmounted the fence; and to-day I saw him 
 " gazing at a cluster of buds on the very summit, as 
 " a victor would have looked on his laurel-crown. At 
 " the extremity of the yard is a series of shelves ar- 
 il ranged like the benches of an ampitheatre, (mark 
 ;< the economy of space and sunshine !) filled with 
 " pots containing the finest flowers of all seasons. 
 " The back windows are festooned, not screened 
 " a Frenchman never blinds his windows with 
 " honeysuckles, coquetting their way to two bird 
 " cages, where, embowered and perfumed, are 
 < { perched canaries and mocking-birds, who enjoy 
 
202 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " here every sweet in nature but liberty, and the 
 " little servile rogues sing as if they had forgotten 
 " that ; and to finish all, the few unoccupied feet of 
 " the petit paradisj just leaving space for Abeille 
 "to meander among the flowers, are set with me- 
 "dallions of carnations, tulips, hyacinths, and mig- 
 " nonette. I must not omit the tame crow, Abeille s 
 " esquire, who follows him like his shadow, and 
 u madame s pets and darlings, an enormous parrot, 
 " the most accomplished of his tribe a Mathews 
 " among parrots and the largest and ugliest shock 
 " that ever lay in a Frenchwoman s lap. There sits 
 " madame, at this moment, coquetting with the par- 
 " rot, scolding Belle, and taking snuff, her only 
 " occupations in life. < Pauvre femme, Abeille 
 " says, * elle ne sait pas travailler toutes lesfemmes 
 " de St. Domingue sont ainsi paresseuses, mais, 
 " elle est si bonne, si ceconome, et si fidelle ! 
 s< Pauvre femme indeed ! Abeille looks at her 
 " through the vista of long past time, or he would 
 " not account the latter quality such a virtue. But 
 " if madame does not, her pretty daughters do 
 " know how to work. Felicite wrought herself into 
 " the heart of a youth, who in spite of her poverty, 
 " and in spite of the Yankee prejudice of all his kin- 
 " dred against a French girl, married her, and toiled 
 " hard to support her, when last week, like the gifts 
 " of a fairy tale, came a rich legacy to Felicite from 
 " Port-au-Prince, the bequest of a ci-devant slave. 
 " Never were people happier. I see them now 
 " prettily grouped at their chamber-window, Felicite 
 " leaning on her husband s shoulder, and playing 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 " bopeep with her child, the child in the arms of her 
 * ; old maiden aunt Eli, who has forgotten to put on 
 ; her false curls, even forgotten her matin mass 
 " ever since this bantling came into the world. So 
 " easy is it, my dear Mrs. Layton, for the affections 
 a of your sex to revert to their natural and happiest 
 " channel. 
 
 " But the prettiest flower of my neighbor s gar- 
 >; den, the genius loci of his petit paradis, is An- 
 gelique. She is much younger than her sister. 
 " From my observations from winter to summer for 
 the last three years, I take it she is about the 
 ; poetic age of seventeen. 
 
 " With all the facilities of my observatory, and 
 the advantage of occasional explanatory notes 
 " from Abeille, I am extremely puzzled by Ange- 
 u lique. During the past winter, I used every eve- 
 ;< ning to see her, the very soul of gaiety, at the 
 ; little reunions at her father s. Her sylph-like 
 figure was always flitting over the floor.* ,She danced 
 " with her father s old French friends, and frolicked 
 16 with the children, the veriest romp and trickster 
 ;; among them. She would sew the skirts of pere 
 " Bailie s coat to old Eli s gown ; drop icicles un- 
 der the boys collars, and play off on all, young 
 and old, her feats of fearless frolic. As the spring 
 opened, I heard her sweet voice outsinging the 
 " birds, her light heart seemed instinctively to echo 
 " their joyous notes ; and many a time have I 
 " thrown down my book, and involuntarily respond- 
 i{ ed to her merry peals of laughter. Soon after 
 " this there was a sudden transition from the gay 
 ;< temper of the girl to the elaborate arts of the 
 
204 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 young lady. She dressed ambitiously, alway? 
 " with exquisite taste, as if she had studied her fa- 
 l ther s flowers for the harmony of colors, but with 
 u a restless vanity and expense that seemed the out- 
 " breaking of her West-India nature. A few weeks 
 u since she had the fever of sentiment upon her 
 k< would sit whole evenings by her window alone, 
 and sang more plaintive ditties than I supposed 
 there were in the French language. Now she 
 sings nothing, gay or sad, but sits all day over 
 " her lace without raising her eyes. Her face is so 
 u pale and pensive that I fancy, even at this dis- 
 " tance, I see the tears dropping on her work. 
 
 " Her father called me to the fence to-day to give 
 u me a carnation. I remarked to him, that made- 
 " moiselle was too constantly at her work. Yes, 
 u he said, but she will work and she is so 
 11 triste, Monsieur Roscoe. Sacristie ! we are all 
 " triste, when Angelique will not smile. Ah ! 
 k monsieur,, mon coeur pleure. I felt a sort of 
 " shivering as if a storm were gathering over this 
 * sunny spot. Heaven grant that this little hum- 
 " ble paradis may not be infested by evil spirits. 
 " Do not, my dear Mrs. Layton. give the reins to 
 your feminine fancy. My interest in Angelique 
 u is all en philosophe^ or if you please, * en phi- 
 a lanthropiste ; a little softer and deepe*- it may be, 
 " than Eli or even Felicite, or any less beautiful 
 than Angelique could excite." 
 
 " I left my letter last evening and strolled down 
 - to the Battery. It should have been a moon- 
 light night but the clouds had interposed, and the 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 205 
 
 ;; few loiterers that remained there chose the broad 
 i{ walk at the water s-side. I saw an acquaint- 
 ; * ance whom I was in no humor to join, and I 
 * retired td a more secluded walk, where I encoun- 
 tered a pair who had evidently gone thereto avoid 
 " observers, for on seeing me approach they turned 
 ;{ abruptly and departed. Soon after, in going 
 4t up Broadway, I met the same couple. The} 
 ;{ were just separating ; the lady came towards 
 a me ; she was shawled and veiled, but as I was 
 " passing her, her veil caught in the railing of an 
 : * area and her face was exposed. It was, as I had 
 ; conjectured, Angelique. I walked on withoii; 
 a seeming to notice her, and I perceived that her 
 attendant had turned and was hastily retracing hi 
 steps after her. I cast a scrutinizing glance at 
 him, and though his hat was drawn close over hi- 
 ;{ eyes, and he held his handkerchief to his face, I 
 " believed then, and still believe, he was Pedritto i 
 " He has a certain gait and air that cannot be mk 
 " taken, and though he had not on the famoti- 
 " Spanish identifying cloak that you used to sa\ 
 ; was managed more gracefully than any other in 
 Broadway, yet I am sure I am right in my conjer 
 - ture. If I am, * curse on his perjured arts ! " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Lay ton : My letter had swollen 
 " to such an unreasonable bulk that I threw it asitk 
 as not worth the postage. But some facts havim-: 
 " come to my ear which have made me give unwil: 1 
 :c ing credence to the possibility that you may be in 
 " duced to favor Pedrillo s suit to Emilie, I have 
 - ( determined to communicate certain particulars lii 
 
 Vox, I. 18 
 
206 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 you, that I think will influence your opinion of 
 " this gentleman. 
 
 " The evening after the encounter with Pedrillo 
 ; I have already mentioned, I was returning late to 
 " my lodgings there should have been a waning 
 " moon to light the city, but the heavens were over- 
 " cast, one of the possible vicisitudes of weather, 
 " which, (if we may judge from the economy of lamp- 
 <: oil,) is not anticipated by our corporation. The 
 " night was dark and drizzling. It was past one 
 " o clock. I was musing on the profound stillness 
 " what stillness is so eloquent as that of a populous 
 " city ? and in part confused by the darkness, I 
 " turned down Wlute instead of Walker street. I 
 " did not perceive my mistake till I had made some 
 " progress, and then my attention was attracted by 
 " a carriage drawn up close to the flagging ; the 
 " steps were down, the door open, and the coach- 
 " man on his box. There was no light from 
 " the adjoining houses ; no sound, no indication 
 " of any kind that a creature was awake there. 
 a I thought the poor devil of a coachman over- 
 * f wearied had fallen asleep on his box, and I stop- 
 * ped with the intention of waking him, when I 
 " heard three low notes whistled by some person 
 " a few doors in advance of me, and directly half 
 J the blind of a parlor window was opened, and by 
 " the faint light that penetrated the misty atmos- 
 " phere, I perceived a man s figure before the win- 
 " dow of Abeille s house. Imperfect and varying 
 " as the light was, I saw the person was addressing 
 " imploring and impatient gestures to some one 
 " within. My first impulse was that natural to a 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 207 
 
 " mind of common manliness and delicacy, to avoid 
 " any interference with the secret purposes of an- 
 " other, and I crossed the street, designing to pass 
 " immediately down on the other side. But as the 
 il purpose of this untimely visit flashed upon my 
 * mind, I felt that there was something cowardly in 
 " my retreat. It might be possible, even at this 
 u late moment to save the infirm Angelique (for 
 " I had truly divined the actors in the scene) from 
 " the power of the villain Pedrillo. I was forti- 
 " fied in my hope when 1 saw Angelique, in the 
 11 act of putting her hat on her head, throw if 
 u from her, and cautiously raise the window-sash. 
 " She spoke to Pedrillo, but in so low a voice that 
 " I only caught a few words. Something she said 
 * of her mother being sick. That she faltered in 
 44 her purpose of quitting the paternal roof was plain 
 ** from Pedrillo s vehement gestures, and from the 
 i: agony of indecision with which she paced the 
 " room, wringing her hands, and balancing, no 
 il doubt, the pleadings of honor and filial duty, 
 " against the passionate persuasions of her lover. 
 
 " I too thought of poor Abeille the fond old 
 " father of his petit paradisj and his cheerful and 
 * c grateful enjoyment of the wreck of his splendid 
 14 fortune, and of this his loveliest flower trampled in 
 " the dust. Images of the ruin and desolation that 
 awaited the amiable Frenchman nerved my reso- 
 lution, and the possibility that I might avert the 
 u instant danger, made my heart thrab as if my own 
 " dearest treasure were in jeopardy. What, thought 
 " I, ought I to do? What can I do, to counteract 
 if one who has so far succeeded in his purposes? 
 
208 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " I may alarm the neighbors by m} outcries, and 
 ;t rouse Abeille, but the wretch will escape with his 
 " prey, before he can be intercepted : or, at best, 
 Angelique will be disgraced by the exposure ol 
 " her intentions. Thus puzzled, I ceased to measure 
 <{ obstacles, dismissed all calculations, and just fol- 
 " lowed the impulse and guidance of my feelings, 
 " I advanced with cautious foot-steps towards 
 " Abeille s door-step. Pedrillo was already on it. 
 : and as yet unaware of my proximity. 
 
 " The light moved from the parlor, and flashed 
 " through the fan-light above the street-door. An- 
 " gelique had then decided her fate. There was 
 " another pause in her movement. I was now 
 " so near to Pedrillo that I heard him breathe 
 " through his shut teeth, Ye furies ! why does 
 "not she open the door? and as if answering 
 " to his words, Angelique gave audible tokens 
 " of her decision. The bolts were slowly with- 
 ;c drawn, the door opened, and Pedrillo sprang 
 il forward to receive his prize, when with one arm 
 " I hurled him back. I know not how far he fell. 
 " nor where, I had no time to give him one glance ; 
 " with my other arm I had grasped Angelique, and 
 <{ dragging her within the door, I instantly reclosed 
 " and rebolted it. 
 
 " I never shall forget, and I am sure I can never 
 " describe, Angelique s first look of terror, astonish- 
 " ment, and inquiry, and the overwhelming shame 
 " with which she dropped her head on her bosom , 
 when she recognised me. Fortunately she did 
 " not speak. I listened intently for some indiea 
 
A TALE OF OUH OWN TIMES. 209 
 
 tion of our baffled knight s intentions, at this un- 
 il expected turn in his affairs. I heard nothing till 
 " the sound of the retiring carriage-wheels proved 
 " that he had retreated. I then graced myself with an 
 " apology to Angelique. I am not sure that she was 
 " not, when her first surprise was over, a little vexed 
 "with my interference, but I was so fortunate as to 
 " give a better direction to her feelings, and with- 
 :< out preaching about her duties, or dictating them, 
 " I set before her such a picture of her fond old fa- 
 < ther, that her tender heart returned to its loyalty 
 " to him, to duty, and to happiness, and shuddering 
 " at the precipice from which she had escaped, she 
 " most solemnly vowed for ever to renounce, and 
 ;{ shun Pedrillo. 
 
 " That it is better to save than to destroy, no one 
 " will dispute. I believe it is easier far easier to per- 
 t suade the infirm to virtue than to vice. There is an 
 " unbroken chord in every human heart, that vibrates 
 " to the voice of truth. There is there an undying 
 spark from the altar of God, that may be kindled 
 " to. a flame by the breath of virtue. If we felt this 
 i; truth more deeply, we should not be so reckless of 
 " the happiness of our fellow-beings, and so negli- 
 : gent of any means we may possess of cherishing 
 " and stimulating their virtue. 
 
 " I did not embarrass Angelique with my pre~ 
 sence one moment after I was assured that her 
 " right resolution was fixed ; but I hesitated whether 
 " to retire through Abeille s yard to my lodgings, 
 u or to go into the street, where Pedrillo might pos- 
 " sibly still be lurking. I wished that, if possible, 
 " he should think Angelique had been rescued b> 
 18* 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " some one who had a natural right to interpose in 
 " her behalf. But as I thought there was little 
 " chance of encountering him, and as I had knocked 
 i{ off my hat in entering the house, I withdrew that 
 " way in the hope of finding it. I did not ; and I 
 "have since suspected that Pedrillo ascertained my 
 " name from it, for I have met him once since, and 
 " I thought his face flushed and his brow lowered 
 4i as he passed me. 
 
 " Now, my dear Mrs. Lay ton, have I not by 
 
 u giving you a true account of the sober part I 
 
 " played in this little drama, proved to you my dis- 
 
 " belief in the slander that claims the paramount 
 
 "favor of your sex for men a bonnes fortunes? 
 
 " However, to confess the truth, my motive in the 
 
 " communication was quite foreign to myself; but 
 
 "I must indulge my egotism by relating my own 
 
 ;{ part in the characteristic finishing of the tale. 
 
 " Old Abeille came to my room this morning with 
 
 J< a note from Angelique. She informed me that 
 
 44 her poor mother had just died ; that she had be- 
 
 " stowed such praise on her when she gave her 
 
 ; her last blessing. * The praise, she said, she 
 
 i( had not- deserved by her virtue, she would by her 
 
 " penitence, and she had fallen on her knees and 
 
 " confessed all to her mother ; and her mother had 
 
 " then blessed her more fervently than ever, and 
 
 " blessed Monsieur Roscoe, both in one breath. And 
 
 "if the prayer of the dying was heard, adds Ange- 
 
 " lique, no trouble nor sin will ever come nigh to 
 
 " Monsieur Roscoe, nor to any thing Monsieur 
 
 4 1 loves. Her note concludes with the information 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 11 
 
 " that she is going to the convent at Baltimore ; to 
 
 i pray to God and make penitence for a little 
 
 " while. 1 It was evident the old man had a burden 
 
 " on his heart that could only be relieved by words ; 
 
 ** but there are feelings of a nature and force to 
 
 u check the fluency even of a Frenchman ; and 
 
 " Abeille was mute, save in the eloquence of tears. 
 
 " He took out his snuff-box, which serves him on all 
 
 " occasions as a link to mend the broken chain of 
 
 " his ideas; but now it would not do. I had not 
 
 " yet read Angelique s note, and I naturally referred 
 
 " his emotion to the death of his wife, to which I 
 
 " adverted in a tone of condolence. " Ah, tis not 
 
 " that, Monsieur Roscoe, he said, * il faut mourir 
 
 " and my wife pauvre femme ! was good to die. 
 
 " Certainement c est un grand malheur ; but every 
 
 " body can speak of his wife s death but, sacristie ! 
 
 " when 1 think of that, my tongue will not move, 
 
 " though my heart is full of gratitude to you, Mon- 
 
 " sieur Roscoe. Ah, you have saved us all, et de 
 
 quelle horreur ! Here Abeille burst into a fresh 
 
 " floodof tears, and again had recourse to his snuff-box. 
 
 " I could no longer appear ignorant of his meaning. 
 
 My good friend, said I, I understand you per- 
 
 41 fectly ; but this is not a subject to talk about. Let me 
 
 only say to you, that Angelique was even more 
 
 " ready to spring from the toils than I was to extri- 
 
 " cate her. * Ah, Dieu soitbeni veritablement 
 
 -" elle est un ange. Ah, Monsieur Roscoe, you 
 
 41 have said that good word of ma petite pour 
 
 " m encourager. Vous savez, he continued, for 
 
 * np\v he ,h.ad recovered all his volubility, * vpus 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " savez quelle est belle la reine de toutes mes 
 ; fleurs ah! n est ce pas, Monsieur and she is 
 " always so douce et gaie si gaie toujours 
 " toujours and now, Monsieur Roscoe, we must 
 " speak English ; that always have a very plain mean- 
 " ing. My claim on my country is partly allowed, 
 " and 1 have received fifty thousand francs. Now I do 
 " not want this money ; I am very happy, and my 
 poor girl shall have it all ten thousand dollars 
 " and when she has made her penitence you shall 
 " have her hand, Monsieur Roscoe, and all the 
 <l money in it. Ah, do not speak vous le meritez/ 
 " I certainly was not prepared to reply to so un- 
 " expected an expression of Abeille s gratitude. 
 "However, I had frankness enough to say that 
 " marriage must be an affair of the heart entirely. 
 " You, I said, my friend Abeille, cannot answer 
 " for Angelique at the end of a twelvemonth, nor 
 " can I foresee in what disposition I shall then find 
 u myself. Ah but, interrupted Abeille, we will 
 ** shorten Angelique s retirement to a few weeks 
 * elle est si jeune, il ne faut pas penser et prier 
 tC Dieu too long. I was driven to an evasion ; for 
 ** I have too much chivalry interwoven in the very 
 web of my nature to reject a fair ladye in plain 
 4{ terms, and I said, scarcely controlling a smile at 
 " the resemblance of my reply to the formula of a docile 
 i{ miss, at her first offer ; I said that my mother felt 
 " on these subjects quite en Americaine? that she 
 ** had her prejudices, and I feared it would break 
 " her heart if I married any other than one of my 
 own countrywomen, and therefore I must not 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 u admit the thought of aspiring to the hand of 
 " Mademoiselle Angelique. 
 
 " Est-il possible, cried Abeille, q une femme 
 " raisonnable, peut etre capable de telles sottises, 
 "pauvre garden! This was spoken in a tone of 
 " deep commiseration. I pray the bon Dieu will 
 11 reward your filial piety ; but where will madame 
 " find une Americaine comparable a mon Angelique f 
 "Toujours, toujours you shall be mon fils, if 
 " you cannot be the mari of my belle Ange- 
 lt lique. Eh bien ! chacun a son goiit mais, 
 "une Americaine preferable a mon Angelique! 
 "The old man took a double pinch of snuff. 
 414 Adieu, Monsieur Roscoe; you will come to 
 " the cathedrale to hear the miserere chanted for 
 "poor Madame Abeille. I assured him I would 
 " do so, and thereupon we parted. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Layton, allow me the happiness 
 " of soon hearing from your own lips, or your own 
 "pen, that Senor Pedrillo s suit has met its merited 
 " fate. 
 
 " And in the meantime, believe me, as ever, 
 " Your devoted friend and servant, 
 
 " GERALD ROSCOE." 
 
 Roscoe was right in his conjecture that Pedrillo 
 had ascertained who had intercepted his success. 
 When he rose from the prostrate position in the mid 
 dle of the street where Roscoe had thrown him, he 
 stumbled over a hat. He perceived that the noise 
 at Abeille s door had attracted the observation of 
 one of the guardians of the night, and he thought 
 proper to retreat, He took the hat with him, and 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 when he exposed it to the light, he found within if 
 the name that of all others was most likely to give a 
 keen edge to his resentment. He had met Roscoc 
 often at Mrs. Layton s, and had had some corro 
 ding suspicions that Emilie s indifference to his ad 
 dresses proceeded from preference to Roscoe. He 
 tore off the name, and threw the hat into the street, 
 saying as he did so, "I have found out the object, 
 and I will make the opportunity of revenge." 
 
 It must be confessed there is a charm to our re 
 publican society, in a foreign name and aristocratic 
 pretensions, like the fascinations of a fairy tale to 
 children. Our tastes are yet governed by ancient 
 prestiges cast in the old mould. We profess the 
 generous principle that each individual has a right 
 to his own eminence, whether his sires commanded 
 the heights, or drudged obscurely in the humblest 
 vale of life ; but artificial distinctions still influence 
 our imaginations, and the spell has not been dis 
 solved by the repeated detection of the pretensions 
 of impostors with foreign manners, and high-sound 
 ing titles who have obtained the entree of our 
 fashionable circles. 
 
 Henriques Pedrillo had far more plausible claims 
 to favor than certain other vagrant foreigners who 
 have played among us too absurd and notorious a 
 part to be yet forgotten. He had in the first place 
 * nature s aristocracy, a person and face of uncom 
 mon symmetry and elegance, and these advantages 
 lie cherished and set oft* with consummate art, steer 
 ing a middle course between coxcombry and negli 
 gence, the Scylla and Charybdis of the gentleman s 
 toilette. His conversation did not indicate any more 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 215 
 
 erudition than he might have imbibed at the play 
 house, and by a moderate intercourse with culti 
 vated society. He spoke English, French, and 
 Spanish equally well ; and so well as to leave his 
 hearer in doubt which was his vernacular ; and he 
 had the insinuating address the devotion of look 
 and manner, in his intercourse with ladies, that 
 marks the exotic in America. In common with 
 most Spaniards who come among us, he cast his na 
 tivity in old Castile, though he confessed he had 
 been driven to the new world to repair the abated 
 fortunes of his ancient family. He was not precise 
 in communicating the particulars of his career; but 
 the grand circumstance of success, if it did not ex 
 tinguish curiosity, at least repressed its expression. 
 He had been recently known to some of our first 
 merchants, as the principal in a rich house in the 
 Havana. This was enough to satisfy the slight 
 scrupulosity Jasper Layton might have felt in intro 
 ducing him to his wife and daughter. Mrs. Lay- 
 ton at first courted Pedrillo merely as a brilliant 
 acquisition to her coterie. She confessed she had 
 no affinities for American character tame, unex- 
 citable, and unadorned as she deemed it. She 
 spoke French and Spanish remarkably well, and 
 the desire to demonstrate these accomplishments did 
 not betray a very culpable vanity. She first sedu 
 lously cultivated Pedrillo s acquaintance ; 4 Eve did 
 first eat ; but Mrs. Layton, no more than our first 
 mother, foresaw the fatal consequences of what ap 
 peared a trivial act. Their relations soon became 
 interesting and complicated. Pedrillo was capti 
 vated by Emilie s pre-eminent beauty. Her inno- 
 
216 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 cence and sweetness touched all that remained ot 
 unextinguished goodness in his nature. The evil 
 spirits look back with lingering affection to the 
 heaven they have forfeited. 
 
 Layton, a man of lavish expense, found Pedrillo 
 a most convenient friend. Pedrillo was profuse, 
 but not careless. He had the acute habits of a man 
 of business, and even in his pleasures he nicely ba 
 lanced the amount he gave against the considera 
 tion he expected to receive. When, therefore, he 
 from time to time, lent Jasper Layton large sums of 
 money, he gloried in the secret consciousness of the 
 power he was accumulating. Their intimacy grew 
 till Layton gave him the last proof of his confidence 
 and good fellowship, by introducing him to a club 
 of gentlemen who met privately every night at a 
 gambling-house, and indulged there to great excess 
 this keen and destructive passion. 
 
 Pedrillo had acquired in scenes of stirring ex 
 citement and imminent peril, such command over his 
 turbulent passions, that to the eye of an observer the 
 fire that was merely covered, seemed extinguished. 
 So at least it appeared to Layton, when after anight 
 of various fortune and feverish excitement, they 
 emerged from their club-room, just as the city 
 lamps were dimmed by the approaching day. 
 " Pedrillo, my dear fellow," said Layton, " you 
 are a philosopher : you win and lose with equal 
 nonchalance I I confess it I am giddy with my 
 enexpected luck." 
 
 " Unexpected 6 ?" replied Pedrillo. 
 
 "Yes. unhoped for; Pedrillo, I will tell yon a 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 217 
 
 secret. When I entered that room to-night I was 
 utterly ruined." 
 
 "A secret! ha! ha!" 
 
 " A secret yes, you might have guessed it, for 
 God knows you were deeply concerned in it but 
 all scores are wiped out now, hey, Pedrillo ? That 
 last bragger cleared off the last five thousand and 
 my loss to that devilish fellow Martin, that is ba 
 lanced too ; thank Heaven I am my own man again ; 
 a timely whirl of the wheel it was. Fortune, blind 
 goddess as thou art, I still will worship thee !" 
 
 " Do we visit her temple to-morrow night ?" 
 
 < Certainly." 
 
 " Au revoir, then." They parted ; Layton went 
 one way, intoxicated with success, humming glees 
 and catches, now twisting his cane around his fin 
 gers, now striking it on the pavement, and even at 
 tracting the eye of the drowsy watchmen by his irre 
 gular movements. His spirits would have fled if he 
 had penetrated Pedrillo s bosom, and seen the keen, 
 vigilant suspicion he had awakened there. 
 
 The next night they met again at the gaming 
 table. Fortune maintained her perch on Layton s 
 cards ; Pedrillo lost large sums. Again they left the 
 house together. Pedrillo appeared even more un 
 moved than he had on the preceding night. He 
 congratulated Layton with as much seeming uncon 
 cern as if the subject in question were a mercantile 
 speculation in which he had no personal concern. 
 Layton was in ecstacies " You may defy the world, 
 Pedrillo !" he said in a tone of the highest good 
 humor, " and all its turns, tricks, and shufflings. 
 Those poor devils we have left behind us are readj v 
 VOL. I. 19 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 to cut their own throats, or mine. Zounds ! my deav 
 fellow, you are high-souled and whole-souled " 
 
 "Have you heard from Miss Emilie, to-day ?" 
 asked Pedrillo, rather abruptly interrupting his 
 companion s strain of lavish compliment. 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Does she permit me to follow her?" 
 Layton s elated tone was changed to one more 
 conciliatory, as he replied, " Why, to tell you the 
 truth, Pedrillo, she seems disinclined ; and on the 
 whole we may as well consider the affair as ended." 
 " When did you come to that conclusion, sir ?" 
 " When ? what difference does that make, if it be 
 :i wise conclusion ?" 
 
 " Do we meet to-morrow night ?" 
 " As you please ; after my run of luck it does not 
 become me to propose it." 
 
 " We meet then ; and after we will speak of Miss 
 Emilie." 
 
 " Eh bien ; but of course Pedrillo, you under 
 stand that I shall never consent to put any force on 
 her inclinations." 
 
 " You shall do as you choose" and he added 
 mentally, " you shall choose it. Jasper Layton, as 
 surely as a man chooses life rather than death." 
 
 The next evening found them at their accustomed 
 haunt. After Pedrillo and Layton had played one 
 game, Pedrillo threw up the cards, alleging a pain 
 and dizziness in his head. Another took his place. 
 He continued to stride up and down the room, some 
 times pausing beside Layton, and always keeping 
 his eye fixed on him. Layton had a dim conscious 
 ness, as some sensitive persons have in their sleep, of 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 210 
 
 a steady gaze, and once or twice he looked up, star 
 tled and inquiring, but instantly his attention re 
 verted to the portentous interests of the game. 
 From time to time angry and half-smothered excla 
 mations broke from his companions, at his obstinate 
 luck ; still they continued with fatal desperation to 
 wager and lose, and when the play was finished, 
 they had lost, and Layton had won all. Accustom 
 ed as they were to sudden and violent fluctuations 
 of fortune, their continued losses on the present oc 
 casion had exhausted their patience, and deprived 
 them of the power of quelling the expression of 
 their excited passions. Despair, madness, and 
 worse^than all, suspicion, burst forth in loud impre 
 cations, or in half audible murmurs. Layton s 
 cheek burnt, and his hand trembled, with triumph, 
 or resentment, or consciousness, but he uttered not 
 one word ; and when, as they left the apartment, he, 
 as usual, thrust his arm into Pedrillo s, Pedrillo 
 withdrew from him, and fixed on him a cold pene 
 trating glance that thrilled through his soul. He 
 involuntarily shivered they emerged from the long 
 dark passage, that led from their secret haunt to the 
 street, into a damp, hot, steaming atmosphere. " A 
 singular morning for agues !" said Pedrillo, looking 
 contemptuously at Layton, while he took off his 
 own hat and fanned himself, as if to stir some Jiving 
 principle in the suffocating air. Layton turned 
 his eye timidly to Pedrillo ; their glances met a 
 keen intelligence, a malignant triumph, and piti 
 less contempt, spoke in Pedrillo s ; the shame, and 
 fear, and misery of detected villany, in Layton s. 
 They walked on in silence to the head of the street, 
 
220 
 
 CLARENCE; on 
 
 where, instead of parting as usual, Pedrillo drew 
 nearer to Layton, took his arm, and went on with 
 him. " A word to the wise," he said, in a low thrill 
 ing voice, " a w<>rd to the wise, for wise I think 
 you will be after this folly the ass should not at 
 tempt a cheat in the presence of the fox, Layton. 
 I suspected your trick the first night the second my 
 suspicions were confirmed to-night I have detect 
 ed you. Let this pass. You have been rash 
 imprudent in your practice, my good friend ; you 
 should have calculated more nicely the chances of 
 detection. Other suspicions than mine are awaken 
 ed, but there is an immeasurable distance between 
 suspicion and certainty, and we may continue to wi 
 den that distance ; that is, if," and as he finished his 
 sentence, every word seemed measured and weighed, 
 and sunk like lead into Lay ton s heart, " if in 
 future we are friends ?" 
 
 The tone was interrogative, and Layton replied 
 gaspingly, "certainly, certainly." 
 
 " Well, very well ; we understand each other, do 
 we not ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, perfectly." 
 
 " Then let that pass - II ne faut pas etre plus 
 sage qu il ne faut details are disagreeable and you 
 are sure, quite sure there is a clear mutual compre 
 hension ?" 
 
 Layton felt at every word as if a new manacle were 
 rivetted on him. Still, safety on any terms, were 
 better than destruction, and while he writhed un 
 der the power, he dared not resist ; " Proceed," he 
 cried, "for God s sake-^-you know I understand 
 you." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 " Then, Layton," he resumed in a familiar, every 
 day tone of voice, " my lips are sealed as to the 
 few thousands you have won from me, retain them, 
 as a consideration in part for the treasure you en 
 sure me ensure me, mark my words ; and, Lay- 
 ton, if in future you get becalmed, do not attempt 
 to raise the wind by such desperate expedients. 
 There are a few situations in life where honesty is 
 the best policy, and the gaming table is one of them. 
 But before we part, let us settle our plan of action. 
 Suspicion is awake, go again to-morrow night, and 
 lose your winnings liberally ! this will baffle their 
 sagacity, and what is more, appease their resent 
 ment. Do you like my counsel?" 
 
 " I will take it." 
 
 " Good night then, or rather good morning, for 
 I think the sun is glimmering through the scalding 
 fog." They parted, and Layton sprang on his own 
 door-step, as a newly captured slave would dart 
 from the presence of his master. " One word," 
 said Pedrillo, turning back, "you write to Miss 
 Emilie to-morrow?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will communicate my determination 
 to her." 
 
 " Oh ! of course. " replied Pedrillo, with a 
 4 laughing devil in his eye, and quoting Layton s 
 last words of the preceding evening, "< of course 
 you will put no force on her inclinations. " An 
 oath rose to Layton s lips, but he suppressed all ex 
 pression till secure from observation in his own 
 room, he gave vent to a burst of passion ; but re 
 sentment, remorse, and parental tenderness, were 
 now alike unavailing. He was inextricably in- 
 19* 
 
222 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 volved with Pedrillo, and his own safety could onlv 
 be secured by the sacrifice of his beautiful child. 
 
 Jasper Layton was the only son of a man of ta- 
 lent, virtue, and fortune, and he never quite lost the 
 sense of the responsibility such an inheritance in 
 volved - T and to the last, the fear of publicly disgracing 
 his honorable name, was a source of the keenest 
 suffering to him. Unfortunately he came into pos 
 session, by his father s death, of a large fortune, 
 before he had sufficient strength of principle, 01 
 habit, to encounter its temptations. He was not 
 destitute of kind, or even tender affections ; but 
 what good thing thrives without culture ? and frivo 
 lous pursuits and selfish indulgences had rendered 
 his callous. Still, they had not perished, and it was 
 after many heart-writhings, and after a long inter 
 view with Pedrillo on the subsequent morning, 
 that he wrote the following letter to his wife to a 
 wife who, if she had rightly employed her superior 
 powers, might have saved him from the wreck of 
 virtue and happiness. 
 
 " Madam I enclose you a remittance, according 
 "to the conjugal request you did me the honor to 
 " transmit through Gerald Roscoe, Esq. ; and at the 
 " same time, I take the liberty to forewarn you, that 
 " unless you secondenergetically second, my 
 
 " views and wishes in the affair, I shall lose 
 
 "the ability, as I have long ago lost the inclination, 
 " to answer the demands arising from your habits of 
 " reckless expense. I expect you to be at Trenton 
 " by the first of next month. Pedrillo will follow 
 you there ; and there,, or at Utica (he leaves all 
 
I 
 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 223 
 
 u minor points to her decision) he expects to re- 
 " ceive Emilie s hand. He loves Emilie upon 
 " my soul I believe de does devotedly. 
 
 " God knows I have taken every care of her hap- 
 
 4 < piness in my arrangements with P . He has 
 
 44 made a magnificent settlement on her, and pro- 
 " mises never, but with her consent, to take her to 
 " Cuba. Do not moralize (it is not your forte) 
 " about P. s foibles. I know the world ; we must 
 " take our choice between unmasked frailty, and 
 * hypocrisy. I, for one, prefer the former. P. s 
 u liberality covers, a multitude of sins. Women 
 " must be married. Emilie, poor girl, will not it is 
 " true, marry for love ; but we married for love ! 
 ** and what has come of it ? ha ! ha ! It is well 
 * enough for boys and girls to dream about, and 
 " novelists to string their stories on ; but you and I 
 " know it is all cursed dupery. All that can be 
 " secured in matrimonial life is pecuniary indepen- 
 ;t deuce. To this I have attended with parental 
 " fidelity. 
 
 " You must do your part ; your influence over 
 "" E. is unbounded; and if you choose to exercise it. 
 " you can incline her (force is of course out of the 
 " question) to do that, on which, let me tell you> 
 ** madam, your as well as my happiness happiness ! 
 " existence depends. We are ruined, dishonored, 
 " if this affair is not brought to a fortunate conclu- 
 u sion. I tell you this because it is necessary yon 
 " should know the worst, to second me as you 
 " should ; but make no unessential communications 
 " to poor E. God preserve that cheek from shame 
 
224 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 " that has never been dyed but with the pure blush 
 " of innocence. 
 
 " Do your part, I beseech you, and do it well, 
 "and effectually; you can act like a woman of 
 " sense. Bat I am urging where I should com- 
 " mand. Remember you have other children, and 
 " will have future wants. Can you look poverty 
 " and disgrace in the face ? If not, you know the 
 ki alternative. Yours, &ic. 
 
 " JASPER LAYTON." 
 
 While the episode in Pedrillo s life related in 
 Roscoe s letter, and the transactions of the gaming 
 house were passing in New York, Gertrude Cla 
 rence was enjoying an almost daily interchange of 
 visits with her new friends, and an acquaintance 
 that promised nothing but happiness was ripening 
 into intimacy. Mrs. Layton found herself com 
 pelled by the receipt of her husband s letter, sud 
 denly to suspend this intercourse, and she despatch 
 ed the following note to Gertrude, in which, as will 
 be seen, she did not hint at the place of her destina 
 tion after she left Upton s-p ^chase. She had her 
 reasons for this reserve. She feared that Mrs. Up 
 ton would propose to accompany her, as a ride to 
 Trenton from her residence was a convenient and 
 tempting jaunt of pleasure ; and she meant that her 
 going there should appear to have been the conse 
 quence of a subsequent arrangement. 
 
 " It is with inexpressible sorrow, my sweetest 
 " friend, that I am compelled to bid you adieu with- 
 " out again seeing you. We take our departure 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 225 
 
 "early in the morning. Poor Em is quite heart- 
 " broken about it. We are both under the tyranny 
 " of destiny. I resign all to the despot, save my 
 " affections; and of those, you, dearest, have taken 
 " complete possession. It is not because you are 
 " a heroine of the nineteenth century; that is, prac- 
 " tical, rational, dutiful, and all the tedious et ceteras 
 " that I admire you. No, these are qualities that, like 
 " bread and water, are the gross elements of every 
 " day life, but they have nothing to do with that 
 " fine accord of finely touched spirits that common 
 " minds can no more attain than common senses can 
 t{ take in the music of the spheres. There is no 
 " describing it, but we understand it; do we not f* 
 " Dear Gertrude, you must be my friend, you must 
 " love me ; you will have much to forgive in me. I 
 " am a way ward creature. Oh, heavens ! how infe- 
 " rior to you ! but there have been crosses in my 
 " destiny. Had I known you sooner, your bland 
 " influence would have given a different color to 
 " my life. You understand me. I disdain the 
 " Procrustes standard of pattern ladies who admit 
 " none to the heaven of their favor, but those 
 " who can walk on a mathematical line, like that 
 " along which a Mahometan passes to his paradise. 
 " My best regards tg your father. I wish he 
 " could have looked into my heart and seen how I 
 " was charmed with his manners to you ; the chival* 
 " ric tenderness of the lover mingling with the calm 
 " sentiment of the father. Would that poor Em 
 
 " had but on certain subjects unhappy wo- 
 
 " man is forbidden to speak. To you, my loveliest 
 " friend, a husband would be a superfluity at pre- 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " sent. But to poor Em how necessary. You 
 " must come to us this winter. I shall make a 
 " formal attack on your father to that effect. I 
 " shall bring out all the arts of diplomacy ; but 1 
 " shall need no arts. I have good sense on my 
 " side, and i good sense is the oracle of every man 
 " past forty. Clarenceville is, I allow, in the sum- 
 " mer, a most delicious residence, the favored haunt, 
 " the home of the genius of mountain and lake ; 
 " but in winter, when the grass withers, the leaves 
 " fall, the running stream runs no longer, and the 
 " winds are howling through these sublime forests, 
 " (a nervous sound of a dark day or cloudy night,) 
 " then come to the luxuries of civilization in town. 
 " Man was not made to contend alone with nature ; 
 " and, with honest Touchstone, I confess that the 
 " country in respect * it is in the green fields, is 
 pleasant; but (at all seasons) in respect it s far from 
 " court, it is tedious. But pardon me, I had for- 
 " gotten this was a note. One is so beguiled 
 " into forgetfulness of every thing else when com- 
 " muning with you, dearest! Einilie begs me to 
 " say farewell for her." Here followed half a 
 dozen lines so carefully effaced, that the keenest 
 curiosity could not discover a word. The note 
 proceeded : " These crossed lines prove how invo- 
 " luntarily my heart flows out to you how unwil- 
 " lingly it bears the c^old restraint of prudence ; but, 
 " after a few days, such restrictions will be unne- 
 " cessary. Till then, believe me, dear Gertrude, 
 ** Yours, most truly, 
 
 " GRACE LAYTON." 
 " N. B, My mind was so engaged with matters 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 li of deeper interest that I forgot to mention the 
 * { total wreck of poor Upton s expectations of 
 " making a family piece in an English book. She 
 ic has exhausted her hospitalities on this son of an 
 " English baronet, in the hope of seeing herself, and 
 " the Judge, and all the little Uptons in print, when 
 " lo ! she has found this morning, in the course of one 
 ki of her housewife explorations, a leaf from the travel- 
 " ler s note-book. I can stop to give you but a 
 " few specimens from the memorandum. I am vexed 
 * at the fellow s impertinence towards you ; but you 
 u are a femme raisonnable, and know that fortune 
 %< must be thus taxed. * Mem. Upton s-purchase, 
 ;f residence of a country justice convenient vicinity 
 to some celebrated lake-scenery staid here on 
 " that account. American scenery quite savage 
 4 * Justsce U. an abyss of ignorance wife, a mighty 
 f< vulgar little person children, pests no servants 
 " two helps. Dined at Clarenceville. The C.s 
 great people in America giants in Lilliput! " 
 " Amer n table barbarisms porter and salad with 
 " meats ! peas with currie ! no poultry no butch- 
 i4 er s meat. Query, do the inferior animals as well 
 as man uniformly degenerate, and become scarce 
 " in America ? Miss C. an only daughter a pro 
 digious fortune pretty good air too do very 
 " well caught young but can t go again. Devilish 
 " pretty girl here mother a knowing one. You see, 
 ;{ dear Gertrude, we have all apart in these precious 
 * notes. Poor little Upton half cried as, she read 
 * them. We are philosophers and may laugh. 
 " Again, and at each moment more tenderly, 
 
 "Yours, G.L." 
 
228 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 " One more nota bene and I have done. I have 
 "just received a folio from Gerald Roscoe Oh ! 
 " what a lover he will be ! how I could have loved 
 " such a man ! Who is it that says (too truly!) that 
 u la puissance d aimer esttrop grande, elle 1 esttrop 
 " dans les ames ardentes ! 
 
 Farewell, dearest, 
 
 G. L." 
 
 Gertrude wondered that Mrs. Layton should be 
 so reserved about Emilie s affairs, when she manifest 
 ed such singular confidence, and unbounded ten 
 derness ; for measuring her new friend by her own 
 purity and truth, she gave full credit to all her ex 
 pressions. Contrasted with the simple regard and 
 unexaggerated language of Gertrude s common ac 
 quaintance, they were like the luscious fruits of the 
 tropics, compared with our cold northern produc 
 tions. 
 
 But she had now no time to analyze her fascina 
 ting friend. The jaunt to Trenton, to which her 
 father had at once consented, on Seton s account 
 had been delayed from day to day, for two weeks, 
 from the daily occurrence of the rural affairs of 
 midsummer, that seem to country gentlemen, of the 
 first importance. In the mean while, Seton was 
 becoming worse. The family physician, announced 
 the approach of a nervous fever, that could only be 
 averted by change of air ; and Mr. Clarence put 
 aside every other concern ; and, on the very day of 
 Mrs. Layton s departure, he set off with Gertrude 
 and Seton, and servants competent to the care of 
 the invalid, in case he failed to derive the benefit 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 229 
 
 they hoped, from the journey. Mr. Clarence was 
 usually particularly annoyed by the discomforts of 
 travelling ; his philosophy completely subdued by 
 bad roads, bad coffee, bad bread, and worst and 
 chiefest of all plagues, by the piratical red rovers 
 that * murder sleep ; but his benevolence now got 
 the better of the habits generated by ill health 
 and indulgence he thought, and cared only for 
 Seton. 
 
 If the unhappy patient s malady had been within 
 the reach of art, it must have been subdued by Ger 
 trude s ministrations ; for with that exquisite sensi- 
 sibility, which vibrates to every motion of another s 
 spirit, she watched all the variations of his mind, 
 and imparted or withheld the sunshine of her own, 
 as best suited his humor ; but, in spite of skill 
 and patience, and sisterly vigilance, the nervous 
 fever predicted by the physician made hourly en 
 croachments ; and the necessity of a few hours 
 delay at one of the noisiest inns of that noi 
 siest of all growing towns, thronged busy Utica, 
 exasperated the disease to an alarming degree. 
 
 As may be supposed, Mr. Clarence had not come 
 to the most public hotel of a town, abounding in 
 every species and grade of receptacle for travel 
 lers, till he had unsuccessfully applied for admit 
 tance to the other more private, but now overflowing 
 houses. 
 
 The travellers, on alighting, were shown into the 
 common receiving parlor, a large apartment open 
 ing into the public hall, and near the general en 
 trance door. Mr. Clarence, after vainly attempt 
 ing to obtain audience of the official departments of 
 
 Vet. I. 20 
 
230 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 the house, and after a fruitless quest for some pri 
 vate and unoccupied apartment, was compelled to 
 content himself with securing the exclusive posses 
 sion of a settee, which had the advantage of a posi 
 tion removed as far as the dimensions of the apart 
 ment admitted, from either of the general passage 
 doors, through which the full tide of human exist- 
 tence ebbed and flowed. Here, he, Gertrude, and 
 Seton, seated themselves ; and here they might fora 
 little time, but for poor Seton, have been well 
 enough amused with the contrast to the seclusion, 
 quiet, and elegance of their home. 
 
 The front windows of the apartment looked into 
 the most public, -and par excellence the busiest street 
 of the town, the avenue to the great northern turn 
 pike. Stage-coaches were waiting, arriving, de 
 parting, driving to and fro, as if all the world were 
 a stage-coach, and all the men and women merely 
 travellers. 
 
 The * window privilege ( as our New-England 
 friends would say) at the side of the room, was no 
 way inferior to that in front. This afforded a view 
 of the canal, and of the general debouching place 
 of its packet-boats all elements are here tributary 
 to the forwarding system. 
 
 There were servants and porters hustling baggage 
 off and on the boats stage-coach proprietors perse 
 cuting the jaded passengers with rival claims to pa 
 tronage agents clothed in official importance 
 idlers, for even here are idlers, and all as their 
 tempers were, munering, sneering, scolding, joking, 
 laughing, or silently submitting to their fate. 
 The way-worn, weary travellers, as they poured 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 231 
 
 into the hotel, seemed the victims, instead of the 
 authors, of this hurly-burly. 
 
 A female, with a highly decorated pongee riding- 
 dress, gaudy ear-rings, a watch at her side, with half 
 a dozen seals, and a gold safety chain, as big as a 
 cable around her neck in short, with the aspect of 
 a half gentlewoman, seated herself beside Miss Cla 
 rence, and very unceremoniously began a conversa 
 tion with her. " Are you going on in the pioneer 
 line, Ma am f" " No." " Oh, in the telegraph so 
 are we, it is much more select ; but I tell my hus 
 band, that all the stages are too levelling to suit 
 rne" a pause ensued, and soon after the lady 
 beckoned to her husband. "My dear, who is that 
 foreign looking gentleman, that says he is going 
 on in the pioneer-line?" "The Duke of Monte- 
 Bello !" The lady looked all aghast at the un 
 timely discovery, that levels might be raised as well 
 as lowered in a stage-coach. 
 
 The only apparently perfectly cool member of 
 this bustling community, was a ruddy-faced, tight- 
 built, active, little man, not far declined from his me 
 ridian, who was walking in and out, and up and 
 down the room, addressing the individuals of this 
 motley crowd, with the eas^ air of a citizen of the 
 world. He approached Mr. Clarence, and by way 
 of an introductory salutation observed, that it was a 
 * warmish day. The mercury stood at ninety, and 
 Mr. Clarence blood at fever heat. 
 
 " Intensely hot," he replied, without turning his 
 head or moving his eye from the ark-like boats, 
 which were gliding under the bridge that crossed 
 the canal. 
 
232 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 "A pretty sight that!" continued the good-na 
 tured man, " especially, to one, who, like myself, has 
 travelled through this town many and many a day. 
 in fair weather and foul, with the mail on my back. 1 
 
 " You, my friend, you do not look older than m}-- 
 self !" 
 
 I think I have some dozen years the advantage of 
 you, sir ; but I have led a stirring kind of a life, and 
 kept my blood warm, and courage up. Yes, sir, 
 just where the grand canaul goes, 1 used to whistle 
 along a foot-path ; and here, where the folks are 
 now as thick as blades of grass in June, stood my 
 log-house ; and my wife, and four flax-headed little 
 boys, were all the inhabitants. I love to look back 
 upon those times, though I have now seventy dri 
 vers in my employ ; but we grow with the country, 
 and get to be gentlemen before we know it ; excuse 
 me, sir, my coaches are getting under way." 
 
 A fresh bustle now broke out ; Babel was no 
 thing to it ; for no post-coaches stood at its devoted 
 doors. " Hurra for the western passengers !" Gen 
 tlemen and ladies for Sacket s harbor all ready!" 
 " Hurra for Trenton !" " Pioneer line ready ! J 
 " Gentlemen and ladies for the Telegraph !" " The 
 bell is ringing for the Adams boat going out ! r 
 " Horn blowing for the Jackson coming in." 
 
 Where was poor Seton, and his nerves, in this 
 melee. " It will certainly kill him," thought Ger 
 trude, and calling to a black fellow, who was hur 
 rying hither and thither, as if he were the ruling 
 spirit of the scene ; " my good friend," she said, 
 imploringly, " cannot you get a private room, fox 
 that sick gentleman ?" 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 233 
 
 Blackey grinned from ear to ear ; " Missess canM 
 suspect a private room in a public-house." 
 
 Happily, his reply, half impudent, and half sim 
 ple, caught the ear of our friend, the some-time 
 mail-bearer; who ordered the servant, instantly, to find 
 private apartments, and accompanied his command 
 with such demonstrations of his having * come to be 
 a gentleman, as none may give, in our country, but 
 those who have worked their passage to that eleva 
 tion ; and none will receive, but those, whose color 
 stamps their subordination. When blackey had re 
 covered from the impetus, that had hurled him from 
 one extremity of the room to the other, his chastiser 
 ordered him to show the lady to the square-room ; 
 and said, he would himself conduct the gentlemen 
 to the best apartments the house afforded. Most 
 gratefully did they all follow, blesssing the timely 
 interposition of the bustling little man in authority. 
 
 Miss Clarence took possession of her apartment, 
 opened the sashes, closed the blinds, and was just 
 throwing herself upon the bed, when, a horribly 
 scrawled half-sheet of paper, caught her eye. She 
 picked it up, and taking it for granted, that it was 
 some discarded scrawl, and without once doubting, 
 whether it were proper to read it, and having 
 nothing else to do, she began it ; and once begun, 
 it was read, and re-read. There was no address, 
 no signature ; it was not folded, or finished. It 
 ran thus : 
 
 " You will be surprised at this addenda to the 
 
 " folio I have just despatched ; if, indeed, you can 
 
 " decipher it, written, as it musj. be, with a bar-room 
 
 pen, and diluted ink. Since I put that in the P. 
 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 < Office, I have had positive information there i* 
 " no longer any doubt remaining. The poor girl is 
 "passive, and P. is to follow them to Trenton. 
 " What horrible infatuation ! You may think me as 
 " infatuated to hope to prevent it ; bnt I cannot look 
 " on, and see a creature so young, so innocent, and 
 " so lovely, on the brink of a precipice, and not 
 J; stretch out my arm to rescue her from destruction. 
 " I will communicate the terrible suspicions that are 
 c; abroad ; if my efforts are abortive, why , I shall have 
 <c made them, and that will be some consolation. I 
 
 " think if I see , I can dissipate her delusion ; if, 
 
 " indeed, it be delusion ; but if, as I rather think, it is 
 " a timid submission to tyranny, I shall try to rouse 
 " her courage to rebellion. This crusade, of course, 
 " prevents my paying my respects at Clarenceville ; 
 u I understand there are troops of pilgrims to that 
 * ; shrine. Let them bow before the golden idol I 
 :i reserve my worship, for the image to be set np in 
 
 " my heart. Report says that Miss C " 
 
 Here the letter had been interrupted, and as Ger 
 trude hoped, unintentionally left, for she could not 
 believe that a person who could indite a decent 
 epistle would expose such allusions to public in 
 spection. * Who could have written it ? She ran 
 over the whole catalogue of her own, and her fa 
 ther s acquaintance. Not one appeared as the pro 
 bable writer. She thought of Gerald Roscoe, but 
 she was familiar with his autograph, and, * thank 
 heaven, it was not he, she ejaculated audibly, 
 and smiled involuntarily at the sensation of escape 
 she derived from this assurance. * Why was it 
 she had rather it had been any other man living 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWtf TIMES. 235 
 
 than Gerald Roscoe ? Before she had given this 
 self-inter ogation fair hearing, and while she was 
 folding the manuscript with the intention of show 
 ing it to her father, she heard a tap at the door, 
 and the voice of the negro-servant, saying, Won t 
 missess please to hand me a written letter, lying on 
 the table under a handkerchief, and won t missess 
 please to keep the handkerchief tight over it, case 
 the gentleman s very pa tic lar not to have me, nor 
 nobody read it." 
 
 She looked around the room, saw a cambric 
 handkerchief, not far from the place where she had 
 found the letter, and scrupulously covered it ; but 
 she did not transfer it to the servant till (as every 
 woman will believe) she had vainly investigated every 
 corner for a mark. She was gratified with this indi 
 rect assurance that the exposure of the letter had 
 been accidental and limited to herself, and probably 
 owing to the draft of wind occasioned by her throw 
 ing open the window when she entered the apart 
 ment. 
 
 But what could console the high-minded Gertrude 
 Clarence for the conviction that continually pressed 
 on her from every quarter, and in every form, that 
 the accident of fortune, a distinction that she had 
 never sought, and never valued, exposed her to 
 slights and ridicule ; to be dreaded and avoided by 
 one class, courted and flattered by another. She 
 thought of Seton, and it cannot be questioned that 
 she felt a glow of satisfaction that she had excited 
 one pure, disinterested sentiment ; and a secret re 
 gret that affection was in its nature so independent 
 and inflexible, that, though she would, she could not 
 
236 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 love him who so well deserved her love. Then 
 came the bitterest reflection of all ; her fortune had 
 envenomed the shaft that wounded Seton s peace. 
 
 What would become of envy and covetousness. 
 and all their train of discontent, evil, and sin, if the 
 external veil were lifted, and the eye could pene 
 trate the secrets of the heart ? 
 
 Miss Clarence was roused from a long reverie to 
 which we have merely given the clue, by a notice 
 that Mr. Seton was so much refreshed as to be able 
 to proceed on his journey. 
 
 Nothing can be more beautiful, more soothing 
 and refreshing, than the coming on of evening after 
 the fierce heat of one of our midsummer days. It 
 is a compensation for the languor and exhaus 
 tion of mid-day or rather it is the best prepara 
 tion for the full and exquisite enjoyment of the 
 delicious coolness, the deepening shadows, and the 
 fragrance that exhales from woods, flowers, and 
 and fields. A summer s evening in the country is 
 a paradise regained ; but, alas ! evil spirits could 
 leap the bounds of paradise ; and melancholy inter 
 posed her black pall between poor Seton and the 
 outward world. In vain did Gertrude point out 
 the rich hills and valleys of Oneida the almost 
 boundless view of a country so recently redeemed 
 from savages and savage wildness, and now rich, 
 populous, and cultivated. He scarcely raised his 
 heavy eye-lids ; and his faint and irrelevant replies 
 indicated that his brain was already touched by his 
 disease. 
 
 All other interest was now lost in anxiety to reach 
 Trenton ; and after as rapid a drive, as roads, at their 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 237 
 
 best indifferent, would permit, they arrived at the 
 
 * rural resort, the neat inn in the vicinity of the falls. 
 Fortunately there were no visiters there at the mo 
 ment of our travellers arrival, and they had an op 
 portunity of selecting their apartments, and for 
 Seton, the most retired and commodious one the 
 house afforded, to which he was borne in the arms 
 of his attendants. 
 
 The consciousness of sacrificing one s private in 
 clinations and comforts for the good of another is 
 always pleasant to a benevolent mind ; and Mr. 
 Clarence, whom nothing but an errand of kindness 
 would have tempted from his home to a gathering- 
 place, was in unexpected good spirits. He already 
 
 * felt quite renewed by his journey. * Gertrude 
 looked better than he had seen her for six months. 
 He was sure Louis wanted nothing but a little rest/ 
 He was delighted with the deep retirement and ru~ 
 ralities of the situation, and charmed with the 
 neatness, civility, and quiet of the house. The 
 last quality was not of long duration. One or two 
 stage-coaches arrived, and the consequent and ine 
 vitable bustle ensued. The guests were judiciously 
 disposed in a part of the house as remote as pos 
 sible from that occupied by Mr. Clarence ; and 
 Gertrude passed the evening in her father s apart 
 ment, reading aloud to him, according to her 
 usual custom. The lecture was of course inter 
 rupted by Mr. Clarence frequent visits to Seton s 
 room. His mind was still wandering, and his fever 
 increasing ; but after a while, a powerful opiate took 
 effect, and he sunk into an unquiet, artificial sleep, 
 His attendant, however, reported that he was doing 1 
 
238 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 well, and Gertrude, after giving her last minute 
 directions, bade her father good night. 
 
 As she shut the door of his apartment, her book 
 in one hand, and lamp in the other, her foot was 
 entangled in the cloak of a gentleman who was 
 standing muffled in the little gallery. In extrica 
 ting herself from the awkward embarrassment, her 
 lamp fell. The gentleman recovered it, and grace 
 fully apologizing for the accident, he relighted the 
 lamp by the lantern suspended in the gallery. This 
 was an operose business. The cloak encumbered 
 him, he threw it aside, and Gertrude could not but 
 notice, with a curiosity stimulated by the conceal- 
 raent for which the cloak had obviously been 
 worn for nothing could be more agreeably tem 
 pered than the atmosphere the fine figure and 
 classic head thus accidentally and unintentionally 
 disclosed. Every one knows how slow and almost 
 impossible the process of ignition appears when 
 waited for. The gentleman made some common 
 place, but, as Gertrude thought, pleasant remark 
 about it, which was suddenly cut off by a servant, 
 who came up the stairs and whispered to him. He 
 returned the lamp to Miss Clarence, bowed, and 
 hurried away. She turned to inquire the stranger s 
 name of the servant, but half ashamed of her curi 
 osity, she hesitated, and while she hesitated, he dis 
 appeared. 
 
 Gertrude then went to her own apartment. 
 After remaining there a while, she missed her 
 keys, and recollecting she had left the bag that 
 contained them in the parlor, she went down stairs 
 
 in quest of them. As she approached the parlor 
 * 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 239 
 
 door which stood a-jar, she heard voices in low and 
 earnest conversation. She listened ; one was Mrs. 
 Layton, her heart beat, and she sprang forward, 
 and again stopped, for she perceived that her 
 friend was deeply absorbed in a tete a tete, evi 
 dently private, with the stranger whom she had 
 met in the gallery. They had been quite too much 
 interested in their own affairs to hear Miss Clarence" 
 light tread, and there being no light in the passage, 
 she stood for a moment without the fear of observa 
 tion. Mrs. Layton leant against the window, her 
 handkerchief at her eyes, and her back to the light, 
 which fell strongly on the stranger s face. His fine 
 features were kindled with a glow of earnest feeling, 
 he spoke in a tone of mingled supplication and re 
 monstrance. Such a man could scarcely speak 
 in vain, thought Gertrude, as she turned away, and 
 stole back to her own apartment. There she re 
 volved in her own mind the probable meaning of 
 Mrs. Layton s unexpected appearance at Trenton 
 the obscure intimations in relation to Emilie in her 
 farewell note this private interview with the elegant 
 stranger the Utica scrawl ; and she would pro 
 bably have arrived at the right exposition, if that 
 had not involved Mrs. Layton in deep reproach. 
 Of course, that was rejected ; and after going round, 
 in the same circle, she gave up the subject as 
 inexplicable, and resigned her mind to the sweet 
 fancies awakened by a dewy moonlight evening. 
 
 Gertrude Clarence, in daylight, and amidst the > 
 real affairs of life, was truly what Mrs. Layton had 
 called her, a fit heroine for the nineteenth century ; 
 practical, efficient, direct, and decided a rational 
 
240 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 woman that beau-ideal of all devotees to the ruling 
 spirit of the age utility. But it must be confessed 
 she had certain infirmities of olden and romantic 
 times clinging to her ; that she loved in moonlight 
 and retirement, to abandon herself to the visions of 
 iier imagination ; that she sought and loved the 
 beauty and mystery of nature ; that she gave her 
 faith to the poetry of life the sublime virtue that is 
 sometimes manifested in actual human existence, 
 and that always visits the dreams of the enthusiast, 
 as the fair forms of their divinities were presented to 
 the inspired vision of the Grecian sculptors. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Is t possible that on so little acquaintance you should lik 
 Her 1 that but seeing- you should love her?" 
 
 As YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 WE have violated the consecrated privacy in 
 which Miss Clarence sheltered her romantic taste, 
 to prepare our readers for a sally that might other 
 wise appear extravagant. It was a night to call 
 forth all the secret correspondencies between the 
 spirit and the outward world ; a night when the 
 soul responds harmonious to the voice of nature ; 
 when the intellectual life, that like the electric prin 
 ciple, pervades the material world, becomes visible 
 and audible, is seen in the starry depths of heaven, 
 and speaks in the viewless air. It was a night 
 just such as every body has seen, though perchance 
 not thus marked in midsummer, sweet, bright, and 
 soft. There had been a slight shower, and the 
 atmosphere was charged with the perfume of all the 
 wild flowers that abound in the forest in June the 
 month of flowers. The clouds had broken away 
 and dispersed, save here and there a few light 
 silvery forms, that as they melted away in the moon 
 light, seemed the very coinage of the brain, shaped 
 in fancy s changing mould ; now winged spirits, 
 now graces wreathing themselves in flowers ; now 
 fairies at their elfin gambols, and now nothing. 
 On such a night it is treason against nature to 
 steep the senses in sleep ; voluntarily to close the 
 
 VOL. L 21 
 
242 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 natural entrances to all this glory; at least, so 
 thought Gertrude, and obeying a sudden impulse, 
 she threw on her shawl, and creeping softly down 
 stairs, she entered the apartmenj where the only 
 member of the family who was out of bed, was 
 drowsily adjusting his ledger. " I am going down 
 to the falls," she said. 
 
 " Miss! you ll see them far plainer by daylight." 
 Gertrude did not think it worth while to explain 
 the advantage of the claire obscure, and simply 
 requested a lamp might be left standing in the 
 entry for her. The man assented without express 
 ing any inconvenient curiosity or surprise. The 
 head of the financial department of the < rural re 
 sort was a little ancient gentleman, (gentleman by 
 courtesy illimitable republican courtesy!) who 
 trudged on in his narrow walk of life without look 
 ing to the right or left to scan the motives, or even 
 observe the conduct of his fellow-travellers. That 
 a lady should desire to see the falls by moonlight, 
 appeared to him no more strange than that she 
 should wish to view them by daylight. If he 
 valued falls, it was as < water privileges ; and the 
 only view he took of picturesque objects was of 
 their effect on the bright side of the landlord s 
 ledger. Gertrude, therefore, happily escaped a 
 remonstrance, and soon found herself in the little 
 path traversing the deep wood which borders the 
 precipitous bank of the West Canada creek a nar 
 row, deeply embedded stream, that after winding, 
 leaping, and foaming in its unnoticed solitude for 
 centuries, has, within the last few years, become one 
 of the staple curiosities of the country. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 243 
 
 Miss Clarence had passed a few weeks of the pre 
 ceding summer at Trenton, and was secure in her 
 familiarity with the forest-paths. It seemed as if all 
 nature were hushed in silence to listen to the music 
 of the dashing waters. Not a breath of air was stir 
 ring. The leaves reposed in the still atmosphere. 
 The moon looked as if she were immoveably set in 
 the far, cloudless depths of the heavens, and where 
 her rays stole in through the lofty branches, and 
 slept on the moss-grown trunks, or dewy herbage, 
 not the slightest quivering of the leaves broke or 
 varied the clear defined outline of the bright spaces. 
 There is something vast and oppressive in such im 
 mobility and stillness, and Gertrude felt, in ap 
 proaching the brawling, noisy, little stream, as if it 
 were a living soul a being endowed with feeling 
 and sympathy, and voice to speak them. She ra 
 pidly descended the several flights of steps, that af 
 ford but a slippery and inconvenient passage down 
 a precipitous rock of a hunbred feet in height- so 
 grudgingly does art seem to have lent her aid to her 
 mistress nature but here nature may well scoff at 
 her handmaid s negligence, for here she reigns a 
 queen of beauty ; every heart does her homage ; 
 every heart ! the very trees, as they bend from the 
 walled banks and almost embower the sportive 
 stream, seem in the act of reverence. 
 
 Gertrude pursued the usual walk along the mar 
 gin of the stream, now passing with security over 
 the broad, flat rocks, and now cautiously creeping 
 around the jutting buttresses, whose bases are fretted 
 by the foaming torrent, and whose sides afford a pe 
 rilous passage along a shelving ledge, scarcely wide 
 
244 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 enough for a heron s foot. Fortunately, Gertrude 
 had none of the physical sensitiveness that renders- 
 some persons incapable of approaching a rapid 
 stream without dizziness. Self-possessed, and sure 
 footed, she passed the most difficult passages without 
 fear and without danger. She ascended to the summit of 
 the first fall by the natural and rough stair-way, and 
 pursuing her walk, canopied by the over-arching 
 rocks, and creeping along the shelving shore, she 
 attained the side of the foaming, deep abyss, into 
 which the stream rushes at two bold leaps. She stood 
 for some moments gazing on the torrent, and almost 
 deafened by its roar, when she was startled by a 
 footstep close to her. She turned, and saw the 
 stranger who seemed, that evening, destined to cross 
 her path at every turn. He bowed respectfully, and 
 said he had not expected the pleasure of meeting any 
 one at that extraordinary hour but he added, no 
 hour could be more fit for a devotee to nature to vi 
 sit her sanctuary.* 
 
 Gertrude thought there was something like a sar 
 castic smile playing about his lip, as if his reading 
 of a devotee to nature, was l a mighty romantic 
 young lady, a construction she felt was warranted , 
 but a light in which she did not quite like to appear. 
 
 " Neither did I," siie said, returning the stranger s 
 smile, " think of the possibility of meeting any one 
 this evening. I came simply for the pleasure of see 
 ing the falls by moon-light by all other lights 1 
 am familiar with them." 
 
 " But no other light can, " replied the stranger, 
 "be so well adapted to them. Broad day light, and 
 a party of exclaiming, professed admirers of scene 
 

 A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 245 
 
 ry, convert the most poetic passages into dull 
 prose." 
 
 " Yes," said Gertrude, pleased with a feeling so 
 exactly corresponding with her own. " Solitude 
 and moon-light are certainly the best accompani 
 ments to fine scenery. They are like the vehicle 
 of music to the inspirations of the poet." 
 
 " And this is fine scenery," said the stranger; " 1 
 have been scrambling along the bank for two miles 
 above this place, and never have I seen such va 
 rious and startling beauty. The river has so ma 
 ny abrupt turns, and graceful sweeps at every 
 step there is a new picture, as if you had turned ano 
 ther leaf in the book of nature. I have seen three 
 falls, above this, of less magnitude, and I have been 
 told they occur, at intervals, for several miles. But 
 the falls are only one feature. The sides of the 
 stream are varied and every where beautiful. In 
 some places richly wooded ; in others, stern, bare, 
 perpendicular rocks now sending over their beet 
 ling summits a little cascade, that falls at your feet 
 in diamond drops, and then crested with a hanging- 
 cedar that waves like a warrior s plume rnow reced 
 ing and sloping, and mantled with moss and fern, or 
 sending out from their clefts, sturdy trees sylvan 
 sentinels on nature s battlements. In one place the 
 rocks recede and are concave, and the river appears 
 like an imprisoned lake, or a magician s well, - 
 there, 1 confess, I listened for an open sessime, 1 
 and thought it possible I might see an enchanted 
 damsel, walk forth, with her golden pitcher." 
 
 " But you saw none," said Gertrude. " Ours 
 is not the country of enchantments nature is merely 
 21* 
 
246 CLARENCE; OK 
 
 nature here. Neither enriched nor embellished , 
 nor rendered sublime by traditionary tales, nor su 
 pernatural graces, or terrors." 
 
 " No, thank heaven, no terrors. I was never 
 better pleased than now, with living in a country 
 where a lady may walk forth, at midnight, without 
 fear or danger." 
 
 Gertrude felt the awkwardness of her position, 
 the moment it was alluded to, and she rather ab 
 ruptly asked the stranger, if he had ever seen 
 Niagara ? 
 
 He was ashamed to confess he had not. It wa? 
 the fashion, he said, to compare Trenton to Nia 
 gara, but he thought Trenton must be about a? 
 much like Niagara, as a frolicsome child was like 
 to Hercules, or the finite to the infinite. 
 
 " And yet," said Gertrude, " I hear the com 
 parison often made, and Trenton often preferred. 
 She is a younger favorite and has the advantage 
 of youth and novelty over the sublime torrent. She 
 has not been heard of by every body in the four 
 quarters of the globe ; nor seen and talked of by 
 half the world. We feel something of the pride 
 of discoverers in vaunting her beauty. She has 
 too, her caprices and changes, and does not show 
 the same face to all. This is one of her peculiar 
 charms. There is such a pleasure in saying, * Oli 
 what a pity you did not see the falls as we did !* 
 and * ah, with a shrug, l we but just escaped with 
 our lives. There had immense rains fallen, and the 
 passes were all but impassable. There are no 
 such lucky chances of superiority at Niagara. Like 
 a monarch, Niagara always appears in the samr 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 247 
 
 state and magnificence. It pays no visible tribute 
 to the elements ; it is neither materially abated nor 
 augmented by them. Niagara is like the ocean, 
 alone and incomparable in its grandeur." It was 
 apparent that Gertrude had seen Niagara, and 
 the stranger naturally asked her many questions in 
 relation to it. From Niagara he adverted to kin 
 dred topics. Not a water-fall, natural bridge, or 
 mountain-resort, was passed by, till the meeting 
 was protracted to the last limit of propriety. There 
 is a peculiar pleasure in meeting with a stranger 
 who discovers at once kindred tastes and feelings 
 with our own. If it be a single sentiment, it is 
 sometimes like a word in the correspondencies, 5 of 
 a certain mystical sect, which may be a key to a 
 whole volume. Acquaintance makes rapid strides 
 in such circumstances ; and it was not singular that 
 the stranger, whose imagination was no doubt 
 Stimulated by the time and place of their encounter, 
 should linger in Gertrude s presence. He felt there 
 was no propriety in detaining her any longer, if 
 she intended to prosecute her walk ; nor, much as 
 he desired to do it, could he, after her declaration, 
 that she had come out for a solitary stroll, offer to 
 attend her ; and inwardly praying she might say 
 no, he asked if she meant to proceed farther. She 
 answered for she was not in the palace of truth, 
 nor dared she follow her inclinations * yes, and the 
 stranger, with evident reluctance, bade her good 
 night, and soon disappeared. 
 
 Gertrude now proceeded very slowly up the next 
 acclivity. The walk had lost its charms. Her 
 
248 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 mind was entirely occupied with the stranger, 
 and with conjectures who he could be. He did 
 not seem, she thought, to remember our first 
 meeting this evening; his mind must have been in 
 tent on his approaching interview with Mrs. Lav- 
 ton. If I had had but one glance at him, I should 
 never have forgotten him. She pondered over his 
 interview with Mrs. Layton. * Could he be her 
 husband ? No, he was far too young. Could he 
 be Emilie s lover ? No, such a lover could never 
 need the interposition of parental authority. Sud 
 denly, and at the thought she stopped stock still, 
 it occurred to her that he wonderfully resembled the 
 image of Gerald Roscoe, impressed on her mind by 
 her father s often repeated descriptions. She passed 
 the stranger s features in review : his dark com 
 plexion, bold expanded forehead, singularly black 
 hair, a stature and form cast in the heroic mould ; 
 the prevailing darkness of his face, relieved by a 
 smile that disclosed a set of as white and beautiful 
 teeth as ever decorated a mouth. How often has 
 my father said, thought Gertrude, * that Gerald s 
 smile was electrifying ; that it was * like the sun 
 bursting through a cloud a smile of intelligence,, 
 arch, sportive, and good-humored. * Could this 
 stranger be described more accurately ? 
 
 Gertrude was startled and roused from her reve 
 rie by what she fancied to be a strain of music. It 
 seemed wafted over the torrent, and not mingling 
 with its din, as if the breathing of some spirit above 
 her. There was no visible agent. Am I deceived 
 by the solitude, the scene, the hour, or is it an un 
 earthly sound, ? thought she. She looked timidly 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 249 
 
 around, and as she listened, the strain sounded 
 familiar. " It cannot be !" she exclaimed, and yet 
 impelled by an irresistible impulse, she sprang for 
 ward in the direction whence the sound came. 
 Should it be he !" she cried fearfully, and hurry- 
 ing through a tangled path, she came out on a 
 broad projecting rock, that although a few feet be 
 low the summit of the lower fall, commanded a full 
 view of it. On that summit stood a figure enveloped 
 in a white dress, and so shaded by branches, that 
 hung like banners over the glittering waters, that 
 it was impossible to say whether the figure were 
 man or woman ; whether it were human, or some 
 strange visitant from another world. While Ger 
 trude gazed fearfully, the person advanced to the 
 brink of the water, threw the flute into the torrent, 
 bent over it, and clasped his hands as if in prayer. 
 " Louis ! Louis Seton ! oh, God of mercy, save 
 him!" shrieked Gertrudp. The scream uf agony 
 reached his ear, and arrested him ; he looked wildly 
 around. She reiterated her cries and waved her 
 handkerchief. He saw her and descended the clifl 
 towards her so swiftly and recklessly that she co 
 vered her eyes in terror, lest she should see him 
 plunge into the abyss. 
 
 As he drew near, she ventured again to look at 
 him. His cheeks were crimsoned with fever, his 
 eyes had a supernatural brightness, his fair brow 
 was as pale as marble, and his long flaxen hair, 
 which had at all times a sentimental and student- 
 like air, was in the wildest disorder. He had care 
 lessly thrown over his under garments a white dress 
 ing-gown, and his whole appearance confirmed 
 
260 
 
 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Gertrude in her first impression, that he was delirious. 
 But when he said, in his usual low-toned gentle 
 voice, "You called me did you not, Gertrude?" 
 she replied, half reassured, and still half doubtful, 
 ; Yes; I feared you were venturing too near the 
 fall, and," she added, with a smile of admirable self- 
 possession, " I thought myself fortunate to meet you 
 just at the very moment I was returning home 
 ward, and dreading to retrace the way alone." 
 
 " Oh, do not go yet ! Why go away from this 
 beautiful scene ? Jt is a glimpse of heaven; I will 
 never leave it but for a brighter," he added, in atone 
 of unwonted decision and confidence ; "Sit down 
 on this rock, Gertrude I did not expect this this 
 is the first blissful hour of my life. Do not look so 
 terrified this is the gate of heaven you shall see 
 how I will throw off the load of life, and leap 
 through it ; Oh, it was very good of you, to come 
 
 Ollt tO See tills conie, sit down!" 
 
 There was something irresistibly appealing, and 
 affecting in his manner, and Gertrude smothered her 
 fears and sat down ; "I dreamed," he continued, 
 " an angel would show me the way it s very 
 strange I cannot account for it ;" he passed his 
 hand over his brow, like one who would disentangle 
 his recollections, "Jjdo not think, Gertrude, it ever 
 occurred to me, that you were to be that angel." 
 
 " But I am," said Gertrude, rising, and hoping 
 to govern him, by humoring his wild fancies, "I 
 am, and you are bound to follow whither I lead. 
 Come, we must hasten home, Louis follow me, I 
 intreat you." He rose and followed, half-singing, 
 and half-screaming. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 251 
 
 This will not do, I am exciting his delirium/ 
 thought Gertrude ; and stopping suddenly, she said,, 
 with all the composure she could command, " I 
 ought, indeed, to be an angel to flit over these 
 rocks at this unearthly rate. We had best return to 
 our every-day characters, Louis ; it is childish to 
 risk our lives, in this foolish way." 
 
 Her natural tone and manner,for a moment, restored 
 Seton to himself, and his thoughts reverted to their ac 
 customed channel. " It is then a delusion," he said 
 i yes yes, life is a delusion hope a delusion and 
 yet, who can live without hope ? I cannot, and why 
 should I, passively, remain here to suffer ? Ger 
 trude, did you see my flute, as it silently floated 
 away ? but a moment before, the woods rung 
 with the music, my troubled heart poured into it. 
 Think you, Gertrude, it would be as easy to still 
 that heart, as the poor instrument?" 
 
 " But the heart is not yours, Louis," said Ger 
 trude, assuming a playfulness, difficult to affect, 
 while she was in a panic ; " you gave me your 
 heart, you know, and you have no right to resume 
 it." 
 
 " Yes, I gave it to you, Gertrude, and it was a 
 good gift a true loving heart but you would not 
 take it you could not you know you said so 
 but, one thing I tell you, Miss Clarence, you will 
 go forth into the world, you will be sought, and 
 flattered, and you will learn, from bitter experience, 
 the value of a true, faithful heart no wealth can 
 buy it wealth ! wealth ! that was a cruel letter ; it 
 was the last drop in the cup. Gertrude, I felt as if 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 I were going mad, yesterday but I am well, quite 
 well, now." 
 
 Gertrude became more alarmed, at every new in- 
 coherency ; and felt her total helplessness, should 
 he again attempt the violence on himself, he had 
 purposed. It struck her, that she might, possibly, 
 lure him onward, by addressing his love of his art, 
 next to his love for her, his strongest passion ; 
 without replying, or adverting, to any thing he had 
 said. " Come, Louis !" she exctaimed, " we are 
 wasting time you promised me, some moon-light 
 sketches of the falls ; and, farther on, there is a 
 beautiful view if we do not hasten, we shall lose 
 the best light for it. She walked at as quick a pace 
 as she dared ; and Seton, obedient as a bird to his 
 lady s whistle, followed her. They proceeded on 
 their return, beyond the first fall ; and Gertrude 
 meant to lead him on, without alluding again to the 
 view, but his painter s eye, as it rolled from shore to 
 shore, caught the point of sight. " Ah ! here it is," 
 he said, " beautiful as a painter s dream but I 
 have no port-folio, no paper never mind, I can 
 draw on the impalpable air. I will put you in the 
 fore-ground you were in the fore- ground of all 
 my pictures my air-drawn pictures," he added, with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 " But I must have a picture, that I can see here, 
 take my handkerchief you can make a perpendicu 
 lar and a horizontal line, and write light and sha 
 dow, that is enough, you kno\v, for an artist s 
 sketch." 
 
 He kissed the handkerchief devoutly, spread it on 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 253 
 
 bis knee, took a pencil from his pocket, and contem 
 plated the scene intently ; the preparation for an ha- 
 habitual occupation, restored for a time, the equili 
 brium of his mind ; his thoughts returned to their 
 natural channel. " Such scenes as these," he said, 
 " are the despair of the painter." 
 
 " Why the despair ? you never fail in your water 
 views. Mrs. Lay ton said she was afraid to let Ar 
 gus see your picture of the lake, lest he should try 
 to lap the water." 
 
 "Ah, that was sleeping water ; but who can 
 paint this beautiful motion this sound, the voice 
 of the waterfall the spray, the most etherial of all 
 material things the light mist rising, and floating 
 around those over-hanging woods, like the drapery 
 of spirits, made visible to mortal sense ?" 
 
 " But you can imitate the most exquisite tints of 
 flowers ; arid surely, you can paint these wild gera 
 niums, and blue-bells." 
 
 " Yes, I can imitate them ; but in the still picture, 
 will they speak to us as they do now, looking out in 
 wild and tender beauty, from the crevices of these 
 stupendous rocks ? I can paint the vines that rich 
 ly fringe those beetling crags , I might attempt their 
 expression of security ; but can I give their light 
 fantastic grace, their brightening and deepening hues, 
 as they wave in the gentlest breath of heaven ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, certainly not! you cannot make all the 
 elements of nature tributary to your art ; you can 
 not work miracles ; you can but repeat in the pic 
 ture, one aspect of the scene. You can give the 
 deep amber tint of the water, but not every varying 
 shade it takes from the passing clouds. .You can 
 
 VOL. I. 22 
 
254 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 imitate these wild, broken shores, but not the musi 
 cal trickling of the drops, as they swell, and fall 
 from ledge to ledge. A picture is, of course, dumb 
 nature ; it addresses but one sense ; it is what you 
 can do, that constitutes the glory of your art ; &nd it 
 is a weakness, Louis, to dwell on what you cannot 
 
 do." 
 
 Gertrude had unwarily touched the wrong key. 
 Seton sprang to his feet " a weakness, is it Ger 
 trude ? do you reproach me with my weakness ? 
 Yes, it is the extreme of weakness ; but I have strug 
 gled against it far, far worse, I have quietly endur 
 ed it : I will not longer why should I ? The world 
 cares not for me ; nor I for the world. I have float 
 ed on its dark, troubled surface, like those bubbles 
 on the stream they dissolve and are forgotten. So 
 shall I be." 
 
 He spoke with the resolute tone of despair. Ger 
 trude s heart sunk within her ; but calling forth all 
 her courage, she said, " I agree with you, Louis ; 
 the world has dark, tiresome passages enough ; but 
 even the worst of them, like our rugged path here, 
 may be cheered by a light from above. The light 
 always shines. Cannot you open your bosom to it?" 
 " Gertrude !" he replied, with a bitter smile ; 
 " do not mock me : tell those fretted waters to give 
 back the image of the heavens, serene and unbrok 
 en : bid the stream glide quietly over these sharp 
 rocks : ask that solitary pine to go and bend among 
 its fellows. It is far easier to contend with nature, 
 than with the elements of the soul. I am wearied 
 with the conflict. I have struggled, and I am sub 
 dued. I have had such horrid dreams. My cruel 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 255 
 
 brother grinning at me the world s laugh and 
 scorn ringing in my ears your voice, louder than 
 all the rest." 
 
 "Do not think of it it was a dream nothing 
 but a dream, Louis." 
 
 " Yes it was a dream : and now you speak to 
 me in your own kind voice this is reality." He 
 took her hand and pressed it to his scorchiug lips : 
 " I have heard the parting spirit had always some 
 intimation of the future of good, or evil : this is 
 good this is light to my heart : I have no more 
 fear. Farewell farewell !" Again and again he 
 kissed her hand : " it is over now, Gertrude," and 
 he sprang towards the rushing stream. 
 
 Gertrude grasped his arm, and, shivering with 
 terror, detained him forcibly. " Have you no pity 
 on me, Louis ? do not leave me here alone ; at 
 tend me round these dreadful rocks ; I shall never 
 get back to my father without your help ; you can 
 return directly. Come, do not do not," she con 
 tinued, imploringly, " refuse me this last kindness ; 
 come, quickly." She moved forward, and perceiv 
 ing that he followed, she ran along the broken shore, 
 sprang from the rolling stones, and leaped from 
 crag to crag, forgetful of all dangers but one, till 
 she came to the last projecting rock, where the foot 
 hold is extremely narrow, and rendered most peri 
 lous by the agitation of the water, which at times 
 lashes the side of the rock, but five or six feet 
 below the narrow margin, on which the passen 
 ger treads, in a position not quite upright, but 
 rather inclining over the stream. The hazard of 
 this passage was extreme, Seton still followed and 
 
256 CLARENCE ; OK 
 
 was close to her, but the spell that had controlled 
 him so far, might break at any moment. The in 
 coherent sounds he uttered at every step, now 
 escaping in indistinct murmurs, and then swelling 
 to shrieks, indicated, too truly, -the rapid access 
 of his delirium. Gertrude s courage failed a ner 
 vous sickness came over her her head turned, her 
 feet faltered, and she retreated a few steps, and 
 sunk to the ground. 
 
 It was but a momentary weakness ; she ejaculated 
 a prayer for resolution and strength, and sprang to 
 her feet again. " I am rested now,* Louis," she 
 said ; " once round this rock, we are almost home ; 
 follow me, dear Louis." She advanced to the pe 
 rilous path, and proceeded around the projecting 
 cliff, without again faltering. 
 
 Seton followed to the front of the rock and there 
 stopped, and stood fixed and immoveable, as if he- 
 were part of it. His face was towards Gertrude, 
 but his eye was glazed and turned upwards : it ap 
 peared that his senses were paralyzed, and that he 
 neither saw, heard, nor felt ; for though Gertrude 
 urged, supplicated, and wrung her hands in agony, 
 he maintained the same, statue-like stillness, look 
 ing like an image carved in the rock, before which 
 a terror-struck suppliant was standing. Gertrude 
 dared not advance towards him his position did 
 not admit assistance and the slightest movement, 
 even though involuntary, might prove fatal. She 
 cried to Heaven for aid, but while the unavailing 
 prayer was on her Kps, Seton slipped gently from 
 the rock into the current below. In another breath 
 his body swept past her. A little lower down, thf^ 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 257 
 
 current was less impetuous ; a few yards lower still 
 it was broken by the rocks and tossed in rapids. He 
 evidently struggled against the current. " Oh I he 
 tries to save himself," cried Gertrude. An eddy 
 seemed to favor his efforts, and impel him towards 
 the shore. " Merciful God, help him !" she scream 
 ed, and sprang forward, in the hope that she 
 might herself extend some aid ; but, instantly, a 
 counter-current swept him off towards the rapids, 
 and his destruction seemed near and inevitable. 
 Gertrude gazed after him, speechless, motionless 
 as if awaiting the doom of fate. Suddenly there 
 was a plash in the water, and a person appeared 
 approaching the descending body. " Should he 
 resist " cried Gertrude. But he did not resist. 
 It was at the calmest and most favorable point in 
 the whole stream for such an interposition, and pe 
 rilous as it was, it succeeded ; and Seton, who had 
 not yet quite lost his consciousness, was drawn in 
 safety to the rocks. Gertrude flew to him. She 
 knelt beside him, and dried the water from his face 
 and neck with her shawl. His preserver was ac 
 tive and efficient. He supported Seton s head on 
 his breast, and chafed his hands and arms. 
 
 Seton was for a few moments incapable of motion 
 or articulation, but he looked intelligently at Ger 
 trude, and as if he felt to the heart s core, the joy 
 and gratitude that lit up her face with an almost 
 supernatural brightness. When her first emotion 
 gave place to a more natural tone of feeling, she 
 would have fainted but she never fainted : she 
 would have wept, but there was still something to 
 be done. She attempted to rise, but her limbs trem- 
 2.2* 
 
258 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 bled to such a degree as to be useless. " I 
 you to make no effort." , Gertrude started at the 
 voice, and, for the first time, looking at Seton s 
 preserver, she perceived he was the stranger. He 
 smiled at the sudden recognition apparent on her 
 countenance. " I have been lingering at the steps 
 here," he said, as if in reply to her looks, " detain 
 ed by my good fortune for your service. You are suf 
 fering even more than your friend from this acci 
 dent." And so she appeared, for Seton was stimu 
 lated by fever. " You both need more assistance 
 than I alone can give you. I will go for aid, and 
 return instantly." 
 
 "Oh, not for the world," replied Gertrude, for 
 she felt the importance to Seton of keeping the ad 
 venture a secret, " not for the world," she reiterated. 
 She perceived the stranger smiled archly at her 
 earnestness, and she guessed at his interpretation, 
 6 He thinks this, no doubt, an appointed meeting of 
 lovers, and Louis fall accidental ; that at least 
 is a happy mistake. In one particular she was 
 determined to rectify his misconception. " I came 
 here," she continued, "without the slightest ex 
 pectation of meeting any one. I therefore can 
 have neither reluctance nor fear to be left alone. 
 This foolish trembling will be over in a few 
 moments, and I will then follow you if you will 
 have the goodness to give your arm to my friend 
 it has already done us a service for which we have 
 no words to thank you." 
 
 Seton now for the first time broke silence and 
 attempted, though confused and embarrassed,, to 
 express his gratitude. " I beg you not to waste 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 259 
 
 your strength in this way," said the stranger, " I 
 will take it for granted, that you are infinitely 
 obliged to me, for a service that cost me nothing 
 but a little wetting, a circumstance not altogether 
 disagreeable on a hot evening. I really have not 
 encountered the slightest danger; but if I may 
 make a merit of this accidental service," he con 
 tinued, bowing courteously to Miss Clarence, "I 
 claim the right to return and escort you, after I 
 have attended your friend." 
 
 " We are so deeply your debtors, that you may 
 impose your own conditions. I will await you if 
 necessary or meet you." 
 
 " If necessary ! pardon me then, if I put some 
 constraint on your courtesy. The evening is be 
 coming cool, allow me to wrap my cloak about 
 you ; it shall be fetters and warder till my return." 
 As he spoke, he took his cloak from the ground 
 where he had hastily thrown it, amk adjusted it 
 around Miss Clarence. At another time Gertrude 
 might have felt a girlish and natural diffidence at 
 receiving such attentions from a stranger ; but seri 
 ous emotions give to these little punctilios their 
 due insignificance and she received his kindness as 
 quietly as if it were warranted by old acquaintance. 
 Seton s unnatural strength was the only indication 
 of the continuance of his fever. He was tranquil 
 and it appeared probable from the exertions he had 
 made for self-preservation that his first immersion in 
 the water had stimulated his reason. Gertrude 
 watched him anxiously till he disappeared from her 
 in ascending the steps, and then she gave utter 
 ance to her devout gratitude for his preservation 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 from death, by an interposition that appeared to 
 her to have been miraculously provided. Accus 
 tomed to think and decide independently, she de 
 termined to keep poor Seton s sad affair, so far as 
 depended on herself, a profound secret. * Even my 
 falher, kind and indulgent as be is, she thought, 
 1 would not deem it quite prudent to retain Louis 
 after this ; but have I not solemnly promised to be 
 a sister to him ? and when he most needs a sister s 
 love and care, I will not abandon him. From Se- 
 ton her thoughts naturally turned to the stranger. 
 4 How very strange our repeated meetings, she 
 thought, * how heroic his rescue of Louis ! and yet 
 (she was constrained to confess it) a common man 
 would have done the same, but not in the same 
 manner. There was a careless grace about him, 
 as if great actions were at least familiar to his ima 
 gination. All her reflections ended in the natural 
 query, who can he be ? Suddenly it occured to 
 her that his cloak might be labelled, and instantly 
 throwing it from her shoulders, she sought and 
 found, neatly wrought in large black letters, Gerald 
 Roscoe. 
 
 Is it fair farther to expound Gertrude s thoughts : 
 It must be told, that stimulated by an entire new 
 set of emotions, she rose, threw the cloak from her, 
 adjusted her hair, which she was mortified to find 
 had fallen down, and which, as dame nature had 
 given it neither the canonical heorine wave, or curl, 
 could not but be ungraceful in disorder. 
 
 It certainly appeared to her that destiny had ma 
 liciously arranged the circumstances of her intro 
 duction to the hero of her imagination. How often 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 261 
 
 in those reveries in which young ladies will indulge 
 when they weave the plot of a little personal ro 
 mance how often had she contrived the particu 
 lars of their first meeting like a skilful painter, and 
 with pardonable vanity, arranged the lights and 
 shadows to give the best effect to the picture. And 
 now to be first seen by him rambling over perilous 
 rocks, at the witching time of night, and suspected, 
 as she knew she must be, of an appointment with a 
 young man of Seton s appearance, and in such a 
 fantastical dress, and she such a figure ! She re 
 membered the smile she had detected on Roscoe s 
 lips, and the thought that she had at least appeared 
 ridiculous to him, was intolerable. Then she re 
 collected the Utica scrawl, and was compelled to 
 admit the conviction that Roscoe had written it. 
 This wounded her ; it touched her feelings where 
 they were most vulnerable ; and, indignant and re 
 sentful, she determined to hasten up the steps and 
 avoid, if possible, speaking with him again. The 
 cloak she left on the rock. She could no more 
 have touched it than if it had been Hercules fatal 
 tunic. She forgot that a few moments before she 
 could scarcely support her own weight, ascended the 
 several flights of steps without halting, and had 
 reached the very last, when she met Roscoe return 
 ing. She was embarrassed and breathless, and with 
 out stopping without the slightest acknowledgement 
 of his courtesy, or apology for the trouble she gave 
 him, " You will find your cloak," she said, " on 
 the rocks good night, sir." But Roscoe did not 
 appear to notice her abruptness. " I expected," he 
 said, turning and offering his arm, which she de^ 
 
262 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 clined he mended his phrase, " I hoped to have 
 had the pleasure of finding you there too I beg 
 you will not walk so rapidly you have no occa 
 sion for anxiety about your friend ; he reached the 
 house without difficulty and his own room," he 
 added, with as Gertrude thought, a very significant 
 emphasis " his own room ivithout observation. I 
 am quite sure of it, for I remained in the entry till I 
 heard his door close." Miss Clareiice made no re 
 ply, and they walked on a few paces in silence. 
 Roscoe then said, " I am curious to learn how the 
 accident happened. I asked your iriend, but he 
 evaded my inquiry he perhaps felt that his foot 
 ought not to have faltered, where yours trod safely." 
 
 Gertrude, in her confusion, and desire to shelter 
 Seton, said, " he was weak from recent illness." 
 
 " An imprudent exposure for an invalid !" re 
 turned Roscoe, with another of his provoking smiles , 
 " but I honor his self-forgetfulness in so romantic 
 a cause, and only wonder that a prosaic personage 
 like myself has been allowed to appear in the drama, 
 though it be only to turn the wheel of fortune for 
 others, and be dismissed and forgotten, when 1 have 
 enacted my inglorious part." They had now 
 reached the door-steps, and he added in a lower 
 voice, " I am compelled to return immediately to 
 the village, and proceed thence in the stage-coach 
 may I presume to ask the names of my new 
 acquaintance ?" 
 
 " Oh, no do not ask them do not, I entreat 
 you, inquire them do not ever speak of what has 
 happened to night. The life," she continued, for 
 she had now quite recovered the power of thought 
 
A TALE OP OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 and speech, " the life you have preserved would be 
 worthless if there were any exposure." 
 
 " Shall I make a vow of secresy ?" he asked, 
 bending his knee gracefully to the step, gallantly 
 taking her hand, and speaking in a tone of raillery 
 that Gertrude felt made her pathetic appeal almost 
 ridiculous, " 1 do make it," he added with mock 
 solemnity, " craving only an exception in favor of 
 one friend, a safe confidante my mother. I call 
 on the bright moon to witness my vow," and in 
 token of sealing it, his lips approached her hand, 
 but without presuming to touch it. " Now I have 
 pledged the honor of a true knight do I not de 
 serve a dispensation in my favor ?" 
 
 While Gertrude hesitated, resolved not to give 
 her name, and feeling that it was almost childish to 
 withhold it, a window-sash above their heads was 
 gently raised, and murmuring a heart-felt God 
 bless you, she escaped into the entry. There she 
 lingered long enough to ascertain that Mrs. Lay- 
 ton was speaking to Roscoe ; and then, after lis 
 tening at Seton s door, and finding all quiet there, 
 she retired to her room to revolve over and over 
 again, and to place in various lights and shadows, 
 the events of the evening. 
 
 She had seen Roscoe at last ! and in spite of her 
 personal mortification and vexation, she liked him 
 she could not help it she rejoiced in her inmost 
 soul, that she was still unknown to him as the dread 
 ed rich miss Clarence, and she finally fell asleep 
 with the secret, sweet consciousness, that she had 
 not impressed him as altogether the counter part of 
 * Miss Eunice Peabody / 
 
"-JC4 CLARENCE; OK 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 !i Surtout lorsqu ona 1 air de plaisanter avec le sort, et de comp- 
 ter sur le bonheur, il se passe quelque chose de redoubtable dans le 
 tissu de notre histoire, et les fatales sceurs viennent y meler leur fib 
 noir, et brouiller 1 ceuvre de nos mains." COBINNE. 
 
 Miss CLARENCE was up at gray dawn, awaiting 
 intelligence fromSeton. She had directed his nurse, 
 to inform her how he passed the night ; and, though 
 conscious she was better informed than auy one else, 
 she was anxious to learn the effect of his wild sally. 
 John soon appeared. " Mr. Seton," he said, " lay in 
 a dead sleep, but was nothing worse. I have not 
 closed my eyes" continued John, " the w ? hole blessed 
 night, but one bare minute, and then while I dosed, 
 as it were, Mr. Louis took the advantage to slip 
 down stairs, and pump some water on his head, that 
 was fiery hot, and the poor young gentleman came 
 back, as wet as a drowned kitten ; I was scared half 
 out of my wits ; but I put on him dry clothes, and 
 got him quite comfortable, and 1 hope Miss Ger 
 trude, nor Mr. Clarence, won t take it amiss that 
 I was overcome with that wink of sleep." 
 
 But Miss Gertrude, though the gentlest of kind 
 mistresses, did take it very much amiss ; and re 
 proved John, with the utmost severity, that the of 
 fence, according to his statement of it, (which she 
 was compelled to receive,) admitted. Those are to 
 be deeply compassionated, who are obliged to trust 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 265 
 
 to menials and strangers, for offices, in which affec 
 tion alone can overcome the weariness of mind and 
 body ! Gertrude felt too late that she had rashly under 
 taken a task she could not execute. Oh, were I his 
 sisterindeed ! she thought * I would never leave 
 him ! She blamed herself for urging his coming to 
 Trenton, and wished nothing more than to get back 
 to Clarenceville, where secluded from observation, 
 she might share the personal care of him with her 
 women ; but the physician, at his morning visit, de 
 clared a return impossible he would not even 
 sanction a removal to a private house, but ordered 
 the patient s room to be made perfectly dark, and 
 prescribed the usual remedies for a brain fever. 
 
 Miss Clarence was not exempt from the reserve,, 
 fastidiousness it may be, so sedulously cherished in 
 the education of our country-women. But every 
 thing was well proportioned, and well balanced in 
 her mind ; she never sacrificed the greater to the 
 less. The moment she ascertained that Seton s 
 reason was so far alienated, that he would probably 
 be quite unconscious of her presence and that it 
 could certainly be of no disservice to him, she went to 
 his room, sat at his bed-side, and watched him, as if he 
 were in truth her brother. He was alternately tor* 
 pid and silent, or violent and raving. The only in 
 dication that a spark of reason remained, was in the 
 passiveness with which he received from Gertrude, 
 what he rejected from every other hand. 
 
 In the evening there was a slight remission 
 of his fever, and Gertrude went to her own apart 
 ment, where Emilie Layton, who had sent her re 
 peated messages during the day, was awaiting her. 
 
 VOL. I. < 23 
 
266 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 The affectionate girl threw herself into Gertrude s 
 arms expressed her delight at meeting her in the un 
 qualified terms of youthful ecstasy, and her extreme 
 pity for poor Mr. Seton. After informing her 
 that her mother was longing to see her, but that she 
 had been in bed all day, with a violent head-ache, 
 she was silent, evidently embarrassed, and perplex 
 ed. She unclasped and clasped her bracelet twenty 
 times, twisted every feather of her fan awry, and 
 at last, throwing her handkerchief over her face, 
 she said, " dear Gertrude, I am engaged to be mar 
 ried to Mr. Pedrillo." 
 
 "Emilie!" exclaimed Gertrude. 
 
 Nothing could be more simple and bare, thaji 
 the exclamation ; but it was a key-note to Emilie s 
 ear. " I knew you would think so, Gertrude," she 
 said, as if replying to a long remonstrance " I told 
 mama you would but it is not so very very 
 bad ;" and she laid her head on Gertrude s shoul 
 der, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " But my dear, sweet Erailie, if it be bad at all ?" 
 
 " Well, I don t know that I can say it is bad at 
 all at least, it would not be, if " 
 
 " If what ? speak out, Emilie/ 
 
 " Oh ! I had rather speak out to you, than not ; I 
 am sure my heart will feel the lighter for it. You are 
 so reasonable, and so judicious, and all that, Gertrude, 
 that I suppose you have not felt so ; but I expected 
 to be in love when I married. Ever since I first 
 thought of it at all, though I can t remember when 
 that was, I have expected to love, and adore my 
 husband I have always said, I would never marry 
 any man, that I was not willing to die for." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 26? 
 
 "And * judicious and reasonable as you think 
 me, neither would I, Emilie." 
 
 " Would not you, Gertrude ? would not you ? 
 then, it is right I am sure it is right;" and her 
 beautiful face brightened all over ; but, instantly, a 
 shadow crossed it as much of a shadow, as can 
 appear on a freshly blown rose, and sighing heavily, 
 she added, " bnt it is no use now it is all settled." 
 " Irrevocably ?" 
 
 " Irrevocably ; mother says, to recede would be 
 ruinous to us all ; she has not explained to me how, 
 because she cannot bear to make me as miserable 
 as she is. If I can make them all happy,! ought 
 ought I not, Gortrude f" 
 
 " If yon can, without too great a sacrifice, Emi 
 lie." 
 
 " It seems to me a great sacrifice ; I do not, and 
 never can love Mr. Pedrillo, and you know, I must 
 never love any body else ; so it is a total sacrifice of 
 my affections ; but that is all. I like Mr. Pedrillo 
 at least, I should, if he did not want me to love him. 
 Mother says, she is certain, that after I have been 
 married a year, I shall like him better than nine wo 
 men out of ten like their husbands. He is very kind, 
 and generous to me ; he gave me these splendid brace 
 lets ; but Gertrude, when I put them on I could 
 not help thinking of the natives of Cuba, you know, 
 who thought, poor simpletons, that the Spaniards 
 were only decorating them with beautiful ornaments, 
 when they were fastening manacles on their wrists. 
 I always hated Spaniards I am sorry Mr. Pedrillo 
 is a Spaniard I cannot forget it, though he does not 
 look at all Spanish,. Mama says, he is probably 
 
268 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 descended from one of the Irish Catholic families 
 that emigrated to Spain. He is called very hand 
 some, Gertrude," she continued in as plaintive a 
 voice as if she were counting her griefs ; "he is 
 very gay when he is pleased ; he has seen a great 
 deal of the world though he is not very old not 
 more than forty." 
 
 " Forty ! Emilie ; and you seventeen I" 
 
 " So it seemed to me, Gertrude. I told mama 
 forty seemed to me as old as the hills, but she quite 
 laughed at me and quoted something from Mo- 
 liere, about his being the better fitted to guide my 
 youth." 
 
 * I presume he is a man of fortune, Emilie ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed ; that is the worst of it ; if it 
 were not for that, I could do as 1 please." 
 
 Gertrude s heart was full of sympathy, tender 
 ness, and compassion for the unresisting victim, but 
 she hesitated to express her feelings. Why should 
 she. increase the reluctance that must be unavailing f 
 Were it not better to employ her influence over 
 Emilie to reconcile her to the now inevitable event. 
 She tried to look at the affair in the most favorable 
 point of view, and as there are few substances so 
 black that they will not reflect some light, so there 
 are few circumstances in life but that have, as the pro- 
 sers say, * their advantages as well as disadvantages. 
 " I should certainly have carved out for you a dif 
 ferent fate, dear Emilie," she said " to love, as 
 well as to be beloved, is always our young dream." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! and is it not hard to awake so 
 very soon from it?" 
 
 " Yes ; but it might prove an illusion, and you 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 269 
 
 awake to some blessed realities. You might cease 
 to love, but you can never lose the happiness that 
 springs from a difficult sacrifice to filial sentiment." 
 
 " That is true, Gertrude, and I will make the 
 most of it. Mama would have been so wretched 
 she has so much feeling." 
 
 Gertrude recollected the Utica scrawl, and the 
 impassioned intereiew that she had witnessed between 
 Mrs. Layton and Roscoe, and some painful dis 
 trusts of that lady crossed her mind. The feeling 
 that required all the sacrifice to come from others, 
 appeared to her very questionable. " Do not look 
 so troubled about me, dear Gertrude," continued 
 Emilie, rightly interpreting Gertrude s expression. 
 * I never take any thing very hard. Aunt Mary 
 used to say I was born under a mid-day sun there 
 were no shadows in my path. If she had but 
 lived ! but there is no use in wishing." Emilie 
 was interrupted by a summons to Gertrude from Se- 
 ton s physician. 
 
 " Stop one moment," said Emilie ; " I have not 
 yet told you that Mr. Pedrillo is to be here in a few 
 days, and that mama hopes to be able to see you 
 to-morrow ; but she begs you will not speak of 
 this affair to her ; ( her nerves, she says, * are so 
 torn to pieces, and oh ! I forgt.t to mention that 
 I want you to come down stairs to-morrow, there is 
 a Miss Marion here who wishes excessively to see 
 you ; and her brother and indeed, Gertrude, you 
 should come down, for in spite of all I say, every 
 bod} 7 believes that you must be engaged to Mr. Se- 
 ton." Gertrude was solicitous to avoid such an in 
 terpretation of her devotion to Seton, and she pro- 
 23* 
 
270 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 mised Emilie she would make her appearance on 
 the following day. But the following day found 
 her occupied, weary, and heart-sick, and she declined 
 joining the society below stairs. 
 
 Day after day passed, and there was no abatement 
 of Seton s malady. The scene was sad and monoto 
 nous to Gertrude, but there were various incidents 
 occurring that were destined to affect the fortunes of 
 those in whom she was interested. 
 
 Nothing is more characteristic of our country 
 than the business-like way in which pleasure is pur 
 sued. The very few genuine idlers have not yet 
 learned grace or ease in their idlesse. A genuine 
 idler a man of entire leisure, is a ram avis. The 
 Duke of Saxe-Weirnar was asked by an honest Yan 
 kee, < what business he followed for a living ? The 
 host of travellers who run away from their offices, 
 counters, and farms, for a few hot weeks in mid-sum 
 mer, hurry from post to post, as if they were in truth 
 
 * following the business of travelling for a living. 7 
 Trenton is one of the picturesque stations that must 
 be visited, but being situated between Niagara and 
 Saratoga, the chief points of attraction, Trenton is 
 the game shot on the wing. Most travellers leave 
 Utica in the morning coach arrive at Trenton at 
 mid-day hurry to * the steps, and the brink of the 
 
 * great fall eat their dinner, and proceed on their 
 route, in the full complacency of having seen Tren 
 ton ! Two or three parties remaining there for se 
 veral days, was a rare phenomenon. The Marions 
 alluded to by Emilie, were Virginians. The mother, 
 son, and daughter, comprised all that remained of their 
 family a family that, from its earliest existence, had 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 271 
 
 been among the most distinguished of the 4 ancient 
 dominion. The blood of English nobles ran in their 
 veins, and was not, in their estimation, less honorable 
 for having, in its transmission to them, warmed the 
 hearts of pure republican patriots. They were the 
 very reverse of the character which (we are ashamed to 
 confess) is often ascribed by northern prejudice and 
 bigotry to our southern brethren. Active in body 
 and mind, spirited, gifted, cultivated, kind-hearted, 
 and indulgent to all human kind even to their 
 slaves to such a degree, that never was a family 
 better loved or better served by its dependents ; and 
 so far from possessing riches, (which some among 
 us fancy lose their wings when they perch on a 
 southern plantation,) they had an hereditary careless- 1 
 ness of pecuniary matters, which, combining with the 
 general deterioration of southern property, menaced 
 them with alarming embarrassments. 
 
 Augusta Marion had endured severe afflictions, 
 but she did not increase their force by resistance. 
 She had not the usual sweetness and gentleness of 
 deportment that characterizes the manners of the la 
 dies of the south. On the contrary, she had a start 
 ling abruptness ; but as it was the natural expression 
 of an impulsive character, of a quick succession and 
 rapid combination of ideas, and as she had a tender 
 heart and good temper, (in spite of now and then a 
 momentary heat and flash,) her manner became ra 
 ther agreeable, as suited to the individual, and char 
 acteristic of her. She was sagacious, and her ene 
 mies said sarcastic ; but if so, her arrows were never 
 poisoned, and never aimed at a reptile that was not 
 noxious. 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Randolph Marion, the brother, was the hope, 
 pride, and delight of mother and sister a man 
 that everybody might love and admire, and own 
 they did so without being asked for a reason, for the 
 reason was apparent. He had nothing in excess, 
 but all gentlemanly points and qualities in full mea 
 sure. He was not a genius, but talented not 
 learned, but well informed not too handsome for 
 any thing, but well-looking enough for any body. 
 He was not a wit, nor the mirror of fashion, nor 
 pink of courtesy ; but good-humored and well-bred. 
 In short, he had just that standard of character 
 that attracts the regard of others, without alarming 
 their self-love. 
 
 The Marions, or rather we should say Augusta 
 Marion, was Emilie s constant theme during her 
 interviews with Gertrude. She was certainly, she 
 said, except her dear Gertrude, the most charming 
 woman in the world, so agreeable and so witty ! ; 
 Once or twice the name of Randolph Marion esca 
 ped her, but without note or comment. She had 
 known them both two years before in Philadelphia, 
 and she had always thought Miss Marion most en 
 tirely captivating, and so did her aunt Mary. 
 
 Gertrude was delighted to see that Emilie could 
 crop the flowers in her path. Neither of them 
 perceived they grew on the brink of a precipice. 
 Emilie seldom adverted to her engagement. Like 
 death, it was future and inevitable, but its period 
 was not fixed, to her knowledge, and she felt in re 
 gard to it, all the relief of uncertainty. Little did she- 
 suspect that her mother had promised that the mar- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 273 
 
 riage should take place as soon after Pedrillo s ap 
 pearance at Trenton as he should request. 
 
 Mrs. Layton was still secluded in her own apart 
 ment, and beguiled Gertrude and Emilie and 
 herself too with exaggerated expressions of sensi 
 bility and suffering ! * She could not see Gertrude, 
 so said the little twisted pencil-scrawled notes which 
 she sent her twice and thrice a day, an indifferent 
 person she could meet without emotion; but her 
 nerves and affections were so interwoven that one 
 could not be touched without the other vibrating. She 
 was sustained by the consciousness of performing a 
 necessary duty, but she had nothing of the martyr 
 in her composition, and she shrunk from the fagot 
 and the pile. She thanked heaven, poor Em had 
 not the sad inheritance of her sensibility. In a few 
 days she hoped to see Gertrude but now her 
 nerves required solitude and a dark room. 
 
 Of all the mysteries and obliquities of the human 
 mind, the arts of self-delusion are the most curious. 
 No doubt Mrs. Layton s imagination figured the 
 fagot and the pile, but was it the martyr or the cul 
 prit that suffered f 
 
 " Dear Gertrude," said Emilie, bursting into 
 her apartment, and looking as bright and fresh as 
 a sunny morning in June, " we are all going to the 
 falls this afternoon do promise you will go with 
 us." Mr. Clarence, who chanced to enter the room 
 at the same moment, enforced Emilie s entreaties, 
 and Gertrude promised to join her in the parlor in 
 the course of half an hour. Accordingly she went 
 to the parlor at the appointed time ; but finding no 
 
274 CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 one there, she passed into a small adjoining apart 
 ment, and while she was awaiting Emilie she exa 
 mined a collection of minerals belonging to mine- 
 host of the < rural resort, a versatile genius, who is 
 well known to have diversified the labors of his call 
 ing with occasional lectures on the popular sciences. 
 Directly, two other persons entered the parlor, but 
 as their voices were unknown to her, she remained 
 where she was, secluded from observation. 
 
 After some common-place remarks about the 
 weather, the lady said abruptly, " Have you made 
 up your mind, Randolph ?" 
 
 " About what, Augusta?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! don t blush so upon my honor, I did 
 not allude to Emilie Layton." 
 
 " I did not imagine you did, Augusta." 
 
 " Oh, not at all ; and you were not thinking of 
 her were you ?" 
 
 " And if I were?" 
 
 " If, indeed ! No, no, Randolph, you must not 
 enact the lover there a beautiful gem she is but 
 not for your cabinet. Did you ever see such rich 
 hazle eyes, and dark eye-lashes, with such fair hair, 
 and exquisite skin ? did you ever, Randolph ?" 
 
 " Why do you ask me, Augusta? you know 1 
 never did." 
 
 " And such dimples and lips and her fairy 
 Fanella figure and her exquisite little feet. I do 
 not believe Pauline Borghese s were as pretty, 
 though it was her custom to denude them to the ad 
 miring eyes of her visiters do you, Randolph: 
 Well may you look grave, It was a cross acci- 
 lent that cast her in your way just now, when such 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 275 
 
 an opportunity of falling eligibly in love is at hand 
 when, for once, love and reason might meet 
 together in good fellowship." 
 
 " As they never did meet, Augusta." 
 
 " Ah, that is the cant of one and twenty. But 
 matters are differently arranged with such veterans 
 as mama and I. You should hear some of our 
 colloquies. Dear mama ! nothing is more amusing 
 than the struggles of her natural tastes against the 
 vulgar necessities of this * bank-note world. In 
 your selection of a wife and mama has no doubt 
 you can select from the whole sex she would not 
 allow the lady s fortune to be even a make-weight 
 in the scale of your favor ; but the trifling acces 
 sory the little accident of fortune removes the 
 only objection to Randolph s marriage, so says 
 mama. Removes the objection ! was ever a pe 
 cuniary motive more ingeniously staled, and in sin 
 gleness of heart too. And truly, Randolph, if thi? 
 Miss Clarence is the paragon of excellence that 
 Emilie represents her, the one objection is removed." 
 
 " But, Augusta, what if there be in my heart a 
 thousand and one objections ?" 
 
 " To Miss Clarence ?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! no. What am I to Hecuba, or what 
 is Hecuba to me ?" 
 
 " I understand you the objections are to mar 
 rying any woman, save one ?" 
 
 Marion shut the outer door, and then replied. 
 "Yes, Augusta, save one. From you, my dear 
 sister, I have no concealments." 
 
 Miss Marion made no reply for some moments 
 when she did, her voice was changed from raillery to 
 
276 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 tender seriousness, " I am sorry, Randolph heartily 
 sorry but cannot blame you. All the loves and graces 
 have combined in that pretty creature against your 
 prudence ; and then her beauty is so true an index of 
 her sweet, innocent spirit. Well, it can t be helped, 
 and so there s an end of it. No, I do not blame you. 
 On the very verge of the frigid zone of old maidism 
 as I am, there is nothing I so truly sympathize 
 with as a youthful, reckless, true love a love that 
 hopes, expects, and believes all things and fears 
 nothing. Randolph, from the time we knew Emilie 
 in Philadelphia, and you used to carry her music-* 
 book to school for her, I have had a presentiment 
 of this, and when we met here, I was sure you, 
 had turned the critical page in the book of fate." 
 
 " And you permitted me to read it without advicjfc 
 or warning. God bless you, my dear Augusta." 
 
 Nothing makes a young heart overflow with gra^ 
 titude like meeting (especially if unexpected) with 
 hearty sympathy in a love affair. Randolph Ma 
 rion was a pattern of fraternal affection, but never 
 had he felt more tenderly towards his sister than at 
 this moment ; and when she proceeded to give him 
 more unequivocal proofs of her sympathy, his feel 
 ings were raised to a higher pitch than tenderness. 
 
 " Randolph," she said, " I am frank and direct, 
 and must to the point. I like to remove all move>- 
 able obstacles. I do not mean to be pathetic ; but 
 you know * there are but two of us, and between 
 us two but one heart. I have some fortune, thanks 
 to aunt Molly there are sad rents in our patrimo 
 nial estate take what I have and repair them, and 
 in return, my dear brother, give me in fee simple a 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 277 
 
 rocking-chair at your fire-side, and that, with a life 
 estate in your heart, is all I ask." 
 
 Marion threw his arms around his sister s neck, 
 and expressed in a few broken sentences his admi 
 ration of her generosity, and his determination not 
 to accept it. 
 
 "It is no sudden impulse of generosity, Ran 
 dolph, but that which I have long expected and de 
 termined to do. Since the event that fatally and for 
 ever extinguished my hopes, nothing remains for 
 me but to make others happy ; and that, I suspect, 
 after all, is the surest way of making myself so." 
 At this moment the door opened, and Emilie ap 
 peared. She perceived the brother arid sister were 
 deeply engaged, and was retreating, but they both 
 begged her to come in, and she then asked t if Miss 
 Clarence were not there ? 
 
 " Heaven forefend !" exclaimed Miss Marion, 
 resuming her natural tone of gaiety. 
 
 " She must have come in here," continued Emi 
 lie, " her father told me she was here, and the ser 
 vant says he saw her come in here." 
 
 Poor Gertrude had been on the rack for the last 
 ten minutes. There had been no point in the con 
 versation from its start, when she could, without ex 
 treme embarrassment, make her appearance. As it 
 had proceeded, she had become as anxious to avoid 
 observation, as ever a hidden criminal was to escape 
 detection. She would have jumped out of the win 
 dow if there had been an open window ; but there 
 was none no possible escape and she had stood, 
 like a statue, hoping that some kind chance would 
 
 VOL. I. 24 
 
278 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 call the parties away before she was compelled to 
 make her egress. Emilie approached the door of 
 the inner room, and nothing could in any degree 
 relieve her but an adroit movement. She advanced 
 from her seclusion. 
 
 " Gertrude," exclaimed Emilie, " you are here 
 after all !" 
 
 The Marions looked thunderstruck. There was 
 tinge enough on Gertrude s cheek to manifest her 
 full consciousness of the awkward position in which 
 she stood. Emilie began the usual form of an in 
 troduction. 
 
 Gertrude interrupted her, then recovering her 
 self-possession, she said, " An introduction is super 
 fluous, Emilie, you would hand me across the 
 vestibule I am already in the inner temple and 
 your friends must believe," she continued, turning 
 to them, her fine countenance animated with the 
 feelings they had inspired, " your friends must be 
 lieve that I feel its beauty too much, ever to violate 
 its sanctity." 
 
 Miss Marion obeyed the impulse of her warm 
 heart and took Gertrude s hand. " We are friends 
 for ever," she said, " and Randolph is in love, lite 
 rally at first sight." He certainly looked all admi 
 ration. " Do not, my dear Emilie," she continued, 
 " stare as if we had all of a sudden fallen to talking 
 Greek don t ask, even with your eyes, for an ex 
 planation. Here is Mr. Clarence looking as if it 
 were time for us to proceed on our walk." They 
 did so and when they came to the steps, Mr. 
 Clarence turned off, saying that he had arrived at 
 an age when a man must be excused for preferring 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 279 
 
 to look down upon a water-fall to the inconvenience 
 of descending to look up. The ladies accepted his 
 excuse and promised to join him at the shantee on 
 the brink of the great fall. Emilie took Marion s 
 offered arm, without dreaming of the projects that 
 were agitating his bosom, or the hopes that were 
 hovering on his lips for expression. She was at 
 the happy age when the feelings are enjoyed, with 
 out being analyzed. She lived in the present bright 
 hour, careless of the future, for whatever was future 
 seemed to her, as to a child, distant. When they 
 reached the flat rocks at the bottom of the steps, 
 Gertrude was affected by the recollection of the 
 scene she had witmessed when last there. Miss 
 Marion observed her unnatural paleness, and im 
 puting it to the debility consequent on her fatigue 
 and anxiety, she insisted on sitting down with her, 
 and permitting Randolph and Emilie to precede 
 them. Randolph was nothing loath to this arrange 
 ment, and he soon disappeared with his fair com 
 panion. The circumstances of Gertrude s intro 
 duction to Miss Marion, enabled them to dispense 
 with the usual preliminaries to acquaintance. 
 They understood one another, and feeling that they 
 did so, they interchanged thoughts on various. sub 
 jects with the familiarity of friends. Miss Marion 
 did not speak of Emilie, and Gertrude dared not in 
 timate that her destiny was already fixed. They 
 talked of Mrs. Layton, about whom Miss Marion 
 was quite curious. She had never seen her, and 
 had no very favorable impression of her. " I would 
 fain believe, Miss Clarence," she said, " that she 
 deserves the admiration you express of her, but I 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 am certain I should not like her. The happy agc 
 of delusionthe luxury of believing all things are 
 what they seem, is past to me. Experience has been 
 to me like the magical unguent with which poor 
 Lelia anointed her eyes, that enabled her mortal 
 vision to penetrate through all disguises into the 
 sins and miseries of fairy land. Mrs. Layton is a 
 woman of fashion a belle at forty ! No, I am 
 sure I shall not like her. Thank Heaven, Emilie 
 has not been long enough in her atmosphere a 
 malaria it is to be infected by her." Gertrude 
 interrupted Miss Marion to ask if she knew the 
 gentleman who had just descended the steps, and 
 who after a keen glance at them, eagerly surveyed 
 the only traversable path. " I think I have seen 
 him before," she said, after a moment s conside 
 ration. " Oh, yes, that dog 1 recollect perfectly." 
 She pointed to a beautiful liver-colored little 
 spaniel, with white tips to his feet and ears, and 
 his sides fleckered with spots so white and dis 
 tinct, that they appeared like wreaths of snow 
 just lightly thrown there. I remember now, it 
 was on board the steam-boat I met them the 
 dog is a perfect beauty." The dog, as if con 
 scious of the admiring gaze of the ladies, and 
 like a flattered belle, anxious to show off his 
 commended graces, plunged into the water. The 
 current was stronger than he anticipated, and he 
 seemed in imminent, danger of being swept away ; 
 but he courageously buffetted the waves, whimper 
 ing and keeping his eye fixed on his master, who 
 sprang to the brink of the water, crying, " Bravo ! 
 bravo ! Triton, my good fellow ! bravo ! courage 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 28] 
 
 mon petit !" He looked as if he would plunge in for 
 his favorite, if it were necessary. But it was not 
 Triton came safe to land, and while he was shaking 
 a shower from his pretty sides, and receiving his 
 master s caresses, Gertrude anxiously demanded of 
 Miss Marion if she knew the gentleman s name. 
 11 1 do not I meant to have inquired it is such a 
 burden off your mind when you find out a stranger s 
 name he is evidently a foreigner." 
 
 " A foreigner !" echoed Miss Clarence. 
 
 " You start, as if a foreigner were of course a 
 pirate, or a great bandit." 
 
 The only foreigner Gertrude thought of, at that 
 moment, certainly seemed to her to belong to the class 
 of spoilers. Though Emilie had told her, Pedrillo 
 did not look like a Spaniard, yet Gertrude s imagi 
 nation had pictured him with dark eyes ; with a face 
 of more shade than light, and in every shadow lurk 
 ing some deep mystery or bad design. The gen 
 tleman had large and very light blue eyes, and 
 a fair, clear complexion, though rather deepening to 
 the hue of the bon vivant, and Gertrude thought at 
 first sight, (for we would put in a saving clause for 
 her sagacity,) had rather an open, agreeable expres 
 sion. 
 
 " What does your practised eye," she asked Miss 
 Marion, " see of the foreigner in that gentleman ?" 
 
 " What ! why, in the first place, observe his air 
 the tout-ensemble he has nothing of the don t care, 
 negligent demeanour of our countrymen who, from 
 living always among their equals, from having no 
 superiors to obey, nor inferiors to command, get 
 this easy, indifferent, and careless manner. Our 
 24* 
 
282 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 quiet, plodding, uneventful, comfortable lives, are 
 stamped on our faces. They are as different from 
 the Europeans, as the appearance of a tame animal, 
 from a wild one. After the smooth surface of 
 youth is broken up, the face bears the record of in 
 dividual experience. I was struck with this, in look 
 ing at David s picture of the coronation. The re 
 markable men there clustered around their master, 
 the miracle of the age, looked as if they had lived in 
 an atmosphere of pure oxygen. I remember turn 
 ing my eyes from the picture to the sober citizens 
 who were gazing at it, and thinking that their faces 
 were as spiritless as shaking Quakers." 
 
 " But these are indications to the gifted eye," 
 .-aid Gertrude. 
 
 " There are others then, more obvious. Just 
 cast your eye on this gentleman, now his hat is off : 
 you may, for he does not seem conscious of our ex 
 istence that profusion of hair, would be a curiosity 
 on an American head, over five and twenty ; and this 
 gentleman has some dozen years more than that and 
 observe, as he passes his hand over his fajce,those large, 
 richly set rings. I never saw an American ( I mean, of 
 course, a man past boyishness and dandyism) with 
 more than one, and that, some simple token or me 
 morial ; and finally, see the string of little silver 
 bells on his dog s collar an American would not 
 venture an appendage so pretty and fantastical. 
 But see, he is coming towards us, and means to 
 speak of course he is not an Englishman." 
 
 The stranger bowed courteously, and made some 
 common-pjace remarks on the scenery. Whether 
 his accent were foreign, or merely peculiar to the in- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 283 
 
 dividual, it was difficult to determine. He compar 
 ed the falls to those on the Caatskill the Cohoes, 
 the falls of the Genesee, Niagara, la Chaudiere, and 
 Montmorenci. This was all American, and Ger 
 trude began to think her companion s sagacity was at 
 fault ; but in the next breath, he spoke of the falls of 
 the Clyde, of Tivoli, and Schuff hausen, as if equally 
 familiar with them. He affected nothing of the 
 amateur of nature, but appeared the citizen of the 
 world, who, habitually adapts himself to the taste 
 of the company in which he happens to fall. The 
 ladies rose to pursue their walk, and he bowed, and 
 preceded them at so quick a pace that he was soon 
 out of sight. Brief as their interview had been, 
 Gertrude was satisfied that Miss Marion was right 
 in her conjectures, and instinctively as she shrunk 
 from it, she believed that she ought to rejoice inPe- 
 drillo s arrival. The sooner poor Marion was awa 
 kened from his dream, the better ; and certainly too, 
 the sooner Emilie was recalled from the labyrinth, 
 into which she was blindly plunging. But even her 
 deep interest in her friend was driven from Ger 
 trude s mind, at repassing the rocks on which she 
 had suffered with Seton the agonies of deadly fear 
 and despair some gentler remembrances beamed 
 athwart her mind. 
 
 An abrupt turn in their walk, now again brought 
 the ladies in view of, and near to the stranger. He 
 stood partly concealed by a cluster of dwarf- 
 beeches, his face half averted from them, but still 
 they could see that his brow was contracted, his lips 
 compressed, and his eye eagerly fixed on some ob 
 ject ; and instantly Gertrude perceived that object 
 
284 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 was Emilie, and she felt assured the stranger was Pe- 
 drillo. Emilie stood beyond, and far above them, 
 on the flat surface of a projecting rock. Her Leg 
 horn cottage-hat, tied with pink ribbons, had fallen 
 back, and Randolph was interweaving her beautiful 
 tresses with wild flowers. She appeared as lovely, 
 and both were as happy as spirits of paradise ; and 
 Pedrillo seemed to regard them with that oblique and 
 evil eye, that Satan bent on our first parents in their 
 blest abode that eye of mingled and contending 
 passions, that expresses the ruined soul. Both the 
 ladies stopped, and stood motionless. 
 
 All parties were near the great fall. Mr. Clar 
 ence was in the porch of the little shantee that over 
 looks the cascade. Randolph and Emilie had as 
 cended some distance above the basin of the tor 
 rent, by the foot-path, that winding around the per 
 pendicular rocks, and mounting the bare sides of 
 those that are less precipitous, affords a safe, and 
 not very difficult ascent to the cautious and agile 
 passenger. As we have said, Emilie and Marion 
 were standing on the platform of a projecting rock, 
 when Pedrillo first discerned them there they 
 stood, the world forgetting. It was one of those 
 few blissful moments of life, that borrows nothing 
 from memory, and asks nothing from hope. Such 
 moments are too often a prelude to weary hours of 
 sorrow ; they were fleeting to Emilie, for recalled 
 to actual existence by a strong and unequivocal ex 
 pression of Randolph s tenderness, her engage 
 ment darted into her mind; she started as if a dag 
 ger had pierced her heart, and turned from her lover. 
 As she did so, she saw Pedrillo ; she encountered 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 285 
 
 his glance, and she felt to her inmost soul all it 
 conveyed. She uttered a faint exclamation and 
 turned from the rock to ascend the cliff. She left 
 his side, or rather sprang from him so abruptly, that 
 Marion was not aware of her intention till she was 
 some fe<?tin advance of him. " Be careful,Emilie !" 
 he cried, "Stop! for Heaven s sake, stop let me 
 precede you. Emilie! Emilie ! stop !" he continu 
 ed, as she, without hearing or heeding him, pressed 
 on. "Just ahead of you, is a most perilous place 
 for God s sake, stop! Emilie! Emilie! you are 
 below the path !" 
 
 Still she heeded not, but pressed on with that fear 
 lessness that sometimes secures from accident. But 
 here there was but one security but one safe path, 
 and from that she had unconsciously deviated. Mr. 
 Clarence saw from above her imminent peril, and 
 screamed to her to stop. Gertrude and Miss Marion 
 perceived, that one more step, and her fate was inevi 
 table ; and in the same breath, they uttered a shriek of 
 terror. Pedrillo, too, in a voice that resounded from 
 shore to shore, shouted Beware ! Randolph, only, 
 was silent ; almost petrified by the immediate pre 
 sence of the danger of which he saw the full extent 
 without a hope to rescue her* The panic was now 
 fully communicated to Emilie. The shouts above and 
 below confounded her, without conveying any distinct 
 intimation to her mind. Already her foot was on 
 some loose stones that projected over the edge of the 
 precipice, and only half sustained by the earth in 
 which they were embedded, must be dislodged by the 
 slightest force. She felt them sliding from beneath 
 her feet, and made one more leap forward, but there 
 
286 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 the support was still more treacherous the stones 
 gave way at the first touch of her foot, and she felt 
 herself sinking with them. Instinctively she stretch 
 ed out her arms, and grasped a bough of hanging 
 cedar that depended over the cliff. Her hold was 
 too weak to sustain the weight of her body, and yet 
 tenacious enough to check her descent. Many feet, 
 sheer down the precipice she went, her hands slip 
 ping near to the extremity of the limb where though 
 scarcely as thick as a common sized rope, it yet sup 
 ported her. 
 
 So powerful is the instinct of self-preservation, 
 that the most weak, and timid, and inexperienced, 
 left alone, without any possibility of help but in the 
 energy of their own efforts, have manifested an 
 amazing power in perceiving and grasping at any 
 means of salvation from destruction. Her friends 
 were gazing in despair. They saw the limb swing 
 back from her released grasp, and believed that 
 all was over. Not Randolph, for he had already 
 descended the precipice with desperate velocity, 
 and from below he saw Emilie, with the heaven 
 inspired instinct that would have guided a kid over 
 a mountain crag, gently release one hand from 
 the bough and grasp some fibrous twigs, that 
 shot out from a fissure in the rock and just where 
 she needed the support, and where alone it would 
 avail her, there was a cleft in which she placed 
 her feet. One giddy glance she gave to the preci 
 pice below, and the foaming abyss that lashed 
 its side, then turned her face, pressed her brow to 
 the rock, and resolutely closed her eyes to shut out 
 the appalling scene. Pedrillo and Marion now ex- 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 281 
 
 plored the precipice with intense and almost equal 
 anxiety, to find some mode of rescuing her from the 
 frightful position, that it was evident she could not 
 long maintain. At the same moment they perceiv 
 ed a fissure in, or rather a ledge, of the-rock, just wide 
 enough for a possible, though most perilous passage, 
 from the platform from which Emilie had started to 
 a place a few feet below, and parallel to that where 
 she now was. Both at the same instant sprang to 
 wards the platform. Pedrillo was nearest and first 
 attained it, and thus secured himself the precedence 
 on the narrow ledge. Marion s satisfaction at see 
 ing him rapidly approach Emilie to give her the aid, 
 which, if it came not soon would come too late, was 
 strangely mingled with disappointment at thus being- 
 rendered, by the interposition of a stranger, useless 
 to her for whose safety he would freely have given 
 his life. But he soon lost every other feeling in the 
 apprehension that some misstep some miscalcu 
 lated aid, might farther endanger the life, that was 
 now suspended by a single thread. Once or twice 
 Emilie half turned her face towards him. It was 
 as pale as marble ; and even at that distance, it was 
 evident from a certain relaxation of attitude, that 
 her strength and courage were sinking away. What, 
 then, was his astonishment at seeing Pedrillo, after 
 reaching the extremity of the ledge the point 
 where, if at all assistance was to be given, stand for 
 a moment, survey the abyss, and then return to 
 wards the platform. In an instant he reached it. 
 " Some other mode must be tried," he said, " the 
 ledge at its extremity is inconceivably narrow there 
 is not breadth enough for a bird s claw my head 
 
288 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 became giddy at the least attempt to aid Miss Lay- 
 ton I must have lost my balance, and we should have 
 been precipitated into the abyss. Follow me, sir," 
 he continued, with the air of one who has a right to 
 command ; " there are persons at the shantee who 
 can help us ropes must be let down there is no 
 time to be lost." 
 
 " Not an instant," said Marion, " and but one 
 way to save her ;" and he passed on to the ledge, 
 with the evident determination to do, or die. 
 
 "Oh stop! my brother Randolph, stop!" 
 cried Augusta Marion, who, with Gertrude, had 
 attained the platform, and was standing there, both 
 most agitated witnesses of the whole scene. 
 
 But Randolph would not heed her; and Gertrude, 
 with a firmness that was a guardian angel in all exi 
 gencies, followed Marion saying, " I am sure I can 
 give your brother assistance I am used to these 
 rocks be calm, Miss Marion, and do not look 
 at us." 
 
 " Noble creature ! God help them!" ejaculated 
 the terrified sister, and clasping her hands she sunk 
 on her knees ; but her lips did not move her heart 
 scarcely beat her whole soul was fixed in one 
 intent breathless interest. 
 
 But what was her suffering to that of the father, 
 who stood on the verge of the cliff and saw Gertrude, 
 she in whom all his affections and every hope were 
 concentrated, voluntarily place her life in peril ; and 
 that peril, to his view, aggravated by the distance 
 and depth below him. ! 
 
 In the mean time, Pedrillo mounted the rocks, 
 intent on his own project of rescuing Emilie. He 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 289 
 
 had not proceeded far, when his little dog, Triton, 
 who seemed to have become aware that danger per 
 vaded the place, sprang yelping after him and be 
 fore him, as if to arrest his progress. Pedrillo, in 
 his eagerness, stumbled over him and fell ; and in 
 his fall he sprained his ankle so as to be utterly dis 
 abled, and was obliged to crawl back to the plat 
 form, and there endure an irritation of mind that far 
 surpassed the anguish inflicted by his hurt, though 
 that was by no means trifling. His love for Emi- 
 lie was the strongest and tenderest sentiment of which 
 he was capable, and he was now condemned to re 
 main in utter inaction, and see her beautiful form 
 mutilated, crushed, destroyed ; or, an ide-a scarcely 
 more tolerable, see her saved from this perdition by 
 the superior devotion and skill of this young stran 
 ger rival. 
 
 Has Dante described a penal suffering more acute 
 than Pedrillo s ? 
 
 Marion, closely followed by Gertrude, soon 
 reached the extremity of the ledge. He seemed not 
 even to perceive the danger from which Pedrillo had 
 retreated. Emilie was not conscious of his ap 
 proach till he pronounced her name. She then 
 looked towards him with speechless agony. Her 
 deathly paleness, the nervous convulsion of her fea 
 tures, and the tremulous motion of her whole body 
 struck a panic to his heart. , His eye turned to 
 Gertrude. " Oh God !" he murmured. His voice 
 and look expressed his utter despair. 
 
 " Becalm," she replied, " we can save her I am 
 sure of it only be firm. Emilie Emilie," she 
 added, in an almost cheerful voice, " be resolute for 
 
 VOL. I. 25 
 
290 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 one minute more, and you will be safe." Again 
 Emilie turned her head, and still she looked like a 
 dying victim on the rack. Gertrude did not venture 
 to raise her eye to her. With the inspiration of heroic 
 courage and devotion, she bent her whole mind to the 
 action. Not a thought was spared to fear or dan 
 ger. "You see," she said to Marion, taking her 
 hands from the rock and standing upright with a 
 careless freedom of attitude, " you see I have ample 
 space for my feet. I stand with as perfect security 
 here, as on a parlor-floor. Here too, are some 
 twigs above me, by which I can hold. My posi 
 tion is firm and safe. " You" she continued, de 
 pressing her voice to the lowest audible tone 
 "you have a narrow, precarious foot-hold ; but by 
 grasping my hand you may secure your balance. 
 Now consider how you can get Emilie where we 
 are." 
 
 Gertrude s self-possession and intrepidity inspirited 
 Marion. " We can save her," he exclaimed, if she 
 will let us. Do you speak to her I cannot." 
 
 " My dear Emilie," she said, " the danger is 
 already past, if you will think so. Fix your 
 eye on us, and mind Mr. Marion s directions." 
 The poor girl felt already the inspiration of hope. 
 She did as she was directed, and as she turned her 
 face towards them, they perceived she was much 
 less frightfully pale and agitated. Marion gave one 
 hand to Gertrude, and extending the other, " place 
 your feet," he said, " Emilie in my hand. It is as 
 firm as if it were braced with irons keep your 
 hands upon the rocks they will support and ba 
 lance you. One single yard from this spot, and 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 
 
 291 
 
 you will be in perfect safety." Once Emilie ad 
 vanced her foot, and withdrew it. " Do not draw 
 back, Emilie," cried Gertrude and Marion in one 
 breath ; do not draw back fear nothing keep 
 hold of the twigs till your feet are firmly placed." She 
 did so they retreated one step. Marion s hand was 
 firm and unbending as adamant another step and 
 another, and Marion slowly depressed his hand, and 
 Emilie s feet were on the rock, on the same level 
 with his. Not one word was spoken. He placed 
 his arm around her, and thus sustained her, trem 
 bling like an aspen leaf, to the platform, and there 
 she sank on his bosom, and both lost all thought 
 and feeling, save an obscure but most delicious 
 consciousness of safety and love. How long they 
 remained thus they knew not. What mortal art 
 can measure or define such moments ? They seem 
 to partake of the immortal essence of the high feel 
 ing infused into them to belong to eternity. 
 
 Gertrude had passed the platform, and gone to 
 meet her father, whom she saw approaching. In 
 his arms she was now folded, receiving all the ex 
 pression he could give to his joy, and pride, and 
 gratitude, and love. 
 
 Pedrillo had withdrawn a little from the plat 
 form, and though he still stood near Emilie and 
 Marion, they were unconscious of his proximity. 
 With a feeling that she was now all his own, Ma 
 rion imprinted a kiss on her brow. Pedrillo started 
 forward, " Miss Layton," he exclaimed, in a voice 
 of passion, " have you forgotten ?" He paused, 
 ff the rocks had yawned to engulf her, Emilie would 
 
CLARENCE; OR 
 
 not have been more shocked. She became as agi 
 tated as when she hung over the abyss. A more 
 dreadful abyss, was present to her imagination. 
 She shrunk away from Marion, and covered her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this impertinent intru 
 sion ?" demanded Marion. 
 
 "Impertinent!" retorted Pedrillo, "and what 
 name do you give, sir, to the advantage you have 
 taken of the accidental service rendered to my 
 affianced wife ?" 
 
 There was an assurance in Pedrillo s voice and 
 manner that left little to be hoped. Marion turned 
 a look on Emilie that said every thing he spoke 
 but one word, " Emilie ?" 
 " It is all true," she replied. 
 " Would to God then we had perished together J n 
 A check was now put upon the expression of the 
 excited feeling of all parties. Mr. Clarence ap 
 proached. Emilie s face was covered and leaning on 
 Miss Marion s shoulder, who, half comprehending, 
 and fully pitying her, sustained her in her arms. 
 "My poor little Emilie," said Mr. Clarence, 
 tenderly embracing her, " I do not wonder you 
 cannot get over this dreadful fright. We must get 
 you home to your mother. Where s Marion ? Ah, 
 there he goes, running away from our compliments. 
 It was a knightly feat, but he should not withdraw 
 till the fair ladye is in her bower again." 
 
 And how to get the ladies to their bower again 
 was the next consideration ; but as this was achieved 
 by ordinary means, we shall not detain our readers 
 with the details. 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 293 
 
 The ladies were all, of course, compelled by Mr. 
 Clarence tender watchfulness over their health to re 
 tire for repose. Gertrude was relieved from a vain 
 attempt to compose her spirits, by an urgent request 
 from Mrs. Layton that she would come to her room. 
 She received her with extravagant demonstrations of 
 joy and tenderness. Flattering as they were, they 
 awakened a passing query in Gertrude s mind why 
 the pleasure that was so fervent had been so long 
 deferred. " My precious Gertrude," began Mrs. 
 Layton, after the first greetings were over, " you 
 may have some faint idea how much 1 have suffered 
 for the last ten days, from the fact of my not being 
 able to see you. It is hard for one who has 
 Heaven s chartered freedom of mind, to be bound by 
 the stern fatalism of circumstances. I can only 
 allude to certain affairs. If I were at liberty I 
 should open my heart to you, Gertrude, of all per 
 sons in the world ; but you already know enough 
 from my poor Em to imagine my relief from having 
 the evil day put off." 
 
 " Thank Heaven," exclaimed Gertrude, " it is 
 then put off." 
 
 " Of course Pedrillo is unable to move 
 what a frightful predicament poor Em was in, on 
 those rocks ; and she tells me, you behaved so sweetly, 
 Gertrude. By the way, dearest, do tell me some 
 thing of this young Marion who enacted the 
 hero to-day rather officiously, I think I am 
 provoked that he should thrust himself forward, 
 and deprive Pedrillo of such an opportunity of 
 rendering Emilie a romantic service." Gertrude in- 
 
CLARENCE ; OR 
 
 ferred from the light tone, in which Mrs. Laytou 
 *poke of the affair, that she was not at all aware of 
 Emilie s hair-breadth escape, and she described the 
 frightfulness of her danger, Pedrillo s attention to 
 his own safety, and Marion s devotion to the single 
 object of Emilie s preservation. Mrs. Layton lis 
 tened with great apparent interest, expressed her sur 
 prise that Emilie had been so incommunicative, 
 and concluded by saying, she supposed " the poor 
 child had been scared out of her wits. She scarce 
 ly spoke to me after her return ; and said, she should 
 lie down in her own room, and begged not to be 
 disturbedshe is taking an honest nap I have no 
 doubt she is just like her father I should not 
 have slept for a month, after such an affair. Well, it 
 is fortunate for her. that she has so little imagination. 
 It will make small difference to her, who enacts the 
 hero she is not like you and me, Gertrude ; she 
 never will suffer the sad, sad experience of a heart 
 of sensibility, its cravings, its yearnings, its un 
 bounded desires, its vain regrets No, no, Emilie s 
 life will flow on, as the scripture has it, like still wa 
 ters in green pastures." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Layton, I am afraid your expecta 
 tions are too sanguine. Her childhood has been 
 serene, but to pursue your figure, the stream that is 
 destined to frightful precipices, may hold its infant 
 course through flowery and still pastures." 
 
 " It may ; but we are misled, by talking figura 
 tively. The fact is, I see, ( for I am not blinded by 
 maternal affection,) I see that Emilie is a mediocre 
 character ; if she were not, would not her own beau 
 ty excite her more , ? She will just live even on, con- 
 
A TALE OP OUR OWN TIMES. 295 
 
 tent with what would be to you and me, perfect 
 stagnation, ordinary connubial life it is a safe, but 
 certainly, not a very alluring destiny. Believe me, 
 dearest, married life rarely affords much excitement 
 to the sensibilities, or scope to the imagination." 
 
 Gertrude shrunk from expressing her maiden 
 meditations, on this subject. They were high and 
 romantic, or, might be called so, by those who are 
 fond of affiixing that doubtfui epithet, to the aspira 
 tions of those, who modify their hopes by the capabili 
 ties of our race, rather than graduate them by its his 
 tory. Mrs. Layton guessed her thoughts ; " My sweet 
 friend," she said, I see your mental revoltings from 
 my views of life. Mine are the result of my peculiar 
 position ; 1 am not a philosopher, and my opinions 
 are deduced from individual experience ; so, do not 
 let me cast the shadows of my past, over the 
 bright field of your future. We will not talk of 
 shadows ; I feel particularly light-hearted. As I 
 said before, the evil day, which God knows I have 
 done all I could to avert, is at any rate deferred. 
 Pedrillo has too much respect for the graces, to go 
 hobbling to the hymeneal altar. I shall have time 
 to recruit my spirits ; and poor Em , to cultivate a 
 more tender sentiment for her suitor. Indeed, I 
 think he ought to excite it ; he is uncommonly ele 
 gant, and a foreigner ; and that is, after all, an ad 
 vantage dans les petites affaires du coeur. The 
 men of our country, particularly our northern coun 
 try, are so deficient in all the embellishments the 
 mysterious, indescribable little arts, that excite the im 
 agination ; they are upright and downright and 
 have such a smack of home about them. If they 
 
!296 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 reach the heart, it is by the turnpike-road of com 
 mon sense, not by the obscure, devious, mysterious, 
 but delicious avenue of the imagination. You agree 
 with me, at least you feel with me, Gertrude?" 
 
 " I am listening to you, but I really have no opi 
 nion on the subject ; I have seen so little of society, 
 that I have made few comparisons. My predilec 
 tion, I confess, is in favour of my own countrymen ; 
 they may have a less polished exterior, but they 
 seem to me, to have more independence of manner, 
 more naturalness, and simplicity." 
 
 " Certainly, they have but less of these prime 
 qualities than savages you smile, but you will think 
 with me, when you have passed a winter in town 
 the thing I have set my heart on. By the way, 
 poor Louis Seton ! Gertrude, a sentiment is so ne 
 cessary to us ; so much is it, as has been said, the his 
 tory of a woman s life, that, shut up, as you have 
 been, at Clarenceville, with this man of feeling/ 
 [ am amazed you have escaped something more 
 serious than a passing tendresse. Now, no pro 
 testations susceptibility is absolutely essential to an 
 attractive woman. But come, dearest, one of my 
 reasons, though the least urgent, for sending for you, 
 was, to beg you to present me to these Marions. It 
 is incumbent on me, to make my acknowledgments 
 to our knight of the rocks." 
 
 The ladies proceeded together to the parlor, and 
 there learned, to Gertrude s mortification, and Mrs. 
 Layton s well concealed satisfaction, that the Mari 
 ons had taken their final departure from the * rural 
 resort, half an hour before. A servant gave Miss 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 297 
 
 Clarence a note from Miss Marion ; it ran as fol 
 lows : 
 
 " My dear Miss Clarence I have forborne to 
 " disturb your repose after your perilous adventure, 
 " to announce our abrupt departure. Accident in- 
 " troduced you into our family cabinet, and as you 
 " are apprised of its secrets, you will not wonder at 
 " poor Randolph s feelings, in consequence of the 
 " disclosures of to-day. My heart pleads for Emi- 
 " lie, but my reason tells me, that it is wisest, 
 " discretest, best, to shun any farther intercourse 
 " with so beautiful a creature, who is so careless of 
 " obligations and consequences. Depend on it, 
 " Miss Clarence, I am right in my opinion of the 
 " mother; and though I grieve to say it, poor Emi- 
 " lie has bad blood in her veins. I am sustaining 
 " the part of a rigid moralist with Randolph, while 
 " my womanish heart is melting within me. I can- 
 " not regard the sweet girl in any other light, than 
 " as a victim the faults of seventeen are not deli- 
 " berate ^but I talk as sternly to Randolph, as if I 
 * were Junius Brutus. In compliance with a kind 
 " invitation from your father, we have promised to 
 " visit Clarenceville, on our return from Niagara, 
 {< Till then, adieu, my dear Miss Clarence, 
 ^ and allow me to be 
 
 " your friend and admirer, 
 "A. MARION." 
 
 Pedrillo was on a sofa in the parlor, when the 
 ladies entered ; and while Gertrude was reading her 
 note, he and Mrs. Layton were carrying on a sub 
 dued, but impassioned conference ; the result of 
 
298 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 which was a request from Mrs. Layton, that Miss 
 Clarence would do her the favour to request Emi- 
 lie, provided she found her awake and sufficiently 
 recovered, to make her appearance in the parlor. 
 
 Gertrude found her friend, neither sleeping, nor 
 recovered ; but sitting in a most disconsolate attitude, 
 bending over an open letter, which she had drench 
 ed with her tears. " Oh, Gertrude ! she said, " look 
 at this is it not cruel ?" It was from Marion, and 
 began with the text of all disappointed lovers. 
 " Frailty, thy name is woman ! Must I apply this 
 " condemnation to Ernilie Layton? Why have I 
 " lived to find that she, whom my devoted love 
 " invested with perfection, is capable of delibe- 
 " rate coquetry. Am I in my senses ? Could Emilie 
 " Layton, she, who appeared full of all kind and 
 " gentle thoughts, could she, on the eve of mar- 
 " riage with another, trifle with a heart she knew 
 " was all her own ? She has done so your own 
 " lips Emilie, have confessed the truth your vows 
 " are plighted to another it is not slander it is 
 " not a dream again and again I repeat the first 
 u prayer of my pierced soul, would that we had 
 " perished together. But, my sister waits for me i 
 11 she talks of recovered tranquillity but what tran- 
 " quillity can be in reversion for him, who bears in 
 " his bosom, a poisoned shaft ? the bitter remem- 
 " brance of her un worthiness, to whom he would 
 11 have devoted his existence ; for whom he would 
 " have encountered death itself, without a pang. 
 " Farewell, Emilie farewell for ever, 
 
 "R. MARION." 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 299 
 
 Gertrude quite forgot the errand on which she 
 had come to Emilie, in her efforts to console her. 
 "I should care for nothing else in the wide world," 
 said the poor girl, " if Randolph only knew how 
 innocent I have been." 
 
 " That he may know in future, Emilie, but at 
 ,present " 
 
 " Oh I know I must not vindicate myself I must 
 suffer, and suffer in silence, and if my heart breaks 
 I must not tell him that I loved him loved him 
 with far truer love than his ; for I never would have 
 believed any evil of him. I did not know till now 
 indeed, Gertrude, I did not, that 1 loved Randolph. 
 I knew that I was always thinking of him, but I did 
 not know that was love. 1 knew that I felt restless 
 away from him, even with you, and happy if I were 
 but near him without speaking, and without hearing 
 his voice ; but I did not know that was love. Even 
 on that dreadful rock, Gertrude, I felt that I had 
 rather be swallowed up in the ab\ ss than be saved 
 by Pedrillo, when Randolph was so near to me, 
 and yet I did not know that was love. But when 
 Mr. Pedrillo claimed me, and Randolph pronounced 
 my name, then the whole truth flashed on me ; and 
 yet I had better die than speak the one true word to 
 Randolph. And with this on my heart I must go 
 to the altar with Mr. Pedrillo and very soon too 
 mama hinted that to-day." 
 
 " Not soon, Emilie perhaps never. Mr. Pe 
 drillo was maimed on the rocks, and he has himself 
 deferred the marriage." 
 
 " Thank heaven ! but what reason is there. 
 
300 CLARENCE; OR 
 
 Gertrude, to hope this detested marriage may never 
 take place ?" 
 
 " Every tiling future, Emilie, is uncertain every 
 thing but that if you disclose to your mother the 
 actual state of your feelings, she will herself break 
 off this engagement." 
 
 " Never never, Gertrude. Mama has reasons 
 that she does not tell me. She never would have 
 made me write that solemn promise to papa, if it 
 were not necessary to perform it. I do not know 
 how I could do it, only that I always have to do 
 every thing mama wishes. Mama was so sure I 
 should like Mr. Pedrillo, and I thought she knew 
 best. I did not hate him then but now the very 
 thought of him makes me shiver." 
 
 Gertrude was well aware that Mrs. Layton would 
 not wish Emilie to show herself to Pedrillo in her 
 present state of mind, and after ministering all pos 
 sible consolations to her, she undertook to make her 
 apology to her mother. She received it with the 
 best grace possible. Not so Pedrillo. His cup of 
 irritations was full, and one added drop made it 
 overflow. He wrought himself first into a passion, 
 and then into a fever, which produced so violent 
 an inflammation in his wounded limb, that on the 
 following morning the physician gave his profes 
 sional opinion that the gentleman might be detain 
 ed at Trenton several weeks. In this state of affairs 
 Mrs. Laytou felt her position to be rather awkward; 
 and she and Emilie, after a tender parting with 
 Gertrude, took their departure for New York. 
 
 Mr. Clarence and Gertrude were still detained at 
 Trenton for some weeks. Seton s convalescence 
 
A TALE OF OUR OWN TIMES. 301 
 
 was slow and imperfect, and his melancholy con 
 tinued, like an incubus, in spite of all their efforts 
 to alleviate it. When his health was sufficiently 
 restored to bear a removal, Mr. Clarence proposed, 
 that instead of returning to Clarenceville, he should 
 proceed to New York, and there embark for Italy, 
 where in a genial climate, and in the pursuit of his 
 art, he might regain his health and happiness. Mr. 
 Clarence, who seemed always to regard his fortune 
 as a trust for others, assured him that he should place 
 at his disposal a sum that would render his residence 
 abroad, easy and respectable. Seton heard him 
 without reply, but with evident emotion. 
 
 On the following morning they were to leave 
 Trenton. Seton did not appear at breakfast. Mr. 
 Clarence went to his room, and found that he had 
 gone, and had left a note addressed to him. It 
 was full of expressions of gratitude and tenderness 
 to Mr. Clarence and Gertrude ; but it was most 
 afflicting to see that those sentiments, whose essence 
 seems to be happiness, were so transmuted in his 
 distempered mind, that sweet fountains distilled 
 bitter waters. 
 
 " Why," he said, " seek to prolong a burden 
 some existence ? He was a weed driven on the 
 tempestuous waves the idle sand blown over the 
 desert of life. He cast a blight on every thing 
 about him." The note was written in the deepest 
 despondency, and concluded with a request that no 
 inquiry might be made after him, and a most affect 
 ing and eternal farewell. 
 
 This request was so far from being complied with, 
 that Mr. Clarence instituted the most assiduous in- 
 
 VOL. I. 26 
 
302 CLARENCE, ETC. 
 
 quiries. He traced him to Utica, but no farther. 
 His family connections knew nothing of him, and 
 Mr. Clarence and Gertrude were driven to the hor 
 rible conclusion that he had committed the last ac* 
 of despair. 
 
 END OF VOL. I 
 
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