fC-NRLF 
 
 

LEAYES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 

LEAVES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 BY T. S. ARTHUR. 
 
 THIRTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 L. P. CROWN & CO. 61 CORNHILL. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J, W. BRADLEY, N. FOURTH ST. * 
 1856. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1553. by 
 T. S. ARTHUR, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States, for th<? Ka.tftra 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 BY L. JOHNSON AND co. 
 
 riULAUELl HIA. 
 
A-77 
 
 L43 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 WE turn, here, a few leaves in the great Book of 
 Human Life. The writing thereon, though occasionally 
 less grave than gay, is not without its lessons of wisdom. 
 If, at any scene portrayed or any sentiment uttered, the 
 reader should smile, we are sure it will not be at rude 
 vulgarity, heartless wit, or the triumph of strength over 
 weakness. While we offer, in these pages, a pleasant 
 recreation for leisure hours, it is such a recreation as 
 will, we trust, leave the mind active with good purposes 
 and kindly sympathies. 
 
 iii 
 
 M119129 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE WIFE 6 
 
 THE DEAD DOVE 15 
 
 UNCLE BASIL S VALENTINE 19 
 
 KATE S VALENTINE 23 
 
 THE RED EAR; on, THE HUSKING FROLIC 31 
 
 COOKS 39 
 
 COUNTRY BOARDING 49 
 
 LARGE STORIES 78 
 
 "ANY THING OVER TO-DAY?" 82 
 
 THROWING DUST IN PEOPLE S EYES 94 
 
 THE PUNCTUAL MAN 100 
 
 SHORT OP FUEL 108 
 
 THE FIRST CIGAR 117 
 
 JANUARY BILLS 125 
 
 DISCOVERING A LEAK I 33 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT 140 
 
 THE DROP GAME 118 
 
 LAB AN LEE S BUTTER SPECULATION 158 
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY 16f 
 
 TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE 18* 
 
 THE STREET SMOKER 18% 
 
 THE SPRING BONNET 20* 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER THE ELECTION 2U 
 
 THE LOVE-LETTER 25* 
 
 THE HASTY MARRIAGE.. 26* 
 
 THE APRIL FOOL , 28? 
 
 COLD WATER WEDDING . 293 
 
 Two SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A CIIY BELLE 319 
 
The Wife. 
 
THE WIPE. 
 
 " I AM hopeless !" said the young man, in a voice that 
 was painfully desponding. " Utterly hopeless ! Heaven 
 knows I have tried hard to get employment ! But no one 
 has need of my service. The pittance doled out by your 
 father, and which comes with a sense of humiliation that 
 is absolutely heart-crushing, is scarcely sufficient to pro 
 vide this miserable abode, and keep hunger from our door. 
 But for your sake, I would not touch a shilling of his 
 money, if I starved." 
 
 " Hush, dear Edward !" returned the gentle girl, who 
 had left father, mother, and a pleasant home, to share the 
 lot of him she loved ; and she laid a finger on his lips, 
 while she drew her arm around him. 
 
 " Agnes," said the young man, " I cannot endure this 
 life much longer. The native independence of my charac 
 ter revolts at our present condition. Months have elapsed, 
 and yet the ability I possess finds no employment. In 
 this country, every avenue is crowded." 
 
 The room in which they were overlooked the sea. 
 
 " But there is another land, where, if what we hear be 
 true, ability finds employment and talent a sure reward." 
 And, as Agnes said this, in a voice of encouragement, she 
 pointed from the window toward the expanse of waters 
 that stretched far away toward the south and west. 
 
 " America !" The word was uttered in a quick, earnest 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Agnes, I thank you for this suggestion ! Return to 
 the pleasant home you left for one who cannot procure for 
 
 1* 5 
 
6 THE WIFE. 
 
 you even the plainest comforts of life, and I will cross the 
 ocean to seek a better fortune in that land of promise. 
 The separation, painful to both, will not, I trust, be long." 
 
 "Edward," replied the young wife, with enthusiasm, 
 as she drew her arm more tightly about his neck, " I will 
 never leave thee or forsake thee. Where thou goest I will 
 go, and where thou diest I will die. Thy people shall be 
 my people, and thy God my God." 
 
 "Would you forsake all," said Edward, in surprise, 
 " and go far away with me into a strange land ?" 
 
 " It will be no stranger to me than it will be to you, 
 Edward." 
 
 4 No, no, Agnes! I will not think of that," said 
 Edward Marvel, in a positive voice. " If I go to that 
 land of promise, it must first be alone." 
 
 " Alone !" A shadow fell over the face of Agnes. 
 "Alone! It cannot it must not be!" 
 
 "But think, Agnes. If I go alone, it will cost me but 
 a small sum to live until I find some business, which may 
 not be for weeks, or even months, after I arrive in the 
 New World." 
 
 " What if you were to be sick ?" The frame of Agnes 
 slightly quivered as she made the suggestion. 
 
 "We will not think of that." 
 
 "I cannot help thinking of it, Edward. Therefore 
 entreat me not to leave thee, nor to return from following 
 after thee. Where thou goest, I will go." 
 
 Marvel s countenance became more serious. 
 
 "Agnes," said the young man, after he had reflected 
 for some time, "let us think no more about this. I can 
 not take you far away to this strange country. We will 
 go back to London. Perhaps another trial there may be 
 more successful." 
 
 After a feeble opposition on the part of Agnes, it was 
 finally agreed that Edward should go once more to Lon 
 don, while she made a brief visit to her parents. If he 
 found employment, she was to join him immediately ; if 
 not successful, they were then to talk further of the 
 journey to America. 
 
 With painful reluctance, Agnes went back to her 
 father s house, the door of which ever stood open to re- 
 
THE WIFE. 7 
 
 ceive her ; and she went back alone. The pride of her 
 husband would not permit him to cross the threshold of a 
 dwelling where his presence was not a welcome one. In 
 eager suspense, she waited for a whole week ere a letter 
 came from Edward. The tone of this letter was as cheer 
 ful and as hopeful as it was possible for the young man to 
 write. But, as yet, he had found no employment. A 
 week elapsed before another came. It opened in these 
 words : 
 
 " MY DEAR DEAR AGNES ! Hopeless of doing any thing 
 here, I have turned my thoughts once more to the land 
 of promise ; and when you receive this, I will be on my 
 journey thitherward. Brief, very brief, I trust, will be 
 our separation. The moment I obtain employment, I will 
 send for you, and then our reunion will take place with a 
 fulness of delight such as we have not yet experienced." 
 
 Long, tender, and hopeful was the letter ; but it brought 
 a burden of grief and heart-sickness to the tender young 
 creature, who felt almost as if she had been deserted by the 
 one who was dear to her as her own life. 
 
 Only a few days had Edward Marvel been at sea, when 
 he became seriously indisposed; and, for the remaining 
 part of the voyage, was so ill as to be unable to rise from 
 his berth. He had embarked in a packet ship from Liver 
 pool bound for New York, where he arrived, at the expira 
 tion of five weeks. There he was removed to the sick 
 wards of the hospital on Staten Island, and it was the 
 opinion of the physicians there that he would die. 
 
 " Have you friends in this country?" inquired a nurse 
 who was attending the young man. This question was 
 asked on the day after he had become an inmate of the 
 hospital. 
 
 "None," was the feebly uttered reply. 
 
 "You are very ill," said the nurse. 
 
 The sick man looked anxiously into the face of hia 
 attendant. 
 
 " You have friends in England ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Have you any communication to make to them ?" 
 
8 THE WIFE. 
 
 Marvel closed his eyes, and remained for some time 
 silent. 
 
 " If you will get me a pen and some paper, I will write 
 a few lines," said he, at length. 
 
 " I m afraid you are too weak for the effort," replied 
 the nurse. 
 
 "Let me try," was briefly answered. 
 
 The attendant left the room. 
 
 " Is there any one in your part of the house named 
 Marvel ?" asked a physician, meeting the nurse soon after 
 she had left the sick man s room. " There s a young 
 woman down in the office inquiring for a person of that 
 name." 
 
 " Marvel Marvel ?" The nurse shook her head. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" remarked the physician. 
 
 " I m certain there is no one by that name for whom 
 any here would make inquiries. There s a young English 
 man who came over in the last packet, whose name is 
 something like that you mention. But he has no friends 
 in this country." 
 
 The physician passed on, without further remark. 
 
 Soon after, the nurse returned to Marvel with the 
 writing materials for which he had asked. She drew a 
 table to the side of his bed, and supported him as he 
 leaned over and tried, with an unsteady hand, to write. 
 
 "Have you a wife at home?" asked the nurse; her 
 eyes had rested on the first words he wrote. 
 
 "Yes," sighed the young man, as the pen dropped 
 from his fingers, and he leaned back heavily, exhausted 
 by even the slight effort he had made. 
 
 " Your name is Marvel ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " A young woman was here just now inquiring if we 
 had a patient by that name." 
 
 " By my name ?" There was a slight indication of 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Marvel closed his eyes, and did not speak for some 
 moments. 
 
 "Did you see her?" he asked at length, evincing somo 
 interest. 
 
THE WIPE. 9 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did she find the one for whom she was seeking ?" 
 
 " There is no person here, except yourself, whose name 
 came near to the one she mentioned. As you said you 
 had no friends in this country, we did not suppose that 
 you were meant." 
 
 "No, no." And the sick man shook his head "slowly. 
 " There is none to ask for me." " Did you say it was 
 a young woman ?" he inquired, soon after. His mind 
 dwelt on the occurrence. 
 
 " Yes. A young woman with a fair complexion and 
 deep blue eyes." 
 
 Marvel looked up quickly into the face of the attendant, 
 while a flush came into his cheeks. 
 
 " She was a slender young girl, with light hair, and 
 her face was pale, as from trouble." 
 
 " Agnes ! Agnes !" exclaimed Marvel, rising up. "But 
 no, no," he added, mournfully, sinking back again upon 
 the bed ; " that cannot be. I left her far away over the 
 wide ocean." 
 
 " Will you write ?" said the nurse, after some moments. 
 
 The invalid, without unclosing his eyes, slowly shook 
 his head. A little while the attendant lingered in his 
 room, and then retired. 
 
 " Dear, dear Agnes !" murmured Edward Marvel, 
 closing his eyes, and letting his thoughts go, swift-winged, 
 across the billowy sea. " Shall I never look on your 
 sweet face again ? Never feel your light arms about my 
 neck, or your breath warm on my cheek ? Oh, that I had 
 never left you ! Heaven give thee strength to bear the 
 trouble in store !" 
 
 For many minutes he lay, thus alone, with his eyes 
 closed, in sad self-communion. Then he heard the door 
 open and close softly ; but he did not look up. His 
 thoughts were far, far away. Light feet approached 
 quickly ; but he scarcely heeded them. A form bent 
 over him ; but his eyes remained shut, nor did he open 
 them until warm lips were pressed against his own, and a 
 low voice, thrilling through his whole being, said 
 
 "Edward!" 
 
 "Agnes !" was his quick response, while his arms were 
 
10 THE WIFE. 
 
 thrown eagerly around the neck of his wife. Agnes ! 
 Agnes ! Have I awakened from a fearful dream ?" 
 
 Yes, it was indeed her of whom he had been thinking. 
 The moment she received his letter, informing her that 
 he had left for the United States, she resolved to follow 
 him in the next steamer that sailed. This purpose she 
 immediately avowed to her parents. At first, they would 
 not listen to her; but, finding that she would, most 
 probably, elude their vigilance, and get away in spite of 
 all efforts to prevent her, they deemed it more wise and 
 prudent to provide her with every thing necessary for the 
 voyage, and to place her in the care of the captain of the 
 steamship in which she was to go. In New York they had 
 friends, to whom they gave her letters fully explanatory 
 of her mission, and earnestly commending her to their 
 care and protection. 
 
 Two weeks before the ship in which Edward Marvel 
 sailed reached her destination, Agnes was in New York. 
 Before her departure, she had sought, but in vain, to dis 
 cover the name of the vessel in which her husband had 
 embarked. On arriving in the New World, she was there 
 fore uncertain whether he had preceded her in a steamer, 
 or was still lingering on the way. 
 
 The friends to whom Agnes brought letters received 
 her with great kindness, and gave her all the advice and 
 assistance needed under the circumstances. But two 
 weeks went by without a word of intelligence on the one 
 subject that absorbed all her thoughts. Sadly was her 
 health beginning to suffer. Sunken eyes and pale cheeks 
 attested the weight of suffering that was on her. 
 
 One day it was announced that a Liverpool packet had 
 arrived with the ship fever on board, and that several of 
 the passengers had been removed to the hospital. 
 
 A thrill of fear went through the heart of the anxious 
 wife. It was soon ascertained that Marvel had been a 
 passenger on board of this vessel ; but, from some cause, 
 nothing in regard to him beyond this fact could she learn. 
 Against all persuasion, she started for the hospital, her 
 heart oppressed with a fearful presentiment that he was 
 either dead or struggling in the grasp of a fatal malady. 
 On making inquiry at the hospital, she was told the one 
 
THE WIFE. 11 
 
 she sought was not there, and she was about returning to 
 the city when the truth reached her ears. 
 
 " Is he very ill ?" she asked, struggling to compose 
 herself. 
 
 " Yes, he is extremely ill," was the reply. " And it 
 might not be well for you, under the circumstances, to see 
 him at present." 
 
 "Not well for his wife to see him?" returned Agnes. 
 Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of not being per 
 mitted to come near in his extremity. " Do not say that. 
 Oh, take me to him ! I will save his life." 
 
 "You must be very calm," said the nurse; for it was 
 with her she was talking. " The least excitement may be 
 fatal." 
 
 " Oh, I will be calm and prudent." Yet, even while 
 she spoke, her frame quivered with excitement. 
 
 But she controlled herself when the moment of meeting 
 came, and, though her unexpected appearance produced 
 a shock, it was salutary rather than injurious. 
 
 " My dear, dear Agnes !" said Edward Marvel, a month 
 from this time, as they sat alone in the chamber of a 
 pleasant house in New York, " I owe you my life. But 
 for your prompt resolution to follow me across the sea, I 
 would, in all probability, now be sleeping the sleep of 
 death. Oh, what would I not suffer for your sake !" 
 
 As Marvel uttered the last sentence, a troubled ex 
 pression flitted over his countenance. Agnes gazed ten 
 derly into his face, and asked 
 
 " Why this look of doubt and anxiety ?" 
 
 "Need I answer the question?" returned the young 
 man. " It is, thus far, no better with me than when we 
 left our old home. Though health is coming back through 
 every fibre, and my heart is filled with an eager desire to 
 relieve these kind friends of the burden of our support, 
 yet no prospect opens." 
 
 No cloud came stealing darkly over the face of the 
 young wife. The sunshine, so far from being dimmed, 
 was brighter. 
 
 "Let not your heart be troubled," said she, with a 
 beautiful smile. "All will come out right." 
 
12 T II E W I F E. 
 
 " Right, Agnes ? It is not right for me thus to depend 
 on strangers." 
 
 " You need depend but a little while longer. I have 
 already made warm friends here, and, through them, 
 secured for you employment. A good place awaits you 
 so soon as strength to fill it comes back to your weakened 
 frame." 
 
 "Angel!" exclaimed the young man, overcome with 
 emotion at so unexpected a declaration. 
 
 "No, not an angel," calmly replied Agnes, "only a 
 wife. And now, dear Edward," she added, "never again, 
 in any extremity, think for a moment of meeting trials or 
 enduring privations alone. Having taken a wife, you 
 cannot move safely on your journey unless she moves by 
 your side." 
 
 "Angel! Yes, you are my good angel," repeated 
 Edward. 
 
 " Call me what you will," said Agnes, with a sweet 
 smile, as she brushed, with her delicate hand, the hair 
 from his temples ; " but let me be your wife. I ask no 
 better name, no higher station." 
 
The Dead Dove. 
 
THE DEAD DOVE. 
 
 U !T is only a bird, Ada," said the young lover of the 
 gentle girl ; "why should you grieve over its death?" 
 
 " If the song sparrow had died, or the little wren, or 
 even the robin," replied Ada, sadly, "my heart would 
 not have felt the pain that now oppresses it ; but to look 
 upon a dead dove touches my feelings deeply." 
 
 " But why should you feel more pain because a dove 
 has died ? Its life is the same as the life of a robin, a 
 sparrow, or a wren." 
 
 " No, not the same, Henry." 
 
 " Wherein lies the difference ?" 
 
 "Are not their bodies different?" 
 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 " It is because their lives are different that their bodies 
 vary in appearance : each is a form of affection ; the 
 sparrow of one affection, and the dove of another. And 
 this is the reason why, in looking upon one, we are affected 
 differently from what we are when we look at another." 
 
 "A strange doctrine, Ada, is it not?" 
 
 " Oh no. What makes the wolf differ from the lamb ? 
 Is it not his affection, of which his body is the repulsive 
 form ? The wolf is embodied cruelty, and the lamb is 
 embodied innocence. And how good is our all-wise and 
 merciful Creator in thus placing before our eyes, in this 
 world, embodied affections, that we may the more fully 
 understand their evil or good qualities ! When we look 
 upon a cruel beast, we have a more perfect idea of the 
 direful nature of those affections in our hearts which 
 originate in self-love ; and when we look at an innocent 
 
 15 
 
16 THE DEAD DOVE. 
 
 lamb, or a gentle dove, we perceive the beauty of good 
 affections." 
 
 " Yours is a beautiful theory, Ada ; and, if true, how 
 full of life ! With what new eyes would I look around 
 me on the visible forms of nature, if I could believe as 
 you believe." 
 
 " I cannot believe otherwise," said Ada, as she lifted 
 her eyes from the bird in her hand, and looked tenderly 
 at her lover. 
 
 "And this dove to what affection does it correspond, 
 and why are you so deeply touched by its death ?" 
 
 " Need you ask, Henry ? Is it not the embodied form 
 of a pure, confiding love such love as only a woman s 
 heart can feel ? And do you wonder that I am pained to 
 see the death of such a love ? Can I help thinking of 
 woman s trusting heart betrayed ? of affection trampled 
 out under the foot of neglect and wrong ?" And tears 
 came into the eyes of the pure-hearted girl. 
 
 "Dear Ada!" said the young man, earnestly, "why 
 will you let such painful thoughts come into your mind ? 
 They have no business there : your heart will never know 
 betrayal ; your affection will never be trampled out under 
 the crushing foot of neglect." 
 
 "I did not think of myself," returned Ada, quickly; 
 "I thought only of others." 
 
 The young man pressed his lips to hers, and then their 
 eyes drooped from each other s, and rested upon the form 
 of the dead dove. 
 
 "Never shall her heart feel the pangs of neglect; 
 never, no, never!" said the lover, in earnest self-com 
 munion. 
 
 May his words prove a true prophecy ; and if, in after 
 life, his heart swerve, even for an instant, from its affec 
 tion, may the form of the dead dove present itself, and 
 warn him of the ruin his infidelity would occasion ! 
 
UNCLE BASIL S VALENTINE. 
 
 UNCLE BASIL ; dear old man ! It s a shame for me to 
 play off my tricks upon him. But it seems as if I couldn t 
 help it, sometimes. He s such a fine "subject," so 
 .earnest-hearted, so strangely literal and simple-minded 
 for a man who has passed along through the world of 
 business, and gained the ripe age of three score and five 
 years. 
 
 Dear old man ! Well may I say that ; for he has been 
 to me, since the light of my fifth summer shone upon my 
 head, in the place of father, mother and friend. And do 
 I not love him ? How warmly my heart responds to the 
 question ! 
 
 And yet, for all, I can t help teasing him, now and 
 then. The fun is in me, and must come out. 
 
 "Hetty," said he, looking up from his newspaper one 
 evening he has such a passion for newspapers " Hetty, 
 I suppose you know that Valentine s day is but a week 
 off." 
 
 "Valentine s day!" The remark was so abrupt, and 
 said in such a meaning tone, that, in spite of me, I 
 couldn t keep the blood from mounting to my face. I had 
 no cause for blushes, and yet the blushes came. 
 
 " Yes, Valentine s day ! What is the matter with the 
 girl? Aha!" 
 
 I blushed deeper still. How vexed I was. There was 
 no cause for blushes. This, to thee, reader, upon honour ! 
 "No lover, then?" On the word of a maiden of seven 
 teen, no ! You are convinced, of course. 
 
 "Aha ! my little lady ! what does all this mean?" 
 
 19 
 
20 UNCLE BASIL S VALENTINE. 
 
 And uncle Basil fixed his eyes keenly upon me. 
 
 My face was now like scarlet. Finding all efforts to re 
 gain self-possession fruitless, I sprang from my chair and 
 left the room. 
 
 For very vexation I cried on entering my chamber. 
 
 " Never mind ! you ll pay for this," said I, after my 
 heart beat calmly again. " You ll pay for this, my dear, 
 good old bachelor uncle ! Valentine s day, is it ? Very 
 well." 
 
 I punished the old gentleman by not letting him see 
 the light of my countenance again until the next morning 
 at breakfast. Then I was all smiles, and in perfect self- 
 possession. He seemed to have forgotten the little inci 
 dent of the previous evening, but I had not. 
 
 On that very day, I went out and selected a valentine. 
 It had on it a great red heart, pierced by an arrow from 
 Cupid s quiver. Two whole hours were spent in compos 
 ing suitable verses to grace the love missive, which I laid 
 carefully by until the thirteenth of February, when it was 
 committed to post-office guardianship, directed to " Basil 
 Jones, Esq." 
 
 On the next morning, as we sat at breakfast, Uncle 
 Basil looked at me archly and said 
 
 " Has that valentine come yet ?" 
 
 I wanted to blush, but couldn t. I tried to look con 
 fused, but my countenance would not play hypocrite. I 
 was too merry at heart. 
 
 Our meal ended, the old gentleman retired to the sit 
 ting-room, to read the morning papers, and wait for John, 
 who had gone, as usual, to the post-office, to return with 
 his letters. It seemed to me that John staid a long while. 
 At last I heard him enter, and listened to his steps as he 
 made his way to my uncle s apartment. As soon as he 
 withdrew, I went, on tip-toe, to the door of the room, 
 which happened to be left ajar. Noiselessly pushing it 
 open, I had a full view of uncle Basil. He had already 
 unsealed his love-letter, and was gazing in ludicrous be 
 wilderment and astonishment upon its emblematic devices 
 and "tender lines." 
 
 " Why, uncle Basil !" I exclaimed, in a tone of affected 
 surprise, bursting suddenly in upon him, and snatching 
 
UNCLE BASIL S VALENTINE. 21 
 
 the letter from his hand. " What is the meaning of this ? 
 A valentine, as I live ! Uncle Basil ! Who would have 
 thought it ? And at your age, too ! Fie !" 
 
 As I live, the dear old man blushed almost as deeply 
 as I had done a few evenings before, and looked so 
 ashamed and confused, that I half repented of what I had 
 done. 
 
 " Come, come, you saucy jade !" he said, partially re 
 covering himself, and reaching out his hand. " Give me 
 that letter." 
 
 " Letter, indeed ! I call this a valentine." And I held 
 it high above my head. " Oh ! if I don t show this to 
 everybody. Who could have sent it ? Let me look at 
 the handwriting. It s the widow Williams s, as I live." 
 
 " Hetty ! Hetty ! You mad young rattle-brain, give 
 me that letter !" 
 
 I darted playfully about the room, for a short time, but 
 in the end permitted him to pluck the valentine from my 
 hand, which he did with an exhibition of more agility 
 than I thought in him. In a moment after he had grasp 
 ed it, the hearts and darts and tender lines were in a 
 "blaze of glory." 
 
 " uncle Basil !" I lifted my finger and looked 
 into his disturbed countenance, with an arch and merry 
 expression upon my own. " The widow Williams !" 
 
 Just as I said this, my eyes rested upon the super 
 scription of a letter lying upon the floor one of two or 
 three just brought in by John that had fallen as the old 
 gentleman started up when I snatched away from him his 
 valentine. It was directed to me. Stooping quickly, I 
 caught it from the floor, and slipped it into my bosom ; 
 not, however, so adroitly as to escape observation. 
 
 "Aha! What s the meaning of that?" said uncle 
 Basil, recovering himself in an instant. 
 
 It was now my turn to show confusion. To cover it, I 
 beat a hasty retreat, and was soon locked in my own 
 room. How short, quick, and imperative, were the 
 motions of my heart, as it throbbed almost audibly in my 
 bosom. It was some moments before I was calm enough 
 to break the seal of my "valentine." 
 
 From whom had it come ? How instinctive was this 
 
22 UNCLE BASIL S VALENTINE. 
 
 question. As I held it in my fingers, still looking at tho 
 superscription, and trying to make out the hand-writing, 
 I felt something hard within. Instantly the seal was 
 broken and the envelope removed. There was a sheet of 
 note-paper, bearing the words, "A Love Token," and en 
 closing a crumpled piece of white tissue paper covering 
 the hard substance that proved to be a diamond ring and 
 a diamond breastpin ! For some moments I was bewilder 
 ed. Then all was clear. My uncle did not mean that I 
 should be deceived as to the sender of my valentine, for 
 his well known, strong, mercantile chirography in the 
 words, " A Love Token," left nothing for my vagrant 
 imagination to dream over. 
 
 Dear old man ! How rebuked I felt. A little while I 
 sat thoughtful, and then went bounding down stairs to the 
 sitting-room. 
 
 " A kiss for your Love Token," said I, as I threw my 
 arms around his neck, and laid my warm lips upon hi? 
 venerable forehead. 
 
 I had not the heart to tell him then that I was the 
 widow Williams from whom his valentine came. But wo 
 have since had more than one hearty laugh together over 
 the remembrance of his sudden surprise and confusion 
 when I caught him absorbed in the mysteries of a love- 
 letter. 
 
KATE S VALENTINE. 
 
 KATE, my sprightly niece, like most young ladies of 
 her age, has her own opinions on matters and things 
 currently transpiring. She thinks independently, and 
 generally speaks what she thinks. Of course, her know 
 ledge of human nature is not very deep ; nor is she as 
 wise in all her conclusions as she is led to imagine. I do 
 not say this disparagingly, for Kate has quite as good 
 
24 KATE S VALENTINE. 
 
 sense as nine in ten who have only numbered her years, 
 which are about twenty-one. 
 
 On one subject, Kate had, for a year or two, been par 
 ticularly decided in her expressions. The Valentine 
 epidemic, which has raged so violently, she considered a 
 social disease emphatically. It was no healthy manifesta 
 tion of right feelings, in her estimation. 
 
 As last St. Valentine s day approached, and as the store 
 windows and counters began to be filled with emblematic 
 love missives of all kinds, from the most costly, delicate, 
 and refined, down to the cheapest, coarsest, and most 
 vulgar, Kate exhibited more and more strongly her an 
 tipathy to the custom about to be honoured. 
 
 " If any one were to send me a valentine," said she, 
 "I would take it as a direct insult to my common sense." 
 
 "Oh, as for that," I replied, sportively, "lovers are 
 not so silly as to address the common sense of those whose 
 favour they desire to win." 
 
 " Whoever wins me," was her prompt answer, " must 
 appeal to that. At no other point will I be accessible." J 
 
 "We shall see." 
 
 "And we will see." 
 
 " I ll wager a new hat against a spring bonnet," said I, 
 "that you receive a valentine this year from a certain 
 
 young man named Never mind ; don t blush so ; I 
 
 won t name him." 
 
 "I would discard any one who insulted me with a 
 valentine," replied Kate, indignantly. 
 
 " Don t say that, for fear you will have cause to repent 
 the indiscretion." 
 
 " Yes, I do say it. No man of good sense would stoop 
 to such trifling." 
 
 " I don t know, Kate. A little trifling, now and then, 
 is relished by the best of men." 
 
 " That s rhyme, which does not always go hand in hand 
 with reason." 
 
 " You ll grow wiser, Kate, as you grow older." 
 
 " If that is the kind of wisdom age brings, I m sure I 
 don t want it." 
 
 I answered with a laugh, for to be grave on such a 
 theme was jiot la me, As the fourteenth approached, 
 
KATE S VALENTINE. 2 
 
 Kate frequently repeated her expressions of disgust at the 
 silly custom of sending valentines that had become so 
 popular, and declared, over and over again, that such a 
 liberty with her, would be taken as a direct insult, and 
 resented accordingly. 
 
 Among the visiting acquaintances of Kate, was a young 
 man named Loring, for whom, I could see, she had kinder 
 feelings than for any other male friend ; but, either in 
 consequence of a natural reserve of character, or because 
 he was in doubt as to Kate s sentiments regarding him 
 self, he never seemed perfectly at ease in her company, 
 though he sought it on every proper occasion. I had him 
 in my mind when I suggested the reception of a valentine 
 from a certain young man, and Kate understood me 
 perfectly. 
 
 Well, Valentine s day came round. At dinner-time, I 
 came home as usual, and almost the first word my wife 
 said to me was 
 
 " What do you think ? Kate s received a valentine." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " It s true. It came by the Despatch Post. I received 
 it at the door, and sent it up to her room." 
 
 " Have you seen her since ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Of course, she s particularly indignant." 
 
 " I don t know any thing about that. It was a hand 
 some one I infer, from the size and envelop ; and had in 
 it something hard, which I took for jewelry a breastpin 
 or a bracelet." 
 
 "Where do you think it came from?" said I. 
 
 "I ve guessed young Loring," answered my wife. 
 
 " If he has sent it, he has committed a great mistake," 
 I replied. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "You know Kate s antipathy to valentines." 
 
 " Young ladies often talk a great deal without realty 
 knowing what they say ; and Kate is not altogether fres 
 from the fault," said my wife. 
 
 I readily enough assented to this. When the bell 
 rung for dinner, Kate came down from her room. Hei 
 face was rather more sober than usual, and she did no/ 
 
 3 
 
26 KATE S VALENTINE. 
 
 join in the conversation with her accustomed animation. 
 She was first to retire from the table. 
 
 " I don t think she is mortally offended," said I to my 
 wife. 
 
 " No, not if I am skilled in mental indications," was 
 replied. 
 
 During the afternoon, two or three more love missives 
 came ; but not a word touching their reception, or the feel 
 ings produced thereby, was breathed by Kate. It was 
 plain, however, to one with even half an eye, that she was 
 pleased at the mark of attention, or, it might be, token 
 of love. Evening, instead of being passed as usual with 
 the family, was spent by Kate in her room. 
 
 On the next morning, at the breakfast table, I men 
 tioned the fact that a certain number of valentines had 
 passed through the post-office on the day before. This 
 was in order to introduce the subject, and call out some 
 remark from Kate ; but she remained silent on the sub 
 ject, though not without indicating, by her heightened 
 colour and restless eye, that her thoughts were busy 
 enough. 
 
 "I rather think our young lady has changed her 
 opinions," said I, smiling, after Kate had left the table. 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases, you know," replied my 
 wife, smiling in turn. 
 
 On the next evening, young Loring called in. Kate 
 was longer than usual in making her appearance, and 
 when she came into the parlour, was dressed with more 
 than ordinary care. For the first time, I noticed on her 
 wrist a new and beautiful bracelet. She blushed, slightly, 
 as she met Loring ; seemed a little embarrassed, but was 
 soon conversing with him in an animated style. 
 
 " Did you see that new bracelet ?" asked my wife, when 
 we were next alone. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Where did it come from?" 
 
 "Didn t you say that in one of the valentines she 
 received there was something hard, like a piece of jewelry ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That bracelet, probably." 
 
 "No doubt of it." 
 
KATE S VALENTINE^ 27 
 
 "And, moreover," said I, "it is plain that she believes 
 the valentine came from Loring ; for, at her first meet 
 ing with him, she wears it for the first time." 
 
 "Thus," remarked my wife, "notifying him that she 
 receives the token kindly." 
 
 I laughed aloud, for I could not help it. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ?" asked my wife. 
 
 " She was going to discard any one who insulted her 
 with a valentine !" 
 
 " That was idle talk. I ve heard such things said 
 before." 
 
 Two or three evenings went by, and Loring came again. 
 Since his former visit, the new bracelet had not been seen. 
 Now it was worn again. As we knew the young man 
 well, and liked him the better the more intimately we 
 knew him, we saw no impropriety in leaving the young 
 couple alone in the parlour. 
 
 From that time, there was a marked change in my 
 niece. She was less sprightly and more absent-minded 
 than usual. Next, her appetite failed her, and she began 
 to grow thin and lose her colour sure signs of a heart 
 disease. Meanwhile, Loring was a constant visiter ; and 
 whenever he came, the bracelet was displayed, evidently 
 in token that she knew from whence it came, and wished 
 its full acceptance to be understood. At last, I received 
 a formal visit from the young man, and a formal offer for 
 the hand of Kate. Of course, I had no objections to urge. 
 The matter was, in my mind, already fully settled. 
 
 After that, the bracelet aforementioned was always to 
 be seen on the arm of Kate. One evening, it was about 
 a month before her wedding-day, as I sat talking with 
 Kate, for whom my affection had always been as tender 
 as that of a father for his child, I took her hand, and said, 
 as I examined the bracelet 
 
 " That is very beautiful." 
 
 " Yes, I have always admired it very much," she re 
 plied, the colour growing warmer in her cheeks. 
 
 "A love-token, I presume?" 
 
 And as I said this, I looked at her archly. The hue 
 of her cheeks became still deeper. 
 
 "A valentine ?" I added. 
 
28 KATE S VALENTINE. 
 
 The blood mounted to her temples. 
 
 " But it was not an ordinary valentine. It did not 
 come from a trifier, and was not received as an insult. I 
 thought you were not the girl, Kate, to reject a sincere 
 offer." 
 
 Kate blushed still more deeply. 
 
 "This little love-token, dear Kate, is for thee: 
 Accept it, and keep it, and wear it for me." 
 
 As I repeated this couplet, the young girl started with 
 surprise, and looked with inquiring earnestness in my 
 face. 
 
 "But I m afraid, Kate," said I, with a meaning smile, 
 and a voice half-regretful in its tone, "that you wore it 
 less for the real than for an imaginary giver." 
 
 She did not reply, but looked at me more earnestly, 
 while a sudden light appeared to break upon her mind. 
 
 "Dear uncle," said she, at length, bending toward me, 
 " had you seen this bracelet before you saw it on my arm ?" 
 
 "Yes, love," was my tenderly spoken reply; and I 
 pressed her pure forehead with my lips as I spoke. 
 
 "And you sent it?" 
 
 She seemed half breathless as she awaited my reply. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 She covered her face suddenly with her hands and sat 
 motionless for some moments. In a little while, I saw a 
 tear come stealing through her fingers. My feelings were 
 touched, for I feared lest I had done violence to hers by 
 this little confession of the truth. But, ere I had looked 
 for composure of mind, she withdrew her hands from her 
 face, on which an affectionate smile shone like a rainbow 
 amid the parting drops of a summer shower, and said, as 
 she arose 
 
 " Henceforth, I will wear it for the real giver." 
 
 Bending to kiss me, she left a tear on my cheek, and 
 then glided from the room. 
 
 On her wedding night, Kate wore her valentine brace 
 let ; and I am weak enough to believe if the sentiment 
 may be called a weakness that she prized it even more 
 highly than if Loring himself had been the giver. 
 
The Red Ear. 
 
THE RED EAR; on, THE HUSKING 
 FROLIC. 
 
 IN rural districts, the merrymakings have a natural 
 heartiness about them never seen in cities, towns, nor vil 
 lages. Overweening self-respect has not come in to fetter 
 the motions of the body, nor to smother the laugh in its 
 free utterance. Feeling and action are in close relation 
 ship. You come nearer to nature, untrammelled by cus 
 tom and unaffected by art. 
 
 A merrymaking par excellence, is, (or was,) a New 
 England husking frolic. The husking frolic at the South 
 is a different affair altogether. There, it is a congrega 
 tion of negroes from the various plantations near at hand, 
 who, while they work, make the air vocal almost for miles 
 around with their rude melodies, a few of which have been 
 rendered familiar to ears polite by the " Serenaders" who 
 have so highly amused the public during the past two or 
 three years. But at the North, the "husking," like the 
 " quilting," draws together the gentle maidens and loving 
 swains of a neighbourhood, who meet to enjoy themselves 
 in their own way. And such enjoyment as they have, in 
 kind and degree, is not to be met with every day. In 
 former times, the "husking" was a wilder affair than at 
 present. Straight-laced conventionality is gradually find 
 ing its way beyond the city limits, and binding the free 
 spirits of our country maidens. They meet oftener with 
 the " city folks," gradually falling more and more into 
 their habits as they partake more and more of their spirit ; 
 and, when they assemble for enjoyment, they check their 
 
 31 
 
32 THE RED EAR; OR, 
 
 impulses, restrain their movements, and hush almost into 
 silence the merry laughter that seeks to leap forth like the 
 singing waters of the fountain. No ; " huskings" are not 
 what they were. Instead of seeing on the threshing-floor 
 a troop of young men and maidens, stripping from the 
 bright ears of grain their leafy coverings, amid laughter, 
 music, and the mingling of sweet voices, as of old, mere 
 "labour" comes in too often to perform the service, and 
 silently and coldly does its work. Yet, here and there, a 
 farmer, who cannot forget the pleasant times when he was 
 young, sends forth his annual summons after the maize 
 harvest is gathered, and then comes a merrymaking for 
 old and young that is enjoyed in a way never to be for 
 gotten. 
 
 Old Ephraim Bradley was a man of this school. If his 
 head grew white under the falling snows of many winters, 
 the grass was fresh and green, and the flowers ever bloom 
 ing on his heart. With him, the annual " husking" was 
 never omitted. It was, like Christmas and Thanks 
 giving, almost a sacred thing, half involving sin in the 
 omission. 
 
 Kate Mayflower, a wild romp of a girl from Boston 
 at least some in the city regarded her as such was spend 
 ing a few weeks in D , when invitations came to at 
 tend a husking party at Ephraim Bradley s. The old 
 man lived some three miles from the village. Kate had 
 heard about husking parties, and her young spirits leaped 
 up when the announcement was made that one was to be 
 held in the neighbourhood, and that she was invited to be 
 present. It was a frolic that, from all she had heard, 
 would just suit her temperament, and she set off, when 
 the time came, to make one of the party, in the merriest 
 possible mood. 
 
 Evening had closed in on the arrival of the party from 
 
 D , who quickly joined some score or two of young 
 
 people in the large kitchen, where lay heaped up in the 
 centre a huge pile of Indian corn. 
 
 "All that to be husked?" whispered Kate, as she 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Oh yes ! all that and more, perhaps," was the smiling 
 reply. "We have come to work, you know." 
 
THE HUSKING FROLIC. 33 
 
 "Now, gals," said old Mr. Bradley, who stood looking 
 on as the young folks gathered, with bright faces, around 
 the golden grain, " now for a good old-fashioned time. 
 If there are not half a dozen weddings between this and 
 Christmas, I shall say there is no virtue in red ears." 
 
 As he ceased, down dropped, amid gay voices and 
 laughter, the whole company upon the floor, in all grace 
 ful and ungraceful positions, in a circle around the pile 
 of corn. Kate alone remained standing, for the move 
 ment was so sudden that she could not act with it. 
 
 " Here s room for you, Kate," cried one of the girls 
 who had come with her, making a place by her side ; and 
 down sank Kate, feeling, for the first time, a little- awk 
 ward and confused. Beside her was a stout rough coun 
 try youth, whose face was all merrriment, and whose eyes 
 were dancing with anticipated pleasure. The city girl 
 eyed his rough, brown hands, coarse garments, and un 
 polished face, with a slight feeling of repulsion, and drew 
 a little from him toward her friend. 
 
 " Oh, plenty of room, miss ! Plenty of room," said he, 
 turning broadly around, and addressing her with a familiar 
 leer. " The tighter we fit in, the better. Lay the brands 
 close, if you want a good fire." 
 
 Kate could not help laughing at this. As she laughed, 
 he added 
 
 " All free and easy here." He had grasped an ear of 
 corn, and was already stripping down the husk. " A red 
 ear !" suddenly burst from his lips, in a tone of triumph ; 
 and, as he spoke, he sprang toward, or rather upon Kate, 
 with the grace of a young bear, and kissed her with a 
 "smack" that might have been heard a dozen rooms off". 
 Ere she had time to recover from the surprise, and, it 
 must be admitted, indignation, occasioned by this unex 
 pected assault upon her lips, the hero of the first "red 
 ear" was half around the circle of struggling girls, kissing 
 both right and left with a skill and heartiness that awoke 
 shouts of applause from the young "fellers," who envied 
 his good fortune. 
 
 That was a new phase of life to Kate. She had heard 
 of kissing as an amusement among young folks, and had 
 often thought that the custom was too good to have be- 
 
34 THE RED EAR; OR, 
 
 come obsolete ; but a practical view, and a personal par 
 ticipation like this, was a thing that her imagination had, 
 in none of its vagaries, conceived. An old-fashioned, 
 straight-backed, flag-bottomed chair stood near, and, un 
 willing to trust herself again upon the floor, Kate drew 
 that into the circle, and seated herself close to the pile of 
 corn just as the young man had completed his task of 
 kissing every girl in the room. 
 
 "First rate that!" said he, smacking his lips, as he 
 threw himself at her feet. " Wasn t I lucky ?" 
 
 Kate s indignation had, by this time, all melted away 
 under a lively sense of the ludicrous, and she could not 
 help laughing with the merriest. Soon another red ear 
 was announced, and then the kissing commenced again. 
 Such struggling, wrestling, screaming, and laughing, 
 Kate had never heard nor seen. The young man who 
 held the prize had all the nerve required ta go through 
 with his part, as Kate clearly proved when it came to her 
 turn to receive a salute. Springing from her chair, she 
 fled into the next room ; but this only increased his eager 
 ness to touch the lips of " the beautiful girl from Boston," 
 and he soon had his arms around her and his hands upon 
 her cheeks. The struggle was long and well sustained on 
 the part of the maiden ; but her fate was to be kissed, and 
 kissed by a rough young countryman whom she had never 
 met before. The deed was done, and then the blushing, 
 panting girl was led back in triumph to the room from 
 which she had escaped. 
 
 Red ears were in plenty that evening. It was shrewdly 
 guessed that every young man had come with at least two 
 in his pockets, for all the girls avowed that never before 
 had Farmer Bradley s field of corn produced so many. 
 As for Kate, she was kissed and kissed, until making, as 
 she alleged to her friend, a virtue of necessity, she sub 
 mitted with the kindliest grace imaginable ; and, if the 
 truth must be told, enjoyed the frolic with as lively a zest 
 as any one present. 
 
 At length the great pile of corn disappeared, and the 
 company arranged themselves for dancing ; but they had 
 ha-^ly been on the floor half an hour, when supper was 
 
THE HUSKING FROLIC. 35 
 
 announced and such a supper as that was ! No pyra 
 mids of ice-cream or candied oranges. No mock nor 
 real turtle ; nor oysters in a dozen styles. Turkeys there 
 were, but not scientifically "boned." No; there were 
 none of the fashionable city delicacies ; but instead, " a 
 gigantic round of beef in the centre of the table was 
 flanked on either side with vegetables. A bouncing junk 
 of corned-beef was at one end, and a big chicken-pie at 
 the other. An Indian pudding, of ample dimensions, 
 stood forth between the middle and end of the end dishes, 
 and a giant pot of beans loomed up on the other side; 
 while pumpkin-pies, apple-sauce, and a host of other * fix 
 ings filled up the spaces." 
 
 This was the bill of fare for the evening, and our city 
 belle looked on with a new surprise, as she saw th 
 articles disappearing one after another like frost work o 
 window-panes at sunrise. If the good wife did not say of? 
 this, as was said on a similar occasion, " Lay hold, anrt 
 help yourselves, gals make a long arm ; and let the me. 
 folks take keer of themselves. If any on you likes tur 
 nips squat and buttered, squat and butter em to suit 
 yourselves" at least as hearty and primitive an invita 
 tion to go to work on the good things was extended, and 
 no one could complain that it was not acted upon. What 
 followed is best given in the language of one who has 
 already described a similar scene : 
 
 " The guests seemed to do ample justice to the viands ; 
 mirth and festivity reigned around the board. Jokes, 
 witticisms, and flashes of fun would occasionally * set the 
 table in a roar. All appeared determined to enjoy them 
 selves at the top of their bent. 
 
 " Soon as supper was over, all the girls lent a hand 
 and the table was cleared away in a jiffy. Blindman p 
 buff was then introduced ; the company now was uproari 
 ous ! Dancing was the next consideration. Amos Bunker 
 screwed up his viol, resined the bow, and * did up the toe- 
 and-heel inspiring notes of Fisher s hornpipe; while a 
 number of the party, who were somewhat skilled in the 
 terpsichorean art, put in the double shuffle rigadoon. 
 Presently the lookers-on caught the enthusiasm, and the 
 
36 THE RED EAR, ETC. 
 
 whole company, old and young, adepts and novices, took 
 the floor and did their utmost : 
 
 Twas right and left, and down outside, six round and back to back: 
 Harum-scarum, belter skelter, bump together, whack. 
 
 " And thus was the husking kept up til the old clock, 
 which stood in one corner of the kitchen, beat out twelve ; 
 then broke up this jolly gathering." 
 
 So it was at old Farmer Bradley s. When Kate went 
 back to Boston, she was free to own that she had enjoyed 
 a new kind of merrymaking, and avowed her purpose to 
 be at old Ephraim Bradley s when the next husking 
 came off. 
 
3S 
 
 Cooks. 
 
COOKS. 
 
 MR. JOHN BROWN was a man of orderly mind and syste 
 matic habits. His business went on like clock work; and 
 he would have it so. If the least irregularity appeared, 
 you may be sure he would see it and know the reason. 
 
 "All you have to do," he would sometimes say, " is 
 to will to have things right. A resolute purpose is every 
 thing." 
 
 This doctrine he uniformly preached to Mrs. Brown on 
 the occasion of every domestic irregularity; especially 
 when she complained that she could not make cook, nurse, 
 or chambermaid do as she wished. 
 
 "Establish a certain rule, and see that it is obeyed," 
 he would say to her. " That s my plan, and I have no 
 trouble. An employSe of mine knows that it is as much as 
 his place is worth to go contrary to rule ; and, if you made 
 the keeping of a place in your household dependent on strict 
 obedience to your orders, you would have far less trouble." 
 
 " It is very easy to talk," Mrs. Brown would generally 
 reply to these suggestions. 
 
 "And just as easy to act," would respond Mr. Brown. 
 " I know. I ve tried it. You have only to resolve to 
 have a thing done right, and it is done. Nothing more 
 easy in the world. There is Judson, my neighbour, an 
 easy sort of a man, with no order in his mind. Well, of 
 course, every thing around him is at sixes and sevens ; 
 and he s always complaining that he can never get any 
 body to do as he wishes. Give him the best clerk in the 
 city, and he ll spoil him in three months. And why? 
 There is no order in the man s business. He has no sys- 
 
 39 
 
40 COOKS. 
 
 tern. I have two young men in my store who were so 
 worthless with Judson, according to his own account, that 
 he had to send them off. I wouldn t ask for better clerks. 
 In the beginning, I let them understand I was a man who 
 would have things my own way , and they soon under 
 stood that this was not a mere matter of words. It s the 
 order, Jane the order. Fix an order in your household, 
 and all this trouble will cease." 
 
 " Order among intelligent clerks may be easily enough 
 attained," said Mrs. Brown to her husband, one morning, 
 after some remarks of this kind, which had arisen from 
 the fact of company being expected to dinner ; " but I d 
 like to see the order you would maintain with a parcel of 
 subordinates like our Biddy to deal with. I imagine you d 
 find your hands full. Ignorant Irish girls are not so easy 
 to bring into order." 
 
 "A good system and a good resolution are all that is 
 wanted." 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 U I know so." 
 
 " I wish you had the trial for a week." 
 
 " You d see a different state of things," confidently re 
 plied the husband. 
 
 " No doubt of it," returned Mrs. Brown ; who was hurt 
 by her husband s rebuking manner, and showed it in her 
 tone of voice. 
 
 Mr. Brown was a kind-hearted man what cannot 
 always be said of very orderly people and was pained to 
 see the effect of his words. 
 
 " Oh, well, never mind, Jane," said he soothingly. 
 " We can t all do alike. I know you manage excellently 
 on the whole. But won t you, to-day, watch Biddy a 
 little closer, and see that she has dinner at the hour? 
 She is so apt to be late. I wouldn t like Mrs. Clark 
 and Mrs. Agnew to notice any thing irregular in our 
 household economy." 
 
 "I presume our household arrangements are fully as 
 good as theirs," said Mrs. Brown a little sharply, for she 
 was more fretted in mind than her husband supposed. 
 
 " That may all be ; but won t you see that Biddy has 
 dinner precisely at three ?" 
 
COOKS. 41 
 
 " I ll do the best I can, but can t promise any thing," 
 said Mrs. Brown, whose mind her husband had chafed so 
 much that she did not attempt to conceal her annoyance. 
 
 Mr. Brown went away grumbling to himself, and Mrs. 
 Brown went into the kitchen, and, in no very amiable tone 
 of voice, said to Biddy 
 
 " We re to have company to dine with us to-day, and 
 Mr. Brown expects dinner on the table precisely at three. 
 Now, pray, don t let it be a minute later." 
 
 Biddy always made it a point to be cross whenever there 
 was company. This announcement alone, no matter in 
 how amiable a tone it had been made, would have sufficed 
 to arouse her ill-nature ; but coming as it did, in a fretful 
 voice, she ,was filled instantly with a spirit of opposition. 
 Not the slightest reply did she make not the smallest 
 sign that she heard escaped her. 
 
 Mrs. Brown stood a few minutes and then said, angrily - 
 
 " Did you hear what I said ?" 
 
 "I m not deaf, marm," pertly returned Biddy. 
 
 " Then why didn t you answer me ?" 
 
 Biddy turned away with a contemptuous toss of the 
 head, and resumed her work. 
 
 " See here, my lady !" But Mrs. Brown checked her 
 self, for she knew Biddy s temper, and understood that, 
 in entering into a regular contest with her, the question 
 of victory would be doubtful. In all probability, it would 
 end in her being compelled to order the insolent creature 
 out of the house ; and then who was to cook the dinner ? 
 This thought caused Mrs. Brown to curb her feelings, and 
 to put a bridle upon her tongue. 
 
 u Biddy," said Mrs. Brown, after pausing a few mo 
 ments to compose herself she spoke calmly "we are 
 to have company to-day, and I wish dinner on the table 
 precisely at three o clock." 
 
 Then Mrs. Brown left the kitchen, and went up to her 
 sitting-room, feeling, as may well be supposed, ,no little 
 " out of sorts." As to dinner being ready at three pre 
 cisely, she had no expectation of the thing whatever. 
 Mr. Brown would be seriously annoyed, and all her plea 
 sures would, of course, be destroyed. No very agreeable 
 anticipation this, in view of having company. 
 
 4* 
 
42 coo K s. 
 
 An hour after Mr. Brown went away, one of his men 
 brought home a basket of marketing. On its arrival, 
 Mrs. Brown descended once more to the lower regions of 
 her house, in order to ascertain the nature of the provision 
 that had been made, and to give some directions to her 
 cook. Biddy received her mistress in no very amiable 
 mood. In fact, she cast upon her a glance of defiance as 
 she entered. The basket looked over, and a few brief 
 directions given, Mrs. Brown retired. There was to be 
 trouble that day with Biddy nothing was more ap 
 parent. 
 
 About twelve o clock, the ladies who were engaged to 
 dine, arrived. Their husbands would come at three, with 
 Mr. Brown. Mrs. Brown s heart was full ; and, as from 
 the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, she enter 
 tained her visitors during the first hour with her troubles 
 with servants. The subject was an interesting one to 
 them, for they were housekeepers, and prepared to sym 
 pathize. They had also their own trials to relate, and were 
 eloquent upon their sufferings. As for cooks, they were 
 all voted to be a most horrible set of creatures, and the 
 authors of more domestic misery than was to be charged 
 to any other account. In the midst of an interesting dis 
 cussion of this kind, Mrs. Brown excused herself, and 
 went to pay a visit of exploration into Biddy s department. 
 Things didn t look very encouraging. She had been en 
 trusted with the work of preparing certain articles of 
 desert; but Mrs. Brown saw at a glance they were des 
 tined to be spoiled unless she took charge of them herself. 
 So, without remarking on the subject, she told Biddy to 
 go up to her room and get her an apron. 
 
 This was done with a certain air, the meaning of which 
 was not mistaken. But Mrs. Brown didn t choose to be 
 drawn into a regular quarrel. She took the apron, 
 and, tying it on, went to work at the puddings, and soon 
 had them just to her liking. After giving careful direc 
 tions to have the ovens in good order, before they were 
 put in, she went up stairs and rejoined her company. At 
 two o clock, Mrs. Brown visited the kitchen again. Noth 
 ing was as forward as it should have been, and cook was 
 in as bad humour as ever. 
 
COOK s. 43 
 
 " You ll be late, Biddy, after all," said Mrs. Brown. 
 " This is no kind of a fire." 
 
 " The coal won t burn," replied Biddy. , 
 
 " It always has burned. Strange that it doesn t burn 
 now !" 
 
 And Mrs. Brown began to examine the range. 
 
 "No wonder," said she, "with this damper half closed, 
 How could you expect coal to burn without a free draft ? 
 There, you can see the fire increasing already. Now do, 
 Biddy, stir yourself; it s after two o clock." 
 
 Biddy didn t deign an answer to this appeal ; and Mrs. 
 Brown, after standing as an observer of her movements 
 for a little while, went up stairs, satisfied that no dinner 
 would be ready at three o clock. 
 
 Just at a quarter before three, Mr. Brown arrived, with 
 Mr. Clark and Mr. Agnew, whose wives had already made 
 their appearance. 
 
 "Dinner most ready?" said he to Mrs. Brown, whom 
 he found in the dining-room, soon after his entrance. 
 
 "I believe so," replied Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "It s ten minutes of three." 
 
 "I can t help it," said Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "But I hope, Jane, that dinner isn t going to be latt 
 Mr. Brown spoke in a nervous manner. 
 
 " It won t be ready at three, that s certain. Biddy s 
 been in a dreadful humour all the morning, and has done 
 nothing right." 
 
 " Oh, dear. This want of punctuality does distress me I 
 Why do you keep such a creature about you?" 
 
 "Do, Mr. Brown," said his wife, in an appealing voice, 
 " go into the parlour and wait as patiently as you can 
 until dinner is ready ! I m so nervous now that I can 
 hardly hold a thing in my hands." 
 
 Mr. Brown did as he was desired to do ; but his organ 
 of punctuality was in a state of active excitement. Ten, 
 fifteen, twenty, thirty, even forty minutes passed, and 
 there came no welcome sound of the dinner-bell. Unable 
 to curb his impatience any longer, Mr. Brown left the 
 parlour, and once more sought his wife. She was still in 
 the dining-room, where the table was set, but where no 
 sign of the hunger-quelling banquet was discernible. 
 
44 COOKS. 
 
 " In Heaven s name, my dear !" said Mr. Brown, "what 
 has made all this delay?" 
 
 " Go and ask Biddy," replied the over-tired lady; "and, 
 if you get any satisfaction from her on the subject, you 
 will be more fortunate than I am." 
 
 Upon this hint, and acting on the spur of the moment, 
 Mr. Brown hurried off toward the kitchen. He would 
 regulate the matter in quick order. He would have din 
 ner on the table in a twinkling, or know the reason ! Such 
 were his thoughts and purposes. Mrs. Brown, anticipat 
 ing trouble, followed close after her husband. 
 
 "See here, my lady!" was the salutation with which 
 Mr. Brown met Biddy, as he entered the kitchen. " What s 
 the meaning of all this work to-day ? Why isn t dinner 
 ready? Are you to be the arbiter of affairs in my house ?" 
 
 Now Biddy, as the reader understands by this time, 
 was in a defiant humour. The kitchen she felt to be her 
 castle, and was ever inclined to dispute with any and 
 every one the right of entrance. Had Mrs. Brown kept 
 away during the morning, dinner would have been ready 
 at the hour. But every time the mistress appeared, the 
 cook s temper was more and more ruffled, and her spirit 
 of opposition more and more aroused. Since her hus 
 band s arrival, Mrs. Brown had manifested herself to 
 Biddy not less than half a dozen times, and, at each ap 
 pearance, made some fretful and irritating remarks touch 
 ing the lateness of dinner. The climax to all this was the 
 sudden entrance of the incensed Mr. Brown. As he came 
 in, Biddy was in the act of turning from the range with a 
 dish in her hands, on which was a large sirloin of beef. 
 The words of Mr. Brown did not have the effect of sub 
 duing the spirit of Biddy, as he had anticipated. For a 
 moment, she glared at him with a look of defiance, while 
 her face grew scarlet with anger ; then tossing the dish and 
 its contents with a crash at his feet, and plentifully scat 
 tering the gravy over his pantaloons and the silk dress 
 of his wife, who came to his side at the moment, she ex 
 claimed, fiercely 
 
 " There s your dinner ! And I hope you re satisfied !" 
 
 There was a long pause of consternation on the part of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown, during which Biddy retired from the 
 
COOKS. 45 
 
 kitchen with a dignity that may be imagined, but not de 
 scribed. Mr. and Mrs. Brown also retired, and in a manner 
 quite as indescribable ; and, seating themselves in the dining- 
 room, collected their scattered wits for a council of war. 
 The lady s silk dress was a sight to be seen. It was per 
 fectly ruined, large patches of grease being freely dis 
 tributed over the front breadth for a distance of more 
 than half a yard from the bottom. The gentleman s pan 
 taloons were in no better condition. 
 
 " Oh, dear! what is to be done?" said Mrs. Brown, 
 with pale face and panting bosom. " I declare, I m right 
 sick !" 
 
 "Well, if that doesn t get ahead of me!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Brown, who, struck with the ludicrousness of the 
 scene, hardly knew whether to laugh or to give an angry 
 vent to his feelings. 
 
 " But what are we to do ? It s nearly four o clock now, 
 and the beef is lying upon the kitchen floor!" said Mrs. 
 Brown, in great distress. 
 
 Mr. Brown was a man for an emergency. He was 
 not to be put down teetotally under any circumstances. 
 He had met and conquered many difficulties in his time, 
 and he was not to be overcome by this one. 
 
 " Do the best we can, Jane," said he, speaking with a 
 sudden cheerfulness of manner. " Go and tell Nancy to 
 come down and serve up the dinner, while you change 
 your dress as quickly as possible. I will see our friends 
 in the parlour, and make an apology for the delay. Put 
 a good face on it. Laugh at the joke, and all will be well." 
 
 Mrs. Brown, after demurring a little, went up and did 
 as her husband suggested, while he, becoming more and 
 more alive every moment to the ludicrousness of the scene 
 he had just witnessed, entered the parlour laughing. 
 Here, to the amusement of all parties, he related, in his 
 own way, what had just occurred, exhibiting, at the same 
 time, some evidences of the recent scene in his soiled 
 garments. 
 
 "And now, ladies," said he, smiling, "if you ll take 
 pity on my poor wife, who is changing her dress, and go 
 down and see that Nancy, our good-humoured chamber 
 maid, serves up the dinner in some kind of order, you will 
 
46 COOKS. 
 
 help to turn a serious matter into a source of merri 
 ment." 
 
 Up sprang the two ladies at this hint, and were off to 
 the kitchen in a jiffy, and, with such right good-will did 
 they go to work, that the dinner-bell rang ere Mrs. Brown 
 had finished her toilet. 
 
 A pleasanter dinner-party never assembled at the table 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Brown before nor since. There was good 
 humour, and free and easy conversation in plenty. The 
 cooking stories that were told, if written out, would fill a 
 volume. Cooks were voted to be the veriest torments on 
 the face of the earth. Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Agnew, in 
 relating some of their experiences, frequently set the 
 whole party in a roar. 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 in for a JJto 
 
 SUMMER after summer had Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins spent 
 amid the heat and dust and noise of the city, while many 
 of their friends and neighbours sped away to the country, 
 and passed the sultry months where the pure airs played 
 among the cooling shadows, and the bright streams danced 
 along refreshingly through green meadows, or gave a new 
 charm to wood and valley. Often and often had they 
 sighed for a rural season ; but, somehow or other, they 
 could never just make it convenient to follow their incli 
 nations in this particular. 
 
 One day last summer it was in July, and the ther 
 mometer had been ranging from ninety-six to a hundred 
 for nearly a fortnight on the return home of Mr. Jenkins, 
 at the approach of evening, his good lady said to him, in 
 a fretful tone of voice 
 
 " What am I to do with these boys, Mr. Jenkins ? The 
 holidays have begun, and they are to be home for two 
 months. * 
 
 " Oh dear !" returned Mr. Jenkins, evincing consider 
 able perplexity of mind at this intelligence. "Two 
 months holiday ! It will be their ruination." 
 
 "And the death of me," said Mrs. Jenkins. "I can 
 never stand it in the world. I m almost worried out of 
 my life with them on Saturdays ; and what will it be 
 when there are two months of Saturdays ? I can t turn 
 
 5 49 
 
50 COUNTKY BOARDING. 
 
 Tom and Dick into the street, and let them go into all 
 sorts of company." 
 
 " No, indeed ; that will not do," replied the father. 
 
 " And they ll never content themselves in the house. 
 That s impossible," said Mrs. Jenkins. "Moreover, it 
 would be cruel to shut them up like prisoners in their own 
 house. I declare, I feel utterly at a loss." 
 
 " Hadn t we better try to get into the country for a 
 couple of months?" suggested Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 "I ve been thinking of that," replied the wife. "I 
 don t see what better we can do. It would be very plea 
 sant for all of us. We might get boarding in some nice 
 farm house, where there was plenty of good milk, fruit 
 and vegetables. Oh ! it would be delightful for the chil 
 dren ; and I would enjoy it almost as much as any of 
 them." 
 Mrs. Jenkins s imagination warmed at the very thought. 
 
 "It s the best thing we can do," said Mr. Jenkins. 
 " The only drawback, is the necessity for my being in the 
 city every day." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, you know," returned Mrs. Jenkins, 
 confidently, " it will be easy to get a place so near to the 
 city that you can come in early in the morning, and go 
 out before dark in the evening. Cars, steamboats, and 
 stages, afford every facility of this kind." 
 
 "I m not so sure of that," said the husband. "Still, 
 there is nothing like trying. How would you like a place 
 in Germantown ? The cars run frequently, and pass over 
 the distance in some twenty minutes." 
 
 "I wouldn t like that at all," was promptly answered. 
 " Germantown isn t the country. I want to go right into 
 the country." 
 
 " That would be better, certainly." 
 
 " A plain country farm-house, well shaded, with good, 
 substantial country fare, will be cheapest and best. If 
 we go to the country, let us go to the country." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. Well, if we go, we must not 
 hesitate nor delay about the matter. Here it is mid-sum 
 mer, and the season rapidly passing away." 
 
 "I m really in earnest," said Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 "I like the idea very much," returned Mr. Jenkins. 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 51 
 
 And they continued to talk and think about the matter 
 during the evening, and lay awake canvassing it for an 
 hour or two after retiring to bed. The result was, a 
 unanimous decision to go into the country as soon as a 
 suitable place could be found. 
 
 On the next morning, Mr. Jenkins referred to the 
 "Boarding and To Let" column of the Ledger, with an 
 interest never before felt in that department of the paper. 
 To his great satisfaction, he found several advertisements 
 headed " Country Boarding," two of which appeared to 
 suit his case exactly. One of these read thus : " A re 
 spectable family can obtain country boarding, at a farm 
 house delightfully situated a few miles from the city, in 
 one of the healthiest and most romantic districts of coun 
 try in the vicinity of Philadelphia. Terms moderate. 
 Inquire at No. , Market street." The other was in 
 these words : " A small family, desiring genteel country 
 boarding in a farm-house, with all the comforts of a home, 
 will hear of such a place by inquiring at No. , Second 
 street." 
 
 With these two advertisements in his pocket-book, Mr. 
 Jenkins started forth after breakfast, eager to secure one 
 of the places in advance of any other application. His 
 first call was in Market street, at a store where some kind 
 of botanic medicines were sold. A man was behind the 
 counter putting up a package for a customer. 
 
 "You advertised something about country boarding," 
 said Mr. Jenkins, confidently. 
 
 "Country boarding?" returned the man, as if he was 
 not certain that he heard aright. 
 
 "Yes; at a farm-house near the city." 
 
 "I don t know any thing about it," said the man, 
 indifferently, looking down at the package he was 
 tying up. 
 
 "Is this No. ?" inquired Mr. Jenkins, as he took 
 the advertisement from his pocket-book, and examined it 
 carefully. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; that is my number," was replied. 
 
 " Did you put in this advertisement ?" and Mr. Jenkins 
 handed him the bit of paper he had cut from the 
 Ledger. 
 
52 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 The man looked at it for some time before light broke 
 in upon his mind. 
 
 " Oh !" he at length said. " Now I remember. Yes, 
 yes. It s up the Schuylkill, about a mile from Spring 
 Mill." ^ 
 
 " Is it a pleasant place ?" inquired Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " Well, I guess so. But I don t know much about it. 
 Never was there." 
 
 " Who put in this advertisement ?" asked Jenkins. 
 
 " The man who lives there." 
 
 "At the farm-house?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What s his name ?" 
 
 "Hodge." 
 
 " Where can I see him ?" 
 
 " He s in town twice a week, Wednesdays and Satur 
 days. Or you can go out to his place." 
 
 " How can I get there ?" asked Jenkins. 
 
 " You go out to Spring Mill on the Norristown railroad ; 
 but I don t know how you get over to Hodge s place." 
 
 "It s a mile from the river, you say?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you know his terms ?" 
 
 The man shook his head, and answered 
 
 " The fact is, I don t know any thing about it. Mr. 
 Hodge said he would refer to me, and he has done so ; but 
 I have no particular information to give applicants." 
 
 " He ll be in town on Wednesday, you say ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the man; and Jenkins departed. 
 
 Next he applied in Second street, and learned that the 
 "farm-house," which promised all the comforts of a home, 
 was situated in Bucks county, about nine miles from 
 Bristol. This wouldn t do. It would take up too much 
 of his time to travel some sixty miles daily, and he couldn t 
 think of being separated from his family. 
 
 Twenty acquaintances were asked that day if they 
 knew where country boarding was to be had. From some 
 who had tried the experiment he did not get very flatter 
 ing accounts ; others said they had been endeavouring for 
 weeks to find a place that suited them, but without suc 
 cess. Then one spoke discouragingly of a farm-house or 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 53 
 
 private family, and advised a country tavern, where formal 
 preparations for boarders were made ; another said, " G6 
 over into New Jersey, by all means;" while another said, 
 " Go anywhere but in New Jersey." By the close of the 
 day, Jenkins was quite bewildered on the subject of coun 
 try boarding. A little conversation with his wife, how 
 ever, brought his mind clear a,gain. The location was to 
 be a farm-house in Pennsylvania, a few miles from the 
 city, easy of access, and plentifully surrounded with shade- 
 trees. 
 
 On the next morning, two or three new advertisements 
 appeared in the Ledger. One of these seemed the very 
 thing. It described a farm-house, pleasantly situated 
 amid romantic scenery, and easy of access by stages 
 several times a day. As inquiry was to be made on the 
 premises, Mr. Jenkins concluded to go out in the after 
 noon ; and, for this purpose, hired a wagon. The distance 
 was between four and six miles on the West Chester road ; 
 and he was not long in reaching the neighbourhood he 
 sought. On inquiring, he learned that the farm-house he 
 wished to visit was half a mile from the turnpike, on a 
 cross road, which he took and kept on his way. In due 
 time, he arrived at the place to which he had been re 
 ferred ; but looked around, in vain, for the elegant situa 
 tion his mind had pictured. 
 
 " Can you tell me where Mr. Crabtree lives ?" inquired 
 Jenkins, of a man whom he met. 
 
 " There," said the man, pointing to a small, dingy-look 
 ing house a short distance from the road, near which shot 
 up three or four unsightly and decaying Lombardy pop 
 lars, and around which clustered a few bits of shrubbery, 
 and one or two old pear-trees, that, if good for fruit, were 
 nearly guiltless of any effort at shade. 
 
 " That can t be the place of which I am in search." 
 And Jenkins shook his head positively. " I m looking 
 for a Mr. Crabtree, who takes summer boarders." 
 
 " There s no other Mr. Crabtree in the neighbourhood," 
 replied the man. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" 
 
 "I ought to be ; for I ve lived hereabout all my life." 
 
 "Does this person take summer boarders?" 
 
 5* 
 
54 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 " He s going to this summer. I heard him say so." 
 
 " What kind of a man is he ?" now inquired Jenkins. 
 
 " A very nice man," was the unqualified answer. 
 
 " He seems to have a poor kind of a house." 
 
 " I wish I had as good a one," was replied to this. 
 
 "And you re sure that is the place?" said Jenkins. 
 
 " I m sure Mr. Crab tree lives there," answered the man. 
 
 " How will I get to the house ?" 
 
 " Keep along until you come to the old cherry-tree 
 yonder, and turn off into the lane." 
 
 Jenkins thanked the man for his information and rode 
 on, the ardour of his anticipations sensibly cooled. At 
 the old cherry-tree he turned off, and approached the 
 house, which did not greatly improve in his eyes as he 
 came nearer and nearer. It was built of stone, and was 
 two stories high ; but all its dimensions were contracted. 
 Over the door was a narrow portico, supported by wooden 
 posts that had once been white. Upon this clambered a 
 neglected honeysuckle. No walk led to the door, and 
 the grass grew rankly, interspersed with weeds, in front. 
 The ordinary entrance to the house was, evidently, on the 
 other side. 
 
 The lane terminated at a barn, where Jenkins dismount 
 ed and fastened his horse. Then he entered a small gate, 
 and, by a pathway, advanced to the house. He had 
 moved along the path a few rods, and was near the 
 dwelling, when, suddenly, with a deep-mouthed yell, out 
 sprang a savage-looking dog, and made toward him with 
 the evident purpose of trying the quality of his flesh. 
 
 " Get out !" roared Jenkins, in sudden terror for the 
 animal was as large and fierce-looking as a wolf and he 
 stooped to pick up a stone. 
 
 " Get out !" responded a louder and hoarser voice than 
 his. " Get out, Nero !" 
 
 And Farmer Crabtree ran from the house, and called 
 off the savage beast just as he was about springing, with 
 mouth extended, upon Jenkins. The dog retired, suspi 
 cious and growling at the strange intruder; and the 
 farmer said 
 
 "Don t be alarmed, sir. He won t bite you." 
 
 " Oh no ! I m not alarmed," returned Jenkins, in a 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 55 
 
 voice that trembled so much that he could scarcely 
 articulate. 
 
 " Come in," said Farmer Crabtree; and Jenkins fol 
 lowed him into the house. 
 
 "You advertised to take summer boarders," remarked 
 Jenkins as they entered. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the farmer. " We think of taking a 
 family or two. We have a snug place here, and some 
 room to spare. Do you wish to get boarding ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "For yourself alone ?" 
 
 " For my family. But I hardly think you have room 
 here for so large a family as mine." And Jenkins 
 glanced around the apartment. 
 
 "How many have you?" asked Crabtree. 
 
 "Nine. Myself and wife, six children and a nurse." 
 
 "How old are the children?" 
 
 "My oldest boy is fourteen, and my youngest three." 
 
 " Plenty of room for even more. Will you walk up 
 stairs and look at the chambers?" 
 
 Jenkins expressed a willingness to do so, when the 
 farmer called his wife, and they ascended to the next 
 floor. 
 
 "This is our spare room," said the farmer s wife, "and 
 a snug room it is. If a body couldn t be comfortable 
 here, they couldn t be comfortable anywhere." 
 
 The room was about ten feet by twelve, and had 
 windows on two sides. A four-post bedstead, that looked 
 as if it might have been made prior to the Revolution, 
 stood in one corner, and on this was a plethoric feather 
 bed, covered with a patchwork quilt. The rest of the 
 furniture consisted of four Windsor chairs ; a tall, three- 
 legged toilet-table, covered with a white cloth, whereon 
 rested a new toilet-glass, the price of which was somewhere 
 in the neighbourhood of fifty cents ; and a small, stained 
 pine-table, or stand for holding a washhand-basin and 
 pitcher. The floor was covered with a rag-carpet. 
 
 "This is our best room," said the farmer s wife, with 
 the tone and manner of one who felt some pride in her 
 housekeeping. 
 
 After Jenkins had fully surveyed the apartment, he 
 
56 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 was shown a small chamber adjoining, that covered the 
 entry. Above were two garret-rooms, each one half the 
 size of the "best room." 
 
 "Of course," said Mrs. Crabtree, "your two youngest 
 children sleep in the room with you." 
 
 Jenkins assented to this. 
 
 "Two could sleep in the little room over the entry, and 
 two in one of the garrets, while your servant could have 
 the other garret all to herself." 
 
 This was a very nice arrangement. It seemed as if 
 the house had been built for the especial accommodation 
 of Jenkins s family ; though it must be confessed that Mr. 
 Jenkins did not feel very much flattered by the apparent 
 foresight of the builder. 
 
 "What are your terms?" next inquired Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 "Five dollars for grown persons, and three for children 
 and servants," was the ready answer. 
 
 "Rather a high price for such accommodations," said 
 Jenkins. 
 
 This remark was not at all relished by the farmer s 
 wife, who was about making a tart reply, but was re 
 strained by a glance from her more prudent husband, who 
 said 
 
 "We might take your family for thirty dollars." 
 
 Jenkins was by no means tempted, and hesitated not to 
 say that he did not think their terms would suit him. 
 The Crabtrees then retraced a little, and finally agreed to 
 take the family for twenty-five dollars. 
 
 "Your rooms are too small," said Jenkins. 
 
 " They re a very fair size, contended the farmer s wife. 
 "And, moreover," she added, "you don t expect to 
 stay in your rooms all the time. People come into the 
 country to get fresh air. Your children will live out of 
 doors." 
 
 The house stood on rising ground, and commanded a 
 very fine view. To this the farmer called the attention 
 of Jenkins, who was charmed with the prospect. Then 
 the farmer praised every thing appertaining to the place. 
 The water was the best within five miles, and there 
 wasn t a healthier situation to be found. His wife was 
 one of the best cooks in the world, and kindness itself. 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 57 
 
 So earnest was the farmer in his laudations, that 
 Jenkins began to doubt the evidence of his own eyes, and 
 at length came to think that he had found a very desirable 
 location. Finally he went away, promising to bring his 
 wife out to look at the place. As he rode homeward, 
 and saw along the way one elegant seat after another, 
 the few attractions he had observed in the farm-house 
 entirely faded from his imagination. Still, he did not 
 make an altogether unfavourable report, though he spoke 
 in rather qualified terms. 
 
 Three or four more days were passed in looking after 
 a suitable place for the family to rusticate in for a couple 
 of months ; but nothing offered that had not some objection 
 of too serious a nature to be overcome. 
 
 "I don t see what we are to do, unless we take that 
 place on the West Chester road," said Jenkins, discouraged 
 at last in his efforts to find country boarding. " There ll 
 be one advantage. We ll have the house all to ourselves. 
 It s a secluded place, and the children will be safe." 
 
 "You said the rooms were small," remarked Mrs. 
 Jenkins, glancing around the large, airy, handsomely 
 furnished chamber in which they were seated. 
 
 "Yes: they are rather small. But that is the case 
 generally, at least so far as the chambers are concerned, 
 in country houses. Suppose you ride out with me to 
 morrow and look at the place?" 
 
 "Do you think it worth while for me to do so?" asked 
 Mrs. Jenkins. " You have been there, and can judge of 
 it as well as I can." 
 
 "It seems to be that or nothing," said Jenkins. 
 
 " Then you d better go out and secure it for the season. 
 We only want boarding for a couple of months, and 
 things will have to be bad indeed, if we can t endure 
 them for that length of time. The main thing is to get our 
 children into the country during the holidays, and give 
 them a breath of pure air and a chance to run." 
 
 So it was concluded to engage boarding with Farmer 
 Crab tree, which was immediately done. 
 
58 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 g tjp 
 
 IT was a happy day in the house when Mr. Jenkina 
 made known the fact that he had secured summer boarding 
 with Farmer Crabtree ; for every mind, natural enough to 
 think, was filled with pleasant anticipations. Dick and 
 Tom were almost wild with delight, and Mrs. Jenkins felt 
 so excited about the matter that she hardly knew what to 
 do with herself. 
 
 "How much we shall enjoy the summer!" said the 
 latter over and over again. "What a change from hot, 
 sweltering walls to cool and pleasant woods and fields ! 
 From the stifling, stagnant air of a crowded city to a pure 
 and breezy atmosphere ! And, then, I shall feel so 
 relieved about the children. Tom and Dick will have a 
 free range." 
 
 "Above all," would remark the husband, "we shall 
 secure health, that greatest of all blessings." 
 
 Here was the broadest resting-place for Mr. Jenkins, 
 as his thoughts went on toward the untried future the 
 future of country boarding. That somebody would be 
 disappointed, he had serious misgivings ; but health would 
 compensate for any drawbacks to personal comfort which 
 might happen to arise; and that such drawbacks would 
 come he felt too well assured, as the image of that little 
 house and its little rooms stood forth distinctly before the 
 eyes of his mind. 
 
 Well, in due time the family of Mr. Jenkins was ready 
 for its summer migration. Carpets had been taken up 
 and packed away in tobacco, little valuables distributed, 
 for safe keeping, among friends not so fortunate as them- 
 

COUNTRY BOARDING. 61 
 
 selves in being able to escape from the city, and all the 
 varied necessary arrangements for leaving the town-house 
 completed. The superintendence of all this, with a great 
 part of the actual labour, fell upon Mrs. Jenkins, who 
 was, by the time every thing was ready for the move, so 
 completely worn down with fatigue that she could hardly 
 stand. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of one of the hottest and 
 most oppressive days of the season, that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Jenkins, a domestic, and four children (Dick and Tom 
 had gone out in the morning in a furniture wagon, by 
 which had been sent trunks of clothing and a few articles 
 of furniture,) took their seats in a carriage and started 
 for their summer retreat. 
 
 "Oh, how my head does ache!" said Mrs. Jenkins, 
 placing her hand upon her forehead. " It has ached all 
 day as if it would burst. I really feel sick." 
 
 " You have over-fatigued yourself. The day has been 
 excessively hot, and you have worked too hard. But a 
 season of rest and renovation is before you." 
 
 " And thankful I am for it. How glad I shall feel 
 when I can lay my head upon my pillow to-night, far 
 away from the heat and noise and stifling airs of the 
 city!" 
 
 The carriage was moving on briskly, and it was not 
 long before they were over the bridge and beyond West 
 Philadelphia, with the country all around them. 
 
 "How beautiful!" exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins, as they 
 passed one of the neatest and most highly improved 
 places on the road. 
 
 "It is indeed very beautiful," returned Mr. Jenkins, 
 half sighing as he spoke ; for, in strong contrast came up 
 in his imagination the really unimproved, comfortless, and 
 uninviting domicil of Farmer Crabtree, and he felt that in 
 the mind of Mrs. Jenkins were types and shadows of 
 things in country life not to be realized. 
 
 "Beautiful! very beautiful!" came from the lips of 
 Mrs. Jenkins, as one handsomely improved residence after 
 another was passed. "How much I shall enjoy myself!" 
 she would add, every now and then. " I always liked the 
 country." 
 
 6 
 
62 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 After turning off from the main road, Mrs. Jenkins 
 ceased her admiring remarks and leaned back in the 
 carriage. They had ridden about half a mile farther, 
 and were near the old cherry-tree pointed out to Mr. 
 Jenkins on his first visit to that neighbourhood, when the 
 lady said, as she glanced from the carriage-window 
 
 " That s a mean-looking place." 
 
 The eyes of Mr. Jenkins followed the direction taken 
 by those of his wife, and rested on the not very attractive 
 residence of Farmer Crab tree. Even less attractive than 
 before did it now appear in his eyes. He did not reply 
 to his wife s remark; for he could not find it in his heart 
 to tell her the truth : and yet the truth must come, and 
 that right speedily. 
 
 "Turn off here," said Mr. Jenkins to the driver as they 
 reached the old cherry-tree. 
 
 "That isn t the place!" came, in a quick voice of 
 surprise and disappointment from the lips of Mrs. Jenkins, 
 as she leaned from the carriage-window, and took in, at 
 a glance, all the beauties of the farm-house. 
 
 "Yes; this is the place!" returned Mr. Jenkins, with 
 assumed cheerfulness. " You have the worst view from 
 this point," he added, in a tone of apology. 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins made no further remark, but sank back 
 in the carriage, while a shadow came stealing over her 
 face. 
 
 "How my head does ache!" she murmured, a few 
 minutes afterward. 
 
 Arrived at last, the family descended from the carriage, 
 and were received by Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree with all due 
 formality. Poor Mrs. Jenkins tried to be cheerful and 
 look pleased. But it was a vain effort. She was really 
 sick sick, as well from disappointment as from exhaus 
 tion and fatigue. And this was the nice farm-house 
 where she was to spend the summer so delightfully ! 
 
 " Will you show me our room ?" asked Mrs. Jenkins, 
 soon after their entrance. 
 
 Mrs. Crabtree conducted her to the room which had 
 been duly set apart. as the one she was to occupy with her 
 husband, and, as she entered it, remarked 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 63 
 
 " I think you will find it very comfortable here, ma am. 
 This is our spare room." 
 
 The eyes of Mrs. Jenkins were thrown around the 
 apartment eagerly. 
 
 "It s very small," was her only remark. 
 
 "We think it quite a sizeable room," returned Mrs. 
 Crabtree, in a voice that showed a slight movement of 
 displeasure. 
 
 "Will you ask my husband to come up?" said Mrs. 
 Jenkins. 
 
 "Certainly, ma am." And Mrs. Crabtree left the 
 room. 
 
 When Mr. Jenkins entered the chamber, he found his 
 wife sitting near one of the windows with her bonnet 
 still on. 
 
 " Can t they give us a larger room than this ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No, my dear. It s the largest chamber in the house," 
 replied Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " We can never breathe in a closet like this. I feel 
 suffocated already. How close and impure the air is!" 
 
 Mr. Jenkins raised two of the windows that were closed. 
 
 " Rag carpet ! Ugh ! I never could bear rag carpets !" 
 now muttered Mrs. Jenkins, as she cast her eyes upon the 
 floor. Then she looked toward the narrow, mountain- 
 like bed, and, instantly rising, threw herself upon it, 
 sinking, as she did so, some two feet among the feathers. 
 
 " A feather bed as I live ! Goodness ! I can never 
 Bleep on that." 
 
 "We ll tell them to give us a mattrass," said Mr. 
 Jenkins, calmly. 
 
 " Ten chances to one if they have such a thing in the 
 house," replied Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 And so it proved; for the chances were all against the 
 mattrass. 
 
 "Oh dear! oh dear!" murmured poor Mrs. Jenkins. 
 "If this is one of the pleasures of country boarding, and 
 there are to be many more of the same kind, we will 
 have a delightful time of it." 
 
 "We re here now, and must try and make the best we 
 can of it," replied Mr. Jenkins. "You will soon get used 
 
64 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 to little inconveniences. Health, pure air, and a free 
 range for the children are the main things. We cannot 
 expect all the comforts and elegancies of a city residence." 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins sighed. For a little while longer she re 
 mained half irresolute. She was seriously considering the 
 propriety of going back forthwith to the city. Then she 
 quietly laid aside her bonnet, and began to make prepa 
 rations to remain. Nearly her first act was to go to the 
 washstand for the purpose of laving her hands and face 
 in cool water. But the pitcher was empty. No, not 
 exactly empty; for in the bottom lay a dead bird, from 
 which came a strong decaying odour as she lifted the 
 pitcher from its place in the basin. 
 
 "Nice preparations for boarders," said the lady fret 
 fully, "and a pleasant earnest of things to come. I wish 
 you would go down and tell Hannah to bring up Mary 
 and Edward." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins did as desired. From that time until tea 
 was ready, Mrs. Jenkins was busy with the children and 
 other little matters of preparation. During this period 
 Torn and Dick had come in with red, sunburnt faces, and 
 clothes soiled to an extent that almost agonized the 
 mother, who was a woman, be it known, who had "an eye 
 for dirt." They had found a running stream near by, 
 and also a good-sized pond. Between damming the 
 stream and sailing on old planks on the pond, they had 
 managed to pass a delightful day, at the expense of a 
 good deal of suffering on the part of their clothes. 
 
 At tea-time, Mrs. Crabtree looked grave. Her first 
 impressions in regard to Mrs. Jenkins were not good. 
 Mrs. Jenkins was quite as favourably impressed in regard 
 to herself. 
 
 "Have you a mattrass?" asked Mrs. Jenkins, while 
 they yet sat at the tea-table. 
 
 "A mattrass!" Mrs. Crabtree did not comprehend 
 the meaning of the question. 
 
 "Yes. I never sleep on a feather bed." 
 
 " Oh ! a mattrass ! No, ma am. We haven t a mattrass. 
 But you ll find that a very nice, comfortable bed. It haa 
 in it over seventy pounds of the very best feathers." 
 
 "I would die before morning!" said Mrs. Jenkins, with 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 65 
 
 little effort to hide her feelings. " I will thank you to 
 have the bed removed, and we will sleep on the sacking 
 to-night. To-morrow we can have a mattrass brought 
 out." 
 
 "There is no sacking-bottom to the bed," replied Mrs. 
 Crabtree. "It is corded." 
 
 "Corded!" 
 
 "Yes, ma am." 
 
 " Oh dear ! Then what shall we do ? I d rather sleep 
 on the floor than on that feather bed." 
 
 "It s a good, clean feather bed, ma am," said Mrs. 
 Crabtree, an indignant flush in her face and an indignant 
 tone in her voice. She did not yet fully comprehend the 
 objection of Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 "We do not in the least doubt that," said Mr. Jenkins, 
 who saw that their landlady s mind was somewhat in the 
 dark. The feather bed is all that one could desire ; but 
 we never sleep on any thing but a mattrass, winter or 
 summer. Perhaps you have a straw bed ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. There is a good straw one under the feather 
 bed. 
 
 "Just the thing!" replied Mr. Jenkins. "Take away 
 the feather bed, and we ll do very well." 
 
 So that difficulty was settled. 
 
 The night that followed proved to be a most sultry one. 
 The youngest child lay in a crib beside the bed, on which 
 reclined we will not say slept Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins 
 with another child. On the side next the crib were two 
 windows ; but neither of them could be left open, because 
 the crib was not three feet from them, and what little air 
 was stirring came from that quarter, and it was not safe 
 to let it blow on little Mary, who was subject to croup. 
 Into the other two windows, at the foot of the bed, which 
 were partly raised, came not a breath to fan into some 
 thing like living motion the sluggish air of the chamber. 
 
 Not for years had Mrs. Jenkins slept without a light 
 in her chamber. But she was doomed to make the expe 
 riment on this occasion. Such a thing as an oil lamp 
 there was not in the house. A long tallow candle was lit 
 on retiring to bed, with the hope that it would burn all 
 night. Twice had Mr. Jenkins been roused by his wife 
 
 6* 
 
66 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 from a transient doze, once to snuff this candle, and once 
 to remove a fragment of wick that was causing it to 
 "gutter" at a most alarming rate. 
 
 " I wish you would see what o clock it is," said the 
 restless lady, arousing her husband for the third time. 
 "It can t be long from morning." 
 
 "It s just one o clock," replied Mr. Jenkins, as he 
 brought his watch to the candle. 
 
 " Only one o clock ! It will never be daylight !" ex 
 claimed Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 " Try and get to sleep," said Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 " Sleep ! There isn t a wink of sleep in me. There ! 
 What is that?" 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins raised herself up as a bird flew in at the 
 window, and commenced dancing about the room. 
 
 " It s a bat. Take care !" replied Mr. Jenkins. "Don t 
 let it fall on your head. They bite terribly." 
 
 This was enough to cause Mrs. Jenkins to drop down 
 as if shot, and bury her face in the clothes. Mr. Jenkins 
 lay for a minute or two, watching the bird as it flew about 
 the room. Then rising, he tried to drive it out. While 
 engaged in this interesting employment, the bat darted 
 against the candle, and instantly the room was in dark 
 ness. Here was a dilemma ! There were no matches at 
 hand, and Mrs. Jenkins was afraid to let her husband go 
 down-stairs to relight the candle. To add to the per 
 plexity of the moment, little Mary awoke and commenced 
 crying for a drink of water. Feeling his way in the dark, 
 Mr. Jenkins succeeded in finding the pitcher, and, after a 
 further search of nearly a minute, made out to turn up a 
 tumbler. Twice, during the time occupied in this effort, 
 the bat swept so close to his face that its wings brushed 
 his cheek. At length a glass of water was brought to the 
 child s lips, and she ceased crying and commenced drink 
 ing. But only a mouthful or two had been taken, ere she 
 pushed the glass away and spouted the water from her 
 mouth, saying that there was something in the water. 
 Eyes being of no use under the circumstances, Mrs. Jen 
 kins thrust her fingers into the tumbler, and found, to her 
 horror, as many as two or three bugs therein, about the 
 size of grains of coffee. 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 67 
 
 "Oh, mercy!" she exclaimed, "Mary has swallowed a 
 bug, as sure as the world ! The tumbler is full of them." 
 
 At this Mary began to cry afresh the words of her 
 mother had frightened her and she continued to cry for 
 the next hour. That was a night long to be remembered 
 by Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. It seemed to them as if day 
 light would never come. Dripping with perspiration, and 
 almost suffocated in the dark, close, sultry air, they lay 
 murmuring over their discomfort until morning. As for 
 Mrs. Jenkins, she declared, unequivocally, she would not 
 remain in that place a day longer. But, after the sun 
 had arisen, a sober consultation was held, in which all the 
 pros and cons were fully discussed. The result was a 
 decision to remain a week or two at least, and give the 
 place a trial. But, in order to do this, it was determined 
 that Mr. Jenkins should send out, on that very day, 
 a mattrass, gauze frames for the windows, to keep out 
 bats and bugs at night, oil for a lamp, matches, and 
 some dozen other articles that were now seen to be indis 
 pensable. 
 
 At breakfast-time the family met at the table in the 
 small dining-room. Bread and butter, fried bacon, and 
 coffee composed the meal. Mr. Crabtree was absent ; he 
 had started for the city with his marketing before day 
 light, taking with him all the fresh-laid eggs and new-made 
 butter, which were to be served to a boarding-house with 
 which he had a contract for the supply of these articles. 
 The butter on the table was scarcely eatable ; at which 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins somewhat wondered. As for the 
 coffee, it was poor, watery stuff, and the " cream" with 
 which Mrs. Crabtree sought to improve its quality was 
 nothing more nor less than skim-milk. 
 
 The meal passed in silence, and then Mr. Jenkins 
 started for the city. He had to walk half a mile in order 
 to meet the stage. In the afternoon, having sent out the 
 mattrass and other things needed for their comfort, he 
 left in the stage. 
 
 There were heavy masses of clouds in the west, which 
 Mr. Jenkins did not observe until after leaving the city. 
 He did not, therefore, provide himself with an umbrella. 
 Blacker and blacker grew these clouds, and by the time 
 
68 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 he had to leave the stage they had curtained the whole 
 heavens. Mr. Jenkins, fearful of being caught in a sum 
 mer shower, hurried on his way ; but he had not gone 
 half the distance from the turnpike to Mr. Crabtree s, 
 before down came the rain in a perfect torrent. He 
 sought the shelter of a tree, after getting soaked to the 
 skin, and stood there for a whole hour. But still it 
 rained on, while the lightning flashed vividly, and the 
 thunder rolled with an almost incessant jar. At last, 
 beginning to feel chilled in his wet garments, Mr. Jenkins 
 concluded that it would be best for him to get home ; so 
 off he started, in the face of the driving storm, along a 
 road now ankle deep in some places with mud. 
 
 On arriving at the house, Nero, who either did not 
 know him, or affected ignorance on the subject, made a dash 
 at him, as on a former occasion, and this time got a good 
 mouthful out of his pantaloons before he was called off by 
 Farmer Crabtree, who gave the dog a sound thrashing for 
 his over-watchfulness. For this Mr. Jenkins was not for 
 given by Nero, who rarely ever suffered him to get peace 
 ably into the house on his daily return from the city. 
 
 That night was a more comfortable one for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Jenkins, as the storm cooled the atmosphere, and 
 they had better sleeping arrangements than at first. But, 
 on the next morning, Mr. Jenkins found himself suffer 
 ing from an attack of rheumatism an old friend of his, 
 for whom he had no very particular regard. 
 
 It took over a week for the family of Mr. Jenkins to 
 get sufficiently well acquainted with things around them 
 to understand exactly their true position. By this time 
 they had seen a little deeper into the economical arrange 
 ments of the Crabtrees ; but not deep enough to enable 
 them to comprehend why, being in the country, and on a 
 farm, they should have so few of the luxuries confidently 
 anticipated. But on this head they were in due time en 
 lightened. 
 
 "I know the reason," said Tom, the oldest boy, to his 
 mother, after they had been in the country about two 
 weeks, "why we never have good butter." 
 
 " Well, what is the reason ?" asked Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 " They send it all to market." 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 69 
 
 "Not all. Some is kept back for the family." 
 
 " Indeed, then, and not a pound is kept back," said 
 Tom. " Mr. Crabtree takes all they make to town, and 
 sells it for thirty-five cents, and then buys butter for us 
 at a quarter. Mrs. Crabtree says it s good enough for 
 boarders." 
 
 " How do you know ?" inquired Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 "I heard her say so." 
 
 " Are you certain ?" 
 
 " Indeed I am. And all the fresh eggs are taken to 
 market, too. The fact is, they take every thing to mar 
 ket. You know the two nice pears I bought you the 
 other day. Well, Mr. Crabtree scolded Dick and me 
 like every thing because we knocked some of them from 
 the tree, and said it was no better than stealing. Yester 
 day he stripped the tree, and to-day all the fruit was 
 taken to market. It s too bad. I don t like it at all. I 
 thought when I came to the country, I d get plenty of 
 fruit ; but I ve hardly had a taste." 
 
 When Mr. Jenkins came home that evening, his wife 
 was able to enlighten him on the subject of bad butter. 
 
 " Can this really be true?" asked that gentleman, in 
 an incredulous tone of voice. " Send their good butter to 
 market and buy bad for us, when we are paying them 
 twenty-five dollars a week ? I ll see about that." 
 
 On the next morning, at breakfast-time, Mr. Jenkins 
 said, after tasting the butter, and then replacing the small 
 portion he had taken upon the butter-plate 
 
 " The fact is, Mr. Crabtree, I can t eat your butter. 
 You must have very bad grass, very bad cows, or else be 
 very bad butter-makers." 
 
 The faces of both Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree coloured at 
 this unexpected remark. They had good grass, good 
 cows, and were good butter-makers, and they knew it ; 
 the allegation of Mr. Jenkins, therefore, touched them to 
 the quick. 
 
 " This isn t our butter," was stammered out in some 
 confusion by Mrs. Crabtree. 
 
 " Not your butter !" exclaimed Mr. Jenkins, in affected 
 surprise. " Oh, I was not aware of that. Pray, then, 
 let us have a taste of yours, for this is execrable stuff." 
 
70 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 Mrs. Crabtree could do no less than order a print of 
 her nice yellow butter to be brought upon the table. 
 
 " Ah ! that is butter !" said Mr. Jenkins, as he tasted it. 
 
 The way nearly a pound print disappeared was distress 
 ing to the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree. 
 
 After breakfast Jenkins took the farmer aside. 
 
 "Mr. Crabtree," said he, "how is it that you have 
 been giving us such miserable butter, when your own is 
 of good quality? I don t understand it." 
 
 " All my butter is engaged in the city," replied the 
 farmer. 
 
 "It is?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and I must serve my customers." 
 
 " And all your eggs, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " So I had begun to think, not having seen a fresh egg 
 on the table since I have been here. All your cream is 
 made into butter?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " I now understand why our coffee is so poor. Well, 
 Mr. Crabtree, all I have to say is, there will have to be an 
 immediate reform, or you will lose twenty-five dollars a 
 week. Perhaps it pays you better to sell your butter and 
 eggs than to feed them to your boarders. If so, go on 
 with your system, and we will go back to the city. We 
 pay you for the best of every thing, and the best we must 
 have. So now you understand me." 
 
 There was, of course, quite a buzzing in the Crabtree 
 hive. But when the farmer and his wife made a calcula 
 tion of loss and gain on the butter-selling and butter-feed 
 ing operations, they wisely concluded to adopt the latter 
 system. 
 
 After that the Jenkinses fared a little better. Still, as 
 to real comfort, they had nothing of the article. In the 
 daytime the sun poured his rays all around the little, un 
 protected farm-house, keeping Mrs. Jenkins and the 
 younger children in-doors or confined to a narrow range 
 without, and night shut them up in small, close rooms, 
 where it seemed almost impossible to breathe. Once or 
 twice every week Mr. Jenkins missed the stage, and had 
 to walk in the hot sun to West Philadelphia for an omni- 
 
COUNTRY BOAEDING. 71 
 
 bus. And every now and then he was drenched with rain 
 in going from the stage to the farm-house. Dick and 
 Tom were about the only ones who really enjoyed them 
 selves, and they managed every day to get their clothes 
 in a condition that completely horrified their mother. 
 
 Until the latter part of August this country comfort 
 was endured, when, on returning from the city one even 
 ing, Mr. Jenkins found two of the children, Dick and 
 Mary, quite sick. They had considerable fever, and Dick 
 was a little out of his head. About a mile away lived a 
 doctor, who was summoned immediately. 
 
 "What do you think ails them?" asked Mrs. Jenkins, 
 after the doctor had examined the children. 
 
 "They have intermittent fever, I presume," replied 
 the physician. 
 
 " Intermittent fever !" ejaculated Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 "Intermittent fever!" said the father. 
 
 "No doubt of it. It is prevailing about here to a 
 great extent," replied the doctor. 
 
 " Oh dear !" sighed Mrs. Jenkins. " Has it come to 
 this ? So much for country boarding !" 
 
 " It isn t always prudent to come into the country at 
 this season," remarked the doctor. 
 
 " I had no idea that it was sickly about here," said Mr. 
 Jenkins. 
 
 " It isn t ordinarily. But there is a good deal of in 
 termittent and bilious fever just at this time." 
 
 "We must go back immediately !" said Mrs. Jenkins. 
 
 "Yes, immediately!" added her husband. 
 
 And so, on the next day, the Jenkinses made a pre 
 cipitate flight to the city, with two sick children. 
 
72 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 PAET III. 
 
 ONE of the hottest of August s hot days was that on 
 which Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins returned home with their 
 family. Their flight from the country took place, as did 
 their flight from the city, late in the afternoon. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, that experiment is over !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Jenkins, as the carriage in which she had taken her 
 seat began to move from the door of Farmer Crabtree. 
 
 " Country boarding ! Save the mark !" muttered Mr. 
 Jenkins, in an under tone. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I shall be to get home again with my 
 poor children !" added Mrs. Jenkins. Dear Mary! How 
 sick she is ! Ah me ! I m afraid we shall pay dear for 
 our experiment." 
 
 "A change of air and good medical attendance will 
 bring all right again, I hope," remarked Mr. Jenkins. 
 
 "I have my fears," said Mrs. Jenkins, with a sigh. 
 "Mrs. Wheeler s Milly got the chills year before last 
 somewhere up the Schuylkill, and was sick all winter. 
 Poor little fellow ! He suffered a great deal. Just to 
 think that our children, who have always been so healthy, 
 should get such a miserable disease !" 
 
 " If this is summer boarding," said Mr. Jenkins, break 
 ing the silence a little while afterward, " save me from a 
 second trial of its pleasures !" 
 
 " Such a life as I have lived for the last six weeks ! 
 Gracious ! What would induce me to go over it again ?" 
 remarked Mrs. Jenkins. " Shut up from all society in 
 that little den, upon which the sun poured down from 
 morning till night with melting fervour, and deprived of 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 75 
 
 almost every thing made necessary to my comfort by 
 habit, I have merely endured existence. And then, we 
 have all lived like heathens. For six weeks neither I nor 
 the children have seen the inside of a church. As for 
 Tom and Dick, they have run perfectly wild, and learned 
 more low slang, and, I fear, vice, from the farm hands 
 and boys about the neighbourhood than they would have 
 learned in the city for years." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins sighed at this strong array of evils attend 
 ant on their summer-boarding experiment. Nor had he 
 escaped without some pretty serious inroads upon his per 
 sonal comfort, to say nothing of the return of his old 
 friend the rheumatism, brought back by more than one 
 drenching in a thunder-shower. Quite as glad was he as 
 his wife to quit the scene of their rural felicity. 
 
 " Oh ! this is delightful !" exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins, sit 
 ting down near an open window in a large, airy chamber, 
 soon after arriving at home. Hot as the day had been, 
 and sultry as the atmosphere still remained, there was yet 
 a cool draft of air passing through the chambers, in one of 
 which Mrs. Jenkins was seated. " How foolish we were 
 to give up real comfort like this !" she added. 
 
 " And for what ?" said her husband. 
 
 " Yes, and for what ? You may well ask that question." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Jenkins !" cried the nurse at this moment, 
 in a voice of alarm, " what is the matter with Mary ?" 
 
 Mary s chill had come on just as the family was leaving 
 Farmer Crabtree s. It was more violent than the preced 
 ing ones, and was succeeded by a very high fever, which, 
 commenced rising before they reached the city. 
 
 The startling words of the nurse caused Mrs. Jenkins 
 to go hurriedly into the adjoining chamber, where Mary 
 lay upon a bed. 
 
 "What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Jenkins ! See how she looks !" said the 
 nurse. "Her eyes are set, and she keeps twisting her 
 face and working her body so strangely. 
 
 " Oh, mercy I Mr. Jenkins ! Run for the doctor, 
 quickly ! What is the matter ?" 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, who had hurried in after his wife, exclaim 
 ed, as soon as he looked at the child 
 
76 COUNTRY BOARDING. 
 
 " Bless me ! She s in convulsions !" 
 
 " Convulsions ! Oh, dear ! What shall we do ? Oh, 
 Mr. Jenkins, run, run for the doctor !" 
 
 And the frightened mother, who had never seen a child 
 in convulsions, wrung her hands like one distracted. 
 
 " Get her into a hot bath as quickly as possibly," said 
 Mr. Jenkins, assuming a calm exterior, although he felt 
 much alarmed, " and I will go for the doctor. Make the 
 water as hot as your hand can bear it, and keep her in 
 for a good while. I will be back very soon." 
 
 And saying this, Mr. Jenkins hurried away. A quarter 
 of an hour elapsed before he returned with a physician ; 
 and full three hours passed ere the dreadful spasms that 
 convulsed the frame of the child subsided. 
 
 On the next day, the chill returned, succeeded by 
 another raging fever. With an anxious heart did the 
 mother sit by Mary s bedside, hour after hour watching 
 eagerly the little suiferer s face, and trembling all the 
 while lest there should be another return of convulsions. 
 Happily there was no recurrence of these frightful symp 
 toms ; but the poor child s system was so shocked by the 
 first attack that she remained in a partial stupor for two 
 or three days, giving rise to the fear that her brain had 
 received some permanent injury. This, however, was not 
 the case. Still the fever held on with a clinging tenacity, 
 that for a time defied all the efforts of medicine. Week 
 after week, both in the case of Dick and Mary, there was 
 a daily return of the chill and fever, until the natural 
 strength of good constitutions began to fail under the 
 pressure of disease and the debilitating effects of strong 
 and active remedies. 
 
 Frost, so long and anxiously looked for, as having power 
 to break the chills, came ; but the only difference in the 
 state of the young sufferers was, that a tertian ague took 
 the place of daily chills and fevers. This continued until 
 Christmas, when, with a feeling of thankfulness that they 
 could not express, the parents saw the fever leave their 
 children. But troublesome consequences remained. Poor 
 little Mary was swollen around her waist to a third be 
 yond her usual size ; and the doctor gave Mr. and Mrs. 
 Jenkins the not very consoling information that one or 
 
COUNTRY BOARDING. 77 
 
 two years might pass before she was entirely recovered 
 from the bad effects that too often follow attacks of ague 
 and fever. Moreover, both she and Dick would be liable 
 to a return of the disease in the ensuing fall. 
 
 Alone with the children did not rest the evil conse 
 quences of this country-boarding experiment. Rheumatic 
 twitches, aches, and pains, the result of sundry exposures 
 to drenching rains, took a more serious character in the 
 case of Mr. Jenkins as cold weather made its approaches ; 
 and before winter was fairly over, he had to take his place 
 in his chamber, and endure the pangs of a four weeks 
 visitation of inflammatory rheumatism. 
 
 "Are you going to the country this summer?" said a 
 friend to Mr. Jenkins, early in June last. 
 
 " For what?" asked Jenkins, rather tartly. 
 
 "Why, for comfort." 
 
 u Comfort!" 
 
 u Yes. For comfort during the hot months." 
 
 u Yes. I engaged a place at a snug little farm-house 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Hope you may find more comfort than we did last 
 year," said Jenkins. 
 
 " Ain t you going ?" 
 
 " Not we. One season cured us of our country-board 
 ing aspirations \ and you will be cured ere September, if 
 you get as snugly fixed as we were at farmer Crabtree s." 
 
 " Crabtree s ! There s where we are going," said the 
 friend. 
 
 " Is it, indeed ! Well, all I can say is that you d better 
 stay at home." 
 
 At this, the friend had a dozen or more questions to 
 ask ; and Mr. Jenkins was in no way choice of his words 
 in answering them. We have only to add that farmer 
 Crabtree was not successful in filling his house with board 
 ers last summer. 
 
 Of course, all who go into the country are not so 
 thoroughly disappointed as were Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, 
 though few are fortunate enough to realize their pleasant 
 anticipations. Going away from home for comfort, either 
 in summer or winter, is not the most certain way of secur 
 ing the object desired. 
 
LARGE STORIES. 
 
 " WONDERFUL !" exclaimed one of a group of listeners, 
 who were hanging on the words of a moustached, whis 
 kered, out-at-the-elbows-looking fellow, who had evidently 
 seen something of the world, though clearly to no great 
 advantage to himself. " As large as your fist?" 
 
 u Yes, sir!" replied the relater. 
 
 "Solid gold?" 
 
 " Solid and pure as an ingot. Why, I saw a man from 
 one of the * digging on Feather Biver, with a raw-hide 
 78 
 
LARGE STORIES. 79 
 
 sack that would hold half a bushel, full of lumps that he 
 had gathered in a little over ten days ; not one of which 
 was smaller than a walnut." 
 
 " You don t say so !" fell from two or three voices. 
 
 " It is just what I do say." 
 
 "Had you any luck in digging?" inquired one. 
 
 " Certainly I had. I staid only a month in the i dig- 
 gins, and came down to Sacramento with over twenty 
 thousand dollars worth of the real stuff/ 
 
 " Twenty thousand !" 
 
 "Yes, and over." 
 
 " What did you do with your gold ?" asked one. 
 
 Whiskerendo shrugged his shoulders, compressed sud 
 denly his lips, and elevated his eyebrows. 
 
 " Come easy, go easy ;" said he. " It was spent in a 
 month after I reached the sea-coast." 
 
 "What did you do then?" 
 
 " Got a situation as clerk in a store, at three hundred 
 dollars a month." 
 
 " Good wages," remarked one of the listeners. 
 
 " First rate. Grand place, that California. A man s 
 a fool to plod out his life here." 
 
 " So I should think, provided you are not romancing," 
 said one of the company. 
 
 " Romancing ! There s no need to romance, my friend," 
 returned the adventurer. " The simple truth is wonder 
 ful enough. In fact, the half has never been told ; and, 
 I believe, never will be told. The riches of that El Do 
 rado are scarcely yet opened. Take my advice, every 
 one of you, and make all haste for this golden region. 
 There is room enough left for thousands to work and 
 secure untold riches." 
 
 Among the listeners was an old fellow named Grimes, 
 who had said nothing, but who had occasionally let his 
 eye rest upon the talker with a half-sarcastic, half-comical 
 twinkle. 
 
 " See here, my friend," said California, drawing up a 
 chair to the table at which this personage was sitting, 
 and addressing him in a familiar way, " why don t you 
 pull up stakes, and travel off to this land of promise ? A 
 man s a fool to vegetate in this part of the country, pur- 
 
80 LARGE STORIES. 
 
 suing the vanishing shadow of a fortune, when he has 
 only to step across the isthmus, glide up the coast, and 
 fill his pockets with a hundred or two thousands of dol 
 lars in a few months." 
 
 " That can be easily done, can it?" said the old fellow. 
 
 " Pho ! I washed ten thousand dollars out of a few 
 bushels of sand in a single day." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 " Certainly. Any body can do it." 
 
 " Then why didn t you stay there, my friend ?" coolly 
 asked the other. 
 
 Whiskerendo shrugged his shoulders, arched his eye 
 brows, pursed his lips, and made sundry other dumb 
 motions. 
 
 " You seem to be pretty well out at the elbows, and 
 pretty well out in the pocket," continued the other. 
 " Where are all these heaps of shining gold you talk so 
 much about?" 
 
 " Come easy, go easy ;" and California shrugged his 
 shoulders again. " Spent ten thousand dollars in Sacra 
 mento city in a fortnight. Great place, that." 
 
 " Why didn t you go back to the mines again ?" 
 
 " Didn t like the company there. Horrible place !" 
 
 " Oho ! And yet, a moment since, you pictured it as 
 the most desirable spot on the earth ! But why didn t 
 you stay in Sacramento, on a salary of three hundred 
 dollars a month, eh ? Tell us that, my friend. You can t 
 make three hundred dollars a year, I fancy, in these 
 diggins ! " 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me, sir?" exclaimed Califor 
 nia, at this, growing fierce, and beginning to finger his 
 moustache. "I never permit a man to insult me." 
 
 "I only asked a very natural question," coolly replied 
 the interrogator, without moving, or taking his eyes from 
 the other s face. " You re not the first man I ve seen 
 from the gold region, who came back with empty pockets 
 and large stories. I always ask such adventurers why 
 they didn t stay there, but have yet to receive an answer 
 to my question. Pray, sir, gratify my curiosity." 
 
 California couldn t stand this ; the more especially as 
 one and another of the group he had been edifying, 
 
LARGE STORIES. 81 
 
 repeated the interrogation. So he took refuge under a 
 torrent of bad language, and retired from the company 
 in high indignation. 
 
 " I can tell you why he left," said one, who had, until 
 now, been silent. 
 
 " Why ?" " Why ?" was repeated all around. 
 
 "You know him, do you not ?" 
 
 " Yes." " Yes." Charles ." 
 
 The man drew a letter from his pocket and read 
 
 " You remember Charles . Well, he left in the 
 
 last steamer for Panama, and took with him some three 
 or four thousand dollars in gold dust, belonging to a 
 friend. He s a bad man, and conducted himself scanda 
 lously while here. It would hardly do for him to return." 
 
 " Hum-m-m !" " Oho !" " Aha !" Such were the low 
 ejaculations that followed this little piece of information. 
 "That explains his coming back." 
 
 California never again appeared in that company, nor 
 repeated his large stories in the presence of old Grimes. 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY?" 
 
 JENKINS was an honest, simple-mirded man, little 
 versed in the ways of the world. Being without capital, 
 and having a salary, as clerk in a mercantile house, only 
 sufficient for the support of himself and those dependent 
 on him, no thought of going into business entered his 
 mind. A clerk he was, and a clerk he expected to remain. 
 One after another of his fellow-quilldrivers had broken 
 through their cerements, and arisen into the station and 
 dignity of merchants ; but he was still at the desk, and 
 anticipated no such change for himself. One day, a 
 young man named Tompkins, who had started out in life 
 two or three years before, said to him 
 
 " Jenkins, my old friend, why don t you go into busi 
 ness ? You are wasting the best years of your existence." 
 
 Jenkins shrugged his shoulders, and half sighed the 
 word 
 
 " Capital !" 
 
 "You don t need any capital," replied Tompkins. 
 
 Jenkins elevated his eyebrows with a look of wonder. 
 
 "Credit is capital," said Tompkins. 
 
 " Oh ! But where s the credit to come from ?" 
 
 " There are plenty of men who will sell you goods. 
 I ve never found any difficulty. I started without a hun 
 dred dollars, and am now doing business to the amount 
 of fifty thousand dollars a year." 
 
 "So much?" 
 
 " Yes, every dollar of it ; and, if my good luck goes 
 on, I ll do seventy thousand dollars worth next year." 
 
 "And your only capital was your credit?" 
 82 
 
Anything over To-day? 
 
 83 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 85 
 
 "I hadn t a dollar in hard cash." 
 
 "Possible?" 
 
 "It s truth." 
 
 " You bought on four and six months ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But a stock of goods can t be turned in six months. 
 That s admitted on all hands." 
 
 " A good deal can be turned if a man pushes his busi 
 ness." 
 
 " Suppose sixteen thousand out of twenty are turned 
 and that s a liberal calculation how are the four thou 
 sand to be made up ?" 
 
 " You must borrow." 
 
 "Borrow?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It s easy enough to say f Borrow/ but who s to lend ?" 
 
 " Every body lends. You are short to-day, and your 
 neighbour is over he lends you. To-morrow he is short 
 and you are over, and you lend him. Hundreds of thou 
 sands of dollars circulate in this way." 
 
 " But suppose my neighbour isn t over when I happen 
 to be short?" said Jenkins. 
 
 " Go to another neighbour. Somebody will be over. I 
 have never found any difficulty." 
 
 " All that s too temporary, and a little too risky for 
 me. The borrowed amount must go on increasing until 
 the sum becomes unmanageable." 
 
 "By that time," replied Tompkins, "your credit will 
 be so well established that you can get an accommodation 
 in bank. Money in business, you know, is always worth 
 its interest." 
 
 "Yes, I am aware of that." 
 
 " Borrowed capital is therefore just as good as if it were 
 your own, for all business purposes." 
 
 Jenkins assented to this, although he didn t exactly 
 feel that it was true. 
 
 " Can this be readily done ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Certainly," was the confident answer. " I can do it." 
 
 " I m afraid I couldn t," said Jenkins. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, I don t know ; but that s my impression." 
 
80 ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 
 
 "Nonsense; you cafl do it as well as any one else. 
 You re too timid. Nothing venture, nothing gain. Here 
 you are, wearing out your life on a salary of a thousand 
 dollars, when you might just as Well be making two or 
 three thousand. Use your abilities for your own benefit, 
 not for the good of others, to be turned out to die, like 
 an old horse, when you get old." 
 
 A few interviews like this with Tompkins, who mani 
 fested a warm interest for his old friend, finally overcame 
 all objections in the mind of Jenkins, and he became pos 
 sessed of go-into-business-and-get-rieh spirits. Credit was 
 capital. That was an admitted axiom. And, with capi 
 tal, any fool could make money. That was its twin 
 brother. Jenkins found less difficulty in obtaining goods 
 on a six months credit than he had anticipated. He had 
 a quiet, thoughtful air about him, and his old employers 
 gave him credit for being a man of the most honest pur 
 poses, and a good knowledge of business. 
 
 During the first six months Jenkins was able to dis 
 count many of his own notes. This made his credit 
 A No. 1 With a good many of the wholesale men from 
 whom he bought, and they congratulated him that he was 
 getting on so well ; but, at the expiration of six months, 
 when about six or seven thousand dollars fell due in the 
 course of a couple of weeks, Jenkins found his vessel 
 passing from a smooth sea into troubled waters. 
 
 " Any thing over to-day, Jenkins ?" or, " Will you have 
 any thing over to-morrow ?" had been sounded in his ears 
 half a dozen times daily for the last three or four months ; 
 and he had made temporary loans of small sums again 
 and again to his neighbours. Tompkins had been a liberal 
 borrower. He was on the street daily. It was now Jen 
 kins s turn to ask a reciprocation of favours, which had, 
 thus far, been all on one side. 
 
 For the first notes which fell due, to the amount of two 
 thousand five hundred dollars, Jenkins was prepared ; 
 but one morning he found himself with a thousand dollars 
 to pay, and nothing in bank. The young merchant felt 
 sober. This large amount must be borrowed but could 
 he borrow it ? That was the doubtful question. More 
 over, he felt a natural repugnance to asking favours of 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 87 
 
 the kind, and his heart sank in him at the very thought 
 of doing so ; but in no other way could the money bo 
 raised. Temporary loans must be had until the regular 
 sales brought all right again. Business was very good, 
 and profits fair. The prospect ahead was encouraging. 
 The present difficulty surmounted, and all would be 
 smooth sailing again. 
 
 Naturally enough, Jenkins first visit was to his friend. 
 
 "Any thing over to-day, Tompkins ?" he asked, confi 
 dently for here he fully counted on important aid. The 
 srnile on the face of his friend instantly faded. 
 
 " Not a cent, Jenkins, I m sorry to say," was the reply. 
 " I m short two thousand myself, and fully counted on you 
 for five hundred." 
 
 "I must raise a thousand to-day," sai d Jenkins, in a 
 husky voice, and with every sign of disappointment visi 
 ble. "I fully counted on you." 
 
 "If I should possibly have any thing over at two 
 o clock you will be most welcome to it," said Tompkins ; 
 " but you musn t depend on me. No doubt you will raise 
 what you want easily enough. Have you tried Smith ?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "You ve accommodated him?" 
 
 "Yes, twenty times." 
 
 "Then go to him. I think he s flush to-day." 
 
 To the store of Smith, Jenkins proceeded ; but not with 
 the easy confidence he experienced in calling upon Tomp 
 kins. The first disappointment had dashed his feelings. 
 Smith was a spruce, active little fellow, who advanced to 
 meet Jenkins, rubbing his hands as the latter came in. 
 
 "Ah, Jenkins, how are you how are you?" said he, 
 smiling like a prima donna. " I was just about calling in 
 to see you. Any thing over to-day ?" 
 
 Now this was almost too much for poor human nature ; 
 or, at least, for that of Mr. Jenkins. His countenance, 
 which had lighted up, fell ; and he stammered out 
 
 " No, no, not a cent. The f-f-faet is, I m on a borrow 
 ing tramp to-day, and have come to ask a lift from you. 
 
 " Indeed ! I m sorry I can t help you. Why, I 
 thought you one of the most comfortable men in the 
 street." 
 
88 ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 
 
 " So I have been. Never before asked for a dollar 
 since I was in business. But several heavy payments are 
 crowded into this and next week, and I shall be short for 
 a time. It won t last long, however." 
 
 "Wish I could help you, Jenkins. My will is good," 
 said Smith ; " but I must take care of number one to-day. 
 If I have any thing over to-morrow you shall be welcome 
 to it with all my heart. Have you tried Jones ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Call on him. He had in three or four customers 
 from the West yesterday, and I think they left him, as 
 they say, * a right smart chance of money. He s bor 
 rowed from you, I know." 
 
 "Yes, often." 
 
 " He ll help you. Call on him." 
 
 " Any thing over to-day?" asked Jenkins, meekly, of 
 Jones, whom he found at his desk, looking particularly 
 dismal. 
 
 "No, not a red cent," sharply returned Jones, frown 
 ing as he spoke, and glancing involuntarily toward a rack 
 full of bank notices. He had been meditating for half an 
 hour before Jenkins came in, with these full in view; 
 which fact will account for his unamiable temper. 
 
 Jenkins turned away without speaking, and went back 
 to his own store. He had never had just such feelings as 
 now oppressed him. A thousand dollars were to be paid 
 in bank before three o clock, and he had, thus far, nothing 
 toward meeting the obligation. Moreover, three thou 
 sand dollars additional fell due in the course of a week, 
 all of which must be met, or he would fail in business. 
 " Fail !" How the word, as it formed itself in his thoughts, 
 made him tremble inwardly. 
 
 " Where is the money to come from ?" he sighed, as 
 he seated himself in his store. For ten minutes he 
 remained inactive ; then, suddenly rising, he murmured 
 
 " But this won t do. It must come from somewhere. 
 I will try Wilkins ; he s had many favours of me." 
 
 To Wilkins s store Jenkins repaired. 
 
 "Any thing over to-day?" he asked, betraying in his 
 voice and countenance the extremity of his need. 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 89 
 
 Well I don t know/ replied Wilkins, thoughtfully 
 and deliberately. w Let me see." 
 
 And, opening his fire-closet, he took out a large pocket- 
 book, and commenced examining its contents. 
 
 " How much do you want ?" he at length asked. 
 
 " Three or four hundred dollars." 
 
 * Is it to go in bank ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " If uncurrent money would answer, I might help you 
 some." 
 
 u How near is it?" 
 
 "Virginia." 
 
 " Two per cent, discount." 
 
 " Yes ; but you can have it for a couple of weeks, if it s 
 any accommodation." 
 
 " How much have you ?" 
 
 "Three hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 " Hold on to it, if you please, for an hour or two ; and 
 if I can t make up what I want I will accept your offer." 
 
 " Very well ; it is at your service. I would do better 
 for you, if I could ; hut I just let Tompkins have all my 
 current funds." 
 
 Half a dozen more applications were made during the 
 next hour ; and all poor Jenkins could raise was two hun 
 dred dollars, which must be returned on the next day by 
 twelve o clock. This sum, with the three hundred and 
 fifty dollars uncurrent money, on which he would have to 
 lose seven dollars in discount, left him short four hundred 
 and fifty dollars. 
 
 It was near one o clock, and he had already gone the 
 entire rounds so far as those who had, on former occa 
 sions, taken the liberty to borrow of him were concerned. 
 As a money-hunter, he must now extend his walks far 
 ther. He must go to those who had never come to him. 
 
 There was, only a few doors from Mr. Jenkins, a retail 
 dealer in the same line, who had been one of his old em 
 ployer s best customers. As a clerk, Jenkins had fre 
 quently sold him goods, and waited upon him for the 
 settlement of many bills. Peters that was the man s 
 name had always been very polite to Jenkins, both 
 before and since his entrance into business ; and Jenkins, 
 
 8* 
 
90 ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 
 
 in consequence, liked Peters, and thought him very much 
 of a gentleman. In his extremity one o clock having 
 arrived, and there being yet four hundred and fifty dollars 
 to make up he determined to try Peters. At first 
 thought he shrunk from doing so ; but necessity spurred 
 him to the act. 
 
 As Jenkins placed his foot within the store of Peters, 
 his heart almost failed him ; but it was too late now to 
 turn back, so he advanced. Peters was standing at a 
 desk in the back part of the store, busily engaged in 
 making certain calculations on a small slip of paper. 
 Two or three parcels of bank notes were lying before 
 him, and near these were several bank notices. The fact 
 was, Peters was himself short ; and whenever that was 
 the case he, being of a nervous temperament, was never 
 very amiable. He had just discovered a little error in 
 his calculations, which showed him even worse off than he 
 had believed, by several hundred dollars, when a falter 
 ing voice near him pronounced his name. He turned 
 quickly, and, as his sharp eyes and knit brows were en 
 countered by Jenkins, the latter seemed almost to shrink 
 into himself as he instinctively took off his hat. 
 
 "Mr. Jenkins," said Peters, not relaxing a muscle. 
 
 "Mr. Peters, how are you?" 
 
 "So so." 
 
 Still the brows were unbent. 
 
 "Any thing over to-day?" faltered Jenkins. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 That "No" must have been heard, to form a correct 
 idea of the emphatic force with which it was uttered. 
 Poor Jenkins staggered back a pace or two, and then 
 hastily retired. 
 
 " The tenth time I ve had to say that in the last hour," 
 muttered Peters, savagely, as he turned to his desk. 
 
 This last experience in borrowing from those who were 
 "over," settled the matter with Jenkins. It would have 
 been about as easy to have forced him up to a cannon s 
 mouth as to have induced him to make another applica 
 tion of the kind. 
 
 "I d better fail and be done with it," said he to him 
 self, as he went back with hurried strides to his store ; 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 91 
 
 but the idea of failing became more and more terrible to 
 him the nearer the view he took. 
 
 "I must prevent it, if I can." This, which was 
 thought rather than uttered, marked the reaction in his 
 mind. 
 
 "But how, how, how?" And he paced the floor back 
 ward and forward half a dozen times. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I ll do that. It s a straw, but I ll catch at 
 it." And, so saying, he started forth again. This time 
 he went to the store of his old employers, and asked an 
 interview with the senior member of the firm, a kind- 
 hearted, liberal man. 
 
 "Mr. B ," said Jenkins, as soon as they were 
 
 alone, speaking frankly and without embarrassment, 
 " I ve committed a great blunder." 
 
 "In what?" 
 
 "In going into business." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "I hadn t a dollar of capital." 
 
 "I thought you had saved something." 
 
 " No ; I went into business on the sole basis of a cre 
 dit." 
 
 " That was a blunder." 
 
 " So I have discovered ; but, unfortunately, when it is 
 too late to retrieve my error." 
 
 " You can t pay your notes, I presume." 
 
 "Not out of my current business. I must borrow." 
 
 "A poor dependence, Jenkins." 
 
 " So I have found, this day, to my grief and disap 
 pointment. I have been trying for nearly five hours to 
 get a thousand dollars, but nobody has any thing to spare ; 
 so I must let my paper lie over, and make a failure of it." 
 
 " That won t do, Jenkins," said Mr. B . 
 
 " I d rather fail twenty times than keep up a half dead 
 and alive business existence by shinning it. No, no ; 
 that won t suit me, no how. One day s experience is 
 enough. How people stand it who run about daily from 
 nine o clock until half-past two, to get money to meet 
 their notes, is more than I can tell. It would kill me in 
 a month. I d rather fail at once, and be done with it. 
 Failure must come at last." 
 
92 ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 
 
 " Well, what do you want to say to me on the sub 
 ject ?" asked B . 
 
 ** Simply," replied Jenkins, < to call my store yours, 
 and me your clerk, for a few months, until the business 
 can be settled up you, in the mean time, paying the 
 notes that fall due, in order to keep all concerned free 
 from the loss that inevitably follows a failure in business. 
 There s enough to make you perfectly safe/ 
 
 " You are certain of that?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; I ve made very fair profits, and lived fru^ 
 
 fally. You can furnish goods from your own store to 
 eep up the stock while I m selling off what is now on 
 hand. In this way you will be able to more than pay 
 the expenses of the store, and bring all out safely in the 
 end." 
 
 " I must have a little time to think about this, Jen 
 kins," said B . " I wish you had mentioned the sub 
 ject a week or two ago, so that I could have looked into 
 the affair before your extremity came. You want a 
 thousand dollars to-day?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 B sat and thought for some three or four minutes. 
 
 "You must have it, I suppose," said he, at length. 
 " I don t like these failures in business. Their reaction 
 upon trade is bad. I ll give you a check for a thousand 
 dollars to-day. Pay your notes, and then go to work and 
 get up a statement of your exact condition. If it all 
 looks right, perhaps but no matter what. Do as I wish, 
 and let me see you to-morrow." 
 
 A heavy weight was suddenly rolled from the feelings 
 of Jenkins. He felt as light as a feather as he went back 
 to his store, holding tightly in his hand a check for one 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 On the next day, after a long interview with Mr. B , 
 
 who had always felt a friendly interest in Jenkins, it was 
 
 decided to continue the business, B to be a silent 
 
 partner, and furnish a certain amount of capital. That 
 settled the fortunes of the young man. He is still in 
 business, and doing well. While Tompkins and dozens 
 of others like him are on the street, daily, from nine till 
 half-past two, as eager money-hunters, you will find him 
 
ANY THING OVER TO-DAY? 93 
 
 at liis counter, attending to customers, or at the auctions, 
 ready to secure any good bargains that may happen to 
 offer. And you will, moreover, find him a prosperous 
 merchant, when Tompkins, and eight out of ten of such 
 able "financiers," are driven under, and the ripples on 
 the surface of trade that marked the place of their dis 
 aster are no longer to be seen. 
 
 To start in business with only credit for a capital, ? to 
 lean upon a broken reed. Thousands have learned this 
 to their sorrow. 
 
THROWING DUST IN PEOPLE S EYES. 
 
 THERE are many ways in which this is done we mean 
 throwing dust in people s eyes. In all the varied walks 
 of life, from the leaders of political parties down to the 
 scavengers who clean the streets, a certain set of indivi 
 duals find especial delight in the work. In most cases, it 
 is the hand of self-interest that throws the dust, and per 
 sons are blinded in order that they may not see the false 
 moves about to be made against them. 
 
 It generally happens that your dust-throwing fraternity 
 are, in the end, pretty well understood; and those who 
 have once been blinded, manage to keep at least one eye 
 clear, and fixed intently upon them. In a word, throwing 
 dust may do very well for a time, but, like all evil work, 
 it has its day and its hour. In the end, more is lost than 
 gained. 
 
 " Aping their betters," but without the motive of self- 
 interest, and in the mere wantonness of ill-nature, your 
 street-scavengers manage to do a pretty large share in 
 the work of throwing dust in people s eyes, and their mode 
 of doing it is of the most literal character. If the day 
 happens to be windy, and you see one of this industrious 
 fraternity approaching a box, barrel, or basket of dry 
 coal-ashes, take our advice and cross the street, for the 
 moment eschewing all dainty regard for flag-stones. In 
 all cases of this kind, we are clear in the opinion that dis 
 cretion is the better part of valour, and practise on the 
 rule invariably. Even a soiled boot is to be preferred to 
 dust in the eyes. 
 
 Patrick Mooney he was, probably, third cousin to 
 94 
 
THROWING DUST IN PEOPLE S EYES. 97 
 
 Peter Mulrooney, who did, or, rather, who did not sell 
 Mr. Urban s strawberry cow ; though Patrick was an ill- 
 natured boy, compared with Peter Patrick Mooney had 
 been six months in " Amereky," and in that short space 
 of time had made the discovery that we are all lords here, 
 and that he was as good as anybody, and a little better, 
 too, if the truth were known. So Patrick, in his inde 
 pendence, not only stuck out his elbows so far that they 
 sadly annoyed other people s ribs, but even ventured, 
 occasionally, to give said elbows a sort of an outward 
 flying motion, by which the ribs aforesaid were rather 
 severely bruised. Of course, Patrick had to take the 
 consequences ; but he did not seem to grow much wiser 
 for all that. One or two good places were lost because the 
 independent citizen asserted, as was thought, rather too 
 broadly his independence, and he finally came down to 
 the necessity of accepting the office of City Collector 
 of ashes. 
 
 Patrick was rather humiliated by this fall of a man 
 who was " as good as anybody;" but he soon saw that 
 he had it in his power to be revenged on society for the 
 wrong he sustained at its hands ; and revenge in just the 
 way that suited his direct aims and purposes. He could 
 throw dust in people s eyes to his heart s content, and 
 well did he do his work. 
 
 But emptying ash-pans and ash-barrels did not yield a 
 very handsome income for the somewhat ambitious Mooney, 
 and he kept on the look-out for some more desirable occu 
 pation. 
 
 "Pathrick," said Mrs. Mooney, one evening, to her 
 husband, on his return home from his day s work " Ise 
 got news for yees. Andy Muckleroy s dead." 
 
 " Andy Muckleroy, is it, indade ! Faix ! and it s an 
 ill wind that blows nobody good. He s lost a grand 
 place." 
 
 "And ye must thry and get it, Pathrick." 
 
 " Dad ! and I m just the boy to try. I ll be made up 
 if I can get the siteation." 
 
 " Ye doesn t know Musther Blakely?" 
 
 " No ; but I ve got friends. Dad ! but I ll go about it 
 bright and early the morrow mornin ." 
 
 9 
 
98 THROWING DUST IN PEOPLE S EYES. 
 
 So, early on the next day, Patrick ran around among a 
 few friends, and got them to sign a recommendation, pre 
 paratory to his application for the place made vacant by 
 the death of Mr. Blakely s porter. With this he called 
 at the merchant s store about nine o clock, but was not so 
 fortunate as to find him in. He stated his object, how 
 ever, to the principal clerk, who gave his some encourage 
 ment. 
 
 " Leave your paper with me," said that individual, "and 
 call again about three o clock. You will be certain to 
 find Mr. Blakely here at that time." 
 
 So Patrick Mooney retired, and went about his work 
 of collecting ashes. He was unusually elated at the 
 prospect of a speedy elevation above his present grade in 
 society, which, it must be owned, had never been very 
 flattering to his vanity ; and this state of mental excite 
 ment caused him to throw his ashes about with an emphasis 
 that kept the vicinity in which he happened to be in a 
 perfect cloud of dust. Wo to the pedestrian, male or 
 female, who happened to be to the leeward of Patrick, 
 when he discharged the contents of an ash-pan into his 
 cart ; and, it cannot be denied, that he managed to make 
 the contents of each box or pan do, to its full extent, the 
 annoying duty he desired it to perform. Of course, 
 Patrick did not seem to be aware of the blinded eyes and 
 bedusted garments that followed in his wake, but he was 
 keenly alive to the whole performance, and enjoyed it 
 amazingly. 
 
 While thus employed, Mooney observed a well-dressed 
 man approaching, and resolved to give his glossy black 
 coat and shining hat a fine powdering. So he poised a 
 tub of ashes in his hands and waited until he had him just 
 in the wind, then dexterously throwing the contents into 
 the air, he had the satisfaction of seeing a large portion 
 blown directly into the face and over the person of the 
 handsomely-dressed pedestrian. The man stopped, and 
 after rubbing his eyes clear, looked steadily at the Irish 
 man, who could not keep back the chuckle that was in 
 his heart. Angry words were on his lips; but he re 
 strained them and passed on. 
 
THROWING DUST IN PEOPLE S EYES. 99 
 
 Punctually at three o clock, Mooney was at the store 
 of Mr. Blakely. 
 
 "Is the jontilman in?" he asked of the clerk he had 
 seen in the morning. 
 
 "You will find him back in his office," was answered. 
 
 "Has he seen my racamindation ?" inquired Mooney. 
 
 " He has." 
 
 "He hasn t ony one engaged yet ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do ye think he will take me ?" 
 
 " We want a man immediately, and I think your chance 
 is good. But, step back and see Mr. Blakely yourself. " 
 
 With hat in hand, and a face all meekness, Patrick 
 Mooney presented himself to the merchant. But what was 
 his surprise to find himself in the presence of the man in 
 whose face and over whose person he had but a few hours 
 before scattered ashes in the most wanton and outrageous 
 manner. The recognition was mutual. 
 
 "Well, sir?" Mr. Blakely spoke in a quick, indignant 
 voice. 
 
 " Me name is Pathrick Mooney, y r honour," stammered 
 the Irishman in much confusion. " Yee s wants a a 
 porther, sir, in the place of Andy Muckleroy. I left my 
 racamindation the morning." 
 
 " I don t want you, sir," returned the merchant, con 
 trolling himself, and partly turning from the applicant as 
 he spoke. " A man that don t know his place as a sca 
 venger, will not be likely to know it as a porter." 
 
 The Irishman retired something wiser than when he 
 came in. It was, to him, the turning of a new leaf in the 
 book of human life. He is still a scavenger, but has had 
 quite enough of throwing dust in people s eyes, and 
 rarely indulges in the sport. 
 
THE PUNCTUAL IAN. 
 
 MR. JENKINS was a punctual man a very punctual man. 
 He was not only up to time in every thing, but usually 
 a little in advance of time. Of such a thing as being too 
 late for an engagement, no one ever knew him to be 
 guilty. On the other hand, Mrs. Jenkins had very little 
 regard to the passage of time. Ask Mr. Jenkins what 
 o clock it was at any period of the day, and his answer, 
 promptly given, and without consulting his gold lever, 
 would rarely vary ten minutes from the real time. Ask 
 Mrs. Jenkins the same question, and if she came within 
 two hours of it, the fact would be remarkable. 
 
 "Now, my dear, do hurry! We shall be too late. * 
 Never did Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins go upon a journey, or 
 attend church or party, without a dozen repetitions of this 
 admonition, mildly urged in the beginning, but, in a 
 nervous, impatient tone of voice, ere the lingering spouse 
 deemed her person all in trim for the contemplated move 
 ment. In most cases, even with all the punctual husband s 
 efforts to bring his wife up to time, but little advance was 
 ever gained. Service had usually commenced ere they 
 reached the church on Sunday, notwithstanding Mr. 
 Jenkins s nervous horror of disturbing by an untimely 
 entrance a worshipping assembly, and notwithstanding 
 his weekly repetition of 
 
 "Now do, my dear, try and be ready in time to-day." 
 They were usually among the last at a tea-party ; and 
 upon them rested the guilt of disturbing the temper, 
 wearing out the patience, and spoiling the oysters of the 
 fair hostess. More than once had the prophecy 
 100 
 
THE PUNCTUAL MAN. 103 
 
 "We ll be too late for the steamboat," met a literal 
 fulfilment. 
 
 One would naturally tbink that frequent experiences 
 of this kind must work a change. Far from it. It was 
 just as natural for Mrs. Jenkins to take no note of time, 
 as for her husband to be noting it all the while. 
 
 Last summer they decided on a trip to Boston, and 
 after all needful preparation the day arrived that was to 
 witness their departure. 
 
 "Come, dear!" said Mr. Jenkins, just as day began to 
 dawn. "It s time to get up. We shall be late." 
 
 "Late ! It s only a little past four o clock, and the boat 
 doesn t leave until nine." 
 
 And Mrs. Jenkins, who had been aroused from a plea 
 sant slumber, composed herself for another nap. 
 
 "Come! come! We shall be late." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins spoke now in a more earnest voice, for the 
 first rays of the uprisen sun were streaming in at the 
 chamber window. 
 
 "Plenty of time," returned Mrs. Jenkins, showing no 
 very strong inclination to rise. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, who was up and partly dressed, now be 
 thought himself of consulting his watch, when to his 
 surprise he found that it was full an hour later than he 
 had supposed it to be. 
 
 "Come! come!" said he, impatiently. "It is nearly 
 half-past six o clock." 
 
 " Oh no," returned his wife. 
 
 "It is then, and no mistake. See for yourself!" and 
 he held the gold lever before her eyes. 
 
 "I declare ! I had no idea that it was so late." 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins sprung from the bed and commenced 
 dressing herself hurriedly. Twice the bell rang for 
 breakfast before she was ready to obey the summons. 
 But at length she took her way to the dining-room, and, 
 much to her husband s relief, she left the table in full time 
 to finish all needful preparations for the journey. 
 
 The breakfast scene, which finally ended so much to 
 Mr. Jenkins s satisfaction, is worthy of a passing note. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins received his cup of coffee from the hand 
 of his wife with a nervous jerk, and in bringing it down 
 
104 THE PUNCTUAL MAN. 
 
 upon the table beside him, managed to spill a third of it 
 upon the white cloth. Then, in putting his cup too 
 eagerly to his lips, he scalded his mouth. 
 
 " Here ! give me some cream. This coffee is as hot as 
 fire !" he exclaimed, as he handed back his cup. 
 
 More cream was supplied, and then the cup of coffee 
 was emptied at a single draught. 
 
 The work of breaking an egg and pouring out its con 
 tents came next in order. Usually, Mr. Jenkins could 
 perform this delicate operation with considerable skill. 
 On the present occasion he spilled a portion over the side 
 of his egg-cup, soiled his fingers, and made u such a time 
 of it," that he pushed egg and cup from him with an im 
 patient 
 
 " What a mess I m making of it !" 
 
 Mr. Jenkins next attacked the toast, and bolted a couple 
 of slices in a twinkling. Having done which, he drew forth 
 his watch, to consult it, and see how the time was passing. 
 
 " We must hurry," said he, involuntarily. " Time goes 
 quickly." 
 
 "Well, I declare," returned Mrs. Jenkins, "you re the 
 most nervous, impatient man, I ever saw ! Now do eat 
 your breakfast. There is plenty of time." 
 
 But Mr. Jenkins arose and walked the floor of the 
 dining-room until his wife had concluded her morning 
 meal. 
 
 At half-past eight the carriage was to be at the door. 
 The trunks were strapped, and Mr. Jenkins ready for the 
 removal some time before that period ; and to Mrs. Jen 
 kins s credit be it spoken, she was ready to the minute. 
 
 " That man ought to be here," said Mr. Jenkins, as 
 the hand of his gold lever approached the figure four. " I 
 don t like this putting off things until the last moment." 
 
 And he went to the door and stood for some time look 
 ing down the street. But no carriage appeared in sight. 
 Then he returned into the house, and walked the parlour 
 floor for a minute and a half, at the end of which time he 
 drew forth his w r atch for another consultation. Five 
 minutes more, and it would be half-past eight o clock. 
 
 "If he should disappoint me!" said Mr. Jenkins, ner 
 vously. 
 
THE PUNCTUAL MAN. 105 
 
 " Oh, he ll be here," returned Mrs. Jenkins, with much 
 composure. Don t be uneasy." 
 
 " But I am uneasy. I m almost certain the man will 
 disappoint us. I wish I d taken his number." 
 
 " What good would that have done ?" asked Mrs. Jen 
 kins, calmly. 
 
 " I d have him before the Mayor." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins went to the door again, and gazed anxiously 
 down the street. No carriage was in sight. 
 
 " Half-past eight !" he ejaculated, coming into the 
 parlour where Mrs. Jenkins sat all ready for departure. 
 "What is to be done?" 
 
 " Don t feel uneasy. I am certain he will be here," 
 said Mrs. Jenkins. "He can drive down easily in a 
 quarter of an hour. So there is plenty of time to spare." 
 
 " No, there isn t plenty of time to spare. Besides, I 
 told him to be here by half-past eight, and not a minute 
 later." 
 
 Five, ten, fifteen minutes went stealing by, and yet no 
 carriage appeared. The reader may imagine the state 
 of mind into which Mr. Jenkins was thrown. 
 
 But a quarter of an hour remained ere the steamboat 
 would leave the wharf. Fortunately for Mr. Jenkins, a 
 porter came by just at this juncture, with his empty wheel 
 barrow. 
 
 "Here, good fellow!" cried Jenkins; "are you en 
 gaged ?" 
 
 "No, sir," was answered. 
 
 " Then come in quickly and get my trunks. The car 
 riage has disappointed me, and I must be at the New 
 York boat by nine o clock." 
 
 The porter obeyed with alacrity. In a few minutes he 
 was on his way, with the trunks, toward Walnut street 
 wharf, and Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, the former with carpet 
 bag in hand, hurrying after him. But the steps of Mrs. 
 Jenkins were far too deliberate for those of her excited 
 husband. 
 
 "Indeed, you must move quicker, or we will be too 
 late," he said, at every half square. 
 
 Great was the speed at which they swept along the 
 street. 
 
106 THE PUNCTUAL MAN. 
 
 "Just four minutes left," said Mr. Jenkins, as they 
 passed the exchange. 
 
 At length they reached the foot of Walnut street. 
 
 "Has the boat gone yet?" breathlessly inquired Jen 
 kins of a coloured porter. 
 
 " Oh no," was replied, with a broad smile on Ethiop s 
 face. 
 
 At this moment the eyes of Mr. Jenkins rested upon 
 the upper works of the steamboat, which were in motion. 
 
 "She s off!" he ejaculated. "Quick! quick!" And 
 he sprang several paces in advance of his wife, running 
 down the avenue to the dock from which the boat had 
 moved. 
 
 " Stop ! Stop a moment !" he cried to the captain, who 
 was on the upper deck. " Stop ! Hold up ! Just a 
 moment !" 
 
 But the boat was loosened from her fastenings, and 
 quietly moved down the stream. On her way she kept, 
 as steadily as if no Mr. Jenkins stood calling out and 
 gesticulating on the shore. 
 
 " Too bad ! too bad ! I ll have that fellow fined for 
 disappointing me." 
 
 "It is too bad," said Mrs. Jenkins, panting from over 
 exertion, "to be disappointed after all this !" 
 
 " The boat s coming back again," said a man who stood 
 near. 
 
 " Coming back again !" 
 
 " Oh yes. She s merely heading round. It isn t time 
 for her to start by an hour." 
 
 "But it s nine o clock," said Mr. Jenkins, drawing out 
 his watch. 
 
 " Oh no, sir; only eight." 
 
 "Eight!" 
 
 Mr. Jenkins stood with a bewildered air for a moment. 
 Then light broke in upon his mind. 
 
 " Only eight !" he repeated. " Right ! Sure enough ! 
 Well, that is a good one !" 
 
 "Only eight!" said Mrs. Jenkins. "That s strange! 
 Does your watch say nine ?" 
 
 " Yes. But now I remember, it is iust an hour too 
 fast." 
 
THE PUNCTUAL MAN. 107 
 
 " Why, Mr. Jenkins ! How comes this ?" 
 But Mr. Jenkins, who was caught in his own trap, did 
 not venture to explain that he had, on the night before, 
 set his watch an hour ahead, in order to cheat his wife 
 into being ready in time for the boat ! Yet, this was 
 really so. Mrs. Jenkins, however, who was a pretty 
 shrewd woman, guessed at the real truth as they sat, a 
 few minutes afterward, in the cabin of the John Stevens, 
 the only passengers for New York who had yet made 
 their appearance, and she charged the fact upon him so 
 directly that equivocation was of no avail. He has not 
 heard the last of the affair yet. 
 
 For all this and other little experiences on the part of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, no particular change has taken 
 place on either side. Mr. Jenkins remains the same ner 
 vously-punctual man, and Mrs. Jenkins the same even- 
 tempered, immovably-unpunctual woman. And so it is 
 likely to be with them to the end. So little do men and 
 women profit by the experiences of life when they react 
 upon constitutional weaknesses, defects, and peculiarities 
 of character, confirmed by long habit. 
 
SHORT OF FUEL. 
 
 IT was the first week in March a raw, blustering day. 
 The month had come in like a lion, giving the pleasing 
 hope that it would go out like a lamb. I had finished my 
 breakfast, and, having donned my overcoat, was drawing 
 on my gloves, when my wife called to me from the dining- 
 room, where she still sat at the table, in an earnest voice 
 
 " Oh, I declare, I forgot to tell you that the coal was 
 all gone. We must have more to-day." 
 108 
 
SHORT OF FUEL. 109 
 
 " Coal gone !" I exclaimed. " Impossible !" 
 
 " Yes. Biddy says there isn t enough to last until 
 aight." 
 
 " She must be mistaken," said I in a positive voice. 
 " I laid in twenty tons in October." 
 
 " Deed, an there isn t the full of a coal-scuttle in the 
 cellar," spoke out Biddy, who was in the dining-room. 
 "I put the last in the furnace this morning." 
 
 " The furnace coal gone also ?" 
 
 "Yis, indeed," replied Biddy, who, the huzzy! it was 
 evident from her tone of voice, enjoyed my astonishment 
 and discomfiture ; " I ve been using the range coal in the 
 furnace these two weeks." 
 
 " Well, that beats all," said I, drawing off my gloves 
 and approaching the dining-room door; "twenty tons of 
 coal in five months ! four tons a month ! What have you 
 done with it, Biddy ? You never could have burned it all, 
 if you had tried." 
 
 " I didn t ate it nor stale it !" replied Biddy, in a huff. 
 
 " But what has been done with it ? I can t make that 
 out. Four tons of coal a month, and only three fires. 
 There must be some mistake. It can t possibly be all 
 gone." 
 
 " Yees can go and see for yerself," said Biddy, in her 
 independent way. 
 
 I shook my head and looked as grave as an alderman 
 with a case before him. A dozen times through the win 
 ter I had found occasion to remonstrate with Biddy 
 touching her manner of using coal. Both the range and 
 furnace had been newly put up in the fall, and careful 
 directions left for their proper use. 
 
 " You see, Biddy," said I to her, after the range was 
 set and a fire made in it by one of the workmen, " you 
 must never let the coal come above this fire-brick. If 
 you do, it will neither burn so freely nor give such a good 
 heat." 
 
 " Oh yis, sir ; I understands all about it. I m used to 
 ranges," replied Biddy, unhesitatingly. 
 
 "Moreover," I continued, as though I had not heard 
 her, " if you build the fire up to the top plate, you will 
 crack that and the front piece with the intense heat." 
 
 10 
 
SHORT OP FUEL. 
 
 "And do yees think I would destroy your things in 
 that way ?" said the girl, half indignantly. 
 
 "No, not wilfully, Biddy," I soothingly answered, "but 
 ignorantly." 
 
 "Troth, and I m not such an ignoramus as yees take 
 me for. As if I d never seed a range in all my born days ! 
 D ye think there are no ranges in the ould counthry?" 
 
 " No doubt they re as plenty there as blackberries, 
 Biddy," said I, beginning to be a little out of patience ; 
 " but that doesn t signify here nor there. I want you to 
 regulate this one according to instructions to follow your 
 orders, if you break your owner." 
 
 " Troth and I can soon break it for yees, if that s what 
 ye want." 
 
 " I haven t the least doubt of that, Biddy," I retorted ; 
 " for you re good at that work. But I m particular in 
 wanting this range preserved from all such catastrophies. 
 I wish it taken good care of ; so, all you have to do is to 
 follow my directions in using it ; and, if any damage is 
 done, I will be responsible." 
 
 " If yees wants to be cook," said Biddy, tartly, " I ll 
 act as scullion." 
 
 Finding that I was getting into a humour that threat 
 ened to lead me into words and acts not over dignified for 
 the head of a family, I retired from the kitchen without 
 another word. I had invaded my wife s province, and 
 the sharp-witted Irish girl only let me see the instant 
 failure of respect that took place in her mind. 
 
 On the morning after this interview, I took occasion to 
 look into the kitchen on some pretence. It was as I had 
 expected. The fire-chamber of the range was so full of 
 coal that portions of the ignited fuel projected in the 
 shape of a cone through the hole in the top plate, which 
 was red with heat. I was about entering a strongly 
 uttered protest against such a proceeding, when a remem 
 brance of the girl s intractable temper, as displayed on 
 the day before, warned me to desist. 
 
 "Biddy will destroy that range in a month," said I to 
 my wife, as I went back to the room where she was sitting. 
 
 "In what way?" was asked. 
 
 "She keeps the fire-chamber full of coals to the top 
 
SHORT OF FUEL. Ill 
 
 plate, when I expressly told her that it must not be made 
 above the fire-brick. By doing so, she not only checks 
 the draft, but injures the range, and destroys a third more 
 fuel." 
 
 "I told her of that yesterday. But she says the oven 
 won t bake unless the chamber is full of coal." 
 
 "It s not true. A free fire will give more heat than a 
 smothered one, as anybody of common sense may know. 
 I wish you would insist upon her managing it right." 
 
 "I ll do all in my power; but I can t be always in the 
 kitchen," replied my wife, a little coldly. 
 
 I said no more ; for I felt that, though master in my 
 own house, there was a limit to my authority. But I 
 could not always tamely submit to the destruction and 
 disorder that ranged in the lower departments of the 
 household. Occasionally, I would suggest to Biddy that 
 she was not managing the range as I had directed ; while 
 at other times I would jog her memory more roughly. 
 All, however, availed not. The coal was still piled to 
 the top plate, that, in a few weeks, was cracked in two 
 pieces from the intense heat to which it was constantly 
 subjected. 
 
 As for the furnace, or heater, of which Biddy also had 
 the care, it was managed about as well as the range. 
 Whenever I had occasion to go into the cellar, I found 
 the coal in the fire-cylinder piled far above the brick 
 lining and almost rolling from the feeder, while the sheet- 
 iron above the fire-brick was red for the space of several 
 inches. Of course this consumed more coal, injured the 
 furnace, vitiated the air, and diminished the amount of 
 heat usually obtained from a given amount of fuel. 
 
 Two or three times I took Biddy into the cellar and 
 explained all this to her. But I might as well have talked 
 to the wind. She generally resented the interference on 
 my part as a trespass upon her particular province, and 
 a charge of ignorance ; neither of which she could or 
 would tolerate for a moment. 
 
 Thus it had been during the winter. I therefore knew 
 Biddy s character pretty well, and quickly came to the 
 conclusion that from her no satisfaction, touching the de 
 parted twenty tons of coal, was to be obtained. As to 
 
112 SHOBT OF FUEL. 
 
 her invitation to dive down into the cellar and see for 
 myself, I felt in no humour to accept of it. 
 
 "Don t neglect," said my wife, as I still stood in the 
 dining-room door, "to send us some coal immediately. 
 Biddy says there isn t enough to last until dinner-time." 
 
 "Indade and there a n t," spoke up Biddy, in a kind 
 of triumphant voice; "I scraped up the last this very 
 mornin . There s not the full of a coal-scuttle in the 
 whole cellar." 
 
 "You re sure of that," said I. 
 
 " Dade, and I am jist. Sure, yees can go and see for 
 yerself." 
 
 As talking would not put a ton of coal in the cellar, 
 I broke short the interview, and, turning away, left the 
 house. 
 
 "Twenty tons of coal in five months," said I to myself, 
 musing, as I walked along. "It s incredible! How she 
 could have burnt up that quantity, even with the end of 
 waste in her mind, passes my comprehension. These 
 Irish girls do beat the Old Harry himself in destruction. 
 Half starved, and half frozen over their turf-fires at home, 
 they come over here, and finding things in plenty around 
 them, go to work with the purpose, it seems, of ascertain 
 ing how much they can waste and destroy; and, goodness 
 knows ! they are successful experimenters, as every house 
 keeper feels to his sorrow." 
 
 But grumbling was of no avail. More coal must be 
 purchased. So, on my way down town, I called at a 
 coal-office and ordered three more tons to be sent home. 
 
 "Be particular in sending it this morning," said I. 
 "We are entirely out of fuel." 
 
 The dealer promised that it should be done, and I went 
 on my way. At two o clock I returned home to dinner. 
 It was one of those raw, cold, wet, shivering days peculiar 
 to March ; and by the time I had reached my house, I 
 was about as uncomfortable as I could wish to be. The 
 melted snow on the pavement had penetrated my boots, 
 completely saturating my stockings. I was conscious, 
 from my sensations, that I was taking cold, and felt 
 anxious to get into a warm room, and change my stock 
 ings, drawers, and pantaloons for others that were dry. 
 
SHORT OF FUEL. 113 
 
 As I opened my door, I was not affected, as usual, with 
 the warmth of a genial atmosphere. I walked into the 
 parlours, and putting my hand against the register, dis 
 covered that not a particle of heat was entering the room. 
 I perceived that the dining-room door was closed, so I 
 returned to the passage. Ascending to the first landing, 
 from which this door opened, I entered the room, and 
 found my wife, with a shawl drawn around her shoulders, 
 hovering with the children around the radiator-stove, in 
 which was faintly visible, through the transparent mica in 
 the door, the remains of a departing fire. 
 
 "Hasn t that coal been sent home?" I asked, in surprise 
 at the omission. 
 
 "No coal has come to-day," replied my wife, shivering; 
 " and we are almost perished. The fire has gone out in 
 the furnace and range, and is going out here. Not a 
 mouthful of dinner has been cooked." 
 
 "Dear! dear! dear! That s too bad! too bad! I 
 ordered coal the first thing as I went down; and told the 
 dealer particularly to send it home this morning, as we 
 were entirely out." 
 
 " He hasn t done it then. What shall we do ? I ve 
 taken cold already, and the children will get their deaths." 
 
 " Surely, enough coal might have been scraped up to 
 keep the fire alive," said I. 
 
 " I sent Biddy down twice, and told her to rake and 
 scrape up every piece she could find ; but she could only 
 get the scuttle a third full." 
 
 " I ll be bound I can find coal there," said I, positively, 
 and away I turned and plunged down into the cellar. It 
 was so dark that, for a few moments, I could see nothing. 
 But I groped my way to a window, and removed a blind 
 made for the purpose of excluding cold in winter. Then 
 [ went back to the coal-bins. In one, I found a large 
 pile of dust, several feet in thickness. On probing this 
 with a stick, I discovered that it contained an abundance 
 of coal, in large and small lumps, which it only needed a 
 little trouble to extricate. There was not less than half 
 a ton concealed in this pile of dust and refuse. Another 
 bin was examined, and about a quarter of a ton discovered 
 there. As much more was concealed in the third bin. 
 
114 SHOUT OF FUEL. 
 
 Then, scattered about in all directions, under the wood, 
 covered with chips, and lurking in corners, where it had 
 been carelessly left, was full half a ton more of good coal ; 
 making, in all, about a ton and a half; and yet the house 
 was as cold as winter, and no dinner had been cooked for 
 want of fuel. 
 
 " Well, this does beat all !" said I to myself, as I glanced 
 around in wonder. 
 
 "Do you find any there ?" called my wife to me, in an 
 incredulous voice, from the top of the stairs. 
 
 "Any ! Yes ; a couple of tons or so," was my reply. 
 
 "Indade, thin," cried Biddy, who was at the side of 
 my wife, " and there isn t the full of a hod there that I 
 could see." 
 
 "None so blind as them that won t see," I retorted, 
 angrily. " Bring me down some matches and a newspaper, 
 and I ll soon have a fire in the furnace." 
 
 I was now pretty well up, so far as temper was concern 
 ed, and when that is the case, I generally make all stand 
 around me, as they say. In a few minutes Biddy came 
 down with the matches, her countenance somewhat fallen 
 in its aspect. I was at work clearing out the ashes and 
 cinders from the furnace. That done, I took the news 
 paper from her hand, and thrust it down into the cylinder. 
 On this I poured about a peck of charcoal, and, closing 
 the door, touched a match to the paper below. In a 
 moment or two all was in a blaze, and the igniting char 
 coal crackling as it absorbed the heat. Next I took a 
 shovel, and in a few hurried applications of it to certain 
 half-hidden receptacles of coal that I had discovered, 
 scraped together enough to last for a couple of days. 
 
 "Do you see that?" said I, speaking with no great 
 show of amiability. 
 
 " Sure, and it s very strange !" meekly replied Biddy. 
 
 " Indeed it is ; passing strange !" I retorted. " With 
 nearly two tons of coal in the cellar, and not a fire in the 
 house. There s half a ton in that bin, mixed up with coal- 
 dust. See there !" and I dashed my shovel into the centre 
 of the bin, and raking open the heap of dust, showed a 
 solid bed of large-sized coal at the bottom ; adding, as I 
 did so : " And now please to take a scuttleful up into the 
 
SHORT OF FUEL. 115 
 
 dining-room, with some charcoal, and set that fire going 
 in the quickest possible time." 
 
 Biddy did not linger, you may be sure, in obeying this 
 direction. She had seen me worked up before, and was 
 pretty well aware of the fact, that it would not take much 
 more provocation to make me turn her out of the house, 
 bag and baggage. 
 
 By this time, the charcoal I had thrown into the fur 
 nace was thoroughly ignited. In order to get up the heat 
 that was needed, as quickly as possible, I turned in about 
 half a bushel more of charcoal on top of this, and then 
 filled it up with the hard coal. As I closed the door of 
 the feeder, the draught roared encouragingly, and gave 
 promise of a speedy change in the chilling aspect of 
 aifairs above. On ascending and placing my hand over 
 the register, the inward pressure of warm air was already 
 perceived ; and long before the dining-room fire had begun 
 to burn freely, my shivering wife and children were gath 
 ered in the parlour, and beginning to rejoice over the 
 presence of a more agreeable atmosphere. 
 
 Of course, we had no regular dinner. It was too late 
 in the day for the preparation of that meal. But, by the 
 time the dining-room was warm enough for occupation, 
 the kettle had been boiled, and a cup of tea, with some 
 bread and butter, solaced us for the loss of a more sub 
 stantial repast. 
 
 Through some mistake my order for coal was not at 
 tended to, and consequently we had no new supply. I 
 waited patiently and curiously for the result. Steadily, 
 as of old, there was a rush of hot air into the parlours, 
 and when I glanced into the kitchen, I saw the range 
 piled to the top plate as before ; while there was no lack 
 of heat in the dining-room. I did not renew the order 
 for coal, for I wanted to see how long this state of things 
 would last. 
 
 One morning, about three weeks from the time when 
 Biddy could not "find the full of a scuttle" of coal in the 
 cellar, that young lady, who had been particularly active 
 and obliging since the occurrence described, whispered 
 something in the ear of my wife as we sat at the break 
 fast-table. On her leaving the room, my wife said 
 
116 SHORT OF FUEL. 
 
 46 Biddy wishes me to tell you that she has scraped up 
 all the coal in the cellar it is possible to find, and that 
 there is not more than enough to last through the day and 
 make up the fires in the morning." 
 
 " Oh, very well. I will see that there is a new supply." 
 And I laughed outright as I spoke. 
 
 I did not go into the cellar to make any further exami 
 nations, for I was well convinced that we were now "short 
 of fuel," and no mistake; but as it was near to the first 
 of April, and the day was mild as spring, I did not suffer 
 very severely in view of the extra expense for coal re 
 quired to enable us to pass through the season. The 
 order for a fresh supply, that I gave as I passed to my 
 business, was more promptly filled than the one previously- 
 given. 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. 
 
 THROUGH many temptations, Harry Lawson had kept 
 himself pure from the vice of smoking until he arrived at 
 the age of manhood. To him it was a most disgusting 
 
 117 
 
118 THE FIRST CIGAR. 
 
 and filthy practice ; and there were certain of his acquaint 
 ances whose persons were so offensive, from the fact that 
 they ever bore about them a sickening odour of tobacco 
 smoke, that he disliked to come near them. How delicate 
 ladies could endure the presence of men whose clothes 
 were ever reeking with fumes from the nauseous weed, 
 was to him a subject of especial wonder. Young men 
 are very apt to fall into the habit, on first entering life, 
 of speaking lightly of the other sex ; they generally learn 
 better ere many years pass over their heads. Harry fell 
 into this habit about the time he attained his majority; 
 but his light remarks were never meant for more than a 
 playful retaliation upon his sister Helen, whose wit was 
 rather sharp when men came within reach of a good 
 thrust. 
 
 "If any animal but man," he used sometimes to say, 
 "with an odour half as offensive as that which a smoker 
 bears about him in his clothes and hair, were to come into 
 a lady s presence, she would faint on the instant. But 
 the man s the man for a that! " 
 
 Helen was usually highly indignant at such insinua 
 tions, and would declare that, for her part, she could 
 much better endure the presence of a whole menagerie 
 than one tobacco-smoker. 
 
 "Ugh! To have a man breathe his rank breath into 
 your face until you grow faint under the infliction ! To 
 have the atmosphere of the room in which you are sitting 
 so tainted by the filthy clothes of a smoker young, ac 
 complished, well-dressed, and good-looking though he be 
 as to be obliged, as I have been, to air it for hours before 
 the offensive smell could be obliterated! To have your 
 handkerchief filled with the sickly odour, and your lips 
 coated with a disgusting, bitter film" 
 
 "Lips, Helen! Lips!" exclaimed the brother, when 
 this remark was made. " Why, is it possible that you let 
 young men, and smokers at that, kiss you!" 
 
 "Now, Harry, that is too bad! Kiss me!" and a 
 shiver ran through the young girl s frame. "I might 
 endure to be kissed by a dog or a monkey, but by a to- 
 bacco-chewer or smoker never ! Ugh ! The very thought 
 makes me shudder." 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. Hl> 
 
 "Then how could your lips be so strangely contami 
 nated?" 
 
 "Easily enough, as you very well know; for I have 
 heard you, dozens of times, complain of the very same 
 thing, and seen you over and over again, wash your lips 
 with cologne, after having endured the presence of a 
 smoker, in order to free them from the bitter, sickening 
 deposit they had received from the air he had filled with 
 a nauseous vapour. "_^ 
 
 "It is horrible ; there s no denying that," was the usual 
 admission of Harry, in closing a light sparring contest of 
 this nature. "How a human who makes any preten 
 sions to decency, can render himself so disgusting, passes 
 my comprehension." 
 
 Harry Lawson was a young attorney but recently ad 
 mitted to the bar. He occupied, as an office, the front 
 parlour of the house in which his family resided, and 
 there, patiently or impatiently, according as his temper 
 of mind happened to be, awaited the appearance of some 
 members of that class of individuals who know their rights 
 and are willing to contend for them. Daily he sat and 
 read for hours, or wandered into the court-room to note 
 the cases on trial and mark the peculiar modes of attack 
 and defence as carried on by legal belligerents. Idle 
 time on his hands led him to seek company and modes of 
 overcoming the dullness of waiting for something to do. 
 Hiding out, tavern-lounging, meeting with young attorneys 
 in their offices, and such other ways of killing time aa 
 happened to turn up, were all resorted to by the incipient 
 lawyer. Of course 
 
 "Have a cigar, Harry?" was asked of him daily; for, 
 among his associates, nine out of ten used the weed. 
 
 "Don t smoke! Is it possible?" in nearly all cases 
 met his refusal of the cigar, even by those whose offer of 
 a regalia he had declined some forty times before. And 
 then would follow looks or nods that made him feel that 
 he lacked a manly (?) accomplishment. Often he was the 
 odd one in a party of three or four, all of whom, but him 
 self, were sending up their gracefully wreathing columns 
 of smoke, which fairly darkened the room in which they 
 sat, and almost suffocated him. So far, when this was 
 
120 THE FIRST CIGAR. 
 
 the case, from partaking of or adding to the general en 
 joyment, he rather took from the pleasure of his com 
 panions and felt uncomfortable himself. 
 
 One day Harry was offered a cigar by a friend, in 
 whose office he was sitting. 
 
 "No, I thank you," came as usual from his lips. "I 
 never use them." 
 
 "No? Why, man, you don t know what you lose. 
 There is nothing that I enjoy like a good cigar." 
 
 " Smoking seems to me an idle, useless habit," said 
 Lawson, in reply to this. 
 
 "That only shows what you know about it. There is 
 nothing equal, as a digester, to a good cigar. I don t 
 think I could live without a cigar after dinner. And 
 then, when you sit down alone, or with a friend in the 
 evening, after the excitement and care of the day are 
 over, it tranquillizes your feelings and gives wings to your 
 thoughts. You don t know what you lose, Harry. Take 
 my advice and learn to smoke. Here," and he tossed a 
 cigar into the hat of Lawson, " is one of the mildest and 
 purest flavoured cigars I ever had. Try it." 
 
 Harry shook his head, and lifting the cigar, reached it 
 to his companion; but the latter pushed back the hand, 
 saying 
 
 "No no. I want you to try that. If not now, take 
 it home with you. It s as mild and sweet-flavoured as a 
 rose." 
 
 When Harry got home, the cigar was still in his hat ; 
 and, as he removed the latter from his head, it fell upon 
 the floor. He picked it up and looked at it. Next he 
 inhaled its fragrance. 
 
 "It smells pleasant enough," said he. There was a 
 glowing grate before him, and lamp-lighters on the man 
 tel. To set fire to the little roll of tobacco was the easiest 
 thing in the world. Something whispered him to make 
 the experiment, and, in a moment of weakness, he yielded 
 to the temptation. Next the cigar touched his lips ; and 
 then he drew his mouth full of offensive smoke. After 
 puffing this out, he tried it again ; and repeated the opera 
 tion for half a dozen times in quick succession. Then 
 there was a brief pause for reflection and observation of 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. 121 
 
 the sensations produced. The latter were not remarkably 
 pleasant. With a sort of blind desperation he put the 
 cigar again to his mouth, and drew away upon it for two 
 or three times more. As he removed it from his lips, he 
 experienced rather a disagreeable feeling about the epi 
 glottis ; water, at the same time, beginning to pour rather 
 freely from the glands into his mouth. Not liking this 
 sensation, he arose and commenced walking about the 
 floor ; but it increased instead of diminishing. In a little 
 while he sat down upon a sofa that was in the room, feel 
 ing decidedly sick. Just at this moment, Helen entered 
 the office, and on seeing her brother looking very pale, 
 exclaimed 
 
 "Why, Harry, what ails you?" 
 
 The young man felt in no mood to answer questions. 
 But an answer was not needed. The smoky atmosphere, 
 and the tell-tale cigar still lying between his fingers, re 
 vealed the whole truth. 
 
 " Really ! Upon my word !" fell from the young girl s 
 lips. "Smoking! Why, Harry! You re sick, are you! 
 I m glad of it ! Serves you right ! Now, ain t you 
 ashamed of yourself!" 
 
 But Harry was, by this time, too sick to feel shame or 
 any other emotion kindred thereto. And Helen, seeing 
 that he grew paler, began to be a little alarmed. 
 
 "Do you feel very sick, Harry?" she asked, in a 
 changed voice. 
 
 "Sick as death!" murmured the young man, as the 
 burning token of his folly dropped from his fingers, and 
 he threw himself back at full length upon the sofa with a 
 groan. His face was pale as the ashes his falling cigar 
 had strewn about the floor. 
 
 Frightened at this, Helen ran from the room, and 
 announced to the other members of the family, in an agi 
 tated voice, that Harry was extremely ill. Mr. Lawson, 
 the father of the young man, started up in alarm and ran 
 down to the office, followed more slowly by the mother, 
 whose limbs trembled so that she could scarcely walk. 
 
 In a few moments the experimental smoker was sur 
 rounded by some half dozen persons, old and young, 
 including even the servants of the family; yet was he 
 
122 THE FIRST CIGAR. 
 
 still so deathly sick and faint, that he did not open his 
 eyes, nor answer the questions put to him, except in a 
 confused, scarcely audible murmur. But he could hear 
 all that was said ; and some of the remarks did not in any 
 way improve his feelings. 
 
 "What s this?" he heard his father ask, in a quick, 
 surprised voice. "Oh!" and the tone was changed. 
 "A cigar! Upon my word! Here s the secret! He s 
 been smoking. Well, he deserves to be>sick, that s all I 
 have to say; the foolish fellow!" 
 
 " Hadn t we better send for the doctor?" asked Harry s 
 mother. 
 
 "No. Let him get over it," replied the father. 
 " There s no danger of his dying." 
 
 "But he s very sick." 
 
 "The sicker the better. Served perfectly right." 
 
 While this pleasant little chit-chat, all of which reached 
 the ears of Harry, was going on, Helen commenced 
 bathing his face and forehead with cold water, and then 
 applied salts to his nostrils. This had the effect to revive 
 him, and to throw off the violent sickness he felt. But 
 when he attempted to sit up his head reeled, and he sank 
 back again upon the sofa, afflicted with a most dreadful 
 nausea. 
 
 Finally, he was assisted to his chamber, where he hid 
 himself in bed, and there remained until the next morn 
 ing, when he reappeared, feeling much like a man who 
 had been caught with a stolen sheep on his back. 
 
 That was Harry Lawson s first cigar, and his last 
 one. 
 
JANUARY BILLS. 
 
 THE year 18 proved a very good year for Mr. 
 Archibald Lane. His business steadily increased from 
 the first of January, and his profits were as fair as they 
 had ever been. Heretofore, his expenses had kept so 
 closely side by side with his income, as to leave his mind 
 oppressed with care, and in some doubt as to future suc 
 cess ; but during 18 , all had been so brisk in matters 
 of trade, and so easy in matters of money, that his mind 
 was uniformly cheerful, and sometimes elated. He felt 
 that, at last, he was entering the way to prosperity ; a 
 way he had so long been seeking earnestly to find. 
 
 As the year drew toward its close, Mr. Lane experi 
 enced a feeling of self-satisfaction unusual at such time. 
 A doubt as to which would over-balance the other, his 
 expenses or his profits, had usually made the last week 
 of the year one of great sobriety to Mr. Lane. In 18 
 it was different. As the year waned, he had none of the 
 old feelings, for he was well satisfied that he would have 
 several hundred dollars on the profit side of the account, 
 above and beyond all expenses, something that had not 
 occurred in former times. 
 
 "If I have made both ends meet, I will be satisfied," 
 was his usual mental declaration, when he proceeded to 
 make up his account for the year. It was different now. 
 
 "If I don t have five or six hundred dollars over, I 
 shall be much mistaken." This was the pleasant remark 
 of Mr. Lane to himself, as he began the work of ascer 
 taining the result of his year s business. All came out 
 pretty much as he had expected. There was a balance 
 
 11* 125 
 
126 JANUAKY BILLS. 
 
 in his favour of about six hundred dollars, after a liberal 
 margin had been allowed for certain bad and doubtful 
 accounts. 
 
 " Things begin to look a little brighter," said Mr. Lane, 
 as he sat alone with his wife on New Year s eve. The 
 younger children were in bed, and the two oldest daugh 
 ters, Kate and Emily, were out, spending the evening 
 with a friend. This was said after taking a cigar from 
 his mouth, and letting the smoke curl lazily about his 
 head, which was reclining on the back of a cushioned 
 rocking-chair. 
 
 "I m glad to hear you say so," replied Mrs. Lane. 
 And she spoke from her heart. New Year s eve had not 
 always been a cheerful time. 
 
 "I ve been looking over my affairs to-day," continued 
 the husband, "and find myself better off than I was at 
 this time last year, by at least six hundred dollars." 
 "That is encouraging." 
 
 " I feel it so. I trust things are to be easier in future, 
 and that we will get a little beforehand in the world. It 
 is time ; for I will soon be in years, and less able to give 
 active attention to business." 
 
 "I m pleased on more than one account," said Mrs. 
 Lane, "to hear that you have done so well this year. 
 I ve been a good deal worried to-day about a bill that I 
 had no idea would be half as large as it is. It was sent 
 in this morning." 
 
 "Whose bill is that?" asked Mr. Lane, with an ap 
 parent change of feeling. 
 
 "Mr. Mercer s bill for dry goods." 
 "I didn t know there was a bill there." 
 " Oh yes. Don t you remember that you told me to get 
 whatever the family wanted from him?" 
 "I didn t mean to run up a bill, though." 
 " It was so understood by me. But that makes little 
 difference. If the money had been paid down, the cash 
 would not be on hand now." 
 "How much is the bill?" 
 "I m most afraid to say." 
 "How much?" 
 "One hundred and thirty dollars." 
 
JANUARY BILLS. 127 
 
 " Why, Anna ! Bless my heart ! How in the world 
 could you run up a bill like that?" 
 
 "I ve bought very little for myself," replied the rebuk 
 ed wife, in a subdued and choking voice. "Nearly all 
 has been used for you and the children." 
 
 "A hundred and thirty dollars! Oh dear! dear! 
 dear!" ejaculated Mr. Lane, throwing his cigar into the 
 grate, and beginning to rock himself violently. "So much 
 of my six hundred dollars profit scattered to the winds ! 
 I wonder how many more bills you will have coming in!" 
 
 This was downright cruel; and so Mrs. Lane felt it. 
 She did not, however, punish him for the ungenerous re 
 mark with tears, for she was not a woman disposed on all 
 occasions to give way to this weakness. Her reply was : 
 
 "None that the wants of the family have not required 
 to be made." 
 
 "But I wished you to pay cash, Anna. You know 
 that, last January, when we were almost smothered with 
 bills from all quarters, we made a resolution to pay cash 
 for every thing during the coming year; and I thought 
 this had been done." 
 
 "I know very well that such a thing was talked about," 
 replied Mrs. Lane; "and, I believe, acted upon for a time. 
 And I also know that you yourself told me to open an 
 account at Mercer s, in the spring, when I asked you for 
 money to purchase summer clothing for the family." 
 
 "I didn t mean to have it go beyond that," said Mr. 
 Lane, modifying his tone. "But what other bills are 
 there?" 
 
 "There is a bill at Cheeseman s for groceries." 
 
 " That can t be much, for I have bought almost every 
 thing in quantities." 
 
 ^No, I don t suppose it will amount to any thing of 
 consequence." 
 
 "Any other bills?" 
 
 "No; none, except the bread bill. 
 
 "I thought you paid cash for bread?" 
 
 "We never did that, Mr. Lane. The baker serves us 
 daily, marking on his tally-stick the number of loaves; 
 and once in three or six months sends in the bill, when it 
 is paid." 
 
128 JANUARY BILLS. 
 
 "How long has his bill been running?" 
 
 "Six months, I believe." 
 
 "And will be forty or fifty dollars." 
 
 "Not half of it," replied Mrs. Lane. 
 
 "Well, what else is there?" 
 
 "Nothing more, I believe." 
 
 " I hope not. Here are about two hundred dollars cut 
 off at a blow from the supposed profits of the year. Con 
 found these bills! I wish there was no such thing as 
 credit." 
 
 Mr. Lane was, as a matter of course, unhappy from 
 that moment. Had these bills not existed, and the sur 
 plus of the year shown the pleasant aggregate of four 
 hundred dollars, he would have been quite as happy as 
 when he figured it up at six hundred. But, in imagina 
 tion, he had been better off by two hundred dollars than 
 the truth now discovered him to be, and the loss was felt 
 as real. The remainder of the evening passed gloomily 
 enough. When Mr. Lane retired to bed, he could not 
 sleep for thinking of the dry goods, grocery, and bread 
 bills. While he thus lay awake, memory assisted him to 
 the knowledge of two or three other little matters of the 
 same kind. There was an unsettled tailor s bill that 
 might take twenty-five or thirty dollars to balance ; and 
 the boot-maker had something against him. Ten bushels 
 of potatoes and three barrels of apples that he had ordered 
 sent home in October, were yet to be paid for. At least 
 fifty dollars more of his year s profits vanished. 
 
 At last, Mr. Lane fell asleep, and dreamed all night 
 of bills that came almost in a shower around him. On 
 New Year morning, he sat silent and moody at the break 
 fast-table, eating but little, and looking no one in the face. 
 All were oppressed by his state of mind, though none Jmt 
 his wife knew its nature and the cause from which it was 
 produced. 
 
 It was early when Mr. Lane went to his place of busi 
 ness on the morning of the first of January ; not so early, 
 however, but that one or two persons had preceded him, 
 and left behind them visible tokens of the fact. On his 
 desk were a couple of sealed notes. He opened them 
 with a vague presentiment of something disagreeable, and 
 
JANUARY BILLS. 129 
 
 he was not disappointed. The first contained a narrow 
 slip of paper, with a printed head, and certain written 
 characters and figures below, which plainly enough ex 
 pressed the fact that he was indebted to a certain dealer 
 in groceries in the sum of seventy-six dollars. 
 
 "Oh dear!" was the mental exclamation of pain that 
 followed the perusal of this bill. That a little piece of 
 paper, three or four inches wide and six inches long, 
 should have such power over the feelings of a man ! 
 
 The next billet was opened with a more nervous state 
 of mind. As he broke the seal and displaced the en 
 velope, another narrow piece of paper, folded over from 
 the ends in three sections, dropped upon the desk. It 
 was the bread bill for six months, and called for forty- 
 four dollars and ten cents. 
 
 "Is it possible? Too bad! too bad! too bad! I had 
 no idea of this." 
 
 Thus the unhappy man expressed his feelings. While 
 yet holding this bill in his hand, a lad entered the store ; 
 and, coming back to the desk where he sat, politely 
 handed him an ominous piece of paper, and retired. He 
 opened it, and read : 
 
 "Mr. Archibald Lane Bought of," &c. 
 
 The particulars were, an air-tight stove, at twelve 
 dollars; a cooking-stove, at thirty; and various other 
 matters of Russia pipe, fire-boards, etc., in all, amounting 
 to fifty-five dollars. Though the genial heat from the 
 air-tight stove had comforted Mr. Lane every evening 
 since it came home, and he had enjoyed the improved 
 cooking of the new addition to the kitchen department, 
 he had entirely forgotten that the bill for these increased 
 advantages had never been settled. 
 
 "I declare!" he exclaimed, half aloud, and striking the 
 desk as he spoke. "How came I to forget that bill! I 
 meant to have paid it when the articles came home, and 
 told Jenkins to send it in." 
 
 Soon after this, Mr. Lane s young man came in from 
 the post-office. There were three letters, each with the 
 city post-mark, and each with a bill enclosed. One, the 
 tailor s bill, called for forty-eight dollars; another was 
 from a hatter, and demanded five; and the third came 
 
180 JANUARY BILLS. 
 
 from a jobbing carpenter, who had been called in at sun 
 dry times to mend and make, and asked for the sum of 
 twenty-three dollars, ninety-two cents. 
 
 Mr. Lane read them over, and then placed them under 
 a paper-weight on his desk, uttering, at the same time, a 
 long-drawn sigh. 
 
 The morning paper was yet unread. It lay on the 
 desk beside Mr. Lane ; and, from habit more than from 
 any desire to know its contents, he opened it and com 
 menced reading. An occurrence of some interest had 
 taken place in a neighbouring city ; and he was in the 
 midst of a narrative of the event, and much interested in 
 it, when he started and turned quickly at the sound of a 
 voice near him. A man had entered, and was standing 
 at his elbow. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Lane," said the man. 
 
 " Good morning, Williams," returned Mr. Lane. " Can 
 I do any thing for you to-day!" he added, in a tone of 
 affected cheerfulness. 
 
 "Not much," said the visitor, removing his hat as he 
 spoke, and taking therefrom a small package of papers, 
 which he commenced turning over. 
 
 "You hav nt a bill against me?" Mr. Lane spoke 
 confidently. 
 
 " What do you call that ?" replied the man, as he drew a 
 slip of paper from the package in his hand, and presented it. 
 
 " One barrel of flour ; five hams ; a bushel of corn-meal, 
 and a sack of salt. Bless me ! Didn t I pay for these 
 at the time?" 
 
 The man smiled, and shook his head. 
 
 " Why, it s nine months since I made the purchase ! 
 And I m certain I told you to send in the bill. I never 
 like small matters of this kind to stand." 
 
 "It s been overlooked. But the money will be just as 
 good now," was the pleasant answer. 
 
 With as good a grace as it was possible for him to as 
 sume, Mr. Lane turned to his desk, and drawing forth 
 his pocket-book, counted out thirteen dollars; saying, as 
 he did so, 
 
 "The next time I make a bill at your store, I wish you 
 to send it in before the first of January." 
 
JANUARY BILLS. 131 
 
 "I won t promise," was good-hum ouredly replied, as 
 the man bowed and withdrew. The pleasure was all on 
 his side, and he could afford to be in a good humour. 
 
 "I hope that s the last," said Mr. Lane as he wound 
 the string of his great pocket-book around and around its 
 distended sides, and then laid it carefully back in his 
 desk. But he was in error. Ere the day passed, his 
 bootmaker sent in his bill, amounting to fifteen dollars; 
 and from a ladies shoemaker came a like token, footed 
 up with the sum of twenty dollars more. An upholsterer 
 had been called upon to make a chamber-carpet, and do 
 sundry little matters about the house during the year ; 
 and he called for eight dollars and thirty-four cents. 
 Then the jobbing cabinet-maker had his account to settle 
 with Mr. Lane, for sundry applications of his art to 
 broken-backed chairs, rickety tables, loose veneering, 
 etc. etc., for all of which he wanted sixteen dollars. 
 Thus it went on, hour after hour, until toward evening. 
 The glazier called for two dollars and a half; the tinner 
 presented a bill for five dollars ; and the gas-fitter for eight. 
 
 By this time, human patience, at least so far as Mr. 
 Lane was concerned, had become wellnigh exhausted. 
 He felt like making a very severe application of his foot 
 to any man or boy who might again invade his premises 
 with a bill. He was sitting at his desk, in this not very 
 amiable mood, with the bills he had received since morn 
 ing spread out before him, and a slip of paper in his hand, 
 upon which the whole of the sums they called for, amount 
 ing to four hundred and sixty-nine dollars and eighty-six 
 cents, had been added up, when he heard the door open 
 and shut. Turning, with a nervous start, he saw the 
 familiar face of an old negro who had polished his boots 
 for the last half dozen years. He knew his errand, and 
 felt that this was like adding insult to injury. Peter 
 came shuffling back toward the desk at which Lane re 
 mained seated with contracted brows, revealing, at each 
 step, more and more, of his polished ivory. 
 
 "Little bill, massa Lane," said the negro, producing, 
 as he spoke, a dingy piece of paper. 
 
 This was too much. It was an ordeal beyond what 
 overtried patience could bear. 
 
132 JANUARY BILLS. 
 
 "Clear out, you black rascal!" exclaimed the sufferer, 
 in a passionate voice. "If you say bill to me, I ll cut 
 your ears off!" 
 
 Such an unexpected reception from "Massa Lane," 
 who had been looked upon by Peter as one of the most 
 amiable men in the world, completely astounded the poor 
 negro ; and he beat a hasty retreat, glancing back every 
 now and then to see if an inkstand or paper-weight were 
 not advancing in the direction of his head with something 
 like lightning speed. 
 
 To sudden storms there always follows a deep calm. 
 By the time Peter had vanished through the door, retiring 
 at a velocity which could not have been greatly increased 
 had a pack of wolves been at his heels, Mr. Lane s mind 
 was trembling back from its state of uncontrollable excite 
 ment. Laying his face down upon the desk, he sighed 
 heavily. Mortification took the place of irritation, and 
 anger against others was succeeded by anger against him 
 self. 
 
 "Ah me!" was breathed forth heavily, at last; and 
 raising himself up, he gathered together the bills that 
 were spread out before him, and thrusting them into the 
 desk, turned the key with a firm hand, making the lock 
 click as the bolt sprang to its place. 
 
 When Mr. Lane went home that evening, his mind was 
 calm. He had passed through a day of sad trial and dis 
 appointment ; but he knew the worst, and was prepared 
 for it. When the milk bill, milliner s and mantuamaker s 
 bills, and sundry other little bills were laid before him, 
 he exhibited no emotion. They were to his feelings like 
 a gentle breeze after a violent tempest. But on one 
 thing he was resolved ; and that was, to pay cash in fu 
 ture for every thing. 
 
 "There must be no January bills next year," said he 
 to his family, after he had looked at the sum to pay long 
 enough to be able to speak on the subject without visible 
 emotion. "Let cash be paid for every thing in the time 
 to come. If the money isn t in hand when the want pre 
 sents itself, let the want wait!" 
 
 This was a good resolution. But did Mr. Lane and 
 his family abide by it ? Next January will tell. 
 
DISCOVERING A LEAK. 
 
 "PLEASE, mim, the butter is all out," said Nancy, 
 thrusting her face into the door of the room where Mrs. 
 Peabody sat sewing. 
 
 " Impossible !" was the lady s reply. " Impossible, 
 Nancy." ,, 
 
 " Indade, mim, and there ain t enough for supper. 
 
 "What has become of it, Nancy?" asked Mrs. Peabody. 
 " I bought four pounds day before yesterday. It s im 
 possible! It can t be all gone." 
 
 " Faith and alive, thin, Mrs. Peabody, and sure it s 
 been used." m 
 
134 DISC OV BRING A LEAK. 
 
 " Never !" 
 
 The lady was positive in her assertion that the butter 
 had not been fairly disposed of; while Nancy quite as 
 positively maintained the affirmative of the question at 
 issue between them. The result was, Mrs. Peabody had 
 to buy more butter, and continue in darkness as to the 
 ways and means by which four pounds of that necessary 
 article of table comfort had vanished in about two days. 
 
 " The white sugar is all out," said Nancy, after break 
 fast on the next morning. 
 
 " The white sugar out ! Are you certain, Nancy ?" 
 
 " Yis, indade. There ain t the full of a tae-cup in the 
 house." 
 
 " Didn t Mr. Brown send home ten pounds of sugar on 
 Saturday?" 
 
 "I don t think there were ten pounds, mim." 
 
 "Well, I do, then. I know there were ten pounds. 
 We always get ten pounds at a time. Are you sure there 
 is none in the box?" 
 
 " Sure and sartin, mim." 
 
 "It s very strange ! Ten pounds of white sugar in five 
 days ! What have you done with it, Nancy?" 
 
 " Me done with it, mim ! And do yees mane to in- 
 sineate that I wouldn t act honestly?" 
 
 " I don t insinuate any thing, Nancy ; I only ask what 
 has been done with ten pounds of sugar in five days ? It 
 was placed in your keeping, and it s gone. Now I only 
 desire to know how it has been disposed of." 
 
 " It s been used in the family, in course," said Nancy. 
 
 " No : that is impossible. We only use white sugar for 
 tea and coffee twice a day. Ten pounds, properly taken 
 care of, ought to last two weeks." 
 
 "Not if the children are allowed to ate it as they do." 
 
 "Who allows them to eat it? I m sure I don t," said 
 Mrs. Peabody. 
 
 " I can t keep them from it," replied Nancy. 
 
 " The children never ate all that sugar." 
 
 "Well, mim, it s gone," said Nancy. 
 
 And that was about all the satisfaction Mrs. Peabody 
 could get. 
 
 Not only did sugar and butter vanish thus unaccounta- 
 
DISCOVERING A LEAK. 135 
 
 bly, but flour and meal, soap and starch, and other things 
 too various to mention. 
 
 "I can t stand this," said Mr. Peabody, when his 
 quarter s bill of groceries came in. " One hundred and 
 forty-eight dollars !" 
 
 "Not that much, surely," said Mrs. Peabody. 
 
 " Yes ; one hundred and forty-eight. We never had a 
 bill like this before." 
 
 " Isn t there some mistake ? Perhaps Brown has sent 
 you the wrong bill and pass-book." 
 
 Mr. Peabody referred to the cover of the pass-book, and 
 read 
 
 " Henry Peabody, in account, &c. It s our book, you 
 see." 
 
 " There s something wrong," persisted Mrs. Peabody. 
 
 "That I will readily admit," replied her husband. 
 "But where is it?" 
 
 "May be the book is not added up right," suggested 
 the lady. 
 
 Mr. Peabody hurriedly added up page after page of the 
 book. 
 
 "All correct, so far as that is concerned." 
 
 " Then we are charged with more than we received," 
 said Mrs. Peabody. 
 
 " No ; I don t believe that. But, to be certain, let me 
 read off the different articles." 
 
 This was done ; and Mrs. Peabody could not positively 
 Bay that any charge was wrong, although the entries of 
 tea, sugar, coffee, oil, butter, and lard, were remarkably 
 frequent. 
 
 " If it s all come into the house, it hasn t all been 
 eaten," said Mrs. Peabody, in a positive tone of voice. 
 
 " Then there must be a leak somewhere," said her hus 
 band. 
 
 " I m afraid there is ; but how are we to discover it ? 
 Nancy s a very extravagant cook, and lays a heavy hand 
 upon every thing. I believe she wastes more than her 
 wages amount to." 
 
 " She must have a heavy hand to make things go after 
 this fashion. Are you sure she s honest ?" 
 
 " I ve seen nothing to make me think differently." 
 
136 DISCOVERING A LEAK. 
 
 " Have you talked to her about the way things go ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Mrs. Peabody; "over and over 
 again. But it does no good. She declares that every 
 thing which comes to the house is used in the house ; anC 
 what, then, can I say ? I shouldn t like to accuse an in 
 nocent person of stealing." 
 
 " It s rather a serious matter to accuse any one of that 
 crime. But there s a leak somewhere, and we must find 
 it." 
 
 " I wish I knew how to find it," said Mrs. Peabody, de 
 spondingly. 
 
 " Human ingenuity is equal to any thing. We must 
 find the leak, Anna." 
 
 And, in good earnest, Mr. and Mrs. Peabody set to 
 work to find the leak. 
 
 Among the frequent visitors of Nancy the cook, was a 
 woman who always carried a basket and wore a cloak. 
 This person Mrs. Peabody often met in the kitchen, and, 
 as she was introduced by Nancy as a poor woman in bad 
 health, with several young children, the lady s feelings 
 were interested in her favour, and she often made her 
 presents of old clothing, and sometimes gave her flour and 
 tea. 
 
 Nancy had known this woman in Ireland, and spoke of 
 her as having seen better days. Particularly did she 
 dwell upon the honest character she had borne at home. 
 In this way a very favourable impression was made upon 
 Mrs. Peabody. 
 
 " What old woman was that I saw coming out through 
 the basement to-day?" asked Mr. Peabody, on coming 
 home one evening rather earlier than usual. 
 
 " Had she on an old brown camblet cloak ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, she s a poor woman who comes to see Nancy 
 sometimes." 
 
 "And does she always bring her basket along?" in 
 quired Mr. Peabody. 
 
 "Why do you ask that?" said the lady. 
 
 "I guess you ll find the leak you spoke of there." 
 
 " Oh no ! oh no ! I don t believe the old creature 
 would take any thing which was not given to her." 
 
DISCOVERING A EAK. 137 
 
 " That may be. But are you fully advised as to the 
 extent of Nancy s generosity ?" 
 
 " I don t believe she would take any thing, unless it 
 was cold meat or broken bread." 
 
 "Have you ever looked into her basket?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How often does she come ?" 
 
 " Two or three times a week, I believe." 
 
 " mother," spoke up a bright-looking boy, who was 
 an attentive listener. " She s here every day, and some 
 times twice a day." 
 
 "Indeed! You re sure of that, Harry?" said Mr. 
 Peabody. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir." 
 
 " Did you ever see Nancy give her any thing ?" 
 
 " I saw her put a great chunk of butter in her basket 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Anything else?" 
 
 " Some papers. I don t know what was in them, 
 though." 
 
 "Did Nancy see you when she did this?" asked Mr. 
 Peabody. 
 
 "No, sir. I was looking in at the window." 
 
 " Henry s mistaken. I can t believe it," said Mrs. 
 Peabody, in a positive voice. 
 
 " It will be an easy matter to settle. The next time 
 she comes, take the liberty to look into her basket." 
 
 "No, I wouldn t like to do that." 
 
 " Look into her basket, Anna, and, my word for it, 
 you ll find the leak." 
 
 Mrs. Peabody shook her head positively at this sug 
 gestion. 
 
 " If I catch her here, I shall most certainly do it," said 
 Mr. Peabody. 
 
 " You ll only hurt the old woman s feelings. It s bad 
 enough to be poor, without having suspicion added 
 thereto." 
 
 " Poverty is no crime ; but carrying off pounds of but- 
 
 12* 
 
138 DISCOVERING A LEAK. 
 
 ter, sugar, and flour, not to mention a dozen other things, 
 can hardly be called honest." 
 
 "I don t believe she does it, Henry." 
 
 " It will be more agreeable to know that she does not, 
 than to let the present state of doubt remain. If you 
 don t look into her basket, I will." 
 
 Not a long time passed before Mr. Peabody had the op 
 portunity he desired. A little earlier than usual, he came 
 home on the next day ; and, just as he reached his own 
 door, up from the basement area came the old woman with 
 the basket. Said basket had a dark piece of woollen 
 cloth, or baize, covered over it, and was, moreover, partly 
 concealed under the woman s cloak. Nancy had come 
 out with her, and stood in the area. Neither of them saw 
 Mr. Peabody at first, but he soon manifested presence ; for 
 the moment he saw the woman, he stepped up to her, and 
 drawing the covering from her basket, said 
 
 " What have we here ?" 
 
 Mr. Peabody spoke in a quick, stern voice. 
 
 Nancy, the moment she saw what he had done, turned 
 and went back hurriedly into the house ; the woman stood 
 for a moment with a face of dismay, and then dropping 
 the basket, beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 " I thought I d discover the leak," said Mr. Peabody, 
 as he entered his wife s room, bearing in his hand the old 
 woman s basket, which, on examination, was found to 
 contain, besides various other articles, the following, fully 
 recognised as the property of Mr. and Mrs. Peabody : 
 
 One pound of butter ; about a pound and a quarter of 
 loaf sugar ; three links of sausage, and one loaf of bread. 
 Of the tea and coffee in papers, the freshly cut half-pound 
 squares of soap, the nutmegs, and the dozen other little 
 matters of the kind, it was uncertain whether they had 
 been abstracted from this or some other house in which a 
 leak existed. 
 
 Mrs. Peabody was confounded; and so was Nancy, 
 when summoned from the kitchen. Of course, Nancy had 
 no suspicion that the old woman was dishonest, and stoutly 
 maintained that not an article found in her basket had 
 been taken from Mrs. Peabody s kitchen. 
 
 Rather doubting this, with so much evidence before her, 
 
DISCOVERING A LEAK. 139 
 
 Mrs. Peabody had the resolution to dismiss Nancy on the 
 spot ; and the act was effectual in stopping the leak. 
 After that, butter and sugar went twice as far as before, 
 and the next quarterly bill for groceries reached only the 
 sum of eighty-one dollars. 
 
 In more families than that of Mr. Peabody would a 
 leak be discovered, if old-women visitors to the kitchen, 
 with cloaks and baskets, were occasionally overhauled. 
 There are a goodly number of them about, and the way 
 they make grocery bills run up, is afflicting to a man 
 whose purse is not deep, and well filled with Calif ornias 
 at that. 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 man, it is useless to urge this matter. In 
 declining you offer of an alliance with my family, I am in 
 earnest." 
 
 " I am not content with a simple rejection of my suit, 
 Mr. Carlton. I give reasons for my own conduct, and 
 like to have reasons for all acts affecting myself. Will 
 you say why I am not deemed worthy to claim the hand 
 of one whose heart I already possess ? Is not my family 
 as good as yours ?" 
 
 The young man spoke eagerly, while his brows were 
 knit and his eyes firmly fixed on those of the person he 
 addressed. 
 
 " William," said Mr. Carlton, manifesting a good deal 
 of excitement as he spoke, " I do not recognise your right 
 to demand of me reasons for my conduct. I will say, 
 however, that the happiness of my child is in my keeping 
 as a natural right, and I am bound to protect her in every 
 possible way. I regard only her happiness when I decline 
 the offer made for her hand. I know the heart of Jessie 
 well, and know that, if committed to your keeping, it will 
 be a broken heart in less than five years it may be in 
 less than one." 
 
 " I love your daughter, Mr. Carlton," replied the young 
 man to this. " Why should I break the heart of one I 
 love?" 
 
 " William Levering, such love as yours falls upon the 
 heart as a blight, not a blessing. I know you well, your 
 principles and your life both are bad." 
 140 
 
The Elopement 
 
 141 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 143 
 
 A red spot burned on the young man s cheek, and his 
 eyes flashed. But Mr. Carlton looked calmly at him. 
 
 " Think," he added ; " picture to yourself one of your 
 companions in vice approaching your own sister, and offer 
 ing the love of his corrupt heart. Would you not step 
 between, abandoned as you are, and risk your very life, 
 rather than permit the sacrifice?" 
 
 "Mr. Carlton," said Levering, "I cannot permit you, 
 nor any one else, to insult and outrage me in this way." 
 
 "As you like," returned the other, coldly. "You ask 
 reasons for my conduct, but are not willing to hear them." 
 
 For a short time, there was silence, the young man 
 standing in an attitude of irresolution. Then muttering 
 something in an under tone, he retired from the presence 
 of Mr. Carlton. 
 
 A few hours afterward, a servant tapped softly at the 
 chamber door of Miss Carlton, the young lady referred 
 to in the brief conversation just given. 
 
 " What do you want, Philip ?" asked Jessie, as she 
 opened the door. 
 
 The servant slipped a sealed note into her hand, with 
 an air of secrecy, and then retired. 
 
 Quickly re-entering her room, and turning the key, 
 Jessie broke the envelop of the billet she had received, 
 and read what was written within. The communication 
 was from her lover. 
 
 " I have seen your father," said he, " as you so earnestly 
 desired, and the result of the interview is just what I 
 expected. He was not content with an angry denial of 
 my suit, but threw me off with smarting insult. He says 
 I cannot make you happy. Heaven knows how ardently 
 I desire to fill your cup with joy, even until it overrun 
 the brim. If the passionate love of a sincere heart can 
 make you happy, Jessie, then your whole life will be 
 blessed. I cannot imagine the ground of his dislike 
 toward me. I have never injured him nor his. This 
 opposition on his part makes me wretched. Are we, then, 
 to remain ever separate ? or will you leave all, and throw 
 yourself into my arms ? I shall await your answer to 
 this in the wildest impatience. When you have made 
 up your mind, place your answer in the hands of Philip. 
 
144 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 He will keep our secret inviolate ; for he is under obliga 
 tions to me of the strongest character." 
 
 " My heart is wholly yours," wrote Jessie, in reply. 
 
 " Shall heart and person longer be separated ?" 
 answered Levering. "To-morrow week, I hear, your 
 father will leave home, to be gone several days. This I 
 learn from Philip. What better opportunity to pass from 
 his protection to mine ?" 
 
 Two days elapsed, and then the maiden wrote " Let 
 it be, as you desire." 
 
 Weak and foolish maiden ! In that decision how much 
 was involved ! Not the happiness of a day or year, but, 
 it might be, of a whole lifetime. 
 
 What Mr. Carlton had said to Levering of his princi 
 ples and his life, was true. Both were bad, and very bad. 
 He did not truly love Jessie, for of that he was incapable. 
 No man who lacks virtue can love a woman truly. It is 
 a moral impossibility. 
 
 Levering had first turned his thoughts to marriage 
 because it was necessary, as he said to himself, to form 
 such an alliance. He belonged to a wealthy family, and, 
 by marrying into a family of equal wealth and standing, 
 he would take proper care of the future. Of course, he 
 must have a beautiful and accomplished wife. In looking 
 around him, no one struck the young man s fancy so 
 strongly as Jessie Carlton : and, after weighing all in 
 favour and against an alliance with her family, decided 
 to storm the citadel of her heart. Handsome, intelligent, 
 and with a good address, he was not long in making the 
 impression he desired. Jessie Carlton s young heart was 
 quickly won. 
 
 Philip, a servant in the family of Mr. Carlton, whom 
 Levering had secured to his interest, was informed of the 
 intended elopement, and employed to give such aid as his 
 position would afford. Of course, the utmost secrecy was 
 enjoined upon him ; and his faithfulness was sought to be 
 secured by threats as well as promises. But Philip found 
 it hard to bear up alone under a secret of such great im 
 portance ; he wanted some one to share with him the 
 heavy burden. So, confiding in the discretion of another 
 servant in the house, a female, he divulged to her, after 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 145 
 
 first obtaining her promise not to betray what he was 
 about to communicate, the fact of Jessie s intended flight. 
 
 On the night previous to the day on which Mr. Carlton 
 was to leave home, he sat up late, engaged in writing. 
 It was past eleven o clock, when there was a light tap at 
 his door, which was opened immediately, and a female 
 servant glided in noiselessly, closing softly the door after 
 her. 
 
 "Well, Hannah?" said he in a voice of inquiry, as she 
 approached him, in a somewhat agitated manner. 
 
 Hannah sank into a chair, so much disturbed that it 
 was some moments before she could speak. 
 
 "Mr. Carlton," she at length said, "oh ! I have some 
 thing dreadful to tell you." 
 
 " For heaven s sake, Hannah, speak out quickly, then ! 
 "What has happened?" exclaimed Mr. Carlton, agitated 
 in turn. 
 
 " Nothing has happened yet ; but, if you go away to 
 morrow, it will happen. Oh, sir, do not go away." 
 
 " Hannah, what is the meaning of this ? Speak out 
 plainly at once." 
 
 " Miss Jessie " 
 
 " Jessie ! What of her ?" 
 
 " She is going off with Mr. Levering." 
 
 "When? Where is she?" The father was on his 
 feet, and moving toward the door. " Speak, girl !" 
 
 " Oh, sir, don t be frightened," said Hannah; "it isn t 
 to-night. Miss Jessie is in her room. I have only come 
 to tell you about it in time." 
 
 " Ah ! thank you, my faithful Hannah." 
 
 Mr. Carlton spoke in a calmer voice ; and, returning to 
 the secretary where he had been writing, sat down again. 
 
 "Now," he added, "tell me all you know about this 
 matter." 
 
 "All I know," replied Hannah, "I got to-day from 
 Philip. He told me that he has been carrying letters 
 from Mr. Levering to Jessie and back again, for some 
 time, and that it is all arranged for her to go off with 
 him, just at daylight, the morning after you leave home." 
 
 "Can it be possible? Mad girl!" exclaimed Mr. 
 
 lo 
 
146 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 Carlton, passionately. "And you are sure of all this, 
 Hannah?" 
 
 "Philip told me, and I m afraid it is all true." 
 
 " Very well, Hannah. I thank you from my heart for 
 this act of duty. You have saved Jessie, it may be, from 
 a lifetime of misery. Mr. Levering is a bad man, and if 
 she marries him, he will make her wretched. Foolish, 
 foolish girl ! Could she not believe her father ?" 
 
 After some further conference, the girl left the room ; 
 and Mr. Carlton, closing his secretary, walked the floor 
 for the space of an hour ere retiring. On the next day, 
 greatly to the surprise of Hannah, he left home at the 
 time previously appointed. 
 
 No sleep weighed down the eyelids of Jessie Carlton, 
 during the night that succeeded. Through the long hours 
 that intervened from the time the family retired until the 
 hand of Aurora gently raised the curtain of darkness from 
 the east, she either walked the floor of her chamber or lay 
 wakeful upon the bed. At early dawn, she was to pass 
 from beneath her father s roof and from under his pro 
 tection, committing unto another her destiny. Well might 
 her heart tremble and grow faint as she tried to look into 
 the dark future ; well might she shrink back, half repent 
 ant, and hesitate about the step she had resolved to take. 
 The silent midnight gives to the wakeful solemn thoughts. 
 Such thoughts came to Jessie ; and, as the winds sighed 
 through the trees or moaned beneath the eaves, it seemed 
 as if a spirit were addressing her in tones of warning. 
 
 At last, a feeble line of light was seen upon the horizon ; 
 and it gradually widened until the dawn appeared. Hur 
 riedly throwing a shawl around her, Jessie stood for some 
 minutes near the window, as if awaiting an expectant 
 signal. Presently, a hand was laid upon the lock. Si 
 lently crossing the room, she opened the door. Philip 
 stood there with his finger on his lip. 
 
 " Is all right ?" asked Jessie, in a low, agitated whisper. 
 
 "All is right," returned the man. "Be quick; he is 
 waiting for you." 
 
 Gliding through the door, Jessie went noiselessly down 
 stairs. As she passed into the open air, Levering received 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 147 
 
 her, handing, as he did so, a purse of money to the 
 treacherous servant as his promised reward. 
 
 A few minutes prior to this, a scene even more exciting 
 took place a short distance from the mansion of Mr. 
 Carlton, where a carriage stood in waiting for the fugitive. 
 The driver had left his box, and was standing near his 
 horses, when, suddenly, a man was by his side, pistol in 
 hand, uttering, in a low, peremptory voice, " Silence, and 
 you are safe !" 
 
 The driver started back a few paces in alarm ; while 
 the stranger who had presented his weapon, kept it di 
 rected toward him. 
 
 " Now leave these grounds as quickly as you can go," 
 said the intruder. 
 
 The driver hesitated, when the sharp click of the pistol- 
 lock was heard. 
 
 " Go, instantly!" repeated the man. "Your horses 
 and carriage are safe. You will find them at the Stag 
 and Hound in an hour from this. Now go, if you set the 
 value of a hair upon your life." 
 
 The driver, by this time thoroughly alarmed, fled. As 
 soon as he had left the ground, the stranger mounted the 
 box and grasped the reins. Hardly had he taken his 
 place, ere Levering and Jessie appeared, and hurriedly 
 entered the carriage. 
 
 " Where did you say I must drive ?" inquired the man, 
 leaning over from the box. 
 
 " To Mr. Liston s. And see that no grass grows 
 beneath your horses feet." 
 
 The man spoke sharply to the spirited animals, and 
 away they dashed at full speed. Listen was a minister, 
 who had been engaged to perform the marriage service 
 for Levering and Jessie. He lived in the town which lay 
 a short distance from the beautiful country residence of 
 Mr. Carlton. In a few minutes, the horses were reined 
 up at the dwelling of the minister, when Levering sprang 
 from the carriage, and lifting Jessie, as she attempted to 
 descend, actually bore her in his arms across the pave 
 ment and into the house. Just as the fugitives dis 
 appeared, another vehicle drove up at a rapid pace. The 
 self-constituted driver of Levering s carriage left his own 
 
148 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 horses, and hurrying to the door of the second carriage 
 spoke rapidly a few words to some one within ; and then 
 turning away entered the minister s house, and throwing 
 off his rough hat and coat in the hall, presented the figure 
 of a well-dressed gentleman. For a few moments he 
 stood as if awaiting some one, while his ear was bent 
 toward the door of a room that opened from the passage, 
 to hear what was going on within. Then he placed his 
 hand on this door, and gently pushing it open, entered. 
 The young couple were already on the floor; and the 
 minister, in his robes, stood before them, ready to begin 
 the ceremony. So softly had the stranger entered, that 
 no one perceived his presence but the minister, who did 
 not permit the intrusion to interfere with what he was 
 doing. He began, and progressed until he came to that 
 part of the ceremony in which it is demanded of those 
 present, to show cause why the parties about to be joined 
 in holy wedlock cannot lawfully enter that state, when 
 the door of the room was thrown suddenly open, and a 
 woman rushed in, exclaiming, " I forbid this marriage !" 
 
 "Who are you, and by what right do you speak? * 
 inquired the minister, in an agitated voice. 
 
 Levering and Jessie started at this unexpected inter 
 ruption ; and, turning, looked in astonishment both at the 
 woman and the man. 
 
 "Miss Carlton," said the woman, coming up to Jessie 
 and grasping her arm, " you have no right to this man ; 
 he belongs to me by a prior claim, that I will not see 
 cancelled. There is your natural protector" and she 
 drew her, with a sudden jerk, across the room toward the 
 man who had entered just before her " your father. 
 And, in heaven s name, let not a man like this tempt you 
 thus madly from his side again !" 
 
 Jessie scarcely heard the closing words of the sentence. 
 Overcome by so dreadful a termination of her elopement, 
 she sank into the arms of her father for it was he who 
 had driven her to the minister s. 
 
 Before the vile companion of his evil hours, Levering 
 stood, for a few moments, covered with shame and 
 confusion. 
 
 "Now go, young man," said Mr. Carlton, sternly, as 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 140 
 
 he supported the form of his child ; "go with this vile, 
 unhappy creature, whom you have reduced from virtue to 
 a level with yourself. Go, consort with her as your equal ; 
 but dream not again of an alliance with the pure being I 
 have saved from your unhallowed grasp. She can never 
 be yours. If, before, you could deceive her into the 
 belief that you were an arxgel of light, the power of de 
 ception is now gone, for you stand before her in all your 
 native corruption and deformity. Go, sir !" 
 
 Confounded by a denouement so painful and humiliating, 
 Levering, as soon as he could collect his bewildered senses, 
 sprung from the room. As he gained the open air, the 
 driver who had been so suddenly deprived of his carriage, 
 came up. Levering hurriedly entered the vehicle, ex 
 claiming " Drive me home !" 
 
 The man needed not a second invitation to mount his 
 box. Quick as thought, he had the reins in his hands, 
 and the horses were soon springing before him at a gallop. 
 
 The reader doubtless understands all this without further 
 explanation ; and Levering had few inquiries to make ere 
 he comprehended the whole affair to more than his entire 
 satisfaction. As for Jessie, she, too, understood enough 
 to make her heart sink in her bosom and tremble, when 
 ever she thought of the narrow escape she had made from 
 an alliance that could only have produced wretchedness, 
 if it would not have borne her down to the grave, in a 
 few short years, with a broken heart. 
 
T11K PROP (-AMK. 
 
 " Coyy. Laban Loo." said tho post-master of a certain 
 New Jorsov, situated within ton miles of Phila 
 delphia "You must take a paper this year. Row can 
 YOU In o, man. >.. . - 1 news . " 
 
 "The news!" returned Lee* "Humph! I have moro 
 news now than is agreeable. In fact, I don t believe in 
 veur newsmonger-, n how. Every man mind his own 
 
 ss that is my motto." 
 
 Yes. but friend Loo. it is of interest to know what is 
 troing on in t . i 
 
 "No spooial ir What do I care about 
 
 s ooucerns? It won t make my cows give 
 Ik nor mv land ^vow more bushels to the aero." 
 
 -I a- r.ot s- ireot th: .:." 
 
 "Ain t you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 -\Vell. I am then." 
 
 TV.ore are t ar:v.ers whose oows sjivo v.ore milk than 
 vv-urs. a:. , w: -^ land v;. otter increase. From 
 
 > your advantage." 
 
 h .: to do with newspapers :" 
 
 "A great deal. 1: -.,"-, ,r. tanners intonn the publio 
 of their ncrieu .tural experin-.ents : and give the now 
 
 :.ods by whioh they obtain large yields of produce." 
 Book-tarn, c . i \, "..limed Laban Lee, in a tone of 
 M Never believed in it; and never expect to. 
 old i way is good enough tor me. In- 
 
 and e^\;;oin\ T that is ID v inoue. and 1 teach it 
 150 
 

THE DROP GAME. 153 
 
 daily to my children. Hand-work is worth all the news 
 papers in the world." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," returned the post-master. 
 " Hand- work is badly off without head-work, and will soon 
 find itself in the rear." 
 
 " I m not in the least anxious," said Lee, with a self- 
 satisfied air, as he turned off and went on his way toward 
 the city, his tubs well filled with butter, and his wagon 
 loaded with a goodly stock of poultry and fruit. " A bird 
 in the hand is worth two in the bush," he kept on talking 
 to himself. " When there is a dollar in my pocket, I know 
 what I ve got. But if I spend it for a newspaper, what 
 is there to show for it ? I never knew any good to come 
 of taking the papers. They only put nonsense into the 
 young people s heads, and make them think themselves 
 wiser than their parents. Dad ! and they shan t come 
 into my house." 
 
 Laban Lee, if the truth must be told, had a sordid love 
 of money. The dollar was always held so close to the 
 axis of vision, that little beyond the round bright coin was 
 ever discernible. By hard work, industry and economy, 
 he had gradually gained upon the world, until he was the 
 owner of a snug piece of ground covering about fifty acres, 
 well stocked, and as well tilled as his " good old-fashion 
 ed" way of farming would permit. 
 
 The over-careful in saving, when love of money subdues 
 almost every other sentiment, are not generally over 
 honest in getting. The every-one-for-himself principle of 
 action generally leads to a disregard of other s interests, 
 a trespass upon other s rights, and a departure from truth 
 in dealing. Into these defects Laban Lee naturally fell, 
 as many a citizen, who had bought tough chickens, bad 
 butter, and spoiled turkeys, from the " fair and honest 
 countryman," could testify. Lee knew how much was 
 gained in these transactions ; but never had any idea of 
 how much he lost. Far oftener than any of his custo 
 mers guessed, his butter, or at least a carefully arranged 
 portion -contained in his tubs, lacked several ounces of the 
 true weight ; and more than once had he come near losing 
 a goodly number thereof, at the hands of the Clerk of the 
 Market. Such a man was Laban Lee. 
 
154 THE DftOP GAME. 
 
 As the countryman wended his way toward the city, his 
 thoughts were busy in summing up the probable amount 
 he would receive for the contents of his market-wagon ; 
 yet this occupied state of mind did not keep his eyes from 
 resting with intelligent discrimination upon the road he 
 travelled. Money, and articles of value had been found 
 by others, and why might he not be so fortunate ? Such 
 things were frequently lost by the careless. The idea of 
 restitution never occurred to him ; this was kept obscured 
 by the pleasurable anticipation of gain, as the finder of 
 lost property. Once, and only once, had Laban Lee been 
 fortunate. On a certain occasion as he walked along the 
 road, he espied, a short distance in advance, a bright ob 
 ject pa-rtially concealed in the sand. Eagerly he sprung 
 forward, snatched it from the ground, and was rewarded 
 by obtaining half a dollar ! Small as the sum was, to 
 gain it thus, awoke in his mind the most pleasing sensa 
 tions. From that time, whether in town or country, few 
 square rods of earth or pavement over which he passed 
 escaped his watchful eyes. 
 
 On the present occasion, notwithstanding Lee examined 
 the road by which he travelled to the city with his usual 
 care, no treasure was found. Better fortune, however, 
 attended him on the day following. He had sold out his 
 butter, poultry, and fruit, and over thirty dollars received 
 in exchange therefor, were in his pocket. Prices had 
 ranged pretty high, and the farmer felt satisfied with his 
 sales. Just as he was preparing to leave, the sudden ex 
 clamation of a man by his side startled him, and turning 
 quickly, he saw a gentlemanly looking stranger, with a 
 well filled pocket-book in his hand. 
 
 " Somebody s dropped this !" said the stranger, address 
 ing Lee. "And it s filled with money." 
 
 The farmer s eyes were instantly distended. He felt 
 his knees tremble. 
 
 " Is it your s, friend?" inquired the stranger, blandly. 
 
 Lee could with difficulty refrain from saying that it 
 was. But he forced out the. words 
 
 "No ; I believe not." 
 
 "What s to pay?" half carelessly inquired a third 
 party, coming up at this moment. 
 
THE DROP GAME. 165 
 
 " Somebody s lost a pocket-book," was replied. 
 
 " Indeed ! Much money in it ?" 
 
 "It s full. See there!" 
 
 And the possessor of the book showed the folds and 
 edges of a large bundle of bank bills. 
 
 " Gracious me ! What are you going to do with it ?" 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure. It s not mine. Whoever 
 lost it ought to have it. But, as I am a stranger in the 
 city, and shall leave in an hour, it will be impossible for 
 me to restore it. No doubt a large reward will be offered 
 for its recovery, in the morning papers. What s to be 
 done ? I m really in a quandary." 
 
 "You ought to get the reward," said the second comer. 
 "For you are the finder." 
 
 "True," replied the man. "But I can t possibly re 
 main in the city until to-morrow. To-night must see me 
 in New York." 
 
 "If you choose to take it," said the person who came 
 up last, " I will give you fifty dollars for your chance in 
 the reward." 
 
 " Fifty dollars," was the musing reply. " I don t know 
 what to say about that. The reward will doubtless be two 
 or three hundred. There can t be less than twenty thou 
 sand dollars in the pocket-book.". 
 
 " I wouldn t like to risk more," was the half-indifferent 
 response to this. 
 
 The possessor of the pocket-book seemed irresolute for 
 some moments. 
 
 " Well," he at length said, " take it. But I think you 
 are driving on me a very hard bargain." 
 
 The other thrust his hand into his pocket, and after 
 feeling about there for some moments, said 
 
 " That s unfortunate ! I ve left my pocket-book at the 
 store. But come with me, and I ll give you fifty dollars." 
 
 " Where is your store ?" 
 
 " On the wharf." 
 
 " Oh dear ! No, I m not going away down there." 
 Then turning to Laban Lee, the stranger said, in the 
 most insinuating manner, 
 
 "Why can t you take it, friend?" 
 
iOO THE DROP GA \ tf. 
 
 "Havn t got fifty dollars," replied Lee, his eyes fairly 
 gloating on the pocket-book. 
 
 " How much have you ?" 
 
 " Only thirty." 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. 
 
 " You d better come down to my store, No. , South 
 Wharves. I ll give you fifty dollars. Or, if you will 
 take our friend s thirty dollars, I will make it fifty for him 
 the moment he shows himself at my place of business." 
 
 " I suppose I will have to do so," said the holder of the 
 pocket-book, in a changed, sober, and rather disappointed 
 voice. " But it is giving up a large advantage for a mere 
 trifle." 
 
 Eagerly Laban Lee drew forth his thirty dollars, handed 
 it to the man,- and grasped the treasure. 
 
 " Come down to No. , South Wharves," sounded in his 
 ears. A moment after, and he stood alone, yet so be 
 wildered that all his ideas were in a whirl of confusion. 
 Soon a calmer state followed. He crept into his cart, 
 and there, safe from prying curiosity, opened the pocket- 
 book in order to feast his eyes upon the sum of twenty 
 thousand dollars, and to debate the question of restora 
 tion. 
 
 Alas ! From what a height of imagination down to the 
 very bottom of the pit of reality did Laban Lee soon fall. 
 Wrapped around by three or four one-dollar counterfeit 
 bills, was a mass of soiled, crumpled, and blotted strips of 
 bank-note paper ; and this was all the treasure contained 
 in the pocket-book ! 
 
 No wonder that, in his bitter disappointment, the farmer 
 groaned aloud. It was some minutes before even a gleam 
 of light broke in upon the darkness that enveloped him. 
 Then he thought of the man who had agreed to give fifty 
 dollars for the pocket-book. He would go to him in 
 stantly, and concealing the discovery he had made, get 
 from him the promised sum, and thus shift the loss upon 
 another. 
 
 Of course he did not find the individual he sought at 
 No. , South Wharves. He was the victim, and this 
 man an accomplice. 
 
THE DROP GAME. 157 
 
 Two days afterward, the post-master of Lee s village 
 Baid to him 
 
 "Aha ! So the drop-game boys have been trying their 
 hand on you." 
 
 " Drop game ? What do you mean ?" returned Lee. 
 
 "Listen." The post-master drew a paper from his 
 pocket and read. " i Yesterday a farmer from New Jer 
 sey, named Lee, was silly enough to pay a couple of 
 sharpers thirty dollars for a pocket-book which they pre 
 tended to have found. Of course, this Lee doesn t take 
 the newspapers, or he never could have fallen into a snare 
 that has been so often exposed. We have little pity for 
 men who are wilfully ignorant. 
 
 Laban Lee turned off suddenly and walked hurriedly 
 away. The next time he went to the city, he ordered a 
 newspaper. 
 
LAB AN LEE S BUTTER SPECULATION. 
 
 WHAT HE GAINED AND LOST. 
 
 MR. LABAN LEE, after his "Drop Game" experience, 
 was a sadder man than before. He could not get over 
 the loss of his thirty dollars. It troubled him night and 
 day. 
 
 " I must get it back, somehow/ said the farmer to him 
 self, at length. " I cannot afford to lose so large a sum. 
 To think that I should have been so swindled!" 
 
 "I must get it back somehow!" It was full three 
 weeks, from the memorable pocket-book day, when the 
 mind of Laban Lee came to this conclusion. But how 
 was he to get it back ? The rogues who had swindled 
 him were not at all likely to cross his path again. There 
 was no hope of restitution from them. But Lee had no 
 thought of this. Then how was he to get back the money 
 he had lost ? 
 
 By cheating somebody out of it, gentle reader ! That 
 is speaking out the plain truth in plain language. He 
 was very indignant at the "drop-game" gentlemen; yet, 
 even while his indignation burned hotly, he meditated 
 wrong to his neighbour. 
 
 When men have the desire to do wrong, a suggestion 
 of the means is very sure to come. At the very moment 
 when Laban Lee said "I must get it back, somehow," 
 he was standing in his spring-house, or dairy, holding in 
 his hand the pound weight used in weighing butter for 
 market. The round piece of iron out of which this was 
 158 
 
BUTTER SPECULATION. 161 
 
 made had, originally, weighed less than a pound, but 
 been raised to the legal standard by the insertion of a 
 piece of lead, in a small indentation on the underside. 
 This piece of lead, which weighed some three ounces, was 
 loose, thus offering a temptation for its removal. And 
 with the desire to get back his lost thirty dollars, by fair 
 or foul means, came to the mind of Lee the idea of pick 
 ing out this piece of lead, and thus reducing the weight 
 of his butter so many ounces. 
 
 No sooner thought of than done. The lead was 
 stealthily removed, and not even his better half, who con 
 ducted the weighing process, knew aught of the matter. 
 
 Just fifty-four pounds, or, rather, "prints" of butter, 
 had Lee in his tub when he started for the city on the 
 next market day ; and yet if the whole of this butter had 
 been placed in a scale, it would not have weighed over 
 forty-four or five pounds. 
 
 "If I come through safely," said Lee, to himself, as 
 he rode along toward the city, " I ll get back about three 
 dollars of what I lost ; and the same thing, ten times re 
 peated, will put me even with the world again. But" 
 
 The other view of the case was too unpleasant for con 
 templation, and so the roguish farmer would not look at it. 
 
 On the next morning Laban Lee took his place in the 
 market, with his tub of fresh butter and good butter it 
 was, as regards quality. On the top were several prints 
 of full weight ; these were for the scales of the market 
 clerk when he should make his appearance, and were very 
 ingeniously passed over by the farmer in making sales. 
 
 The price of butter was pretty well up, ranging as high 
 as thirty-five cents. And at this rate Lee had disposed 
 of six or eight prints, when the sudden appearance of the 
 clerk of the market made his heart give a great bound, 
 sending the tell-tale blood instantly to his face. 
 
 "All right here, of course," said the clerk pleasantly, 
 as he looked into the face of Lee. 
 
 " The proof of the pudding is in the eating of it," re 
 turned the farmer, with affected confidence, as he took 
 a lump of butter from his tub. His eyes, however, 
 drooped beneath the clerk s gaze, as he handed it to him. 
 
162 BUTTER SPECULATION. 
 
 The butter was placed in the scale, and proved to be good 
 weight. 
 
 - Try another !" said Lee. 
 
 The clerk reached out his hand and took a second lump, 
 while Lee replaced the first in the tub. This also proved 
 to be up to the standard. 
 
 A third came out right also, and, but for something in 
 the manner of Lee. who could not entirely hide his uneasi 
 ness, the clerk would have passed on. satisfied that all 
 was right. 
 
 The fourth lump was likewise full weight. Up to this 
 point Lee had taken the butter from the tub ; but now 
 the clerk of the market thrust in his own hand, and lo ! 
 the scale in which he placed the print flew upward. 
 
 "Aha. my friend! What s the meaning of this?" he 
 exclaimed, as he transferred the lump of butter to a basket, 
 and took another from the farmer s tub. 
 
 The unhappy farmer s whole manner underwent a sud 
 den change, and. spite of an effort at composure, every 
 attitude and expression betrayed his guilt. 
 
 The next print of butter proved light also ; the next 
 and the next ; each in its turn passing from the scale, 
 forfeited, to the clerk s basket, 
 
 " At your old tricks again, ha !" muttered the clerk. 
 
 u Tricks!" exclaimed Lee, indignantly. 
 
 But the clerk kept on transferring print after print 
 from the tub to his basket, until half the contents of the 
 former had changed places. By this time a little crowd 
 began to gather around. Poor Laban Lee ! He felt, as 
 the saying is, as if he could sink into the earth. 
 
 - "What s the matter here ?" would ask one and another, 
 as they peered, curiously, at the imperturbable clerk. 
 
 - Caught in the very act, ha !" said one. 
 
 -Why, friend Lee!" exclaimed another, in whose 
 familiar voice the farmer recognised that of an old custo 
 mer. " Who would have thought it !" 
 
 Yes ; who would have thought it I" chimed in another 
 customer, whose table had for months smiled with the 
 cheering presence of Laban Lee s sweet new butter. 
 
 My good sir," cried a waggish individual, addressing 
 Lee in a grave voice, and pointing, as he spoke, to a pair 
 
BUTTER SPECULATION. 163 
 
 of ducks, the property of the farmer, " as this man takes 
 so large a lot of your butter, you ought to throw in them 
 ducks into the bargain !" 
 
 This was too much for poor Lee. With an angry 
 exclamation he flung himself away from the little furious 
 crowd, and, retreating down the market-house for the dis 
 tance of three or four stalls, kept out of the way until the 
 clerk had finished his work of confiscation, which covered 
 forty prints of butter. On his return, four pound-prints 
 only remained in his tub. Lee did not wait to sell these, 
 but hastily collecting his things together, withdrew in 
 deep humiliation and chagrin. 
 
 The loss and gain of this butter speculation was sadly 
 on the wrong side. There was not only loss of integrity, 
 the heaviest loss of all, but loss of money. He had hoped 
 to gain, by a sacrifice of honesty, the paltry sum of three 
 dollars ; he had made the fearful sacrifice fearful in the 
 eternal consequences it involved and not only lost his 
 honour, but four times the amount of money he had hoped 
 to gain. This was the loss for that day ; but the conse 
 quence of his sin and folly did not stop with the going 
 down of the sun. When next market day came round, 
 Lee could not muster sufficient courage to face his custo 
 mers ; so he entrusted fifty pounds of butter this time 
 full weight, and a little over to a neighbour, not more 
 honest in heart than himself. This neighbour found the 
 temptation of some fifteen dollars in his pocket more than 
 belonged to him, rather too strong, and on one pretence 
 or another omitted to pay over. In fact, he had heard, 
 while in market, the story of Lee s adventure with the 
 clerk of the market, and, as he turned it over in his mind, 
 came, in the end, to the conclusion that he would make it 
 work to his own advantage. 
 
 Finding, after repeated efforts to get his money from 
 this unscrupulous neighbour, that he was really in danger 
 of losing the proceeds of fifty more pounds of butter, Lee 
 said to him rather sharply 
 
 " Look here ! I m not going to stand this. Pay me 
 my money at once, or I ll expose you to the whole neigh 
 bourhood." 
 
 "You will ! will you?" coolly returned the other. 
 
164 BUTTER SPECULATION. 
 
 "Yes; I will." 
 
 "You d better not." 
 
 There was a threat, as well in the words as in the 
 manner of the neighbour, that communicated a sensation 
 of uneasiness to the feelings of Lee. 
 
 " Why had I better not ? ha !" 
 
 " Try it ; and you ll find out," was retorted. 
 
 " I will try it." 
 
 " Very well ; and if, before three hours pass over your 
 head, the whole neighbourhood is not made acquainted 
 with a certain butter speculation of yours, I m very much 
 mistaken. Ha ! What do you say to that ? So if you re 
 wise, you ll just keep your tongue between your teeth so 
 far as I m concerned." 
 
 A deep crimson mantled the face of Laban Lee. He 
 tried, for a moment or two, to collect his thoughts for a 
 reply ; but finding no fit words in which to answer, he 
 turned suddenly away, and walked soberly on his path 
 homeward. 
 
 " Honesty is the best policy." This was the narrow, 
 selfish, self-protecting trueism that forced itself upon the 
 thoughts of the unhappy farmer, as he moved along, with 
 his eyes cast upon the ground; and he resolved from 
 that day to deal in strict honesty with all men, as the 
 safest and best way best for mere temporal good ; the 
 mind of Laban Lee was not then capable of appreciating 
 any higher good. But, if he continues to be honest, even 
 from policy, we may hope that, in time, he will see the 
 true wisdom of being honest without policy. Until then, 
 he cannot be truly honest. 
 
,66 
 
 The Surprise Party. 
 
THE SURPRISE 
 
 MR. and Mrs. Atherton, and their two daughters, 
 Helen and Alice, were sitting one evening in January 
 enjoying a new book, which one of the latter was reading 
 aloud, when a ring was heard. The reader paused, and, 
 for a few moments, they remained listening and expectant. 
 A servant went to the door. 
 
 " Are the ladies at home ?" was heard asked, in a man s 
 voice. 
 
 Then a movement, as of two or three persons entering, 
 was noticed. 
 
 " I wonder who they are ?" said Alice. 
 
 " Some one has gone up stairs," remarked Mrs. Ather 
 ton, who had been listening. " You d better go and see 
 who it is, Helen." 
 
 The daughter was about rising to do as her mother had 
 suggested, when one of the parlour doors opened, and a 
 young gentleman, dressed with great care, presented 
 himself. 
 
 "Mr. A ! How are you this evening? I m very 
 
 happy to see you !" said Mr. Atherton, advancing to meet 
 the young man and welcoming him cordially. 
 
 The others greeted him in return, and he then took a 
 seat among them. 
 
 "I m sure some person went up stairs," said Mrs. 
 Atherton, speaking aside to Helen. 
 
 " True. I heard them plainly." And Helen retired 
 from the room. As she came to the foot of the stairway 
 in the passage, she was a little surprised to find a light 
 in the room which opened from the first landing, and to 
 
 167 
 
168 THE STJUPHISE PARTY. 
 
 perceive, through the half-opened door, the figures of two 
 or three persons moving within. She went up quickly 
 and entered. Three young girls, intimate acquaintances, 
 were there, all tastefully dressed, and displaying a pro 
 fusion of ornament. 
 
 " Why, Anna ! Jane ! Cordelia !" fell from the lips 
 of Helen, as she grasped a hand of each in succession and 
 exchanged salutations. Then there came a pause. Helen s 
 countenance assumed a quick, thoughtful air ; while her 
 young visitors were full of life, and every nerve quivering 
 in anticipated pleasure. 
 
 " Walk down into the parlour," said Helen. "Father, 
 and mother, and sister are there." 
 
 As they were leaving the room, Helen s eyes rested 
 upon a lamp that burned upon the table. It was a small, 
 fancy, gilt lamp, and had never before been seen by her. 
 She noted the fact, but her mind was too much excited 
 at the moment to reflect upon so singular a circumstance. 
 
 The appearance of the three rather elaborately dressed 
 young ladies, as an addition to the family party below, 
 very naturally created some surprise, and disturbed the 
 mental equilibrium of those in the parlour. But the 
 Atherton s were well-bred people, and not easily thrown 
 off of their guard by any thing mal-apropos. The 
 social circle widened with graceful ease, and the unex 
 pected visitors of the evening were quickly made at home. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour, the bell rang again, 
 when two more elegantly dressed young ladies, with a 
 male attendant, appeared. They were also intimate ac 
 quaintances, and joined the company in the parlour in 
 that familiar, " of course" kind of a way, that mystified 
 the Athertons, who, by this time, began to fear that some 
 misunderstanding had taken place, likely to produce un 
 pleasant and mortifying results. But, as before said, they 
 were well-bred people, and manifested no signs of dis 
 comfiture or surprise. 
 
 A third addition of this kind caused Alice and Helen 
 to retreat to their chamber, in order to give some little 
 attention to their toilet ; and Mrs. Atherton soon followed 
 their example. While this was going on, the bell con 
 tinued to ring and company to arrive every few moments ; 
 
THE SURPRISE PARTY. 169 
 
 and, by the time they descended again to the parlours, a 
 party of between twenty and thirty were assembled there, 
 most of them particular acquaintances, and all perfectly 
 at home. Additional lights were now ordered, and things 
 made to correspond as perfectly as possible with the sud 
 denly changed order of affairs, and with little apparent 
 hurry and no apologies. 
 
 A family council, composed of Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, 
 and Helen, was now called, in order to fix upon some con 
 certed action in so strange an emergency. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" said Mrs. Atherton, in a whisper, 
 so soon as they were alone. 
 
 " There is some mistake," remarked Mr. Atherton, 
 gravely. 
 
 " A very strange kind of a mistake. We ve sent out 
 no invitations to a party." 
 
 Mr. Atherton shook his head and compressed his lips. 
 
 " Somebody has taken a very unwarrantable liberty 
 with us, I fear," he remarked. "No doubt, all of these 
 persons have received regular invitations to attend a party 
 at our house to-night, and are here, as they believe, at our 
 instance." 
 
 " Is it possible any one could do a thing like that ?" 
 said Mrs. Atherton. 
 
 " Yes. There are persons who take a strange pleasure 
 in annoying others with practical jokes ; and the greater 
 the annoyance they can produce, the higher is their gratifi 
 cation. To some one of our friends, who seeks enjoyment 
 in this ungenerous mode, we are no doubt indebted for the 
 affair on our hands this evening. I can only say, that I 
 have particular reasons for regretting the mode he has 
 chosen to annoy us. But as our friends are here, inno 
 cently, we must not only do our best to entertain them, 
 but avoid the slightest intimation that they were not 
 expected." 
 
 In this all agreed. While conversing, the bell was kept 
 constantly ringing, and party after party of guests 
 arriving. 
 
 "I wonder how many more are coming?" remarked 
 Mrs. Atherton, as she listened to a mingling of several 
 
 15 
 
170 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 voices in the passage, after the street door had been again 
 opened. 
 
 "It will be a large party, without doubt," replied Mr. 
 ..Vtherton ; "for when an affair of this kind is gotten up, 
 it is rarely a half-way piece of work." 
 
 " We will have to procure refreshments," said Helen. 
 
 " Certainly. The company are here upon our invita 
 tion, as they suppose, and we must give them a suitable 
 entertainment." 
 
 " It is too late to provide a regular supper," suggested 
 Mrs. Atherton. 
 
 " Yes ; that is now out of the question. We shall have 
 to confine ourselves principally to cake, wine, fruit, and 
 confectionery." 
 
 " And make a pretty liberal order for that, if the com 
 pany continues to assemble much longer at the present 
 rate," said Mrs. Atherton. 
 
 Her husband did not answer to the remark, but sup 
 pressed a sigh that was throwing itself involuntarily from 
 his bosom. 
 
 "We must decide this matter soon," suggested Mrs. 
 Atherton. 
 
 " Yes. In half an hour or so we will be able to make 
 some estimate of what will be wanted. Then I will send 
 round to Parkinson an order for ice-cream, cake, and 
 confectionery, &c., for a party of a given number; and 
 to our grocer s for wine and fruits." 
 
 This and other little matters pertaining to the enter 
 tainment being settled, they returned to the parlours and 
 rejoined the company. As Mr. Atherton was entering 
 the rooms, now pretty well filled, he was still more sur 
 prised than he had yet been, to hear the movement of a 
 bow across the strings of a violin. This was repeated 
 three or four times, and then a familiar air came from the 
 instrument, and there was a movement in concert on the 
 floor. In other words, a cotillon had been formed ; and 
 when Mr. Atherton was able to take a survey of the 
 rooms, he discovered a grinning negro fiddling away in 
 one corner, and the obedient dancers threading their mazy 
 circles in harmony with the strains he was drawing forth. 
 
 Here was a new and not so easily explained feature in 
 
THE SURPRISE PARTY. 171 
 
 the affair. Who had ordered the music ? That puzzled 
 him. But, as he dwelt upon it, light came in. It was 
 only one of the harmonious parts in the practical joke. 
 The individual who had amused himself with sending in 
 vitations in the name of the family, had, in the name of 
 the family, ordered a fiddler. So that, after a little re 
 flection, was explained. 
 
 Self-composed, affable and attentive, the Athertons 
 moved amid their company with an easy familiarity, so 
 well assumed that few could have detected, even with 
 close observation, the restless surprise that lay beneath all. 
 
 About nine o clock, and just as they were about send 
 ing an order for refreshments, two coloured men entered 
 and bore a large basket between them through the passage 
 into the dining-room. Here they made themselves per 
 fectly at home. The tables in the room were set out, 
 and covered with cloths which they had brought with 
 them. Upon these were arranged elegant china dishes, 
 plates, saucers, &c., with knives, forks, and spoons. 
 
 "Well, I am confounded!" exclaimed Mrs. Atherton 
 to her husband, as the two met in one of the chambers 
 above for further consultation. " I don t know what to 
 make of it." 
 
 "Nor do I," returned the husband. "I confess to 
 being entirely puzzled." 
 
 "It is plain that a supper has been ordered by some 
 one." 
 
 "Yes, that is evident enough." 
 
 " Wouldn t it be well to ask some questions of these 
 coloured waiters who have taken possession of the dining- 
 room, without so much as saying 4 by your leave ? " 
 
 "No no," replied Mr. Atherton; "we will ask no 
 questions ; that would betray our ignorance and surprise 
 too much." 
 
 " There is no need of our sending for refreshments." 
 
 "None at all. Instead of considering ourselves enter 
 tainers, we may as well place ourselves among the enter 
 tained, and have no further care for any thing." 
 
 And so the Athertons acted from that time. It was 
 in vain that efforts were made, through the most careful 
 enervation, to detect the master of ceremonies in this 
 
172 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 singular affair. No one appeared more forward than the 
 others ; but all acted in such perfect concert, that it was 
 plain to Mr. Atherton, at length, that some general under 
 standing existed among the whole party. 
 
 At eleven o clock, one of the strange waiters came up 
 to Mr. Atherton and announced to him that supper was 
 ready. 
 
 "Very well," replied Mr. Atherton, as naturally as if 
 he had ordered the supper himself, and then gave notice 
 to the company to pass into the dining room for refresh 
 ments. A splendid entertainment had been provided, 
 consisting of all the delicacies served up on such occasions, 
 both light and substantial, with an abundance of choice 
 wines and rare and delicious fruits. 
 
 It can hardly be a matter of wonder, that the continued 
 surprise of the Athertons took away all appetite for the 
 dainties set forth in such tempting profusion. They were 
 active and attentive to all during the gay repast, but 
 partook of little themselves. 
 
 After supper, the company went back to the parlours. 
 A few more cotillons were danced, and then they all 
 retired. At half-past twelve o clock the Athertons were 
 alone. The waiters who brought in the supper had re 
 moved every thing, leaving scarcely a trace behind them. 
 
 " If this isn t a dream, it s the strangest waking ad 
 venture in social life that I have ever heard of," said 
 Mr. Atherton. 
 
 " I m puzzled entirely," added Helen. " I can t under 
 stand it at all. I never heard of such a thing. Like 
 father, I m half inclined to think we are dreaming." 
 
 "Who could have gotten up the affair, and carried it 
 through so adroitly?" said Mrs. Atherton. "I tried, all 
 the evening, to detect some one a little more officious 
 than the rest, but was not able to do so." 
 
 " It was well managed, to say the least of it," remarked 
 Mr. Atherton ; " but being a practical joke, the enjoy 
 ment was all on the side of the jokers I say jokers, for 
 it seems to me, now, that it was a concerted thing ; and 
 that all present understood each other perfectly." 
 
 "Do you think so?" exclaimed Alice, striking her 
 hands together in sudden surprise. 
 
THE SURPRISE PARTY. 173 
 
 " So it presents itself to me." 
 
 "You ve guessed right, without doubt," said Helen, as 
 a light went over her face. " Now I can understand a 
 good deal that puzzled me. Well, as you say, it was 
 handsomely managed." 
 
 " But, as I said still further, the enjoyment was all on 
 one side. We had none of it, I believe." 
 
 " It was no pleasure to me," remarked Mrs. Atherton, 
 seriously. " My heart was in a flutter all the evening, 
 and it required a constant struggle to keep my real feel 
 ings from coming into manifestation." 
 
 " That was my own case," added Helen. " Surprise 
 took away all rny pleasure. There has been a pressure 
 on my bosom all the evening, and I am still unable to 
 breathe freely." 
 
 Alice tried to express what she felt on the occasion, 
 but her lips quivered and tears came into her eyes. Mr. 
 Atherton, seeing this, remarked 
 
 " Ah, well, my children, let us try and forget the whole 
 affair, or think of it with as little feeling as possible. If 
 it has given others pleasure, let us be content with that." 
 
 "I have felt a sense of humiliation all the evening," 
 said Alice, who recovered immediately her self-possession. 
 " No one who had a proper respect for us could have 
 committed a social outrage like this I call it by its real 
 name." 
 
 "It was certainly an indelicate invasion of a man s 
 household. An intrusion within the family circle that 
 nothing can justify," replied Mr. Atherton, seriously. 
 "And Alice suggests truly, that, in the minds of the 
 author or authors of the affair, there must have been a 
 want of proper respect for our characters and position. 
 This is self-evident. I have felt it all the evening." 
 
 "And so have I, most keenly," remarked Mrs. Ather 
 ton. " Suppose," she added, "that we had just received 
 intelligence of the death of a near relative, or were in 
 some serious trouble? How much deeper would our 
 affliction or trouble have been felt!" 
 
 " Or suppose," said Mr. Atherton, " I were embarrassed 
 in business, and a creditor happened to go by and dis 
 cover that I was entertaining a large and gay company, 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 would it not prejudice him against me, and put me in 
 great danger?" 
 
 Mr. Atherton spoke feelingly. 
 
 " It was wrong, viewed in any light," remarked Mrs. 
 Atherton. "Wrong wrong. Pleasure is well enough 
 in its place ; but when it becomes an intruder, and boldly 
 invades the family circle, the act is nothing less than an 
 outrage." 
 
 Such was the state of mind produced in the family 
 upon which had been played off the practical joke of a 
 compulsory party, for the amusement of a set of thought 
 less young men and women, whose knowledge of human 
 nature was too limited to teach them a decent respect for 
 the sacred seclusion of the home circle. 
 
 On the evening of the party, a middle-aged man was 
 passing slowly along the street in the neighbourhood of 
 Atherton s residence. The sound of music and gay voices 
 fell upon his ears, and he paused to listen. 
 
 u Ah, ha!" he muttered to himself, as he moved on 
 again. "A party! Yes yes. Well, I thought he had 
 something else to think of besides parties. And I sup 
 pose he has. But extravagant wife and daughters. 
 Yes, that s the secret. Hum m m. Well, if this is 
 the game to be played, a check-mate had better come 
 now, than when there are only a few pawns on the board." 
 
 And thus he went muttering on his way. 
 
 On the next morning, when Mr. Atherton went to his 
 store, he found a note on his desk. It was in these 
 words , 
 
 "DEAR SIR : I find, on reflection, that I cannot make 
 the arrangement about which we conversed a day or two 
 ago. Yours, &c., 
 
 D. ADAMS." 
 
 Mr. Atherton immediately became agitated. The 
 reason is soon explained. Two or three heavy losses had 
 crippled him in business, so far as present resources were 
 concerned, and he had applied to this Adams for aid in 
 his extremity. Adams had the fullest confidence in Mr. 
 Atherton, and at once determined to "put him through," 
 as he expressed it. He was himself a large creditor, and 
 had already partly agreed to extend his own notes, as 
 
THE SURPRISE PARTY. 175 
 
 well as to make liberal loans. But he had suddenly, and, 
 to Mr. Atherton, unaccountably changed his mind. The 
 promised arrangement could not be made. 
 
 Fully confiding in Adams, Mr. Atherton had sought 
 aid in no other quarter. No wonder that he was agitated 
 when it was known that he had nothing in bank, while 
 notices for the payment of over five thousand dollars in 
 drafts and bills, due that day, were lying on his desk. It 
 took nearly an hour for the almost paralyzed mind of Mr. 
 Atherton to come back to its usual state of vigour and 
 activity. At first, all became dark and hopeless ; for he 
 had no borrowing facilities, having in the conduct of his 
 business always preferred keeping it within his own con 
 trol. But his extremity was great, and it would not do to 
 fold his hands in inactivity and let swift destruction fall 
 upon him. So, after a good deal of earnest thought, he 
 went to work with some spirit, and before one o clock was 
 in possession of the required amount of money. In ob 
 taining it, however, he had been compelled to make some 
 heavy sacrifices. But this was overcoming only the first 
 difficulty in a way crowded with impediments ; and, with 
 each succeeding day, he found himself more and more 
 embarrassed and crippled. 
 
 About a week subsequent to the party which we have 
 described, a young man named Bonnel, who bad only a 
 short time before commenced business, came into the 
 store of Mr. Adams, and, with much concern in his face, 
 said 
 
 " Have you heard about Mr. Atherton ?" 
 
 "Nothing very particular. What s the matter?" 
 
 "I m told that his paper was laid over to-day." 
 
 "Ah! I m sorry," replied Mr. Adams, evincing much 
 regret. "But it is what I have expected." 
 
 " It is ! I never dreamed of such a thing. I thought 
 him one of our soundest men." 
 
 " So he has been. But he s met with heavy losses of 
 late." 
 
 " I wish I had known that," said Bonnel, looking very 
 grave. 
 
 "Why. Does he owe you ?" 
 
 " Yes. I sold him a pretty heavy bill week before last." 
 
176 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 "I m sorry for that." 
 
 "Do you think it will be a bad failure ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell. I have always had great confidence 
 in him; but that has become slightly impaired. I knew 
 he was in difficulties, and was about helping him through 
 them, when a circumstance occurred that made me decline 
 doing so. I felt that there would be too much risk. The 
 fact is, his family are too gay and extravagant." 
 
 " I never heard that charged upon them," said Bonnel; 
 "and I know them intimately." 
 
 "It s no good sign," replied Adams, "for a merchant, 
 who is crippled in his business through heavy losses, to 
 indulge in large and costly parties." 
 
 "Atherton has not done so." 
 
 " Beg your pardon. I happen to know that a large 
 party was given at his house not over a week since. I 
 was about affording him all the assistance he needed; 
 but, when I saw that, I felt bound, in justice to myself, 
 to decline an arrangement that might involve me in loss." 
 
 "And was that your only reason for refusing aid?" 
 said Bonnel, in surprise. 
 
 " It caused a train of reflection in my mind, that led 
 naturally to the decision formed." 
 
 "You were unjust to him, Mr. Adams," said Bonnel, 
 firmly. 
 
 " Show me my error," was calmly replied. 
 
 " Mr. Atherton did not give that party." 
 
 "It was at his house." 
 
 " No matter. He had no more to do with getting it 
 up than you had. It was a surprise party." 
 
 "And, pray, what is that?" 
 
 " Did you never hear of a surprise party?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Indeed ! They re quite the rage this winter. The 
 particular friends of some family arrange to give them, or 
 rather compel them to give a party. They fix upon the 
 night the family being kept in total ignorance of the 
 fact and go, with their own music and refreshments, 
 and take them by surprise. The greater the astonish 
 ment and confusion of the family, the greater the enjoy 
 ment of those who go. I planned the party at Ather- 
 
THE SURPRISE PARTY. 177 
 
 ton s; and, I can assure you, it was a most delightful 
 affair." 
 
 u It may have been fun to you ; but, like the frogs in 
 the fable, it was death to them," said Mr. Adams, seri 
 ously. 
 
 " How so ?" asked Bonnel. 
 
 " You placed them in a false position, and forced upon 
 them the disadvantage of a wrong judgment. On that 
 very day, I had made up my mind to put Mr. Atherton 
 through. He had fully confided to me his difficulties, 
 and I had resolved to help him over them. But, in pass 
 ing his house at night, I was surprised to find him giving 
 a large party. For a man in his position to indulge in 
 party-giving, was not the thing, in my estimation. It 
 didn t look well. Something is wrong there, said I to 
 myself. And my final conclusion, upon which I acted, 
 was to risk nothing with him." 
 
 "Can this be possible?" exclaimed Bonnel, exhibiting 
 much distress. 
 
 " It is true, as I tell you." 
 
 " I did not dream of such a consequence. It was but 
 a piece of innocent sport on our part," said Bonnel. 
 
 "It was a liberty," replied the merchant severely, 
 " for which there is no excuse on any ground. I can 
 scarcely conceive of a greater social outrage than the one 
 you have indulged. Suppose intelligence had been that 
 day received of the death of a near relative; or some 
 family trouble was oppressing the minds of all ; how 
 greatly would your untimely sport have increased the 
 pain they were suffering ! Knowing, as I do, the state 
 of Mr. Atherton s mind on that occasion, I can well under 
 stand how rudely jarred it must have been. But that is 
 nothing to the disastrous consequences which have followed. 
 Ruin has been the result. An hcnest man has been 
 stricken down in the midst of his business career." 
 
 As he said this, he turned partly away from Bonnel, 
 who, feeling offended, left the store. 
 
 The struggle upon which Mr. Atherton entered, proved 
 too much for him. Alone, he could not contend success 
 fully with his difficulties. After a day of anxious effort, 
 he found himself unable to meet the notes and drafts 
 
178 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 which fell due, and the hour of three came with his obliga 
 tions still in bank. Up to that time he had been in a 
 state of deep distress and agitation. But, when three 
 strokes upon the clock sounded the knell of his broken 
 fortunes, and further effort was vain, a calmness fell upon 
 his mind ; and he awaited, with a sort of stoicism, the 
 appearance of the notary, into whose hands his dis 
 honoured paper would be given for protest. The notary 
 came and went. That ordeal, a deeply trying one, 
 was passed. His reputation as a merchant was now 
 blasted. The apple of his eye had been touched. But 
 he had borne the pain with a heroism that surprised even 
 himself. 
 
 This trial past, visions of future meetings with credi 
 tors began to form themselves in his mind, and his 
 sensitive feelings were already beginning to shrink 
 painfully in anticipation, when he saw Mr. Adams enter 
 his store. 
 
 " I am told that your paper has laid over to-day," said 
 the latter, as he took the hand of Mr. Atherton. 
 
 " You ve heard aright. The notary left me but a little 
 while ago." 
 
 " For what amount have you been noted ?" 
 
 " Three thousand dollars." 
 
 " How much more will you need to carry you through ?" 
 
 "Not less than ten thousand dollars." 
 
 " You shall have it, Mr. Atherton. I laboured under 
 a false impression regarding you, when I declined the 
 arrangement you wished to make a week ago. Here is 
 the money you need to-day." And he drew forth his 
 pocket-book as he spoke. " Get your paper out of the 
 hands of the notary before he can protest it. To-morrow 
 I will see you and arrange the rest." 
 
 On the next day, all was arranged as had been pro 
 mised ; and the merchant, who had been on the very 
 brink of ruin, and actually falling over, was saved. 
 
 That was the last affair of the kind in which Bonnel 
 ever engaged ; arid the last inflicted on the Athertons. 
 It had like to have proved more than a simple Surprise 
 Party to them. 
 
TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE. 
 
 " EVERY one for himself." This was one of Lawrence 
 Tilghman s favourite modes of expression. And it will 
 do him no injustice to say, that he usually acted up to the 
 sentiment in his business transactions and social inter 
 course; though guardedly, whenever a too manifest 
 exhibition of selfishness was likely to affect him in the 
 estimation of certain parties with whom he wished to 
 stand particularly fair. In all his dealings, this maxim 
 was alone regarded ; and he was never satisfied unless, in 
 bargaining, he secured the greater advantage, a thing 
 that pretty generally occurred. 
 
 There resided in the same town with Tilghman a 
 western town a certain young lady, whose father owned 
 a large amount of property. She was his only child, and 
 would fall heir, at his death, to all his wealth. Of course 
 this young lady had attractions that were felt to be of a 
 most weighty character by certain young men in the town, 
 who made themselves as agreeable to her as possible. 
 Among these was Lawrence Tilghman. 
 
 "Larry," said a friend to him one day they had been 
 talking about the young lady "it s no use for you to 
 play the agreeable to Helen Walcot." 
 
 "And why not, pray?" returned Tilghman. 
 
 "They say she s engaged." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 "To a young man in Columbus." 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 "I can t mention my authority: but it s good." 
 16 181 
 
182 TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE. 
 
 " Engaged, ha ! Well, I ll break that engagement, if 
 there s any virtue in trying." 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 " Certainly. Helen will be worth a plum when the old 
 man her father dies; and I ve made up my mind to 
 handle some of his thousands." 
 
 " But certainly, Larry, you would not attempt to inter 
 fere with a marriage contract?" 
 
 "I don t believe any contract exists," replied the young 
 man. "Anyhow, while a lady is single, I regard her as 
 in the market, and to be won by the boldest." 
 
 "Still, we should have some respect for the rights of 
 others." 
 
 "Every one for himself in this world," replied Tilgh- 
 man. " That is my motto. If you don t take care of 
 yourself, you ll be shoved to the wall in double quick 
 time. Long ago, I resolved to put some forty or fifty 
 thousand dollars between myself and the world by 
 marriage, and you may be sure that I will not let this 
 opportunity slip for any consideration. Helen must be 
 mine." 
 
 Additional evidence of the fact that the young lady 
 was under engagement of marriage soon came to the 
 ears of Tilghman. The effect was to produce a closer 
 attention on his part to Helen, who, greatly to his uneasi 
 ness, did not seem to give him much encouragement, 
 although she always treated him with politeness and 
 attention whenever he called to see her. But it was not 
 true, as Tilghman had heard, that Helen was engaged to 
 a young man in Columbus ; though it was true that she 
 was in correspondence with a gentleman there named 
 Walker, and that their acquaintance was intimate, and 
 fast approaching a lover-like character. 
 
 Still she was not indifferent to the former, and as he 
 showed so strong a preference for her, began gradually 
 to feel an awakening interest. Tilghman was quick to 
 perceive this, and it greatly elated him. In the exulta 
 tion of his feelings, he said to himself 
 
 " I ll show this Columbus man that I m worth a dozen 
 of him. The boldest wins the fair. I wouldn t give 
 much for his engagement." 
 
TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE. 183 
 
 Tilghman was a merchant, and visited the East twice 
 every year for the purpose of buying goods. In August, 
 he crossed the mountains as usual. Some men when 
 they leave home and go among strangers, leave all the 
 little good breeding they may happen to have had behind 
 them. Such a man was Tilghman. The moment he 
 stepped into a steamboat, stage, or railroad car, the every- 
 one-for-himself principle by which he was governed, 
 manifested itself in all its naked deformity, and it was at 
 once concluded by all with whom he came in contact, that, 
 let him be who he would, he was no gentleman. 
 
 On going up the river on the occasion referred to, our 
 gentleman went on the free-and-easy principle, as was 
 usual with him when in public conveyances ; consulting 
 his own inclinations and tastes alone, and running his 
 elbows into any and everybody s ribs that happened to 
 come in his way. He was generally first at the table 
 when the bell rang ; and, as he had a good appetite, 
 managed, while there, to secure a full share of the deli 
 cacies provided for the company. 
 
 "Every one for himself," was the thought in his mind 
 on these occasions; and his actions fully agreed with his 
 thoughts. 
 
 On crossing the mountains in stages (this was before the 
 railroad from Baltimore to Wheeling was completed) as far 
 as Cumberland, his greedy, selfish, and sometimes downright 
 boorish propensities annoyed his fellow-passengers, and 
 particularly a young man of quiet, refined, and gentle 
 manly deportment, who could not, at times, help showing 
 the disgust he felt. Because he paid his half-dollar for 
 meals at the taverns on the way, Tilghman seemed to 
 feel himself licensed to gormandize at a beastly rate. The 
 moment he sat down to the table, he would seize eagerly 
 upon the most desirable dish near him, and appropriate 
 at least a half, if not two-thirds of what it contained, re 
 gardless utterly of his fellow-passengers. Then he would 
 call for the next most desirable dish, if he could not reach 
 it, and help himself after a like liberal fashion. In eating, 
 he seemed more like a hungry dog, in his eagerness, than 
 a man possessing a grain of decency. When the time 
 C me to part company with him, his fellow-travellers 
 
184 TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE. 
 
 rejoiced at being rid of one whose utter selfishness filled 
 them with disgust. 
 
 In Philadelphia and New York, where Tilghman felt 
 that he was altogether unknown, he indulged his uncivi 
 lized propensities to their full extent. At one of the 
 hotels, just before leaving New York to return to Balti 
 more, and there take the cars for the West again, he met 
 the [foung man referred to as a travelling companion, and 
 remarked the fact that he recognised and frequently 
 observed him. Under this observation, as it seemed to 
 have something sinister in it, Tilghman felt, at times, a 
 little uneasy, and at the hotel table rather curbed his 
 greediness when this individual was present. 
 
 Finally he left New York in the twelve o clock boat, 
 intending to pass on to Baltimore in the night train from 
 Philadelphia, and experienced a sense of relief in getting 
 rid of the presence of one who appeared to know him and 
 to have taken a prejudice against him. As the boat swept 
 down the bay, Tilghman amused himself first with a cigar 
 on the forward deck, and then with a promenade on the 
 upper deck. He had already secured his dinner ticket. 
 When the fumes of roast turkey came to his eager sense, 
 he felt "sharp set" enough to have devoured a whole 
 gobbler. This indication of the approaching meal caused 
 him to dive down below, where the servants were busy in 
 preparing the table. Here he walked backward and 
 forward for about half-an-hour in company with a dozen 
 others, who, like himself, meant to take care of number 
 one. Then, as the dishes of meat began to come in, he 
 thought it time to secure a good place. So, after taking 
 careful observation, he assumed a position, with folded 
 arms, opposite a desirable dish, and awaited the comple 
 tion of arrangements. At length all was ready, and a 
 waiter struck the bell. Instantly, Tilghman drew forth a 
 chair, and had the glory of being first at the table. He 
 had lifted his plate and just cried, as he turned partly 
 around " Here, waiter ! Bring me some of that roast 
 turkey. A side-bone and a piece of the breast" when a 
 hand was laid on his shoulder, and the clerk of the boat 
 said, in a voice of authority 
 
TAKING CAKE OF NUMBER ONE. 185 
 
 " Farther down, sir ! Farther down ! We want these 
 seats for ladies." 
 
 Tilghman hesitated. 
 
 "Quick! quick!" urged the clerk. 
 
 There was a rustling behind him of ladies dresses, and 
 our gentleman felt that he must move. In his eagerness 
 to secure another place, he stumbled over a chair and 
 came near falling prostrate. At length he brought up at 
 the lower end of the table. 
 
 "Waiter!" he cried, as soon as he had found a new 
 position "waiter, I want some of that roast turkey !" 
 
 The waiter did not hear, or was too busy with some one 
 else to hear. 
 
 " Waiter, I say ! Here ! This way !" 
 
 So loudly and earnestly was this uttered, that the ob 
 servation of every one at that end of the table was attracted 
 toward the young man. But he thought of nothing but 
 securing his provender. At length he received his turkey, 
 when he ordered certain vegetables, and then began eating 
 greedily, while his eyes were every moment glancing along 
 the table to see what else there was to tempt his palate. 
 
 "Waiter!" he called, ere the first mouthful was fairly 
 swallowed. 
 
 The waiter came. 
 
 " Have you any oyster sauce ?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Great cooks ! Turkey without oyster sauce ! Bring 
 me a slice of ham." 
 
 "Bottle of ale, waiter," soon after issued from his lips. 
 
 The ale was brought, the cork drawn, and the bottle 
 set beside Tilghman, who in his haste, poured his tumbler 
 two-thirds full ere the contact of air had produced effer 
 vescence. The consequence was that the liquor flowed 
 suddenly over the glass, and spread its creamy foam for 
 the space of four or five inches around. Several persons 
 sitting near by had taken more interest in our young 
 gentleman, who was looking after number one, than in 
 the dinner before them ; and, when this little incident 
 occurred, could not suppress a titter. 
 
 Hearing this, Tilghman became suddenly conscious of 
 the ludicrous figure he made, and glanced quickly from 
 
 16* 
 
186 TAKING CARE OF NUMBER ONE. 
 
 face to face. The first countenance his eyes rested upon 
 was that of the young man who had been his stage com 
 panion; near him was a lady who had thrown back her 
 vail, and whom he instantly recognised as Helen Walcot ! 
 She it was who stood behind him when the clerk ejected 
 him from his chair, and she had been both an ear and 
 eye-witness of his sayings and doings since he dropped into 
 his present place at the table. So much had his conduct 
 affected her with a sense of the ridiculous, that she could 
 not suppress the smile that curled her lips ; a smile that 
 was felt by Tilghman as the death-blow to all hopes 
 of winning her for his bride. With the subsidence of 
 these hopes went his appetite ; and with that he went also 
 that is, from the table, without so much as waiting for the 
 dessert. On the forward deck he ensconced himself until 
 the boat reached South Amboy, and then he took good 
 care not to push his way into the ladies car, a species of 
 self-denial to which he was not accustomed. 
 
 Six months afterward he did not venture to call again 
 on Miss Walcot Tilghman read the announcement of 
 the young lady s marriage to a Mr. Walker, and not long 
 afterward met her in company with her husband. He 
 proved to be the travelling companion who had been so 
 disgusted with his boorish conduct when on his last trip 
 to the East. 
 
 Our young gentleman has behaved himself rather better 
 since when from home; and we trust that some other 
 young gentlemen who are too much in the habit of " taking 
 care of number one" when they are among strangers, will 
 be warned by his mortification, and cease to expose them 
 selves to the ridicule of well-bred people. 
 
THE STREET SMOKER. 
 
 " WHEW ! This is terrible !" 
 
 "I m almost suffocated !" 
 
 "There! That ungentlemanly fellow has puffed hia 
 vile smoke into my very face. Pah !" 
 
 "See with what an air he moves along a step or two in 
 advance of us. He feels his importance !" 
 
 "He s no gentleman!" 
 
 This was said with womanly emphasis. 
 
 " Of course not. A gentleman carefully avoids every 
 thing that is distasteful or offensive to others ; and, for 
 this reason, he would no more smoke in the street than he 
 would commit any other outrage upon good manners and 
 good breeding." 
 
 "And this is Chestnut street! The great city pro 
 menade !" 
 
 "There! Pah! Isn t it shocking? That overgrown, 
 dandy negro, aping the manners of his white compeers, 
 coolly blew his vile smoke into my face." 
 
 " Just look at that newsboy ! Isn t he a man in his own 
 estimation ! With what a dainty air he removes his cigar 
 from between his lips how leisurely the smoke curls 
 about his dirty face and uncombed head !" 
 
 " This is Chestnut Street no longer. It is the city s great 
 smoking saloon." 
 
 "Bell, dear! who is that ?" 
 
 Our eyes followed the indication given by the lady to 
 her companion. 
 
 " Who ?" "That young man in advance of us." 
 
 189 
 
190 THE STREET SMOKER. 
 
 " The fellow who iust puffed his smoke in our faces ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I m sure I don t know. I haven t had a good look at 
 his face." 
 
 " I ve seen him before, or I m greatly mistaken." 
 
 " Where ?" " At Hetty G V 
 
 " It can t be R ?" " I think it is." 
 
 "He s a gentleman." "We shall soon see." 
 
 The two young ladies quickened their pace. 
 
 " It s R , as I live !" we heard, in a low exclamation. 
 
 " Hetty shall know of this." 
 
 "Indeed she shall. I thought I perceived the vile 
 odour of tobacco on his clothes, as he came near me, when 
 we met him at Hetty s the other evening. It it bad 
 enough for a young man to use the nauseous weed in pri 
 vate ; but, to smoke in Chestnut street that proves his 
 quality ! Oh, yes, Hetty shall hear of this." 
 
 "By the way," remarked the other, with a good deal 
 of sharp sarcasm in her voice, as they fell back a few 
 paces from the smoke "what a high manly estimation 
 of himself the individual must have, who can appear in 
 the most frequented street in the city, with a burning roll 
 of tobacco between his lips, from which he draws into his 
 mouth a quantity of smoke, and then puffs it out into 
 people s faces who cannot but be annoyed and offended at 
 such rude and ungentlemanly conduct." 
 
 "The act tells the story for such individuals," was the 
 
 "We need not trace their history downwards." 
 "You are right there, dear. Right there." 
 We heard no more ; but we had heard enough. If any 
 thing more was wanting to impress us with a deeper sense 
 of the nuisance so feelingly spoken against, we had the 
 argument added in a choking mouthful of the vilest 
 smoke that ever issued from the mouth of a cigar-puffing 
 vagabond. 
 
THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 
 
 "COME, Harry, sign the pledge, and let rum alone! 
 said a young man to his friend. " Do not play with edged 
 tools, or you may cut yourself." 
 
 " 1 m not afraid," was the reply ; and Harry tossed his 
 head with an air of independent confidence. 
 
 " You ought to be," urged his friend. " Look at old 
 Blake, and see what a miserable creature he has become 1 ? 
 Even I can recollect when he was industrious and respect 
 able, and had his family around him. Now where are 
 they 1 Two of his children, the youngest, are in the poor- 
 house, the rest are scattered, and his wife has gone 
 down in sorrow to her grave." 
 
 " I am aware of all that. Why do you allude to it 1" 
 " Blake was once a sober man." 
 
 "I don t know when. Even at the time when he had 
 his family around him, and was in prosperous circum 
 stances, he drank like a fish." 
 
 " You don t mean to say that he was born a drunkard?" 
 " No, of course not. But I mean, that he has always, 
 since he drank at all, used liquor immoderately." 
 " What do you mean by immoderately 1" 
 " Oh, as to that, freely enough to confuse his mind." 
 " But I have heard my father say, that, when a young 
 man, Mr. Blake was very temperate, rarely drinking any 
 kind of liquor." 
 
 " That may be. But when he took to drinking, he 
 went beyond the bounds of moderation." 
 
 " There is no doubt of that. But you don t suppose 
 that he took to drinking immoderately at once ?" 
 
 * I don t know anything about the process by which he 
 became a drunkard. Very certain I am, that if he had 
 not made an improper use of liquor, he would never hava 
 been the miserable wretch he is now." 
 
 (191) 
 
192 THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 
 
 " You never said a truer word than that, Harry. But 
 now the question comes up, what is a proper use of 
 liquor? Will you answer me that question?" 
 
 " A proper use of it is to drink it temperately, when 
 you feel the need of a little stimulus." 
 
 " Exactly what Blake himself would say were he now 
 present except that he would not probably use the word 
 temperately." 
 
 " And yet that word makes the important difference." 
 
 " What do you mean by temperately, Harry 1" 
 
 " I mean moderately. Or in quantities so small as not 
 to produce intoxication." 
 
 " How often ought this moderate portion to be taken ? 
 Oh, I recollect now, You said that it should be taken 
 whenever the need is felt of a little stimulus. Now, sup 
 pose this need is felt twice in the day, would that be too 
 often to take a little ?" 
 
 " No, of course not. I take a glass at least twice a 
 day, and sometimes as often again." 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " Certainly I do." 
 
 " The time has been, I suppose, when you didn t take 
 more than a single glass a day." 
 
 "Yes. But it was, I believe, because I couldn t get 
 any more." 
 
 " At least, you drink more frequently now than you did 
 a year ago ?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe I do." 
 
 "How do you account for that?" 
 
 "On the principle that I can bear more now than I 
 could then. The habitual use of an arm makes it stronger 
 so does the habitual drinking of liquors make the nerves 
 able to bear more powerful stimulants." 
 
 "Are you not afraid, Harry, to practise upon such a 
 principle ? Are you not afraid that the habit will grow 
 upon you, until, before you are aware, it has obtained the 
 mastery ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! Not I ! I know myself too well." 
 
 Depend upon it, you are on dangerous ground," the 
 friend urged. " Facts, innumerable, prove, that no one 
 becomes a drunkard suddenly that no drunkard ever 
 intended to become a slave to the love of strong drink " 
 
THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 193 
 
 " Perhaps so. But I have no fears. I have always 
 been a temperate drinker, am one now, and intend re 
 maining one as long as I live." 
 
 " Will you go to a temperance meeting with me to 
 night, Harry ?" his friend asked, after the silence of a few 
 moments. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " A very popular lecturer is going to speak. I think 
 he would interest you." 
 
 " I don t see very clearly how I am to be interested in 
 a dry temperance lecture." 
 
 " You may not find it quite so dry as you imagine. 
 Indeed, from what I have heard of this man, who is said 
 to be one of your rough-hewn, strong, original thinkers, 
 I am pretty certain that you will not fail to be highly 
 interested. He has, himself, felt in his own person, all 
 the horrors of drunkenness ; and can, therefore, and does, 
 speak strongly and feelingly." 
 
 " One of your reformed drunkards ?" 
 
 " Yes. Did you ever hear one of them make an ad 
 dress, or relate an experience?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then come to-night by all means. It will be a treat 
 for you." 
 
 Henry Ellis, that was the young man s name, promised, 
 after a little further persuasion, that he would attend the 
 meeting though he still thought that it would be an even 
 ing poorly spent. Accordingly, at the time appointed, he 
 entered the hall where the meeting was to be held, and 
 took a seat in front of the stand. After the preliminaries 
 of the meeting were over, a short, stout, hard-featured 
 man arose to address the audience. 
 
 " Rough-hewn, sure enough !" Ellis muttered to him 
 self " and no doubt original enough. Well, perhaps I 
 may hear something worth laughing at. Let us see." 
 
 " Well, my friends," began the speaker, in an easy, 
 familiar, off-hand style, " You want me to make a speech 
 for you, and I suppose I must do it. It will be rough, 
 but to the point, and if I hit some of you pretty hard, you 
 musn t get angry. I never could get along by whipping 
 the devil round the stump. It must be face to face, arm s 
 length, or not at all. I Ve spoken every night for the 
 
 17 
 
194 THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 
 
 past week, in the different villages, round about, upon all 
 kinds ot subjects. I ve put it to the distillers hard, I tell 
 you. One man swore that he would shoot me. But I m 
 not afraid. My cause is a good one, and if I maintain it 
 manfully, it will bear me on safely to the end leaving 
 not even the smell of fire upon my garments. Next I 
 walked into the rum-sellers like a thousand of bricks, and 
 made them flutter like hens in a barn-yard with a hawk 
 over their heads. It touches their pockets, this temper 
 ance movement, and stains their respectability so it does; 
 and they can t bear it. They find that their rum-built 
 palaces, and money wrung from worse than widows and 
 orphans, do not now give them the standing in society 
 that they once had. The people s eyes are opened, and 
 they see plainly ; and seeing plainly, they call things by 
 their right names, and estimate by a truer standard. 
 
 " Having, therefore, curried off and rubbed down the 
 distiller and the rum-sellers, and charged home upon them 
 the responsibility of * drunkard-making ; I must now turn 
 my attention to a class of the community who have quite 
 as much to do with drunkard-making/ Who are they ? 
 you ask. I will tell you. They are the temperate drink 
 ers. Some of you look surprised prick up your ears 
 and become all attention. It s a fact, I can tell you, and 
 I 11 make it as plain to you as that two and two make 
 four. Answer me this question. Would there be a single 
 drunkard to-day, if there had not been moderate drinkers 
 a few years ago ? No, of course not. The moderate 
 drinker is the blossom the drunkard the fruit. Or, to 
 give you something more striking, I will use the language 
 of a brother lecturer. The difference, says he, between 
 a temperate drinker, and a drunkard, is the same as 
 between a pig and a hog. The pig is a pretty fair begin 
 ning of a hog, and the temperate drinker a pretty fair 
 beginning of a drunkard. You can no more have a 
 drunkard without a moderate drinker, than you can have 
 a hog without a pig. This is plain talk, my friends, and 
 some will call it extremely vulgar especially if it hits 
 them a little hard. No doubt it is very vulgar and unre 
 fined to say pig and hog. The eating of them ere ani 
 mals is quite genteel ; but to name them is shocking. 
 Well, perhaps it is. But we can t help it. Homely illus- 
 
THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 195 
 
 trations are generally the most forcible, because their 
 truth is less clothed, and consequently more apparent. 
 
 " Now I hope you all understand the position I take. 
 And you all see that a weighty responsibility rests upon 
 the moderate drinker; for without his co-operation, it 
 would be impossible for all the distillers and rum-sellers 
 in the world to make a single drunkard. He may answer 
 me, that if the responsibility does rest upon him, it is a 
 responsibility that affects none but himself. Let me beg 
 your pardon, my friend. I assume that you will become 
 a drunkard, which is a very natural inference, as you are 
 in the only possible road leading to that wretched state. 
 Well, you have passed the point, up to which you were 
 fully able to control yourself, and are now a passive slave 
 in the hands of the most heartless, inhuman tyrant, that 
 ever cursed the earth. You are married. The gentle 
 maiden who won your heart s first and best affections, 
 became, years ago, your wife ; and around you are clus 
 tered the sweet pledges of early love. Will not these be 
 affected by your fall ( Answer me that ! Let me relate 
 what I have myself seen. It is notnade-up story. Around 
 it are clustered no scenes of imaginary woe. It is truth 
 truth unadorned, but with a power to reach the heart 
 that no mere fiction can ever claim." 
 
 The lecturer here seemed to be affected, and paused 
 for a few moments. When he again commenced speak 
 ing, it was in a changed tone, low, distinct, and fuH of 
 touching pathos. It was nature s eloquence the elo 
 quence of the heart, that now fell from his tongue. 
 
 " In giving the history which I am about to relate, I 
 had intended to speak in the third person," he said ; * but 
 the recollection of some things has so touched my feel 
 ings, that I cannot go on, unless I speak of them as they 
 were, and of myself as the principal actor. 
 
 " I was, my friends, in early years, a temperate drinker 
 as were most of those around me. I took my glass, re 
 gularly, every day, as a matter of course, and thought 
 nothing of it. At twenty-three I became attached to a 
 gentle, affectionate girl, the daughter of a neighbouring 
 farmer, for whom my love steadily increased, until it 
 seemed as if I would at any time have laid down my life 
 for her This earnest affection was returned. At twenty- 
 
196 THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 
 
 four I married her. An old man, considered by most in 
 the village as eccentric, because, I believe, he rigidly re 
 fused to drink any kind of intoxicating liquor, met me on 
 the next day. 
 
 " * Good morning, Henry, he said, extending his hand, 
 while a benevolent smile lit up his venerable face. Most 
 sincerely do I congratulate you on your marriage with 
 Hetty Wilkins. I am sure you will be happy. From a 
 child 1 have known and loved Hetty, and that love has 
 grown warmer every day. This interest which I feel in 
 both her and you, makes me free to whisper one warning 
 in your ear, Henry to caution you against the only dan 
 ger that it seems to me can possibly wreck your happiness. 
 May I speak freely V 
 
 " To me, certainly ! I replied, wondering within my 
 self what he could possibly mean. 
 
 " The only danger, then, Henry, he said, lies, I be 
 lieve, in your unwisely indulging in the use of ardent 
 spirits. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how surprised I was at this. At 
 first, I felt half angry with my aged friend ; but this feel 
 ing passed away, as I thought of his eccentricity. 
 
 "You are certainly jesting with me, I said; or else 
 are under some strange mistake about my habits. I do 
 not drink to excess. 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of that, Henry, was his seri 
 ous reply. I know that few young men in this neigh 
 bourhood indulge less than you do. But the danger lies 
 in the fact of your using liquor at all. It does you no 
 good. Cut it off, then, Henry, and your happiness, and 
 that of your young wife, are beyond the reach of danger/ 
 
 " * I have perfect control over myself, I urged. 
 
 " Of that, I am assured, he said. But I have heard 
 many say the same in my time, who now lie in drunkard s 
 graves, and their children have found a home in the alms- 
 houses, or in asylums for destitute orphans. Had they 
 done as I now wish you to do, all this degradation and 
 misery would have been saved. 
 
 " This conversation fully determined me not to abandon 
 the use of liquor. To have done so, would have been 
 admitting to myself and others that there was a danger 
 of my becoming that miserable being, a drunkard. The 
 
THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 197 
 
 very idea was a disgrace, and I rejected it with con 
 tempt. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! The fears of my friend were prophetic. 
 In ten years from that day, with five neglected children, 
 and a heart-broken wife, I turned away from the com 
 fortless tenement that had for a few months sheltered us, 
 houseless and homeless?" 
 
 Low, mournful and tremulous was the voice of tne 
 speaker, as he uttered these words! And then followed a 
 long, breathless pause, in which each one of his hearers 
 could hear the laboured pulsations of his own heart. 
 
 " I can say but little more," he at length resumed. 
 "The recollections of that day of wretched days 
 for my wife and children, that went before, and that 
 followed after, have touched my feelings more deeply 
 than I had expected. Thank Heaven ! those days are 
 past for them and me. There is fire on our hearth, and 
 sunshine in our dwelling. Young man ! Temperate 
 drinker ! Despise not the warnings of experience. What 
 has happened to me, may happen to you. You cannot 
 now feel more secure in your resolution than I did, then, 
 in mine. I fell : so may you. Let me entreat you, neither 
 to touch, taste, nor handle the accursed thing. For the 
 sake of her, towards whom your earliest and best affec 
 tions are now going out, guard yourself. So shall the 
 bright promise of your marriage hour be fulfilled !" 
 
 The speaker then took his seat, not having spoken over 
 one-third of the time he had allotted himself. But he had 
 said enough. The arrow had been sent with a true aim, 
 and found its right place. But few remarks were made 
 by others; and then, while an invitation hymn was sung 
 with fine effect, the pledge was offered for signatures. 
 
 The first who presented himself, was, Henry Ellis. He 
 sprang forward with an eagerness that showed how deep 
 ly he had felt his danger, and how eager he was to 
 escape. 
 
 Three weeks from that night he was married to one of 
 the sweetest girls in the town. While the lecturer was 
 speaking of his early history of his marriage and of 
 the sad results of his temperate drinking Ellis felt awful 
 as imagination pictured his own darkened hearth, and the 
 
198 THE TEMPERATE DRINKER. 
 
 heart-broken maiden whom he so tenderly loved, shiver 
 ing beside it. 
 
 " Horrible !" he murmured to himself, with a shudder, 
 as he shook off the dreary, prophetic state into which he 
 had been thrown. This fixed his resolution never again 
 to suffer anything that could intoxicate to pass his lips 
 and under this feeling he acted when he signed the pledge 
 so eagerly. 
 
THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 "MY dear Carry," said Martha Grier to her young 
 friend Caroline Mayfield her face was grave and her 
 tones serious " I wish you would give up this worldli- 
 ness, this carnal pleasure-seeking, to which you are so 
 devoted." 
 
 " Don t preach to me, Martha," replied Caroline, in a 
 gay tone ; " I m quite as good as you are." 
 
 " And a great deal better, I hope," said Martha Grier. 
 " But our own good is as nothing it will not save us. 
 4 Come out from among them, and be ye separate, are 
 the words of solemn admonition spoken to every living 
 soul." 
 
 " Come out from among whom ?" asked Caroline. 
 
 "From among worldlings." 
 
 " From among the evil so I understand the injunction." 
 
 " Well, and what is the difference ?" said Martha Grier. 
 
 " Oh, a great deal. The evil are they who purpose and 
 seek to do wrong ; while the worldlings, as you call them, 
 are often very good kind of people in fact, a great deal 
 better than many of your over-pious, self-righteous sort 
 of folks, who coolly consign such as I am to a place I 
 have no fancy for, and to which I shall take good care 
 not to go." 
 
 " You speak lightly on a serious subject, Carry." 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 "You jest with religion." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, dear ; I have never done that in 
 my life." 
 
 " Then I don t comprehend you," said Martha. 
 
 201 
 
202 THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 " I am aware of that. People like you see only within 
 the limit of a very small circle. I should be sorry to give 
 you the keys of heaven and hell." 
 
 " Carry ! 
 
 "Don t look so shocked, my dear." 
 
 " Didn t you say, just now, that you never jested with 
 religion ?" 
 
 " I did say so, and I repeat it." 
 
 " I don t know how I am to interpret your present 
 language." 
 
 " Don t you ? Understand it then, as only referring 
 to those who, like yourself, limit the heavenly life to a 
 life of simple piety, and account charity as of little worth ; 
 to those who separate the world and religion, instead of 
 bringing religion down into the very centre of action, and 
 making it the heart and lungs to common society." 
 
 Martha looked surprised at this remark. There was a 
 meaning in it that she but faintly comprehended. 
 
 "Be not conformed to the world," said she, oracularly; 
 "but be ye transformed by the renewing of your minds." 
 
 " What do you mean by conforming to the world ?" 
 asked Caroline. 
 
 "Following after its fashions, and entering into its 
 pleasures." 
 
 And, as Martha said this, she let her eyes wander 
 meaningly over the handsomely-dressed person of her 
 young friend. 
 
 "I believe you hold dancing to be sinful," said Caro 
 line, "as well as opera and play-going?" 
 
 "I do, most assuredly," replied the young devotee. 
 
 " And fashionable dressing ?" 
 
 " Certainly. In all this I see only conformity to the 
 world, which is strictly forbidden." 
 
 " Is it not possible that a conformity of the spirit may 
 be meant?" asked Caroline. 
 
 "And is an external conformity possible without an 
 internal one ?" said the friend. 
 
 " No, certainly not ; but in the false maxims and evil 
 principles which govern in the world, we will be more 
 likely to find the origin of real evil acts, than in a mere 
 fondness for dress or in a desire for innocent pleasure." 
 
THE SPRING BONNET. 203 
 
 " Innocent pleasure ! Do not the words contradict 
 each other ? 
 
 * Each pleasure hath its poison, too, 
 And every sweet a snare. " 
 
 "And so," returned Caroline, "has every good thing; 
 but the poison and the snare lie in its perversion from 
 its proper use. And depend upon it, Martha, you are 
 in quite as much danger of perverting things from their 
 true order as I am." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " True righteousness I will speak as plainly as you 
 have spoken to me true righteousness may be verging, 
 in you, closely upon self-righteousness, while over-piety 
 is destroying charity." 
 
 Martha Grier seemed half offended by this sort of plain 
 speaking. She had, in a spirit of self-righteousness, 
 assumed to lecture her friend on the subject of worldly 
 folly and carnal-mindedness not supposing for a moment, 
 that there existed any room for retaliation. Perceiving 
 the effect of her words, Caroline changed the subject by 
 saying 
 
 " I saw some beautiful new style bonnets this morning. 
 Have you selected one for the spring yet ?" 
 
 "Yes; I ordered one yesterday." 
 
 "Who is making it?" 
 
 "Miss Wheeler." 
 
 " Ah ! does she make your bonnets ?" said Caroline. 
 
 " Yes ; she has done the millinery of our family for the 
 last two or three years. Her mother and younger sisters 
 are almost entirely dependent on her, and we throw every 
 thing in her way that we can. Besides, she is reasonable 
 in her charges ; and we like to encourage the poor." 
 
 " Has she good taste ?" asked Caroline. 
 
 " Oh, very good." 
 
 " Then I will get her to make my bonnet. I saw one 
 to-day that pleased me exactly." 
 
 " I wish you would. It is a charity to give her work." 
 
 After leaving her young friend, Caroline Mayfield 
 called upon Miss Wheeler and gave an order for a bonnet. 
 
 " I want it this week, remember," said Caroline. 
 
 " I have a good deal of work on hand to be finished by 
 
204 THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 Saturday night; but I will try my best to get yours 
 done." 
 
 " Oh, it must be done," replied Caroline gayly. " I 
 wish to show it off at church next Sunday." 
 
 The young milliner smiled at the remark of her custo 
 mer, made jestingly, and said that, unless some unforeseen 
 event occurred to prevent it, she would have the bonnet 
 done. 
 
 " Very well, I will depend on you," said Caroline, and 
 went away. 
 
 Saturday evening came ; but no bonnet had yet been 
 sent home for her. "I must see about this," said she; 
 " I can t be disappointed in my new spring bonnet. Have 
 set my heart on showing it off at church to-morrow." So 
 she drew on her things ; and, taking her little brother 
 with her for company, started off for the milliner s. 
 
 u Can I see Miss Wheeler ?" asked she of a child who 
 opened the door of the modest dwelling where the bonnet- 
 maker resided. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," replied the child; "she is in the work 
 room. Will you walk up ?" 
 
 Caroline tripped lightly up stairs, and pushed open the 
 door of the work-room. The only inmate was Miss 
 Wheeler, and she sat with her face bent down on a table, 
 and two unfinished bonnets lying near. She did not move 
 when Caroline entered, nor look up, until the young lady 
 placed her hand upon her and spoke. Then she started, 
 and turned a pale, weary face toward her visitor. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Mayfield," said she, forcing a feeble smile 
 to her face, " you have come for your bonnet. It isn t 
 quite done yet ; but I will finish it before I go to bed, and 
 send it to you early in the morning. Both of my girls 
 have been sick for three days, and I ve been up all night 
 for two nights, trying to get through the work promised. 
 Your bonnet and Miss Grier s are the only two that re 
 main unfinished. I m sorry you had the trouble to come 
 out. But I won t disappoint you." 
 
 " How long will it take you to finish these bonnets ?" 
 asked Miss Mayfield. 
 
 " I shall have to work late ; but I ll get them done." 
 
 "How late?" 
 
THE SPRING BONNET. 205 
 
 "Till twelve o clock or perhaps later." 
 
 "No, Miss Wheeler," said the young lady, firmly, yet 
 kindly, " that must not be. You shall neither overwork 
 yourself, nor break the Sabbath by worldly labour on my 
 account. Let my bonnet lie over until next week ; and 
 I can safely speak for Martha Grier that she will bear 
 cheerfully her disappointment. Put up your work, and 
 take the rest you need." 
 
 " My head has ached dreadfully all day, and now the 
 pain half blinds me," said Miss Wheeler. 
 
 " Then put by your work, by all means," urged the 
 kind-hearted young lady. "My old bonnet looks very 
 well ; I wore it to church last Sunday, and can wear it 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 " I m afraid Miss Grier would not be pleased." 
 
 " She s not unreasonable and cruel. I know Martha 
 better than that. Send her word how it is, and she will 
 cheerfully bear her disappointment." 
 
 "You are very kind," said the sick and weary young 
 woman. " I feel as if it would be wrong to tax my 
 strength too far. Much depends on me. If I were to 
 get sick, I don t know how mother would get along." 
 
 " Put away every thing, and go to bed at once, Miss 
 W T heeler. If you finish my bonnet and send it home, I 
 won t wear it to-morrow. So that is settled." 
 
 Thus urged, Miss Wheeler laid aside her work ; and, 
 with her head aching almost to distraction, after sending 
 one of her brothers to inform Miss Grier that she was too 
 sick to finish her bonnet, sought her chamber and rest for 
 her weary limbs. She had just fallen into a gentle sleep, 
 when her brother, who had gone on the errand to Miss 
 Grier, returned, and entered her room. 
 
 "Mary! Mary!" cried he, placing his hand on her, 
 and arousing her from slumber " Mary !" 
 
 Miss Wheeler started up ; but, before she had time to 
 ask a question, the boy said 
 
 " Miss Grier says that she must have her bonnet to 
 night !" 
 
 " Did you tell her that I was sick ?" inquired the sister, 
 binding her hands across her aching forehead as she spoke. 
 
 "Yes; but she said she didn t care she wanted her 
 18 
 
206 THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 bonnet and must have it, if you worked all night to get it 
 done." 
 
 "Oh dear!" sighed the sick, exhausted girl, as she sat 
 up in bed, still clasping her throbbing brows. 
 
 " 4 She needn t think to put me off in this way, I heard 
 her say to her mother," added the boy. 
 
 "Are you sure that you told her I was sick?" asked 
 the weary girl. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I told her so twice. But she was angry, 
 and said she didn t care sick or well, her bonnet must 
 be done." 
 
 "It is hard," murmured the poor girl, as she com 
 menced slowly putting on the clothes she had a little while 
 before taken off. "Oh! how my head does ache!" she 
 added, after a few moments, pausing in her work of re 
 dressing herself, and leaning her head against the wall 
 near which she stood ; "it seems as if it would burst." 
 
 The next day was the peaceful Sabbath, the season of 
 rest from labour. The sleep of Caroline Mayfield had 
 been sweet, and in the morning she arose with tranquil 
 feelings. When church time came, she was ready to go 
 with the family to the house where God is worshipped, 
 even though a new bonnet did not grace her head. Great 
 was her surprise, however, soon after taking her seat in 
 church, to see her friend Martha Grier wearing the new 
 spring bonnet which she had thought lay still unfinished 
 in Miss Wheeler s work-room. As the over-pious young 
 lady walked up the aisle, it was plain, from the motion 
 and air of her head, in what particular direction her 
 thoughts were centered. 
 
 " What can this mean ?" thought Caroline Mayfield, as 
 she looked at the new bonnet of her young friend. 
 " Surely Martha did not compel that sick girl to work 
 half the night, in weariness and pain, that she might ex 
 hibit a new bonnet to her fellow-worshippers ? Did not 
 make her break the Sabbath, that she might keep it a 
 little more to her own satisfaction?" 
 
 Thoughts like these kept crowding themselves into the 
 mind of Caroline Mayfield, to the exclusion of ideas more 
 fitting for the place and occasion. 
 
 After the services were ended, she moved, with the 
 
THE SPRING SONNET. 207 
 
 retiring congregation, slowly from the place of worship. 
 Just as she reached the pavement, she felt a hand upon 
 her arm. Turning, she met the half smiling, half serious 
 face of Martha Grier. The smile was natural ; the serious 
 look, the forced expression. The first came from the 
 thought of her beautiful new bonnet ; the last was con 
 strained, as fitting the occasion. Meaningly, yet almost 
 involuntarily, her eyes glanced to the head of her friend. 
 
 " So you didn t get your new bonnet," said she, in a 
 low voice, as soon as they were a little away from the 
 crowd. " How comes that ?" 
 
 " Miss Wheeler was too unwell to finish it," replied 
 Caroline, with a seriousness that she felt and did not 
 attempt to conceal. 
 
 " Oh, then, you let her put you off with that excuse ! 
 But she couldn t get away from her promise to me so 
 easily." 
 
 " Don t you regard sickness as an excuse for the non- 
 performance of a contract?" said Caroline, looking 
 earnestly at her young friend, and speaking in a very 
 serious voice. 
 
 " Sickness ? Oh yes, sickness ; but - " and she 
 hesitated, for Caroline was gazing into her face with a 
 look that disturbed the pleasant elation of her feelings. 
 
 "But what?" asked Caroline. 
 
 "Miss Wheeler wasn t sick." 
 
 " Suppose we call there on our way home from church, 
 and see how it is with her." 
 
 " Oh no ; I don t care about calling there to-day," aaid 
 Martha, 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It s Sunday, for one thing." 
 
 " The better the day, the better the deed, you know. 
 But, to speak seriously, Martha, I think it your duty to 
 call." 
 
 " Why so ?" asked Miss Grier. 
 
 " In all probability, by requiring the poor, over-wearied, 
 exhausted girl to work until two or three o clock on Sun 
 day morning to get your new bonnet done, that you might 
 show it off in church to-day, you have made her sick in 
 
208 THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 real earnest. At least, it is your duty, as a professing 
 Christian, to call and see whether this be so or not." 
 
 Miss Mayfield felt pretty strongly on the subject, and 
 she spoke with some severity. 
 
 " Carry, why do you talk in this way to me ?" said 
 Martha Grier, her manner changing. 
 
 " I speak only the words of truth and soberness," 
 returned Caroline ; " and these you should be willing to 
 hear. One whose piety shines forth so conspicuously as 
 yours, should see that she does not neglect her chanty. 
 Come, will you call with me on Miss Wheeler ?" 
 
 "Yes, as long as you seem so earnest about it. No 
 harm can be done. Most likely you will not find her at 
 home." 
 
 Little more passed between the two young ladies. 
 They were soon at the humble abode of the milliner. 
 Mrs. Wheeler, the mother of the girl they had called to 
 inquire about, opened the door for them. 
 
 "How is your daughter?" asked Caroline. 
 
 " She is very ill to-day," replied Mrs. Wheeler. " Won t 
 you walk in ?" 
 
 The two young ladies entered. 
 
 "Very ill, did you say?" remarked Caroline, as the 
 door closed. 
 
 " Yes, very ill, I am sorry to say. She was hurried 
 last week, and her two girls going home sick, she worked 
 nearly all night for three nights in succession to get 
 through with her engagements. She was quite ill last 
 night, but sat up until three o clock to finish a bonnet. 
 I tried to get her to bed ; but she wouldn t give up until 
 it was done. Then, as the last stitch was taken, she fell 
 fainting from her chair." 
 
 "And she is very sick now?" said Caroline. 
 
 "Yes, very sick. I sent for the doctor. He didn t 
 say much ; but I know he thinks her bad. She s quite 
 out of her head." 
 
 " Out of her head ?" 
 
 "Yes. And she rolls about on her pillow, and talks 
 all the time. Oh dear ! I feel very much troubled. Will 
 you walk up and see her ?" 
 
THE SPRING BONNET, 200 
 
 "Shall we go up, Martha?" said Caroline, looking 
 toward her young friend. 
 
 "Perhaps we d better not, as she s so ill," replied 
 Martha. "It will do her no good, but may disturb her," 
 
 " Very true. No, ma am, we won t see her now," said 
 Caroline, turning to Mrs. Wheeler ; " but I ll call around 
 this afternoon. I hope it may not be so serious as you 
 fear." 
 
 "You are very kind. Oh yes, I hope she may be 
 better soon; but I m afraid. When one breaks down 
 from being overworked, as she has been, they don t always 
 get back their strength again." 
 
 " Your new bonnet has been purchased at too great a 
 price !" said Miss May field, with some sternness of man 
 ner, as soon as she was in the street again with Martha 
 Grier. She felt strongly on the subject, and determined 
 to give her friend the full force of the reproof she deserved, 
 even at the risk of offending her. " Wicked and worldly- 
 minded as I am, Martha, I had too much religion to do 
 what you have done. So far from requiring Miss Wheeler 
 to over-tax her strength, in order that I might have a new 
 bonnet for Sunday, I required her to lay the unfinished 
 work aside the moment I understood she was indisposed. 
 I not only spoke for myself, but for you also thinking 
 that you, who served God so devotedly, could not but 
 regard with human feelings the poor, who, he hath said, 
 are always with us. But it seems that I gave you credit 
 for more charity than you possessed. By your own ac 
 knowledgment, you required her to resume the work I 
 had, speaking for you, said that she might lay aside. 
 Pardon this freedom of speech. I say what I do, not to 
 pain you, but to make you sensible of your error. Piety 
 and charity must go hand in hand. True religion is to 
 regard man as well as to worship God." 
 
 The two young friends were now at a point where their 
 ways divided. The eyes of Martha were upon tho 
 pavement. 
 
 " Good morning," said she, in a low voice, as they 
 paused. Her face was averted. 
 
 " Good morning," returned Caroline, in a tone kinder 
 than it was a moment before. 
 
 18* 
 
210 THE SPRING BONNET. 
 
 They met, a few hours afterward in the sick-room of 
 Mary Wheeler. Martha s new bonnet did not grace her 
 head on that occasion. Indeed, she never wore it after 
 ward. She could not. The sight of it rebuked her too 
 strongly. Happily, the illness of the young milliner did 
 not prove so disastrous as was at first feared. In less 
 than a week, she was able to be at work again, though 
 several weeks elapsed ere her health was entirely restored. 
 
 Martha and Caroline are still friends ; but the former 
 has not again ventured to read the latter a lecture on the 
 sin of fashionable dressing, carnal-mindedness, and plea 
 sure-taking. 
 
Before the Election. 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER THE ELECTION. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 "An, Patrick! How are you, my friend and fellow- 
 citizen?" said Mr. R , to Patrick Murphy, a newly 
 
 created republican from the green island. " How are 
 you?" And he grasped the hand of the Irishman and 
 shook it warmly. " How is Mrs. Murphy, and all the 
 little ones at home?" 
 
 " Well, I thank ye," returned Patrick familiarly. "And 
 how s y r honour?" 
 
 "First-rate, my friend, first-rate. Won t you take* 
 something to drink, Patrick ?" 
 
 " Well, I don t care if I do," returned the willing Irish 
 man, "if it s only for the sake of the good cause." 
 
 "You may well say for the good cause," responded 
 
 R ; " the cause of the people. It is for equal rights 
 
 that we are now struggling, my poor but honest friend. 
 For the right to breathe the pure air of heaven. For the 
 right to think, and speak, and act as freemen. Men in 
 power are riding it over us rough-shod. They are crush 
 ing the very life out of us. The privileged few gather to 
 themselves all the good things in the land, and leave the 
 great multitude, the mass of the people, the bone and 
 sinew of the nation, like dogs to eat the crumbs that fall 
 from their tables. But there s a good time coming, 
 Patrick a good time coming. A little while, and there 
 will be a great change." 
 
 213 
 
214 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 " Yis, y r honour, that th r wull." 
 
 The candidate for be it understood, that it was on the 
 
 eve of an election, and that R was a candidate for a 
 
 seat in the State legislature now advanced toward the 
 bar they had entered a drinking-house saying 
 
 "What will you take, Mr. Murphy?" 
 
 " Ony thing ye plaze." 
 
 " Say brandy and water ?" 
 
 "Fust-rate," replied the Irishman, with feeling. 
 
 "Here s to your good health, Mr. Murphy," said 
 
 R , as he lifted his glass, bowing with a graceful and 
 
 well-assumed deference to his companion. 
 
 " The same till you," returned Murphy familiarly, as 
 he poured half a tumbler of pure brandy down his capa 
 cious throat. 
 
 "And now, my worthy friend," said R , laying his 
 
 hand on the shoulder of the Irishman and drawing him 
 aside, " how is the good cause progressing in your parti 
 cular neighbourhood?" 
 
 " You re safe in our ward by a hundred majority." 
 
 "D ye think so?" 
 
 " Faith, an ye are. I was down at McPhelin s tavern 
 last night until twelve o clock. There warn t but three 
 
 men there that dared to open their mouths for L , 
 
 and I rather think their bones a n t done aching yet." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 Murphy doubled his huge fist, and assumed a pugilistic 
 attitude. 
 
 "No fighting, I hope?" said R . 
 
 " No no. Only a bit of a scrimmage. There was a 
 rowdy Yankee there, who insulted y r honour; and the 
 way I chastised him would have done y r heart good." 
 
 " Insulted me ? Ah ! what did he say ?" 
 
 "Yis; and he insulted the great body of y r consti 
 tuents into the bargain, the spalpeen !" 
 
 " How ? What did he say of me ?" 
 
 " He said that y r honour cared no more for a poor 
 mon than for the dirt under y r feet ; and that after the 
 election you wouldn t let me, in particular, touch you with 
 a forty-foot pole." 
 
 " He sai<< .hat, did he ?" 
 
THE ELECTION. 215 
 
 " Indade, y r honour, and that s jist what he did say. 
 But if he didn t feel the weight of a heavy bunch of bones, 
 call me a liar. He ll have blue ribbons around his eyes 
 for a month. It ll be as much as the bargain if he get 
 to the polls to-morrow." 
 
 "And so we are certain of your ward?" 
 
 " Sure as death ; and I take credit to meself for one- 
 half the success. I ve worked hard in the good cause, 
 Mr. R ." 
 
 "It s the cause of the people; or, more emphatically 
 speaking, the cause of the poor man. The rich and the 
 privileged classes the capitalists and monopolists of the 
 day ar e crushing the very life out of you. This is the 
 time for effectual resistance. You must break the chains 
 of oppression now, or they remain fastened upon you for 
 ever. The country of your adoption expects much of you, 
 Mr. Murphy. Do not disappoint her. Remember, that 
 the vote of a poor man is equal in value to that of the 
 proudest nabob in the land. Never lose sight of that fact, 
 my friend. A convert to our side, no matter who or what 
 he is, a drunkard in the gutter, or a lazy pauper in the 
 almshouse, balances off the vote of one of your silk-stock 
 ing gentry on the other side. Votes are what we want, 
 then votes votes votes. Let that be ever before your 
 eyes. You ll be at the public meeting to-night ?" 
 
 " Dade, and it s what I wull." 
 
 " That s right. And you must bring along as many 
 staunch adherents of the good cause as you can find." 
 
 " Trust me for that, Mr. R ." 
 
 " Mr. P is not on our side ?" 
 
 " He ? No no ! He belongs to tlw silk-stocking party. 
 "What d ye think he said to me yesterday ? See here, 
 Murphy, says he, if you don t quit this drinking and 
 rowdying about, and attend better to y r business, you 
 and I ll have to part. Drinking and rowdying about, 
 indade ! I knew what he meant. It was the political 
 matters he objected till. He wanted to interfare with my 
 freedom, and compel me to vote his way." 
 
 "Is it possible?" 
 
 " Dade, and it is." 
 
 " What did you say to him ?" 
 
216 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 " Say till him ? Why, jist nothing at all, at all. But 
 didn t I look as black as a thunder-cloud ?" 
 
 "Don t be afraid, my excellent friend," said the can 
 didate, laying his hand on the Irishman s shoulder, and 
 speaking deliberately. " Do your duty as a man, and fear 
 nothing. What wages does P give you?" 
 
 " A paltry twenty dollars a month, bad luck till him !" 
 
 "For the valuable services of a man like you?" 
 
 "It s ivery cint." 
 
 " Possible ! It s little better than starvation ?" 
 
 " Dade, and ye may well say thot. It s little more 
 nor starvation. I wonder how much better he is nor me, 
 or ony of the poor men around him, out of whose sweat 
 and blood he is coining goold and dollars." 
 
 " He s not half so good, my honest friend. You re 
 worth a dozen like him. It s you that ought to be riding 
 in a carriage, instead of one like him." 
 
 " The likes o him !" contemptuously ejaculated Murphy. 
 
 "There s a better time coming," said the candidate 
 encouragingly. " Work hard and push through the good 
 cause at this election. Once let our party come into 
 power, and you ll see a change that will be worth calling 
 a change. There are plenty of fat offices waiting for the 
 working friends of the cause ; and you belong, emphatic 
 ally to that class." 
 
 " Yis, indade ! I m a working man out and out." 
 
 " That s well known. I ve heard you spoken of a 
 dozen times. More than one of our leading men have 
 their eyes on you." 
 
 " We re bound to bate." 
 
 "But we will have to work for it. Don t forget that. 
 Our opponents are wide awake." 
 
 " Och ! And ye needn t tell me that, Musther R . 
 
 Don t I know ? But, as I said, we re bound to bate ; and 
 we will bate. And when we ve won the election, what 
 kind of an office do you think I can get ? How large 
 will be the salary?" 
 
 " Nothing less than seven or eight hundred dollars." 
 
 "So much as that? Och, blood-er-nouns, but won t I 
 be illigant ! Eight hundred dollars ! I feel rich already. 
 Who cares for Mr. P ? Bad cess till him !" 
 
THE ELECTION. 217 
 
 " Don t forget the meeting to-night," said B, , now 
 
 moving away. 
 
 "Niverfear. I ll be there." 
 
 " And, above all, be at your post to-morrow. It is the 
 great day of battle, and unless every soldier is in the field, 
 the enemy may conquer. Go early to the polls and vote 
 your ticket, and then see that every man over whom you 
 have an influence does the same thing. A long pull, a 
 strong pull, and a pull altogether, will do the work for us. 
 Then, you know the motto To the victors belong the 
 spoils. Good-by, my friend." And the candidate shook 
 Murphy warmly by the hand, and left him. 
 
 "Pah!" he muttered to himself, with disgust and im 
 patience, as he got fairly clear of the vulgar Irishman. 
 " I shall be glad when this work is over. I m half sick 
 with disgust, and half mad with a fretting sense of humili 
 ation. But they are our tools, and we must work with 
 them. After our work is done, it will be an easy matter 
 to throw them aside." 
 
 Patrick Murphy had been in the country just long 
 enough to secure a legal naturalization, and thus get the 
 power of a vote in our elections. As to the constitution 
 of the United States, he had never read the first article ; 
 and his ideas of the spirit of our institutions were bounded 
 on all sides by the word liberty. Soon after his arrival, 
 he became aware that duties and responsibilities, un 
 dreamed of in the "ould counthry," were resting upon him. 
 He was " one of the people," upon whom reposed the 
 welfare of the nation. There was a party in power, charged 
 with aiming to restore the old monarchical and aristocrati- 
 cal privileges that were such a curse to Europe, and 
 seeking to trample the poor working man under foot. Pat 
 was soon politically indoctrinated by the party that first 
 gained his ear, flattered his self-love, and excited his na 
 tural belligerence ; and as whisky, an article to the use 
 of which he was born, flowed as free as water at the head 
 quarters of the party, his affections were not only won, 
 but firmly retained. 
 
 Pat s first electioneering experience was the one that 
 brought him in familiar intercourse as an equal with Mr. 
 
 R , than whom there was not, in feeling, a more 
 
 19 
 
218 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 thorough aristocrat to be found. He was one of those 
 who really despise every thing below them ; but, being a 
 lover of power and an office-seeker, he could talk of the 
 dear people, and shake them by the hand with an appear 
 ance of interest and regard, while in his heart he loathed 
 their very presence. His manner of treating Murphy 
 completely turned the Irishman s head, and made him so 
 
 insolent in his manner to his employer, a Mr. P , that 
 
 the latter had been several times tempted to dismiss him 
 from his store, where he was engaged as labourer and 
 porter. 
 
 On the night before the election, Murphy was at the 
 public meeting, as he had promised. "While R occu 
 pied the stand as speaker, he stood close beside him, 
 hurraing and throwing his hat in the air at every em 
 phatic sentence. Far above every other voice was heard 
 
 his, ever and anon shouting, "R and the paple, 
 
 for ever !" 
 
 After the adjournment of the meeting, he met R 
 
 at the ward-house, and was hand and glove with him for 
 the space of an hour. When he started for home about 
 one o clock in the morning, his mind had become so con 
 fused by drink or self-conceit, most probably the former, 
 that he was in serious doubt whether he were not the 
 
 candidate for election himself, and R only one of the 
 
 working members of the political firm. Murphy had 
 some doubts whether he would go to the store at all on the 
 next day. It was the great election day, when a battle 
 was to be fought, and when every man should be at his 
 post and ready to do his duty. After some debate, he 
 
 concluded to go and open Mr. P s store, and put the 
 
 counting-room in some order, previous to the arrival of 
 the clerks. Then he would take the day to himself. 
 
 It was about half-past eight o clock that Patrick Mur 
 phy presented himself to the owner of the store, and, with 
 an air of unusual self-importance, said 
 
 " I shall be absent the rest of the day, Musther P ." 
 
 "How so, Patrick?" inquired his employer. 
 
 "It s lection day." 
 
 " Well, what of that ? Have you a vote ?" 
 
 " Sure and I have, as much as the best of yez." 
 
THE ELECTION. 219 
 
 " Then you re naturalized ?" 
 
 " Dade, and I am thot." 
 
 " But it won t take you all day to vote. Half an hour, 
 or an hour, at most, is long enough for you to be absent 
 from the store." 
 
 " I ve something else to do besides voting. I m one of 
 the ward committee to attind the polls." 
 
 " You are !" Mr. P spoke in a tone of contempt 
 
 that rather nettled Murphy. 
 
 " Yez needn t fash a body in that way, Musther P . 
 
 Ise got rights and privileges as well as ony other mon, if 
 I am poor," he answered a little indignantly. 
 
 " I ve no wish to interfere with your rights, Patrick, 
 
 said Mr. P seriously. " As a citizen, your right and 
 
 duty is to vote, and time enough for that I have no desire 
 to withhold. You can go and cast your vote, and then 
 return to your work, as I shall do. But to release you 
 from your obligation to me, that you may have time to 
 meddle in what doesn t concern you, and interfere with 
 other men s freedom in voting, is what I cannot do. To 
 day is a busy day in the store. We have a large amount 
 of goods to pack, and cannot dispense with your services." 
 
 "My duty to my adopted counthry" 
 
 "You needn t talk to me after that fashion, Patrick," 
 
 interrupted Mr. P impatiently. " Vote your vote, if 
 
 you wish to do so, and leave the country to take care of 
 itself. It will get on well enough without any of your 
 meddling interference." 
 
 " yis. That s the way ye nabobs try to lord it over 
 us poor men, when ye think ye have us in y r power," 
 retorted Murphy in an insolent tone. " But I m not jist 
 ready to kneel down and let yez put y r foot on my 
 neck." 
 
 "My friend," said Mr. P sharply he was by 
 
 this time quite angry "I don t want to bandy any words 
 with you. You can go to the polls and vote. I ll give 
 you an hour for that purpose ; and you can vote for his 
 Satanic Majesty, if it please your fancy, for all I care. 
 But if you are not here at the expiration of an hour, I ll 
 hire a man in your place. 
 
 "Musther P " 
 
220 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 "I will hear no more on the subject," replied the mer 
 chant, turning quickly away, and walking back into his 
 counting-room. 
 
 Murphy stood cogitating a few moments, and then 
 muttering indignantly, "No purse-proud nabob shall lord 
 it over me !" walked erectly, and with a firm bearing, from 
 the store. 
 
 What did he care for the loss of a paltry situation like 
 that, when in a few days he would be, in all probability, a 
 custom-house officer, enjoying an income of a thousand or 
 twelve hundred dollars. 
 
 All day long Patrick Murphy worked at the polls, in 
 his ward and out of his ward, at any and every thing in 
 which those who had the superintendence of affairs chose 
 to employ him. He was an important man in his own 
 eyes. The United States was a great country for nature s 
 true nobility honour and freedom attended them as hand 
 maidens. 
 
 The sun at last went down, and the polls were closed. 
 Patrick Murphy would have bet his life on the result. 
 His side had won, of course; and, if the truth were 
 known, through his important aid. How deeply and 
 heartily did he despise his old employer, who had at 
 tempted to restrict his political rights, and to abridge his 
 freedom as an American citizen. There were times during 
 the day, when indignation and whisky raised his feelings 
 
 to such a height that, had he encountered Mr. P in 
 
 the street, he would have been strongly tempted to insult 
 and even maltreat him. 
 
 After ten o clock, returns from various wards began to 
 come in. This was the exciting time. Now one party 
 was ahead, and now the other. The poll was exceedingly 
 close. Patrick Murphy began to feel uncomfortable. 
 Several times during the evening, since the closing of the 
 
 polls, he had encountered Mr. R . But, somehow or 
 
 other, the candidate did not recognise him. He was too 
 much engaged with others. What did he care for the 
 weak, vulgar tool of his ambition now ? Nothing ! Murphy 
 began to shrink toward his natural dimensions. In other 
 Words, to feel something of his own insignificance. 
 
 At last the result was fully known. R and his 
 
THE ELECTION. 221 
 
 entire party were beaten. Murphy was about sober 
 enough to comprehend the disastrous nature of this intel 
 ligence, when it came with a shock upon his unwilling ears. 
 One more glass of whisky, and he took homeward, at 
 midnight, his disconsolate way alone, and, tumbling him 
 self into bed, was soon lost in drunken slumber. 
 
 19* 
 
222 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Jiftn 
 
 WHEN Patrick Murphy, the independent voter, awoke 
 on the next morning and collected his thoughts, he had 
 some strange feelings. It took him some time to com 
 prehend clearly the fact that election day had passed, and 
 that his party had been signally defeated. Alas ! all the 
 fine offices, in the distribution and enjoyment of which he 
 was to have had a share, were in the hands of the victors. 
 The beautiful visions that had floated before his imagina 
 tion were all melting into thin air. He was not to ride in 
 his coach yet. Deep and heavy was the sigh that accom 
 panied this conviction, as he turned himself in bed and 
 sought in his mind for some comforting reflections. 
 
 " I ve made some powerful acquaintances ony how," 
 he at length said, by way of consolation. " Musther 
 
 K is a jewel of a mon. Worth his weight in goold. 
 
 If I have lost the siteation at Mr. P s, it was in his 
 
 cause ; and he ll not see me suffer." 
 
 Murphy s head was none of the clearest when he arose ; 
 nor were either his bodily or mental sensations the most 
 agreeable. The amount of money in his purse was just 
 nothing at all, as he would himself have expressed the 
 fact if called upon to do so, and there were only about 
 five dollars due him at the old place he had so foolishly 
 given up. Where the bread and potatoes for the " wife 
 and childther" were to come from was not very clear to 
 his mind. But he strove to brace himself up with the idea 
 of having made a number of powerful acquaintances, who 
 would stand by him in his extremity as he had stood by 
 the good cause of the people. 
 
After the Election. 
 
THE ELECTION. 225 
 
 After breakfast, Murphy went forth and repaired to the 
 head-quarters of the party, where he found a goodly 
 number assembled to hear the returns from the county 
 and State, and to encourage each other in their local de 
 feat, by mutual assurances of success in the general result. 
 Most of these were men who had bets pending on the 
 State election. Those who had striven for local success, 
 in the hope of securing individual benefit when the distri 
 bution of offices came, had gone back to their stores, shops, 
 or offices, striving to be content with a lot they had fondly 
 hoped to better. Few of those around him were familiar 
 to the Irishman, and those that he did recognise took no 
 notice of him. 
 
 " How are you, Musther B ?" he said, walking up 
 
 to a gentleman who stood conversing with a friend. The 
 man looked at him for a moment indifferently, and then 
 merely answered in a rude, somewhat contemptuous man 
 ner 
 
 " How are you, Pat ?" and, turning his back toward 
 him, went on with his conversation. 
 
 Murphy didn t just like this. It was so different from 
 
 ]VJ r . B s manner of speaking to him on the day before. 
 
 Then it was " Mr. Murphy," or, " My dear, good fellow," 
 or, " How are you, my friend and fellow-citizen ?" ac 
 companied by a cordial grip of the hand. After three or 
 four attempts, about as successful as this, to renew ac 
 quaintance with others who happened to come in his way, 
 Patrick Murphy, with his feelings rapidly declining to 
 ward zero, took his departure from head-quarters, and 
 strolled down to the ward-house the scene of his princi 
 pal electioneering achievement. 
 
 "Hallo, Pat! How d ye feel this morning?" was the 
 salutation he received from a lounger at the bar, as he 
 entered. " Didn t save the nation, after all. Never mind, 
 Pat ! don t look so cast down about the matter. Better 
 luck next time. You ve one consolation ; you did your 
 duty." 
 
 " Yes, and who thanks him to-day ?" laughed, or rather 
 half-sneered another independent elector, who had already 
 found out that he was of far less importance on the day 
 after than on the day before the election. " Yesterday ha 
 
226 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 was one of the people, patted on the shoulder and cajoled 
 by Mr. Broad-cloth-and-calfskin ; but to-day he s a foolish 
 Irishman. Ha! ha! We the people? It s very fine, and 
 sounds first-rate ; but it s all sound and fury, meaning 
 just nothing at all, at all, Pat Murphy, my darlint. Come, 
 Pat, won t you treat?" 
 
 Pat thrust his hand into his pocket, and then drawing 
 it forth slowly, shook his head, and sighed 
 
 " Haven t a red cint left to bless meself." 
 
 "Just my own interesting condition, Pat. 
 
 "Have you seen Musther R the day?" asked 
 
 Murphy. 
 
 " Yes ; but he looked as sour as a lemon. It would 
 take a power of sugar to sweeten him." 
 
 " He s disappointed, in coorse." 
 
 "A n the?" 
 
 " Well, as for Musther R , I can say wan thing of 
 
 him honestly. He s a jontleman, ivery inch. He knows 
 a mon when he sees him ; and can appraciate merit 
 in the humblest. Bad luck till the party that bate him, 
 say I!" 
 
 " He s like all the rest of em," replied the man to this. 
 " Mighty fine and nice when they want your vote. But 
 too good to share the same sunshine with you after the 
 election. I know em all from A to Z." 
 
 " I ll not stand and hear a jontleman like Musther 
 
 R abused afther that fashion," retorted Murphy 
 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Won t you, indeed ?" was sneeringly replied. 
 
 " Indade, and I won t, thin. He s my friend, and I ll 
 hold ony mon till account that spakes against him." 
 
 Hearing this, three or four bar-room loungers, who 
 wanted a little excitement, drew instantly around the 
 Irishman, and began chafing him on the subject of his 
 
 "friend" R . In a little while his hot blood was 
 
 boiling over, and the muscles of his hands contracting 
 spasmodically. A fight ensued, in which Murphy was 
 severely beaten, and then pitched headlong into the 
 street. 
 
 As the Irishman gathered himself up, and stole off like 
 a whipped cur, he began to comprehend something of the 
 
THE ELECTION. 227 
 
 difference between before and after the election a new 
 experience for him. Since the closing of the polls on the 
 previous evening, he had been steadily shrinking toward 
 his former dimensions, and he was pretty near down to 
 his old size by this time. Before the election, he was a 
 man of importance in the nation. Great events depended 
 on his efficient action. Now he was simply Patrick Mur 
 phy, and he could make little more out of himself 
 He was but a grain of sand on the sea-shore. 
 
 In this state of humiliation, Murphy went home at din 
 ner-time. He dared not go home before ; for in that case 
 his wife Biddy, who had a temper and a tongue of her 
 own, and who had never liked his meddling in politics, 
 would discover that had not been at work, and there would 
 be a flare-up in consequence. 
 
 While meditating on his unhappy condition, Murphy, 
 
 whose confidence in R was unimpaired, resolved to 
 
 go and state to him that he had been turned off by Mr. 
 
 P for his political opinions, and was now without the 
 
 means of earning bread for his family. He did not in 
 
 the least doubt that R would immediately procure 
 
 for him a much better place than the one he had lost. 
 
 Elated by this idea, Murphy left his home after dinner, 
 and called at the handsome residence of R . 
 
 "Can I see Musther R ?" he asked confidently of 
 
 the servant who came to the door. 
 
 "He s engaged and cannot be seen," replied the ser 
 vant. 
 
 He ll see me, I know. Tell him that Musther Murphy 
 wishes to spake wid him just a minute." 
 
 The servant hesitated to deliver the message, but Mur 
 phy urged the matter, and he finally consented to do as 
 he wished. In a few moments he returned, and said that 
 Mr. R was engaged, and couldn t see any one. 
 
 " Did yez tell him me name?" asked Murphy. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 
 "I have told you what he said," returned the servant 
 rather sharply. "He cannot see you." 
 
 Poor Murphy turned away, feeling still more painfully 
 his own insignificance. A few days before, he was a very 
 
228 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 lord in influence; now, even a common house-servant 
 treated him with contempt. Still he had confidence in 
 
 R , the defeated candidate. R knew him as a 
 
 man, and appreciated his value. He had sacrificed every 
 
 thing for R , and he was sure that R would stand 
 
 by him now. 
 
 For an hour or two the Irishman sauntered about the 
 streets or lounged in bar-rooms, meditating on his un 
 happy condition. He then, in a humbled frame of mind, 
 
 determined to call on Mr. P , apologize for his conduct 
 
 on the day before, and ask to be taken back into his 
 employment. P received him coolly ; and when Mur 
 phy volunteered an apology, told him that it was too late, 
 as he had already hired a man in his place. 
 
 " Then yez proscribes me for opinion s sake," said Pat, 
 growing insolent when no hope of favour remained. 
 
 " No," coolly answered the merchant. " I merely filled 
 the place you left. I don t care any thing about a man s 
 opinions. I regard only his ability to serve me in the 
 situation I want filled. If he leaves my work to go and 
 interfere with the freedom of elections at the polls for a 
 whole day, I will discharge him, no matter what his po 
 litical opinions may be, and I told you that beforehand. 
 So you ve only yourself to blame. Here s the balance 
 of money due you. And when next you get a good place 
 don t throw it up for the sake of some brawling candidate 
 who doesn t care three beans for you." 
 
 Saying this, the merchant turned from Murphy, who 
 retired slowly, with anger, mortification, and disappoint 
 ment struggling in his mind for the preponderance. He 
 
 had only gone about a block from the store of Mr. P , 
 
 when his eyes were gladdened by the sight of R , who 
 
 stood talking with two or three gentlemen. Murphy waited 
 
 at a respectful distance until R was disengaged, and 
 
 then approached him with his hat held deferently in his 
 
 hand. R did not appear to observe him, and was 
 
 passing on, when the Irishman said 
 
 " How are yez, Mr. R ?" 
 
 The defeated candidate half paused and stared at him, 
 while his brow contracted. Murphy smiled, and advanced 
 
THE ELECTION. 229 
 
 nearer, expecting the countenance of his friend suddenly 
 to change, and his hand to seize his warmly. 
 
 "Who are you? And what do you want?" now fell 
 from the lips of R , while his face wore a more repul 
 sive aspect. 
 
 "Don t yez know Musther Murphy?" asked the voter. 
 
 " Murphy ! Pah ! I ve had more Pat Murphys running 
 after me than would freight a ship. What do you want ?" 
 
 Poor Murphy was dumb with astonishment. He stood 
 like one aghast for a few moments, and then turned slowly 
 away. He had shrunk now below his former dimensions, 
 and felt not only insignificant, but powerless and wretched. 
 This was the unkindest cut of all. 
 
 Since election day, Pat Murphy has had a pretty hard 
 time to get bread for his family. At hod-carrying, cellar- 
 digging, and street-scraping, he has been working off and 
 on ; and though he has lived in hopes of getting another 
 situation in a store, that hope has not yet been realized. 
 
 When election times come round again he will be patted 
 on the shoulder, "called one of the people," "my friend," 
 " bone and sinew," and all that, and be hand and glove 
 with a set of men who would not pick him out of the 
 gutter at any other season. And Pat, forgetful of the 
 lesson that he has learned, will be flattered into the belief 
 that he is "somebody," and made to pull in the traces 
 under some political driver, while of any use, and then be 
 turned out to get pasture where he can find it. How 
 many campaigns it will take to endow him with a grain of 
 common sense or independent thought, is a sum that our 
 knowledge of figures will not enable us to cipher out. 
 But we shall see. 
 
 20 
 
230 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 PART III. 
 
 fatritfc Sterns $Utas 10 fcis initial jfwnis. 
 
 IT was near the close of a sultry day in August, and a 
 poor, toil-worn Irishman "might have been seen" wearily- 
 wending his way upward toward the summit of a house, 
 with a hod of bricks upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Bad cess till Musther R !" fell, half-angrily, from 
 
 the Irishman s lips, as he gained the elevation he was 
 seeking, and deposited his load upon the scaffold. "Bad 
 
 cess till Musther R !" he repeated. "If it hadn t 
 
 been for him I d still be houlding my good siteation in 
 P s store, instead of being kilt to death wid this hod- 
 carrying." 
 
 And then Mister Patrick Murphy for it was that in 
 dependent citizen shouldered his empty hod, and com 
 menced retracing his steps down the ladder for another 
 instalment of building-materials. Just as he reached the 
 ground, a voice, whose tones were instantly recognised, 
 said with animation 
 
 "Why, Mr. Murphy, is this you? How are you, my 
 old friend and fellow-citizen ? How are you?" 
 
 And Mr. R , the very man Patrick had been think 
 ing about, stood smiling, with extended hand, before 
 him. 
 
 To be thus addressed by a "gentleman" was more than 
 the long-nursed anger of Murphy could withstand, and it 
 melted away into good nature, like frost-work in the 
 morning sunshine. 
 
 "How are yez, Musther R ?" he returned, as he 
 
 left the candidate take his hand and shake it heartily. 
 
 " Oh, bright as a May morning !" said R , still hold- 
 
Returns to his Political Frie ids 
 
THE ELECTION. 233 
 
 ing the Irishman by the hand. "But how are you getting 
 on now, Mr. Murphy?" 
 
 "Bad enough, and plaze y r honour," replied Patrick. 
 
 " Ah, I m sorry for that. Have you been unfortunate ?" 
 
 " Dade, thin, and have I. That lection business kilt 
 me dead." 
 
 "How so, Mr. Murphy? We were beaten, it is true; 
 but how did it affect you personally?" 
 
 " Mr. P turned me off for going to the polls on 
 
 lection day, and it s been hard time wid me iver since, I 
 can tell yez." 
 
 " Turned you off, Mr. Murphy, for voting your senti 
 ments as an American citizen !" exclaimed R , in well- 
 feigned astonishment. 
 
 "Yis, it s just thot, Musther R ," said Murphy 
 
 with much feeling. Already the hope of making capital 
 for future interest out of that circumstance was beginning 
 to form itself in his mind. 
 
 " Vile proscription ! Thus it is that these nabobs of 
 our land seek, as in the old country, to bind the freo 
 consciences of the people, and to trample on their political 
 rights. You felt this in Ireland, Mr. Murphy; and it 
 was to escape such tyranny that you left the beautiful 
 home of your fathers and came to happy America. Shall 
 the heel of the oppressor be on your neck here also? 
 Spirit of liberty, forbid it ! Mr. Murphy, we must break 
 down this league of the rich against the poor. We can do 
 it, and we will. In this cause I have embarked, and I 
 will die by it. What greater glory can any man desire 
 than fro be known as the friend of the people ?" 
 
 " Nabobs !" responded Patrick, indignantly taking the 
 cue. "Yis ! Vile, oppressing nabobs ! If I had my will 
 o them !" 
 
 And the Irishman clenched his fist. 
 
 "This is rather a hard kind of business, Mr. Murphy," 
 
 said R , changing the subject. "A man like you 
 
 ought to be doing something better than carrying bricks 
 up a ladder." 
 
 " Dade and he ought, Musther R ." 
 
 " Come round to my house to-night, Mr. Murphy. I d 
 like to have some talk with you." 
 
 20* 
 
234 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 " Yez lives in the same place ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Come about nine o clock. I will be dis 
 engaged then." 
 
 " I ll be there to the minute, Musther R ." 
 
 "Very well. And now, good day. I rather think 
 we ll find you some better work to do than this." 
 
 All the Irishman s indignation toward R , so long 
 
 cherished, was gone. His next trip up the ladder was 
 accomplished in half the time occupied in the last ascent ; 
 and when he came down again, it was " on the run." 
 
 Precisely at nine o clock, dressed in his Sunday suit, 
 which was not one of particular elegance, Patrick was at 
 
 Mr. R s beautiful residence. He rang the bell, and, 
 
 almost instantly, the door was opened not by a servant, 
 but by Mr. R himself. 
 
 " Ah, you re the man after all, Mr. Murphy ; punctual 
 to the minute !" said he, grasping the Irishman s hand. 
 " Come in, my good fellow. Come in," and he almost 
 dragged him into the house. 
 
 In a room in the third-story, to which Murphy was 
 conducted, two or three men were found sitting at a table, 
 on which were decanters and glasses. 
 
 "Mr. Murphy, gentlemen." 
 
 Thus the Irishman was announced in a manner the 
 most courteous. 
 
 "Ah, how are you, my honest friend ? How are you? 
 Happy, indeed, to see you!" 
 
 Such was the words of welcome that greeted his ap 
 pearance. 
 
 "Take a chair, Mr. Murphy, said R , and he 
 
 handed the Irishman to a seat, with an air of deference 
 and courtesy that was particularly flattering to the easily 
 duped son of Erin. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said R , after they had all re 
 sumed their places at the table and taken a glass round, 
 " this is the Mr. Murphy of whom I was speaking to you ; 
 an honest, hard-working man, who has been proscribed 
 for opinion s sake. No man has laboured harder or more 
 efficiently in our cause than he, and it will be a burning 
 disgrace to our party the party of the people, the sworn 
 advocate of the oppressed and trampled upon if we let 
 
THE ELECTION. 235 
 
 him suffer for his devotion to true principles. This man 
 has a family, sir a family to whom he is dearly attached, 
 and for whom he s toiling like a galley-slave at the oar. 
 Previous to the last election, he had a good situation and 
 
 a good salary in the store of P ; but, because he 
 
 worked in our cause, P turned him off to starve with 
 
 his wife and his little ones, for all he cared !" 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed the men at the table, lifting 
 their hands in astonishment. " To think that such a spirit 
 exists in our country !" 
 
 " A spirit," resumed Mr. R , " that, if not checked, 
 
 will prostrate our liberties beneath the iron heel of oppres 
 sion. What is a poor man in the eyes of one like P ? 
 
 Of less value than his horse ! And he is but the type of 
 his party." 
 
 To this there was a warm response from all present. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Murphy," resumed R , addressing 
 
 the Irishman, " the time has come when another strong 
 effort must be made to break through the party lines that 
 have been drawn by these poor-oppressing, blood-sucking 
 aristocrats ! At the last campaign, we drove them back, 
 and came near routing them, horse, foot, and dragoons. 
 This time, if we unite all our forces, victory is certain ; 
 and you know, my honest friend, that to the victors belong 
 the spoils. No man did better service to the good cause at 
 the last election than you, Mr. Murphy ; and now that the 
 tug of war is about to come again, your bleeding country 
 calls upon you, and asks for aid. Shall she call in vain ? 
 No ; not when her voice reaches the ears of Patrick Mur 
 phy, the man who has felt the crushing weight of oppres 
 sion. What say you, Mr. Murphy ? Are you with us 
 again ?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, Murphy instantly replied with en 
 thusiasm 
 
 " Faix and am I, Musther R ! Bad cess till the 
 
 nabobs ! I ll have it out wid em yet." 
 
 "You ve got the right kind of stuff in you, I see," re 
 marked one of those present. 
 
 "I m an Irishman," said Murphy proudly. 
 
 " And an honour both to the country of your birth and 
 the country of your adoption," responded R . 
 
236 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 By this time Murphy was fully prepared to enter into 
 the views of the individual who wanted his "valuable aid" 
 again. Flattered into blindness, he allowed the bit to be 
 once more placed in his mouth, and bearing on the rein, 
 moved forward to the right or the left, at the will of his 
 drivers. It was demonstrated to him, with the utmost 
 clearness, why the party failed of success at the last cam 
 paign, and why it would now be sure to gain the victory. 
 And his reward was to be a clerkship in the post-office, 
 
 at a salary of six hundred a year. Moreover, R said 
 
 that he must throw away his hod, and come at once into 
 the service of the party. And, as the labourer was worthy 
 of his hire, it was agreed to pay him one dollar a day until 
 the period of election arrived. 
 
 Again was Mr. Murphy a man of consequence in his 
 own eyes. Higher ranged his -head, and more stately 
 was his step as he walked homeward from the house of 
 R . But he was doomed to have his ardour some 
 what cooled; for on announcing what had just happened, 
 to his better-half, Biddy, that lady became exceedingly 
 indignant, called him a fool, and sundry other names of 
 like character, and vowed if he got himself into any more 
 trouble with his politics, she d " take the childther and 
 Lsve him." 
 
 On the next morning, Murphy waited on Mr. R 
 
 ,gain, according to appointment, when arrangements were 
 made for attending a " Harvest Home" to be celebrated 
 at a village in the county which embraced the district in 
 
 which R was a candidate for election. There were 
 
 to be present at this assemblage some of the leading men 
 of the party, with many of whom Murphy had worked 
 side by side in the last campaign, and he was made to 
 believe that his appearance among them would be hailed 
 with the greatest enthusiasm. 
 
 " We looked upon you at the last election as one :f 
 
 our best men," said R . "Already more than a 
 
 dozen old friends have been inquiring after you. Your 
 appearance, Mr. Murphy, will put new life into our peo 
 ple, for they know you of old." 
 
 R then placed a five-dollar bill in the hands of the 
 
 Irishman, as the beginning of his pay in the new service, 
 
THE ELECTION. 237 
 
 and five more to be used for electioneering purposes 
 among his own countrymen. Particularly was he in 
 structed to see to the naturalization of all those who had 
 been in the country long enough to entitle them to citizen 
 ship, and to pay all attendant expenses, if a pledge was 
 given to vote the party ticket. 
 
 Again the Irishman began to feel his own importance, 
 and to swell beyond his natural dimensions. It was night 
 before he returned home, and then he was, to use a vulgar, 
 but very expressive word, a little "groggy." The mo 
 ment he entered, Biddy said, with some sharpness of 
 voice 
 
 " Pathrick, ye convict ! And where have ye bin all the 
 
 day ? Musther P sent for yez this mornin , and 
 
 wants to see yez." 
 
 " Bad luck till Mr. P !" returned Murphy. Bad 
 
 luck till him, I say !" and he staggered into a seat. 
 
 "Are ye crazy, mon?" exclaimed Biddy. "No doubt 
 Musther P wants ye back agin in his store." 
 
 " Bad cess till him ! I ll niver darken his door agin, the 
 aristocratic, silk-stockin* nabob ! Didn t he turn me aff 
 for votin me sentiments as a free American citizen ? 
 Didn t he, I say? Bad cess till him, the spalpeen!" 
 
 " Y r a drunken fool, that s what ye are !" said Biddy, 
 in wrath uncontrollable. But, knowing how fruitless a 
 discussion would be with her husband while under the 
 influence of liquor, she curbed her anger, and had little 
 more to say during the evening. But, on the next morn 
 ing, as soon as Patrick was fairly awake, she began 
 
 " Pathrick," said she, " are ye going till see Musther 
 p ?" 
 
 " No, faix, and I am not !" replied Patrick. " I m done 
 
 wid Mr. P , kith and kin. Didn t he turn me aff for 
 
 votin my sintiments ? Didn t he ? Ay, fegs ! And if iver 
 I darken his door, it 11 do him good." 
 
 It was all in vain that Biddy argued, scolded, persuaded ; 
 her husband was not to b6 moved from his resolution. 
 There was a better chance before him than any situation 
 
 in P s store. He was to be a clerk in the post-office. 
 
 That was settled; and, moreover, up to the period of 
 
338 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 election, was to receive a dollar a day for doing what was 
 equivalent to "just nothing at all, at all." 
 
 For three or four days, Murphy spent his time idling 
 about taverns, and at night going home in a condition 
 that made all Biddy s attempts to reach his feelings abor 
 tive. Then the time for celebrating the "Harvest Home" 
 
 came, and he was called for in a carriage by R and 
 
 two other members of the party. Such an honour elated 
 him almost out of himself; and even Biddy, who knew 
 that her husband was no uncommon man, began to think 
 him of even greater importance than she had yet ima 
 gined. 
 
 The "Harvest Home," as it was called, was nothing 
 more nor less than a political gathering, for the purpose 
 of gaining party influence. It was held in a certain 
 neighbourhood pretty thickly settled with Emerald Is 
 landers, and the particular work Murphy was wanted for 
 
 on the occasion was to make interest for R among 
 
 his countrymen. A bullock was to be roasted, and an 
 entertainment, consisting of an abundance of things eat 
 able and drinkable, provided. 
 
 When R arrived on the ground, accompanied by 
 
 his willing tool, the latter was introduced with all form 
 ality to about a dozen substantial leaders of the party, 
 office-expectants, and others personally interested in the 
 approaching election, who treated him with the most 
 marked attention, asked him to drink with them, and 
 talked to him as if he were an individual of the first im 
 portance. 
 
 " Welcome back among your friends ?" said one. 
 
 " Ah, my old friend Murphy," said another, " you are 
 just the man I ve been wanting to see. How are you ? 
 How are you?" And he shook the Irishman s hand half 
 off. 
 
 "Here s Mr. Murphy again!" exclaimed another. 
 " Why, bless me ! I m as glad to see you as if I d found 
 a guinea !" 
 
 And so the changes were rung, and Murphy believed 
 that all he heard was true. In return for the cordial wel 
 come received, and the honour bestowed upon him at this 
 reunion with the party, Murphy went to work in good 
 
THE ELECTION. 239 
 
 earnest, cheered on every now and then by some one of 
 the leaders, with flattering words of encouragement like 
 the following 
 
 " You re the man, Mr. Murphy !" Or 
 
 " Ah/ my fine fellow ! If we had a little army of such 
 as you, we d sweep the nation !" Or 
 
 " Talk to them, Murphy. That s you ! The best man 
 among us !" 
 
 Never did Patrick Murphy work harder at cellar-dig 
 ging or hod-carrying than on this occasion, in his efforts 
 to make converts to the "cause of the people;" and 
 between arguing, persuading, drinking, quarrelling, and 
 such other efforts with his countrymen, he was so much 
 overcome by sundown that his political friends had to 
 send him home to his wife Biddy, in a furniture wagon. 
 As he was not in a condition to feel the honour attendant 
 
 on a ride with R in his carriage, such an honour was 
 
 not wasted upon him. 
 
 On the next day, Mr. Murphy had a shocking bad head 
 ache, and was so sick and so much exhausted that he kept 
 his bed until toward night, when he sallied forth, and 
 took his way to McPhelin s tavern, where he spent the 
 evening in drinking, talking politics, and " going his 
 
 death for R ," whom he did not hesitate to declare, 
 
 " A jontilman, ivery inch, and a raal friend o the hard 
 working paple !" 
 
 About twelve o clock, he staggered homeward, carry 
 ing with him a black-eye and sundry bruises from hard 
 fists on other parts of his body; the effects of which he 
 did not get over for a week. 
 
 Thus, for a whole month, did Murphy serve the cause 
 of the people, receiving his dollar a day, besides money to 
 use "judiciously," in treating and in other ways con 
 trolling the votes of the "better class of citizens," whom 
 he was specially chosen to influence. As the election-day 
 approached, he became busier and busier, and finally was 
 placed in charge of a " colony" of drunken vagabonds 
 who would vote either way for a glass of grog. There 
 were twenty of these, and he had them locked up in the 
 loft of an old warehouse for two or three days, supplying 
 them with as much as they could eat and drink all the 
 
240 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 time, and generally managing to keep them too drunk to 
 run away, even if they should manage to escape from their 
 prison. 
 
 The particular work of Murphy, on the election-day, 
 was to bring to the polls these vagabond voters, and as 
 many others as he could drum up. To this end, he was 
 supplied with a carriage and ten dollars to treat with. 
 Faithfully did he perform his part, even to the injunction 
 
 "Mr. Murphy, mind ! you must keep sober to-day." 
 
 " Gloriously" the voting went on from the time the 
 polls opened until their closing at six o clock. 
 
 It was twelve when Patrick Murphy burst into the 
 room where Biddy sat mending the tattered jacket of her 
 eldest hopeful, swinging his cap about his head, and 
 crying 
 
 " We ve bate ! we ve bate ! Biddy, me darlint ! Hur 
 rah for R and the cause of the paple ! Hurrah ! 
 
 Hurrah!" 
 
 "Hish! hish! Patrick, now! Ye ll wake the childther, 
 and alarm the whole neighbourhood !" 
 
 But Patrick was too intensely delighted at the great 
 result achieved to care for such trifles. Seizing Biddy in 
 his arms, he swung her round as lightly as if she had been 
 a strip of a girl and Biddy was not a baby in size re 
 peating the w r ords 
 
 " We ve bate ! We ve bate, darlint ! And now for the 
 swate little corner in the post-affice, and silks and satins 
 for Mrs. Murphy ! Ha ! what do yez think of that, honey ? 
 Pathrick Murphy knew what he was about !" 
 
 But we must leave the reader to imagine the rest of 
 this scene. The party whose cause Patrick had espoused 
 were the victors, sure enough. They had routed their 
 opponents, in the common and expressive phrase used ou 
 such occasions, " horse, foot, and dragoons." 
 
 Next for the sequel. 
 
242 
 
 Abandons the Party in Disgust. 
 
THE ELECTION. 243 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 n 
 
 "THE victory gained, now for the spoils." If these 
 very words were not used by some hundreds of the 
 country s " devoted friends" on the morning that followed 
 election-day, it was not because no such thought was in 
 their hearts. As for Mr. Murphy, he arose from his bed 
 
 a proud man. Through his important aid of this, R 
 
 and others had assured him over and over again the 
 great victory had been achieved ; and he, of course, was 
 sure of his reward. 
 
 "The fact is, Biddy, darlint," said he, as he sat over 
 his potatoes and coffee the dollar a day had not sup 
 plied as many wants as it should have done "the fact 
 is, I don t belave it s jist right till put me aff wid a beg 
 garly place in the post-affice, at five or six hundred a 
 year. A man who has sarved the party as I have, de- 
 sarves better thratement nor that, so he does." 
 
 " Plaze goodness !" responded Biddy, in a voice slightly 
 troubled, " and I d be thankful for thot, and niver think o 
 callin it beggarly. Yez got y r idess a little too elevated, 
 Pathrick." 
 
 " Niver a bit, troth ! I knows me desarvins, and I ll 
 git them. They ll not put me aff wid the crumbs o the 
 table, I can tell them." 
 
 " Have yez ony money, Pathrick ?" asked Biddy. 
 
 " Niver a rid cint, darlint. I spent ivery farthin yes 
 terday in buyin up the votes ; but I ll see Musther R 
 
 the mornin ." 
 
 " But will he pay yez ony thing more, now that lection 
 is over, Pathrick ?" 
 
244 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 " And why not, sure ? Isn t he under an iverlastin* 
 debt o gratitude to me ? Didn t he say that if I d do 
 me duty as he knew that I could do it, he d niver forget 
 me while the hreath was in his mortal body?" 
 
 " But what are we to do for dinner the day, Pathrick ? 
 There isn t a loaf of bread nor a petatee more in the 
 house. The childther must have food." 
 
 " Oeh ! And can t yez jist git a little thrust at Mrs. 
 Mulligan s for the day ? I ll git plinty o money when I 
 see Musther R ." 
 
 " I don t know," replied Biddy. " We owe four dollars 
 there now ; and Mrs. Mulligan said, the last time I was 
 there, that I needn t come for ony more thrust till the 
 ould score was paid afF." 
 
 " Och ! Bad cess till her stingy ould soul ! But do 
 you tell her, Biddy, darlint, that we ve bate the bloody 
 nabobs, and that I m to have an affice, and that we re 
 goin to have hapes o money, and that we ll dale with her 
 for ivery thing. Jist say all that, Biddy, and she ll open 
 her store till yez." 
 
 Biddy was not so sanguine, however, and doubted the 
 effect of this particular mode of argumentation ; where 
 upon Patrick called her an old fool, and started from the 
 table in disgust. 
 
 After scraping off his wiry beard, and sprucing himself 
 up as well as he could, Murphy sallied forth about nine 
 o clock to meet his fellow-victors, and rejoice with them 
 over the party triumph. To headrquarters he repaired, 
 
 in hopes of meeting R . Dozens he found assembled 
 
 there, who, like himself, had come to seek for some par 
 ticular leader or leaders, and who were ready to shake 
 hands with him, and exchange congratulations on the 
 "glorious victory." But all this shaking of hands 
 amounted to nothing. It put no money in the empty 
 pocket of our friend Murphy. 
 
 "Have yez seen R ?" he inquired of one and 
 
 another. 
 
 Some had seen the successful candidate and some had 
 not. Of one individual to whom his inquiry was extended, 
 he received in reply this interrogation 
 
THE ELECTION. 245 
 
 ? and pray what do you want with him ? An 
 office already, Pat Murphy!" 
 
 "Do yez mane to insult me?" responded Murphy 
 angrily. 
 
 " Oh no !" laughed the other. "But I d like to give 
 you a piece of good advice." 
 
 " Wull, and what is it ?" inquired Murphy, evincing no 
 little impatience. 
 
 "Why, just this, my friend: If you ve got any work 
 to do, go and do it, and be thankful." 
 
 "What do yez mane?" Pat s fists were clenched in 
 voluntarily. This was an insult he could ill bear. 
 
 "I mean," was replied, "that you will find it more 
 profitable than running after an elected candidate, or 
 
 seeking for an office. R don t care three buttons for 
 
 you, now that he s gained the day." 
 
 Just at this moment, R entered the room, and 
 
 passed so close to the Irishman as almost to rub against 
 him. Pat started forward, extending his hand, and say 
 ing, in a voice of exultation 
 
 " Me congratulations, Musther R !" 
 
 But, from some cause, R did not hear the Irish 
 man s voice, nor recognise his person ; and he was so 
 quickly surrounded by his many "friends" that Murphy 
 could not get near him. This fact, connected with the 
 " good advice" he had just received, threw rather a 
 damper upon the poor fellow s feelings. This state of mind 
 was not improved by the several ineffectual attempts 
 
 made to obtain an interview with R , who was too 
 
 much engaged with other and more congenial spirits to 
 think or care for an obscure Irishman, whom he had 
 duped into becoming an efficient tool for the accomplish 
 ment of his ends. 
 
 With troubled feelings, Murphy at length saw R 
 
 depart. He followed him out quickly, and forcing his 
 way up to the carriage which stood at the door, and into 
 which R had just entered, said, in a somewhat agi 
 tated voice 
 
 "Musther R ! Can I jist get a spakin till yez?" 
 
 " To Colonel L ~ s," said R to the driver, as if 
 
 he had not heard Murphy. Then, waving his hand to the 
 
 21* 
 
246 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 little crowd on the pavement, and bowing and smiling, aa 
 the driver spoke to the horses, he swept away, with as 
 little thought or care for the poor Irishman as if he had 
 been one of the bricks in the pavement. Crest-fallen, 
 and with a heavy weight on his feelings, Murphy walked 
 
 slowly away. Still, he was willing to believe that R 
 
 had not recognised him, and that so soon as he could 
 obtain an interview, every thing would be done that he 
 desired. He did not go home at dinner-time ; for he was 
 afraid to meet Biddy with his empty pockets and no 
 prospects of filling them ahead. And as he had not, to 
 use his own words, "a rid cint to bless himself wid," he 
 was compelled to go without food until his return in the 
 evening. 
 
 In going from place to place, familiar during the pro 
 gress of the canvass, and in meeting certain individuals 
 with whom he had been hand and glove for weeks, he 
 found that he was a man of far less consequence than 
 before. Instead of cordial greetings and fine compli 
 ments, a cold "How are you, Murphy?" "Still loafing 
 about, Pat ?" or some such address, met him at every turn. 
 Occasionally, an individual about as important as himself 
 would seize his hand and half wring it off. But he would 
 have willingly dispensed with these particular congratu 
 latory manifestations. 
 
 About three o clock, Murphy repaired to the residence 
 
 of R , and sent his name in by the servant, who 
 
 brought back word that the gentleman was particularly 
 engaged. 
 
 " Tell him," said the Irishman, " that Mr. Murphy 
 would jist like to spake wan word wid him. Jist wan 
 word and no more and won t kape him a minute." 
 
 The servant went back, and, after a rather prolonged 
 absence, returned and asked Murphy to walk in. 
 
 " Take a seat. Mr. R will be down in a little 
 
 while," said the servant, as he opened one of the parlour 
 doors and motioned the Irishman to enter. 
 
 A quarter of an hour elapsed, and then R made 
 
 his appearance. His face did not wear a very cordial 
 aspect. It is true, there was a smile upon his lips, but 
 it was a forced smile, fading quickly. 
 
THE ELECTION. Li 
 
 "Well, my good friend," said he coldly, "what can I 
 do for you?" 
 
 He did not even say " Mr. Murphy." 
 
 The Irishman was chilled by the manner of R , and 
 
 felt himself strongly repulsed. 
 
 " I ve worked hard for yez," said Pathrick, in a humble 
 voice. 
 
 " You did your duty to the good cause ; I ll give you 
 credit for that, friend Murphy; and you ll get your re 
 ward." 
 
 " But how soon, Musther R ?" 
 
 "All in good time all in good time," was answered, 
 with some impatience. 
 
 " Ye knows, Musther R , that I gave up my site- 
 
 ation" 
 
 " At hod-carrying ? Oh yes, I remember. Well, Pat, 
 you ve had a pretty easy time of it for a couple of months, 
 and can go to work now with more spirit, sustained as 
 you will be by the reflection that you have served your 
 adopted country like a good and true citizen." 
 
 "But I gave up my siteation, Musther R ," said 
 
 the Irishman, in a distressed tone of voice. 
 
 "You must find another, then, my friend. You can t 
 expect to live in idleness. Every man must work to 
 live." 
 
 This was said in a tone of stinging rebuke. 
 
 "I m not afraid to work," returned Murphy. "But 
 I ve got no work. You promised me" 
 
 " Office-hunting already ! Why, don t you know, man, 
 that I shall not take my seat in Congress for a year ? 
 I m still only a private citizen." 
 
 " A year !" stammered Murphy in a husky voice. "A 
 year, did yez say?" 
 
 " Certainly I did. The member s term, in whose place 
 I have been elected, doesn t expire until the close of the 
 present Congress. When I take my seat next fall, I will 
 do all I can for you. But, until that time, you must go 
 to work like an honest, industrious citizen. Your reward 
 will come ; never fear." 
 
 Murphy had arisen from his chair when R entered 
 
248 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 the room, and was still standing on the floor, the member 
 elect not having invited him to resume his seat. 
 
 "And now," said the latter, "you must excuse me. I 
 have several friends in waiting." 
 
 And he bowed in a way that said "Be off!" almost as 
 distinctly as if he had given utterance to the words. 
 
 Confounded and utterly cast down under a sense of 
 mortification and distress, the Irishman turned away and 
 retired in silence. 
 
 " Remember, William," he heard R say to his waiter, 
 
 as he was passing to the door, speaking with some anger, 
 " I m not at home to any of these fellows." 
 
 Outside of the door, as he opened it, Murphy found two 
 men of his own class, one of whom said 
 
 " Can I see Mr. R ?" 
 
 "He is not at home," said the servant, appearing at 
 the moment. 
 
 " When will he be in ?" was inquired. 
 
 " I can t tell," was answered, and the door was shut in 
 the man s face. 
 
 "It s a bloody lie!" said Murphy indignantly, half to 
 himself and half aloud. 
 
 " He is in, then ?" exclaimed one of the men. 
 
 "He s jist that!" 
 
 " Have you seen him ?" 
 
 "Yis." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " And got a bit of cowld comfort for me pains ; jist 
 what ye ll git, if ye r after ony favours." 
 
 And, with this he turned away, in no very pleasant 
 mood of mind. As he was walking along, with his head 
 6owed down and his eyes upon the pavement, some one 
 said 
 
 " Hi, Patrick ! is this you?" 
 
 On looking up he recognised one of the clerks in Mr. 
 P s store. 
 
 "Where have you been keeping yourself, Patrick ? 
 We spent a whole week some time ago in trying to find 
 you." 
 
 "Indade!" 
 
 "Yes. The man we got in your place turned out 
 
THE ELECTION. 249 
 
 badly. We changed two or three times, and then Mr. 
 
 P thought he d give you another trial, if you wers 
 
 inclined to make a change. He d seen you at work carry 
 ing bricks and mortar, and said he couldn t help pitying 
 you." 
 
 " I m obleeged till him for his kindness," repled Mur 
 phy, at once elated in prospect of a return to his old 
 
 place. "Mr. P is a jontilman, I must say; and I 
 
 was a fool iver to have left his employ. I ll go back 
 wid pleasure." 
 
 "Ah, but, Patrick," replied the young man, in a tone 
 of regret, "it is too late now. We couldn t find you, and 
 so filled the place with another man, who is all that we 
 could want." 
 
 " It s all bad luck !" exclaimed the Irishman, in a voice 
 of distress. " I ve a mind to go and thrown meself." 
 
 " But where were you, Pathrick ? We left word at your 
 house for you to come round to the store." 
 
 "Where was I, d ye say? Faix, and I was mindin 
 other paple s business instid o me ane." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yis. I was promotin the election of R , bad cess 
 
 till him !" 
 
 " Ho ! ho !" laughed the young man, in spite of the 
 sadness of the Irishman s face. " Well, you are a fool ! 
 What good did you expect to gain from his election." 
 
 " He promised me a siteation in the post-affice ?" 
 
 " Did he ? That s rich ! What has he to do with the 
 post-office?" 
 
 " I do no . But he promised that I should be re 
 warded." 
 
 " As he promised two or three hundred besides, as big 
 fools as you are. He ll have nothing to do with the post- 
 office. In fact, he won t take his seat in Congress for over 
 a year ; and then his influence, if he have any, will not go 
 in your favour. He s got too many others to reward with 
 the few crumbs it may be in his power to dispense." 
 
 The Irishman groaned, but made no reply. 
 
 " Good-morning, Patrick," said the clerk. "And take 
 with you this piece of good advice : never put any faith 
 
250 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 in the promises of a politician, made on the eve of an 
 election, for he ll be sure to deceive you." 
 
 With this, the young man moved on, and the Irishman 
 was left still sadder than before. 
 
 Of the toil and struggle through which the humbled 
 Patrick Murphy, again shrunk down to his real dimen 
 sions, passed during the long, hard winter that followed, 
 and Qf the sufferings endured by his poorly clothed, 
 warmed, and fed, wife and children, we will not speak. 
 They were severe enough. In the spring he went back 
 to cellar-digging and hod-carrying, at which he worked 
 until fall, when he was sought for again by his old political 
 friends, who knew the value of his services, and was again 
 wheedled by promises into taking the bit into his mouth. 
 This time, however, he was a little wiser, and took care 
 not to neglect his daily work. In the spring, a new party, 
 triumphant at this election, were to come into power, and 
 Murphy, a little better instructed than before, now under 
 stood that he must wait a few months before the time 
 came for a distribution of political favours in the shape 
 of comfortable offices; so he wisely accepted, for the 
 winter, the place of coal-heaver in a coal-yard. 
 
 March at length came around, and a new party came 
 into power. Then followed a general system of removals 
 from office, and the appointment of new men. Murphy s 
 time had at length come. There was a broad gleam of 
 daylight ahead of him, and his heart beat high again with 
 anticipation. He was an applicant for office, and pressed 
 in among the crowd, eager as any to secure the reward 
 of party service. At first, his ambition led him to select 
 the post of inspector of the customs ; then he changed 
 from that to a clerk in the post-office ; and afterward to a 
 letter-carrier. But as he could get no one to sign him a 
 recommendation to either of these places, he, upon the 
 advice of one for whose opinion he had some respect, filed 
 an application for the situation of night inspector, or, in 
 other words, custom-house watchman. The running, coax 
 ing, begging, and all manner of humiliation attendant on 
 getting up his recommendations, were painful to even 
 Murphy s rather obtuse sensibilities, and he more than 
 once felt like giving up the effort in disgust, and falling 
 
THE ELECTION. 251 
 
 back, for life, upon honest, independent labour. As the 
 
 signature of R , the party member to Congress, was 
 
 considered of importance, Murphy strove hard to get it. 
 R , with whom, after various trials, he at length ob 
 tained an interview, promised him all his influence to 
 secure him the place he wanted, and said that he would 
 make it his business to see the collector in his behalf that 
 very day. (He had made the same promise to about sixty 
 or seventy different office-seekers.) Murphy asked his 
 
 signature to his recommendation ; but this R declined 
 
 giving, on the ground that he was called on every hour 
 for such certificates, and that he could not sign all, and, 
 therefore, signed none. It was in vain that Murphy 
 
 urged his valuable aid in securing R s election ; the 
 
 member could not be brought to sign the paper, and the 
 Irishman went away with some righteous indignation in 
 his heart. 
 
 Still, for all this, through singular good fortune, Mur 
 phy got the appointment he sought, and felt that he was 
 "a made man." In his elation, he was stimulated by 
 certain individuals that were instantly attracted around 
 him, to give his "friends" a regular " blow out." So he 
 invited them to a supper at McPhelin s tavern, a place for 
 which he had a particular regard. 
 
 Some twenty choice spirits responded to this invitation, 
 and not only ate and drank the oysters and brandy he 
 had provided, but ordered champagne and sherry by the 
 dozen ; and, in conclusion, broke up about two o clock in 
 the morning by breaking all the furniture in the room. 
 
 Sober and serious was Patrick Murphy on the next 
 morning Patrick Murphy, newly appointed night inspec 
 tor to the custom-house, with a salary of five hundred a 
 year. On that day he was to enter upon the duties of his 
 office ; or, rather on the evening following that day. 
 Touching the doings of the night before he did not feel 
 very comfortable. McPhelin s bill for the supper would, 
 he was afraid, be larger than he intended to make it ; 
 and then the breakage of furniture might give him 
 trouble. 
 
 All was quiet for about a week, during which time 
 Murphy discharged his duties as an officer faithfully, and 
 
252 BEFORE AND AFTER 
 
 kept away from McPhelin s. But the evil in search of ug 
 is sure to find us out. McPhelin s bill came at last, and 
 proved to Murphy worse than all his fears. It stood 
 thus 
 
 For supper and wines $40 
 
 For breakage of furniture 30 
 
 "$70 
 
 Poor Murphy, already in debt some eighty or ninety 
 dollars, besides two quarters back rent, the result of his 
 electioneering diversions, was confounded by such an un 
 expected bill. But there was no evading it. He had 
 ordered the supper, and under his sanction the wines had 
 been added. Moreover, the party introduced by him 
 had broken the landlord s furniture, for which he very 
 confidently demanded payment. 
 
 A day or two after the receipt of this document, the 
 Irishman sat alone in one of the offices attached to the 
 custom-house, meditating on what he had gained and lost 
 by politics, and feeling in no very elevated frame of 
 mind, when the messenger came in and handed him a 
 letter. He broke the seal and read, with dismay, his 
 dismissal from office, ample testimony having been re 
 ceived at the "Department," so said the communication, 
 " that he was a drunken turbulent fellow, and not to be 
 trusted by the government, which sought for sober, orderly 
 men to fill its responsible stations." 
 
 This was too much for Patrick Murphy to bear patiently. 
 Here was the result, after between two and three years* 
 devotion of himself to party interests. Thus was he re 
 warded ! A pleasant morsel placed before his eager lips, 
 and then drawn hastily away ! In the excitement and 
 indignation of the moment, he tore his dismissal from 
 office into a hundred pieces ; and then, seizing a chair, as 
 his frenzy increased, dashed to fragments a plaster bust 
 of the chief magistrate of the nation that stood the only 
 witness to his disgrace. 
 
 "Murphy, my good fellow, how are you?" exclaimed 
 an old party leader and driver, who had obtained good 
 
THE ELECTION. 253 
 
 service out of the Irishman in former times. This was at 
 the opening of the next political canvass. 
 
 Murphy, when thus addressed, was standing in front 
 
 of P s store, back into which snug quarters he had 
 
 found his way again. 
 
 "Purty well, I thank yez," returned the Irishman 
 coldly. 
 
 " How are you getting along now ?" said the other, not 
 seeming to notice the indifference with which he was re 
 ceived. 
 
 " Fust-rate," answered Patrick laconically. 
 
 " Glad to hear it. No man deserves good fortune if you 
 do not. Well, you see, election time is coming round 
 again." 
 
 "Indade." 
 
 " A time when every good citizen is expected to do his 
 duty." 
 
 " I did my duty wanst, and what" 
 
 " That you did, Mr. Murphy, as hundreds can testify," 
 interrupted the other. 
 
 " Humph! I know thot as wull as ony body." 
 
 "We want to see you down at head-quarters to-night," 
 said the man, now laying his hand familiarly on Murphy s 
 shoulder. " We can t do without your valuable aid." 
 
 "Be dad, and yez won t see me there!" returned 
 Patrick, showing his teeth and knitting his great shaggy 
 brows. 
 
 " Why not, my honest friend ?" inquired the party 
 leader. 
 
 " Don t honest frind me, if ye plaze ! I se abandoned 
 yez all in disgust, so I have, bad cess till y r politics ! 
 They re only got up to chate and desave the honest, hard- 
 workin paple into votin for nabobs, who don t care a 
 ha pence for them." 
 
 " But, my friend Murphy," began the other, in a sooth- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Yez nadent frind me," quickly retorted the Irishman. 
 " It ll do no good. A burnt child dreads the fire. I se 
 got enough of politics. So good mornin till yez." 
 
 And with this the " disgusted" elector turned away 
 and marched into the store. The man, half-amused and 
 
 22 
 
254 BEFORE AND AFTER THE ELECTION. 
 
 half-angry, stood for a moment looking in after Murphy, 
 and then moved on, saying to himself as he did so 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! He isn t so green as I thought 
 him. Well, we must fill his place with some Green Is 
 lander of a later importation. There are plenty of them 
 about ready to be caught. I guess we can spare him." 
 
 And with this consolation, the party leader went on his 
 way. Doubtless he found it an easy matter to fill the 
 gap left by Murphy s breach from the traces ; for, we say 
 it more in sorrow than in levity, " all the fools are not 
 dead yet." 
 
The Love Letter 
 
THE LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 ANDY CAVENDER was a sad trifler in his way. There 
 was scarcely a maiden in the village to whom he had not 
 made love at one time or another, and all as a plea 
 sant piece of pastime; not seeming to understand that 
 maiden s hearts were tender things, and liable to be hurt 
 in the handling. 
 
 Many tears had he caused to flow from beautiful eyes, 
 yet, if he knew of the fact, it did not appear to give him 
 serious concern. There was always a smile on his lip and 
 a light word on his tongue. 
 
 At last, however, Andy s heart received an impression. 
 The image of a fair young girl rested upon it ; not as of 
 old, like the image in a speculum, to pass with the object, 
 but like the sun-fixed image of the Daguerreotype. 
 Strange fact! the fickle, light-hearted Andy Cavender 
 in love ; really and truly in love. 
 
 There had come to Woodland, to pass a few months 
 during the warm summer-time, a city maiden, whose 
 charms were too potent for the village flirt. She came, 
 he saw, and was conquered. It was soon plain to every 
 one that it was all over with Andy Cavender. Kate the 
 lively, witty, darling Kate Archer had subdued him with 
 her charms, though all unconscious herself of the conquest 
 she had made. 
 
 But others saw what she perceived not, and looked on 
 curious for the issue. 
 
 " What do you think of this, Jenny ?" said Kate Archer, 
 one day. to the young friend with whom she was spending 
 
 22* 257 
 
258 THE LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 her summer in the country, and she laughed as she spoke, 
 at the same time holding up a letter. 
 
 "News from home?" remarked Jenny, smiling. 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! It s a love-letter." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " A real righty love-letter, and, as they say, nothing 
 else. Oh dear ! To think that I should have made a, 
 conquest already!" 
 
 " A love-letter, Kate ? Well, here is an adventure, 
 sure enough ! Whose heart have you broken ?" 
 
 "You shall see and hear for yourself," replied the 
 laughing girl. Then, as she unfolded the letter, she put 
 on a grave countenance, and, opening the pages to the 
 eyes of her friend, read aloud 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss ARCHER : Will you permit one who, 
 from the moment he saw you, became an ardent admirer, 
 to lay his heart at your feet ? Until you appeared in our 
 quiet village, no maiden had passed before me who had 
 power to win my love. But, from the moment I saw you, 
 I no longer had control over my affections. They flew to 
 you like a bird to its mate. You cannot but have observed, 
 in all our recent meetings, that I regarded you with more 
 than a common interest, and I have permitted myself to 
 believe that you read the language of my eyes, and under 
 stood its meaning. You did not turn from me ; you did 
 not look coldly on me. Have I erred in believing that 
 your heart responded to the warm emotions of my own ? 
 I trust not. If it be so, then am I of all men most 
 miserable. I will wait, with trembling and impatient 
 hope, your answer to this. 
 
 " Tenderly and faithfully yours, 
 
 "ANDREW CAVENDER." 
 
 "Now, Jenny, dear, what do you think of that:" said 
 Kate, gayly, as she folded up her letter. " Haven t I 
 made a real conquest?" 
 
 " Andy Cavender ! Well, that beats every thing !" 
 "None of your country maidens for him," laughed 
 Kate. " He must have a city belle." 
 
THE LOVE-LET TEE. 259 
 
 " Country maidens ! He s made love to every good- 
 looking girl within ten miles round." 
 
 "He!" 
 
 " Yes. There s no counting the hearts he has broken." 
 
 "Did he ever make love to you?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly," replied Jenny, gayly. 
 
 "In real earnest?" 
 
 " Ah ! now you come to the point. Perhaps you ve 
 not heard that Andy is our village flirt ?" 
 
 " A flirt, indeed ! And so I am to be one of his vic 
 tims. Oh dear !" 
 
 " I don t know as to that. I more than half suspect 
 him to be in earnest now. In fact, I ve heard from more 
 than one source, that he is desperately in love with you." 
 
 " Will he hang himself if I m inexorable ?" 
 
 " There s no telling. But what kind of an answer are 
 you going to make to his avowal of love ?" 
 
 "What shall I say?" 
 
 " Oh, that depends on your feelings." 
 
 " He s a regular flirt you say ?" 
 
 " I could name you a dozen girls at least, to whom his 
 attentions have been of a character to make them believe 
 that his designs were serious. Two or three were made 
 very unhappy when he turned from them, like a gay in 
 sect, to seek another flower." 
 
 "Then he must be punished," said Kate, resolutely; 
 " and be mine the task to lay the smarting lash upon his 
 shoulders. For the man who deliberately trifles with a 
 woman s feelings I have no pity. He has been the cause 
 of pain beyond what it is possible for himself to feel ; and, 
 if I can reach his sensibilities in any way, you may be 
 sure that I will do it with a hearty good-will." 
 
 " I do not like the thought of giving pain," remarked 
 Jenny, "even to a reptile." 
 
 " Pain is salutary in most cases ; and will be particu 
 larly so in this, I hope. He will have some idea of how 
 it feels, as the woman said, when she rapped her boy 
 over the head with a stick for striking his sister." 
 
 It was as Jenny supposed, and as we intimated in the 
 beginning; Andy Cavender was really and truly over 
 head and ears in love with Kate Archer, and every lini 
 
THE LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 of his amatory epistle was from Ms heart. Two or three 
 letters were written and destroyed before he produced one 
 exactly to his mind, and this he finally despatched in full 
 confidence that, as it came from his heart, it must reach 
 the heart of the lovely maiden. 
 
 Two days went by, and no answer was received by the 
 enamoured swain. He began to feel anxious. On the 
 third day, a neat little perfumed envelop came into his 
 hands, which on opening, he found to contain a pink, 
 perfumed, satin-edged sheet of note-paper, on which were 
 a few lines most delicately written. They were as fol 
 lows : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : Your letter, containing a most flat 
 tering avowal of regard for one who is comparatively a 
 stranger, has been received. Its effect I will not attempt 
 to describe ; nor will I, at this time, venture to put in 
 written language what I feel. To-morrow evening I will 
 
 spend at Mrs. T s. May I hope to see you there ? 
 
 "Yours, &c., KATE." 
 
 Andy was in ecstacies at this answer to his epistle. 
 Its meaning to him was as plain as if Kate had said, 
 " Dear Andrew, my heart is yours." 
 
 On the next evening, he repaired to Mrs. T s, 
 
 trembling with fond anticipation. On entering the parlour 
 he found but a single person therein, and that a young 
 lady named Herbert, to whom he had formerly paid very 
 marked attentions. Aware that she had been made un 
 happy by his fickleness, not to call it by a harsher name, 
 the meeting rather threw a damper over his feelings. But 
 Andy had his share of coolness and self-possession, and 
 although it cost him a considerable effort, he managed to 
 introduce topics of conversation and to talk pretty freely, 
 although the talking was nearly all on his own side, Miss 
 Herbert maintaining a cold reserve, and answering entirely 
 in monosyllables. 
 
 For about a quarter of an hour, Andy endured the 
 ordeal, wondering why this particular young lady should 
 
 happen to be alone in the parlour of Mrs. T , and 
 
 wondering still more why Miss Archer did not make her 
 
THE LOVE-LETTER. 261 
 
 appearance. Just as he began to feel a little excited and 
 uneasy, the door opened, and in walked another young 
 maiden whom he had reason to remember a Miss Mary 
 Harper. She was also one of his old flames. She ap 
 peared surprised at seeing him, and greeted him with cold 
 ness. Andy tried to say some sprightly things to Miss 
 Harper ; but he was far from being in as good condition 
 as at first. The effort to entertain Miss Herbert had 
 somewhat exhausted his reservoir of spirits, and his at 
 tempts to draw further thereon were not very successful. 
 The two young ladies drew together on the sofa, and 
 maintained a mutual reserve toward Andy that soon 
 began to be painfully embarrassing. 
 
 " What does all this mean ?" Andy had just asked him 
 self, for he was beginning to feel puzzled, when the sound 
 of light feet along the passage was again heard, and, the 
 door opening, his eyes rested upon the form of Caroline 
 Gray, to whom he had once paid his addresses. Very 
 particular reasons had Andy Cavender for not wishing to 
 meet Caroline on that particular occasion; for he had 
 committed himself to her more directly than to any other 
 young lady in Woodland, having, on one occasion, actually 
 written and sent to her a love-letter. The precise con 
 tents of that epistle he did not remember ; but often, 
 when he thought of it, he had doubts as to the extent to 
 which he had committed himself therein, that were not 
 very comfortable. 
 
 Soon another and another entered, and, strange to say, 
 each was an old flame, until there were present not less 
 than six fair, rebuking spirits. Silent, Andy sat in the 
 midst of these silent, because the pressure on his feelings 
 had become insufferably great for nearly a quarter of an 
 hour. It was a social party of a most novel character, 
 and one that he has never forgotten. 
 
 About the time that Andy s feelings were in as uncom 
 fortable a state as could well be imagined, and he was 
 beginning to wish himself at the North Pole, Kate Archer 
 and her friend Jenny entered the room slowly, the former 
 with an open letter in her hand, upon which the eyes of 
 both were resting. 
 
 In an instant, it flashed upon Andy Cavender that he 
 
262 THE LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 was to be victimised by the city belle. No sooner had 
 this thought crossed his mind than, rising abruptly, he 
 bowed to his fair tormentors, saying 
 
 " Excuse me, ladies." And beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 But ere he had passed beyond the street door, there 
 reached him a gush of merry laughter from the musical 
 throat of Kate, in which other voices mingled. 
 
 On the next day, he received a letter directed in a deli 
 cate hand. It inclosed the one he had written to Kate, 
 and accompanying it was a note in these words 
 
 " There is, it is presumed, a mistake in the direction of 
 this. It was probably meant for Caroline Gray, Mary 
 Harper, Nancy Herbert, or Jenny Green. In order that 
 it may receive its proper destination, it is returned to the 
 writer." 
 
 The village flirt was a changed man after that. He 
 had played with edged tools until he cut himself, and the 
 wound, in healing, left an ugly scar. Poor Andy Caven- 
 der ! All this happened years ago, and he is a bachelor 
 still, notwithstanding several subsequent attempts v to make 
 a favourable impression on the hearts of certain pretty 
 
 maidens. The story of his punishment at Mrs. T 3 
 
 flew over the village m a few hours, and after that no fair 
 denizen of Woodland for a moment thought of regarding 
 any attention from Andy Cavender as more than a piece 
 of idle pastime ; and, OP <;he few occasions that he ven 
 tured to talk of love, thf merry witches laughed him in 
 the face. 
 
THE 
 
 HASTY MARRIAGE 
 
 IN the select circle of refinement and intelligence m 
 which she moved, none were more highly esteemed than 
 Jane Power. She was beautiful without affectation or 
 pride, amiable without weakness, and well educated with 
 out being pedantic. If she had any fault, it was, that sne 
 had too warm and too confiding a heart. Innocent and 
 sincere herself, she never suspected others of guile or 
 duplicity. She had, indeed, heard of wicked men and 
 women, but could not imagine that any she met, with 
 graceful manners, and smiling countenances, could be 
 such. There was an excellent but not brilliant young 
 man, named Jason, who was sincerely attached to her, 
 and for whom she had begun to entertain sentiments 
 rather warmer than those of common friendship. But 
 just as a sincere esteem was beginning to ripen into pure 
 affection, another actor of more imposing exterior came 
 upon the scene. His name was Fells. Nothing was 
 known of him in the circle, where he appeared as a per 
 fect stranger, and received all the attention and courtesy 
 due to a stranger who comes introduced by respectable 
 individuals. 
 
 Here is a grand and fatal error in our social habits and 
 regulations. Let me illustrate it in the present instance. 
 Who then was Mr. Fells ? The son of a respectable mer 
 chant in Charleston, who had been ruined by his vices 
 and extravagance. At his father s death, he inherited the 
 small remnant of a broken fortune, and made his way 
 North, with evil habits confirmed, and principles shaken 
 to the foundation. He had two prominent vices, drinking 
 and gaming, with others not to be mentioned here. These 
 soon made deep inroads upon his slender means, and, as 
 a necessary resource, he entered a hardware store in this 
 city, as a clerk, at a salary of five hundred dollars a year 
 With this, and partial habits of forced economy, he was- 
 
 (263) 
 
264 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 enabled to keep up a very fair appearance. Having a 
 good education, and being well acquainted with business, 
 from having early in life entered his father s counting- 
 room, he soon, by hiding carefully his evil propensities, 
 gained the confidence of his employers, who at the end 
 of the second year, proposed a limited partnership. He 
 was thus enabled to take that position in society which 
 he desired. He was handsome, intelligent, of pleasing 
 address, and in business of course he could get into 
 almost any society, for there are too few social restric 
 tions founded upon principle. 
 
 Parents too generally allow their daughters to choose 
 their own company, and to visit where they please. And 
 those who make parties rarely inquire into the moral cha 
 racter of the stranger they are asked by an acquaintance 
 to invite. I need not say that this is all wrong. The 
 many unhappy marriages that take place in the very best 
 families, in our city, every year, painfully attest this 
 fact. This evening, a father may look with proud affec 
 tion upon his beautiful and accomplished daughter, as she 
 glides smiling from his presence to grace an evening party, 
 and to-morrow, unknown to him, her young and confiding 
 heart may tremble with a pleased agitation as it treasures 
 up the looks, the words, and smiles, of one who has nei 
 ther character nor principle. A few weeks pass, and the 
 mischief is done. Perhaps the young man calls in com 
 pany with a friend of the family, about this time, and 
 spends an evening. The father and mother, culpably un 
 suspicious, receive their visitors with smiles and compli 
 ments, and in a half hour " leave the young people alone." 
 Is it any wonder that in this way attachments are formed 
 which a whote lifetime of wrong and misery cannot break? 
 It is in vain, when matters begin to wear a more serious 
 aspect, for the father to discover that a young man ad 
 dressing his daughter is not what he could wish. Her 
 heart is now all too deeply interested in the matter. His 
 uusiness was to have guarded the tender blossom, which 
 God had given him, from the contact of evil. It is too 
 late now. The " poison of love" has passed through 
 every vein, and there is but one physician that can allay 
 the burning fever. If he does not consent to yield up, 
 even with tears, his dear child to the arms of one who 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 2G5 
 
 will soon est< em her as of little worth, he will, in all pro 
 bability, find ner deserting her home and long cherished 
 ones for the protection of a stranger. Do not these things 
 happen arouid us every day ! Depend upon it, our social 
 barriers are far too easily passed ! There is not enough 
 exclusiveness practised towards the unknown and the un 
 principled. 
 
 But I muut return. Consequent upon the facility with 
 which a yojng man of pleasing manners and good ap 
 pearance can get introduced into society, Fells soon 
 gained a pretty extensive acquaintance. He had fre 
 quently met Miss Power "in company," but had not 
 yet obtained " an introduction," that cobweb protection 
 against the advances of a perfect stranger. He was 
 acquainted with Jason, her almost constant attendant, and, 
 finding that no offer was tendered of an introduction, told 
 him one day that he should like to visit Miss Power. 
 Jason, who was of a quiet, observing turn of mind, had 
 seen many things in the conduct of Fells which he did 
 not like, and had determined from the first, that through 
 him Jane Power should never make the acquaintance. 
 He evaded a direct reply, by observing that she was a 
 very worthy and intelligent young lady, and immediately 
 changed the subject. But Fells was not to be driven off. 
 
 " She is certainly a sweet little creature, and I must 
 know her," said he to Jason. 
 
 " She is amiable and good," was the reply. 
 
 " By the by, Jason, people say that her father has the 
 gooseberries." 
 
 The what ?" 
 
 " The gooseberries, man ! Why, you re green ! The 
 ready rhino, to the tune of sixty thousand." 
 
 " I presume her father is in easy circumstances. But 
 what of that?" 
 
 " What of that, Jason? Why, do you suppose I am so 
 simple, or that I think you so simple as to care nothing 
 for the wherewithal ? No, indeed ! I consider myself 
 worth at least twenty thousand dollars, and I must have 
 a wife on equal terms." 
 
 " How long is it since you were worth twenty thousand 
 dollars, Mr. Fells?" 
 
 23 
 
2C6 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Why, am I not a genteel, well-educated man and is 
 not every such a man valued low at twenty thousand dol 
 lars r 
 
 " You re jesting." 
 
 " Indeed I am not jesting, though. And a wife of equal 
 worth I must have." 
 
 "I don t exactly understand your mode of reason 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, I suppose 1 must explain then. Any man of 
 business capacity, can earn, as a clerk, at least one thou 
 sand dollars a year, which is the annual interest on a per 
 manent capital of twenty thousand dollars. A woman 
 can earn nothing, therefore she should have a capital of 
 twenty thousand to invest, to be on equal terms with her 
 husband. Do you understand that ?" 
 
 Perfectly." 
 
 " And mean, of course, to practise on so plain a prin 
 ciple." 
 
 " I leave all theories and practice of this kind to you, 
 Mr. Fells." 
 
 " Of course," said Mr. Fells, with a sneer. And the 
 subject was changed. 
 
 More than ever determined was Jason now, to keep, if 
 possible, so dangerous and heartless a man from becom 
 ing acquainted with Miss Power. But there are so many 
 ways to gain an introduction into our social circles, that 
 Fells very soon was charming the ear of the unsuspicious 
 girl, and winning her good opinion to himself. Jason 
 observed this with pain, but did not feel at liberty, under 
 all the circumstances, to whisper to Miss Power the 
 danger she was in. A stronger motive for standing aloof, 
 was founded in pride. If such a one as Fells could win 
 the affections of Miss Power, she was unworthy his 
 regard. So soon as this thought flashed across his mind, 
 he withdrew himself almost entirely from her company, 
 and left her free to feel the witchery in every word and 
 tone of the specious and fascinating stranger. 
 
 Fells now became a frequent visiter at her father s 
 house, and her constant attendant. Partner in the re 
 spectable firm of Gains, Fells & Co., he was received by 
 the thrifty father of Miss Power with smiles of approba- 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 267 
 
 tion, and sooner than he could have expected, he was the 
 accepted lover of the sweetest girl he had ever met. 
 
 A believer in the old adage, that a " bird in the hand 
 is worth two in the bus-h," Fells proposed an early day 
 for the marriage, and in a very brief space was the hus 
 band of Miss Power. 
 
 Little change could be seen in Fells for two or three 
 years, by any one, except his poor wife, who too early 
 discovered that she had given a treasure into the .keeping 
 of one who could form no appreciation of its value, that 
 the fascinating glitter of his manners but the more effec 
 tually concealed the roughness, and coldness, and want 
 of principle within. Her simple mind was at first shock 
 ed by the small regard he evinced for truth, and the want 
 of feeling often shown towards the suffering. But he was 
 not harsh to her, only cold, and often indifferent. How 
 her poor heart sometimes ached, when it turned back 
 upon itself, after vainly seeking from him some word, 
 some look, some tone of pure and deep affection ! 
 
 Not long after their marriage, the fingers of Fells began 
 to itch to handle some of the many dollars Mr. Power 
 was reputed to possess. As a limited partner in his pre 
 sent firm, money accumulated with him too slowly, and 
 he longed to pass thousands to the account of profit, where 
 he now passed hundreds. 
 
 Before the end of the first year, he so won upon the 
 confidence of his father-in-law, as to induce him to offer 
 an equal partnership in his own house, which was doing 
 a heavy business in the jobbing line. He of course at 
 once dissolved existing connections, and entered upon a 
 business of which he knew nothing. In a short time, Mr. 
 Power, as Fells was an active man, and of good address 
 insisted that he should take the position of principal sales 
 man. In this capacity he was eminently successful, for 
 he could sell more goods, by one-half, than the oldest and 
 most experienced salesman in the house. Young western 
 and southern merchants, who were fond of frolicking and 
 good company, soon got to know the house of Power and 
 Fells, and were sure to go there, in the fall and spring, to 
 buy their goods. And why 1 because the junior partner 
 always attended them in their wine drinking, and other 
 parties c f pleasure. He always had a free ticket for 
 
268 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 them at the theatre, and could go with them to evtry 
 place of amusement and dissipation to which their loose 
 morals might lead them.* 
 
 Securing almost the entire custom of the pleasure-lov 
 ing western and southern merchants, he of necessity often 
 made bad sales, and at the end of the second year, the 
 house, instead of showing any real profit, was consider 
 ably injured by the failure of customers. In making up 
 a statement, and ascertaining exactly the position of 
 affairs, Mr. Power s eyes were suddenly opened to the 
 real state of the case. His mercantile sagacity should 
 have taught him as much before, but it required a heavy 
 loss to open his eyes. He now remembered, with pain, 
 that Mr. Fells kept too constantly the company of just 
 such men as those who had cheated the house. A sus 
 picion, on the instant flashing across his mind, caused him 
 to turn to his son-in-law s account, when he was alarmed 
 to find, that, although he was living with his wife at his 
 house, at no expense but what it took for clothing, he had 
 actually drawn four thousand dollars in a twelve-month ! 
 Deeply pained at this discovery, and remembering all at 
 once that Fells had not been regular in his attendance at 
 the store, and that he generally kept very late hours at 
 night, rarely coming in before one, two, and three, in the 
 morning, he had a sickening consciousness that something 
 was vitally wrong something threatening to destroy his 
 peace of mind, and that of his daughter, for ever. 
 
 Many painful reflections crowding upon his mind, he 
 felt unfitted for business, and retired to his home at an 
 early hour. Seeing now with opened eyes, he was shock 
 ed to perceive the wan, pale countenance of his daughter, 
 and the look of anxious concern which she directed 
 towards him, as he came in at an unusual hour. 
 
 * I must not be understood as attempting to insinuate any 
 thing against the morals of western and southern merchants, 
 as a body. Among them, as among all classes of the com 
 munity, are those who are fond of dissipation, when they come 
 to the large eastern cities, where an open door invites them 
 in almost every street. It is well known, that this disposition 
 to seek pleasure, falsely so called, by some of the younger 
 country merchants, is encouraged by a few eastern houses, 
 some members of which are always at hand to introduce them 
 into all the mysteries of city vice and dissipation 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 269 
 
 "What is the matter, father?" said his child, whose 
 heart had long feared, with an excited and trembling fear, 
 some strange calamity. 
 
 " Nothing, daughter." 
 
 " But something must be the matter, father, for you look 
 pale, and strangely concerned ; and you are not used to 
 come home at this time." 
 
 " I do not feel altogether well, this afternoon, child, and 
 that has brought me home." 
 
 Jane looked at him for some moments doubtingly, and 
 then turned away with a deep-drawn sigh, to attend to a 
 bright little fellow about two years old, who just at that 
 moment came running to her with some childish request. 
 
 That night was one of sleepless anxiety, and deep 
 thought to Mr. Power. He had no counsellor, but his 
 own breast ; for one who had ever been a faithful adviser, 
 and an unfailing stay when he would have fallen under 
 the pressure of calamity, had been laid in her grave for 
 more than a year. After weighing matters calmly, and 
 solemnly, for many hours, he came to the resolution, of 
 expostulating first, and then proposing a dissolution of 
 partnership, if his reasonable desires were not complied 
 with. It was near day when Mr. Fells .came in, and he 
 was not up, of course, at the regular breakfast hour. Mr. 
 Power thought he had never seen his daughter s counte 
 nance look so haggard and care-worn as it did while she 
 sat alone with him that morning at the breakfast table. 
 
 It was nearly ten o clock, when his son-in-law came ta 
 the store, and immediately Mr. Power requested an inter 
 view with him in the private apartment of the counting- 
 room. Here he stated to him his fears for the ultimate 
 result of his present course of conduct, and his entire dis 
 approbation of it. , 
 
 At first, Felts was disposed to take matters in anger 
 but when his father-in-law told him, with an air of stern 
 determination, such as he had never known him to as 
 sume, that, unless he complied with his wishes, an imme 
 diate dissolution must take place, he appeared humbled, 
 and promised amendment. 
 
 For a short time his course of conduct was apparently 
 al! that could be desired. And the cheek and eye of his 
 poor wife were brighter, and her tone happier, than they 
 23* 
 
270 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 had been for months. They had two sweet children, ons 
 a boy over two years old, and the other a girl who had 
 only numbered a few months. In these he seemed to 
 take a new delight. But alas ! all this was of but short 
 duration. He had commenced the downward course, and 
 who could arrest him in his career to ruin ? 
 
 At the end of three months, he was as irregular in his 
 habits as ever ; but Mr. Power allowed none of the re 
 sponsibilities of the business to rest upon him, and kept a 
 careful eye upon his drafts for money. By this means 
 he restrained him in a great measure from running into 
 excesses. 
 
 But he had become the slave to two o ermastering vices 
 drinking and gaming ! and for the last, no trifling sup 
 plies of money would answer. Mr. Power watched with 
 too jealous an eye, over the cash account, to allow him to 
 make further unnecessary inroads there, and the limited 
 supply he could draw, was in every way insufficient to 
 meet his debts of honour (! !) But money he did raise, 
 and how ? Why, he made a note of five thousand dollars 
 in the name of the firm, at four months, obtained an en 
 dorser, and opened with it a new account in a bank that 
 readily discounted it. This amount did not last him long, 
 as he had gotten of late more deeply entangled in the 
 gambler s difficulties, having fallen in with some of those 
 soulless gentry called blacklegs. The whole five thou 
 sand were gone in a month. He now waited upon a firm 
 that was in the habit of exchanging notes with them, and 
 stated that they wanted an accommodation of ten thou 
 sand dollars, and wished to pass obligations. A note for 
 the amount was obtained, and as readily passed through 
 bank. Intoxicated with so abundant a supply of money, he 
 risked it prodigally at the gaming table, and soon found 
 that he was turning his last dollar again. A momentary 
 pang of remorse shot through his mind as he reflected 
 upon the result of all this but, resolved still to have 
 money, he sat down to devise new schemes for procur 
 ing it. 
 
 He had formed an acquaintance with a villain who had 
 no conscience, and to him he confided a statement of his 
 dilemma. They put their heads together, and after sug 
 gesting many things, at last resolved, that Fells should 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 271 
 
 make ten notes, each for two thousand dollars, in the 
 name of Power and Fells, and that he should pass them 
 away to several note-shavers. The plan was executed, 
 and as the credit of the firm was among the first in the 
 city, the notes were caught up with avidity by the private 
 money-lenders, who rarely got hold of anything in those 
 times so " strong." 
 
 He had now drawn upon the firm to the amount of 
 thirty-five thousand dollars, and from his knowledge of 
 the amount of real capital employed, he knew well that a 
 suspension would be the consequence. But he cared but 
 little now. Secure in the last dividend he would probably 
 get of the profits, real or imaginary, of the business, he 
 cared to remain no longer, and accordingly started oft* 
 secretly for the south, under an assumed name, leaving 
 his wife and children without a word, and with scarcely 
 a thought and old Mr. Power to bear soon the shock of 
 a falling house. 
 
 All that poor Mrs. Fells suffered when she found that 
 her idolized husband was gradually growing indifferent to 
 her that even the smiles of their sweet babes could not 
 win him to his home is only written in heaven. Mv 
 imagination cannot picture it, nor my pen describe it. All 
 the period of three years, from the time she was married, 
 until her husband went away, I will pass over, though it 
 was to her a period of intense mental suffering, and bring 
 her before the reader on the night of her watching, until 
 the stars grew dim " and yet he came not." 
 
 After tea on that evening, she sat with her babe in her 
 arms, until nearly ten o clock, musing sadly upon the 
 strange conduct of her husband. At eleven, she threw 
 herself upon the bed, as was her wont, without taking 
 off her clothes, and slept until two, when she awoke 
 as usual, to listen and wait for her husband. The night 
 was dark and cloudy, and as it was late in autumn, the 
 wind moaned drearily along the deserted street, giving a 
 sadder feeling to her already overburdened heart. How 
 anxiously did she listen to the sound of every footstep as 
 it approached, and with what cheerless disappointment 
 did she notice its passing by ! Three o clock, and yet he 
 had not come. The minutes fled away, and filled up the 
 
272 HASTY MARRI&tiE. 
 
 measure of another hour, and still she sat, listening, at the 
 window. And when the dim light of the morning came 
 coldly in, and paled the flickering rays of the taper, she 
 was still a sleepless watcher. Who can calculate the 
 extent, who can fathom the deoths of a woman s ever- 
 during affection ? 
 
 Agitation and alarm were visible in her countenance 
 when Mr. Power came down from his room in the morn 
 ing. 
 
 " What is the matter, Jane ?" 
 
 " Mr. Fells has not been at home all night. Where can 
 he be?" 
 
 " I am sure I cannot tell, Jane. But don t be alarmed; 
 he will be here, I suppose, this morning. He does not 
 keep as regular hours as he should." 
 
 " Oh,- father, my heart feels as if it would break ! I 
 have watched for him all night long, in hope and fear, 
 and yet he is away ! He never comes home now until 
 three or four o clock, and then often so much intoxicated, 
 that he will curse and abuse me if I say a word to him." 
 And the poor wife covered her face with her hands, and 
 wept until the tears trickled through her thin white fin 
 gers, and fell in large drops upon the floor 
 
 Her father folded her in his arms, and endeavoured, 
 silently, to calm the excitement of her feelings. Many 
 thoughts rushed through his mind, and bitterly then did he 
 repent his early carelessness in leaving his daughter an 
 easy prey to any plausible villain who might chance to 
 come along. He felt then and there the necessity of 
 social restrictions, but felt it too late. 
 
 The hours rolled heavily away for Jane Fells that day, 
 for each recurring one she hoped would bring back her 
 absent husband. At two o clock, when Mr. Power came 
 home to dinner, he had not been to the store; and now, in 
 considerable alarm, her father went out to seek him, he 
 knew not whither. After vainly searching and inquiring 
 in all directions, he was informed by a friend that he saw 
 him take his seat in the western stage at six o clock that 
 morning in company with a noted gambler. With this 
 information he hurried home in a state of mind inconceiv 
 ably painful. He thought it best, knowing his daughter s 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 273 
 
 character, to tell her the truth, and also to impart at once 
 to her his suspicion of the cause. 
 
 " Have you found him, father?" were her eager words, 
 as he entered. 
 
 " No, my child ; and I am afraid will not soon. 
 
 " Oh, what do you mean ? He is not dead, father ? Tell 
 me at once O, tell me I can bear it, father don t fear 
 me." Her wild eye, pale cheek, and look of eager and 
 alarmed expectation, showed how little prepared she was 
 to bear any such startling announcement. 
 
 " No, Jane, he is not dead." 
 
 " Thank God!" was her quick ejaculation "thank 
 God ! he is not dead." And she sobbed and laughed for 
 a few moments, hysterically. 
 
 Recovering herself in a brief space, she said in renew 
 ed alarm, " Then, father, where is he ?" 
 
 " Sit down, my child, and I will tell you all I know. 
 Strengthen your heart to bear the burden, Jane, for it is 
 one that will have to be borne, not thrown aside. I 
 have lately discovered that your husband has drawn out 
 of the business, in cash, during the last year, about five 
 thousand dollars. He had no use for all this money, if he 
 did not visit the gaming table, where, I fear much, he has 
 squandered this large sum. After searching for him in 
 
 vain all day, Mr. told me that he saw him enter the 
 
 western stage at six o clock this morning, in company 
 with a noted gambler. Something is wrong, and I much 
 fear that too soon we will *ear of that which will make 
 us wish we had never seen or known him." 
 
 Eagerly had his daughter looked him in the face while 
 he was speaking, and now, when he paused, she clasped 
 her hands together, and lifting up a countenance of unut 
 terable despair, murmured, " my poor babes," and sunk 
 senseless upon the floor. 
 
 Here was the consummation of her worst fears. She 
 had long had strange suspicions that all was not right, 
 and now the dreaded blow had fallen, and fallen with an 
 unexpected force. No wonder that, for a time, she yield 
 ed to the shock. 
 
 For many weeks Jane Fells did not hold up her head, 
 and for most of that time it was feared she would never 
 again look out upon the world that she would never pass 
 
274 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 the door-stone, until borne out by the mourners. And 
 Mr. Power was in a state of mind, that was hardly 
 rational. The calm, business-like energy that had hereto 
 fore characterized him, yielded to a nervous, agitated, 
 undecided manner. The fact of his partner having left 
 an apparently good business under such singular circum 
 stances, led many to suppose that all was not right ; and, 
 consequently, the credit of the house was shaken, in a 
 manner that rendered the situation of Mr. Power really 
 embarrassing. To make things worse, one of the dash 
 ing customers of the junior partner failed, and the house 
 of Power and Fells held his notes to the amount of fifteen 
 thousand dollars. The loss was total. 
 
 To fill up the measure of embarrassment, a notice was 
 received from one of the banks of a note due in a few 
 days of ten thousand dollars. No such note appearing 
 upon the bill-book, Mr. Power went to the bank, and soon 
 understood, for himself, that the note had been made by 
 his son-in-law. Knowing that the only way to complete 
 ly overwhelm the sinking credit of the house, would be to 
 let the note lay over, he, with some difficulty, raised the 
 money and cancelled the fictitious obligation. 
 
 Scarcely was the evidence of his partner s guilt fairly 
 out of bank, when ten notices from different banks were 
 left, each calling for the payment of two thousand dollars 
 in two weeks; so utterly regardless, it seems, had been 
 Mr. Fells, as to the dates and time of the notes he had, to 
 all intents and purposes, forged. The bill-book of the 
 firm showed, of course, no memorandum of these obliga 
 tions. 
 
 In the case of Mr. Power, as in the case of thousands 
 of others, troubles came not singly. Ere the due day of 
 these notes rolled around, notice came of three suspen 
 sions in St. Louis, each of which heavily involved his 
 house. But it is needless for me to linger in detail. It 
 was soon noised abroad that the house of Power and 
 Fells had failed, and the rumour was not without founda 
 tion. One of the old school*of merchants, Mr. Power s 
 mercantile integrity was dear to him as the apple of his 
 eye; and now that it -was tainted by suspicion, his head 
 sunk upon his bosom, never to rise again. He gave up 
 everytning into the hands of trustees, goods, accounts, 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 275 
 
 real estate and all, and retired with his daughter and her 
 children, to a little farm a few miles from the city, which 
 belonged to his wife, and which had been made over to 
 his daughter so soon as her mother had died. He had 
 one satisfaction, in the final settlement of his business, and 
 that was, that it paid one hundred cents in the dollar. 
 After this result was known, he sunk into a gloomy, list 
 less state, and in one year, was laid at rest in the grave. 
 
 When Mrs. Fells turned away from the grave of her 
 father, and with her two children went back to her home, 
 it was in sadness and gloom. Even though, to her, the 
 heavens had long been enveloped in blackness, there had 
 been still shining out, from amid the thick clouds and 
 darkness, one bright star; but now that star had gone 
 down for ever. Until within three years, she had known 
 none of the trials and afflictions of life. Alas ! how many 
 had been crowded upon her in that brief time ? Father 
 and mother both laid in the grave, and a husband lost to 
 all honour and shame. 
 
 When she sat down in her desolate dwelling with her 
 babes, and the darkness of night fell gradually around 
 them, she felt forsaken of all even of her God : for she 
 had not learned to put her trust in him who is a friend to 
 the widow and the fatherless. For more than an hour 
 had she yielded up thus to an overmastering despondency, 
 since the night-fall, and still she sat buried in gloom, and 
 almost despair, without a single friend to whisper a word 
 of comfort, when she was surprised by a loud knock at 
 the door. As the servant opened to the demand, Mrs. 
 Fells was startled by the sound of her own name, in the 
 tones of a well-known voice, and in the next moment her 
 husband stood before her her husband, but oh, how 
 changed ! Pale and emaciated, he was but the shadow 
 of his former self. His clothes were worn and poor, and 
 betokened extreme poverty and degradation. In his face 
 were the marks of dissipation, and the harsh lines of un 
 holy thoughts and evil passions. But Jane saw none of 
 these, the being who was dearer to her than all the 
 world, stood before her, and she only saw him as such. 
 She had ever loved him with a fervent and unwavering 
 love, even though he had almost broken her heart; and 
 now, that he had come back to her again, after a long 
 
2Y6 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 and heart-sickening absence, she opened wide her arms 
 to receive him. 
 
 " My dear husband !" was all she could say, as she 
 sprang towards him, and fell almost senseless in his arms. 
 
 "Jane can you, will you, forgive me?" 
 
 " All all, dear husband !" 
 
 Such a reception he had not expected. Selfish in his 
 own feelings, he knew nothing of the deep wells of affec 
 tioin that often lie hid in a woman s heart. Forced by 
 sickness and want, for he had run rapidly his downward 
 career, to return home, or die, he had approached the 
 spot where his wife had retired with anxious reluctance. 
 Reproaches he looked for, but to meet in their place for 
 giveness and love, melted his heart; and in tears tears 
 of sincere repentance he confessed his errors, and pro 
 mised to lead a new life. 
 
 Hope soon revived in the breast of his stricken-hearted 
 wife, for Mr. Fells, confined to the house by sickness, and 
 having neither inclination nor opportunity, under such 
 circumstances, for the indulgence of any of his evil habits, 
 showed so much regard for, and interest in, his wife and 
 children, and so much sorrow for his former conduct, that 
 she fondly hoped that all would be well again. 
 
 As he gradually recovered under his wife s untiring 
 care, Mr. Fell began to feel a returning desire to mingle 
 again in society. There had been, with him, no cultiva 
 tion of the moral faculties, and but little of the intellec 
 tual, and he, therefore, had neither the attractions of mind 
 to win him to solitude, nor the stern admonitions of prin 
 ciple to keep him from again throwing aside as worthless 
 the peace of her who had received him with open arms 
 when he had no place in which to lay his head. 
 
 Strange as it may seem to some, the first time he could 
 walk as far as the city, he came home in a fever of in 
 toxication. Anxiously had his poor wife looked out for 
 him, hour after hour, as the day wore away, hoping and 
 fearing, and sick at heart, with conflicting emotions. 
 She had not suffered so much since the day when it was 
 told her that her husband had forsaken his wife and his 
 babes. As the twilight began to fall, she strained her 
 eyes into the distance with eager anxiety, and at last dis 
 cerned his well-known form. Her heart throbbed wildly 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 277 
 
 as she caught the first glimpse of her husband, but she 
 could soon see, as he approached, that all was not right ; 
 and when he came up to where she stood, and she saw 
 his condition, she could but just turn and stagger into the 
 house. He was too much under the influence of strong 
 drink to observe his wife s distress, and began talking in 
 great good-humour of the prospect which had suddenly 
 burst upon him, since he had gone into the city, of get 
 ting into a good business. A friend had met him, an old 
 friend, and had held out large inducements. All that was 
 required was a small capital ; with that, they could soon 
 be as they once were. Mrs. Fells understood the mean 
 ing of all this, as well as did her drunken husband. This 
 was but the first intimation of a design, cherished ever 
 since he returned home, to get into his own hands the lit 
 tle property, made over to her by her father. She per 
 suaded him to go to bed, where he was soon snoring in 
 drunken insensibility. 
 
 How suddenly were all her hopes scattered, like chaff 
 before the whirlwind ! And thus have the hopes of thou 
 sands been scattered. 
 
 Next morning, Mr. Fells remembered something of the 
 condition in which he had come home the night before, 
 and the distressed manner and look of his wife admon 
 ished him that she had but too closely observed it. Al 
 though a little angry with himself for his conduct, he felt 
 more angry with his wife for showing her disapproval of 
 it, and put on a cross, offended air. At the breakfast- 
 table, he sat silent, with brow drawn down, and every 
 exhibition of angry feeling. His poor wife, seeing this, 
 felt a double weight upon her heart, and of course, could 
 not assume a cheerful air. He determined, in his own 
 mind, that she put on a cross look to reprove him for 
 what he had done, and he was not going to be thus threat 
 ened like a child. Not a word had been spoken during 
 the breakfast hour, until Mr. Fells, in tasting a cup of 
 coffee, found that it had not been sweetened. 
 
 " This coffee is as bitter as your looks Give me some 
 sugar !" said he, crossly. 
 
 As she reached him the sugar, the tears started from 
 the eyes of his wife, and almost blinded her. 
 
 "What in the devil are you blubbering about this 
 24 
 
278 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 morning ? One would think you had rruet with some ter 
 rible calamity." 
 
 She sealed her lips in silence, for her heart was too 
 full to speak. The blow had fallen too suddenly upon 
 her. 
 
 "If you expect me to stay at home," continued he, 
 " you must make home pleasant. I shall not stay here if 
 there are to be clouds and rains all the while." 
 
 Even to this Mrs. Fells spoke not a word, and her hus 
 band resumed his silent, dogged air. 
 
 After breakfast, he went out upon the little farm, and 
 looked to some improvements that were going on. This 
 gave him an opportunity for reflection. It is true that he 
 spent the first hour in blaming his wife for her " cross 
 ness," as he called it, but after awhile a spark of feeling 
 kindled in his bosom, and he felt that he was the more 
 criminal of the two. 
 
 And Mrs. Fells, what were her thoughts ! It was the 
 first time he had done anything, since he had returned, to 
 shake the dear hopes she was cherishing in her bosom, 
 and she could not help showing the deep distress that 
 passed upon her stricken heart. But now that she had 
 painful evidence of the effect the exhibition of such dis 
 tress had upon her husband, true to the character of a 
 woman, she resolved to hide deep in her bosom the pain, 
 and to meet him even with a smiling face. 
 
 Such reflections and resolutions on both sides, of course, 
 made the meeting at dinner-time a pleasanter one. Mr. 
 Fells came to the house, with a feeling of pity for his 
 wife, though with no thought of conciliation on his part, 
 and was of course ready for the salutary effect of her 
 altered look and manner. He was a little reserved at 
 first, but the entire change in his wife soon re-assured him, 
 and he was cheerful and talkative. The effect which this 
 hiding of her feelings had upon hex husband, Mrs. Fells 
 thought was an ample reward for the effort. 
 
 The allusion which he had made while drunk to an 
 offer to go into business, was not an imaginary one. An 
 individual, to whom, while half-intoxicated, he had been 
 boasting of the fine farm which he owned, had suggested 
 to him the advantage of selling it, and entering into busi 
 ness with him He stated that he was now clearing so 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 279 
 
 much every year, and if he could only add a few hun 
 dred dollars to his capital, and a partner in the active 
 business of the concern, he could quadruple the profits. 
 
 In a day or two, Fells broached the subject to his wife, 
 but she opposed it at once. The farm she said now yield 
 ed them a good living, and he was more removed from 
 temptation there than in the city. 
 
 Never disposed to argue a point with his wife, and un 
 derstanding at once that she had no confidence in him, he 
 got terribly angry, and threatened to sell the whole pro 
 perty in spite of her. She made no reply, but firmly re 
 solved that she would never consent to have the property 
 sold. 
 
 Foiled in the attempt to convince his wife of the utility 
 of selling the farm, he determined never to give her a 
 kind look or word, until she consented to its disposition. 
 And now commenced the terrible conflict terrible, did I 
 say ? Ay, TERRIBLE to the heart of a suffering wife ! 
 
 From the rising of the sun to its going down, she knew 
 no kind look, and heard no word from her husband that 
 was not a word of anger or reproach. Even her little 
 children saw and felt the change, and looked fearful and 
 distressed. Often would their father scold and beat them, 
 for no other purpose, it seemed, than to make a cause for 
 angry contention with his wife, to whom they would fly 
 for protection, and who was ever ready to meet even his 
 anger and abuse in their cause. Frequently he would go 
 off to the city, with the avowed purpose of offering the 
 property for sale to the highest bidder; generally, on 
 such occasions, he would come home intoxicated, and, 
 not unfrequently did Mrs. Fells endure more than hard 
 words. 
 
 Worn out at last, and feeling almost regardless of con 
 sequences, Mrs. Fells consented to sell the farm, and 
 suffer her husband to go into business with the proceeds. 
 Her approbation being once gained, little time was lost in 
 disposing of it. 
 
 It was a sad day for her, when she left this refuge from 
 the world in her former days of sore distress, and left it 
 for ever. A snug two story house was rented in the city, 
 and here they took up their abode. The farm brought 
 fifteen hundred dollars, and the whole of this was invest- 
 
280 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 ed in a grocery store. (The affairs of the person who 
 had proposed to take Fells into business with him, had for 
 some time been in a desperate condition, and had come to 
 a crisis some months previous.) 
 
 I will not take the reader along, step by step, in tracing 
 the course of this man down to beggary. It would be 
 but consuming his own time and mine to little purpose. 
 Suffice it to say, that at the end of eighteen months, the 
 grocery store had dwindled down to a grog-shop, with a 
 few kegs and decanters of liquor, a box or two of her 
 rings, and a few trifling things in the window, to make a 
 show. To this grog-shop, Fells was about the best cus 
 tomer. For some months, the income of the shop had been 
 insufficient to support the family, and the deficiency Mrs. 
 Fells made up by taking in plain sewing. He was gen 
 erally drunk from the middle of the day until night, and 
 during that time, this accomplished and sensitive woman 
 had to stand behind the counter and mix liquors for every 
 worthless drunken vagabond that chose to enter. To this 
 she could never get accustomed, and she did indeed feel 
 her degradation, while thus forced to partake in the sin 
 of the drunkard. Many and many a time did her heart 
 bleed, as she poured out the maddening draught for those 
 she knew were beggaring their families, and drinking con 
 fusion to their wives and children. But the end after 
 awhile came to all this. Their rent having remained for 
 some time unpaid, their landlord seized upon their things, 
 and turned them out of their house with little besides the 
 clothes on their backs. 
 
 There lived in street, in a splendid mansion, a 
 
 lady, who had once been seamstress in the family of Mr. 
 Power. She had married a young man who had been 
 enterprising and thrifty in business, and who had grown 
 rich, during prosperous times, rapidly. His wife, who 
 was a proud, ignorant, and vulgar woman, would have 
 everything on the most splendid scale, and truly their 
 dwelling showed everything in costly style, if not in all 
 things accordant to a cultivated taste. Beside the man 
 sion of this lady, was a poor hovel of frame work, and 
 only one story high. This was rented by Mr. Fells, arid 
 here his needy family retired. Creatures so poor and so 
 abject as these, were not noticed by the purse-proud Mrs. 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 281 
 
 Conklen, who would have felt that there was contami 
 nation in their touch. I merely mention the striking fact 
 of the reverse in the fortunes of these two individuals, 
 and the incident of their being thrown beside each other 
 in their altered fortunes. Many of my readers can call 
 to mind a similar fact. 
 
 Mrs. Fells two children were still living one four 
 years old, and the other between two and three. To pro 
 cure food and raiment for these, was now her chief con 
 cern. Persons in her former situation, cannot imagine 
 how they would get along if reduced to abject poverty, 
 with helpless babes dependent on their labour, and not a 
 single friend in the world to help them. But when the 
 trial comes, it must be met, and the difficulties overcome. 
 A few things not taken by the selfish landlord, and which 
 could be spared, were sold, and food enough bought to 
 last them a couple of weeks. This took away from the 
 mind of Mrs. Fells the confusion of immediate want, and 
 she sat down calmly to reflect upon the best course she 
 could pursue. There were no families in the neighbour 
 hood who knew that she could or would do fine sewing, 
 even if they had it to give out. At last she made up her 
 mind to apply at the clothing stores for work. From 
 these she got coarse shirts to make, and received for them 
 eight cents apiece. She could make two of these a day, 
 and sometimes, by working very late, three, besides attend 
 ing to her family. It was indeed but a small pittance that 
 she thus earned, but it was at least a protection against 
 complete starvation. 
 
 The necessity for pinching economy forced her to cut 
 off the remnant of comforts which she had retained tea, 
 coffee, and milk, except a little for the youngest child, 
 were banished from the table, and the principal meals 
 were made of potatoes and dry bread, with a little meat 
 once a day. There were four of them, one a hearty man, 
 and the provision for all these, was less than twenty-five 
 cents a day. Her brute of a husband would do nothing, 
 except pile lumber occasionally on the wharf, or some 
 such occasional drudgery, merely for the purpose of get 
 ting liquor. 
 
 There resided opposite to the hovel where they lived a 
 benevolent lady, who had for sometime noticed the move- 
 24* 
 
282 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 ments of Mrs. Fells, but had no idea of her almost entire 
 destitution. She remarked on one occasion that she had 
 not seen Mrs. Fells for several days, and determined to 
 call in and ascertain if anything was the matter. 
 
 To her knock at the door, she heard a feeble " come 
 in," and entering, she was pained at heart, to note so 
 many tokens of extreme poverty. The only furniture to 
 be seen was a pine table, a few broken chairs, some 
 kitchen utensils, and a bedstead, upon which were placed 
 a few old quilts to answer for a bed. On these was laid 
 a pale, emaciated form, whose eager eyes looked search- 
 ingly into her face, and then wandered away to two little 
 children who had fallen asleep in the middle of the floor. 
 
 "I am sorry to find you sick, ma am," said her visiter. 
 " Are you very ill ?" 
 
 * 1 have not been able to hold up my head this whole 
 day, nor to sit up in rny bed for two or three." 
 
 What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " I want nothing, ma am, but my poor children have 
 had but little to eat for two days," said Mrs. Fells, burst 
 ing into tears. 
 
 "For two days ? Dreadful ! Poor things !" and the good- 
 hearted woman, lifted them up from the floor, gently, thus 
 arousing them from slumber. The youngest began to 
 moan piteously, the oldest to cry in silence, both looking 
 imploringly towards their sick mother and each asking 
 for bread." The mother turned her head away, and 
 sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Come with me, and I will give you some bread," said 
 the lady to them. 
 
 The children looked at her a moment, and turned again 
 to their mother, moaning and crying as before. 
 
 The lady left the house, and quickly returned with 
 nourishing food, and soon had the delight of seeing the 
 little ones eagerly satisfying the cravings of hunger. 
 
 A servant had been dispatched for one of the physicians 
 for the poor, who happening to be in, came round imme 
 diately. He bled his patient, and gave her medicines, 
 and the kind lady who had been a friend in her extremity, 
 prepared for her, with her own hand, nourishing and cooi- 
 ing drinks, and provided a sufficiency of food for her 
 children. She also sent her a bed, and made it up for 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 283 
 
 ner with her own hands. Every morning, while she re 
 mained sick, she made a servant go over and clean up 
 her little room, and see that she had a good breakfast ; 
 and she always looked in herself, two or three times 
 during the day, to see how her patient and her children 
 were doing. 
 
 When Mrs. Fells got better, this kind woman gave her 
 more profitable work herself, and made interest for her in 
 the neighbourhood. In a little time she had as much fine 
 sewing as she could do, for which she obtained a good 
 price; but with her most active industry she could earn 
 but a poor support for herself and family. 
 
 A kind friend in her extremity was, to Mrs. Fells, like 
 bread to the hungry. It had been a long, long time since 
 any one had seemed to care for her. All the friends of 
 her better days had fallen away, like leaves from the sap- 
 less branches in autumn. But now a stranger had come 
 to her humble abode, and was to her a friend and a parent. 
 She had never, in all her keen suffering, lifted her heart 
 to God, for she was not taught early to pray. But when 
 she remembered the gentle, unobtrusive, and heart-felt 
 kindness of this friend, she lifted up, almost involuntarily, 
 her thoughts, and asked of God, her soul melted into tears, 
 to shower upon her his choicest blessings. A poet has 
 beautifully said, that "Dear unto God are the prayers of 
 the poor" For my part, I would rather have had the 
 prayer of that poor mother the first that ever went up 
 from her heart than the prayers of all Christendom. 
 
 At first, many kind neighbours joined to make her situa 
 tion comfortable, but finding that a part of whatever they 
 did went to support a drunken, la/y husband, nearly all 
 relaxed in their charitable actions; and although for a 
 while Mrs. Fells got along, with small assistance, quite 
 comfortably, yet in a few months, she was nearly forgot 
 ten by all save one. 
 
 From some cause it became necessary for her to move 
 away from her neighbourhood, and beyond the reach of 
 her kind friend, who saw nothing more of her for many 
 years. What she suffered in that lime is only known to 
 Him whose eyes are abroad upon all the earth, and who 
 comforlcth the poor when no man careth for them. 
 
284 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 It was a cold morning in winter, when a ragged boy 
 about twelve years old, knocked at the door, and, on 
 being admitted, said that Mrs. Fells had sent a request 
 that she would come and see her before she died. 
 
 " Mrs. Fells, did you say 1 Certainly, my boy Where 
 does she live ?" 
 
 " In street." 
 
 "Whereabouts in street?" 
 
 " I will go with you, ma am." 
 
 In a few minutes she was ready to attend the boy. 
 When she arrived at the house, she was conducted up an 
 old rickety stair-case, and far back in an old building, 
 where, on a comfortless bed, in a room with no furniture 
 but a couple of chairs, and a broken table, lay the sick 
 and dying wpman. 
 
 "God bless you, for coming!" said she, in a faint 
 voice. She was evidently near her last moments, and 
 sinking rapidly. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ?" said the kind lady. 
 
 " Yes, one thing, and it is for this I have sent for you. 
 My children ! I could not part with them while I lived ; 
 but there is a relation of my father s who never cared to 
 look after me, and I could not go to him. I want you to 
 go to him with little Mary, after I am dead, and ask him, 
 from me, to take her into his family. My dying request 
 he cannot pass by lightly. If he will not think it too 
 much trouble, I should like him to look after Charles." 
 
 At this moment her husband entered with a minister. 
 The scene which followed the dying scene beggars 
 description. Fells was just drunk enough to be a perfect 
 fool. The minister was evidently much annoyed by his 
 familiar manner; for he talked and bustled about with an 
 air of great importance. The dying woman turned her 
 eyes, upon the man of God as he came in, with an eager 
 and anxious look. He took his seat by her side in silence, 
 and for some moments not a word was spoken. 
 
 "Hadn t you better pray with her, sir? she is sinking 
 very fast," said her husband, in a tone of drunken sorrow, 
 sobbing aloud as he spoke. 
 
 Under the circumstances, nothing better could be done, 
 and the minister kneeling by the bedside, poured out his 
 soul in prayer for the dying woman. When he arose up, 
 
HASTY MARRIAGE. 285 
 
 Fells went to a closet, and after searching about for some 
 time, produced an old hymn-book, tattered and torn, and 
 handing it to the minister, said 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to sing, sir." 
 
 The minister took the book in silence, and then turning 
 to the sick woman, commenced talking to her in a low 
 
 tone. 
 
 ****** 
 
 For more than an hour had the minister talked and 
 prayed with her, and now she began to fail rapidly. He 
 suggested that she should receive the symbols of the 
 broken body and shed blood of the Saviour. 
 
 " O, sir, I am unworthy." 
 
 " But no one is worthy." 
 
 " O, sir, I cannot partake of the sacred symbols. To 
 me that sacrament has presented an act so hallowed, that 
 I never could feel like approaching I fear to eat Uh- 
 V/orthily." 
 
 " You cannot eat unworthily, if you are sincere. Do 
 not make the ceremony greater than the Lord of the cere 
 mony. If you can approach Christ and be accepted, 
 surely you can approach his table." 
 
 At the word sacrament, Mr. Fells was off in a moment 
 to a store for some wine, and on returning, had got a 
 piece of hard bread from the closet. He stood for a few 
 moments at the foot of the bed, where the minister could 
 not see him, with a bottle containing some wine in one 
 hand, and the bread in the other, enforcing the minister s 
 arguments by sundry threatening looks, and whispered 
 curses. At this dreadful sight, Mrs. Fells closed her eyes, 
 but could not shut it out from her imagination. The 
 minister ceased speaking and Fells taking advantage of 
 the pause, said 
 
 "Here is the wine, sir, get ready, and she SHALL 
 take it." 
 
 The poor woman turned her dying eyes upon the min 
 ister, and murmured, 
 
 " I will take it, sir." 
 
 The minister never broke sacred bread under more 
 solemn emotions. Kneeling beside the bed where lay one 
 of the same family, of which his God was the God and 
 
286 HASTY MARRIAGE. 
 
 Father, he lifted up, with tearful eyes, his heart, and 
 prayed, that God would seal the peace of his dying 
 servant. 
 
 He then placed the consecrated bread upon her lips, 
 and poured for her the blood of the New Covenant ; and, 
 even while she drank of the cup, her spirit passed away 
 to eat of the bread of life, and to drink the new wine in 
 the kingdom of her Father. 
 
 Thus ends the sad history of this poor victim of a hasty 
 and injudicious marriage. The lesson needs no words of 
 mine to enforce it. As to the dying scene, that is true to 
 the letter. I had it from the lips of her own son, upon 
 wnose young mind it made a strong and painful impres 
 sion. The drunken father died soon after in the alms- 
 bouse. 
 
THE APRIL FOOL. 
 
 "HADN T we the fun with old Mr. Bender, Tom !" 
 
 " Hadn t we !" returned the lad, thus addressed. " Oh, 
 but wasn t he mad!" 
 
 Thus spoke two boys together, on returning from school 
 at dinner time, on the first day of April. Their mother, 
 overhearing their words, said 
 
 "What about Mr. Bender, boys?" 
 
 " Oh, we had such fun with him, mother, as we went to 
 school this morning," replied Tom. 
 
 " And he was so mad," said Harry, the brother of Tom. 
 
 " Why did he get angry with you ?" inquired the mother. 
 
 " We made such a fool of him," was answered. 
 
 "Of old Mr. Bender?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Tom tore from a fence a part of a show 
 bill, on which was printed Great Excitement, and stole 
 up behind Mr. Bender and pinned it fast to his coat. Then 
 hadn t we the fun !" 
 
 " And didn t he get mad ! All the boys pointed at him, 
 and called him April Fool ; and the men laughed. Oh ! 
 it was such fun !" 
 
 The mother of the boys did not smile at this, but looked 
 very serious. 
 
 "I am sorry," said she, "that you did this, my boys. 
 It was wrong." 
 
 " Oh, but it was only for fun, mother. To-day is the 
 first of April, you know, and he needn t have got so angry 
 about it. It only made the people laugh at him the more. 
 But, he is such a cross old fellow." 
 
 " My children," said the mother, "let me tell you some 
 thing that happened to-day." 
 
 25 289 
 
290 THE APRIL FOOL. 
 
 The little boys became serious, and came up close to 
 their mother and listened. 
 
 "You know," said she, "that Mrs. Judkins has been 
 sick all winter ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am," was answered. 
 
 "And that she is poor?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am." 
 
 " Well, her Andrew, who is no older than you, Henry, had 
 to be taken from school and put to work in a printing- 
 office, where he has been receiving a dollar and a quarter 
 a week. Yesterday the little fellow heard that Mr. Bender 
 wanted an office lad, and that he would pay one that suited 
 him two dollars a week. The situation would, besides 
 yielding him more money, be much easier, and he would 
 have time and opportunity to improve his mind. 
 
 " So Andrew told his mother about it, and she agreed 
 with him that it was best to call upon Mr. Bender, who 
 had known his father, and befriended him while living on 
 more than one occasion. 
 
 " I m sure he will take me, said the eager boy, as he 
 left home, and oh, how glad I shall be to get away from 
 the printing-office ! 
 
 " A little while before nine o clock, Andrew stepped 
 around to the office of Mr. Bender, which was not far from 
 where he worked. He opened the door and went in with 
 a hopeful yet trembling heart. Mr. Bender sat in his 
 great arm chair, with a newspaper in his hand. Looking 
 up as the door turned on its hinges, he fixed an angry look 
 upon the boy, and said in a sharp, quick voice 
 
 " What do you want ? ha ! 
 
 "Poor Andrew s hopes were dashed to the ground by 
 this reception. He stammered out 
 
 " c Do you want a boy, sir? 
 
 " No ! Clear out, you little rascal ! replied the old 
 man, in a rough, excited voice. 
 
 " The lad turned away, without a word more, and went 
 back to the printing-office. But, his heart was almost 
 broken by the rude repulse and disappointment. Now, 
 my boys, can you tell why Mr. Bender, who is, in the 
 main, a kind-hearted man, repulsed Andrew Judkin so 
 harshly?" 
 
THE APRIL FOOL. 291 
 
 " He was angry about something, I suppose," said 
 Thomas. 
 
 " Can you guess what that something was ?" 
 
 " Was it because we made him an April fool ?" 
 
 " Most probably," returned the mother. " You say he 
 was very angry ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. He was as mad as he could be, and shook his 
 fist at us." 
 
 " You had your fun, as you call it," said the mother of 
 the boys, " but poor Andrew Judkin has, in all probability, 
 lost a good place in consequence. He will hardly venture 
 back again to the office of Mr. Bender." 
 
 "I don t think," remarked one of the lads, "that it 
 was very manly in Mr. Bender to get into a passion just 
 because we made him an April fool. We played tricks 
 on other men ; but they only laughed at us, and so we had 
 fun all around." 
 
 " All men are not alike," was replied to this. " Some 
 are sensitive on one point, and some on another. Few 
 persons can bear ridicule, though some have the power to 
 conceal its effects, while others have not. Mr. Bender 
 has, naturally, a quick, irritable temper, and is, besides, 
 sensitive to ridicule. Such being the case, it was scarcely 
 possible for him not to get angry when two little boys were 
 so rude as to make sport of him in the street. No doubt he 
 felt mortified afterward for having thus lost his self-con 
 trol ; but ere there had been time enough for this change 
 in his feelings to occur, poor Andrew came with his peti 
 tion, and received an angry repulse." 
 
 "I m sorry," said Harry, appearing troubled, " that I 
 made fun of Mr. Bender. I m sure I wouldn t have done 
 so, if I d thought he was going to get so very angry. But, 
 if we did wrong, I don t think he did right in treating 
 Andrew as he did. Andrew didn t make fun of him." 
 
 " All injustice is wrong, my son," replied the mother, 
 " and, therefore, Mr. Bender did wrong. Still, the wrong 
 was done while he was, as it were, not himself, and not 
 really conscious of what he was doing. You were to 
 blame for wantonly insulting him, and thus producing the 
 state of mind from which he acted. Yours was the first 
 aggression, and therefore you are quite as much responsi- 
 
292 THE APRIL FOOL. 
 
 ble as Mr. Bender for the wrong done to poor Andrew 
 Judkin." 
 
 The boys looked sober. Their mother added 
 " Never, my children, seek pleasure at the expense of 
 another. Think, before you make sport of any one, how 
 you would feel if subject to a like annoyance. There is a 
 Golden Rule by which your actions should ever be govern 
 ed * As ye would that men would do unto you, do ye even 
 so to them. Remember this, hereafter, and set a guard 
 upon yourselves, lest you break it. There are sources 
 enough of pleasure in the world, without seeking it in a 
 trespass upon the rights of others." 
 
THE 
 
 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 " HARRY SOMERS is to be married to-night." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And is going to get a sweet, good girl, for a wife. 
 Ellen Lewis is a prize worth gaining." 
 
 " She certainly is. But, I m afraid she s about getting 
 the worst of the bargain." 
 
 " How strange a remark for you to make ! you who 
 know Harry Somers so well, and have always seemed to 
 esteem him so highly." 
 
 "So I have; and so I still do. But then he is, in my 
 opinion, a little bit of the fool. And Ellen, you know, is 
 a girl of sense." 
 
 " I never saw anything about Harry to lead me to such 
 a conclusion." 
 
 " Well, maybe the term fool is a little too strong. But 
 what I meant to convey, was, that he has many queer 
 notions of his own, which I am sure Ellen, with her plain 
 good sense, never will be able to tolerate." 
 
 " I never discovered anything singular in his opinions 
 and actions," the friend replied, " and I have seen a good 
 deal of him." 
 
 " You have noticed, I presume, that when he takes an 
 idea into his head, there is no beating it out of him." 
 
 "If the idea be a true one, I think it would be hard 
 work to make him give it up, certainly." 
 
 "No, but true or false it is all the same with him. 
 And then he will take up notions of his own, and stick to 
 them, though he become the laughing-stock of the whole 
 world." 
 
 "Name one of these notions." 
 
 " That I can do very easily. There is to be no wine 
 at his wedding, to-night." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " It s as true as I live. He set his head, I fim told, that 
 
 25* (293) 
 
294 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 not a drop of wine should be served at his wedding ; and 
 Ellen arid her family had to give in to him, though it was 
 done with great reluctance." 
 
 " That is, certainly, a strange notion for him." 
 
 " Aint it 1" 
 
 " I suppose he has joined the tee-totallers ?" 
 
 " No, 1 believe not It all arises from some whim of his 
 own, I presume. No doubt from a foolish desire to ap 
 pear singular." 
 
 " Henry Somers never acts from such motives. He is 
 a man of too much good sense." 
 
 "Then, pray, what other motive could he have?" 
 
 " He might have many good ones ; and I have not the 
 least doubt that, in this matter, he is governed by pure 
 and just principles." 
 
 " Principles ! What in the name of common sense has 
 wine at a wedding to do with principle]" 
 
 " It may have much to do with principle. 
 
 * I cannot see how." 
 
 " Wait patiently, and you will, no doubt, be fully satis 
 fied." 
 
 "No doubt. But do you intend going?" 
 
 " O, certainly." 
 
 " I don t think I shall go." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It will be a dull, silly affair, I suppose." 
 
 "Don t you believe it." 
 
 " I do, then. Why, every one will be so affected with 
 a sense of the ridiculousness of the farce played off, that 
 all true rational pleasure will be lost. If I were to go, I 
 could not look you or any one else in the face without 
 laughing, to save my life. A wedding, and no wine! 
 Ridiculous !" 
 
 "I cannot see anything so very ridiculous in it, Mudie; 
 nor will you, I am very much inclined to think, if you 
 venture to go." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I may, if it s only to enjoy a good 
 hearty laugh after it s all over." 
 
 The two young men then parted. Their names were 
 Mudie and Lee. 
 
 " I really have no heart to go into company any more," 
 remarked Adeline Whiteman, to her sister Eleanor, sitting 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 295 
 
 down with a dispirited air, as she paused in the work of 
 dressing herself for Ellen Lewis s wedding. 
 
 " Why not, sister?" asked Eleanor. 
 
 " Because, as you know, brother always will drink too 
 much when he gets into company and it makes me feel 
 wretched. Last week at Mrs. Wheeler s party, you re 
 member how silly he made himself! I was so hurt and 
 mortified that I could have sunk into the floor." 
 
 " Indeed I do remember it. All my pleasure for tne 
 evening was spoiled. And so was cousin Mary s. I 
 tried once or twice to sing and play, and thus add my 
 mite to the general enjoyment. But I could not do it with 
 any heart, and was conscious that my performances were 
 failures. Indeed, I heard a gentleman remark in a low 
 tone to his partner: 
 
 " * How indifferently Eleanor plays to-night ! 
 
 " I felt that what he said was just. But I could not 
 help being hurt, for the cause of my failure was one so 
 painful as to break down my spirits." 
 
 " And I," resumed her sister " tried my best to dance 
 with some life. But in vain. My feelings were so de 
 pressed that my very body lost its buoyancy, and my feet 
 felt like lead. I had at last to go and sit down, and refuse 
 to dance any more, though frequently solicited." 
 
 "Why," asked Eleanor, "could not wine and all kinds 
 of intoxicating drinks be banished from social parties? 
 They are not, really, needed ; and at this time, when so 
 many have acquired a slavish love of drink, it seems to 
 me not only wrong to put a temptation in their way, but 
 really unkind to a company, met for social enjoyment, 
 thus to endanger their pleasant intercourse. All know, 
 that if one becomes partially intoxicated, it dampens the 
 feelings of the rest. And especially, if that one have a 
 wife, a mother, or a sister present." 
 
 " You remember, of course, the unpleasant, and, indeed, 
 painful occurrence that took place last winter at Mrs. 
 Wolcott s." 
 
 " Indeed, I do ! Poor Jane Morven ! How my heart did 
 ache for her ! I was sitting by her when she first noticed 
 that her husband had been drinking too much. He came 
 up and asked me to dance with him. I observed that he 
 had a strange look and manner, and felt an instant disin 
 
296 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 clination to go upon the floor, and therefore politely 
 excused myself. He insisted, however, in a rude way ; 
 and I, to prevent observation, consented. I turned to 
 wards his wife as I arose. Her face was pale as ashes! 
 I instantly guessed the cause, which soon became too 
 plainly apparent, even to me. Mr. Morven could not go 
 through a single figure, and acted so badly that he broke 
 up the cotillion in a few minutes. As soon as this occur 
 red, I returned and took my place beside his wife." 
 
 " O, Eleanor, is it not dreadful V she said, the tears 
 dimming her eyes, as she turned her pale, sad face, to 
 wards me. 
 
 " I did not know what to reply, but merely respond 
 ed 
 
 ** It is, indeed, Jane/ And then there followed a long, 
 and, to both of us, a painfully embarrassing silence. This 
 was broken by the appearance of her husband, who, still 
 more intoxicated, came up, and standing before us, went 
 on with a parcel of drivelling nonsense for about five 
 minutes, that disgusted me as much as it must have pain 
 ed and mortified his poor wife. Just then, a friend of his 
 who saw his condition, considerately drew him aside, and 
 prevailed on him to go home. Jane was quietly informed 
 that he was about leaving, and as quietly withdrew, much 
 to the relief of many, who saw, and deeply pitied her 
 situation." 
 
 " If there had been neither wine nor brandy tendered 
 to their guests by Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott, on that even 
 ing," Adeline remarked, " how much of exquisite suffer 
 ing to at least one heart might have been saved! For 
 more than three months, Mr. Morven, conscious of his 
 weakness, had steadily persevered in refraining from the 
 use of liquor. The consequence was, that Jane had begun 
 to feel a degree of confidence and hope that she had not 
 experienced for a long time. The temptation offered her 
 husband at that party was too strong, and he fell; and 
 fell, alas! into a perfect abandonment of himself, for many 
 weeks, to the insane pleasures of intoxication. 
 
 " It sometimes seems, Adeline, she said to me one 
 day, during this period, leaning her head upon my shoulder, 
 and giving way to tears, * that my heart must break ! O, 
 it is a terrible affliction for one so young as I, and all un- 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 297 
 
 fitted to bear the lot of misery too surely in reversion for 
 me:" 
 
 " I could only weep with her, for I could give no word 
 of comfort. I felt that there was something so hopeless 
 about her lot, that it would be like mockery to offer vain 
 words of encouragement. But I must not sit here, giv- 
 ng way to desponding thoughts. To the wedding we 
 must go." 
 
 "Yes. Our families are too intimate, for us to think 
 of not going. And Ellen is one of my dearest friends. 
 I am glad she is about to do so well. Henry Somers is 
 a young man of sterling principles." 
 
 " Brother Edward will go, of course " 
 
 " O, yes, of course. He told me to-day, that he should 
 be there." 
 
 " I do hope he will have prudence enough not to drink 
 too much. But I tremble when I think of it. He so soon 
 forgets himself." 
 
 The two young ladies then proceeded to dress for the 
 wedding, with heavy hearts. At the appointed time, ac 
 companied by their brother, they entered Mr. Lewis s 
 brilliantly lighted parlours, already filled with a gay com 
 pany assembled to witness the marriage ceremony. For 
 half an hour or so, a light and lively conversation ran 
 round the room, which was broken by the entrance of the 
 parties to be united. The minister met them as they came 
 in, and immediately the impressive ceremony began, and 
 soon progressed to its termination. All was then for a 
 few moments salutes and congratulations, with a moving 
 to and fro, and, a mingling of all together in one mass of 
 happy confusion. Then order was gradually and spon 
 taneously restored, and servants entered with the bride s 
 cake. For a few moments, Adeline and Eleanor had for 
 gotten their fears in the delight they experienced from 
 seeing their young friend so happy. The sight of the 
 waiters and refreshments recalled them to a painful recol 
 lection of the danger they so much dreaded. Both felt a 
 sickening sensation pass over them. But they rallied their 
 feelings with an effort. 
 
 " I see Mr. and Mrs. Morven here," Adeline remarked 
 to her sister. 
 
298 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. " And I suppose Jane s poor heart 
 is trembling." 
 
 " No doubt." Then after a pause " That is not wine, 
 surely, that the servants are passing around ?" 
 
 " O, yes. Whoever heard of anything but wine follow 
 ing the bride s cake?" 
 
 " If it is wine, it is white, and contained in lemonade- 
 glasses !" 
 
 " Lemonade-glasses? Sure enough ! But it cannot pos 
 sibly be lemonade ?" 
 
 " Yes, I expect so, and most earnestly do I hope that 
 it is ! How much more refreshing as a beverage than 
 wine !" 
 
 "To me it is. But we will soon see. For here it 
 comes." 
 
 As Eleanor said this, the servant paused before her, and 
 she lifted a glass from the waiter which he bore, and 
 placed it to her lips. 
 
 " All right, sister," she said, in a cheerful tone. 
 
 " But isn t it a strange idea ?" remarked Adeline. 
 
 " It s a very good idea." 
 
 " So it is. But I wonder if wine will not be served." 
 
 "No doubt it will. But how happy I should be, and 
 how happy poor Jane Morven would be, if nothing 
 stronger than lemonade were offered to the company !" 
 
 " This is very refreshing, Mr. Mudie," remarked a lady 
 by. the side of that young gentleman, as she sipped, with 
 an air of satisfaction, her cool lemonade, perfectly uncon 
 scious of the omission to serve wine that had been allow 
 ed to take place. 
 
 " Very refreshing, indeed !" responded the young man, 
 raising his glass to his lips, involuntarily, and sipping, in 
 turn, the pleasant beverage. " On a warm evening like 
 this, nothing is more grateful to the taste." 
 
 " Why, look how lively and cheerful Adeline Whiteman 
 and her sister have grown all at once," said his compan 
 ion, directing Mr. Mudie s attention towards the young 
 ladies to whom she had alluded. "They have seemed 
 dull ever since they came into the room." 
 
 " So I remarked. But a gleam of sunshine appears 
 suddenly to have fallen upon them." 
 
 " At the last party where I met them," resumed the 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 299 
 
 Jady " they seemed to enjoy themselves but little. Both 
 sing and play exquisitely, and dance with almost unequal 
 led grace and spirit ; but of late, in parties, they have not 
 seemed themselves. Their playing has not been so skil 
 ful ; and only in plaintive and touching airs, have they for 
 some time exhibited their musical powers. In these, they 
 sometimes, especially when they sing together, move yo 
 almost to tears." 
 
 " It is strange, is it not ?" the young man said, musingly 
 
 "It certainly is. Something is, no doubt, wrong at 
 home. But as to its nature, I have no idea." 
 
 " Does it not seem a little strange that they should have 
 brightened up so suddenly V 
 
 " It does, indeed. There, do you see that sweet, happy 
 smile, how it melts over, and makes radiant every feature 
 of Eleanor s lovely face, as she replies to some question 
 put to her by Mr. Lewis, who has just come up, and is 
 passing, no doubt, merely the simple compliments of the 
 evening." 
 
 " How like the smile that used to play there a few 
 months ago ; but of late, strangely banished from its lovely 
 resting place ! What can be the cause of the change that 
 has taken place in both of them during the past year?" 
 
 " I have sometimes thought," the lady replied, " that 
 their brother is becoming dissipated. He almost always 
 drinks too much on an occasion like this, and sometimes 
 makes himself very foolish." 
 
 " Yes, I have noticed this several times, and it may be 
 that this has something to do with the change that has 
 taken place in them. It must mortify and pain them ex 
 ceedingly." 
 
 " So I should think. You remember how much he 
 was out of the way a few weeks ago at your house." 
 
 "Yes, very well. So much so that I was not only 
 mortified at his conduct, but so offended with him, as 
 almost to resolve never again to invite him to the house. 
 Were it not for his interesting sisters, I am sure that I 
 would not." 
 
 " I observed, on that occasion," remarked the lady, 
 with whom Mudie was conversing, " that the spirits of 
 the sisters seemed to droop, as he became more and more 
 
300 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 excited with drink, and that their eyes often followed him 
 about with a sad expression." 
 
 " How I do pity them!" Mudie said, in an earnest sym 
 pathising tone. " But they need have no fears to-night." 
 
 " Why not, Mr. Mudie !" 
 
 " Didn t you know that this was to be a kind of cold- 
 water wedding ?" returned the young man with a broad 
 smile. 
 
 " No," in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " It is, then." 
 
 " A cold-water wedding ! I don t know that I exactly 
 understand you, Mr. Mudie." 
 
 " A wedding at which there is to be nothing stronger 
 than cold-water to drink, or lemonade, which is the same 
 thing. But isn t it a queer notion ?" 
 
 " It is certainly something new to me ; but the idea 
 seems most excellent, seeing that the pleasure of an 
 evening like this is so often marred by the departure of 
 some weak one from true sobriety. Especially to two 
 young ladies situated as Adeline and Eleanor Whiteman 
 are, it is an act of true charity." 
 
 " No doubt it is. But I presume it will be a dull affair. 
 Without a little wine, now and then, to bring up the spirits, 
 a social party must be a laboured affair." 
 
 " I cannot see how that need be, Mr. Mudie. Now, I 
 for one, never drink wine, and I could point you to a 
 dozen other ladies in the room who do not. Neither of 
 us, I believe, is at all famed for dulness in company. I 
 know you will give me credit, at least, for not sitting all 
 the evening with my hands in my lap, and simpering out 
 a feeble, yes sir, and * no sir, to all that is said to me." 
 
 " O, yes, I will give you credit for being lively enough. 
 But every one hasn t your flow of spirits. I, for instance, 
 always feel my tongue and my ideas, too, locked up, until 
 the wine begins to circulate." 
 
 " Excuse me for saying, Mr. Mudie, that I do not per 
 ceive but that your ideas flow very readily, and that I can 
 see no fault in your expression of them." 
 
 "I don t know how it may seem to you, madam, but I 
 am, myself, conscious of a feeling of constraint, that I 
 should not experience, if I had taken a glass or two of 
 wine. I am not only at a loss for subjects of conversa- 
 
COLD WATER WEDDING. 301 
 
 tion, but do not find language so readily, nor experience 
 that ease and self-possession that I do under the gentle 
 excitement of a little generous wine." 
 
 " You can bear to hear the truth, can you not, Mr. 
 Mudie?" his companion said, in a graver tone, looking 
 him with a kind, but more serious expression, in the face. 
 
 " From you, I can, madam." 
 
 " Are you sure V 9 
 
 " O, yes, I am sure of that. Speak plainly, and to the 
 point." 
 
 " That is a privilege that we married ladies sometimes 
 take, especially after we have attained some little age on 
 one side, with it corresponding experience." 
 
 " Don t be afraid. I can bear the truth." 
 
 " Very well. I have met you in company a good many 
 times within the last two years ; and have observed you 
 about as carefully as I observe most young men whom I 
 thus meet and that is pretty closely. Now, the result of 
 this is, that I like your company and conversation at the 
 beginning of a party, but never towards the end." 
 
 "Why not, Mrs. V 
 
 " The reason is easily given. Before the generous wine 
 takes effect, you are, to me, an intelligent and rational 
 young man." 
 
 " But Mrs. , I never drink too much wine," the 
 
 young man said, in surprise. 
 
 " Perhaps not. But there is, certainly, to me, a very 
 great change in you, always, towards the conclusion of a 
 social party." 
 
 " You must really be mistaken, madam." 
 
 " Persons of my age and habits of observation are 
 rarely mistaken in a matter like this, Mr. Mudie." 
 
 " You surprise and pain me greatly, Mrs. . Can 
 
 what you say be really true, or only the effect of your own 
 imagination ?" 
 
 " Trust, me, my dear sir, that all I say is too true. 
 More than once has my attention been called to the fact 
 by others, thus corroborating what I thought I saw my 
 self. But you are not alone in this, my young friend. 1 
 could name to you several of your acquaintances, who, 
 while they think that they are making themselves pecu 
 liarly interesting in a party, are rendering themselves in 
 26 
 
802 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 the eyes of not a few, extremely foolish. Their suavity 
 of manners, their briliant sayings, indeed, the whole tenor 
 of all that appertains to them while under the excitement 
 of generous wine, are sometimes seen and heard with 
 pain or disgust." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, Mrs. , you draw too strong a pic 
 ture." 
 
 " Perhaps I do. But could I draw such a picture with 
 out something of an original? Let me, however, refer to 
 Mrs. , here, who has been listening to our conversa 
 tion." 
 
 The lady referred to, a mutual acquaintance said, in 
 answer to the appeal, 
 
 " Like you, Mrs. , I have too frequently observed, 
 
 that after a few glasses of wine at a party, and, perhaps, 
 a little brandy, too, from the side-board, our young men 
 become much livelier: but lose a measure of their intelli 
 gence, and of course, their interest for me. They talk 
 much more freely, but the superaoundance is mere froth, 
 that conceals the body and soul of genuine rationality. 
 They can bow and smile, and gracefully incline their 
 bodies into attitudes, but " 
 
 " Say no more say no more, if you please !" Mr. 
 Mudie ejaculated, interrupting the lady who had been 
 referred to ; " or, I shall be so mortified that I cannot 
 enjoy this cold-water wedding at all. My feelings are 
 already almost down to zero, and with no wine to bring 
 them up, I fear my company will be anything but interest 
 ing and agreeable." 
 
 " We shall all enjoy ourselves, very much, I have not 
 the least doubt; and you, among the rest," was the reply. 
 " As happy a face to look upon as Adeline Whiteman s is 
 now, and as gay a partner as her sister when in fine 
 spirits, will do more to put life into my young friend, Mr. 
 Mudie, than a whole bottle of wine. Am I not right ? 
 
 "I am sure I do not know, I have never tried the ex 
 periment." 
 
 " You will have a chance to try this evening, or Pm mis 
 taken, for the spirits of the sisters I have just alluded to, 
 are certainly rising fast. The reason of this happy change, 
 
 have now not the least doubt is to be found in the fact 
 that they have learned that no wine is to be served to- 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 303 
 
 night. You cannot tell, Mr. Mudie, how pleased I feel 
 about this, now that its necessary happy results become 
 apparent to my mind." 
 
 " I must say, that, like you, I feel pleasure at the thought 
 that two such amiable beings are made happy. Most 
 willingly will I give up the wine for their sakes. But 
 what could have induced our friend Somers to take such 
 a position, involving himself, as he most certainly will, in 
 ridicule ?" 
 
 " Principle, I suppose. He has no doubt been made to 
 feel sensibly the evil of introducing intoxicating drinks in 
 companies where there may be some who will be tempted 
 to use it immoderately." 
 
 " He is certainly a bold man to take such a stand." 
 
 " He is, I believe, an independent man that is, a man, 
 who, when he is once convinced that a certain course of 
 action is right, will pursue it steadily and fearlessly. I 
 wish there were more such." 
 
 "Will Miss Whiteman favour us with a song?" said 
 Mr. Lewis, the bride s father, about half an hour after, to 
 Eleanor. 
 
 " With pleasure," that young lady replied, with one of 
 her happiest smiles, for her heart felt as light as a feather 
 There had been no wine yet. 
 
 Handed up to the piano by Mr. Lewis, she took her 
 seat there, and after turning over a few music leaves, 
 selected a piece that her eye lit upon unexpectedly. Then 
 running her fingers over the keys of the instrument, for a 
 few moments, she commenced in a clear, musical voice, 
 and with much expression, the song 
 
 " Water for me, bright water for me, 
 And wine for the tremulous debauchee." 
 
 Its effect upon the company was almost electrical, ex 
 hilarating their feelings, and putting each one in the best 
 possible humour with himself, and all around him. Its 
 repetition was called for, when it was sung with renewed 
 spirit. 
 
 " You seem quite happy to-night, Eleanor," remarked 
 a lady who sat by her side, some ten minutes after, while 
 each held in her hand a saucer of strawberries and 
 cream. 
 
304 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 " And I do feel happy," was the reply. " This is one 
 of the most pleasant parties I have attended for a long 
 time. Every one is so full of life and true enjoy 
 ment." 
 
 " So it appears to me. And I have already been won 
 dering to myself about the reason. We have all met in 
 company, frequently, but never before, it seems to me, in 
 such excellent spirits. I really believe, Eleanor, that it is, 
 because you and Adeline are so full of life and enjoy 
 ment." 
 
 " O, no. That is a mere idea of your own." 
 
 " It may be. But so I have thought." 
 
 " Will you dance, Miss Whiteman ?" young Mudie said, 
 coming up at that moment, and offering his arm. 
 
 " With pleasure," was Eleanor s response, and the two 
 passed to the centre of the room, to take their places in 
 a cotillion. Mr. Lee, the friend of Mudie, came up with 
 Adeline at the same moment, making the set complete. 
 The two girls were in fine spirits, and danced with ex 
 quisite grace. Their partners were never before so struck 
 with their loveliness. 
 
 Thus the festivities of the evening progressed, and con 
 tinued with an uninterrupted flow of spirits. It was a 
 feast of reason, and a flow of soul ; rather than a flow of 
 wine without reason. 
 
 " I don t know when I have enjoyed myself better," was 
 the remark of almost every one, the brother of Adeline 
 and Eleanor among the rest. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Mudie, how do you feel now ?" asked the 
 lady with whom he had been conversing during the early 
 part of the evening. 
 
 " Very pleasant, indeed," was the reply. 
 
 " You didn t need wine to keep up, I believe." 
 
 "No, indeed, I have scarcely thought of wine since." 
 
 " And yet, I have rarely seen you in better spirits." 
 
 " It was because I had such a pleasant companion 
 during a greater part of the time." 
 
 " Eleanor Whiteman ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " You know the reason at least, the presumed one 
 why, she has been in such good spirits ?" 
 
 " O,yes. And I am so glad there has been no wine; and I 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 305 
 
 hope I may never see another drop at a party, as long as 
 I live." 
 
 " Really, you have become quite a convert to the cold- 
 water system !" 
 
 " How could I help it, when it has worked to-night so 
 admirably? Did you observe Mr. Morven, how much he 
 seemed to enjoy himself?" 
 
 " I did. And his wife too. How cruel it would have 
 been, had they placed, as some of our temperance folks 
 say, a devil to his lips, to steal away his brains?" 
 
 "** It certainly would. For months he has been trying 
 to reform himself, and has not, in that time, tasted a drop 
 of wine or spirits. It would be extremely dangerous for 
 him to do so. He has, on this account, declined, of late, 
 attending parties; for he dislikes to refuse wine, because 
 it attracts attention to him, and reminds the company of 
 his weakness. Being related to Henry Somers, he could 
 not stay away to-night. How distressed his poor wife 
 must have felt, in anticipation of the danger that would 
 be run !" 
 
 " I have no doubt of it. Indeed, I could not help 
 noticing that she had an unquiet look during the first part of 
 the evening, all of which soon passed away, and she enjoy 
 ed herself very much. What you have just said, gives 
 me a clue to explain something that you could not under 
 stand." 
 
 " What was that ?" 
 
 " The reason why Mr. Somers would not consent to 
 have any wine at his wedding." 
 
 " True true. I see what you are going to say. It 
 was, no doubt, on his relative s account." 
 
 " No doubt. And I only wish every one else was as 
 considerate of others. If they were, there would be very 
 little wine served round to promiscuous companies, I am 
 very certain ; for there are but few assemblages now, 
 where there may not be some one to whom it would be a 
 temptation some reformed inebriate, who might fall 
 away, and never after be reclaimed." 
 
 " That consideration is certainly a very serious and im 
 portant one, and, it now seems to me, should never be lost 
 sight of," was Mr. Mudie s reply. 
 
 26* 
 
306 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 " You seemed very much pleased, last evening," Ade 
 line Whiteman said to her brother, as they sat alone upon 
 the sofa, on the next morning. 
 
 "I certainly was, sister more than I have been for 
 long time. And you, too, were brighter and happier than 
 usual. I heard several remark that both you and Eleanor 
 were the very life of the company. How is this? You 
 have been particularly dull in society, of late ?" 
 
 "Have 1?" Adeline replied, her manner becoming at 
 once embarrassed. 
 
 " You certainly have. But why do you colour and 
 look confused, sister?" 
 
 " You say that you enjoyed yourself very much, last 
 night, Edward ?" his sister resumed, after a few moments 
 laying her hand upon his arm, and looking him earnestly 
 in the face. 
 
 " I certainly did, Adeline." 
 
 " And yet there was no wine there, brother," she add 
 ed, still gazing into his face. 
 
 " What do you mean, Adeline !" was his instant re 
 sponse, somewhat sternly made. 
 
 " I only said that there was no wine there no artificial 
 excitement." 
 
 " But why did you say it to me ?" in a severe tone. 
 
 " Do not be angry, Edward, with a sister who loves you 
 tenderly, and whose very love makes her perception of 
 danger tenfold more acute." 
 
 " You speak in riddles, Adeline ! Come at once, and 
 distinctly to the point. Of what danger do you speak ?" 
 
 " Of the danger that lies in the wine cup, Edward. 
 You may be unconscious of it, but I have too frequently 
 seen you under its influence in company, not to fear and 
 tremble for you." 
 
 Half conscious of his own weakness, yet fully assured 
 that no one had a suspicion that he was in danger, Edward 
 Whiteman was taken by surprise at this. Both irritated 
 and mortified, he did not know what reply to make. He 
 felt angry with Adeline, because she had perceived, what 
 he supposed no one suspected; and was yet, at the same 
 time, conscious that he had no right to be angry with his 
 sister, but with himself. He, therefore, would not trust 
 himself to speak, but sat for a few moments in agitated 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 307 
 
 irresolution, and then suddenly rose up and left the room, 
 and the house. 
 
 Poor Adeline was, of course, exceedingly distressed at 
 this. The effect upon her brother s mind, of what she had 
 said, she could not, of course, truly imagine. But her 
 busy fears suggested the worst and most painful result. 
 He was, evidently, angry at what she had said, and a 
 brother s anger she felt it to be hard to bear, still harder 
 to bear, was the thought that she had, by her imprudence, 
 driven him, in all probability, to speedy ruin. 
 
 " What troubles you now, Adeline ?" her mother asked, 
 coming into the room where she still sat, and finding her 
 in tears. 
 
 " I have been talking to Edward, ma ; and he has got 
 angry and left the house," was her reply. 
 
 " What were you talking to him about?" 
 
 " I am afraid you will all blame me, but I did it for the 
 best. You know that I have several times mentioned to 
 you, that at parties he often drinks too much wine, so as 
 to make himself the subject of remark, and that we have 
 all felt troubled about him on this account." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I hinted, (Distantly, at this, just now, when he insisted 
 on my speaking out plainly; I did so, gently warning 
 him, that he was in danger." 
 
 " And he got angry ?" 
 
 " Yes, and left the house without making any reply, 
 from which I could gather his true feelings." 
 
 "This is what troubles you?" 
 
 " O, yes, ma, I feel deeply distressed about it. I had 
 only his good in view; but I tremble lest my well-meant 
 effort will be productive of harm. What, if he should 
 suddenly throw himself away !" and a new gush of tears 
 attested the agitation of her feelings. 
 
 " Do not give yourself unnecessary pain, Adeline," hei 
 mother said, in an encouraging tone. " No harm, be 
 assured, will grow out of what you have said. All of us, 
 instead of blaming, must feel greatly obliged to you for 
 relieving us of a very unpleasant duty, that should have 
 been performed months ago." 
 
 " Are you then, satisfied, that no harm to Edward, will 
 
308 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 grow out of what I have said?" Adeline asked, in a 
 calmer tone. 
 
 " I apprehend no danger at all," was the mother s reply. 
 * I think that I understand Edward s character well 
 enough to be assured that he will not only thank you for 
 warning him of danger, but will flee from it in future 
 His feelings are easily roused, but when they subside, h 
 reasons calmly, and is fixed in his resolutions." 
 
 " How greatly you have relieved my heart," the daugh 
 ter said. " Still, I shall be very unhappy, until he returns, 
 and we are reconciled." 
 
 It was about three hours after, that a gentle rap at Ade 
 line s chamber-door, roused her from a deep and troubled 
 reverie. As she opened it, a low, and somewhat sad 
 voice, asked, 
 
 " Are you alone, sister?" 
 
 " Yes, Edward, come in," she replied, quickly, and her 
 brother entered, and closed the door quietly, after him. 
 Kissing the cheek of his sister, that was paler than usual, 
 he said, as he drew his arm affectionately around her 
 waist 
 
 " I want to talk with you for a little while, Adeline." 
 
 " I will hear you with pleasure, Edward. But first, do 
 you forgive me for what I said this morning?" 
 
 " Forgive you, Adeline ! O, yes, and thank you a thou 
 sand times! It is upon that subject that I wish to con 
 verse with you." 
 
 A momentary silence passed, and then the young man 
 resumed 
 
 " For some months past, I have noticed, and so have 
 others, that neither you nor Eleanor were so cheerful iq 
 company as formerly. May I ask the reason ?" 
 
 " As you expect, and I can only give a true reason, 
 Edward, I must answer, that it was because we were 
 troubled on your account." 
 
 " Why, then, were you in so much better spirits last 
 night?" 
 
 " Because you drank no wine, there." 
 
 " Then, was it simply my drinking of wine that trou 
 bled you ?" 
 
 " O, no, Edward, not that. It was the effect produced 
 on you by the wine. 4 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 309 
 
 "What was that effect? speak frankly." 
 
 " The effect has been, at nearly every party, for the 
 last six months, except the one last night, that you have 
 become elated and foolish, if I must so speak, to such a 
 degree, that you were noticed by the company. How, 
 then, could we be cheerful when such was your condi 
 tion or even while looking forward to it, at the beginning 
 of a social evening, with dread." 
 
 For some time after Adeline ceased speaking, her bro 
 ther sat in thoughtful silence, then he said 
 
 " Since your unexpected remark this morning, which 
 half-offended, while it pained me exceedingly, I have been 
 endeavouring to recall the past with as much vividness as 
 possible. \ had already become conscious of a growing 
 fondness foi wine, but could not believe that this had been 
 perceived by others, much less by yourself, or any of the 
 family. And yet, although J had noticed a change in you 
 and Eleanor for some time back when in company, I 
 never could bring myself to inquire the reason, for fear 
 that it had something to do with this very weakness. 
 What you said this morning, satisfied me that my vague 
 and scarcely acknowledged suspicions were but too true. 
 An hour s serious thought convinced me that I had but 
 one safe course to pursue. The reluctance with which 1 
 gained my own consent to adopt that course, convinced 
 me of my danger, and confirmed my resolution to adopt 
 it. I have determined, hereafter, to abstain totally, on all 
 occasions, from the use of wine, or strong drinks. This 
 I am convinced is the only safe way for me." 
 
 "0, brother! What a load you have removed from my 
 heart !" Adeline said, leaning her head upon his shoulder, 
 while tears of joy fell slowly over her cheeks. " How 
 happy I shall be ! And how happy we all shall be !" 
 
 And 1, too, shall be far happier, and prepared to join 
 in purer social delights, than heretofore. I laughed, 
 heartily, at the idea of Henry Somers s cold-water wed 
 ding. But I shall never cease to remember it with plea 
 sure, I tried hard, when I learned, beforehand, his inten 
 tion, to ridicule him out of the idea; but the more I said, 
 the more resolute he seemed to grow." 
 
 " What reason did he give you?" Adeline asked. 
 
 "None at all; although he said his reasons were so 
 
310 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 good that no argument, persuasion, or form ol ridicule, 
 could change him." 
 
 " Is it not a little strange, that Mr. Lewis acceded to 
 his wishes?" 
 
 " It is. But, then, Henry told him that if he were not 
 willing to do so, he must insist upon having no wed 
 ding party at all. Of the two dilemmas, Mr. Lewis 
 chose the former." 
 
 " What do you think was his reason, Edward ?" 
 
 " I have no doubt that it was on Mr. Morven s account, 
 and, perhaps, on my own, also, as you say I have been 
 too much excited of late in company. Of course, he 
 would not say so to me, but some such reason must have 
 influenced him, I am sure, for ne is ever regardful of 
 others in all he does." 
 
 " We shall have to give a party to the bride," the sister 
 remarked, after a brief silence. 
 
 " Of course," Edward responded. 
 
 " A cold-water party ?" 
 
 " I dislike, above all things, to be singular, Adeline. 
 Still, I should be in favour of excluding everything stronger 
 than lemonade. We have had a good example set us, and 
 have partaken largely of its benefits, shall we not fol 
 low, and thus dispense good to others ?" 
 
 " I have but one opinion, and one feeling in the matter, 
 Edward, and they are altogether in favour of excluding 
 wine and brandy." 
 
 " How will father and mother feel about it ?" 
 
 " They will warmly coincide with us, I know." 
 
 " Then let it be a cold-water party." 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 "How much this party reminds me of the wedding 
 party," remarked Mr. Mudie, to Mrs. , on the even 
 ing when company assembled at Mr. Whiteman s, in 
 honour of the new-married couple. 
 
 "In what respect?" asked Mrs. . 
 
 " O, in the life and enjoyment that pervade the whole 
 company. There is a sphere of rational and confidential 
 social intercourse prevailing here to an extent not always 
 experienced." 
 
 " I have felt the same at other parties." 
 
 " So have I. But it is rarely that we find all in so 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 3H 
 
 iarge an assemblage as this, ready to enter into the gen 
 eral joy. Upon some heart will rest a burden, and upon 
 some countenance a shadow of gloom." 
 
 " These, however, will be dissipated to a great extent 
 by the light and joy that is diffused around, it there be not 
 some present cause of pain or uneasiness." 
 
 " No such cause should be permitted to exist in a socia 
 party." 
 
 " So think I. Now, it is because all causes that could 
 possibly affect unpleasantly any one invited to this party, 
 have been removed by those who have given it, that all 
 seem to be so happy." 
 
 How has this been done?" asked the young man. 
 
 " Particularly in the exclusion of everything that could 
 intoxicate. This, you are aware, I suppose, is a cold- 
 water party." 
 
 " Sure enough ! There has been no wine served. Real 
 ly, I had not observed it !" 
 
 " Then I presume you have not felt the need of it to 
 get up a social feeling within your own bosom ?" 
 
 " O, no, indeed ! Every one is so full of enjoyment 
 every one so social, that I have become at once affected 
 by the general delight." 
 
 " Do you think if wine had been circulated, that Eleanor 
 Whiteman whom I saw leaning upon your arm a few 
 minutes ago, the personification of beauty and joyousness, 
 would have been so happy as she is?" 
 
 " O, no. I am sure she would not." 
 
 " The heat, and warmth of social life, transfused around, 
 and felt by all who approach one like her, must give a 
 thousand times purer and freer spirit of social intercourse, 
 than all the wine that ever was or ever will be served. 
 There is nothing, Mr. Mudie, like the wine of a happy 
 spirit, to exhilarate a company." 
 
 " I feel sensibly the force of your remark," the young 
 man replied. " 1 have attended many, very many parties 
 in my time, where wine has been poured out like water, 
 and I have taken wine freely at these assemblages with 
 the rest ; but never, I am sure, have I enjoyed myself so 
 much as I have to-night. I have seen more boisterous 
 mirth more excess of joyfulness, but nothing of the 
 
3 12 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 pure delight, freely and fully expressed, that I have seen 
 here." 
 
 " There is, trust me, my young friend, a very great 
 difference in purely rational pleasure, called into activity 
 by warm social affections, and that species of insane 
 enjoyment which depends upon artificial excitement." 
 
 " I believe you are perfectly right, Mrs. . Facts 
 
 have already proved to me the truth of the position you 
 took at the wedding. But, tell me as a friend, and in 
 
 confidence, whether But stay, can I confide in you ? 
 
 And are you willing to be my adviser?" 
 
 " You may confide in me as a friend, Mr. Mudie and 
 as far as I am capable of advising you, I will do sowith 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Thank you, with all my heart. And now, to begin 
 Do you know whether Eleanor is engaged ?" 
 
 " I believe she is not. But why ?" 
 
 " Would it be hard for you to guess 1" Mudie asked 
 with a meaning look. 
 
 " Perhaps not. But I like every one to tell plainly 
 and honestly his own story, and then I shall be sure not 
 to misunderstand dark allusions. So speak out plainly." 
 
 I will." 
 
 " Then I shall know what to say." 
 
 " At Henry Somers s wedding, I saw her in a new 
 light. Before, there had been about her a distance, a 
 seeming coldness, and a reserve, that chilled me, and kept 
 me at a distance. But on that evening, she seemed so 
 suddenly changed into a joyous creature became sud 
 denly so frank, so cheerful, so full of spirit and beauty, 
 that my heart was drawn towards her irresistibly. To 
 night, she is even more enchanting. See, now, with what 
 exquisite grace she moves through that cotillion ! Did you 
 ever see a sweeter, or happier countenance ?" 
 
 " 1 fully appreciate all you say, Mr. Mudie. There are 
 few sweeter girls than Eleanor and her sister Adeline." 
 
 "Of that, I am now fully persuaded. And you believ 
 that her affections are not interested ?" 
 
 " I have reason to believe they are not." 
 
 " Do you think I might venture to address her ?" 
 
 " Ah, now you are coming to the point." 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 313 
 
 " Well. Now I have come to the point frankly, I hope 
 will give me a frank answer." 
 
 " Certainly I will. You might venture to address her 
 if you were to do one thing." 
 
 " What is that?" 
 
 " If you were to join the temperance society," Mrs. 
 
 replied, smiling. 
 
 " You are sporting with me, while I am serious," the 
 young man said, somewhat gravely. 
 
 " Not so much as you might, perhaps, think, Mr. Mudie. 
 Certain I am, that if Eleanor Whiteman were to see you 
 drink wine at a party, or any other liquor, that would 
 intoxicate, all hope for you, in that quarter, would be cut 
 off." 
 
 " That would be arbitrary and unreasonable." 
 
 " Not so much so, as at the first impression you might 
 be inclined to think. The dangerous position in which 
 she has perceived her own brother to be placed, a brother 
 whom she has loved, and in whom, no doubt, she has 
 reposed great confidence, will naturally direct her atten 
 tion to the same habit in others, that has overcome him. 
 The consequence will be, a natural unwillingness to permit 
 her affections to go out towards a young man whom she 
 sees inclined to drink. Though she may respect, and 
 esteem, nay, love him, she will hardly consent to bestow 
 her hand upon him, while the example of her own bro 
 ther is before her eyes. That which in a brother is so 
 distressing, must be ten times more so in a husband." 
 
 " But, Mrs. , I do not drink to excess, as ner bro 
 ther too frequently does." 
 
 " If I, Mr. Mudie, as I told you on a former occasion, 
 could note a very apparent effect of wine upon you, even 
 while in the company of ladies ; would not her quick per 
 ceptions, rendered, as they must be, painfully acute, detect 
 it much more readily, if she felt a personal interest in 
 you ? Certainly they would ! You cannot, then, blame 
 her. If she objected to you, because you used wine and 
 strong drinks, habitually, there would be, in her objection, 
 as I see it, nothing arbitrary or unreasonable." 
 
 " Perhaps not," the young man said, musingly. 
 
 "But do you think no other serious objection would 
 exist ?" he asked, after a few moments silence. 
 27 
 
314 COLD-WATER WEDDlNG. 
 
 " I cannot say positively, of course." 
 
 " O, no, of course not. But then, as far as you are 
 able to judge, can you encourage me to make advan 
 ces." 
 
 "I certainly can. And what is more, know of no 
 young man more likely to succeed." 
 
 " Then I must make the trial, for I believe she has made 
 quite a serious impression on my heart." 
 
 " Remember the cold-water, though," Mrs. said, 
 
 with an arch smile. 
 
 " O, yes. I 11 remember," was t he reply. 
 
 " You look serious, Mr. Mudie," Adeline remarked, as, 
 leaning upon the arm of his friend, Mr. Lee, she paused 
 before the young man. 
 
 "Do I, indeed! Well, that ought not to be, when 
 you and your sister, and all your company, are so 
 happy." 
 
 " A very wise remark," was the laughing reply. " But 
 where is Eleanor ? I must send her to bring back your 
 fugitive spirits. She has life enough in her this evening 
 for two or three. O, here she is !" as Eleanor came up 
 at the moment " Come, sis ! Here is Mr. Mudie, looking 
 quite sombre. That will never do. Can t you impart to 
 him a portion of your own joyous feelings 1" 
 
 As Eleanor approached, while her sister was speaking, 
 her cheeks glowing, and her eyes dancing in light, she 
 appeared to young Mudie the loveliest being he had ever 
 looked upon. The deepening blush that overspread her 
 face at Adeline s playful remark, was observed, and made 
 his bosom thrill with deeper emotion than had yet trem 
 bled over the chords of affection. 
 
 A momentary and slight embarrassment was experien 
 ced by both Mudie and Eleanor ; but it quickly subsided, 
 ana he offered her his arm with a playful word in reply 
 to what Adeline had said. They were soon lost to obser 
 vation in the crowd. 
 
 " Henry Somers s will not be the last cold-water wed 
 ding, I am inclined to think," Mrs. remarked, w 7 ith 
 
 a smile, to a lady near her, as the young couple mingled 
 with their gay companions in the promenade. 
 
 She was right. About six months after, the large 
 parlours of Mr. Whiteman were crowded with a bril- 
 
COLD-WATER WEDDING. 315 
 
 liant company, the central point of attraction in which 
 were three lovely brides. Adeline and Eleanor, looking 
 happier and more beautiful than ever, and also cousin Mary, 
 mentioned far back, as having had all her pleasure spoiled 
 at Mrs. Wheeler s party, by the conduct of Edward. 
 Adeline had become the wife of Mr. Lee, Eleanor of Mr. 
 Mudie, and cousin Mary had yielded up her heart with 
 joy to Edward Whiteman. It was, too, another cold- 
 water wedding ; and there was not one present who would 
 have tasted wine had it been offered. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mr. Mudie met Henry Somers. 
 
 " I must again offer you my congratulations, Mudie," 
 the latter said, smiling and grasping his hand. 
 
 " And I must take this opportunity to thank you for the 
 sweet wife I have obtained." 
 
 " Thank me !" Somers said, in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, you. You remember your cold-water wed 
 ding?" 
 
 " O, yes," the other replied, laughing. 
 
 "Well, it was because you had resolution enough to 
 act right on that occasion, that I must thank you for my 
 wife." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " I had met her frequently before, but was not attract 
 ed. She seemed cold and spiritless. But on that even 
 ing, she was remarkably changed. It seemed as if a ray 
 of spiritual sunshine had suddenly gleamed upon her mind. 
 I was at once interested, and that interest soon grew into 
 affection. The cause of so remarkable a change was 
 this. Edward had begun to give way under the encroach 
 ments of a love of drink, and at every social party that 
 he attended with them, indulged too freely. The conse 
 quence was, that they perceived it; and, therefore, their 
 spirits were always depressed on such occasions. But at 
 your wedding, there was no wine, and their spirits instant 
 ly rose under the influence of the happy sphere around 
 them. I then saw Eleanor as she really was, and loved 
 her. And this is not all. Adeline attracted our friend 
 Lee s attention on that same night. Nor is this all 
 Edward Whiteman was led by some remarks of his sister 
 in reference to the wedding, to see his true condition, and 
 
316 COLD-WATER WEDDING. 
 
 utterly to renounce all intoxicating drinks as a beverage. 
 He then had power to win the heart of dear little cousin 
 Mary or rather, was now able to obtain the heart already 
 his own. It will be long, very long, Harry, before any 
 of us forget your cold-water wedding." 
 
Two Scenes iu the Life of a City Belle. 
 
TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE OF 
 A CITY BELLE. 
 
 SCENE FIRST. 
 
 "ISN T she a glorious creature ?" said my young friend 
 Merwyn, glancing, as he spoke, toward a beautiful girl 
 named Florine Malcolm, the daughter of a merchant re 
 puted to be rich. We were at a party, and the object of 
 remark sat, or rather reclined near us on a sofa, with a 
 graceful abandon, or rather indolence, in her whole air 
 and attitude, that indicated one born and raised in idleness 
 and luxury. 
 
 " She is a fine looking girl, certainly," I replied. 
 
 " Fine looking !" said my enthusiastic young friend, in 
 surprise, half inclined to be offended at the coldness with 
 which I expressed myself. " Fine looking, indeed ! She s 
 a perfect Hebe; a very impersonation of youth and 
 beauty." 
 
 " No one can deny that she is a very lovely and beauti 
 ful girl," said I, to this. " But she lacks animation." 
 
 " What you speak of as a fault, I consider her greatest 
 charm. I never met any one so free from all vulgar hurry 
 and excitement. An exquisite ease distinguishes her 
 actions, and she reminds you, in nearly every thing, of 
 those courtly ladies who give such a charm to foreign 
 aristocratic society. Certainly, I have not met, in this 
 country, with any one who has so perfectly the air of a 
 high-bred lady as Florine Malcolm." 
 
 To understand this, perfectly, the reader must be told 
 that Merwyn had recently returned from a tour through 
 Europe, whither he had been permitted to go by a wealthy 
 
320 TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 father, and where he had discovered, like most of our 
 young men who venture abroad, that in our forms of so 
 cial intercourse, and in all that gives fashionable society 
 its true excellence and attractiveness, we are sadly defi 
 cient. Foreign manners, habits, and dress were brought 
 home and retained by the young man ; who, as a natural 
 consequence, became a favourite among our ladies, and 
 was thus encouraged in his silly imitations of things anti- 
 American, and therefore in America ridiculous. In the 
 eye of sober-minded, sensible people, who did not know 
 him well enough to see that there was a more substantial 
 groundwork in his character than all this would lead a 
 casual observer to infer, Merwyn was viewed as a mere 
 fop, whose brains had grown out upon his upper lip in the 
 shape of a moustache. 
 
 Such a man was my friend, Henry Merwyn. I knew 
 his better qualities, and esteemed them ; at the same time 
 that I saw his weaknesses, and bore with them for the sake 
 of the good that was in him. He had been raised in a 
 sickly atmosphere, and his mind had taken an unhealthy 
 tone ; but he was honourable, and rigidly just in all his 
 actions toward others. 
 
 As for the young lady he so warmly admired Miss 
 Florine Malcolm I only knew her as we know those into 
 whose society we are but occasionally thrown. She was a 
 fine, showy girl, with a face of more than ordinary beau 
 ty ; but, to one of my taste, uninteresting for the very 
 reason that she proved so charming to Merwyn. This 
 genteel languor, this elegant indolence, this distinguishing 
 repose, never much suited my fancy: I like to see the 
 soul flow into the bodily organism, and thrill its every 
 nerve with life and sentiment. I like to see the eye burn, 
 the lips quiver, and the whole face glow with animating 
 thought. These make beauty tenfold more beautiful ; 
 and give to even plainness a charm. 
 
 " By a high-bred lady," I replied toMerwyn s particu 
 lar praise of Miss Malcolm, "you mean, I presume, a 
 woman who is entirely artificial." 
 
 "No," he quickly answered, "you put a construction 
 on my words that I do not acknowledge to be fair. By a 
 high-bred lady, I mean one who possesses that peculiar ease 
 
OF A CITY BELLE. 321 
 
 and grace, that exquisite repose, and that charming ele 
 gance of manner that comes from a refined taste and 
 long association with those who move in the highest rank 
 in society. In fact, it is hard to fix in words all that 
 goes to make up a well-bred lady ; but, when you meet 
 her, you know her at a glance." 
 
 " And you say Miss Malcolm comes nearer to the high 
 bred, courtly lady, than any woman it has been your for 
 tune to meet on this side of the Atlantic ?" 
 
 " She does. In Paris or London she would find herself 
 at home in the first circles of fashion. Now just look at 
 Miss Watson, who sits near her, bolt upright, and stiff as 
 a post ; and then observe how gracefully Florine reclines 
 on those cushions like a very queen. There you have the 
 exact difference between a mere vulgar girl and a true 
 lady." 
 
 There was a difference between the two individuals thus 
 referred to a very marked difference. Miss Watson looked 
 like a girl of thought and action, while the other reposed 
 languidly among the cushions of a sofa, the very picture 
 of indolence. 
 
 "I see nothing vulgar about Miss Watson," said I. 
 " And I know that there is nothing vulgar about her. She 
 is a true lady in every sense of the word." 
 
 Merwyn half vexed me by his dissenting silence. 
 
 Just then he observed that Miss Malcolm looked pale. 
 Going over quickly to where she was, he inquired if she 
 were not well, and learned that some particular perfume 
 used by a lady who sat near, was so unpleasant as to make 
 her faint. He immediately proposed that she should go 
 into another room where were fewer persons, and get a 
 place near one of the windows, offering his arm at the 
 same time. She arose, and I saw her pass out slowly. 
 She was in good health, in fact, in the very prime and 
 vigour of young life ; yet, surrounded as she was by every 
 luxury and elegance, she had grown inactive, and felt 
 even a small effort as burdensome. Trifling causes affect 
 ed her ; and she imagined a physical inability to do a thou 
 sand things that might have been done with scarce an 
 effort. 
 
 The very sympathy and concern manifested by Merwyn, 
 
322 TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 who was the lover of Florine, made her feel that she wag 
 really indisposed ; and she languidly reclined on the sofa 
 to which he had conducted her, with the air of an invalid. 
 Finding that she did not grow any better, Merwyn, in a 
 little while, proposed that she should go home, and had a 
 carriage ordered. Wandering into the apartment to which 
 they had gone, I saw him bring her shawl, without which 
 she could not pass into the dressing-room for fear of cold, 
 and saw her meet the attention with a half averted face, 
 and a want of effort, that made me feel as if I would like 
 to have aroused her by means of the wires from an elec 
 trical battery. 
 
 " A beautiful couple they will make," said I to myself, 
 as Florine arose and went out, leaning heavily on the arm 
 of the young man, " to pass through the storms and over 
 the rough places of this troublesome world. A summer 
 breeze will be too rough for that young creature, and the 
 odour of violets too stimulating for her nerves." 
 
 A few months subsequent to this they were married, and 
 not long afterward I removed from the city, and did not 
 see them again for some years. But, I learned, in the 
 mean time, with sincere regret, that in a great " commercial 
 crisis" through which the country passed, both of the 
 families of this young couple had been reduced from afflu 
 ence to comparative poverty. A sigh for the human sum 
 mer flowers I have mentioned, was my simple response to 
 the news. A couple of years afterward I met them again. 
 
 SCENE SECOND. 
 
 During a journey through the western part of Ohio, I 
 had occasion to stop for a few days in the little town of 
 
 R . On the day after my arrival, a man whose face 
 
 struck me as being familiar, passed the door of the tavern 
 in which I was standing. A sort of doubtful recognition 
 took place on both sides, but neither of us being certain 
 as to the other s identity, we did not speak, and the man 
 passed on. I looked after him as he moved down the 
 street, wondering in my mind who he could be, when I 
 saw him stop, and after appearing to hesitate about some 
 thing, turn around and walk back toward the hotel. He 
 
OP A CITY BELLE. 323 
 
 was a young man, plainly dressed, and looked as if he 
 were clerk in a store, or, it might be, a small store-keeper 
 himself. As he came back, I fixed my eyes upon his face, 
 trying to make out who it was that bore such familiar 
 features. 
 
 "My old friend Merwyn !" I exclaimed, as he paused 
 in front of where I stood. 
 
 He called my name in return, and then we grasped each 
 other s hands eagerly. 
 
 " The last man in the world I expected to meet," said I. 
 
 " And, certainly, I as little expected to meet you," was 
 returned. " This is indeed a pleasure ! When did you 
 arrive, and how long do you stay in R ?" 
 
 " I came here yesterday, and hope to resume my jour 
 ney to-morrow." 
 
 "Not so soon !" Merwyn said, still tightly holding my 
 hand. " You must stay longer." 
 
 "I am doubtful as to that," I returned. "But is this 
 your place of sojourn in the world?" 
 
 " Yes, for the present, seeing that I can t find a better." 
 
 There was a manly cheerfulness in the way this was 
 said, which I could not have believed it possible for the 
 young man to feel, under the great change of circum 
 stances that had taken place. 
 
 " And your lady ?" I felt some hesitation even while I 
 asked this question. 
 
 " Very well, thank you !" was cheerfully replied. " We 
 live a mile or two from town, and you must go out and 
 spend a night with us before you leave. Florine will be 
 delighted to see you." 
 
 " It will be quite as pleasant for me to meet her," I could 
 but answer ; yet even while I spoke I felt that our meeting 
 must remind the wife of my friend so strongly of the past, 
 as to make it any thing but pleasant. 
 
 " How long have you lived here ?" 
 
 " About two years." 
 
 " It is almost the last place in which I expected to meet 
 you. What are you doing ?" 
 
 " Merchandizing in a small way. I had no profession, 
 when kind fortune knocked us all on the head, and so had 
 to turn my hand to the first Jhing that offered, which hap- 
 
324 TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 pened to be a clerkship in a store at three hundred and 
 fifty dollars a year. This was barely enough to keep body 
 and soul together ; yet I was thankful for so much, and 
 tried to keep down a murmuring spirit. At the end of a 
 year, having given every satisfaction to my employer, he 
 said to me one day * You have shown far more business 
 capacity than I thought you possessed, and, I think, are 
 the very man I want to go out West with a stock of goods. 
 Can you command any capital ? Not a dollar, I fear, 
 was my reply. I m sorry for that, said he, for I 
 want a man who is able to take an interest in the business. 
 Don t you think you could raise a couple of thousand 
 dollars in cash? I shook my head doubtfully. We had 
 a good deal more conversation on the subject. 
 
 " When I went home, I mentioned to my wife what Mr. 
 
 L , my employer, had said, and we talked much about 
 
 the proposition. I expressed a great deal of regret at 
 not being able to furnish capital, as the offer I had re 
 ceived was plainly an advantageous one, and would give 
 me a fair start in the world. Would you be willing to go 
 off to the West ? I asked of Florine, while we talked over 
 the subject. Wherever you think it best to go, I will go 
 cheerfully, was her brave answer. Thus far she had 
 borne our change of fortune with a kind of heroism that 
 more than any thing else helped to sustain me. We were 
 living with my family, and had one child. My father, of 
 whose misfortunes you are aware, had obtained the office 
 of president in an insurance company, with a salary of 
 two thousand a year, and this enabled him still to keep his 
 family around him, and, though luxuries had to be given 
 up, his income afforded every comfort. We had a room 
 with them, and, though my income was small, we had all 
 that health and peace of mind required. 
 
 " On the day after the conversation with my wife about 
 the West, she met me on coming home to dinner, with so 
 happy, yet meaning a smile on her face, that I could not 
 help inquiring what it meant. As I sat down by her side, 
 she drew from her pocket a small roll of bank bills, and, 
 handing them to me, said There is the capital you 
 want. I took the money, and unrolling it in mute sur 
 prise, counted out the sum of two thousand dollars ! 
 
OF A CITY BELLE. 325 
 
 Where did this come from ? I inquired. She glanced 
 across the room, and my eyes followed the direction hers 
 had taken. I missed something. It was her piano ! 
 4 Explain yourself, Florine, I said. * That is easily 
 done, she replied, as she looked tenderly in my face. 
 4 1 have sold my piano and watch, my diamond pin, brace 
 let and ring, and every article of jewelry and bijouterie in 
 my possession, but this, holding up the wedding ring, 
 1 and there you have the money. I cannot tell you how 
 much I was affected by this. But, no matter. I used 
 the two thousand dollars in the way proposed, and here I 
 am. Come, walk down to my store with me, and let us 
 chat a little about old times, there." 
 
 I went, as invited, and found Merwyn with a small, but 
 well selected stock of goods in his store, and all the evi 
 dences of a thriving business around him. 
 
 " You must go home with me this afternoon," said he, 
 as I arose to leave him, after having had an agreeable talk 
 for an hour. " I live, as I told you, a short distance in 
 the country ; so you will stay all night, and can corne in 
 with me in the morning. The stage leaves here at five 
 o clock, and passes within a short distance of my house. 
 Florine will be delighted to see you." 
 
 I consented, well pleased with this arrangement, and, 
 at five o clock was seated in the stage by the side of my 
 old friend, who bore as little resemblance to one of your 
 curled, perfumed, and moustached exquisites what he 
 had once been as could well be imagined. His appear 
 ance was plain, substantial, and business-like. 
 
 Half an hour s ride brought us to our stopping-place. 
 
 " I live off to the right here," said Merwyn, as we left 
 the stage, " beyond that piece of wood. Ten minutes 
 walk will bring us to my door. We prefer the country 
 for several reasons, the principal one of which is economy. 
 Our cottage, with six acres of ground, costs us only fifty 
 dollars a year, and we have the whole of the land worked 
 on shares by a neighbour ; thus more than clearing our rent. 
 Then we have plenty of fruit and milk for ourselves and 
 children, and fresh air and health into the bargain." 
 
 "But don t Mrs. Merwyn find it very lonesome out 
 here?" I inquired. 
 
 28 
 
326 TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE 
 
 " Oh, no. We have two children, and they, -with a 
 very clever young woman who lives with us more as a friend 
 than a domestic, although we pay her wages, give Florin e 
 plenty of society through the day, and I come in by night 
 fall, and sometimes earlier, to make the evenings all she 
 could wish. At least, I have Florine s own declaration 
 for this." The last sentence was uttered with a smile. 
 
 As we walked along, the nearness of my meeting with 
 Mrs. Merwyn turned my thoughts back to other times. 
 A beautiful girl was before me, languidly reclining on a 
 sofa, overcome by the extract of some sweet herbs, the 
 perfume of which had fallen unharmoniously upon the 
 sense. A hot-house plant, how was it possible that she 
 could bear the cold, bracing atmosphere of such a life as 
 that she was now living ? When last I saw her, she was 
 but a tender summer flower, on whom the warm sun shone 
 daily, and into whose bosom the night dews came softly 
 with refreshing coolness. 
 
 Silently I walked along, with my mind full of such 
 thoughts, when an opening in the woods through which 
 we were passing, gave me a glimpse of a woman s figure, 
 standing on the second rail of a fence, and apparently on 
 the look-out for some one. The intervening trees quickly 
 hid her again from my view. In a minute or so after 
 ward we emerged from the trees but a short distance from 
 the woman I had seen, who was looking in another direction 
 from that in which we were coming. We were close upon 
 her before she observed us. Then the voice of Merwyn, 
 who called "Florine !" startled her, and she turned upon 
 us her beautiful young face, glowing with health, surprise 
 and pleasure. I paused in astonishment. Was that the 
 indolent, languid city belle, who could scarcely sit erect 
 even with the aid of cushions, now standing firm and 
 straight on a fence-rail, and looking more lovely and grace 
 ful than she had ever seemed in my eyes ? 
 
 She recognised me in a moment, and, springing from 
 the rail, came bounding toward me, full to overflowing of 
 life and spirits. Grasping my hand, she expressed the 
 warmest pleasure at seeing an old face, and asked me a 
 dozen questions before I could answer one. 
 
 I found them occupying a neat little bird s-nest of a 
 
OF A CITY BELLE. 327 
 
 cottage, in which were two as sweet little children as I have 
 ever seen. While I sat and talked with Merwyn, holding 
 one child upon my knee, and he the other, Florine busied 
 herself in getting the supper. Her only domestic was 
 away. Ever and anon I caught a glimpse of her as she 
 passed in and out of the adjoining room where she had 
 spread the table. A very long time did not elapse before 
 I sat down with my old friends to a meal that I enjoyed 
 as well as any I have ever eaten. The warm, white bis 
 cuits were baked by Florine ; the sweet butter she had her 
 self churned, so she said, and the cakes and preserves 
 were her own. 
 
 " I am surprised at all this," said I, after tea. " How 
 is it possible for you to be cheerful and happy under such 
 a change ? How was it possible for you to come so effi 
 ciently into a mode of life, the very antipodes of the one 
 to which you were born, and in which you were educated?" 
 
 " Misfortune," replied Merwyn, " brings out whatever 
 is efficient in our characters. This has been particularly 
 the case with us. We had both led artificial lives, and 
 had false views of almost every thing, when at a blow the 
 golden palace in which we had lived was dashed in pieces. 
 We were then thrown out into the world, with nothing to 
 depend upon but our individual resources, which were, at 
 first, you may well believe, exceedingly small. The sud 
 denness with which our fashionable friends turned from 
 us, and the entire exclusion from fashionable society that 
 followed, opened our eyes to the utter worthlessness of 
 much that we had looked upon as of primary considera 
 tion. The necessity of our circumstances turned our 
 thoughts, at the same time, to things of real moment, the 
 true importance of which grew daily more apparent. Thus 
 we were prepared for other steps that had to be taken, 
 and which, I am glad to say, we were able to take cheer 
 fully. We now lead a true and useful life ; and I am sure 
 Florine will join me in saying that it is a happier life than 
 we ever led before." 
 
 " Yes, with all my heart," replied the young wife. " I 
 have good health, good spirits, and a clear conscience; 
 and without these no one can be happy." 
 
 " Still," remarked Merwyn, " we look to growing better 
 
328 TWO SCENES IN THE 
 
 off in the world, and hope, one day, to be surrounded by 
 at least a portion of the elegance and luxury of early 
 times. But until that day comes, we will enjoy the good 
 things of life that fall to our lot ; and should it never come, 
 we will have lost nothing by vain anticipations." 
 
 When I parted with my old friends on the next day, I 
 felt that their lot was, beyond comparison, more blessed 
 than it would have been had not misfortune visited them ; 
 and wished, from my heart, that all who had met with 
 similar reverses would imitate their good example. Still, 
 I wondered at the change I had seen ; and, at times, could 
 hardly realize its truth. 
 
 THE END. 
 
UN 
 
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