THE 
 
 SENATOR'S SON', 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE MAINE LAW; 
 
 A LAST REFUGE; 
 
 A STORY DEDICATED 
 
 THE LAW-MAKERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 METTA VICTORIA FULLER, 
 
 THIRD EDITION, 
 
 CLEVELAND, 0. 
 
 TOOKER AND GATCIIEL, 
 
 1853. 
 
 > 4 ] > > ' 
 
D--' 
 
 a 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year Eighteen 
 Hundi'ed and Fifty-three, 
 
 By TOOKER & GATCHEL, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 
 for the District of Ohio. 
 
 HARRIS, J AiaiJANKS A ^C)., 
 
 WILLIAM H. SHAI.V, 
 HUDSON Sl'EREOTFPE FOUNDRT. PRINTER?, CI.K\ EI.AND. 
 

 / /A/^ 
 
 " Does our political party stand on rum ? If so, let us be 
 ashamed of it and quit it. But let us take heed lest our political 
 party is soon in the minority, from its adherence to rum, for it 
 surely will be. Degeneracy and subserviency to wickedness and 
 debasement is not the spirit of the age. God will overturn, and 
 ovBrturn, and overtm'n, until temperance and truth are triumph- 
 ant." 
 
 PM5528 
 
« 
 
PREFACE 
 
 It may perhaps be expected that a few explanations 
 should be given for the publication of a new work of fic- 
 tion. My attention was particularly called, during the past 
 summer, to the fact that, in many States, there existed a 
 strong feeling in favor of the general adoption of the Maine 
 Liquor Law, as it is called ; but so many of past usages 
 and modes of thinking prevailed, that philanthropists have 
 been unable, except in a few instances, to carry into effect 
 an Act that must so clearly benefit all classes of society. 
 The thought suggested itself, that if a new work could be 
 written on this subject, sufficiently interesting to attract 
 anything like general attention, it might perhaps turn the 
 scale, now so nearly balanced, in favor of this noble end. 
 
 To do this successfully, one would be obliged to go 
 out of the ordinary manner of treating the subject of 
 Temperance. For long years, the most vivid descrip- 
 tions have been given of the terrible sufferings and aw- 
 ful wi-etchedness that await the victim of Intemperance. 
 Eeason and judgment have been appealed to in vain. Thou- 
 sands are at this moment reeling towards a drunkard's 
 grave. Experience has proved that in no way can the evils 
 of the heart or of society be shown so plainly and effect- 
 
Yl PREFACE. 
 
 ively as under the garb of fiction. Here, casting aside 
 the dull argument and dry statistics, the subject is mir- 
 rored in its natural beauty or deformity, unobscured 
 by the mists of custom or familiarity. We look beneath 
 the smiling demeanor of vice, on the hidden agony gnaw- 
 ing at its heart-strings. We gaze with rapture on the 
 pure, calm brow of virtue, radiant with happiness amid 
 the clouds of adversity and the storms of misfortune. 
 We behold the first, the secret inducement to crime, and 
 shudder as we observe the terrible results that must fol- 
 low looming up, black and threatening, in the dim and 
 distant future. We see reflected in a new and vivid light 
 evils of vast magnitude and extent, that were before trite 
 and commonplace; and we see, too, divested of all ex- 
 pediency and sophistry, the true remedy to be applied. 
 Hence, in all reforms this kind of writing will be found 
 most eflPective. But it is only when some effort at human 
 improvement is robed in its captivating garb that fiction 
 should be tolerated. As in the spreading landscape, the 
 ragged rocks, the majestic oak and the dark ravine, take 
 a firmer hold upon the mind than all the gay colors of 
 field and forest, so in this kind of fiction, while we cull 
 its sweets, and linger entranced over its fascinating pages, 
 the stern ideas of truth and right that meet us at every 
 turn will gradually fasten upon our judgments, and linger 
 in our memories, long after the sweet flowers that decked 
 them have faded and been forirotten. 
 
 With such a desire have the following pages been writ- 
 
PREFACE. VU 
 
 ten ; and though I have wandered in the luxuriant fields 
 of the imagination to select colors for my theme, yet my 
 aim has been to draw, with stronger outline and deeper 
 shading, the mournful ruins of humanity, caused by In- 
 temperance, and to place them in the foreground of the 
 picture ; and if I should ever hear of one soul saved by 
 its means from the dark and fearful gloom that hangs for- 
 ever over the end of the drunkard, it would be more than 
 payment for all my labors. Whether it is ever destined 
 to accomplish even this much remains to be seen ; but 
 its failure will not alter my faith in the ultimate triumph 
 of the Maine Liquor Law, through the length and breadth 
 of our fair land. 
 
THE SENATOR^S SON, 
 a Itnrtj, 
 
 DiiDICATED TO THE LAW-MAKERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Why do the ladies come away from the table first, 
 mother? don't they eat as much as the gentlemen?" 
 
 " I hardly think they do, Parke/^ replied the lady with 
 a smile : " but the gentlemen are not eating ; they are 
 drinking wine.'^ 
 
 ^^ Don't the ladies drink wine ? '^ 
 "A little sometimes. But when papa and his friends 
 have drank a few glasses, they become very sociable, and 
 converse wisely upon politics and other subjects too abstruse 
 for feminine ears.'' 
 
 " I don't think its very pretty,'^ responded the little 
 1 
 
rl^'i.. THE senator's son. 
 
 fellow, not fully comprehending his mother's apologies. 
 At the same time he made up his mind to see for himself 
 what there was so fascinating in the dining-room ; so steal- 
 ing from her lap, in a few moments his bright head was 
 peeping in at the door, where, finding himself unobserved, 
 he walked in and hid behind his father's chair. 
 
 *' Well ! its mighty pleasant here anyhow,'^ was his 
 secret conclusion. There was a profusion of lamp-light, 
 making the costly table-service glitter and gleam; Harry 
 and White, the two black waiters, were busy uncorking 
 dark, ancient-looking bottles; the cut-glass decanters and 
 goblets sparkled 'only less than their contents. A dozen 
 gentlemen, each smiling, affable, and witty, were trifling 
 with some fruit, leisurely picking out the kernels from the 
 almonds, and toying more or less fondly with their glasses. 
 People, poetry, and politics were being discussed ; old puns 
 and new puns were received with equal good humor, and 
 even some brilliant repartee flashed across the mahogany 
 board. 
 
 " This wine is fit for old Bacchus' own use," said one 
 of the number. " I propose that we drink the health of 
 our host — a long continuance of his late success, and de- 
 feat to his enemies : may his brother senators receive hiui 
 with merited applause, — may his country aj^preciate his 
 services, — may his speeches be distinguished for their 
 brevity as well as wit, — and may he be spared, after a 
 successful session, to return to the smiles of his uumer 
 ous triends and the arms of his truly lovely family." 
 
THE senator's SON. 8 
 
 The enthusiasm with which this toast was received was 
 such that it came near to penetrating the sacred precincts 
 of the parlors. Their host arose to make a few remarks , 
 partly referring to his principles and party, but mostly per- 
 sonal thanks and sentiments of friendship. 
 
 He was a fine-looking man, speaking with grace and ease. 
 His dark-blue eye sparkles with wit and fire ; he had an 
 open, generous brow, beautified by masses of brown ringlets, 
 and a rich, persuasive voice. Upon this occasion he was 
 more than usually animated. 
 
 He was giving a farewell dinner to a few of his friends, 
 previous to his departure for Washington, whither the votes 
 of his party had destined him ; in their evident love and ad- 
 miration was something to arouse his sympathies, and he 
 spoke with eloquence. 
 
 The little intruder edges round to the side of the table, 
 regarding his father with intense interest. He could not, 
 of course, understand much of what he was saying, but the 
 language of looks was not lost upon him. He, as well as 
 the older listeners, was charmed with the brilliant smile and 
 the graceful gesture; as Mr. Madison sat down, he looked 
 around with a proud air, and his rosy cheek flushed as if it 
 said — 
 
 " What man is there so wonderful as my papa ? " 
 A guest caught sight of the triumphant look, and re- 
 marked with a smile — 
 
 " Your little son appears, like the rest of us, very much 
 pleased with your sentiments." 
 
THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 The father's eye h'ghted on the eager, sparkling face. 
 
 " Here, Parke, my boy, is a glass of wine ; we are going 
 to drink to the memory of George Washington. You shall 
 have the honor of proposing the words.'' 
 
 The child of four years stepped forward and seized the 
 glass. Holding it as he had seen his father do, he spoke 
 out boldly, — in his clear, baby voice, — 
 
 " To the memory of George Washington, the Father of 
 his Country. First in war — first in peace — and first in 
 the hearts of his countrymen I '' 
 
 An enthusiasm befitting an older heart seemed to shine 
 in the eyes of the boy, who had thus early caught his pa- 
 rent's words, and, almost, thoughts. Every man rose to his 
 feet ; and there was a momentary silence. 
 
 But a child's thoughts do not dwell long upon subjects 
 so profound, and he whispered in his papa's ear, as the gen- 
 tlemen replaced their glasses,- 
 
 " I like the wine very much indeed." 
 
 It was meet that no other name should be crowned with 
 rosy wine after that of Washington, and the gentlemen soon 
 joined their fairer companions. Here, as everywhere else, 
 Mr. Madison was the first object of admiration. Beautiful wo- 
 men smiled graciously at receiving his delicate and welcome 
 attentions — they looked for his courtly glance, and listened 
 for the changing flow of his discourse — now mirthful, sati- 
 rical, pathetic — always that of a man of genius, with kindly 
 sympathies, and a generous heart. His wife, a most lovely 
 and graceful woman, moved quietly among her guests, with 
 
THE SENATOR S SON. » O 
 
 an unequaled tact and propriety, yet not the less conscious of 
 her husband's gifts. Devotion and pride were in her aspect; 
 as if not having anything but love in her own nature, she had 
 yet learned to be proud of herself as a part of him. The 
 thought that to-morrow they were to be separated for some 
 months, was more to her than the brilliancy and triumph of 
 the occasion ; and now and then her glances meeting his 
 would melt away into almost tears. Despite of this the even- 
 ing could not but be very happy ; the lights were so brill- 
 iant, the company so pleased, the music so sweet, and Mr. 
 Madison himself, in one of his most fascinating humors. 
 
 There was but one fault to be found with him — he was 
 too fascinating. For the winning flash of his eye, the quick 
 beaming of his smile, the glow of his humor, the sparkle of 
 his wit, had all borrowed a flame — beautiful but burning 
 — a flame from the fire in the wine-cup. A suspicion of 
 this had not as yet shaded the soft brow of the young wife, 
 turned so reverently up to him. 
 
 " Why, Parke, I thought Margaret had put you to bed, 
 long ago," she said in a low voice to her little boy, as he 
 crept to her side, while one of the ladies was at the piano. 
 " You'll not be awake in the morning to bid papa good-bye, 
 if you sit up so long after your bed-time.'^ 
 
 The boy looked at her with eyes unnaturally bright. 
 
 " Hurrah for my papa Washington!" he shouted, stag- 
 gering away from his mother's caressing hand, and at- 
 tempting to wave his little arm. 
 1* 
 
6 THE senator's SON. 
 
 " Why, darling, what makes you so rude ? " she con 
 tinued walking after him to take him from the room. 
 
 " Hurrah for Washington ! he's the man for senator," 
 he murmured in a lower tone, as he fell over an ottoman, 
 from whence he was lifted by his astonished parents. 
 
 '' The child is in a fit," cried Mrs. Madison, turning 
 pale. 
 
 " A fit ?" said the father; and he laughed gayly. " The ' 
 truth is we left him in the dining-room, and he must have 
 been drinking some private toasts in honor of my departure. 
 The little rogue ! but he did not know any better," 
 
 The gentlemen joined in the laugh, and called him a 
 brave little fellow; but the mother, who had summoned 
 Margaret to carry him to the nursery, could hardly smile, 
 for poor Parke's cheeks were already growing white. 
 
 She was obliged to excuse herself from her friends, who 
 were already departing ; and for more than half the night 
 she had to watch by the sick-bed of the young patriot. 
 
 His sufierings at last over, he fell into a deep sleep that 
 was not even disturbed by his father's parting kiss, three 
 hours after day-break. When he did awake, his mother sat 
 beside his little cot, weeping. The thought that his party 
 had chosen her husband to represent their principles at the 
 Capitol, although a proud one, could not suffice in the mo- 
 ment of parting to take away its bitterness. With his last 
 kiss upon her lips,and the pressure of his hand yet thrilling 
 her fingers, she stole to the room of their only child to 
 
THE SENATOR S RON. 7 
 
 comfort herself with the sight of his innocent face. And a 
 comfort it was j for her loneliness began to divert itself 
 with joyful plans of what she should do for his improve- 
 ment^ to surprise his father when he came home. 
 
 He should live mostly upon bread and milk, to keep his 
 eheek rosy and his complexion clear ; he should make as- 
 tonishing progress in spelling, and be deep in primary geog- 
 raph}' ; and she should embroider him the most exquisite 
 suit of clothes to wear in honor of the absent one's return. 
 With innocent mother-thoughts like these, she was beguil- 
 ing her quiet tears ; on and on her fancy flew to times when 
 he should be grown out of his boj^-jacket, and cap with 
 plumes, and be a man, beautiful as his father, and like him 
 honored and beloved. She smiled even while she wept, and 
 Parke awoke to meet a kiss of yearning tenderness. 
 
 The first day was not passed, however, much to Parke's 
 edification or that of his mother. The effects of last night's 
 disobedience were pale cheeks and a very fretful humor. 
 
 The proposed bread and milk regimen, and a fine ride 
 the next morning in the carriage, restored him to his wonted 
 excellent temper. 
 
 As Mrs. Madison was laying aside her cloak after the 
 ride, the cook told her that there was a poor woman in the 
 kitchen who wanted to speak with her. Groing down, she 
 found a Mrs. Burns, who, in former times, had nearly lived 
 upon her charity. But her husband, a hod-carrier, and 
 dreadfully intemperate, had, for the last few months, re- 
 formed and provided comfortably for his fiimily. 
 
8 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 " How is this^ Mrs. Burns ? you look as if you were in 
 trouble again/' said the senator's wife^ in her winning, sym- 
 pathizing manner. 
 
 The woman glanced at her almost fiercely from the cor- 
 ner by the range, where she was standing, for she would 
 not sit. 
 
 ^' Trouble ! you may well call it trouble," she said 
 briefly. 
 
 " Is your husband drinking again ? " 
 
 " Aye ! worse than, ever." 
 
 ^' What a pity — what a great pity I " 
 
 *' Yes ! its a pity for him, and a pity for me, and a pity 
 for the children ; but its a pity, too, for them as has the 
 blame of it — a pity and a shame ! " 
 
 " Has any one the blame of his eyil conduct, except 
 himself ? '' asked Mrs. Madison gently, for she saw that her 
 visitor was much excited. 
 
 '' There are those, ma'am, whom God will not hold 
 guiltless at the judgment-day. Fine gentlemen they are 
 too, and fine speeches they can make about their principles ; 
 and your husband, one of them — he's one of them as has 
 the faults of my poor man on his head." 
 
 " Hush, Mrs. Burns," said the lady, while the roses 
 flushed out into her face, " you must not speak so in my 
 presence." 
 
 " But I will speak so, ma'am, for I came here to tell 
 you the truth. You are an angel, almost, I know; and 
 have been good to me and mine ; but that doesn't signify 
 
THE senator's SON. 9 
 
 but that you are too good for him. There's no kinder man 
 than mine when he's sober; and not a drop of liquor did he 
 taste since last March, until 'lection day. He earned his 
 dollar a day, and brought it home at night ; the children 
 had shoes and decent clothes, and Tom went to school; and 
 you couldn't find a woman with a happier heart than mine. 
 But election times must come, and my husband must have 
 his say with the rest, and as he walks along the street to- 
 wards the polls, Mr. Madison comes up and shakes hands, 
 with his sweet smile, and says, ' Who are you going to sup- 
 port to-day, Mr. Burns V So my husband tells him, and 
 he says, ' You'll make a great mistake if you do that. Their 
 party don't care any more for you or any other honest work- 
 ing man, than just to get your vote, and when they've got 
 it, and got the power, they'll use it against you, and wages 
 will come down, and the poor'U suffer,' or some other such 
 kind of speeches. * I don't believe it, Mr. Madison,' says 
 my husband. ^ Well, just step in and take a glass of some 
 thing to make you more reasonable, and we'll talk it over, 
 says Mr. Madison. ' I'm obliged to you, but I don't drink 
 anything now,' says Tom. ^ I'm glad to hear it,' says your 
 fine gentleman, ' but just take a little to-day — it'll help you 
 see clearer which of us is in the right.' The pleasant smiles 
 and the fine words were more than he could resist, and he 
 went in, and your husband treated him, and got his vote, 
 and he came home drunk that night, and he's been drunk 
 ever since. Not a day's work has he done — the little 
 silver there was laid by has gone — the children are cold, 
 
10 THE senator's SON. 
 
 and there is no fire ; and he's warming himself by the bar- 
 room fire, that's only better than the flames below/' 
 
 She paused and stood looking gloomily into the range. 
 Mrs. Madison could not say a word ; in her heart she con- 
 fessed the wrongs of the drunkard's wife, and was ready to 
 shed tears over the thoughtless conduct of her own proud 
 husband. 
 
 " He was carried away by the excitement of the occa- 
 sion," she said to herself; "he forgot into what temptation 
 he was leading this poor man," — but all sophistry of 
 affection could not entirely excuse his selfish eagerness for 
 the triumph of his party. " This must be the wrongs of 
 suffrage instead of the rights," continued her thoughts. 
 '' Facts like these cry shame upon politicians — facts like 
 these are soils upon the beautiful garments of Liberty ! " 
 
 Mrs. Burns turned her face again towards the lady, it 
 was a face that seemed to have been gentle and pretty enough 
 once ; now it looked cold and hard as stone. 
 
 " I am going to out with the worst, Mrs. Madison. 
 Little Ann is dead." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Burns ! what was the matter with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, she died," said the woman, in a voice made harsh 
 by repressed emotions ; " she died because somebody wanted 
 her father's vote, and made him drunk. He must needs 
 drink more and more, and grow worse and worse — Burns 
 is a devil when he's drunk, peaceful as he is when he lets 
 liquor alone — until he must go to abusing the young ones, 
 and getting mad at me; and becaiise I tried to keep his 
 
THE senator's SON. 11 
 
 hands off tlio little girl — slie was a delicate thing 3^ou know, 
 and only two years old — oli ! how I prayed to him upon 
 my knees to let her alone ! — he catched her away from me 
 and shook her fiiriousl}', dashed her down over a chair, and 
 went out the door with an oath. AYhen I picked her up, I 
 thought she was dead. But after awhile she hegan to 
 moan, and every time she was stirred she shrieked — I 
 think that her back was broke — and so she laid in my 
 arms that night and the next day, and last night she died." 
 
 Her listener had sank half-fainting into a chair, with the 
 tears rolling rapidly down her colorless cheeks. 
 
 ^' Fve n(5t shed a tear yet," continued her visitor, in 
 the same constrained voice. "■ But Fve had some awful 
 thoughts. As I sat there so many hours, holding my poor 
 darling, looking into her white face, with the black circles 
 of pain around the eyes, and listening to her moans, I 
 thought of your little boy, so rosy and so bright, and I 
 came near cursing him for his father's fault." 
 
 ^^ Oh, don't speak so, Mrs. Burns!" Mrs. Madison 
 held up her hands appealingly, while a shudder went 
 through her soul at the sudden thought of her beautiful 
 child with a curse upon his innocent head. ^' No one can 
 wish any ill t© liim^^ she said half-aloud. 
 
 ^' No ! no one can wish any ill to him, for his mother's 
 sake," said the woman, catching at her words. " But Tm 
 afraid it'll come without anybody's wishing. ^ The sins 
 of the fathers are visited upon the children.' " 
 
 ^^ Shall I go home%ith you, and do what I can for porr 
 Annie?" 
 
12 THE senator's SOX. 
 
 ^^ If you will, ma'am ; its little can be done for her 
 now." 
 
 The carriage was still at the door, and Mrs. Madison 
 told the driver to come around with it to Mrs. Burns', in 
 half an hour ; and the two mothers wended their way down 
 the narrow alley leading to the desolate home of one of 
 them. 
 
 The senator's wife was a lady of delicate nerves ; but 
 her nerves and her antipathies were under the firm control 
 of her reason and benevolence. Her large charities had 
 made her familiar with the houses of the poor; but her 
 Iieart sank as she stepped over the threshold of this dwel- 
 ling. A feeling that she herself was not wholly guiltless 
 of the wretchedness which met her eye, could not be shaken 
 off. A moment she stood silent, looking at the two shiver- 
 ing children crouched by the fireless hearth, at the empty 
 cupboard, the broken windows, and, lastly, at the bed — 
 where laid the corpse of the murdered chili. Approaching, 
 she turned back the sheet, and gazed at its little, quiet face, 
 which she last remembered so pretty, blooming, and fair. 
 
 It was too much for her mother's heart. The miserable 
 father — the mother who could not shed a tear — the inno- 
 cent infant released from a world too harsh for its gentle 
 endurance — the want — the wrong — the wo — came over 
 her soul like a rushing cloud, and, sinking beside the bed, 
 she sobbed aloud. Her weeping was contagious. It melted 
 the icy grief of the mourner down to the level of natural 
 expression; she threw herself upon the couch with cries 
 
THE senator's SON. 13 
 
 and tears, kissing the cold hands of her darling, touching 
 her flaxen curls, calling her, in accents of moving pathos, 
 "Annie! Annie !" 
 
 The two boys, frightened and cold, drew closer together, 
 looking on with wondering eyes. The carriage came to the 
 door, and Mrs. Madison, controling her emotion, whispered, 
 
 " It will do you good to cry, I am glad that you can. 
 T will go now and do what is necessary to be done, and then 
 return." Food and fuel came in due time; lastly, a little 
 coffin. With her own fair hands the lady kindled a fire 
 upon the hearth, washed the faces of the children, brushed 
 their hair, and helped them plentifully to the contents of a 
 basket which had been well stored from her own pantry. 
 Then she aroused their mother from her stupor of exhaus- 
 tion ; made her eat, drink a cup of tea, and warm herself. 
 
 Tenderly she placed the pretty Annie in her coffin, 
 decked out in one of Parke's nicest baby-gowns, with some 
 pale buds in her little hands gathered from the conservatory. 
 The boys were told to kiss their dear sister for the last time 
 before the coffin-lid was fastened down ; then all got into 
 the carriage and followed the hearse to the cemetery. All 
 was well and quietly done. The grave was hollowed in a 
 pleasant place, where roses would bloom in summer ; now 
 the wind blew drearily, and scattered flakes of snow por- 
 tended the death of autumn. 
 
 The mother would have cast herself down upon her 
 baby's grave and remained there ; but with gentle force her 
 friend compelled her home. It was late in the afternoon 
 2 
 
14 THE senator's SON. 
 
 when they returned. Mrs. Madison went in a few moments 
 to see that the children were left in comfort. While she 
 was there, Burns came in. He was not drunk, for he was 
 out of money, and could not get any liquor. He had not 
 been home since that fatal night ; it was the first time he 
 had been sober for days and days. He looked pale, cross, 
 and unhappy ; his face flushed with shame when he met the 
 eye of their visitor. His wife turned her face away from 
 him, as he came in, without looking towards him. An 
 ominous silence settled him; glancing around, he asked 
 hastily — 
 
 " Where is Annie V^ 
 
 Perhaps he had a recollection of his cruelty. 
 
 ^^ She is dead," replied Mrs. Madison, gravely; "dead 
 and buried." 
 
 " Annie dead T^ he enquired with a bewildered air. 
 
 " Yes ! Mr. Burns, she is dead. Do you remember 
 your brutal treatment of her the other night ? She died of 
 that — you are her murderer!" 
 
 " My God !" burst from the lips of the miserable man, 
 after a moment's silence. " No ! I couldn't have killed her 
 — little Annie ! our only girl — our little Ann I — don't say 
 so, don't say that ! " 
 
 He sank into a chair, trembling all over 
 
 Soon the fear of a weak nature began to overpower even 
 remorse. 
 
 "■ Does any one know it ? Are the officers after me ? " 
 he asked. 
 
THE senator's SON. 15 
 
 " No one knows of it yet except myself, out of your 
 family, and no one shall know of it, as long as you remain 
 a sober, penitent man. Let tliis awful lesson be enough, 
 Mr. Burns. Promise me never to taste another drop of ar- 
 dent spirits, and we promise you to keep your terrible secret. 
 But break your promise, and we give jou up at once to the 
 justice of the law.'' 
 
 " I promise you," he replied eagerly. 
 
 It was growing dark : Mrs. Madison was obliged to leave 
 the unhappy man to make his peace with his wife, as best 
 he could, and went away, leaving them with each other. 
 Her beautiful mansion welcomed her home with its look of 
 luxury and ease. She went to her room and sat down in 
 her favorite easy chair, weary and dejected. The shining 
 grate was heaped with glowing anthracite, the lamps burned 
 pleasantly — a rich cheerfulness pervaded the apartment, 
 contrasting with the gloom she had left behind. 
 
 Little Parke was waiting to see his mother, and receive 
 her good-night kiss before he went to his crib. A servant 
 brought in tea and set it beside her ; she drank it with but 
 little appetite, and when it was carried away, Parke climbed 
 into her lap. She gave him a great many good-night kisses, 
 yet could not let him go ; her fingers lingered in his sunny 
 curls, turning them back from his brow, while her eyes 
 dwelt upon his fairness and beauty. A noble-looking boy 
 he was, with his father's handsome features, and the prom- 
 ise of his talent. The sunny landscape of the future into 
 which she had yesterday glanced with so hopeful an eye, 
 
16 THE senator's SON. 
 
 seemed sadly changed ; dark clouds were drifting over it ; 
 gloom and terror were usurping the place of beauty. It was 
 but a phantom landscape though, conjured up by the weird 
 words of a wronged mother's passion 3 and with a smile and 
 sigh, she strove to call her mind away from it. 
 
 Still she hardly felt willing to let the boy go away to 
 his crib ; when he teased to sleep with her she gladly con- 
 sented, and all night she held him closely in her arms, as if 
 screening him from some invisible danger. Notwithstand- 
 ing her fatigue she slept but little. Thought was busy with 
 a new subject. There had not been in those days all this 
 stir about temperance, which has led people since to think 
 so much about the ^ worm of the still,' and devise such good 
 means for its death. She had no idea in what manner an 
 attack might be made upon the evil thing. Little Annie's 
 ghost hovered about her pillow, calling, with feeble cries of 
 pain, for an atonement to be made, and refusing to be qui- 
 eted with anything less than an earnest promise to cherish 
 henceforth an unsparing enmity against the lawless robber 
 who had deprived her of her wearisome life. 
 
 Lovely in spirit as in person, capable of profound thought 
 as well as quick feeling, Mrs. Madison did not dismiss the 
 subject from her mind, until she had come to the conclusion 
 that it was her individual duty to wield one blow, however 
 slight it might be, directed by the arm of a delicate woman, 
 against the torturing worm that, vas eating into the heart 
 of almost every family in the land. Its fiery fangs were 
 not clinging to any of her beloved ones in the immediate 
 
THE senator's SON 17 
 
 circle of home ; but friends she had, and friends of friends 
 who suffered ; — the world suffered, and something ought to 
 be done for its relief. She did not dream, proud and happy 
 wife that she was, she did not dream that her husband was 
 like a fair and ruddy fruit, promising to the eye, but which 
 was already a little ashen at the core, and doomed to swift 
 decay. 
 
 " It was through the temptation of one who controls 
 himself well, that poor Burns fell," she said to herself, 
 " and my husband was the tempter. Never — never will I, 
 remotely or in any manner, be the agent of another's de- 
 struction. Rather let my feeble light burn as a signal to 
 warn all from the danger that is nigh.'^ 
 
 Calmed by this good resolution, she fell asleep. 
 
 ^^ 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 The first notable opportunity which occurred for Mrs. 
 Madison to ^ burn her signal light/ was upon New Year's 
 Day. In the great city where she resided it was the uni- 
 versal custom of the ladies to receive their friends among 
 the gentlemen, upon that day. 
 
 It was an honor, eagerly sought by the most aspiring, 
 to enter the parlors of this beautiful woman, and receive her 
 graceful welcome. Her distinguished position, as the fair 
 descendant of an ancient, honorable, and wealthy family, the 
 gentle patron of literature and the arts, and the wife of their 
 talented senator, made every movement of her's, in society, 
 conspicuous. It was with a little secret trembling of the 
 heart, therefore, that she ordered the arrangements of her 
 table upon that morning ; for she had resolved to banish 
 wine from it altogether. This was then an almost unprece- 
 dented movement. By the time she had finished dressing, 
 she had recovered her composure ; conscious that her dig- 
 
THE senator's son. 19 
 
 nit J of position would enable her to carry out her ideas of 
 right. 
 
 She descended to receive her guests in all the regal 
 beauty of her womanly power. She had a well-chosen word 
 for all — statesmen, poets, artists, beaux, and dandies. She 
 fascinated all alike, by her sweet self-possession, her 
 sprightly wit, her fine tact. 
 
 Sipping the fragrant coffee from cups of costly porcelain, 
 anxious for every word and look of their hostess, her guests 
 appeared both satisfied and delighted. Whatever they may 
 have thought of the important omission from the table, of 
 course none spoke of it, until the day began to wear to a 
 close ; and among the later callers the effects of previous hos- 
 pitality began to make themselves unpleasantly apparent. 
 Intemperance then, with a thousand-fold more fatality than 
 the cholera now, raged among the brave, the noble, the 
 gifted of the land. 'The brightest stars went wheeling and 
 tottering down the firmament of society and disappeared in 
 perpetual darkness. It is not strange that more than a ma- 
 jority of those who, in the latter part of the nfternoon, pre- 
 sented themselves before Mrs. Madison, were more fitted to 
 be presented to the kind care of their servants and beds, than 
 to the presence of a refined woman. She had ample opportu- 
 nity of studying the different kinds of madness which the 
 same fiery tooth had infused into the temperaments of her 
 friends. Some, it is true, seemed to glow with more in- 
 tense brilliancy, to be only more extremely courteous ; in 
 others, their broad, good-humor provoked her smile; or 
 
20 THE senator's son. 
 
 their senseless flatteries her frown ; again, their stupid in- 
 anities excited a disgust which courtesy could hardly conceal. 
 
 ^^ I thank you, Mrs. Madison," said a gentleman, speak- 
 ing rather thickly, who, when he had the control of his senses, 
 was remarkable for his delicate devotion of demeanor in the 
 presence of ladies, "but I would prefer a glass of wine." 
 
 " I have not given my guests any wine to-day," she re- 
 plied with a pleasant smile. 
 
 ^^ Mr. Madison's famous cellars are not growing empty, 
 are they?" "Oh, no!" with another persuasive smile. 
 " But I regard wine as a most specious, false friend — an 
 enemy in disguise — whom I have had the courage to ban- 
 ish from my presence." 
 
 " Well ! " with a polite, classic oath, " I fear you will 
 banish me too ; for I must confess its sinning outrageously 
 against hospitality." 
 
 " If you find nothing to attract you to our house, Mr. 
 Sinclair, but our wine-cellars, I am sorry," she replied with 
 gravity. 
 
 "Oh — oh — oh ! " I know you are very charming ! 
 but I like wine as well as women, and so does Madison ; 
 I " 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Sinclair," interrupted his hostess, 
 with a jesture of dismissal, while the roses crowned her in- 
 dignant brow. 
 
 " Ah ! — oh — I beg your par — " but his friends who 
 had some faint sense of propriety remaining, took him by 
 the arm, and departed. 
 
THE senator's SON. 21 
 
 It was with a deeper sense than ever of the magnitude 
 of the cloud overshadowing the land, that the senator's wife 
 dismissed that evening the last of her guests, and sat down 
 to think over the events of the day. 
 
 Mrs. Madison's little light attracted a great many eyes. 
 Mothers, wives, and daughters, with hearts bleeding over 
 the secret or open excesses of those dearest to them, desired 
 to set their lights a-burning too ; but these were mostly ex- 
 tinguished by the command of those who stood greatest in 
 need of being warned. Her own was not an exception. 
 Upon her husband's return, in the spring, he laughed good- 
 humoredly at what he called her silly excess of philan- 
 thropy. 
 
 " You are too peerless a woman to ride such a hobby as 
 that," he said, kissing the cheeks that were glowing with 
 feeling. " Let every body take care of himself. It is not 
 our fault if some of our friends take a glass too much — we 
 are only responsible for ourselves." 
 
 " All people cannot take care of themselves — they have 
 lost the power — their friends must control them." 
 
 " Well, we will not assume these duties yet," and by 
 his positive command, the shining worm came back to its 
 accustomed place in the social circle. 
 
 And, while talking with him upon the subject, she ven- 
 tured to relate the sad story of little Annie's murder. She 
 did not wish to pain her husband, but to impress upon him 
 the wrong and danger of leading others into temptation to 
 which we are not ourselves particularly exposed. He was 
 
i>2 THE senator's SON. 
 
 much shocked, and walked the floor a long time, pale and 
 thoughtful. 
 
 ^' It was wrong I" he said with emphasis, " selfish, care- 
 less, wicked! But who would have thought of such a 
 thing ? everybody does the same. I promise you, dear 
 Alice, it is the last time I will do such a deed.'' 
 
 He enquired after Burns, and she told him that for a 
 month or six weeks he had remained sober, but that he 
 wasted away to a skeleton, was deprived of natural sleep, 
 and was at last driven back to his cups, by the gnawing 
 agony of remorse. 
 
 '< Mrs. Madison," he said to me once while I remonstrated 
 with him, " Its no use for me to try ever to be a good man, 
 unless I drive it away by liquor, the face of that child is 
 forever before me — I hear her cry out — I see her dead 
 and cold — I hear her telling her mother in piteous tones 
 that I murdered her. Night and day — night and day — 
 I've no rest except when the madness of the drink is upon 
 mc. Oh ! if it wasn't for that, I would try." 
 
 " The tears rolled down his face while he spoke. Oh, my 
 husband ! his wretchedness is a dreadful thing to think 
 upon. His wife, by my advice, has taken her children and 
 gone back to her father's, where they will be safe from his 
 drunken fury. But there ought to be a place for him, 
 where he could be safe from himself. Why is there not an 
 insane asylum, a prison, a something, where such lost crea- 
 tures can be healed like the sick, — for they are sick, — and 
 restored to hope, to life, and to God? Why do people 
 
THE senator's SON. 23 
 
 furuisli such victims with the means of accomplishing their 
 own death ? Better give an infant the blaze that it cries 
 for ! Why is there no law to protect and take care of such ? 
 Oh ! Mr. Madison, I wish — I fervently wish that there 
 was not a drop of ardent spirits in the land." 
 
 " Why should you trouble your pretty head about such 
 perplexing questions, my Alice ? Its a great deal you know 
 about the policy of such things. You would banish health 
 and comfort from many a poor man's "hearth when you ban- 
 ished ardent spirits from the land. Your heart is too ten- 
 der, pretty mother ; I'm afraid you'll make a girl of our 
 Parke, if you bring him up in the hearing of such non- 
 sense.'' 
 
 ^^ Oh!ao, my heart's not too tender; its not half capa- 
 cious enough for the claims of humanity upon it," she re- 
 plied with a sigh ; " and you shan't shut my eyes with your 
 kisses, neither. They can see almost as far into the right, 
 as yours, my honored statesman !" 
 
 And so he kissed away and laughed away her appeals. 
 
 Mr. 3Iadison had made himself a favorite, and won an 
 honorable position during his first session. He was one of 
 the youngest members, but he represented an important 
 district ; and he was a man eminently calculated to attract 
 attention and to please, though not perhaps to make a pro- 
 found and lasting impression. In speaking, he was brilliant 
 and effective; his rhetoric was sparkling, his satire Was 
 keen, his gestures graceful ; he excited the passions of men 
 rather than appealed to their judgments. Even his enemies 
 
24 THE senator's son. 
 
 conceded that he was a man of honorable sentiments, and 
 generous to a fault. 
 
 Upon his return to Washington, he took with him his 
 little family. He found his position mere enviable than 
 ever. His resources extended with the demands made upon 
 them; and whatever of political distinction he won, was 
 reflected in softer lustre from his beautiful wife, as she 
 moved in the circles of society, adorning and adorned. 
 She who, the previous winter, had read her husband's 
 speeches in the solitude of her apartment, and silently 
 admired and loved, now listened to them as they fell glow- 
 ing from his lips, and saw their eloquence reflected in the 
 varying faces of those by whom she was surrounded. 
 
 Who shall weigh the influence of a pure and lovely 
 woman? Fashionable excess retired ashamed from the 
 sweet glance of Mrs. Madison's rebuking eye. It may be 
 that it lived and flourished as well as ever, but it kept itself 
 more concealed from the public gaze. 
 
 At length she began to be troubled for her own happi- 
 ness. She began to suspect an unwelcome presence by her 
 own hearth-stone. 
 
 She knew, if others did not, that Mr. Madison could 
 speak well only when under the influence of wine, and that 
 his gay and fascinating spirits at an evening assembly were 
 proportioned to the amount of a false and dangerous stimu- 
 lus. But it was true of a greater portion of society. What 
 of that ? He was neither a mental or physical Titan ; and 
 such excitement, long continued, must soon begin to wear 
 
THE senator's son. 5^5 
 
 upon Lis powers. In the zenith of his prosperity, and the 
 first fullness of his talents and beauty, his faithful wife dis- 
 covered the first indications of premature decay. 
 
 She kept her fears to herself, and sought to withhold 
 him, by the thousand invisible chains of a woman's power, 
 from his dazzling but dangerous course. Perhaps, had she 
 been constantly at his side, she would have saved her trea- 
 sure from the hands of the mocker. 
 
 But the succeeding year she remained at home. A little 
 daughter was added to their store of good gifts ; who, as 
 she developed from the formlessness of baby-blankets and 
 rosy excess of plumptitude, was of course pronounced the 
 tiny type of her beautiful mother. Wee Alice was indeed 
 a fairy child ; with her mother's dark-brown eyes, fringed 
 with long black lashes, and crowned by delicate-arched 
 brows — with her sill^en, shining hair — with her cunningly 
 cleft lips, closing in the crimson semblance of a bow, from 
 which was inefiectively winged the silver arrows of her 
 lisping speech. 
 
 With two such claimants upon her time and love, Mrs. 
 Madison had no desire to return to the gay Capital. An- 
 other and another year passed, and found her at home, 
 devoting herself chiefly to her children. It was with a sad 
 and anxious heart that she saw her husband depart — each 
 time sadder and more anxious ; until she would gladly have 
 abandoned her peaceful life at home, and accompanied him 
 wherever he went. But her health, which had been deli- 
 
t2G THE senator's son. 
 
 catc since Alice's birth, would not permit it, and she could 
 only follow him with prayers. 
 
 This fear for his welfare was the only cloud upon her 
 happiness ; when this was banished from her sky, she had 
 only sunshine and delight. 
 
 It was in the fifth year of Mr. Madison's senatorial 
 tei-m that, one beautiful day in early spring, his wife sat in 
 her favorite apartment — the sunset-room little Parke called 
 it, because he could always see the sun set from its west 
 window. She sat in her easy-chair, the light sewing she 
 held fallen into her lap, regarding with, a mother's heart- 
 worn gaze the amusements of her children. Parke, a hand- 
 some aristocratic-looking boy of nine, was endeavoring to 
 initiate his little sister into the mysteries of a game of mar- 
 bles. She tried hard enough to acquire the necessary wis- 
 dom, but succeeded no farther than in rolling them far and 
 wide over the carpet, in lawless confusion. 
 
 "■ I declare, sis," he cried, with a good-natured laugh, 
 for he never got out of patience with the dearly-loved little 
 creature, '' I believe your head was never made to hold any- 
 thing but doll-babies. I don't think girls are as smart as 
 boys anyhow, do you, mother ? " 
 
 The self-sufficient tone in which this question was asked 
 called up a smile to the eye of his mother; but the young 
 master was imp^vious to its roguish sarcasm, as she replied 
 quietly — 
 
 " Y'ou must remember that Alice is not quite four years 
 
THE senator's SON. 27 
 
 old yet. How much of an adept were you in marbles, at 
 that age ? " 
 
 ^' Well, papa didn't bring me any until I was five. But 
 if he had, I guess I could have found out what use to make 
 of them.'' 
 
 ^' You guess ! Wouldn't it sound better if you should 
 say, ^ you think ? ' " 
 
 ^' Gruess is proper enough, and its a good Yankee word, 
 if you please, mother. Here, Allie, bring me that alley 
 which you have rolled away under the table." 
 
 " Allie, bring the alley," laughed the little girl as she 
 crept under the table after the striped and tattooed ball. 
 
 "Yes, Allie bring the alley. Isn't that funny now? 
 You're a pretty smart little girl, after all, if you do take to 
 doll-babies so." 
 
 "She's a perfect little witch ! isn't she, mother?" he 
 continued, unable to resist the cunning way in which Alice 
 held out the marble to him, and just as he was about to 
 take it, gave it a toss behind her, which sent it into their 
 mamma's cap. " Now you've got to give me a kiss to pay 
 for that." 
 
 The soft little arms were about his neck, and the })retty 
 lips held up to his face, when, with the wilfulness of boys 
 in general, he concluded to refuse the offering, and over 
 they both went, tumbling upon the floor in a burst of mer- 
 riment. 
 
 " You play too rudely for little sister — you will hurt 
 ter" — interposed the matron, looking on with pleased eye, 
 
28 THE senator's son. 
 
 which still preserved its watchfulness. *' Besides, you learn 
 her to be boisterous. Papa would not like to find his pretty 
 daughter grown noisy as you.'' 
 
 Parke instantly subsided into the most subdued tender- 
 ness towards his fairy play-mate, stroking her fair curls and 
 pinching her rosy cheeks very softly. 
 
 ^' When is my father coming home ? " he asked. 
 
 "I shall expect him next week — just a week from 
 to-day." 
 
 ^' Hurrah for Jackson ! that's good news. Did you 
 hear that, Allie? Father's coming home in a week. I 
 should like to dance, I feel so glad. Mother, won't you 
 please to open the piano and play a waltz ? — Allie and I 
 want to dance." 
 
 ^* I think it is pleasanter in here than in the parlor," 
 was the reply. 
 
 ^' Just one waltz, if you please, mother," urged Parke. 
 
 And " please, mamma," pleaded wee Alice. 
 
 So Mrs. Madison went into the parlor, where, inspired 
 by the glee of the children, who were only too happy, she 
 played with more spirit than she had done for months. 
 
 Parke, who had been taught by a master, was really a 
 beautiful dancer ; and even baby Alice, who already showed 
 a genius for music, flew around like a sprite to the time of 
 the brilliant notes. It was a lovely picture. The mother 
 so youthful-looking and beautiful — the children so bright 
 and joyful. 
 
 With glowing cheeks, flashing eyes, and hair tossed 
 
THE senator's SON. 29 
 
 back, the handsome boy whirled round to the measured 
 melody, holding his sister carefully, who, with toes just 
 touching the carpet, ringlets waving, and blue dress float- 
 ing, went across and across the room with an etherial light- 
 ness that explained her pet appellative of '^ fairy Alice." 
 
 They were soon wearied with dancing ; and their mother 
 sent them away to ask their nurse for the supper of bread 
 and milk, for the sun was throwing his setting radiance into 
 the west room. When they had left the apartment, Mrs. 
 Madison still played on. Spirits arose at the bidding of 
 sweet sounds — spirits of the olden time, when she was a 
 careless girl — a happy bride — a thoughtful mother. The 
 past, the present, and the future swept around in a magic 
 circle. The gay airs which had set her children's feet in 
 motion no longer suited her mood; plaintive melodies, 
 sad vagaries of music, floated up from the piano and filled 
 the shadowy apartment with solemn sweetness. The door 
 was open into the sunset-room, and in the mirror before her 
 was reflected the dying flush of the fair spring day, while 
 all around brooded the mystic wings of twilight. She did 
 not make the efibrt to sing ; but her hands kept on like a 
 piece of exquisite mechanism, doing the bidding of her 
 dreamy will. 
 
 Mrs. Madison thought of her husband's brilliant career, 
 and she played a kind of triumphal march loud and grand ; 
 she thought of the swift change which had come over him 
 in the last three or four years — startling rumors which she 
 had heard of his excesses when away from home — how, 
 S* 
 
30 THE senator's SON. 
 
 forgetting his most admirable wife and lovely children, he 
 had delighted himself with ignoble pleasures, and had once 
 or twice nearly dishonored himself by ill conduct in the 
 house — and, thinking of this, the notes sank down into the 
 pleading pathos of a prayer. 
 
 She thought of his decreasing tenderness towards her — 
 that her delicate health did not receive from him that affec- 
 tionate kindness which the mother of his children was en- 
 titled to — of his frequent irritation, and even harshness 
 when last in his family. 
 
 Trying to solve in her soul the perplexing enigma of the 
 fall of so gentle, generous, and noble a nature, she was ready 
 to set her foot upon the enchanting wine-cup and crush it 
 into the earth. She knew that many of her husband's 
 finest qualities had been the very ones which had made him 
 a prey to temptation. His social disposition, his great gen- 
 erosity, his desire to please others and to be pleased, the 
 very craits which had made him so generally beloved, were 
 working to his ruin. What influence was there which could 
 be set over against that to which he was yielding himself, 
 since that exerted by his home, herself, their gifted boy, 
 their sweet Alice, had failed ? Oh, what was there now to 
 be done ? She felt the utter fallibility of earthly aid ; and 
 "while her tears fell down like rain upon the keys, she taught 
 them the voice of her entreaties to Grod. 
 
 There is mighty strength in prayer for all who are faint- 
 ing or oppressed. Mrs. Madison grew composed ; a quiet 
 joy crept into her heart at the thought of meeting her hus- 
 band so soon. 
 
THE senator's SON. 31 
 
 ^' After another year/' she said, " I shall have him to 
 myself; for I hope that no entreaties of his party will tempt 
 him into public life again. Once out of the dangerous ex- 
 citements of the arena, he will be won back to his old pur- 
 poses again.'' 
 
 The last music which stole from the instrument was a 
 subdued but joyous strain of '^ Home, sweet home." Then 
 the mother arose and went, as she always did, to see her 
 children safe in their nice little cots, to hear them repeat 
 their evening petition, and to give them the good-night 
 kiss. 
 
 ^^I don't think I shall half sleep to-night, thinking 
 about papa's coming home next week," said Parke, with a 
 bright smile, as his mother kissed him. 
 
 " You must sleep all the better for that, dear, so as to be 
 wide awake when he comes. Good night, my darlings." 
 
 ^' Good night ! — good night ! dear mamma." 
 
 The pleasant sound of their voices — Parke's clear and 
 boyish, Alice's soft and lisping — brought back the cheerful- 
 ness to their mother's fair face. It was with a smile of ex- 
 pectant pleasure that she enquired of Thomas, as she met 
 him in the hall, if he had been to the post-office ? 
 
 " Just returned, madam, with a letter, was bringing it 
 to you," replied the servant, giving her one which she saw 
 by the lamp-light was post-marked Washington. 
 
 Like a young girl with her first love-letter, Mrs. Madi- 
 son retreated to the privacy of her beloved sun-set room, 
 before she broke the seal of the precious missive. 
 
32 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 Drawing her rocking cliair close up to the table and ar- 
 ranging the lamp, she prepared to enjoy the greatest pleas- 
 ure of the week — the reading of the closely-written, four- 
 page letter. 
 
 Like one who is prolonging a hit of happiness, she held 
 it a moment in her hands, kissed it, and turned for the first 
 time to dwell upon the superscription, before breaking the 
 seal. 
 
 It was not her husband's handwriting : the seal — the 
 seal — was black ! She arose from her chair in a sudden 
 terror. 
 
 Pause a moment, loving and beautiful wife, before you 
 break the warning wax which keeps from you the knowl- 
 edge that you are a widow ! She did not pause, but with 
 trembling fingers tore open the envelop and read the first 
 few lines. Then with a sharp cry she fell down, like one 
 dead, upon the floor. 
 
 It was hours before the friends, suddenly summoned, 
 brought back consciousness — the consciousness of her aw- 
 ful bereavement. 
 
 " Why did they not let me die ?" she asked ; " why did 
 they lift me out of that black whirl of agony in which I 
 had gone down to the verge of the grave ? Better be there, 
 beside my husband, than to live, and know that he is 
 lost." 
 
 Some one ventured to whisper the names of her children. 
 
 " They are miserable orphans," she cried, and sank 
 
 again into insensibility. For two or three days they feared 
 
THE senator's SON. 33 
 
 for her life or reason. She did not rave, but laid in tear- 
 less, voiceless quiet, with closed eyes, and only the faint 
 pulse, and an occasional trembling of the eye-lids to tell 
 that she existed. People thought that in this stupor of her 
 physical powers her mental powers found rest. But not for 
 one instant did she lose the acute sense of her wretchedness. 
 Her nerves were strained to such a tension that they could 
 not even vibrate. Her thoughts rushed through her brain 
 like a river of fire, bearing ever the same vision upon their 
 burning waves — the vision of her husband, cold and dead, 
 stricken down by the knife of the assassin,— her husband 
 dead — murdered ! What was it to her now that, of late 
 years, he had sometimes been to her cold or unkind ? The 
 first fiery touch of sorrow had burnt up every such recollec- 
 tion ; only the pure gold of their mutual love remained. She 
 saw him, in the pride of manhood — beautiful, eloquent, be- 
 loved — suddenly cut down, with no time to send a message 
 of dying love, or perhaps to breath a dying prayer. All to 
 her was darkness — no hope — no ray of light. She lay 
 there waiting her own doom ; there did not seem a thread 
 of mercy left, by which she could climb back to life. 
 
 Mr. Madison had got into a dispute with a southern 
 member while they were both upon the floor, which threat- 
 ened a personal rencontre. Heated by wine, he said things 
 which he did not mean — uttered taunts more dishonorable 
 to himself than to the one at whom they were hurled. Mr. 
 Madison was a gentleman ; but who can answer for the pro- 
 priety of an insane man ? and he was mad with intoxication 
 
34 THE senator's son. 
 
 at the time of his abusive attack. The two disputants were 
 called to order ; but unfortunately they met immediately 
 after leaving the senate-chamber. 
 
 One had received a deadly insult ; the other, still reck- 
 less, would make no apologies, but with an air of bravado 
 followed up his empty assertions until silenced by the steel 
 of his opponent at his heart. Alas ! for the irretrievable 
 moment of passion ! A man sent unprepared to the pres- 
 ence of his Maker; another to be tormented through life 
 with a vain remorse for having taken the life of a brother 
 — the life, too, of one who, however gross the injuries he 
 inflicted, was scarcely in a condition to be responsible for 
 them. A career begun so brilliantly, closed in tumult and 
 dishonor — a fine mind thrown from its proper balance — a 
 noble heart perverted from its best impulses ! Others, be- 
 sides his unhappy family, might weep over the disastrous 
 results, and turning from the fair temptation, swear eternal 
 enmity to the wine-cup. 
 
 The corpse was brought home for burial. Hundreds, 
 forgetting his late career, bowed their heads in lamentation 
 over the dust of the statesman, citizen, and friend. Hun- 
 dreds mourned in sympathy with the desolate wife, and wo- 
 men wept when they heard of the agony of bereavement 
 which had prostrated her. Their tears, their sympathy, 
 availed her nothing. Separated by her unconsciousness 
 from human communion, she was alone with her grief and 
 her Grod. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 The mother's prayer for death was stayed by the 
 thought of her orphaned children. She arose from a sick- 
 bed to find relief, and at last consolation, in her care for 
 them. Years rolled quietly along. Retiring almost en- 
 tirely from the society she had once so brilliantly adorned, 
 she devoted her shining talents to the development of these 
 two young minds, and to moulding their plastic passions 
 and feelings. The loss of the gay world was the gain of 
 the poor and afflicted; for the time and wealth of Mrs. 
 Madison were freely bestowed upon the suffering and des- 
 titute classes of a great city. In her frequent missions of 
 mercy she was often cognizant of cases similar to that of 
 Mrs. Burns ; where all the wo, the want, the wretchedness 
 of families, lay at the doors of grog-shops. She pondered 
 these things in her heart, and asked herself again and again 
 if there was no way for the salvation of those who had 
 given themselves over to temptation and were beyond the 
 reach of their own consciences and self-control. 
 
3G THE senator's son, 
 
 ^^ If it were feasible to erect a Hospital in this cit}'^ 
 where such poor creatures could be kept from self-destruc- 
 tion until cured, I would gladly give half of my possessions. 
 But a Hospital from here to the Battery would not hold 
 them all; and, as soon as released, the fiery temptation 
 would be forced upon them. Its a horrible thing — this 
 trafiic in hquor ! These rum-shops might as well keep each 
 of them a mad dog behind the counter and allow people to 
 be bitten for sixpence a bite; and the law might as well 
 allovf it. Hydrophobia or delirium-tremens ! if I were to 
 choose between them, I would take that which was at least 
 the less disgraceful.'' 
 
 Thus spoke Mrs. Madison to herself as she hurried 
 away, with pale face and trembling limbs, from a house 
 where she had been a witness to the horrors of the drunk- 
 ard's direct earthly enemy — and the victim this time was a 
 woman ! — a woman who had little children cowerino- in 
 
 o 
 
 the cheerless corner, gazing at their mother with affrighted 
 eyes, as bound to her bed she glared at them with terrible 
 looks of madness and fear. 
 
 Mrs. Madison knew something of the history of this 
 poor creature. She was a drunkard's child, and had been 
 born into the world with feeble health and a miserable, ner- 
 vous constitution. She had a morbid appetite for slate- 
 stone, chalk, and opium, and grew up sickly, afraid of the 
 dark, of ghosts, of serpents, and with a mind so affected 
 by her impaired nerves as to be in some measure insane. 
 Nevertheless she married ; and after the birth of her first 
 
THE senator's SON. 37 
 
 baby, the physician recommended a little stimulus every 
 day to support her failing strength. She soon became un- 
 able to drag through the day without her hitters ; and be- 
 fore her husband suspected the extent of her indulgence, 
 her strength, the poor strength bequeathed to her by an 
 intemperate parent, gave way to a singular sickness, which 
 the doctors told the alarmed man was nothing more nor less 
 than delirium tremens. Ashamed and astonished, the re- 
 spectable and honest laborer nursed her carefully through 
 this first attack 3 but positively denied her the stimulus 
 which she so passionately begged. He told her the nature 
 of her fearful disease ; and, with tears in his eyes, reminded 
 her of her children, of his love for her, and of the terrors 
 of her situation. She, too, was alarmed at the dangers 
 past and impending ; she thanked her husband for denying 
 her appeals : but the passion was acquired j the shattered 
 powers were not calculated for steady resistance to a burn- 
 ing appetite ; and the very first day in which she was well 
 enough to creep out alone into the street, she left her best 
 shawl at the pawn-broker's, and readily obtained the liquid- 
 fire for her funeral-pyre at the first corner. 
 
 With such feeble powers of resistance she could not 
 struggle long. Her good husband struggled for her. When- 
 ever he found any liquor in the house he destroyed it; he 
 forbad the shops, far and wide, around that part of the 
 town, from selling their poison to his wife; he entreated, 
 commanded, and even punished. But where a wife's and 
 mother's love is devoured by a raging passion, be sure that 
 4 
 
88 THE senator's BON. 
 
 fear will have no control — not even the fear of those unut- 
 terable agonies which frequently assailed her. One after 
 another of those little comforts which blessed their home 
 went to the pawn-broker's. It was worse than useless to 
 redeem them, for they only traveled back over the old road 
 again. Another child was born ', a poor, imbecile, helpless 
 little thing, who would have been much better unborn than 
 growing up to disgrace and suffering, nourished on the poi- 
 son of its mother's milk. 
 
 Now the last struggle of the enemy was over; he was 
 triumphant; and Mrs. Madison, who had yielded to the 
 entreaties of the unhappy husband, had been present at 
 that most terrible death-bed. 
 
 With those dying screams ringing in her ears, that dy- 
 ing face in all its contortions of anguish before her eyes, 
 she hurried home to escape, in the cheerfulness of her own 
 fireside, from the haunting memories of the scene. 
 
 It was a bleak day in the latter part of December. The 
 snow lay on the housetops and in corners, but had been 
 trampled from sight in the busy streets. As she entered 
 her own house and came into the parlor shivering, Alice, 
 now grown a young girl of thirteen, sprang forward to take 
 her bonnet and cloak. 
 
 ^' How tired and pale you look, mother." 
 
 " I've witnessed enough to make any one look pale," 
 she replied, with a shudder, as she drew her chair up and 
 put out her feet towards the sparkling old-fashioned grate, 
 so much more cheerful than anything else in the winter- 
 
THE senator's SON. 89 
 
 time, unless it be the broad fire-place in tbe kitchen of some 
 ancient farm-house. 
 
 ^^ What have you seen, dear mother ? " enquired Alice, 
 as she rolled an ottoman beside her parent and leaned her 
 head in her lap. 
 
 ^^ I have seen a woman die of delirium-tremens." 
 
 '^Oh! mother!" 
 
 Alice held up her pretty hands, while her large hazel 
 eyes dilated with dread. 
 
 " What's that you've been frightening our sister with ?" 
 asked Parke, as he came out of the library. " But up with 
 that chess-board, Alf., and let's hear this woful story." 
 
 Two boys, or rather young gentlemen, came out of the 
 library. The first was Parke, a youth of seventeen, and 
 as he came forward, and flinging himself down on the rug, 
 pulled Alice on to his lap, we may see that the promise of 
 his baby-hood is thus far liberally fulfilled. The thick 
 brown ringlets waving and fluttering about his fine fore- 
 head, with just that careless beauty which had distinguished 
 his father's before him ; the deep-blue eye, fiery and soft ; 
 the straight, beautiful nose, the handsome mouth — all his 
 features were both perfect in form and beaming with intel- 
 lect and intelligence. His face had the pure, womanly 
 expression, which a life at home in the society of such a 
 mother and sister, might leave upon it, even after two years 
 at college, finely blended with the pride and carelessness of 
 his age. He had the patrician air, marking his descent 
 from families of wealth and cultivation, and through even 
 
40 THE senator's SON. 
 
 that, a more delicate and distinguished manner, revealing 
 refinement of thought and poetical beauty of spirit. There 
 did not seem the semblance of guile in the frank glance of 
 his glowing eye; the only fault of his countenance was 
 that the womanly sweetness of his mouth betokened a want 
 of energy, which was not made up for by the bold eye and 
 proudly-arched brow. There was spirit in the thin nostril, 
 but want of purpose in the softly-rounded chin. 
 
 " Just help yourself to that royal throne of an easy- 
 chair, Alf., and we'll listen to the story of wo." 
 
 His companion dropped comfortably into the huge vel- 
 vet chair, that did seem a little like a chair of state. He 
 was Parke's chum at college, and being too far removed 
 from his own home, had accepted his invitation to spend 
 the holidays at his mother's. 
 
 In good contrast with his friend, were his black eyes, 
 black hair, dark complexion, and strong though not inele- 
 gant frame. When he first came there, Mrs. Madison 
 rather wondered at her son's having chosen him for his in- 
 timate companion. He was a year or two the oldest, 
 although no farther advanced in his studies; his talents 
 were of a dijfferent order from Parke's brilliant and variable 
 genius; he did not talk half as much, but what he said 
 was usually full of character. 
 
 *' You must not laugh, Parke," said Alice, sedately; " for 
 mamma has been with a woman that had the delirium- 
 tremens." 
 
 "A woman!" ejaculated Parke, as if it had never 
 
THE senator's SON. 41 
 
 entered into his head that a woman was capable of such a 
 thing. 
 
 ^' Yes ! " said Mrs. Madison, gravely, " and the mother 
 of two little children. It is better for them that she is 
 dead ; but such a death ! I shall never forget it ; and ns 
 for sleeping to-night, I fear there will be anything but 
 pleasant dreams for me." 
 
 ^' I never thought you were nervous, dear mother, the 
 way you go gliding like a sunbeam into all the dark corners 
 of this many-cornered city. I don't believe you can catch 
 contagion any more than a beam of pure sunlight, or you 
 would have had the measles, delirium-tremens, whooping- 
 cough, small-pox, and all kinds of cutaneous and miscella- 
 neous sufferings long ago, so I guess you will sleep well 
 enough this night." 
 
 The youth looked up at his still beautiful mother as he 
 made this speech, as if she were a being as faultless, and as 
 much to be adored as the sun was by the orientals. Alice 
 laughed to think of her mamma having the measles and 
 said, " Oh, what a saucy brother ! " but gave him a kiss at 
 the same moment. 
 
 " But this has been to me the horror of horrors," re- 
 sumed Mrs. Madison. " To die in so shocking a manner, 
 and to be so little prepared for death. Ah ! those who have 
 supplied her so plentifully with the maddening poison have 
 destroyed both her body and soul. There ought to be some 
 punishment for them," she continued, while the color 
 mounted into her cheeks. " Against the warnings of her 
 4* 
 
42 THE senator's son. 
 
 husband, and the knowledge of her situation, they still fur- 
 nished her with the means of death, and they should he as 
 responsible as though they had sold prussic acid to an in- 
 sane person," 
 
 ^' I don't think my mother has a fault in the world ; but 
 if she has one, its her idea about temperance," soliloquized 
 Parke, aloud, for the benefit of the company. " Here she 
 has banished wine from her table, while all her neighbors 
 see proper to pay it the customary respect ; and, what is 
 worse, she takes her stand with those impudent reformei-s 
 that are starting up all over the land. And now she wants 
 the law to take it in hand. For my part," with an air of 
 wisdom, ^' I do not think any one to blame but the wretch 
 herself. Selling liquor is an honest business like any other, 
 and it is not for those who get their living in that way to en- 
 quire of people whether they are capable of restraining their 
 appetites within proper bounds. Every one should control 
 himself or herself. If they cannot do it, let them take the 
 consequences." 
 
 ^' You talk like a thoughtless boy, and one who had 
 never been taught the golden rules of christian principle. 
 Selling liquor is not an honest business, if some honest men 
 do engage in it. Because what they sell never does people 
 any real good, and always does them harm. Money spent 
 for liquor is much worse than money thrown away. The 
 person who trafficks in ardent spirits takes money, friends, 
 house, home, character, health, life, and soul; in exchange 
 he gives madness, disease, murder, riot, blasphemy, ruin, 
 
THE senator's SON. 43 
 
 and the momentary pleasure of delirium. Is that an honest 
 business ? Does it not call for the interference of the law 
 as much as gambling, counterfeiting, smuggling, conspiracy, 
 treason, or any other unlawful thing ? Is it kind, benevo- 
 lent, brotherly, or christian to leave a fellow-creature, af- 
 flicted with the disease of the love of strong drinh, to aban- 
 don himself to his fatal passion ? Is it right to lead into 
 temptation ? If a man loses control of his appetite, are we 
 to take advantage of his misfortune, his sin, even, to his 
 destruction and our pecuniary benefit ? Heaven forbid we 
 should so outrage all the divine precepts that were left for 
 our direction in cases like this.'^ 
 
 "Oh, mother, you take a dreadfully serious view of the 
 matter ] I dare not argue with you in that style. The truth 
 is you are quite too good. We can't expect all laws of busi- 
 ness, and the nation, to be founded in the spirit of Christ." 
 
 " Why, certainly, in a christian nation they should be. 
 What is there to prevent? If a nation consulted only its 
 material and worldly welfare, it would increase in prosperity 
 in proportion as its government corresponds with the gov- 
 ernment of Christ. How heavily does the curse of intem- 
 perance at this moment lie upon this beloved land. Sup- 
 posing the law took the matter in hand and made this 
 general traffick in ardent spirits dishonest and illegal ; would 
 not the people rise up with one voice and call their rulers 
 blest?" 
 
 '' No, I hope not. Their liberty would be injured ; such 
 a law would be arbitrary." 
 
44 THE senator's son. 
 
 " All laws are arbitrary. They are not made for those 
 who can govern themselves. Laws against theft are not 
 made for the honest man — against treason, for him whose 
 love of country burns purely in his heart — against murder, 
 for the man of peace and good will ; and a law to do away 
 with intoxication would not fall upon the temperate and 
 those who did not need it. It would not press very heav- 
 ily upon me, for instance — I should not feel it arbitrary ; 
 and any one who would must stand in want of it. As long 
 as men must be governed, let them have as many laws as 
 are necessary and just. If this was the millenium reign of 
 love, when the lion and the lamb are to lie down together, 
 we should not need these restrictions. Now they are whole- 
 some, necessary, and wise. The murderer, pulling against 
 the fear of hanging, calls it an arbitrary check — the drunk- 
 ard, if compelled to pull against the refusal to gratify his 
 dangerous craving, would call it an arbitrary check. It is 
 well for those who have no self-control to be judiciously 
 controlled in the spirit of kindness. As for alcohol, and all 
 its Protean diversities, I wish that the salt sea held every 
 drop." 
 
 ^^ Pshaw now, mother, do not wish that ! I don't ! for 
 me, I love wine ! — I always intend to drink a little ; and I 
 am not afraid but that I can control myself, either, with- 
 out the aid of the law." 
 
 Mrs. Madison cast a sad look at her beautiful boy. She 
 thought of his father's pride and self-confidence, and she did 
 not like the ominous words — "I love wine I I always in- 
 
THE senator's SON. 45 
 
 tend to drink a little." Alfred Clyde, silently listening to 
 this conversation from the depths of his velvet chair, now 
 turned upon Parke a keen gaze from his black eyes, which 
 called the warm blood into his expressive face, for they re- 
 minded him with something of the force of a cool satire, 
 of half-a-dozen college-revels in which he had proved that 
 he could not control himself. 
 
 " Those were mere boyish freaks," he said to himself; 
 '^ I only drank to show them that I was not afraid of the 
 champagne, or their taunts either. What does he want to 
 remind me of that for V 
 
 ^<- Come, Alice," he added aloud, " tea is not ready yet; 
 let us see what we can do with our music to disperse these 
 bad spirits that have gathered around our mother." 
 
 Alice was delighted. Passionately fond of music, sing- 
 ing sweetly, and already a fairy mistress of the piano, she 
 never enjoyed herself so highly as when Parke would join 
 her with voice and flute. She flew like a bird and perched 
 upon the piano-stool. Looking around at him as he came 
 forward and took up his flute, she laughed her fairy laugh. 
 
 " You need not boast so greatly of your self-manage- 
 ment," she said ; ^' I have heard mamma tell of your steal- 
 ing to the table after a dinner-party, and getting a little out 
 of your head over the wine-glasses, when you were only four 
 years old ; and of your coming into the room, glorying in 
 the idea that Washington was your papa, and falling over 
 an ottoman, and disgracing yourself before them all. ' 
 
 <' Of course I was not more than four years old, or I 
 
46 THE senator's son. 
 
 should not have made such a fool of myself/' he replied, 
 pulling at one of her floating curls just hard enough to 
 make her cry " oh !" Alfred Clyde came up to the group 
 and leaned his elbows upon the piano and his head upon his 
 hands, while the brother and sister played a gay duet and 
 sang. Then Parke accompanied with his flute, and finally 
 Alice sang alone, a sweet and mournful melody, aiding her- 
 self with the piano. It was an almost angelic pleasure to 
 hear her sing. Alfred, leaning his chin into his hand, 
 never removed his dark eyes from her radiant face, as the 
 notes with bird-like clearness, united to human expression, 
 rose from her lips upon the air, seeming to hover around 
 her little, slender figure a moment, and then to soar high, 
 high through the ceiling, and die away in remote sweetness 
 through the sky. Mrs. Madison turned from studying the 
 grotesque figures glowing in the grate and listened with 
 closed eyes to the delightful melody. Then young Clyde sur- 
 prised and pleased them all by sitting down to the piano and 
 playing one or two airs in a fine, bold style, so difierent from 
 Alice's exquisite touch ; and singing in a rich, sweet tenor. 
 
 The tinkle of the tea-bell, less musical, but probably as 
 welcome, asserted its claims to attention, and the party be- 
 took themselves to the supper-room with cheerful faces. 
 Young gentlemen when they are still growing rapidly have, 
 of course, a great respect for a well-filled table, and Mrs. 
 Madison, who was much fatigued with her afternoon's visit, 
 also felt the need of a cup of tea. 
 
 " By the way, little one, have you grown to be too large 
 
THE senator's yoN. 47 
 
 a young lady to think of hanging up your stocking ; rem em- 
 ber this is Christmas Eve.'' 
 
 ^' Santa Glaus has not been down our chimney for two 
 or three years, I believe. Not since Mary Ellis revealed to 
 me the mystery of his invisible visits. 8ince the wonderful 
 flowers which made him so enchanting a character have fled, 
 I am content to find my gifts on the library table,'' replied 
 Alice. 
 
 '^ I have a presentiment that he will renew his calls this 
 night," continued her brother, helping himself to a slice of 
 Christmas cake. ^^ And if you sit up until ten o'clock per- 
 haps you will see him. I don't believe any of this nonsense 
 about there being no such personage at the present day ; 
 there certainly was such a fine old fellow when I was a boy. 
 Alf. and I are going out about the city this evening, and if 
 I catch a glimpse of him on the top of some tall chimney, I 
 shall just signify to him that he had better call here." 
 
 "Well, do — do;" cried the young girl laughing, 
 " and I will hang up my stocking. Which room do you 
 think he will make a descent into ? because I should like to 
 get a peep at him, though you know he never comes until 
 midnight." 
 
 " Pshaw ! he can't visit every body at once, and if he 
 comes here it will be earlier than that. How is it, mother, 
 is there no other authorized way for him to enter a dwelling 
 except through the chimney ?" 
 
 " I never heard of any other way, but I suppose that 
 he would be welcome if he came in most any manner." 
 
48 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Well, Alf., its nearly seven o'clock, and I promised 
 you a walk about the city to-night." 
 
 The young gentlemen arose from the table and put on 
 their caps and cloaks. 
 
 '^ Oh ! now, please to stay at home with mamma and 
 me," pleaded Alice ; " just think, you have only a week to 
 stay, and I have hardly visited with you at all yet." 
 
 " I should like too, Alice ; it looks gloriously pleasant 
 in the parlors, but you see," laughing at her from under 
 the shadow of his cap, " my friend Alfred is an outside bar- 
 barian, fresh from the wilds of the west, and I must do my 
 duty to him, and show him the lions." 
 
 " I do not see how Parke can resist you," said Alfred, 
 throwing off his cloak, "for my part, I do not believe I 
 should find anything out of doors to compensate for what 
 I leave." 
 
 He looked as if he could not be induced to leave the 
 company he was in, for all the lions out of Numidea. Alice 
 was quite flattered by this preference for her society, and 
 looked with favorable eyes upon her brother's friend. 
 
 " Nonsense, Alf., come along," said Parke. 
 
 " Are you not a little selfish, Alice, in keeping the boys 
 at home so much ? " interposed the mother. " Go if you 
 wish, but keep out of mischief, and be at home by ten 
 o'clock, for I shall set up for you, and I feel like retiring in 
 good season." 
 
 Parke kissed his mother's hand with an air of affection 
 and respect in answer to her kind smile ; Alfred ventured 
 
THE senator's SON. 4^ 
 
 to kiss his at Miss Alice, aud the two youths went out in 
 high spirits. 
 
 " ]>on't forget the stocking, Alice," were Parke's last 
 words, as they went out of the hall door. 
 
 " I wonder if he is in earnest," remarked the young girl 
 as she came back to her mother, after escorting her beloved 
 brother almost to the pavement. " I've a mind to put up 
 that nice new stocking which I have just finished." 
 
 So saying she fastened it duly near the mantel-piece, in 
 the library, while the indulgent parent regarded her move- 
 ments with a quiet smile. Then both returned to the par- 
 lor, where the child beguiled the time with music until the 
 clock struck nine. She had just taken the large bible to 
 read a few chapters to her mother, when a sound in the 
 library attracted her attention, 
 
 "I declare, I believo it is Santa Claus himself," she 
 said, laying down the book, with eyes wide open, and steal- 
 ing on tiptze to the door of the adjacent room, she peeped 
 in. A slight scream drew Mrs. Madison in the same direo- 
 tion, just in time to see a marvelous figure march boldly 
 out through the hall, instead of vanishing up the chimney. 
 It had a very wrinkled, black face, a bent back, which had 
 grown into its present large proportions probably from long 
 bearing of the basket and other burdens which adorned it ; 
 a long white beard, a short pipe, and a very queer little 
 conical cap. Without deigning a glance at the inti'udcrs, 
 whom he seemed to think ought to be a-bed, he marched 
 out the door. When Alice had recovered sufiiciently from 
 5 
 
50 THE senator's SON. 
 
 the alarm caused by this unexpected apparition, she v^en- 
 tured to glance at her stocking, and behold ! it was stuffed 
 to its utmost capacity. Her mother would not permit her 
 to inspect its contents that evening, however, saying that it 
 was hardly fair, since they had caught the good Saint in the 
 very fulfilment of his kind mission to endeavor to find out 
 the amount of his presents until the intended hour. Alice 
 returned her mother's smile with one of equal intelligence, 
 and went to bed thinking, what indeed she thought all ♦he 
 time, that there never was so good, handsome, and mischiev- 
 ous a brother as her own. 
 
 In the meantime, Santa Claus, as he left the house, was 
 joined by an ally, also bearing a basket; and laughing and 
 chatting like very good-natured saints, they turned down 
 the first alley they came to, and were soon trudging along a 
 street which seemed mostly filled by the habitations of the 
 poor. 
 
 '^ There's Smith's, and Ellise's, and McCurdy's, all have 
 young ones, lots of them — I am afraid some of the good 
 parents have gone to bed," said Santa Claus, as they paused 
 before a door. 
 
 " Very well, we'll make 'cm get up then," rejoined his 
 companion, shaking a string of bells merily before the key- 
 hole. 
 
 A head in a night-cap soon appeared through the cau- 
 tiously unclosed door, and was immediately besieged with v. 
 small shower of paper parcels, and one great cannon-bal) 'ii 
 *he shape of a fine dressed turkey. 
 
THE senator's SON. 51 
 
 " Santa Glaus to the children/^ cried that personage in 
 an unearthly voice, and betook himself down the way, fol- 
 lowed by his aid-de-camp, leaving the lucky recipient to 
 pick up the package of candy, nuts, and toys, which lay 
 before her astonished vision. 
 
 At least half a dozen houses received a similar visita- 
 tion 3 and then the frightful-looking imps made their way 
 back to the toy-shop where they had received their outfit, 
 and having deposited their empty baskets, they came out of 
 their disguises, two exceedingly merry and good-looking 
 youths. 
 
 " Since we have made a score of miserable juveniles in- 
 conceivably happy for all day to-morrow, I presume we are 
 at liberty now to delight ourselves with whatever we can 
 find that promises the most fun," said Alfred. 
 
 " Its too late, Fm afraid, to go anywhere to-night. 
 Mother expects us home at ten o'clock, and its nearly that 
 now." 
 
 " Then I must say we've fooled away the time ridicu- 
 lously so far ; wasted it on those dirty little rascals.'^ 
 
 '' I've enjoyed it very much," replied Parke, laughing 
 as he glanced at the mask he had thrown aside ; " and I 
 shall enjoy it to-morrow, thinking of the pleasure we have 
 given." 
 
 '•'' Well, you're a fine, philanthropic youth, mother's own 
 darling," said the other, a little scornfully. 
 
 ^^ I should be proud if I thought I was half as good as 
 my mc'ther," said Parke, his blue eyes kindling. 
 
THE senator's SON. 52 
 
 " Oh, of course, so would I j I did not mean anything 
 else. But pshaw, your mother will not wait for us, and we 
 might as well see what is to be seen. It is not often that 
 there is as much to attract us as now.'' 
 
 " Come on, then, I will be your chaperon," said Parke, 
 and taking his friend's J^rm, they walked slowly up the 
 brilliant and fashionable thorough-fare. New York had on 
 her holiday attire. The shop windows blazed with light, 
 displaying their costly treasures. 
 
 Crowds of gay and happy-looking people were yet mov- 
 ing along the pavement. There chanced to be very respect- 
 able sleighing too, and the wide street was a bewildering 
 chaos of innumerable vehicles of all kinds that could be 
 fastened upon runners, winding swiftly through apparently 
 impenetrable ways ; of tinkling bells, merry laughter, shouts, 
 prancing horses gayly caparisoned, and ambitious drivers. 
 
 The churches were brilliantly illuminated, and those 
 who had thronged them to do reverence to the solemnity of 
 the Eve, now poured out of their doors and mingled with 
 the crowd. 
 
 Enjoying all these sights and sounds with the intensity 
 belonging to the minds of students during the holidays, 
 they sauntered along until arrested upon a crossing by a 
 shout from a passing sleigh. 
 
 " Halloo ! Parke Madison ! we did not know you were* 
 home from school. You're the very fellow we want ; jumj 
 in, wc are going out to Cross' to have a time." 
 
 There were a dozen or more young gentlemen alreadj 
 
THE senator's son. 53 
 
 in the sleigh, all looking the picture of fun. They had 
 four spirited horses and countless strings of hells. The 
 temptation was strong; but Parke thought of his mother, 
 and hesitated. 
 
 " What kind of a time ? '^ he asked. 
 
 ^' Nothing that will injure your spotless good name/* 
 was the reply." '' Only a supper, and home again." 
 
 ^' For mercy's sake, go," whispered Alfred, impatiently ; 
 " you are the greatest baby out of its nurse's arms." 
 
 "Of course my friend is included in the invitation," said 
 Parke, as he climbed into the sleigh : " Mr. Clyde, gentle- 
 men, a classmate of mine, and the best fellow ever punished 
 with a Greek grammar." 
 
 " The more the merrier ! " cried all ', and Alfred Clyde 
 made a very courteous bow and a very pretty speech, as 
 they noisily made room for him. 
 
 "Drive on!" shouted they, the next moment; and 
 away they went up the brilliant street, out into the more 
 gloomy suburbs and on into the country, where the only 
 lights were stars. Gaslight or starlight, it was all one 
 to them; they abated not jollity and noise until in about 
 an hour and a quarter they drew up at Cross', twelve miles 
 from town. 
 
 This was not the first party which had arrived at that 
 hotel during the evening, sleighing being so brief a luxury 
 as to be well enjoyed while it lasted. As these gentlemen 
 had no ladies with them, and were bent upon having ' a 
 time,' the affable host gave them a fine, large room to them- 
 5* 
 
51 THE senator's SOX. 
 
 selves, with the injunction only not to disturb other guests 
 in their frolics. 
 
 Such a supper as they caused to be served was worthy of 
 the occasion. Wild turkey and canvass-back ducks, with 
 art-compounded aalads, oysters, and champagne, were but a 
 few of the items of their costly feast. The great fireplace 
 blazing with hickory, the luxurious table, and *the choice 
 wines, promised a glorious night. 
 
 Unfortunately for Parke, his friends were not as pure- 
 minded and innocent of bad habits as himself; young aris- 
 tocrats though they were, they did not disdain the chance 
 of ' plucking' a wealthy ^ pigeon' like him, and at supper 
 they rallied him into drinking more wine than was prudent. 
 He knew it all the time ; he knew that a little afiected him, 
 and that after tasting it he could not always control his in- 
 dulgence in it; but he could not endure to be thought a 
 simpleton or a puritan by the rest, and so, when he had 
 most need to think of them, he forgot all about his gentle- 
 faced mother and his darling young sister. He was much 
 the most intoxicated of any who left the table. At first he 
 had only been witty and amusing, but he grew more boister- 
 ous than agreeable, and his remarks were more stupid than 
 pointed. They were received with the same unmeaning 
 eclat ; wit or silliness are either in favor with a party of 
 fools. 
 
 One would hardly have known the fair, spiritual face 
 leaning up against his mother's lap that afternoon, with its 
 clear, pure eyes and shining curls, as the flushed counte- 
 
THE SENATOR S SON. 50 
 
 nauce, now debased from its look of intelligence, witli 
 glassy eyes and a smile of unmeaning good-nature. 
 
 Alfred Clyde had toyed with his glasses in a more care- 
 ful manner. Not making himself conspicuous, except by an 
 occasional brilliant sally, independent but courteous in his 
 bearing, and showing that he knew how to take care of him- 
 self, with a perfect at-homeness in scenes like these, he won 
 golden opinions from the society into which he considered 
 himself very fortunate to have been introduced- 
 
 He did not warn Parke, as he might have done, against 
 his perils ; but when cards were brought out, and he saw 
 intelligent boks among those who were inducing his friend 
 to play with them, he spoke up in a calm tone, that carried 
 with it a firm conviction of his courage. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I must claim my friend as m^ partner 
 this evening. He knows but little about a game, neither 
 do I, so we will be well matched.'' 
 
 There was no demurring to his- polite manner; the 
 party thought it a very disinterested act of kindness to keep 
 the game out of their hands, but submitted with tolerable 
 grace, and Parke played only with him. Notwithstanding 
 his declaration that he was an indifferent player, he won all 
 of Parke's money, and, lastly, a beautiful and expensive 
 watch which he wore. 
 
 The sun was streaking the east with the first glow of 
 Christmas morning, when the revellers found themselves in 
 town again. Mrs. Madison had remained up until after 
 midnight, and then retired with some uneasy feelings. She 
 
50 THE senator's son. 
 
 heard the Doys come in at day-break and go to their room, 
 and after that she had a long sleep. It was late when 
 breakfast was placed on the table, but it had to wait some 
 time lor the young gentlemen ; and Alice had abundance 
 of time to admire the good gifts of Santa Clans. Parko 
 could not help blushing vividly when he entered his 
 mother's presence, and met her anxious, searching look; 
 Alfi-ed was polite and self-possessed as usual. It was not 
 until the blush had died away that Mrs. Madison discov- 
 ered her son's pale and weary looks. 
 
 " You were out all night/' she said, in a tone which 
 seemed to require an explanation, as she handed him his 
 coffee. 
 
 "^ Why the truth is, dear mother," he began in a con- 
 fused voice, ^' that we met a party of my best friends going 
 out to Cross' for a sleigh-ride, and we were tempted to go 
 along. There we stayed for supper, and it made us rather 
 late. I hope that you did not wait for us." 
 
 " Only until twelve o'clock. It seems to me you look 
 ill this morning — is anything; the matter ?" 
 
 ^^ Well I" with another blush, " I believe I took a con- 
 founded cold, for my head aches horribly. I wasn't very 
 well wrapped up you know, as we only went out for a 
 walk." 
 
 Parke glanced at Alf. as he made this explanation, and 
 saw him very demurely breaking an egg into his glass. 
 
 " Poor Parke, I pity you," said Alice, bending her large 
 ey-es tenderly upon his pale countenance ; ^^ shall I tell 
 
THE senator's SON. . 57 
 
 Bridget to make you a cup of strong tea ? — it is good for 
 headache. 
 
 ^^ I don't care if you do, — that's a good sister." 
 
 " I think, myself, it will be a fine thing for him/' added 
 young Clyde, raising his keen glance from the egg-dish. 
 
 The child sped to the kitchen on her mission of kind- 
 ness ; then returning to her plate and the engrossing sub- 
 ject of her thoughts, she cried, with an arch look — 
 
 ^^ Santa Claus did pay me a visit last night !" 
 
 *' Ah ! " said the brother innocently, " did he find a 
 stocking — and what did he bring you ? " 
 
 " He must have guessed what I wanted most, for these 
 were the very things he brought m.e, A beautiful little 
 gold-bound prayer-book, just the right size — a pair of ear- 
 rings to match with my necklace, and a silver paper-folder, 
 besides enough confectionary to last till New Year's, and 
 the drollest little man laughing at me from the top of the 
 stocking.'^ 
 
 " A bountiful saint," said Park<* 
 
 " May I be allowed to in^ire whether you had a 
 glimpse of his saintship ?" asked Alfred. 
 
 ^'Yes, I did — I did!" cried Alice, laughing at the re- 
 membrance. 
 
 " You were not frightened I suppose ? " 
 
 She looked at him quickly, and colored a little, to think 
 of her screaming out tho previous night. 
 
 " I was rather astonished at the first peep I took of 
 him. Such a horrid-looking saint may I never see again ! 
 
58 THE senator's son. 
 
 But he was as good as he was ugly," and her eye rested 
 affectionately upon her adored brother. 
 
 " I saw a strange-looking being, which might have been 
 him, paying visits to all those little wretches that you were 
 telling us about yesterday, that wouldn't have any Christ- 
 mas, because they were so poor. Had he a pipe in his 
 mouth?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And was he very bent in the back, and with a long, 
 white beard ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And did he walk a little lame, and have a very queer, 
 black face, and wear a funny cap, and look like — Old 
 Nick?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, that was Santa Claus without doubt. What 
 was he doing, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " Ah ! he was making a Christmas for the little children 
 you have condescended to notice with new pairs of shoes. 
 Such papers of raisins and almonds — such chickens and 
 turkeys — such little bundles of sugar and tea, proved him 
 to be a most worthy and liberal old fellow." 
 
 " Did you indeed do all that ?" asked Alice, when Al- 
 fred had finished his story, coming around to her brother, 
 and laying her arms softly about his neck. " What a good 
 boy you are ! " 
 
 " Me ! " he replied in affected surprise ; "Am I then 
 such a fright of a fellow as all that comes to." 
 
 His sister's kiss, the cup of green tea, and the recollec- 
 
THE SENATOR* S SON. 59 
 
 tion of his innocent frolic in the early part of the preceding 
 evening, made Parke a little more reconciled to himself, 
 though a sense of guilt still made him feel uneasy under the 
 eye of his mother. It was a feeling of relief with which he 
 flung himself upon the sofa after she and Alice went out to 
 attend morning service in their church, his headache excus- 
 ing him from that duty, and Clyde staying at home to keep 
 him company. 
 
 ^^ I am heartily ashamed of myself and perfectly miser- 
 able," he said, with tears of contrition, as Alfred seated him- 
 self before his sofa, and mockingly felt the pulse in his 
 wrist, '^ To think of boasting about self-control, and mak- 
 ing a sot of myself the very same night. Oh ! if mother 
 should hear of it.^^ 
 
 " Fve always told you it wouldn't do for you to take 
 wine," replied his companion coolly; "you like it too well. 
 Now /can play with the fire and not get burned, but Td 
 advise you to be a little more prudent, my dear Parke." 
 
 " Why didn't you advise me last night ? — you sat be- 
 side me." 
 
 " Oh, I wanted to witness your ability for self-protec- 
 tion, you know ; it would have been arbitrary for me to 
 have interfered." 
 
 " Now don't be sarcastic, if you please, for my head 
 aches so that I can't stand it. By the way," after a pause, 
 " do you know who I lost my watch to, last night ? I must 
 have that back if I have to redeem it with a thousana dol- 
 lars. That was my father's watch, Alf." 
 
60 THE senator's SON. 
 
 " You need not fret about that/' said his friend with a 
 smile/'iLwas I who won it^ and I have it safe for you in the 
 dressing-case up stairs. I only took it to show you what 
 would have been your fate if you had played with any one 
 else. The fact is you know nothing about a game, as I've 
 often told you, and those older scamps knew it, and meant to 
 make you their victim. You are young and rich. I would 
 not allow you to play with any one but myself." 
 
 " Then you won my money too ? '' 
 
 *^ Yes, and here it is," producing a roll of bills from his 
 pocket. " Its rgainst my principles to gamble, and so I 
 return it to you with a little advice to be more wise in 
 future." 
 
 " Fie ! you know that I would not bo guilty of accept- 
 ing it,^' said Parke, putting back the money with his hand. 
 "I'm a thousand times obliged to you about the watch) 
 and I will be more careful hereafter." 
 
 " Yery well. It ought to be some consolation to you to 
 know that it will be made good use of. It could not have 
 fallen to any one who needed it as much," and with a sat- 
 isfied look, young Clyde put the bills back into his own 
 pocket. " If you are in need of anything before you re- 
 ceive another supply, just borrow of me," he continued ; 
 " and now that I am so rich, I must think of something 
 that will please sweet Alice. She's a heavenly little creature, 
 that sister of yours, Parke, both in beauty and disjwsition.'^ 
 
 " She is indeed," replied the brother, getting up from 
 bi^' pillow and looking quite restored to health, "You 
 
THE senator's s^n, 61 
 
 liavn't any sister have yon, Alf. ? then you cannot imagine 
 how I love that child. I would not have her hear anything 
 to make her love me loss for the world. I shall always be 
 a good man for her sake — that is, after I've got over these 
 confounded college scrapes. I hope when she is grown a 
 little older that you will both fall in love with each other, 
 and be married. That's a glorious idea, isn't it?" 
 
 ^' Too bright — too beautiful to last ! But," with sud- 
 den earnestness, " I hope you'll remember that, Parke, and 
 that my consent is already gained. The lady, I am afraid, 
 will not look upon the matter with such favorable eyes.'' 
 
 " Any one that I love will have a claim upon her affec- 
 tions, said the brother ; " my pretty, pretty Alice ! " 
 
 *^ Sister's hearts take stubborn fancies sometimes,'^ re- 
 sponded Alfred, and then he fell into a reverie. A sudden 
 fire glowed in his black eyes, deep down, as if he were forg- 
 ing some future purpose in the furnace of thought. Parke 
 subsided into a light slumber, leaving him free to work out 
 his ideas ) and he sat silently musing until the return of 
 the ladies from church. 
 
 And now, while he is lost in thought, it will be a good 
 time for us to inquire a little into his character and history. 
 
 His parents died when he was about fourteen, leaving 
 him a poor inheritance. From his father, who was a spec- 
 ulator, and living magnificently died in poverty, he inherited 
 a love of luxury, a scheming, crafty mind, a hard heart, 
 much physical courage, an empty purse, and beautiful, slen- 
 der hands and feet, of which he was secretly vain. From 
 6 
 
62 THE senator's som. 
 
 his mother he inherited a portion of her dark, scuthern 
 beauty, of her impressable fancy, of her pride, her indo- 
 lence, and her love of loveliness as revealed in the human 
 form, in works of art or scenes of nature. This latter pas- 
 sion tinged his otherwise hard character with a glow of po- 
 etry, and enabled him to show a fine enthusiasm on many 
 occasions, which concealed the cold depths of his heart, as 
 sunlight playing over the ocean conceals its darkness and 
 chilliness. He was always older than his years in cautious 
 reserve and prudent calculations; and when at fifteen he 
 found himself thrown upon his own resources, he came to a 
 set determination that he would not labor for a living. His 
 pride, indolence, and love of splendor all cried out against 
 it. " Better not live at all than to drudge through life with 
 the common herd," was his conclusion; and turning over 
 in his mind all feasible projects for establishing himself as a 
 drone in the bee-hive of society, his plans reverted to an old 
 bachelor uncle, living in an eastern State, who was only as 
 wealthy as he was penurious. 
 
 " I always wondered what that old miser was hoarding 
 up his money for, and now I know that it was for my par- 
 ticular benefit," was his mental soliloquy. 
 
 Having settled this matter to his own satisfaction, he 
 left his birth-place in a western city and managed to intro- 
 duce himself to his uncle. He was looked upon with suspi- 
 cious eyes by Mr. Benjamin Clyde, who regarded all his 
 relations as vultures waiting to prey upon his dead body. 
 But the boy had a winning way with him, and as he care- 
 
THE senator's son. 63 
 
 fully concealed his expectations of aid, and only asked his 
 advice as to what pursuit he could engage in to procure him 
 an honest living, his uncle promised to make some efforts in 
 his behalf. 
 
 " The truth is, uncle," said Alfred, with a very grave 
 face, " that it will be pretty hard for a boy of my age, with- 
 out parents, friends or money, to work his way up to the 
 station a Clyde should occupy. But I am going to do my 
 best. Sir ; and as I know you better capable of giving ad- 
 vice than any one else, and as a child naturally feels a yearn- 
 ing after some kind of kindred," with something like a tear, 
 " I have come to you, to ask for your counsel. I've a 
 pretty good pair of hands to work with, and I shall use 
 them, Sir." 
 
 " A little too delicate ! not quite the right color," said 
 the old gentleman with a short glance at the white, tape" 
 fingers. 
 
 ^' I can soon alter their color, uncle, if that's all." 
 
 " Well, I have a friend, owner of a large store, wants an 
 under clerk. Now you can get that situation, and if you 
 please your employers can work your way up, and probably 
 sometime be a partner in the concern. If it suits you, I 
 will see that he accepts you." 
 
 ^^ You are very kind, and I shall always remember the 
 interest you have taken in your poor nephew. But I am 
 ambitious — proud as the rest of the Clydes, Sir; and if 
 you can propose anything at which I can support myself, 
 and at the same time acquire an education that would fit me 
 
64 THE senator's son. 
 
 for your profession, Sir, I should indeed like it. I have a 
 bent, I believe, for the law, uncle, and perhaps might not 
 become an unworthy member of the bar which you have 
 (distinguished. It has proved a harvest, from which you 
 l-ave reaped golden sheaves, too, has it not ? ^^ 
 
 In short, Benjamin Clyde was induced to consider his 
 Dephew in the light of a youth who was very anxious to do 
 something for himself, with commendable ambition, energy, 
 and pride. The spirit of family glory which had nearly 
 been smothered in bags of gold was aroused, and he resolved 
 that so fine a young Clyde must have an education which 
 would qualify him to do well for himself in the world. He 
 was secretly pleased, too, at the thought of his nephew 
 stepping into his shoes when he should retire from practice, 
 which he designed soon to do ; and it may be that into his 
 desolate old heart there stole some warmth of affection for 
 this orphaned relative. 
 
 Alfred's first grand manoeuvre for himself was success- 
 ful. In a few weeks he was in college, for which he was 
 prepared before the death of his parents. It is true that he 
 was kept upon an extremely moderate allowance of pocket- 
 money, much smaller than his love of display could be con- 
 tented with; but this only induced him to find out ways 
 and means for increasing it. It was his purpose to be the 
 envy and pride of his associates, to pass through school 
 with tolerable credit, and then to settle down at his ease in 
 his uncle's office. As for studying severely or becoming 
 profoundly versed in the law, he did not think of it. He 
 
THE senator's son. 65 
 
 hoped that, by the time he had trifled away a few years 
 in pretended industry, the old gentleman would drop off, 
 and leave him in exulting possession of his close-hoarded 
 wealth. 
 
 In the meantime, being, like many city boys, old in 
 vice, and already an expert gamester, many of his fellow- 
 students became his victims in a small way, and he kept his 
 purse so well replenished as to keep up with the most ex- 
 travagant. He had so much tact, and affected so much 
 generosity, that his comrades thought his success a matter 
 of indifference to him. He passed for the heir to a large 
 estate, beside being the jprotegi of an immensely wealthy 
 old uncle ; so that whatever he chose to do was winked at, 
 and he was toadyedtoan unlimited extent, which was just 
 what most pleased his selfish vanity. 
 
 He had been in College but a short time when Parke 
 Madison arrived. As the son of a late distinguished sena- 
 tor, the descendant of an old aristocratic faniily, and the 
 heir of wealth and station, he more than rivaled the dark 
 Cincinnatian in his claims to attention. By his beauty, 
 gentleness, and goodness, he won universal love, and by his 
 talents universal admiration. He was the pet of the learned 
 professors as well as of the students. Alfred was no lon- 
 ger the lion of the academic groves. He submitted with 
 excellent grace, making advances towards the warmest 
 friendship with the stranger. They were classmates, and 
 together they buffeted their way through the junior, senior, 
 and sophomore degrees. Parke returned Clyde's friendship 
 G* 
 
66 THE sknator's son. 
 
 with ardent affection, about which there was not a shadow 
 of falsehood. Honest and warm-hearted himself, he thought 
 the same of every one else. Alfred was so confidential 
 with him as to reveal to him that he was a poor boy, de- 
 pendent upon the charity of a niggardly uncle for an edu- 
 cation; and often complained bitterly of his privations. 
 He knew that in +;Le frank soul of a noble fellow like young 
 Madison, it would awaken sympathy, and strengthen the 
 bonds of their attachment ; and he was often able to turn 
 it to the best account. If he wished to borrow a small 
 amount, it was heartily given, without a thought of asking 
 for it again. The sin and shame of this intimacy was, that 
 Alfred, instead of protecting his younger companion from 
 the temptations which surrounded him to secret dissipation, 
 craftily led him on, and while he seemed to be keeping him 
 from the hands of others, always let him fall into his own. 
 He had great skill in concealing all infringements of college 
 rules of his own or Parke's from the eyes and ears of the 
 professors; laying his friend under tearful obligations to 
 him for preserving his character, and keeping his occasions! 
 frolics from the knowledge of his mother. 
 
 It was in the third year of their college life that Parke 
 had permission from Mrs. Madison to bring his friend home 
 with him. More skilled in reading the characters of others 
 than her son, she was disappointed in the impression Alfred 
 made upon her mind. She liked his manners, wit, and ap- 
 parent modesty ; yet he did not gain her confidence. Some- 
 thing in his eye betrayed guile, and the lines of his mouth 
 
THE senator's SON. 67 
 
 told of craftiness. Thinking him a young man of excellent 
 habits and character, she said nothing to Parke, but that 
 she was entirely pleased with him. 
 
 "How is your headache, Parke?'' was his sister's first 
 question, as she came in with her mother from church. 
 
 '^ Oh, its quite gone, I thank you. I have had the 
 nicest sleep ; and now I'm ready for any quantity of Christ- 
 mas pie, pudding, and fun. Look here, Allie, I've been 
 making Alf. a holiday present : guess what it was ? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot — you had better tell me." 
 
 '^ Its altogether the most precious thing that I possess.'* 
 
 " Perhaps its your watch and chain ?" 
 
 ^^ No, indeed. I think enough of those ; but its worthy 
 twenty watches." 
 
 Her brother regarded her puzzled face with a very 
 merry look. She turned from him to Alfred, and perhaps 
 she read the secret in his eyes, for the color began to 
 deepen in her cheeks. 
 
 " You haven't given me away ?" she asked, gravely. 
 
 " Yes, I have. I have given my only sister to my 
 adopted brother. Isn't that generous ? You must remem- 
 ber it when you get to be a young lady, Allie, and not 
 smile with those bright eyes upon any one else. Give him 
 your hand in token of consent, and we'll consider the affair 
 settled." 
 
 Alice put her little hand into the white hand held out 
 to her. 
 
 *' I shall not give my consent," she said, smiling seri- 
 
G8 THE senator's son. 
 
 ously; but I will promise to think about it. I have no 
 doubt I shall see some one I love better.'^ 
 
 ^^ Nay, little Alice, you must not do that," said Alfred, 
 kissing ner fingers with a respectful, gallant air. 
 
 ^' But if I cannot help it ? '' she asked. 
 
 " Then you will have broken my heart; for from this 
 moment I shall have no lady-love save you. You have be- 
 come the star of my destiny — the ' bright, particular star^ 
 — the arbitress of my fate — the saint of the shrine at 
 which I kneel. Your presence will be the Eden-land to- 
 wards which I shall journey, — the light of your eyes, the 
 beacon-fire leading me on to happiness, — the sound of your 
 voice, the music for which I pine, — the hope of your love, 
 the crowning glory of my existence : 
 
 *' ' Like a shrine 'mid rocks forsaken 
 
 "Whence the oracle hath fled, — 
 
 Like a harp -which none might waken 
 
 But a mighty master dead, — 
 
 Like a vase of perfume scattered, 
 t 
 
 Such would my spirit be ; 
 
 So mute, so void, so shattered, 
 
 Bereft of thee ! ' " 
 
 " Bravo ! Alf., you are eloquent beyond your years,'' 
 cried Parke, laughing at his friend's affected air of tragic 
 sentiment. " You woo with the grace of an Apollo instead 
 of the becoming timidity of a sophomore. '^ 
 
 " It is well enough to practice a little even now," was 
 
THE senator's SON. 69 
 
 the reply. " Despite my eloquence, you see that I am not 
 very successful, for the frightened fairy has flown to the 
 piano to take refuge from my pathetic invocation of Mrs. 
 Heman's muse, deigning me only a saucy shake of her 
 pretty head. Come back, lady Alice, and play back- 
 gammon with me, and by my faith, as a knight, I will no 
 further declare my love for you until I can kneel at your 
 feet, and offer there, not golden spurs, or glittering stars, 
 but the pride of a college-youth — my diploma." 
 
 Alice came shyly back at his bidding, and they played 
 a little while, until summoned to the sumptuous dinner 
 which graced the Christmas board. 
 
 After dinner the young gentlemen went down town, and 
 stopping at a jeweler's, Alfred purchased a beautiful ring 
 for his little betrothed, as he called her. Parke wished very 
 much to buy something elegant for his mother — 'but, alas ! 
 the very profuse supply which had been allowed him for the 
 holidays was already gone, and he had not the wherewithal 
 to get for her the smallest gift. He said nothing to Alfred, 
 who was making a great display of his money. He was se- 
 cretly a little displeased with his friend's manner, and still 
 was angry with himself for his last night's folly. 
 
 The ensuing week flew rapidly by, bringing New Year's 
 the happiest holiday of all. The sleighing was still good, 
 for a wonder ; and New York was alive with gayety and 
 merriment. Many of the poor and suffering were made 
 glad by the thoughtful kindness of the benevolent — but 
 oh ! how few compared with those who might have shared 
 
70 THE senator's SON. 
 
 in the common rejoicingj had the majority of the rich and 
 happy taken note of them. 
 
 Alice had a children's party in the evening. Mrs. Mad- 
 ison knew well how to make little people enjoy themselves ; 
 and Parke, who had faithfully avoided temptation, was the 
 delight of the whole flock of young people. Alfred, too, ex- 
 erted himself to be agreeable. He with the piano, and 
 Parke with the flute, made good music for them to dance 
 to ; an4 Alfred was quite successful in introducing amusing 
 games. There were some at the party who were as old as 
 the two boys, and all the way down to little Rose Parish, 
 who was but four, and danced like a sprite. Alice was as 
 happy as she well could be; she took an opportunity after 
 supper to thank the boys for their important help in enter- 
 taining her company. Mrs. Madison, with her sweet, grave 
 face, and gentle manner, was constantly surrounded with 
 groups of children ; and her little daughter was delighted to 
 see the love and pleasure with which she was regarded. 
 
 The brightest days must come to a close; and even this 
 long evening had to do the same. The visitors were sent 
 home weary, but still in high spirits. The young gentlemen 
 went to bed with a sigh of regret that their holiday was over, 
 and to-morrow they must hie back to their musty books. 
 
 Early the next morning they were gone, leaving Alice 
 crying heartily by the window, and kissing her hands to 
 them as long as they could look back, as they trudged on 
 foot down to the rail-road depot, while John followed on 
 with their carpet-bags. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A VERY young girl of exquisite beauty sat by an opcD 
 window^ looking off upon a garden, blooming with roses and 
 the thousand fragrant flowers that unclose in the month of 
 June. Fifteen such glowing Junes might have passed over 
 her bright brow. Her form was round and slender, with 
 an ctherial grace in all its movements ; her classic head wasi 
 set daintily upon her beautiful neck, giving a spirited, 
 proud look to a countenance which was otherwise all sweet- 
 ness. Her forehead was fair as an infant's, and her eyes — 
 liquid, dark, beaming hazel eyes — were softened by rich, 
 black lashes; her hair, in youthful fashion, swept her crim- 
 son checks and snowy shoulders in smooth and heavy curls, 
 dark -brown, with a golden tinge. As she wove the roses 
 she had gathered in the skirt of her white dress into a 
 wrciith, and fastened back the muslin, drapery from the win- 
 dow with it, she sang to herself in a low voice, whose 
 lighted cadence was silvery sweet ; while a smile, betoken- 
 
72 THE senator's son. 
 
 ing her pleasant thoughts, hovered around her roseate 
 mouth. 
 
 This lovely young creature was the carefully-reared Al- 
 ice Madison; she was sitting in the sun-set room, idling 
 away a summer hour, while her thoughts flew forwards a 
 few weeks to the time when her darling brother would be at 
 home to stay. 
 
 It was but a month until he would graduate, and that 
 doubtless with honor and applause. The old family ser- 
 vants were already talking over the affair and making prep- 
 arations for his reception. Bridget had made some fruit- 
 cake, good enough for a wedding she declared, and iced it 
 with his name in the centre, to adorn the table when he 
 should come. His room daily received some addition to its 
 comforts, and John was paying particular attention to the 
 horses, and persuading Mrs. Madison to have new cushions 
 to the carriage. 
 
 The young girl was thinking of all these things, and 
 how delightful it would be to have him at home through the 
 long evenings of the next winter, and how good and how 
 gifted, and how altogether incomparable her dear brother 
 was — her singing ended in a smile, her smile in a reverie, 
 out of which she came with a low murmur — 
 
 ^^Dear — dear Parke!" 
 
 And looking up she saw him standing before her. At 
 first she did not stop to think why he should be home so 
 Boon, but flinging down her roses to the floor, with a cry 
 of joy, she sprang forward and cla^po*' his neck. 
 
THE senator's SON. 73 
 
 ^' Oil ! Parke, bow glad I am to see you ! what brought 
 you back so soon ? '^ He pressed her a moment tightly to 
 his heart, and then pushing her away stood gloomily before 
 her. She saw that he was pale and agitated ; alarmed at 
 she knew not what, she pulled him down beside her on the 
 lounge and kissed him many times. 
 
 " Do tell me what is the matter ?" she said. 
 
 ^' Nothing, Alice, only I am expelled from school.'' 
 
 She looked up in astonishment. 
 
 '^ Why, Parke, what will mother say to that ?" 
 
 "Oh, that's the worst of it," he cried; "I should not 
 care for anything else, but it will grieve mother so," and 
 bowing his face into her lap he sobbed like a child. 
 
 " Well, dear, dear Parke, don't think of it, I know that 
 you are not to blame — you cannot be — some one has been 
 doing you a great injury." 
 
 " No one has injured me but myself. Its all my own 
 folly, Allie, and I shall never, never get over it. I got 
 drunk/' he continued, bitterly raising up his flushed face, 
 <^ and acted worse than a fool ! " 
 
 " Why, Parke Madison ! " 
 
 " Yes, its the truth, and everybody will know it now, 
 and I can never hold up my head again among respectable 
 people. I don't know why I did it ; but the students, some 
 of the wildest, were having a supper in the room of one of 
 them, and they got me in and almost forced me to drink, 
 and when I have once a taste of wine, I always make a fool 
 of myself." 
 
74 THE senator's son. 
 
 *• Bufyou have always been so well-behaYed, and it was 
 so near commencement, I should have thought that your 
 teachers would have pardoned you. Its a shame for them 
 to have expelled you ; and in a ni,onth you would have made 
 them proud of you.'' 
 
 Ah, Allie, I cannot blame the professors. For — for, 
 the fact is, hiding his face in his hand, '• this was the second 
 time within a week, and I behaved so outrageously. Yes, 
 they did excuse me the first offence, but my last was so con- 
 spicuous. Oh, dear ! I wish I hated and abhorred wine in- 
 stead of loving it. I will tell you what I know, AUie, and 
 then perhaps you will pity me if you cannot forgive. My 
 class were all jealous of me because I had surpassed them 
 all, and they knew that I would have the prizes. Even 
 Alf., who was second best, grew to be envious, and they 
 laid a plot to get me drunk, and then to induce me to act 
 disgracefully. I had not resolution enough to resist the 
 first glass, and after that they did whatever they had a mind 
 to with me. I shall never forgive them,'' he exclaimed, get- 
 ting up and walking backwards and forwards across the floor. 
 " I shall never forgive Alf. — he acted like a coward." 
 
 " It was cruel — wicked — shameful," cried the young 
 girl, in an indignant tone, " and Alfred, too, I can hardly 
 believe it of him — I should hate him for being such a 
 traitor, if it was not wrong to hate anybody. Oh ! Parke, if 
 you had only remembered your mother's counsel, and read 
 j^ur bible, and prayed daily for strength, I do not believe 
 fou would have fallen." 
 
THE SENATORS SON. lO 
 
 " I have, Allie, the most of the time/' he replied earn- 
 estly. '^ I do not know how it is, but sometiiuris after the 
 most solemn resolutions, and asking God to give me grace 
 to keep them, I have been drawn away into temptation so 
 easily ; I believe I have no energy, no self-reliance, or inde- 
 pendence. Even companions whom I despise have an in- 
 fluence over me — I do that which I dislike, and then have 
 only to be sorry and ashamed. If I could always be in such 
 society as your'sand mother's where is mother, Allie V 
 
 ^' She is lying down in her room. She is not as strong 
 even as she used to be ; and. she cacnot keep about this op- 
 pressive weather without a long siesta Poor mother ! how 
 will she feel I'' 
 
 ^' Don't say a word, or I shall go crazy, I do not see 
 how I can ever meet her; I had a notion to just go to Ni- 
 agara Falls and throw myself over instead of coming home." 
 
 " Now please do not talk in that manner," said Allie, 
 afifectionately linking her arm in his, and walking to and 
 fro with him. "Go to your room and lie down and get 
 rested — you look pale and tired, /will break the news 
 to our mother, and secure her pardon before you see her 
 at all." 
 
 " You are a good sister," he said, kissing her, and with 
 something like a sigh of relief, he turned away and went up 
 stairs. Alice called John and sent him to the depot for 
 Parke's baggage. She blushed at his surprised inquiry of 
 " why he was home just at that time of all others, and if he 
 was sick ? " 
 
76 THE senator's son. 
 
 "The students laid a plot to get him expelled," she 
 answered, the tears starting to her eyes ; and not waiting to 
 hear his observations she went to her mother's room think- 
 ing how hard it would be to have everybody hear of her 
 brother's disgrace. 
 
 Mrs. Madison was awake, and got up when her daughter 
 entered. 
 
 "You ha7 some just in time to arrange my hair," 
 she remarker^ i/ow it was Allice's especial pleasure to dress 
 her motheJ^^ *oft hair, as yet but slightly streaked with 
 grey, and &ne was particularly glad at that time to have 
 something to do to conceal her face, while making her un- 
 pleasant revelations. Disappointment and mortification 
 were only passing emotions in the mind of the mother as 
 she listened. She was conscious of the defects in her son's 
 otherwise beautiful character, which made him peculiarly 
 liable to temptation, and when she heard this sad story of 
 his weakness and error, the memory of his father's faults 
 and fate struck to her heart with a sudden thrill of dread. 
 A sense of danger overwhelmed her in an icy sea of terror. 
 The young girl set her brother's case before her with an 
 eloquence which would fain have exterminated all his fault. 
 The mother was not disposed to be harsh ; her judgment 
 and inclination both said that the wiser way would not be 
 to irritate his already deeply-wounded sensibility, but to 
 heal the wound with tenderness, and to restrain him from 
 future error by the strong bands of an unfailing love. 
 
 Wiping away a few tears, she went up stairs and knocked 
 
THE senator's SON. 77 
 
 at his door. A choked voice bade her come in ; she entered 
 and found Parke sitting gloomily upon the side of the bed, 
 his eyes cast down and his lip quivering. 
 
 " I do not believe you will ever punish yourself with 
 your own folly again/' she said, sitting beside him, after 
 kissing him with all or more of her usual affection, ^' But 
 cheer up, dear boy, and do not look so completely heart- 
 broken. Its a bad commencement in life, but you have 
 plenty of time to live down a mistake like this, if you only 
 do right hereafter." 
 
 " Oh, mother, I am so ashamed and miserable." 
 
 '' You ought to be a little ashamed," she said with a 
 smile. 
 
 " If you would only scold me, mother, and treat me as 
 I deserve, I think I could bear it better, but you are so 
 kind, and Allie, too; I can't stand it V 
 
 ^' A mother's love will outlast more than one fault," was 
 the gentle reply. Think no more about it now 3 nor ever, 
 only when you are tempted to the same again — then you 
 may think of it as much as you like. By the time you 
 have rested awhile, bathed and dressed, tea will be ready, 
 we shall be glad to have you with us to tea again." 
 
 Pressing his hand, she left him to himself — no very 
 pleasant company in his present frame of mind. 
 
 Bridget, when she heard of her boy, as she called him, 
 
 being at home, and had inquired out the reason, was very 
 
 angry for an hour or two. She had the good name of the 
 
 family she served more at heart than any other thing ; and 
 
 7* 
 
78 THE senator's son. 
 
 to think that Parke, its pride and promise, should of all 
 others bring this blot upon it, was too much for her equa- 
 nimity. She vented her ill-humor upon luckless John, the 
 cook-stove, the coal, and a strawberry girl ; and gave Alice, 
 who happened into the kitchen, a fine scolding on her 
 brother's account. 
 
 Looking up from her ironing, and finding the young 
 girl in tears, her anger suddenly subsided into a dismal fit 
 of weeping, during which all her old afiection for her darl- 
 ing boy returned, and she concluded that she would treat 
 him as well as if he had come home loaded with prizes. 
 
 The cake bearing his name should grace the tea-table ; 
 and they should have strawberries and- cream if they 2vere 
 enormously dear. When tea was ready, and she made an 
 errand into the room with an urn of hot water, and beheld 
 Parke leaning his elbow on the table with a very dejected 
 look, quite unmindful of the luxuries of which he used to 
 be so fond, eyeing with a melancholy look the cake which 
 seemed to mock him with a name which he had disgraced, 
 her kind, old heart was overcome. She sat down the urn 
 hastily, and, marching round to him, clasped him about the 
 neck, and said, with a little tremble in her voice, that '' she 
 was mighty glad to see him, no matter what he was sent 
 home about" — and hastened back to the kitchen with her 
 apron to her eyes. 
 
 The mortification, excitement, and grief of the young 
 student were too much for his delicately organized frame. 
 His sensitive soul could not bear so severe a shock. He 
 
THE senator's SON. 79 
 
 fretted himself into a fever, and for a few weeks was seri- 
 ously ill. Alice was constantly with him, and no one 
 seemed to retain even a memory of his fault. The most 
 censorious were disposed to pardon a youthful excess for 
 which so much soitow and contrition were shown. It got 
 about, too, in what manner he had been beguiled into it, 
 and for what purpose. His mother's friends and his own 
 thronged the hail with inquiries, condolences, early fruit, 
 and boquets. His good name v/as restored to its pristine 
 brightness, and his apprehensions of having always to strug- 
 gle against society's bad opinion were done away with. As 
 soon as he was well enough to go with them, Mrs. Madison 
 and Alice went into the country to remain through the hot- 
 test weather; and here he quite recovered his spirits, romp- 
 ing with his sister, wandering through cool, green woods 
 with her, fishing, gathering wild-flowers, talking classic 
 poetry at the trees and rocks and streams. 
 
 In September, the family returned to the city. Parke, 
 resolved to atone for past misconduct, went immediately 
 into the law-office of his guardian; a gentleman of high 
 talent and character, who was admirably fitted to influence 
 him for better things. Here he studied perseveringly for 
 several months ; but in the first part of the winter, Alfred 
 Clyde returned to New York. He had fallen out with his 
 uncle, through some lack of his usual caution. The old 
 man had been displeased with him several times ; and on 
 this occasion his displeasure was so severe that the crafty 
 youth could not turn it aside. Thrown for the present 
 
80 THE senator's SON. 
 
 from this track upon which he was riding with rail-road 
 ease to fortune, he bethought him of the plan he had al- 
 ready studied for reaching the same point by another way. 
 From his first acquaintance with young Madison, he had 
 resolved to make him serviceable in case of necessity. Like 
 many bad men, he was jealous of those purer than himself, 
 and he had no scruples about dragging his friend down to 
 his own level. 
 
 When Parke first encountered him in the city, he de- 
 clined any farther acquaintance with him, believing, what 
 was really so, that he had joined with others in effecting his 
 disgrace at college. Alfred Boon made it appear that such 
 a suspicion was doing wrong to his best friend, who had 
 only joined with the rest in order to have a chance to warn 
 and protect him. Why he did not do it was never made 
 very plain; but he succeeded in restoring Parke's confi- 
 dence, and they were better friends than ever. 
 
 He was invited to the house a great deal by Parke, and 
 kindly received by the family, who accepted the son's ex- 
 cuses in his behalf Despite of his pleasing address, Mrs. 
 Madison was suspicious of his good qualities. When Parke 
 began to study less and to stay away from home more auvl 
 more, — to be out late evenings, and be unwilling to give an 
 account of how they were spent — to come down late t-^ 
 breakfast, with pale cheeks and heavy eyes — to ask lii.-: 
 guardian frequently for money, — the old deadly fear re- 
 turned to her heart. She warned him tenderly and oitca, 
 and finally exerted all her authorily as a parent ta break up 
 
THE senator's SON. 81 
 
 the intimacy between the two young men ; but Parke only 
 became more infatuated, and resented his mother's interfer- 
 ence in a manner very different from his usual affectionate 
 and reverential behavior. 
 
 Alfred knew that he was no longer a welcome guest ; 
 but he continued to come often and stay long. Mrs. Madi- 
 son saw the reason. He was deeply enamored of her lovely 
 daughter. He would sit silent a whole evening to have her 
 sing, leaning against the piano and gazing down into her 
 face. Her singing was like the Lady Geraldine's : 
 
 " Oh, to see or hear her singing! scarce I know which is 
 divinest — 
 For her looks sing too : she modulates her gestures 
 on the tune ; 
 And her mouth stirs with the song, like song; and 
 when the notes are finest, 
 'Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light, and seem 
 • to swell them on." 
 
 That innocent countenance, unconscious of his passion- 
 ate admiration, radiant with its own beauty, and giving a 
 divine expression to her music, would fix the glow of his 
 black eyes, until startled by the thought of the mother's 
 grave observation, he would withdraw them hastily, and per- 
 haps join Alice in her song. 
 
 The young girl was unsuspicious of any other than a 
 brotherly attachment, and that by degrees grew unwelcome 
 to her, as she attributed her brother's present mode of 
 
82 THE senator's son. 
 
 living more or less to his influence. She did not dream of 
 half, and could hardly have realized it had it been told to 
 her, but she suspected enough to make her feel some bitter- 
 ness towards him. 
 
 '' Where is the ring you was to wear until I received my 
 diploma ? '' he inquired one day, taking her fair hand in 
 his own. 
 
 " I took it off when Parke came home from college," 
 she replied. 
 
 " But why have you not restored it to its former envia- 
 ble place ? Is the giver put away with the ring into your 
 casket of cast-off valuables, never to be restored to his old 
 station in your regards V 
 
 '^ I fear that he is not worthy of restoration ! " she said, 
 with a melancholy smile ; and looking a little alarmed the 
 next moment at her own frankness. 
 
 "You must not think so — you shall not!'' he ex- 
 claimed, with a lowering of his dark eye. " I cannot hear 
 it from you ! " 
 
 He pressed her hand so hard that she shrank with the 
 pain. 
 
 " I hope that I shall have no reason," she said gravely. 
 
 These winter evenings to which Alice had looked forward 
 with so much delight became the darkest hours of her hith- 
 erto happy life. They were long, long hours, spent many 
 of them in watching and weeping. Her mother, whose 
 health daily declined, was unable to remain up after nine or 
 ten o'clock, but nothing could induce the devoted sister to 
 
THE senator's SON. 83 
 
 retire to rest until Parke came iu. Often the alabaster clock 
 on the library mantle would ring out twelve — one — two ; 
 while she sat by the smouldering grate with a pale face, try- 
 ing to interest herself in a book, nervously listening to every 
 sound in the nearly-silent street. 
 
 She always went out into the hall when he came in. 
 Sometimes he would brush rudely by her, with an angry ex- 
 clamation at her silliness in sitting up — sometimes he 
 would kiss her hastily, looking guilty and unhappy — and 
 sometimes she could persuade him to come into the library 
 and sit down a little while, when she told him that he was 
 breaking his mother's heart, and her own too, and ruining 
 himself. He would confess with hot and bitter tears that 
 he was doing wrong — that he was very unhappy — and 
 that wine was the instigator of all his evil conduct. He 
 would promise amendment, and for a few days would be 
 the beloved, adored Parke of other days. Alice would go 
 singing about the house with a step light as a fairy ; and 
 the youthful bloom upon her cheeks which belonged there. 
 The promise would be forgotten, the watching renewed, the 
 sad faces come back again. Even the servants had not the 
 independent, contented look they used to wear when all was 
 well with the family. Bridget petted and fretted about her 
 mistress' sorrowful, fading countenance. John drove his car- 
 riage down the avenue with a shade less dashing air than 
 the one which used to become him so well. Pete, the cun- 
 ning-looking little negro waiter, who dusted the parlors, laid 
 the plates, and attended the boll, was the only personage 
 
84 
 
 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 who seemed to preserve indifference to surrounding perplex- 
 ities. His eyes were as bright, and his smile as sly as 
 ever ; with good reason, for he never troubled himself about 
 the door after eight o'clock of the evening ; his young mis- 
 tress attended to that ; and the young master thftw him 
 more dimes than usual, probably out of gratitude to the 
 little imp for always grinning at him with imperturbable 
 good nature, whether he was in a state to deserve it or not, 
 Mr. Crawford, Parke's guardian, came often to see Mrs. 
 Madison, and consult what was best to be done with the 
 young gentleman ; telling her that he spent enough money 
 to support five people in his station, and that he never liked 
 it when his guardian refused to let him have such extrava- 
 gant allowances; that his studying law was a mere pre- 
 tence, for he made no regular application to the books ; and 
 that he was known to associate with some of the most reck- 
 less young men of the metropolis. The agony of the moth- 
 er's heart was partly betrayed by her slow step and fading 
 form ; but who can measure the depth of a mother's love, 
 or the anguish of her fear, when she sees a child like Parke 
 breaking from the tears, the prayers, the ties of home, to 
 madly follow his leaders to ruin, to death, and to the judg- 
 ment. The secret misery corroding the peace of hundreds 
 of thousands of families, brought by one husband, f\\ther, 
 brother, or son who has gone astray, may speak to its vic- 
 tims of the despair which crowns with a ghastly death's- 
 head the cup of glowing wine ; but who else can think of it 
 as it is, or hate it with deserved hatred ? 
 
THE senator's SON. 85 
 
 In tlie spring, following her own judgment, as well as 
 the advice of Mr. Crawford, Mrs. Madison rented her beau- 
 tiful city residence and remoyed entirely to the farm where 
 they had §;pent a portion of the last summer. 
 
 It was a loyely spot, removed far enough from New 
 York to be out of the hearing of its witcheries. The house 
 was large and old-fashioned, with one great parlor, and a 
 nice room for a library opening off of it. The chambers 
 were airy and pleasant — each member of the family had a 
 room for him and herself; the mother had an apartment 
 opposite the parlor, whose beauty of situation more than 
 compensated for the loss of the sunset-room. A piazza run 
 round three sides of the main building, whose columns were 
 profusely draped with multi-flora and honey-suckle. 
 
 Alice's sleeping room looked off over the orchard, the 
 clover field, the great barn, into a lovely grove of maples; 
 Mrs. Madison's over a wide expanse of beautiful mead- 
 ow-land, girdled with a silver stream, and crowned by dis- 
 tant hills; close under the window was a sloping green 
 sward, shadowed here and there by elm and maple trees, 
 breaking her view of the scenery into picturesque patches. 
 Kose-bushes grew by the casement, and there was a Httle 
 bed of carnations and gilly-flowers under it. 
 
 The family who managed the farm had removed into a 
 smaller house which had been repaired for them ; so that 
 Mrs. Madison kept house for herself, and retained her old 
 servants. The piano, the pictures, the books, the furniture, 
 and the whole household were there. 
 8 
 
86 THE SENATOU'S SON. 
 
 For the first few weeks Parke was sullen aucl restless. 
 He wandered about like some one tormented with thirst, and 
 seeking the means to quench it. The quiet, the beauty of 
 the place soon wrought a change in him.. His character as- 
 similated itself to the nature of things about him. The ex- 
 pansion of the green leaves, the budding of the flowers, the 
 springing of the wheat, the swelling of the brook, became 
 objects of interest to him; his mind and body grew healthy. 
 He regarded his last winter's life as a fever, hateful to think 
 about. Those things which had so attracted him, now ap- 
 peared disgusting — his former pleasures degrading, his as- 
 sociates vile. By degrees all wish to return to the city left 
 him. 
 
 Everything here was new. There were a thousand 
 thino-s to learn and to do. Alice bloomed more beautiful 
 than ever. The early roses could not compare with her 
 delicate grace. She had never been so happy before ; the 
 weight which had depressed her spirits for so many months 
 was removed, and the rebounds left her on the summit of 
 happiness. 
 
 Parke was once more the handsome, gay, hopeful, affec- 
 tionate brother. The great old mansion was a perfect play- 
 house for them ; from the cellar to the garret all was envi- 
 ous and delightful. The stone dairy-house built over the 
 brook, the old log-house at the foot of the garden, built by 
 the first settlers, and now gone into romantic decay, with a 
 huge apple-tree growing in at the open window, and heaps of 
 last year's nuts in the rickety loft — the grape-vine swing 
 
THE senator's SON. 87 
 
 in the woods — and the little quiet place in the stream 
 where the fishes most did congregate — all these received 
 their frequent visits. Nothing was so sweet as the fra- 
 grance of apple-blossoms when the night-breeze wafted them 
 into the windows, while Alice made the old mansion ring 
 with the melody of her voice, in concert with the piano. 
 But when the roses came, tliey were the sweetest ; and when 
 haying-time came, there was nothing, positively nothing, so 
 refreshing as the fragrance of the new-mown hay, nor so de- 
 lightful as tossing it about and following the loaded wagons 
 to the barns. 
 
 Parke was very efiicient aid in time of hurry, and Alice 
 learned all the mysteries of butter-making from the farmer's 
 wife. Old Brindle sometimes came home, to the great as- 
 tonishment of that good woman, with her head, neck, and 
 horns strangely bedecked with wreaths of leaves and flowers 
 which Alice had coaxed her into standing quiet to be 
 adorned with. The lambs when they could be caught were 
 similarly decked, and even the fat, nice, little pigs did not 
 always escape some marks of her favor. Parke learned her 
 to ride on horseback. He had been taught in a riding- 
 school, but she took her first lessons from him. 
 
 That was a happy summer. It had one shadow, how- 
 ever, in the ill-health of Mrs. Madison. Not even the 
 country air could restore her to her old animation ; and as 
 the hot days of August came on, she drooped more and 
 more. She was confined a great deal to her room and her 
 sofa. The family physician came frequently from the city 
 
88 THE senator's son. 
 
 to see her. He seemed to think her present abode as fa- 
 vorable to her health as any could be ; and she was glad to 
 hear it, for the children were doing so well, and she herself 
 felt such quiet and peace, that she dreaded the thought of 
 change. 
 
 Of visitors from town they had a great many during the 
 hot weather, whom they duly feasted with country luxuries, 
 and gave a glimpse of country pleasures. 
 
 After haying and harvesting came the fruit-season. 
 This was indeed a glorious portion of the year. Even Mrs. 
 Madison rallied a little through September and October. 
 How beautiful were the golden autumn days ; the purple 
 valleys, the misty hills, the fragrant air, the gorgeous ma- 
 ple grove. How delightful to wander with rustling feet 
 through the wood, gathering up the various-hued leaves, 
 listening for the dropping nuts, and plucking the plentiful 
 wild grapes. 
 
 Parke Madison thought that he could never do another 
 sinful deed as long as he lived. 
 
 The Indian-summer came and went like a dreain- of Par- 
 adise. Then the young people had an opportunity of test- 
 ing the pleasures of a winter in the country. The tongue 
 of the babbling brook was frozen into stillness; the trees 
 once beautiful with waving foliage were standing bare and 
 dreary, or sparkling with a thousand rainbow pendants of 
 ice, or muffled in heavy habiliments of snow. The distant 
 hills stood grand and stately, like white-headed old men. 
 The fields, beautifully clothed in snowy garments, were 
 
THE senator's SON. 89 
 
 lying at rest after their summer labor, gathering strength 
 for another season of toil. The dairy-house seemed to have 
 grown short and bulky, with its heavy cap hanging over 
 its brows. The portico, sometimes, after a litttle thaw 
 would be hung about with glittering fringes, and the grace- 
 ful stems of the multi -flora would flash and gleam like 
 sprays of diamonds, while its red berries made a handsome 
 contrast. 
 
 Within-doors there was comfort and plenty. The cellar 
 was full of fine apples and the garret was stored with nuts 
 As often as once a fortnight Mr. Crawford sent out new 
 books, and they had a paper almost every day in the week 
 But some of the apartments, which were so spacious and 
 airy in warm weather, could not be made comfortable now ; 
 the great parlor was abandoned, and the little library be- 
 came the favorite room. Here reading, music, and games 
 of chess, knitting, painting in water-colors, and letter- 
 writing, went smoothly on. Here was stationed Mrs. Madi- 
 son's favorite sofa, and here the tea was made every even- 
 ing. Here Parke began to be ambitious to become a sculp- 
 tor, littering the hearth every day with chips until he had 
 carved a strange-looking head out of a bit of wood, which, 
 he flattered Alice, was meant for a copy of her own. 
 
 Sometime in January, Mrs. Madison took a severe cold, 
 which confined her to her bed for a long time, and left her 
 with an alarming cough. The rest of the winter her health 
 was miserable. She grew more and more feeble, lying all 
 day upon her lounge, and being almost carried to her bed 
 8* 
 
90 THE senator's ^;on. 
 
 at night. Alice slept with her, to be near her in ease of a 
 vsudden increase of her illness, which sometimes occurred. 
 Parke was devoted to her comfort. He read to her by the 
 hour, in his rich, mellow voice ; he carried her in his arms 
 when she was well enough to go out in the sleigh for a short 
 ride ; he hung around her constantly, on the watch for some 
 opportunity of serving her. In his deep and solicitous ten- 
 derness might be traced the workings of remorse. He 
 knew that the many hours of anxiety and anguish he had 
 caused her were partly the reasons of her present sufferings ; 
 and he strove to atone, by faultless conduct and filial atten- 
 tions, for the past. 
 
 Never had an invalid two children who were more affec- 
 tionate nurses. In (piet and happy occupations the winter 
 wore away, the cheerful spirits of the young people checked 
 only by an occasional fear of their mother's being taken 
 away from them. The mother's own presentiments were 
 more constant and powerful. She knew that she never 
 should be well again. She looked death in the face every 
 day, calmly, smilingly. Only when she thought of her 
 boy ! only when she thought of Parke ! — with his gene- 
 rosity, impressibility, want of purpose, love of gayely — 
 who had been so nearly swept away in the vortex of vice, 
 and who could never play a moment upon its alluring shores 
 without danger of losing his foothold and being drawn into 
 the dizzy current, — then, in what an agony of prayer she 
 laid her fears before her Maker, and implored of Him to be 
 the Parent and the Savior of her child. Alice she was con- 
 
THE senator's son. 91 
 
 tent to leave with her own holy and religious heart, her 
 sweet temper, her gay disposition, and her habits of prayer j 
 satisfied that the dear and beautiful child had the promise 
 of happiness in her gifts of wealth, loveliness, grace, and 
 talent, well guarded by the golden breast-plate of her piety. 
 Still it was with yearning eyes that she followed the move- 
 ments of that slender figure and gazed upon that blooming, 
 child-like face. It is hard for a mother to leave her chil- 
 dren, even when her destination is to the unspeakable 
 beauty of the promised-land. 
 
 Ever since she was a young girl Mrs. Madison had been 
 a disciple of Jesus Christ. In the palmiest days of her 
 brilliant career, when flattered, courted, and boundlessly 
 beloved, — the accomplished daughter of a superior family 
 — the admirable wife of a distinguished man, — she had 
 never been bewildered into forgetfulness of her professions 
 of an humble faith. Would there were more professed 
 followers of the ^ meek and lowly Jesus,' who '■ went about 
 doing good,' to imitate the example of this lovely woman, 
 who was as familiar with the homes of the destitute and 
 the cry of orphans as with the glow of her own comfortable 
 hearth and the singing of her own fair children. Her faith 
 was serene, her hope cheerful, and her charity boundless. 
 She always gave more than many who think that they have 
 done their whole duty. To the golden droppings from her 
 purse was added the sweet smile, the ready tear, the words 
 of encouragement, consolation, or merited reproof. Now 
 
92 THE senator's son. 
 
 that the hand of sickness was laid heavily upon her, she 
 had a useful and beautiful life to look back upon, and a 
 glorious future to look forward to. All her old sweetness 
 lingered about her, dying away like the sun at the close of 
 a bright day in a halo of radiance. Her greatest earthly 
 happiness was in listening to the almost seraphic melody of 
 Alice's singing; it reminded her of the golden harps of 
 heaven ; but sometimes it moved the passion of her moth- 
 er's heart, until she felt that she could hardly part from any- 
 thing so dear. A few concealed tears, a silent prayer, or a 
 holy and comforting psalm, would restore her mind to its 
 usual serenity. 
 
 With the soft winds and flitting showers of April came 
 the consciousness to the souls of the brother and sister that 
 they were to lose their mother. Wasted and helpless she 
 lay upon her couch, which she could leave only for the dark 
 and narrow home. A few brief days and she would be no 
 more. So placidly she spoke of it, as if she were going on 
 a delightful journey, that in her presence they could hardly 
 realize the great sorrow that was coming upon them. Ea- 
 gerly they watched for every smile, growing now so rare and 
 radiant, and so soon to beam on them no more. Day and 
 night they lingered by her side, holding the thin, white 
 hands, the pressure of whose slender fingers thrilled them 
 with strange emotions of grief and love. 
 
 There was a house-full of friends and relatives attending 
 upon the last days of the beloved invalid, but the children 
 
THE senator's SON. 93 
 
 would yield their places to none. If they yielded to her 
 solicitations and sought rest from watching, they only wept 
 until they were back to her presence. 
 
 One day, early in May, she lay more at ease than usual. 
 The window of the room was open, and the faint fragrance 
 of the first lilacs was wafted around the bed. Her attend- 
 ants thought that she slept ; but while they gazed, a change 
 came over her face that all recognized as the sign of the 
 presence of the destroyer. Alice was afraid that she would 
 never speak again, and leaning pale and breathless against 
 her aunt, she looked upon the dying countenance; her 
 brother buried his face in the bed. Presently the eyes un- 
 closed, bright and large ', they wandered around until they 
 rested upon the head bowed down upon the counterpane. 
 
 " Parke," she said, in a clear whisper. 
 
 " Dear mother," and all in a tremble, he bent to hear 
 her last words. 
 
 ^' Promise mje that you will never again touch the wine- 
 cup. It brings only sorrow and remorse." 
 
 " I promise — willingly. I never meant to any more, 
 and with God's help I will keep this promise." 
 
 " Bring me that promise unbroken to heaven, Parke. 
 Now, oh. Heavenly Father, I do die content, and blessing 
 Thee." She fixed her eyes with a soft expression upon the 
 western sky which seemed opening its golden gates to let 
 her waiting spirit through. All sobs were hushed to silence, 
 while the friends gazed in reverential love upon the saintly 
 beauty of her face. 
 
94 THE senator's SON. 
 
 ^^ Alice/' she said again, speaking aloud, " you haye 
 been a good child — you will come to me I know — and 
 Parke — love one another — be faithful — remember your 
 
 Creator in the days ," here the voice died away, the 
 
 unearthly radiance faded out of her countenance, and as the 
 sun sank suddenly below the horizon, she sighed and fell 
 asleep in Jesus. 
 
 There was a great burst of lamentation from the group 
 gathered around — the two oldest servants wept and groaned 
 — Alice threw herself upon the bed, shivering like a leaf 
 chilled by a winter wind. 
 
 " Come, Alice, this is too much for you, — come out into 
 the open air with me,'' said Parke, mastering himself, and 
 speaking in a changed, husky voice. 
 
 He put his arm around her waist and led her out to a 
 grassy knoll under the favorite elm-tree, and there, when 
 they sat down together alone, all composure forsook both. 
 Clasped in each others arms they gave uncontrolled expres- 
 sion to their sorrow. It was long after dark before they re- 
 tured to the house. 
 
 ^' Oh ! Parke," said Alice, as they went slowly back, 
 ^' we are all that is left to each other now." 
 
 " Let us remember our mother's dying injunction to be 
 faithful — let us indeed love one another," replied the 
 brother, speaking in an earnest and agitated tone. 
 
 "We will — we will," was the sobbing reply, as Alice 
 carried her brother's hand to her trembling lips. 
 
 Mrs. Madison was buried beside her husband in a beau- 
 
THE senator's son. 95 
 
 tiful spot in Greenwood Cemetery. Countless friends fol- 
 lowed the corpse of tlie honored and idolized woman to its 
 resting-place. If compassion and sympathy could have alle- 
 viated the grief of the orphans they would have mourned no 
 more. As the}^ stood beside the grave, clasping each other 
 close, struggling for streng-th to go away, leaving their 
 mother behind forever, many tears were dropped for them. 
 There was mourning, too, in many a lonely dwelling and 
 lowly home where the remembrance of the kindness of the 
 dead lingered, and grateful hearts, thinking of their own 
 little ones clothed and nursed by the good departed, now 
 prayed for the brother and sister who were left alone. 
 
 There were many families of relatives and friends who 
 would have welcomed Alice Madison to their midst as a 
 cherished member ; not only for her gentleness, accomplish- 
 ments, and beauty, but a little too, perhaps, because a 
 youthful heiress has seldom any lack of attention. But to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, who had been the best-beloved 
 friends of their father and mother, both Parke and Alice 
 uecidcd to go. Having no children of their own, and hav- 
 iug always envied Mrs. Madison her beautiful pair, they 
 were received at once into the hearts of this lady and gen- 
 iKnian. Their weary spirits were soothed, and their deso- 
 late hearts comforted. A thousand acts of almost motherly 
 kindness from Mrs. Crawford at last began to pierce the 
 veil of grief in which the young girl had wrapped herself. 
 The hopeless melancholy of her lovely face gave place to a 
 less dejected look — she began to eat more than a bird or a 
 
96 THE senator's son. 
 
 kitten — and the roses resumed their seat upon her cheeks, 
 though paler roses than those of old. 
 
 "If you would only let me love you more — if you 
 would only accept my love/' the lady would say, laying her 
 hand upon Alice's drooping head, and looking yearningly 
 into her sweet face. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford was a pretty little woman, still youthful- 
 looking, with large, blue eyes, a delicate, transparent com- 
 plexion, and a charming smile. Alice's heart would melt 
 with gratitude at the touch of her light hand upon her head, 
 as she would tearfully reply to those fond looks which 
 seemed to beseech a daughter's love. 
 
 " I do let you love me — I am thankful for every bit of 
 affection which you give me, I am so grateful for it — so 
 glad of it — and you are so dear to me — dearer than any 
 one else in the world but Parke — but your speaking so 
 softly makes me cry, because it is so like my own mother. 
 Oh !Mrs. Crawford, how can I live without my mother !" 
 
 The lady would take the fair head upon her bosom, and 
 cheer away the flowing tears, while all the time her own 
 heart, yearning for a mother's bliss and blessing, would be 
 secretly jealous of that touching fidelity to a parent's 
 memory. 
 
 " You shall have two mothers, darling," she would say, 
 " one in heaven looking down upon you with the power of 
 an angel to protect and guard — and an humble earthly 
 mother who will never tire of taking care of you here." 
 
 Parke used a man's expedient for driving away grief. 
 
THE senator's SON. » 97 
 
 He became very much immersed in study and business. 
 He made fine proficiency in the law^ and did a good many 
 little afiairs of the office for his guardian. He copied and 
 transacted commissions of trust which it might be conveni- 
 ent for Mr. Crawford to transfer to him. His evenings he 
 invariably spent with Alice. The older people said and felt 
 that their house had never seemed so home-like as since 
 these young folks had come to gild its gloomy corners with 
 the sunshine of beauty and youth. Mr. Crawford was ner- 
 vous, not naturally the most cheerful of men, and some- 
 times trifles would disconcert the harmony of his feelings 
 A.lice's eye was so Cjuick, her foot so fleet, her hand so 
 ready, and her voice so soft, that she pleased him more than 
 any one he had ever had about him. She must read to him, 
 sing to him, wait upon his morning meal, and attend upon 
 his evening easy-chair and slippers. 
 
 Pai-ke must play chess with him, and let him beat about 
 three times out of four ; so that with the acquisition of two 
 such excellent children, his happiness was greatly increased, 
 and his nerves kept comparatively comfortable. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 '■'• Parke Madison has been playing saint since he got 
 that weed on his hat. Deuce take him ! he used to be one 
 of us, and we can't afford to spare him.'' 
 
 '^ His acquaintance would be worth cultivating if he 
 were not so uncomfortably good all at once. I wish I stood 
 in his shoes. I tell you what it is Hal , to be coming into 
 such a property as he is in less than three months, to be the 
 adQpteJ son of that rich old lord of a lawyer, to have the 
 entree of the most unexceptionable circles, the most distant 
 stars of the aristocracy, and to own such a glorious sister, 
 is too much for one man, if he is pretty bright and good- 
 looking. It makes me envious to think of it, while here T 
 am hanging on to the narrow skirt of an old aunt that may 
 live a thousand years to distress me with playing the dutiful. 
 If there's anything I hate its hypocrisy, — I'd rather be 
 known for what I am, a lover of good-living, and a patron 
 of Fleming's, than the discreet darling of a maiden-aunt. 
 As for Madison, I mean to bring him down." 
 
THE senator's SON. 99 
 
 ^' Pooh ! let the fellow alone. I am glad he is doing 
 better. There is nothing to prevent his being an honor to 
 the town ; and if he has a mind to be, I have no objections. 
 It would be a pity — it would seriously — to see him throw 
 himself away on a few years of dissipation. He's made of 
 fine stuff, I can assure you, and will not stand much wear 
 and tear." 
 
 " Those are fine sentiments for you, Henry Jenkins ; 
 but you must remember that our pockets are not as well 
 lined as his, while our ambition is as great. He has more 
 than he wants, and he might as well pay for our suppers, 
 our horses, and our debts of honor as anybody else." 
 
 " That's a very sage remark of yours, my friend, t)ut I 
 guess you'll have to give young Madison up. I have heard 
 that he promised his mother upon her death-bed to never 
 taste of wine again, and you know a fellow that will not 
 drink, is too cool-headed to be victimized." 
 
 "I'll lay you a wager of anything you please, that I 
 will get him drunk within one week, despite of his promise." 
 
 " Pshaw ! impossible ! I'll stake my black horse, Otello, 
 against that diamond on your little finger, that you do no 
 such thing." 
 
 " Done. The living are more powerful than the dead, 
 my dear boy, and you may prepare your mind to part from 
 your favorite steed : 
 
 •' ' For he'll never bear his master more 
 
 Through the bright ranks of Broadway.' " 
 
100 THE senator's son. 
 
 The speakers were two young men, occupying a private 
 room at Fleming's. A bottle of wine, another of brandy, a 
 bowl of sugar, some iced water, a brilliant lamp, and a pack 
 of cards occupied the table at which they sat. This table 
 was drawn up to the coal-stove, whose ruddy glare threw a 
 warm lustre over the handsomely-framed pictures, the costly 
 curtains, and rich carpet which decorated the apartment. 
 The polished boots of Henry Jenkins rested their elegant 
 soles against the top of the stove ; his stylish imperial, care- 
 fully arranged black hair, handsome but dissipated counte- 
 nance, and bold, dark eyes, glimmered mistily through the 
 blue clouds, floating in airy undulations around his head, 
 and emanating, like the smoke from the crater of Vesuvius, 
 from the corners of his mouth, where glowed a fairy spark, 
 that was undoubtedly the nearly-consumed end of a fragrant 
 cigar. Below this misty personification of a volcano, his 
 shirt-bosom gleamed like a snowy plain. It was fringed 
 with dainty ruffles of cambric ; and sparkling in its centre, 
 as a fountain might sparkle in the midst of a plain, was a 
 diamond pin of great brilliancy. 
 
 A well-shaped hand, unsoiled by contact with things 
 more useful and laborious than white-kid gloves, supple rat- 
 tans, and dealing the cards, reposed gracefully in his bosom, 
 and its mate was employed alternately in removing the 
 mysterious fire from his lips, and in raising to the same 
 place a glass of brandy-and-water. His companion, sitting 
 opposite, leaned his elbows upon the table, and dipped 
 lumps of sugar in brandy, displayed while nibbling at them 
 
 I 
 
THE senator's SON. 101 
 
 a very fine set of teeth ; but his features were not otherwise 
 prepossessing. His hair and whiskers could not be coaxed 
 into the elegant silkiness of his friend's; his cheeks and 
 nose had a certain glow that does 7iot indicate early rising 
 and morning air, but evening staying-up and night air — 
 which speaks more of the freshness of mint than of roses. 
 A weak look in his light-grey eyes, which grey was origi- 
 nally designed for blue, but had faded out, indicated that 
 the jeweled eye-glass which hung at his watch-chain might 
 be designed for use as well as ornament. His dress was 
 unexceptionable, and his manner might be agreeable when 
 guarded in the society of ladies ; but here it was reckless 
 and almost vulgar. 
 
 " That ring was given me by my afi'ectionate Aunt, on 
 my last birth-day," he said, with a light laugh, " and she 
 would be very inquisitive if she missed it from my finger ; 
 but I am willing to run the risks. I never met a young 
 gentleman yet who could not call himself of age who could 
 not be coaxed or fooled into a peep at the mysteries of 
 Fleming's." 
 
 " But this one has cut his eye-teeth. He has been be- 
 hind the scenes with the best of us, — the worst, I mean," 
 — with a mocking smile; ^^so you'd better resign your 
 Aunt's diamonds and let the baby alone." 
 
 With an expression of infinite contempt upon his face, 
 that ^ one of us ' could have been so weak as to have re- 
 formed, Harry Jenkins finished his cigar, buttoned up his 
 coat, rang the bell for the waiter, and, after paying for their 
 9* 
 
102 THE senator's SON. 
 
 evening's amusement, took his companion's arm and sallied 
 out in searcli of their hotel, four hours after their intended 
 victim was safely asleep under his guardian's roof. 
 
 A few evenings after this, as Parke was walking briskly 
 home, with a new book in his hand, which he designed 
 reading with Alice, one of his cast-off acquaintance, to 
 whom he had hardly spoken since his return to the city, six 
 months before, came up and put his arm in his. 
 
 <' How do you do, Madison ?" he said, famiharly. 
 
 " How do you do, St. Ormond ? '' was the cold response. 
 
 ^' Will you please to walk up here a moment?" con- 
 tinued the other, as they came opposite the rooms of the 
 speaker; "I have something that I wish your judgment 
 upon very much." 
 
 " I am in haste to-night; will it not do in the morning 
 when I am going to the office ? " replied Parke, hesitating ; 
 for he dreaded to even set foot in any of his old haunts. 
 
 ^^ It is doubtful about my being out of bed at so unsea- 
 sonable an hour," said St. Ormond, laughing ; " I wish to 
 show you a statue of Hebe, which has just arrived from 
 Italy, to-day, by my especial order. They say it shows best 
 by lamp-light." 
 
 Sculpture we know was one of Parke's passions, and he 
 turned eagerly, and followed his companion up a flight of 
 stairs, where a door from the landing led them into two 
 large and handsome rooms. Young Madison drew back 
 when he saw half-a-dozen or more of his old associates 
 lounging about the apartments. He would fairly have ran 
 
THE senator's SON. 103 
 
 away had lie not felt too dignified ; and a glimpse of the 
 beautiful work of art which stood unveiled just within the 
 folding-doorS; glowing with life-like loveliness in the blaze 
 of light arranged to fall over it, arrested him. 
 
 Every gentleman came forward and greeted him with 
 marked earnestness and cordiality, expressing in looks or 
 words their regret for his recent affliction, and making no 
 boisterous display of their pleasure at seeing him among 
 them. Thankful for their respectful sympathy, he went 
 forward with a more comfortable feeling to admire the 
 sculptured Hebe. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it?'' asked the owner, 
 when the young amateur had stood several moments wholly 
 lost in delight and admiration. 
 
 " Exquisite ! wonderful ! " replied he, in pleased tones, 
 gazing upon the lovely, uplifted head, with its backward- 
 streaming curls, its garland, and its face of smiling beauty ; 
 upon the matchless grace of the bended knee and foot, the 
 delicate roundness of the arms, the perfect symmetry of 
 the hands bearing the cup, and upon the youthful buoyancy 
 of her kneeling posture. 
 
 " How naturally the drapery falls to her elegant limbs, 
 as if it were the pliable silken fabric itself, instead of un- 
 yielding marble," he continued, after a long contemplation. 
 
 " And how lightly the fingers of the left hand lie upon 
 the cup, as if all the duty of bearing it devolved upon the 
 right," said St. Ormond. Harry thinks the fore-arm is 
 shortened a little too much, and the upper-lip ditto. As for 
 
104 
 
 THE SEXATOR S SON. 
 
 me, I think the mouth is lovelj as a dream, and the exqui- 
 site upjDer lip is half the charm; but Jenkins is always 
 critical. If I could find a pair of lips like these, belonging 
 to a living, breathing woman, I swear I would kiss them if 
 they beautified the face of a nun ! " 
 
 Parke was just about to say that the mouth was pre- 
 cisely like his sister Alice's, but the latter part of the re- 
 mark checked him, and he was glad that he had not 
 breathed her name in that place. 
 
 " I see no fault in the work now,'^ he said, as he turned to 
 go, '^ but I am probably blinded by profound admiration ; I 
 congratulate you, St. Ormond, upon possessing such a gem.'' 
 
 " It is a costly gem, I assure you. It was rather ex- 
 travagant in me to order it, but I have a passion for such 
 things. What ! you are not going?'' 
 
 " Yes, I must go. I thank you for this peep at your 
 glorious Hebe, and will come again with your permission to 
 look at her.'' 
 
 " "We are going to have a bit of supper by-and-by, Mad- 
 ison, and I shall take it as a positive affront if you leave 
 us, for this is my birth-night, and my friends ought to take 
 pleasure in celebrating it. 
 
 " I have a sufiiciont excuse for not joining any such 
 party as this," said Parke, moving to the door. ^'- If I do 
 not visit any one, you cannot take it as a particular slight, 
 and will pardon mc." St. Ormond closed the door and 
 turned the key as he said with a most ftiscinating and over- 
 powering manner — 
 
THE senator's SON. 105 
 
 " We do all respect your grief for your great loss. But 
 we hold that it is neither wise nor right for you to retire 
 any longer from all suitable society of your age, and mope 
 away your brightest years in the dust of a law-ofl&ce. No 
 one should desire that you should waste your health nor 
 deny yourself reasonable enjoyment. Youth was made for 
 happiness. Come, Parke, my dear fellow, be contented to 
 remain. It is only a quiet supper ; and we are going to 
 break up early. If you consent to stay with us a little 
 while, just long enough to eat an English oyster, or a prai- 
 rie chicken, we will pledge ourselves to be perfectly deco- 
 rous while you remain.'^ 
 
 Parke looked around. The fire of youth glowed warmly 
 in his heart, and emotions long slumbering in quiet thrilled 
 his frame. The youthful Hebe holding out the wine-cup 
 with that impassioned smile, as if she were a living, bloom- 
 ing woman, the fragrance of some costly flowers upon 
 the mantel, the bewitching odor of some purposely-spilled 
 wine, the glow of lamps, the sound of enchanting music 
 played softly in an adjoining room, the sight of cordial 
 faces, were all overcoming the placid purpose of his mind in 
 a sense of pleasure. 
 
 " If I should stay, I would not touch wine, and would 
 only remain a half-hour at the table," he said to himself. 
 He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock, and Alice 
 had been waiting for him an hour. At that moment, fold- 
 ing doors opened into a third apartment, from whence pro- 
 ceeded the invisible music. A table, bountifully decorated 
 
106 THE senator's SON. 
 
 with living flowers, and flooded with light, upon which a 
 faultless supper was delicately displayed, occupied this room. 
 
 " You see that I sup three hours earlier than I used to. 
 You can be at home, if you wish, by ten o'clock." 
 
 Up between the gorgeous apartment, with its music, 
 lamps and flowers, its pleasurable atmosphere and impure 
 faces, arose to the spiritual sight of Parke, a room flooded 
 with sunset radiance, sweetened with the faint breath of 
 lilacs, and his mother tranced in her dying visions. 
 
 " I thank you, but I cannot stay. Grood evening, gen- 
 tlemen." He turned to open the door. It was fastened, 
 and the guests all came towards him in a body ; laughing, 
 and laying hold of him, they would have carried him into 
 the supper-room. 
 
 " Gentlemen !" he said, shaking them ofi", and standing 
 erect with flashing eyes. " This is unpardonable rudeness. 
 If any one lays a finger upon me, it will be at his peril. St. 
 Ormond, unlock that door I" 
 
 His first anger and icy, untouchable look, caused his 
 detainer to open the door and forbear further efi'ort. 
 
 Following Parke outside, he begged pardon for the 
 thoughtlessness of his guests, saying that they desired him 
 to remain so much that they had forgotten his claims to 
 their consideration. 
 
 " Come to-morrow at twelve and visit with Hebe as 
 long as you like," were his parting words, and Parke, some- 
 what abating his resentment, wended his way home. 
 
 " You have lost your bet," cried the delighted set as 
 
THE senator's SON. lO"] 
 
 soon as their host re-appeared. Henry Jenkins wears the 
 
 nno: 
 
 \" 
 
 " Be quiet, my friends, if you please, and come to supper. 
 It will be cold, I am thinking, before we set down to it ; 
 and, as it is rather early for our fashionable appetites, there 
 will be two drawbacks to its perfection." 
 
 " The man who cannot find an appetite for one of St. 
 Ormond's suppers, even at nine o'clock, is to be pitied," 
 said one ; and all gathered around the board enjoyed the 
 discomfited looks of their host. 
 
 ^^ Gentlemen ! " he said, after he had himself carved a 
 rare bird, which the waiters set before him, and gave a bit 
 of it to all who desired, ^Uhere remain two days yet before 
 this bet is decided. I do not doubt but that I stall ride 
 Henry's princely Otello yet. You have all of you an invi- 
 tation to be my guests to-morrow night ; at what hour, and 
 in what rooms, I will let you know in the morning." 
 
 This speech, made with recovered composure and seem- 
 ing confidence, was received with great applause. No one 
 seemed to think that there was anything more important at 
 stake than a fine horse and a diamond ring. The promise 
 given to a dying mother, the ruin of a noble soul, and the 
 unhappiness of a family of friends, were not taken at all int-o 
 account. Some of the guests glaneed over the costly exot- 
 ics, the marble Hebe, the rare wine, and the celebrated mu- 
 sicians, and wondered what greater temptations money could 
 purchase. The pleasure of anticipation added a new charm 
 to the present hour. 
 
108 THE senator's SON. 
 
 In the meantime Parke hurried home as if the tempter 
 5till pursued him. It was not until he was fairly in the 
 presence of Alice that he felt safe. The beaming smile with 
 which she met him, the soft pressure of her arms about his 
 neck, and her lips upon his cheek, were never more wel- 
 come. And when he sat down beside her upon the sofa, 
 and she nestled her head in his bosom and looked up into 
 his face with a happier smile than she had worn since their 
 mother's death, his breast swelled with thanks to God for 
 saving him from imminent peril, and he secretly renewed 
 his vow, as he held has fair sister closely in his arms. 
 
 " What if I had been tempted to remain — then tempted 
 to drink — and returned to her with the fumes of wine upon 
 my lips ? " he asked himself, with a shudder. " Would she 
 not have paled and shrunk away from me ? — would she 
 not have reproached and despised me, and tortured me with 
 the memory of my pledge ? instead of clinging to me with 
 such love, such confidence, such innocent sweetness." 
 
 It was too late to cut the pages of the new book. The 
 rest of the family had retired, and after an hour of happy 
 conversation, the young Madisons followed the example, 
 Icavinc: their volume for the next evenino;'s entertainment. 
 
 But when the evening came, Parke bethought him of its 
 being the night of the weekly lectures upon law, the science 
 of government, and such other subjects, which he lately at- 
 tended. So Alice was fain to content herself with her mu- 
 sic, and a new number of the Mirror, as they were resolved 
 to enjoy the reading of the book together. 
 
THE senator's son. 109 
 
 It was ten o'clock when the lecture closed, and Parke 
 was walking briskly home through the sleet and rain of a 
 dreary November night, picturing to himself the fine warmth 
 of the grate in the back parlor, with Alice waiting for him 
 alone before the fire, perhaps ensconced in Mr. Crawford's 
 great chair, or perhaps leaning pensively with her forehead 
 against the mantel, as she sometimes did. He had reached 
 the square in which the house was situated. It was so 
 quiet and aristocratic a part of the city that the police were 
 not very watchful ; and as he turned the corner h& heard a 
 slight scream, and beheld, by the dim light of the street- 
 lamp, a female struggling in the arms of a man. 
 
 " Scoundrel ! " shouted the young man, with a power- 
 ful blow in the- face of the villain. Anger had given him 
 strength, and the reeling man, thinking such an opponent 
 not to be despised, took to his heels, leaving the object of 
 his pursuit fainting in the arms of her protector. Parke 
 feeling her slender figure sinking heavily upon his arm, bore 
 her closer to the light, and lifted the wet hood from her 
 face. It was a youthful face and beautiful, though now the 
 eyes were closed in terror. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, child, where do you belong?" said 
 the young man j " and why are you out unprotected this 
 dreary night ?" " Oh, Sir," she sobbed, unclosing her large 
 dark eyes, '' if you will only take me home ; my mother is 
 very sick — I was afraid she would die, and went out for 
 the doctor and got lost ; oh, Sir, please to take me home ! " 
 10 
 
110 THE senator's SON. 
 
 "Poor young creature!" said Parke, "where is your 
 home — where shall I take you to V^ 
 
 She named a number in a miserable street of the sub- 
 urbs. It was some distance, but the young man would 
 have walked miles in a colder storm than that, rather than 
 leave the shivering, frightened girl to find her way alone. 
 
 " I can take you there," he said, supporting her upon 
 his arm, and walking as fast as she seemed able to go. 
 
 " How Alice would pity her ! " he thought, as he felt 
 her clinging tightly to his arm. She spoke only once as 
 they hurried along the pavement, and then she uttered, 
 sadly — " Alas I my mother ! " 
 
 They came to the No., and he was about to leave her at 
 the foot of the wretched-looking stairs, when she asked him 
 in a soft voice if he would not go up with her and see her 
 parent ? "She may be dead," she cried wildly, and fled up 
 the narrow way. 
 
 He followed almost as fleetly, and they entered a deso- 
 late-looking chamber, through which they passed into an 
 inner room. Parke stood amazed and bewildered when he 
 found himself in a large apartment, in which the defects of 
 age were so concealed by furniture that it looked quite com- 
 fortable, and surrounded by a party of gentlemen instead 
 of in the presence of poverty and sickness. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said his conductress, " I -have brought 
 you a guest;" and shutting the door on him, she dis:ip- 
 peared. 
 
 He was greeted with shouts of merriment. 
 
TEE SENATOR'S SON. DJi 
 
 ^^Well done, Mr. Madison!" cried St. Ormond, '^ to 
 decline our company so stoutly last night, as if it would 
 harm your youthful innocence. And now you stumble 
 upon us in tJiat society. Well, we forgive you the past; 
 you are as welcome as unexpected." 
 
 Blushing with shame and confusion, he would again 
 have made good his retreat ; hut the door was barricaded 
 by the laughing group, and he could not now fall back upon 
 his dignity, appearances being so much against him. 
 
 " I beg of you to hear me," he cried earnestly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it must be an excellent story," interrupted 
 another j " we are all anxious to hear it. But first take a 
 comfortable seat, and tell the tale at your ease." 
 
 They seized him by the arms and sat him down in a 
 chair. 
 
 " Take a sip of something to give spirit to your narra- 
 tive," said St. Ormond, approaching him with a glass of 
 wine on a server. The laughter and jeers of the company 
 maddened the sensitive young man into forgetfulness of 
 everything but his present situation. Humiliated, angry, 
 thrown entirely off his guard, he thought of nothing but 
 of being equal with them. 
 
 " I am neither a fool or a coward ! " he said, seizing the 
 glass and tossing it off with an air of affected carelessness. 
 
 Yet the moment he had drank it, he felt that he was 
 both, and worse — oh, a thousand times worse ! 
 
 " What have I done?" he cried inwardly, with agony. 
 
 " That will make a man of you, I am sure," said Harry 
 
112 THE senator's SON. 
 
 Jenkins, tauntingly. ^' Now let us have the interesting 
 history of your adventures, and how you happened into 
 this out-of-the-way spot." 
 
 The wine, which was mingled with a goodly portion of 
 brandy, flew to Parke's already excited brain. He gave 
 them a grotesque account of his rescue of the young girl, 
 drinking, while he talked, all the liquor that was offered 
 him ; and ridiculing his own tender-heartedness in coming 
 up to see her sick mother. St. Ormond soon had the plea- 
 sure of seeing him drunk as he well could be, and of being 
 congratulated as the owner of the splendid Otello. 
 
 ^^ It has cost me five times as much as the horse is 
 worth," he said to himself. " But I can make it pay well, 
 with that simpleton in my power 3 " and he glanced coolly 
 towards the unfortunate victim of their heartless wager. 
 
 He would hardly have thought the iclat of the thing 
 amongst his own set, nor the future spoils out of Parke 
 Madison's fortune, would pay, if he had thought of the ac- 
 count set down against him in the Book of the just Judge 
 of the Universe, which must sometime be accurately settled. 
 But he did not think of that, or if he did he dismissed the 
 unpleasant reflection, as he said in high good-humor, — 
 
 " Good friends and fellows ! you will now do me the 
 honor to sup with me at Fleming's. Mr. Madison, I dare 
 say you have no objections to accompanying us. Allow me 
 to ofier you an arm — I see that your nerves are agitated by 
 the undue trial to which they were subjected a short time 
 ago ; you do not walk with the boldness becoming a man 
 
THE senator's SON. 113 
 
 who has knocked down another and rescued a poor child 
 from being carried off/' 
 
 The whole company fastened on their cloaks and made 
 their way to Fleming's with just little enough noise to es- 
 cape from the embarrassment of being locked up for the 
 night. Here Parke, lost to all sense of propriety, caroused 
 as long and as high as the wildest of his gay associates. 
 His ^ promise to pay when he should become of age/ to 
 the amount of three hundred dollars, was in the hands of 
 Harry Jenkins when he left, and five hundred with St. 
 Ormond. 
 
 One of the company, whom liquor did not affect in so 
 woful a manner, escorted him to the door of Mr. Crawford's 
 residence, and there bade him good night, though it was 
 nearly morning. 
 
 Alice, who had waited through the long and dreary 
 hours, a cold weight of dread sinking heavier every moment 
 upon her heart, sprang to the door, as she heard him endea- 
 voring to open it. Letting him in, she clasped his hand 
 and led him to the light. 
 
 " I was afraid you had been murdered," she murmured, 
 looking up into his face. 
 
 The next moment she sprang from him as if she had 
 been stung by an adder. 
 
 " Parke Madison ! you are drunk!" she said in a stern 
 voice, while her face grew as pale as ashes. 
 
 " Oh no, my dear, you are mistaken," he said, smiling 
 up n her witli vn air of good nature. " I know most 
 
 lu* 
 
114 THE senator's SON. 
 
 people would tliiiik so, but you ought to know me better/' 
 he continued, with drunken gravity. 
 
 " You have broken your promise to our mother — you 
 have degraded yourself — have sinned beyond repentance — 
 are lost ! " she cried, walking hastily to and fro, wringing 
 her hands. " Oh, my brother, do you know what you have 
 done?" 
 
 She paused before him, with the tears streaming down 
 her white face — her hands were involuntarily lifted as if 
 deprecating the divine anger which might visit so dark a 
 perjury. 
 
 "I — I suppose I've been taking supper at Fleming's, 
 from my feelings," was the stammering reply to her solemn 
 inquiry. ^' W*hat are you crying about, Allie ? I've — 
 I've not been drinking, though you may have some reason 
 to suppose so. Cheer up, sis, and if you hear anything 
 about the aifair at Fleming's, you need not believe it." 
 
 She sank down in a chair in a stupor of indignation and 
 grief, which settled down into despair. 
 
 " Oh, Parke ! Parke !" she cried in a low voice, " my 
 happiness is gone forever. You have made me indeed 
 miserable." 
 
 He took up a small lamp and ascended the hall-stairs. 
 
 ^' Do not make any more noise than you can avoid — 
 walk lightly," pleaded his sister coming after, for she did 
 not know but that this night's ruinous work might l>e kept 
 from their kind protectors. 
 
 She followed hira to the door of his room an:l thoa has?- 
 
THE senator's SON. 115 
 
 tened to her owu. She lay down upon her bed with a far 
 bitterer sorrow than had shaken her the night of her moth- 
 er's death- That was chastened, holy, and in a measure 
 hopeful — this was burning, sudden, and dark, mingled 
 with shame, fear, and anguish. The brief remainder of the 
 night passed sleeplessly away. She arose at seven to break- 
 fast with Mr. Crawford, as was her custom, the rest of the 
 family not breakfasting until nine, during the cold weather. 
 He noticed her pale cheeks and spiritless expression — said 
 he guessed she got up too early to make his coflfee, and she 
 must not do it if she didn't like — kissed her as he went 
 out — and then she laid down on the library sofa, waiting 
 for and dreading, she hardly dared to think of what. 
 
 The two hours passed by, and neither Mrs. Crawford or 
 Parke came down to breakfast. The former was quite in- 
 disposed and had taken her coffee in her room. Alice went 
 in to see her a moment, and then stole to her brother's door. 
 She did not hear him dressing, and so opened it and en- 
 tered. He was not there. Stricken by guilt and remorse 
 he had risen an hour before, and crept out into the open air, 
 where he might endeavor to fly from the faces of friends 
 and the reproaches of his own conscience. The first breath 
 of pure, morning breezes dispelled the illusions of the past 
 evening ; he felt that he had been duped by a silly artifice, 
 and then betrayed by his own passions. He dared not go 
 to the office, and, disgusted with himself and the world, he 
 called at a saloon and took a glass of wine to banish his hor- 
 rible feelings. TVas a man in his situation capable of self- 
 
116 THE senator's son. 
 
 control ? had he the full use of his own judgment ? and would 
 it have been arbitrary to have refused him what he called 
 for ? Or was the piece of silver which he laid upon the ta- 
 ble a fair equivalent for this new sorrow in his sister's heart, 
 and this new link in the chain that was forging to drag him 
 down ? 
 
 The air of his room was foul with the fumes of his fe- 
 verish breath and the odor of cigar-smoke which filled his 
 clothes. 
 
 Alice opened a window, lest the servant coming to regu- 
 late the apartment should suspect more than was pleasant. 
 His bible, which she had given him when he first went away 
 to college, lay upon his dressing-table; and the slippers 
 which their mother had embroidered the last winter of her 
 life, set by the bed-side. She sat down and leaned her fore- 
 head upon the treasured book. Thoughts of his old errors, 
 and the old unhappiness — days of sorrow and doubt gone 
 by — came over her ; the times when she used to watch and 
 weep, and her mother to go about with a smileless face : 
 then of the bright year rolling by in a golden round of 
 hopes and pleasures, and ended by that heavy mourning for 
 one that went with it to return no more with other years ; 
 then of this worst grief of any. 
 
 " If he has broken from the vow that he made a dying 
 mother, and in so short a time, there is nothing that can 
 restrain him now. My love will come to nought ; it will 
 be powerless. Why should I love him ? he is not worthy 
 any longer even of my forgiveness," she mused bitterly. 
 
THE senator's SON. 117 
 
 But the stern resolution was followed swiftly by a 
 memory — 
 
 " Parke — Alice — love one another — be faithful.'^ 
 
 " Oh, my mother, I too promised, and I will fulfil. I 
 will never forsake him for any degradation or crime that he 
 may be guilty of. I will cling to him through all — forgive 
 him — love him, and fulfil to the utmost the love and duty 
 of a sister. '* 
 
 She fell upon her knees and prayed to Christ to inter- 
 cede for her erring brother, and for strength to endure the 
 day of trial. It was long before a gleam of consolation en- 
 tered her soul, but when she arose from her prayer, patience 
 and love sat upon her sweet features. She sat as long as 
 she could with Mrs. Crawford; and when her anxiety grew 
 too strong to be resisted, she went down and stood looking 
 out the front parlor windows at the passers-by, until her 
 guardian came into dinner. 
 
 He inquired for Parke, saying, that he had not been in 
 the office during the morning. She tried to reply cheer- 
 fully that he went out quite early, and she did not know 
 where he was, unless he had ridden out to the farm. 
 
 So he had; and he came back at dusk, tired and 
 gloomy. The associations of the place had more than bal- 
 anced the effects of the hard riding. 
 
 The ladies were sitting by the centre-table, knitting 
 while they waited for tea. 
 
 " You have not been a very dutiful boy, to-day," re- 
 marked Mrs. Crawford, pleasantly, as he drew his chair up 
 
118 THE senator's SON, 
 
 to the fire. " Here I have beetl kept in my chamber until 
 about an hour ago, and you never came to inquire after my 
 health, or to wish me better." 
 
 ^' I have been away all day to the farm," he replied, 
 glancing swiftly towards Alice, and back to the fire again. 
 
 " Good evening, Parke," said she in a gentle voice. 
 
 He looked up and met the sad but afiectionate gaze of 
 her dear eyes, and his own fell moodily to the floor. She 
 drew her chair beside of his, and laid her hand upon his 
 shoulder. Once the look and the touch would have melted 
 away the barriers of pride, and he would have wept his con- 
 trition upon her bosom. But he had grown into a man 
 now, and the impressibility of his nature was hardening into 
 less yielding stuff. In his present irritated humor he felt 
 her affection as the most humiliating reproach. He saw 
 that she had guarded his secret from the family, and the 
 very gratitude which he was obliged to yield was more now 
 than he wanted to give. He was more discontented than 
 ever, because he could be discontented with no one but him- 
 self. He gazed gloomily into the fire while Alice gazed 
 tenderly into his face. She knew that it was the sullenness 
 of remorse which lowered upon the fine brow and drooped in 
 the dark fringes of those usually sunny eyes. She longed 
 to lighten his burden of guilt, and to make him feel the 
 greatness of her affection. The little hand pressed harder 
 upon his shoulder, constraining him to look again into those 
 pure and pitying eyes. 
 
 Mr. Crawford came in, shivering with the cold of the 
 
THE senator's SON. 119 
 
 first snow-storm. He cast a keen glance at his ward as he 
 saw him" sitting moodily in the corner ; but hearing that he 
 had been at the farm, he, as well as his wife, concluded that 
 old recollections had something to do wath his taciturnity. 
 
 Tea was served; and after that Alice beckoned her 
 brother to a seat beside her, and the new book was produced. 
 
 " I have kept it unopened to share with you," she said, 
 as she severed the fii'st few pages with her silver paper- 
 folder. 
 
 The work was one of absorbing interest, but they did 
 not get along very well. Each was heedless of when the 
 other turned a leaf, and both felt it a great relief when the 
 elder couple left them to themselves. 
 
 The book fell from Parke's hand as they went out, and 
 he sat gazing fixedly upon the carpet. Alice kissed him. 
 
 ^^ Can you caress me, then, Alice ?" he cried, turning to- 
 wards her ; ^^ me, a perjured wretch ?'^ 
 
 '^ You are my brother still — and ever will be — " was 
 the grave reply, as the tears at last overflowed her eyes. 
 *' Oh, Parke, I know there must have been great temptation. 
 Tell me of something that will take away from the sinful- 
 ness of your act — not that I cannot and have not for- 
 given you — but that I may think of you with some conso- 
 lation." 
 
 He received her hand and grasped it tightly in his own, 
 as he went on to tell of the plot that had been laid for him, 
 and how, carried away by sudden excitement, he had weakly 
 and miserably fell a victim to it. 
 
120 
 
 ^^ Oh, my poor brother ! their crime is greater than 
 yours ! but if you had only resisted — if you had burst from 
 them in scorn as you should have done ! Yet do not be 
 utterly discouraged. Grod will forgive even this, and he 
 asks only repentance. Let us put our trust in him." 
 
 " But I have lost all trust in myself/' groaned the 
 young man. " My self-respect, my confidence is gone I" 
 
 "Oh, no ! oh, no I there is time and chance to redeem 
 yourself. Your truest friends, save me, know nothing of 
 this, why should they ever ? Grod and your mother wait 
 only your asking to forgive. L^t us pray for it now, and 
 then you can renew your promise.'^ 
 
 " I dare not renew it, I have no more trust in myself. 
 But pray for me, my sister ; never neglect to do that ; how- 
 ever low I may fall beneath your love." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Parke was banished from Mr. Crawford's house. 
 
 For several weeks after his first excess, he had, by his 
 sister's aid, concealed his conduct from the family ; although 
 he had at three different times been out the most of the 
 night. In that time he had lost two thousand dollars at 
 the gaming-table. When his guardian discovered these 
 facts, his indignation was overwhelming. Strict in the per- 
 formance of his own duty, he was the sternest judge of the 
 faults of others. Of that calm, strong, unsusceptible tem- 
 perament which is but little exposed to temptation, he could 
 tolerate in others of more yielding minds no dereliction from 
 the right. Had Parke been his own son he would have 
 turned him out with still less regret. He considered it 
 inexcusable for any young man to form bad habits — but 
 that a person educated as Parke had been by a christian 
 mother, and surrounded by every inducement to virtue and 
 goodnes, that he should pursue such a course was equally as- 
 11 
 
122 THE senator's son. 
 
 astonishing and awful — and that, with the first summer's 
 flowers withering over ker grave, in the very days of mourn- 
 ing, that he should be faithless to the assurances required by 
 that dying mother, was to him a proof of the utter deprav- 
 ity of human nature. A person so lost to all remains of 
 goodness should not be allowed to approach the family-cir- 
 cle gathered around any hearth, and with the full weight of 
 his anger he crushed the young man in the presence of his 
 sister and Mrs. Crawford. His words fell scorching upon 
 the bare soul of poor Parke, and the glances of his eyes 
 seemed to wound like blades of steel. Pale and c^uivering, 
 the brother cast a look upon his sister, who stood weeping 
 in the room; and strode without a woixl into the hall. 
 Heedless of her guardian's reproof, she followed him, 
 laying her hand upon his arm just as he opened the outer 
 door. 
 
 ^' Parke!" she said, in a stifled voice, "for my sake, 
 for heaven's sake, do nothing rash. Remember that Jam 
 the same as ever." 
 
 He wrung her hand and darted away. She returned to 
 the parlor. Her heart was bursting to plead her brother's 
 case; but Mr. Crawford was tramping through the room 
 with a tread as if his heel was ground down every time into 
 the brain of a wild young man ; and his wife, although she 
 took the weeping girl to her bosom, did not dare to let her 
 open her lips in remonstrance. 
 
 Several days went slowly by. Alice pined in silent 
 sorrow ; for as her guardian gave no signs of relenting, she 
 
THE senator's SON. 12S 
 
 could not approach him upon the subject which lay nearest 
 her thoughts. Redoubled kindness was shown to her, but 
 she could hardly receive it when the part that should have 
 been another's was refused him. Her usually busy fingers 
 laid idly in her lap, the piano was closed, and she sat hour 
 after hour at the window, her sad eyes following the people 
 who passed by, in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of the 
 banished one. But he never walked on that street. Pride 
 >!ad resentment both kept him from the most distant ad- 
 ances, even to an interview with his sister. 
 
 One afternoon there was a ring at the door-bell. Every 
 •me that it rang of late, Alice's heart had given a great 
 •ound at the thought that perhaps it was Parke who had 
 •eturned, and several times she had opened the door herself. 
 \he hastened to do so now; and was greeted by Alfred 
 Jlyde. He gave her a note from her brother ; and she in- 
 fited him in. 
 
 " There may be an answer expected," he replied, and 
 jccepted her invitation. 
 
 She introduced him to Mrs. Crawford, and withdrew to 
 I distant part of the room to read her letter. Her hands 
 rvere all in a tremble as she broke the seal. As she read 
 the hastily-penned page, the tears gathered on her eye- 
 lashes and rolled down her cheeks. She was unconscious 
 of the earnest glances fixed from time to time upon her face 
 by the old acquaintance who sat conversing cosily with the 
 elder lady. The note ran thus : — 
 
 ^' My guardian did not know what he was about when 
 
124 THE senator's son. 
 
 he sent me away, Alice. It may be that I would have 
 been ruined anyhow, but now I certainly shall. Why 
 should I be good, when I am thrust out as fit only to asso- 
 ciate with the worst ? — denied even a word of encourage- 
 ment from you. The moment it became known that I was 
 discarded by my guardian, the whole pack of my former 
 companions were after me like cats after a mouse. They 
 know that I am rich, and that in a week or two I will be of 
 age, and they do not want any better fellow than Parke 
 Madison to pay for their champagne, or for a partner in a 
 little game, I am such a confounded fool as to gratify them 
 
 at my own expense. I have taken rooms at Hotel, 
 
 and if I am frowned upon by nice people like Mr. Crawford, 
 I am flattered and praised by a very dashing set of fellows, 
 I assure you, who can overlook a small indiscretion, drink 
 my wine, pocket my money, and eat my suppers with as 
 good a grace as if I were better than the Bishop. Do you 
 wonder that I seek to consol myself for the loss of my good 
 name ? A young man who has been publicly disgraced, 
 and the door shut upon him by his test friends, must needs 
 go where the door stands wide open, and a hundred smiling 
 lips are calling upon him to enter and make himself at 
 home. So I have been drunk three days out of the eight 
 since I left you — I have lost another thousand at billiards, 
 and paid for two champagne suppers." 
 
 " Alice ! Alice ! can you forgive me this reckless talk ? 
 Yet it is all too true. When I make a giant-effort to over- 
 come all, and make a better man of myself, despite of dis- 
 
THE senator's son. 125 
 
 couragement a»d bad reputation, the solitude to which I 
 flee for strength is peopled with such frightful shapes of 
 doubt, remorse, shame, and self-distrust, that I rush back to 
 temptation to get away from them. If I did not love wine 
 I — if one taste of it did not awake such a fatal thirst, I 
 might save myself from these lesser evils. But with this 
 innate passion, what am I to do ? There is no safeguard, for 
 I have already destroyed the most powerful ; and I am in 
 despair. Oh, my sister, I am ready to cry out as my 
 mother once did — ' would that every drop of alcohol in all 
 its Protean shapes was banished from the land.' My noble 
 father fell its victim-— I shall be a still more hopeless one. 
 Fatal inheritance ! my father has bequeathed me his incli- 
 nation for the bowl, and I am coming into full possession 
 of the dread bequest. You see I am trying to work my 
 way into your compassion, by laying a part of my faults 
 upon the shoulders of others. You, too, may have cast me 
 off by this time. If not, send me some little word by Al- 
 fred. Do not be suspicious of him ; he is sorry for me, 
 and trying to serve me. Tell me where I can see you, 
 and talk with you a little while. Parke." 
 
 Alice took a small sheet of paper from between the 
 leaves of a book, and wrote with her pencil — 
 
 <' Dearest Parke: — You must not, and shall not, 
 stay any longer where you now are. I shall talk with Mr. 
 Crawford to-night, and if he sends you permission to come 
 home to-morrow, you must come — because I ask it of you. 
 If he will not consent, or if you will not accept, then I shall 
 11* 
 
126 THE senator's son. 
 
 have to follow you to your rooms, for I am determined that 
 I will not give you up. Of course you will not compel me to 
 leave a safe home to track your wandering steps ] so only re- 
 turn with good resolutions, and we will all be happy again.^' 
 
 Folding it and giving it to Mr. Clyde, she bethought 
 herself of how her absorbing care for her brother had caused 
 her to neglect to pay him the attention he was entitled to, 
 and which she felt more disposed to give since she read 
 what Parke said of him. 
 
 Alfred was now three-and-twenty, and appeared two 
 years older. He was elaborately dressed in the height of 
 the fashion, and still not showily ; a rich diamond stud, glow- 
 ing in the centre of the dainty frill of his shirt-bosom, was 
 the only article of jewelry he wore. He had lost a little of 
 his former reserve, and talked agreeably, though something 
 in the deep glance of his eye, and the low fullness of his 
 tones, seemed always hiding itself from the observer. 
 
 He informed Alice that his uncle, Mr. Benjamin Clyde, 
 was dead j that he had forgiven him the little c^uarrel that 
 had parted them the year before, and had died, regarding 
 him as a son. Of course his listener understood that he 
 was heir to the large fortune which the old gentleman had 
 accumulated. His splendid dress and haughty bearing were 
 becoming to him ) and Alice would have felt a friendly joy 
 that he was at last in circumstances to do justice to his 
 tastes, had not the old suspicion of his sincerity returned to 
 her with every sentence which he uttered. 
 
 The very pure and good seem often to be possessed of a 
 
THE senator's son, 127 
 
 sympathy which repels them from falsehood, however spe- 
 ciously disguised. And the more she looked at that dark 
 face, with its restless lip and cautious, searching eyes, the 
 more distrustful she felt towards it. 
 
 He remained an hour, and went away with an invitation 
 from Mrs. Crawford to visit them again. She had heard so 
 much of him from her young friends that she knew his sta- 
 tion and claims to their aociuaintance ; and as she admirec 
 him very much, she at once concluded that it would b^- 
 pleasant to have him for a visitor through the winter even- 
 ings. She was sure that society would enliven her sweet 
 child's drooping spirits. Pretty little Mrs. Crawford ! she 
 had scarcely a fault ; but she had one ! She aspir^ to be a 
 match-maker. Having had no child: en to occupy her leis- 
 ure, she had taken great notice t^ +he young people belong- 
 ing to other folks. As many as half-a-dozen excellent mar- 
 riages she was sure had been brought about through her 
 important management. Though Ali e was but just seven- 
 teen, and so child-like, and so saint-' ike in her innocent 
 ^ays and looks, that she should have been regarded onl}^ as 
 a white rose-bud growing upon consecrated ground, too holj 
 and too fragile to be gathered and worn; yet her new 
 mother, looking smilingly at her, as she sat pensively by 
 the table, had already arranged how charmi'^.g it would be 
 to fasten the bridal veil upon that beaclif^i head. 
 
 She had not failed to observe tho earnest looks which 
 Alfred could not refrain from lixing upon the young girl 
 c.iler an absence of more than a year. That a young gen- 
 
128 THE senator's son. 
 
 tleman so rich, elegant, refined, and of good family, should 
 at once fall in love with her pretty Alice, was delightful. 
 Her mind ran gaily on to the future, and she cast glances 
 up apd down her parlors to imagine how they would appear, 
 illuminated for a wedding-party. Yes ! they should stand 
 there, just between those two large windows, to be married ! 
 and there should be no lack of camelias for adornment I 
 and it might be that Mr. Crawford could be coaxed into the 
 purchase of new curtains ! All this while the unconscious 
 performer of the chief part in this drama of the future s&t 
 with her head upon her hands, thinking of how she should 
 most successfully approach her guardian on the sore subject 
 of recalling Parke. She replied at random to her compan- 
 ion's praises of their visitor, and was oblivious to all the 
 little wiles that were used to discover the state of her feel- 
 ings towards him. 
 
 " I think Mr. Clyde was a little agitated when he first 
 came in. What expressive eyes he has ! at least, when he 
 is looking at my little daughter ! ^^ 
 
 Alice blushed ; but it was with emotion at hearing Mr. 
 Crawford in the hall. Her heart first gave a bound, and 
 then sank down — down 1 for his sternness was terrible to 
 her, who had been reared in an atmosphere of gentleness ; 
 and if he should utterly refuse to listen to her plea ! Then 
 
 ah ! she was resolved what she would do then ; and 
 
 her cheeks became so crimson at the thought, that her 
 guardian, entering, patted them cheerfully, and said that he 
 was rejoiced to see her looking so much better^ 
 
THE senator's SON. 129 
 
 Tea was over. Mr. Crawford was established for the 
 evening in the cushions of his huge chair. Alice had ar- 
 ranged the lamp, brought him his slippers, paper, and 
 spectacles, and before he made use of the two latter, she 
 had perched upon his knee. She laid her little white hands 
 upon his shoulders. He looked fondly at her, thinking this 
 young thing, with her shining curls and fairy form, the 
 fairest child he had ever seen ; but when the dew began to 
 gather on her eye-lids, and her lips to tremble with what 
 she wanted to say, he pushed her farther back upon his 
 knee, and his countenance settled down into unpromising 
 severity. 
 
 Alice was frightened, but love made her bold. 
 
 " Father I" (it was not hard for her to call Mr. Craw- 
 ford father, as she had but slight remembrance of her own) 
 *'Ihave had a letter from Parke to-day, and I want you to 
 read it." 
 
 She held it out, but he would not take it. 
 
 ^' Does not Miss Madison remember that I have fo?-- 
 bidden any intercession for that person ?" 
 
 Miss Madison ! when had he ever called her by so dig- 
 nified a title before ? But she could bear his cold tones as 
 well as her poor brother ; and if other people were to be 
 harsh and unrelenting, why should she not take part against 
 them ? She felt some of the real old family blood, which 
 she inherited from her mother's father, thrilling her breast. 
 A firmness of will which distinguished them, and which it 
 would have been well for Parke to possess, she now felt for 
 
180 THE senator's SON. 
 
 the first time springing into energy, called to life by the 
 dreadful anxiety she felt for one dearer to her than her own 
 life. 
 
 ^' You had better read the letter/' she said, getting off 
 of the extreme edge of his lap to "which he had pushed her, 
 and standing before him. 
 
 " "Why so?" he inquired a little curiously; for, despite 
 of his gravity, he could scarcely forbear a surprised smile at 
 her commanding attitude and the firm tones of her voice. 
 
 " Because you oiiglit to read it, father. Certainly it can 
 do you no harm to read it; and, if you refuse, you may 
 sometime regret it. ^ Blessed are the merciful, for they 
 shall obtain mercy.' " 
 
 " And you think I may sometime need it — is that it ? " 
 he asked, smiling at what might seem like disrespect from 
 her. 
 
 '' I don't think anything about it ! I only wish to know 
 whether you will read this yourself; for if you will not, 
 then I shall read it to you." 
 
 He looked a little angry at this, and made no reply, ex- 
 cept to call her a " saucy little girl." 
 
 So after waiting a moment she began. It would have 
 been weak for him to have got up and ran out of the room, 
 and as she read in a clear, distinct voice, he was obliged to 
 hear every word. His brow darkened ominously at the be- 
 ginning of the epistle ; and where it came to the reckless 
 confession of his new sins, he stamped his foot as if he 
 would command silence. The young girl continued to the 
 
THE senator's son. 131 
 
 end, witli a slight falter towards the last; then turning her 
 bright, dark eyes upon her guardian, she seemed to be asking 
 him with that steady look, if it would not have been better 
 to have shown more mercy. 
 
 The look of a righteous judge had given way upon his 
 face to a more troubled expression, as his eye fell before 
 hers, and he repeated to himself her silent question. It had 
 never occurred to him before that his casting his ward back 
 upon his own inclinations was making him worse, for he 
 had flattered himself that there was no worse to such con- 
 duct. Now he did not like the responsibility of four days 
 of intoxication, two suppers, and a large gambling debt, 
 thrust thus unceremoniously upon him. 
 
 " Are you going to send for my brother to come back 
 home ? " asked Alice, watching the changes of his brow. 
 
 Mr. Crawford was nervous at the thought of his having 
 been too hasty with the son of his dead friends ; and when 
 he was nervous he was always irritable. If he answered 
 yes, after hearing the letter, it would be a tacit acknowl- 
 edgment that he had done wrong ; so he threw himself upon 
 his temper, and thundered — ''No !'' 
 
 '' Very well ! then,^' said Alice, folding up the letter, 
 " I consider it my duty to go to him.'' 
 
 Both her friends regarded her with amazement, as she 
 gtood before them, her slight figure erect, her lips pressed 
 together, her cheeks burning, and only the tears softening 
 her eyes to show that she was their timid young ward. 
 
 "Go to him!" cried her guardian, '^ where ? — to 
 Hotel ? " 
 
182 THE senator's son. 
 
 " YeSj Sir ! if you drive me to that. You may think 
 it your duty to be very severe with poor Parke, — I hioio 
 it is mine to be faithful to him to the hist : oh, Sir/' here 
 her voice trembled, '^yon heard my mother's last words, 
 that we should ' love one another ' — - ^ be faithful ' — and 
 now that he is left to the mercy of his own strong in- 
 clinations, and beset by temptation on every side, is 11020 
 the time for him to be without his friends — his sister ! 
 "What would friends be worth if they deserted us in our 
 fall ? Oh, my mother,'^ she continued with upraised eyes, 
 ^'t/ou would not thus easily have cast off your child." 
 
 The tears were now running down her cheeks, but she 
 walked with a proud step towards the hall. 
 
 ^' Mr. Crawford,'^ she said, turning at the door,*'can I 
 have John to protect me through the street, or must I go 
 alone?" 
 
 ^' Are you going to-night, Alice," asked Mrs. Crawford, 
 in terror. 
 
 " Yes, madam ! I must, — I must be where my poor 
 brother is, to watch over him, and, if possible, save him. 
 Who can tell what a night may bring forth of danger to 
 him." 
 
 " You will do no such wild, foolish thing," said her 
 guardian, rising. " Have you fogotten, Alice, that I have 
 the control of your actions ?" 
 
 " It is the last command of my mother whicli controls 
 me now," she answered repsectfully. " It is stronger than 
 the law — stronger than any love for you," and she passed 
 out into the hall. 
 
THE senator's son, 133 
 
 Mr. Crawford followed her. She was already tying on 
 her hood, when he laid his hand on her arm. 
 
 ^^ You are a stubborn girl, Alice ; but if you will have it 
 your own way, you must take the consequences. Take off 
 that rigging and come back to the fire." 
 
 " You will send for Parke, then ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " Of course, if I must to keep you out of such mad 
 mischief.'^ 
 
 " But to-night ? to-night ? shall John go right away." 
 "As well now as any time," he replied; and she flew to 
 write a note for the messenger. 
 
 In a moment it was ready, and John was dispatched. 
 
 '^ Its a mighty blustering night to be running about in, 
 but I would go to the bottom of the city to serve you, and to 
 search out Mr. Parke," he said, as he went out the door, 
 hurried by Alice. This was their own old household ser- 
 vant, and who had been almost half as anxious as his young 
 mistress since Parke was sent away. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Crawford, my father, you are so good — so 
 good," said Alice, coming back to her old place on his knee. 
 <^ And now I know you will receive poor Parke kindly — 
 he will be so distressed and ashamed — " 
 
 ^' Deserves to be," was the gruff response. 
 
 " I know it — he ought to be — oh dear, I don't know 
 what punishment he doesn't deserve except to be turned 
 away from Jiome — his only place of refuge, you see ! — 
 But still, you will speak to him — try to forgive him, dear, 
 dear father." 
 12 
 
134 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Don't tease me any more to-night, or I shall be sorry 
 I didn't let you go where you wanted to/' he said; but it 
 was with a smile, and something like a sparkle of water in 
 his eyes. 
 
 So the young girl was content, and kissing him, she 
 went to the window to listen. The roar of the storm with- 
 out prevented her hearing much ; but after three quarters 
 of an hour passed in suspense, the stamping of feet was 
 heard in the hall. Alice glanced towards her friends, and 
 then flew out to see if any one had returned with John. 
 There was Parke taking off his cloak, and lingering as if 
 loth to enter. 
 
 The same instant she lay sobbing in his arms. His 
 tears fell hot and large upon her face. 
 
 " I should not have come had not i/ou written the note," 
 he whispered. 
 
 " Oh, hush, Parke, do not say anything of the kind. 
 We will love you as well as you deserve." 
 
 Radiant with tears and smiles she led the way in. Her 
 tact and her emotion covered half the embarrassment of 
 the meeting. If Parke and his guardian did not shake 
 hands very cordially, she embraced both with such affection 
 that they might have mistaken her joy for each others. 
 Mrs. Crawford kissed his cheek and appeared really glad ; 
 and then when all set down, and an awkward silence threat- 
 ened the gi'oup, Alice opened the piano and played such de- 
 lightful melodies, and sung with such touching sweetness, 
 
THE senator's SON. 135 
 
 tKat all hearts were united, at least in love and admiration 
 of the singer. 
 
 When she came back, they talked about the storm, won- 
 dered if there were any vessels endangered along the coast, 
 spoke of a new play which they all wished to attend the 
 next evening, and so gradually recovered their ease of 
 feeling. 
 
 When the others had retired to their room, Alice rested 
 her head upon her brother's bosom, and they sat silent for a 
 long time ; at length he spoke. 
 
 " I did not think a short time ago that I should ever 
 be as happy again as I am at this moment.'^ 
 
 " There is a life-time of such happiness for you, if you 
 will only take it," she replied. " But there is no true enjoy- 
 ment except in doing right, our mother always taught us." 
 
 " And I feel it as you cannot feel it, who know not the 
 misery of shame and remorse. Oh, Alice, when I wake in 
 the morning, sick in body and soul, disgusted with the fe- 
 verish excitement of the preceding night, — when memories 
 of rude revels, wild intoxication, of gas-light glaring upon 
 a chaos of wine and broken goblets, cigar-smoke, and bill- 
 iard-tables, of profane jests and reckless merriment, stand 
 out deformed in the pure beams of the morning sun, — I 
 loathe myself and wish I had never been born. The thought 
 of the hours we spent together at the farm steal upon me like 
 glimpses of a lost heaven. Alice, I wish I was like you. 
 You are too good for earth. But i/ou are exposed to no 
 temptation — allurements do not rise up before you every 
 
136 THE senator's son. 
 
 step that you take out of doors. The saloon and the gam- 
 ing-table do not expect you nor invite you.'' 
 
 " If they did it would not lessen my abhorrence for 
 them. The scriptures say, that we are tempted with no 
 temptation greater than we are able to bear." 
 
 " They say, too, what is truth of me ; I find there a law 
 that when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I 
 delight in the law of God after the inward man. But I 
 see another law in my members warring against the law of 
 my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin 
 which is in my members. ^ 0, wretched man that I am ! 
 who shall deliver me from the body of this death ? ' '* 
 
 " Jesus Christ will become your deliverer, even from 
 such "straits as these. Dear brother, to-morrow, let 
 us go to our mother's gi'ave. It is long since we have 
 been there ; and even the snow that now covers it is pre- 
 cious to me." 
 
 '' It is not long since I was there," said Parke, in a sad 
 voice. " Last night, I lay upon that grave more than half 
 the night, groaning in bitterness of spirit." 
 
 " Is it possible ? "Why ! my poor, poor brother, turned 
 from your home, did you take refuge in that solemn spot 
 from your unhappiness." 
 
 She shuddered and wept ; then both knelt and prayed. 
 Their sleep that night was sweet ; and the next day a kind 
 of chastened happiness sat upon each face. The day was 
 calm and bright, and they rode out in the carriage to the 
 cemetery. In the evening Alfred Clyde called early, and 
 
THE senator's SON. 137 
 
 went with the rest of the family to the theatre to see the 
 " Lady of Lyons/' 
 
 At every impassioned word from Claude Melnotte, Clyde 
 would turn his dark eyes to the face of Alice. And when 
 he described the palace-home, with its beautiful environs, 
 to the delighted Pauline, Alfred turned and whispered in 
 the ear of Alice — 
 
 " Such a home shall be yours if you will be true to the 
 promise which the little girl made to the school-boy. '^ 
 
 The maiden shrank back, with a slight blush, saying 
 gravely — " It was not I that promised, Mr. Clyde.'' 
 
 The young man laughed, and affected to have spoken 
 only for the purpose of reminding her of their old frolics. 
 
 After this he became an almost daily visitor at the 
 Crawfords. He was quite devoted enough to Alice to jus- 
 tify the little lady of the house in dreaming of a wedding 
 at some future day; but the heroine herself preserved a 
 most perplexing indifference, and seemed more annoyed 
 than flattered by those distant allusions to the subject which 
 the match-maker ventured to indulge in. The house was 
 divided in its opinions of Alfred Clyde. Parke still cher- 
 ished an enthusiastic friendship for him ; and Mrs. Craw- 
 ford admired him more than any young gentleman who 
 called at the house. Her husband, on the contrary, had 
 taken a decided aversion to him — not for any reason that 
 he could make satisfactory to others — but the first evening 
 which Alfred spent at the house he had taken a dislike to 
 something haughty and repelling in his manner. He had 
 12* 
 
188 THE senator's son, 
 
 rcet liim frequently in Parke's company in former years, 
 but not to form any acquaintance with him. His preju- 
 dices did not prevent him from treating their visitor with 
 politeness, or lead to his objecting to Parke's intimacy with 
 him. Alice, although she said nothing about it, and alwaj^s 
 received him with friendliness, still cherished a distrust of 
 him. She never heard of anything against his character or 
 habits; he had the respect of a highly honorable circle, 
 and was generally admired for the eas& of his address, the 
 tasteful splendor of his attire, and his good judgment upon 
 men and things. But she could not feel attracted towards 
 him by that powerful sympathy that draws together kindred 
 natures. It w\as in vain that she tried to conceal from her- 
 self that he loved her. The hints of her adopted mother, 
 the raillery of Parke, and the manner of Alfred, all made 
 it impossible for her to shut her eyes upon the unwelcome 
 fact. She appeared to do so, and always received any warm 
 avowal from him as if it meant no more than the old play 
 of brother and sister. She sang and played for him when 
 he asked, was social and kind ; but she could take but little 
 pleasure in his society, because she wished to give him no 
 encouragement. 
 
 " It is absurd for him to think of a child like me," she 
 thought. " He will soon forget it when he meets ladies 
 older and more beautiful, and who take more care to please 
 him." 
 
 He met such ladies every day, saving the beauty, for 
 few could be more fair than Alice, although there was no 
 
THE senator's SON. 139 
 
 fjtateliness or magnificence in her looks. Slight and ele- 
 gant, pure and etherial, graceful as a spirit of air, she 
 aecded to make no eifort in order to please. Albert met 
 agreeable ladies ; but his dreams were all of that youthful 
 figure attired in sorrowful black — that sweet, bright smile, 
 and those beaming hazel eyes, and the voice both sweet and 
 low. Ardently as he had loved her for years, he dreamed 
 not of the volcano of passion in his breast until he saw her 
 the object of admiration to another. 
 
 St. Ormond, the brilliant, extravagant, and heartless 
 man of pleasure, who induced young Madison to break his 
 vow made to a dying mother, and gloried in the triumph, 
 called one evening to see Parke, upon some aifair of little 
 importance. The object of his visit was to get a glimpse 
 of the beautiful sister of whom he had heard. Parke had 
 himself boasted of her angelic qualities once over his wine, 
 when the subject of beauty was introduced. St. Ormond, 
 for a man who lived as fiist, preserved a very good appear- 
 ance before the world, being obliged to use great caution to 
 keep the good opinion of a maiden-aunt, from whom he ex- 
 pected a fortune. 
 
 Presuming that his true character was not known in the 
 family, he ventured to call on that evening to tell the young 
 gentleman something about a picture or an opera. Parke 
 was anything but pleased to see him there, saying suave 
 things to Mrs. Crawford, and fixing burning glances upon 
 his sister. Alfred was also present, and his quick jealousy 
 detected the intense admiration which the young girl ex- 
 
140 THE senator's son. 
 
 cited. When she looked up with her innocent, brijrht 
 smile, and appeared pleased and interested in something 
 the stranger was saying about music, he was ready to bite 
 his lip through with chagrin. St. Ormond, too, as Parke 
 had previously done, remarked the likeness of Alice's 
 mouth to his Hebe's. He remembered vowing to kiss the 
 first woman whom he should meet with such a mouth ; but 
 now he felt the vanity and emptiness of the boastful as- 
 sertion. He could no more have approached that bright 
 young girl with such a thought, than as though the air that 
 seemed to encircle her with a different atmosphere was 
 alive with living lightnings. He soon arose to go, and bade 
 her good evening with profound respect. His fellows would 
 have had food for ridicule if they had guessed his thoughts 
 for the rest of that night. Visions of becoming a reformed 
 and useful member of society — of abandoning brandy, ci- 
 gars, and billiards, for tea, books, and a game of chess at 
 home — of a quiet and elegant home, with a wife — a wife, 
 lovely, young, pure as the morning, flitted through his 
 brain. For twenty-four hours he was thoroughly disgusted 
 with his manner of living, and serious resolutions of be- 
 coming a better man agitated his reflections, as he denied 
 himself to callers, and sat musing in his arm-chair, lost in 
 his dreams and his dressing-gown. 
 
 For several days he went about with a dejected air. 
 The sight of so much innocence and goodness had reminded 
 him of the immense gulf lying between him and it. Con- 
 
THE senator's SON. ^4:1 
 
 science was awake, which for so long a period had lain dor- 
 mant through the winter of guilt, and now stung the bosom 
 where it lay. Ghosts of old sins — a long array of broken 
 hearts, broken oaths, broken promises to pay, and broken 
 goblets gathered around him and tormented him with their 
 unwelcome company. ''■ 
 
 Unable longer to resist the desire to gaze upon that 
 spiritual face again, and see if the charmer who had con- 
 jured up this burden of feeling could not remove the load, 
 he made another call at Mr. Crawford's. But Parke, indig- 
 nant at his former visit, and suspecting its object, had in- 
 formed Alice that St. Ormond was the person who had 
 taken so much trouble to get him intoxicated, the particu- 
 lars of the bet having afterwards become known to him. 
 If she could have cherished a sentiment of hate it would 
 have been bestowed upon the cruel and heartless destroyer 
 of their happiness. Parke was still occasionally drawn 
 away into dissipation, and when she thought of this, and 
 what imminent peril their safety was in, her heart strug- 
 gled with bitter feelings. It was some small return for 
 the anguish he had caused, when St. Ormond retired in 
 haste and confusion from his second call. Alice had not 
 deigned him a word or look — the ineffable scorn she felt 
 for him curled her lip and flashed in her averted eye. Mrs. 
 Crawford had merely bowed, and Parke was the only one 
 who had addressed him. He found it convenient to speed- 
 ily withdraw ; and as he went down the steps, with burning 
 
142 THE SENATOR^ S SON. 
 
 cheeks and contracted brow, the late desire for amendment 
 was thrust from his breast. No such vision of purity ever 
 again returned. 
 
 His fleeting passion, however, had alarmed Alfred Clyde 
 with the fear that some more acceptable devotion might be 
 offered at the feet of Alice before he himself had besought 
 her favor. He resolved to seek the first opportunity of de- 
 claring his preference. He had but faint hopes of her re- 
 turning his love — he had never been given cause to think 
 that she loved him. But he had not the slightest idea of 
 living without her. He had settled it with himself that no 
 other woman would ever be so pleasing to him as Alice 
 Madison, and he was determined to win her. At present 
 he thought only of persuasion and perseverance. He looked 
 upon her as his future wife with as much complacency as 
 though she had already promised him as much. 
 
 One day they were out riding together. It was a clear, 
 cold afternoon in January. The earth was covered with 
 frozen snow, beat down into a smooth track along the road. 
 The fences had a comfortable, muffled look, and the trees 
 glittered with icy pendants. The air was still and keen — 
 it was just such weather as Alice delighted in — she en- 
 joyed her ride very much; Alfred had not seen her in such 
 good spirits since their acquaintance was renewed. 
 
 As they sped rapidly along towards the city, he resolved 
 to take advantage of her happy frame of mind to induce a 
 favorable reception of what he wished to say. 
 
 '^ The day is so beautiful — the earth looks so fair, the 
 
THE senator's son. 143 
 
 very sense of living is ySO pleasant^ and you, clear Alice, seem 
 so glad and bright, that I am full of happiness^ — so happy, 
 that I can no longer repress the hopes that are rising in my 
 heart, I wish to be always as happy as I am now, and I 
 shall be if you will only say that you will always be my com- 
 panion. Dear Alice, promise it now ! think how long a time 
 I have waited for you — ever since you were a little girl." 
 His tones were musical and tender ; she cast a brief 
 look into his face to read — it was involuntary — whether 
 the usual concealed something was there. It was glowing 
 with feeling — the dark eyes were fixed upon her with an 
 intensity that made her tremble. 
 
 She was embarrassed, of course, and her timid heart 
 fluttered as if caught in silken meshes ; but they were whirl- 
 ing swiftly along, and she turned her attention to the flit- 
 ting trees and fences, while she replied — 
 
 " I cannot promise you, Alfred. I am too young to 
 make any such promises, and if I were not, I do not think 
 
 — that I " 
 
 " Could give yourself to me ? Do not say that, Alice, 
 after I have passed years in dreaming of our future — after 
 all my hopes and wishes have become unchangeably fixed 
 up jn you. You know all about me — my character, my tastes, 
 find disposition. If these are not displeasing to you, why 
 can you not say now whether you will be my wife or not ? '^ 
 ^' I can say now. I cannot be your wife, because I am 
 sure that I do not love you. Besides, I do not think that 
 I ' kuv)w all about you.' I have always felt as if we were 
 
144 THE senator's son. 
 
 not perfectly acquainted — as if each had traits of charac- 
 ter which the other did not understand — and with such 
 feelings, we could not be very happy." 
 
 ^' I think that I appreciate all the traits of your charac- 
 ter. Your loveliness and goodness have made too deep an 
 impression not to have been understood. That you can, 
 if you will, love truly and well, I know by your temper- 
 ament, and by your noble devotion to Parke. Only love 
 me half as much as you do him, and for the present I will 
 be content." 
 
 '^ I shall never love you, I am certain," replied the 
 young girl with a sigh, but still earnestly. 
 
 She felt that she should not, and she did not wish to 
 deceive him by kindness now at the expense of future dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 '^ But I shall wish to have you for my friend and 
 Parke's," she continued gently. 
 
 ^' Friend ! you know that I cannot be anything so luke- 
 warm — I must be more or less ! oh, Alice, the sunshine 
 has gone out of the sky, the fairness has fled from the 
 earth ! " 
 
 They were now in the city and nearly home. After a 
 pause he said again, in less disconsolate tones — 
 
 ^^ Do not think that I have given you up, Alice. I 
 cannot relinquish the hope of five years so easily. I shall 
 wait and wait, and love and aspire, until you are married 
 or dead, or gone to the Hebrides — or until you consent to 
 '.'6 my wife," 
 
THE senator's SON. 145 
 
 They were at the door. lie pressed her little hand 
 tightly as he lifted her from the carriage j and she went in, 
 wondering why love was not mutual always, and thinking 
 what a pity and sorrow it was for affection to be un- 
 requited. Still she could not school her heart to love 
 where it was not inclined. Love has dreams and ideals of 
 his own which he will pursue, nor turn aside to worship at 
 other shrines, though the gods upon the altars beckon with 
 imploring hands. 
 
 True to his purpose, x\lfred made no difference in his 
 habit of seeking the society of Alice. He came and went 
 every day, and it was generally believed among their ac- 
 quaintance, that when she laid aside her mourning they 
 would be married. Mrs. Crawford finally asked her about 
 it, and said she hoped it was so. Alice said she hoped not, 
 -and that it never would be ; but kept to herself that she 
 had refused the young gentleman. Parke knew it, how- 
 ever, for Alfred told him ; and he was very much grieved 
 and surprised, and ventured to remonstrate a little with his 
 sister. The strong influence which the subtler mind of 
 Clyde first gained over his companion seemed to increase 
 instead of decline. 
 
 Parke thought that to have Alice married to Alfred, 
 and keeping house, and he, living with them, in a nice, 
 quiet kind of a way, was a " consummation most devoutly 
 to be wished.'^ And ivh?/ she was not willing to make the 
 rest happy in so easy a way, was what he could not under- 
 stand ! 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The sunshine of a spring morning gilded the little pai 
 lor of Mrs. "Van Duyn. The light curtains were drawn 
 back, letting in a full sweep of fragrance through the win- 
 dows, where the May roses were peeping curiously in. The 
 sunshine and fragrance seemed to hover most around the 
 form of a fair girl who was giving a child of twelve a 
 lesson in German. A guitar in the corner was almost the 
 only article of luxury in the room. A neat chintz-covered 
 lounge, a little sewing-chair; a round table, on which was 
 a boquet of flowers, a few books, a beautiful porcelain 
 basket, and a piece of muslin embroidery which was in 
 progress ; an ottoman or two, likewise covered with chintz, 
 constituted the principle furniture. On the mantel were 
 some old-fashioned and expensive ornaments, which seemed 
 to have been brought from the Father-land ; and a painting 
 in oil, of a lovely German scene, hung upon the wall. 
 
 Mrs. Van Duyn was a widow of middle age, and hud 
 three or four children. Ilcr father had come to America 
 
THE senator's son. 147 
 
 when she was a baby. He had been a man of wealth and 
 education among the middle-classes of Germany ', and when 
 he settled near New York he had a competence. But he 
 had, too, a large family. The boys were sent to school and 
 received thorough educations ; the girls were also well in- 
 structed and accomplished in embroidery, singing, music, 
 French, and German. This daughter man*ied a prosperous 
 young emigrant from her own country, and received as a 
 marriage portion only the pictures and ornaments mentioned 
 above, and a tolerable set-out of clothes and furniture. She 
 was a happy, blooming, intelligent woman, lady-like and 
 accomplished ; and besides being a fair wife, she was the 
 beloved mother of several children — when her happiness 
 was suddenly cut short by the death of her husband. One 
 of the children, a sweet little girl, died soon after ; and for 
 a long time the widow strove with a great sorrow. But the 
 voices of her little flock called her back to do her duty to 
 them. With noble resignation she put aside the outward 
 expressions of mourning, and turned to the task of bringing 
 up a family of children alone, and in comparative poverty. 
 For the strong hand that had brought plenty and comfort 
 was mouldering in dust; and although there was their 
 pretty cottage-home and little lot of ground a few miles 
 from the city, and money in the bank, yet the income from 
 all was insufficient. The cottage made a charming home ; 
 the brothers one or two of them came forward with cheer- 
 fully-offered assistance; so that poverty never did really 
 pass Mrs. Van Duyn's threshold. It had stood there some 
 
148 THE senator's son. 
 
 hard winters and peeped in, but some kind relative would 
 step up and drive it away. The eldest of her children was 
 a girl, Lucy, the one now grown into a maiden of eighteen, 
 who sat by the window giving a lesson to her younger sister. 
 She was a lovely and spirited-looking girl. Her face would 
 not have been so charming, but for its expression of intel- 
 lect and refinement. She had the brown eye peculiar to a 
 class of Germans — large, soft, and expressive; a noble 
 forehead, a profusion of dark hair, neatly arranged, and a 
 mouth that would have been too large for beauty, were it 
 not so perfectly lovable, frank, and sweet, and adorned with 
 such an enviable set of teeth. The smooth German accents 
 fell from her lips with delicious richness, and the sympa- 
 thizing smile with which she encouraged her scholar to at- 
 tempt them was doubtless a greater aid than some teachers 
 may imagine. 
 
 Katy, the youngest, was peeping in to see if sister Lucy 
 could not come and do up her sun-bonnet, for she wanted 
 to run down to the meadow below the garden and look at 
 the tiny fishes in the water, and mother would not let her 
 go out in the sun without her bonnet. It may be that the 
 whole family were a little too careful of the fair complexion 
 of little Katy, so becoming to her blue eyes and golden hair. 
 Lucy promised to attend to the matter within five minutes ; 
 and was proceeding with her lesson, when the quick clatter 
 of hoofs down the road caused her to look out the rose- 
 laden window. She had only time to note a fiery steed and 
 a youthful rider looking bravely in the spring sunshine; 
 
THE senator's &0N. 149 
 
 when tlie spirited animal, frightened at the sudden appa- 
 rition of little Willy Van Duyn swinging on the gate, with 
 a flaming soldier-cap on his head, and a piece of Katy's red 
 dress for a banner, sprang with a bound so unexpected, that 
 the careless rider, wondering who was concealed by the rose- 
 curtains of that pretty cottage, came with terrible force to 
 the ground. The horse galloped madly away; and little 
 Willy, throwing down his mischievous flag, rushed into the 
 house. 
 
 ^' The man is killed, I'm certain, sister Lucy, for he lies 
 so still ! " 
 
 She had raised from her chair with a cry when she saw 
 him fall ; now trembling with alarm, she called her mother, 
 and they ran out to see what was to be done. Surely, the 
 unfortunate rider did appear to be killed. His head had 
 struck a large stone by the side of the road, and he lay 
 dead or insensible were he fell. 
 
 Lucy burst into tears, not knowing what else to do. 
 Her mother, more composed, but pale, tried to decide upon 
 something that might avail him. 
 
 "He maybe only senseless," she said; "but he will 
 die, lying there. You and I can never get him into the 
 house in the world ; and there is'nt a man, that I know of, 
 within a mile. Willy ! Willy ! run to the nearest house 
 and ask them to come ; or if you meet any one on the way, 
 send them." 
 
 Willy ran ofi", and the mother continued — 
 
 " It is dreadful to see his head lying there bleeding in 
 
150 THE SENATOH'S SON. 
 
 the dust. Sit down upon the stone, Lucy, and lift it upon 
 your lap, while I get a bandage and the camphor." Lucy 
 sat down with a slight shudder, and raised the poor head 
 tenderly. The pale and youthful features were stained with 
 blood, and the rich masses of light-brown hair were clogged 
 with the same. 
 
 ^' So young — so gay — so unprepared ! Oh, I wonder 
 who he is, and where his friends are. I wonder if there 
 will never be any help — he will die." 
 
 Little help there was for some time, except that INIrs. 
 Van Duyn bathed his face with camphor and washed the 
 blood from his wounds. After a while, two gentlemen came 
 along in a buggy, and stopping, carried him in and laid him 
 upon the bed in a little room off the parlor. They were 
 going on into the city, and after doing what they could, 
 promised to send a physician immediately. As they were 
 strangers, the lady gave them the name of an eminent Doc- 
 tor, and they drove rapidly away. In about an hour, dur- 
 ing which time the young man had uttered two or three 
 feeble moans, the physician arrived. 
 
 ^' Is it possible ! " he muttered ; ^^ why this is young 
 Madison! I know him well — distinguished family — a 
 little wild, but very superior young person, very — pity if 
 he should die — break his sister's heart — do'nt ^hink he 
 will though. No — no," as he proceeded with his cxamina- 
 nation — " no danger of that — a fracture, but slight — 
 slight." 
 
 Here the young gentleman began to recover a conscious- 
 
THE senator's SON. 151 
 
 ness of his calamity, and to groan so as to drive the color 
 from Lucy's face. But she was obliged to assist the Doc- 
 tor, and did it so firmly and well that he praised her for- 
 titude. 
 
 " Young lady of some nerve — good — most ladies have 
 too many nerves but no control. How's this ? arm broken 
 — upon my word — hu77ierus — that's what he's groaning 
 ibout. We must attend to this, Madam, really." 
 
 It was a happy thing for Parke Madison, since he fell 
 from his horse, that it should be before the door of Mrs. 
 Van Duyn's cottage; that is, unless he could have been 
 thrown especially before his own door. Mj"^. Van Duyn 
 was the best of nurses, and so convinced the physician of 
 her skill, that he was content to leave his patient with her, 
 while he rode back to the city to attend to other engage- 
 ments. 
 
 "Be delirious — have fever for two or three days — bo 
 kept quiet — be here some time, I'm afraid, but fine fellow, 
 and will know how to repay kindness. Upon my word ! 
 couldn't have dropped into a better bed ! " 
 
 He glanced admiringly around the neat apartment — at 
 the refined-looking widow and her young daughter — and 
 out into the little parlor at the Father-Land painting. 
 
 " Shall bring Miss Madison with me this afternoon. 
 She won't be kept from her brother, I know — lovely girl !" 
 
 Taking his hat and gold-headed cane. Doctor D 
 
 returned to his carriage. In the meantime Parke's horse had 
 galloped on until tired, and then drew up before a gate sev- 
 
152 THE senator's son. 
 
 eral miles distant, to wliich he was tied by tlie proprietor of 
 the grounds until something should be heard from his owner. 
 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon Doctor D 
 
 returned, and with him came Alice. The first she had 
 heard of the accident was from him. He was Mr. Craw- 
 ford's family-physician, and knew the young lady well. He 
 told her that he should not permit the rest of Parke's 
 friends to see him at present, but she might go along with 
 him, if she would be a good girl, and not make any confu- 
 sion. Assuring the anxious Mrs. Crawford that there was 
 no danger of anything but a run of fever, and that her boy 
 was in the best of hands, he took Alice into his carriage, 
 and they soon arrived at the cottage. Despite of his assur- 
 ances, she had her secret fears, and her strength so com- 
 pletely left her, that he was obliged to carry her into the 
 house like a baby. 
 
 '' This little girl is not as brave as you. Miss Yan 
 Duyn," said the good doctor, as he sat his burden down on 
 the lounge. 
 
 " No wonder you are alarmed," said Lucy, gently unty- 
 ing the stranger's bonnet. " But there is nothing to fear 
 — I am sure we may all have confidence in the assertion of 
 
 Doctor D ." Here, having removed the bonnet, 
 
 and seeing a beautiful, pale face, with a pair of trembling 
 lips and beseeching eyes, with the impulse of her affection- 
 ate nature she kissed the agitated girl and said more kind 
 words. 
 
 "Where is he ?" was Alice's first inquiry. 
 
THE senator's SON. 153 
 
 " He is in this room. My mother is with him, and the 
 doctor says we must be quiet. I am sure you will be still- 
 ness itself ! Come, let me help you." 
 
 She passed her arm around Alice's waist and they went 
 softly in. The latter could hardly repress a cry when she 
 saw her brother so dreadfully white, his head bandaged up, 
 and his arm splintered, lying with closed eyes upon the bed, 
 seemingly nearly unconscious, except an occasional moan. 
 Mrs. Van Duyn sat by the bed-side. Faint and trembling, 
 Alice clung to her companion. 
 
 " My poor brother I " she whispered. 
 
 Lucy led her out to the dining-room, made her drink a 
 glass of water and compose herself; then she gave her the 
 particulars of the accident in the gentlest manner. 
 
 Parke was delirious for several days and his fever ran 
 high. Alice remained with him constantly — the only 
 sleep she took was upon the chintz sofa, in the adjoining 
 parlor Mrs. Van Duyn nursed him as carefully as if he 
 had not been a stranger, cast by accident upon her kindness. 
 
 At last he was slowly recovering. Never had an inva- 
 lid so delightful a convalescence. Lucy and Alice had 
 formed a friendship which was both natural and pleasing 
 between two girls so nearly of an age, and of such excellent 
 minds and accomplishments. Each considered the acquaint- 
 ance of the other a new store-house of delight, and they re- 
 gretted that the time must arrive for one to return to her 
 own home, much as they rejoiced at the well-doing of their 
 charge. When Parke got so that he could be moved to the 
 
154 THE senator's son. 
 
 sofa, and lie there nearly all day, listening to the conversa- 
 tion of the young girls, and plucking June roses to pieces 
 with his attenuated fingers, scattering the bloomy showers 
 over the carpet for Lucy to brush up, one might have 
 thought that with an easy carriage and a few pillows he 
 could get back to town. But neither he nor his sister had 
 any inclination. They were enjoying themselves very 
 much ; and as Mrs. Van Buyn had given them a ready per- 
 mission to stay as long as they liked, they were in no haste 
 to depart. 
 
 Lucy touched the guitar with melodious fingers; and 
 sang almost as sweetly as Alice. Her voice was of a differ- 
 ent quality, and she could accompany her friend's singing 
 with a deep, sweet alto. These two harmonious voices 
 mingled with the tinkling of the guitar, and, heard in the 
 long June twilight, seemed to Parke, whose senses were re- 
 fined by sickness, a music more of heaven or of dreams than 
 of earth. 
 
 He did not wish to get any better than he was — at 
 least for two or three year:-. It was so pleasant to lie with 
 his head in Alice's lap, her loving fingers thridding his 
 curls, while Lucy sat near them busy with her embroidery, 
 or flattered his poor appetite with strawberries, gathered by 
 her own hands fresh from the garden, with real cream to 
 make them more delicious. It may be that he sometimes 
 fretted because it could not occur that Lucy should hold his 
 head, while Alice gathered the berries ; but was this so, he 
 kept it to himself. There was such nobility in the cxprcs- 
 
THE senator's son. 155 
 
 sion of Miss Van Duyn, such dignity and grace in her ges- 
 tures, that Parke reverenced while he admired. He won- 
 dered how such a regal flower could blossom in this cottage- 
 home. But the child had only the same nobility as her 
 mother, except that it now appeared in more youthful guise ; 
 perchance, too, the trials of the parent had strengthened and 
 developed the attributes of her own and daughter's mind. 
 
 There was no longer any excuse for lingering in the 
 country ; and Mrs. Crawford was so impatient to get her 
 children back again, that they were obliged to go. 
 
 The price paid for their board had made the stay of the 
 brother and sister a pecuniary gain to the widow, and after 
 the first discomfort of the illness was over, she had enjoyed 
 their society very much. The young couple loved her for 
 her motherly kindness as well as for her good sense and ac- 
 complishments. The children were desperately attached to 
 Alice, and cried heartily when she went away. And Willy, 
 whose red banner had caused such a serious accident, did 
 not know who would any longer carve him ships to sail in 
 the rain-barrel, or whistles to pierce the surrounding air, or 
 puzzle-boxes which all his ingenuity could not open, but that 
 when they did get open were sure to hold five-cent pieces. 
 Thinking of these things, as he saw Parke helped into the 
 carriage, he, too, was disconsolate, and lifted up his voice 
 and wept. 
 
 However, these partings were not without hope. It was 
 not a week before the Madisons were back to spend the day. 
 That was a great day in the cottage history. All the chil- 
 
156 THE senator's son. 
 
 dren bad presents, and were given a holiday from their les- 
 sons. Alice brought Mrs. Van Duyn a handsome black- 
 silk dress pattern to persuade her to let Lucy go back with 
 them and spend a week in the city. 
 
 Such a dinner the towns folks declared they never got 
 at home ! Coffee was jiiade, because it was such a luxury 
 with pure cream. The strawberries had vanished, but there 
 was honey tempting to look upon as the crystal sweetness 
 dripped from the delicate cells. The tender green-peas, the 
 sweet-corn, and the chickens smothered in cream, were the 
 better for being the earliest. After dinner they passed the 
 afternoon out in the meadow, under the shadow of a huge 
 oak, and by the border of the creek now dwindled to a 
 brook that Willy could leap across. Here Parke contrived 
 to make Katy fall into the water, and she had to be sent to 
 the house for a dry frock. He atoned for the misfortune by 
 completing her toilet when she returned with a string of 
 corals, which he fastened about her pretty neck by their 
 golden clasp. The long, bright hours rolled by ; they 
 stayed to tea ; and a moonlight ride home, accompanied by 
 Lucy, crowned the enjoyment of the day. 
 
 - Lucy Yan Duyn's week in the city was a happy one. 
 It was not the season for gayety, but there were plenty of 
 things to be seen and enjoyed. There was good music in 
 the evening, and picture-galleries, and works of art for the 
 day. She had seen and heard a great deal before ; but in 
 the enthusiastic company of her young companions, all was 
 doubly appreciated. 
 
THE senator's SON. 157 
 
 Alfred Clyde took Alice into his own care, so that Parke 
 could give his undivided attention to their guest. 
 
 Lucy, who had become acquainted with him at her own 
 house, where he visited the invalid often, also suspected, 
 with the rest of the world, that there was an engagement 
 between him and her friend. His manner was decidedly 
 that of an accepted lover, and Alice's demeanor was re- 
 garded as only timid. Lucy would have felt lonely when 
 she returned home, had not the children been so crazy with 
 joy to get her back, and her mother welcomed her so affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 That she did have many lonely hours through the rest 
 of the summer was true ) for in a few weeks, the Crawfords 
 went to Saratoga, then in the heighth of its glory, and took 
 with them the Madisons and Mr. Clyde. The circle of her 
 associates sprang back to its old dimensions, and though her 
 own dear family were all there, how small it seemed, and 
 how much brightness it had lost. She had a letter every 
 week from Alice, with messages from the rest, and these 
 were a great happiness. 
 
 Alfred Clyde would not have thought it consistent to 
 permit Alice Madison to enter the splendid crowds at Sara- 
 too-a, to be admired and coveted, unless he were present like 
 her shadow, intimating to all others that his right to her 
 favor was exclusive. She was too artless to think anything 
 about this, and as she had rather have his attentions than 
 those of strangers, she permitted him to linger by her side, 
 without much care for the opinions of the throng, with 
 14 
 
158 THE senator's son. 
 
 whom she mingled but little, and that with no attempt 
 at display. She still wore mourning for her ever-remem- 
 bered mother, and would not and could not be made a 
 belle of. 
 
 Parke, on the contrary, was a distinguished beaux ; and 
 Alfred would have been, if his devotion to one person would 
 have permitted it. The young ladies were divided in their 
 admiration of the pair of friends. Parke was the hand- 
 somest, and interesting from being something of an invalid ; 
 while Alfred had a Spanish look that was adorable. 
 
 One appeared consumptive, and the other had such eyes 
 as ought to belong to a Spanish-bandit of the mountains 
 who turns out to be a lord in disguise ; so that both were 
 perfectly fascinating. Their fortunes being nearly the same, 
 there was still a balance of favor on account of the distin- 
 guished name of Madison which was set off by a report of 
 the romantic southern origin of Clyde. Both dashed into 
 the highest of the high-life of the Springs ; kept their spaij 
 of mettlesome horses each ; and took the ladies to ride in 
 their own elegant barouches. Both paid for exquisite sere- 
 nades, and were lavish of fresh boqucts. And when it be- 
 came suspected how much they both expended for cham- 
 pagne, Mr. Crawford became uneasy about going home, and 
 Alice was feverish to depart. Mrs. Crawford was ready to 
 acquiesce in the wishes of the rest : the young gentlciii ii 
 would not remain without them, and all suddenly van:.<li. 1 
 from Saratoga, leaving a dreary blank in Iheir brilliant 
 place. 
 
THE senator's SON. 159 
 
 One day in the latter part of August, Lucy Yan Duyn 
 sat in the old seat by the front window. The roses were all 
 gone now, but the green leaves still made a grateful curtain, 
 wooing every passing breath of air. Her hands were folded 
 idly in her lap — her eyes looked dreamily out upon the 
 dusty road — her whole attitude expressed utter uncon- 
 sciousness to surrounding objects. She had been sketching, 
 and her drawing-materials lay upon the round-table. The 
 sultriness of the weather justified any amount of indolence 
 even in the industrious Lucy, but it did not account for the 
 shade of melancholy upon that usually serene brow. Per- 
 haps it was the shadow of the vines, leaves trailing to and 
 fro across her face as if in love with its fairness, which gave 
 it so pensive an expression. So wholly was she absorbed in 
 reverie that she did not see the carriage which crossed di- 
 rectly her angle of vision until it drew up at the little gate. 
 Pit-a-pat ! went her heart against her white boddice, and a 
 glow rich with emotion shot into her clear cheeks. Gay 
 laughter out of door and light feet running up the walk so 
 confused her that she could only rise to her feet and stand 
 waiting the expected entrance. 
 
 " Dear Lucy ! we are all home again, and the first thing 
 Parke and I have done, is to come and see you ! " 
 
 Alice Madison stood in the room, looking bright and 
 beautiful despite of six miles of suff"ocating dust. Behind 
 her came her brother j but as Lucy had first to give the 
 sister half-a-dozen kisses, and be clasped a full minute in 
 her arms, she had time to send the foolish heart down to 
 
160 THE senator's SON. 
 
 its proper place, before she held out her hand to mm. It 
 was a brilliant face, though, that she turned to him ; brill- 
 iant, even with the eyes hidden beneath their long fringes ; 
 and when the next moment, she lifted them, their soft fire 
 kindled a great glow in the bosom of the young man. 
 
 ^' We left Saratoga two weeks before we expected, and 
 as I had no time to write you about it, we thought we 
 would surprise you by a visit, before you should hear of our 
 return," said Alice, taking off her hat and gloves. 
 
 " A delightful surprise \" replied Lucy, carrying away 
 the mantilla and bonnet to the bed-room, where her visitors 
 followed to brush off a portion of the dust accumulated 
 upon them. 
 
 ^' Dear mother," cried Lucy, as Mrs. Van Duyn came 
 in from the arbor, where she had been sitting with her sow- 
 ing; ^' we have some guests — can you guess?" She had 
 hardly time to exercise her skill in guessing, and not being 
 a Yankee, except by adoption, she might not have made out 
 very well ; but a pair of arms about her neck, and a sweet 
 kiss, answered for her. She returned Alice's embrace with 
 the most affectionate earnestness. 
 
 " I think your sojourn at the springs has done you good 
 — you look well for such warm weather — better than when 
 you went away," she remarked with a motherly look at the 
 young girl. 
 
 " It must be because I am so happy to get home, then ; 
 I assure you it is a tiresome place at Saratoga. I would 
 not go again, if I wished to escape with life. I was 
 
THE senator's SON. 161 
 
 drowned — I was suffocated — I was starved — I was per- 
 secuted by day and night ; no rest, no peace. Melted by 
 day and kept awake all night by serenades. It was amus- 
 ing though to see the people ! Oh, Lucy, if you could only 
 go to Saratoga, and feast your eyes upon its fantastic mul- 
 titude!" 
 
 '^ It has not done you any harm to go there, I know,'' 
 replied Lucy, gazing admiringly upon her friend. '^ Des- 
 pite of your persecutions, you have escaped wath several 
 pounds more of very rosy flesh, and a little gain of spirits 
 too.'' 
 
 Here Parke entered from the bed-room, and was wel- 
 comed by Mrs. Van Buyn. His gratitude for her care 
 during his illness, and his respect for her fine qualities, 
 amounted to a goodly degree of affection, while she really 
 loved him. Of course his health had to be discussed, as it 
 was still delicate when he went away, and now did not ap- 
 pear much improved. The widow had some suspicion of 
 the cause of his transparent complexion and the feverish 
 brightness of his dark-blue eye. Rumors of dissipated 
 habits had reached her, and she now looked from his da^- 
 zlingly handsome countenance, to the face of her own child, 
 with anxiety. What she read in both caused a feeling of 
 uneasiness. 
 
 ^' You are an artist are you ? " said Alice, in pleased 
 surprise, taking up a sketch from the table ; for she had 
 not been acquainted with her friend's talents in that way. 
 
 "Oh! I had forgotten!" cried Lucy, blushing with 
 14* 
 
/ 
 
 162 THE senator's son. 
 
 more than the vividness of an artist's modesty, and spring- 
 ing for her drawings. They were akeady in the hands of 
 Miss Madison. 
 
 '^ Look, Parke ! here is a likeness of you — and per- 
 fect!'' 
 
 '^ I do not think it as good as this one of i/ou .'" said 
 Lucy, presenting the one she spoke of. 
 
 But all present declared the representation of the bro- 
 ther to be the best — although both were admirable. 
 
 ^' You must give me this sketch of my brother ; it is so 
 very natural ; and with his ' happiest expression ' too. That 
 earnest soul looking out of an eye that smiles with its own 
 beauty — that saucy curl floating over upon the temple — and 
 that half-gay, half-proud curve of the lip, are all Parke's." 
 
 " You flatter me, Allie," laughed he. 
 
 '' Since I can make another easily, you may have that," 
 said the artist. "But what do you think of this?" 
 
 She took out of a little box upon the table a miniature, 
 exquisitely painted upon ivory, of a female face. 
 
 "Did you really do it?" cried Alice; '^ why, you 
 witch ! to never tell me you could do such delightful 
 things." 
 
 " Whose likeness is it?" asked Parke. 
 
 " I do not know the lady, except as a sitter. I some- 
 times paint these miniatures for the pecuniary reward they 
 bring, as well as the pleasure of doing them. " Else," and 
 she colored and smiled, '^ how should I have fit dresses in 
 which to visit my city acquaintance?" 
 
THE senator's SON. 163 
 
 " Tins will be a fine excuse for me to stay a week and 
 get my picture done for a locket/' said Parke. 
 
 " And for me to stay three, and get mine/' added 
 Alice. 
 
 "I am sure we can make a satisfactory arrangement" 
 was the smiling reply. Here the children trooped in to be 
 welcomed and caressed, and the drawings were put away. 
 
 Lucy could have shown Parke another lilceness of him- 
 self, already finished on ivory ; but as it was something she 
 kept for her own especial delight, she said nothing about 
 it now. 
 
 When the visitors arose to depart, they perceived that a 
 thunder-shower was coming rapidly up. So the horses were 
 driven down the lane under shelter, and Mrs. Van Duyn 
 had the pleasure of setting her tea-table for guests. The 
 etorm was a real August storm, brief and wild. The wind 
 tore the clinging vines from the window, and kid the tall 
 corn in the garden all aslant. Darkness swept forward on 
 rushing wings, which seemed to pause just overhead; its 
 garments were torn every moment by lightning, and its 
 wings wounded by flaming swords. Every time the light- 
 nino- smote, its voice was heard ; first in far and solemn 
 reverberations, then sharp and startling in the surrounding 
 air. As long as Mrs. Van Duyn would permit them, the 
 girls stood, their arms encircling each other, upon the little 
 portico off the dining-room, watching with half-fearful de- 
 light the magnificence of the western sky. But when the 
 storm came immediately overhead, and largo drops of rain 
 
1G4 THE senator's son. 
 
 and hail dashed across the porch, she made them come in 
 and close the door. 
 
 ^^ They who put their trust in the Lord, need have no 
 fear/' she said. " Still it is not well to mock at danger." 
 
 So the girls went in and sat down near the centre of the 
 room, with their pretty feet drawn up to the rungs of their 
 chairs, looking upon each other gravely through the gloom, 
 and listening with awe and pleasure to the close and deep 
 rolling thunder. 
 
 " I can never think of anything but the words of the 
 grand old Prophets during a storm like this," said Alice, in 
 one of the pauses. " Their voices alone equal in sublimity 
 the voice of Nature as she speaks through her thunders." 
 
 '^ Byron's famous description of a storm amid the Alp:^, 
 always recurs to me," answered Lucy. " Its majestic lines 
 seem to roll and reverberate with the very music he heard 
 amid the mountains j and they shine in grandly with tiie 
 roar of the elements. But above all, and in all, seems tlio 
 prevailing Spirit of God." 
 
 " What do you think of, Parke ? you love a scene like 
 this, do you not?" asked Alice of her brother, who h.jd 
 retreated long ago to the lounge, and laid with his face 
 buried in the pillows. 
 
 A sharper flash, a louder peal, a fresh sweep of winds, 
 and a wilder rattle of hail, deafened all ears, and prevented 
 the necessity of reply. Ah ! Parke little cared to reply to 
 that question I For guilt is always cowardly ; and never, 
 since he broke the vow he vowed to a dying mother, could 
 
THE senator's SON. 165 
 
 the young man take pleasure in a thunder-storm. The 
 lightning to him seemed a sword of vengeance, and the 
 thunder a voice calling upon him in threatening accents for 
 atonement. He would fain have flown from both ; but as 
 that was impossible, he could only lie pale and trembling, 
 thinking of his mother's grave, of an offended God, and of 
 judgment. Had he convinced himself of the sincerity of 
 his repentance by the innocence of his life now, he might 
 have heard tones of hope and mercy as well as reproach. 
 But he was going farther and farther every day from good, 
 and conscience in such moments asserted her mute power. 
 The storm swept on towards the east, and again the doors 
 were thrown open, and the little party gathered on the por- 
 tico. What a delicious change its brief visit had wrought I 
 The air was cool and fragrant — the unhealthy heat was 
 gone — the fields sparkled with rain, and there was no fear 
 of being smothered in dust during the ride home. But the 
 west ! the west ! what a gorgeous sky was there ! swim- 
 ming and melting in a sea of azure, crimson and gold, the 
 light clouds floated, like white swans in a silver sea, or birds 
 of Paradise in Eden's amber air. 
 
 Parke could look now with composure ; but his features 
 still wore the marks of his secret struggle. 
 
 Tea was eaten with an appetite. When the carriage 
 came round to the door, the sun was just sitting amid pur- 
 ple clouds, and a young moon lifted her silver brow timidly 
 from the orient. With a promise to return soon and talk 
 over the matter of the pictures, the Madisons drove away. 
 
9/-- 
 
 166 THE senator's son. 
 
 As the horses sped lightly along through the clear twilight, 
 overcome by the beauty of the hour and the fervor of his 
 late emotions, Parke dropped his head upon his sister's 
 shoulder, while the tears ran swiftly down his cheeks. It 
 was the first time in months that he had wept, though the 
 tears used to gather on his eye-lids easily as on a girl's. 
 AYeakuess was that ? yes the weakness of a heart not hard- 
 ened — a heart full of sympathy, laughing with the gay, 
 weeping with mourners, as hearts were made to do. Since 
 habits of dissipation had come upon him, and he had grown 
 familiar with the words of contempt and ridicule hurled at 
 goodness by reckless youth, tears had been less frequent vis- 
 itors. Perhaps the vision of that noble and pure girl who 
 stood at the gate with the sunset radiance illuminating her 
 brown eyes and tinging her roseate cheeks — whose soft 
 good-bye still lingered in his ear — had a good deal to do 
 with this melting down of his heart. 
 
 Alice did not observe that he was weeping, but the 
 touch of his head upon her shoulder called up the olden 
 times when there was nothing but innocent, unquestioning 
 pleasure in the bosoms of each, when in each other's society. 
 Her love for him was still unchanged. Every wound he 
 inflicted by his misconduct seemed to incite deeper love, as 
 it awoke pity and forgiveness. The evening breezes blew 
 the curls from his temples against her face — one of his 
 hands she held in her's — her eyes were fixed upon Hespe- 
 rus, who, large and bright, shone in the still faintly-glowing 
 west. 
 
THE senator's son. 167 
 
 " Parke ! that star is so serene, so brilliant, so gentle, 
 I can liken it to nothing but our mother's spirit. I can 
 imagine that she is standing there in the sky, smiling upon 
 us, holding one silver-white hand upward, and with the 
 other beckoning to us.'' 
 
 ^' Smiling upon you Allie; but not upon me ! I dare 
 not raise my eyes to it," he replied, his glance following the 
 wheel-marks along the road, instead of Alice's look. She 
 heard him weeping, and hardly dared to comfort him ) for 
 his promises were so often made and so often broken, that 
 she almost dreaded to hear him renew them. She kissed 
 his hand and his forehead, and he felt her tears falling 
 warm among his curls, but she said nothing. 
 
 Many and many times were scenes like these enacted ; 
 when it seemed as if a " broken and contrite spirit" was 
 about to offer acceptable sacrifices upon the altar. 
 
 But darker clouds ever swept on over the glimpses of 
 sunshine, until it seemed as if there never again would be a 
 day of brightness and beauty. 
 
 The miniatures upon ivory were began and completed ; 
 but a shadow rested on the brows of the painter and her 
 bitters — it hovered around the easel and flitted over the 
 pullet — it was not always there, but often — none spoke 
 of it, but all felt its weight. It affected the pictures too. 
 I> ) all she could to give it the beaming smile of Alice, th-j 
 nrh'st could not do away with the melancholy in the eyes 
 jiii.l at the corners of the mouth in her picture. As fi-r 
 l\irke, Lucy gave up trying to satisfy herself with his 
 
168 THE senator's son. 
 
 present expressions either of excessive gayety or spiritless 
 fatigue, and painted from her old sketch of him, taken when 
 his physical powers, weakened by illness, were held in 
 bonds by the soul. 
 
 There was a musical and golden vein of poetry flowing 
 through Parke's nature, that leaped into light in his very 
 darkest hours, and would show itself in an hundred spark- 
 ling shapes in as many moments. So that when dull after 
 an excess, or just warmed enough with wine to be eloquent, 
 or when in the full tide of a riot, he preserved always some 
 glimpse of his original character. 
 
 In his palmy days, those days when the family dwelt 
 upon the farm, and those passed during convalescence in the 
 society of the Van Duyn's, he could make himself indescrib- 
 ably interesting in conversation, and agreeable as an associ- 
 ate. His father had been distinguished for wit ; and the 
 son transcended him ; to wit he added sensibility, humor, 
 and pathos, in a high degree. 
 
 His memory was stored with graceful anecdotes and 
 bright snatches of poetry — with stray bits of sentiment and 
 little tragedies in one act — with fanciful facts and happy 
 illustrations — all of which came from his lips with a winning 
 and genial grace. Now the spell came over him but seldom. 
 His dark-blue eye, instead of being fixed upon your face witb 
 that clear and sparkling glance, had a downcast and uneasy 
 expression, and the laugh, once so thrilling with its conta- 
 gious mirth, was short and mocking. No wonder that the 
 two girls lost some of their happiness in his society. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ^'^ Good-bye, dear mother ; I shall come home every 
 weekj if I can. Good-bye, Katy, darling. Good-bye, Wil- 
 lie/' cried Lucy Van Duyn, with a kiss for them all, as 
 muffled in hood and cloak she came forth from the cottage, 
 
 A trunk was already in the sleigh ; John, the driver, 
 and a goodly pile of lined bufialo-robes, took up nearly all the 
 rest of the room ; so that there was just a place left for the 
 bundle of wrappings, with Lucy inside, which was lastly 
 added to its contents. Ugh I how cold it was ! too cold for 
 Alice to venture out, who was not very well ; so she had sent 
 John with the pleasant commission to bring back Miss Van 
 Duyn, who was to stay with her at least two months. This 
 had long been arranged between them, provided Lucy could 
 make up her mind to leave her mother so lonely; and as 
 Alice had promised that she might spend a day at home 
 every week, this was concluded very satisfactorily. 
 
 The cold made the spirited horses doubly fleet, and a 
 15 
 
170 THE senator's SON. 
 
 very short time after the good-byes were spokcii, the bundle 
 of wrappings and the trunk were set down in the hall of 
 Mr. Crawford's mansion. Alice appeared from the parlor, 
 looking very glad, and helped bring down the pyramid of 
 cloaks until her entombed friend was brought to view, smil- 
 ing and serene, not the least bit bitten by the frost — not 
 even her pretty nose. She then led her in to Mrs. Craw- 
 ford, who welcomed her warmly, and who was really very 
 glad that her daughter was going to have a companion, who 
 might do something towards calling back the roses to her 
 face and the laughter to her lips. For Alice was growing 
 sad — not the sacred sadness which mourned once for a 
 newly-lost mother — but a restless, pining melancholy, that 
 seemed fretting into her health. It did not disturb her 
 temper, except to make her more patient and less gay; 
 over that, which was too gentle to need much governing, she 
 still had sweet control. 
 
 The young ladies had plenty with which to busy them- 
 selves. It was near the holidays ; and Mrs. Crawford was 
 bent upon giving a party on New Year's Eve. They inter- 
 ested themselves in her arrangements — there were some 
 new dresses to be made — and Lucy painted Mr. and Mrs. 
 Crawford's miniatures, by means of the liberal reward for 
 which she was enabled to purchase a suitable evening toilet. 
 
 Besides all of this, Alice was composing some music, 
 for which she had always shown genius, and was capable 
 of doing more than passably well. They were nut inter- 
 
THE senator's son. 171 
 
 ru2:)ted mucli, evenings, for Alfred Clyde did not visit them 
 as often as formerly, and Parke seldom came in until after 
 they had retired. Once or twice during the week he might 
 remain at home with them ; but his eye was heavy, his 
 manner constrained. 
 
 Despite of all this business, they could not " drive dull 
 care away." If Alice wore a dejected look, Lucy's was as 
 spiritless ; it was as often the latter whose heavy sigh first 
 startled an unconscious response. Yet there was no confi- 
 dence between the two on the subject of their grief, except 
 the mute sympathy of looks. 
 
 New Year's Eve came, finding Mrs. Crawford's rooms 
 a-blaze with light, and wearing a festive air in honor of ex- 
 pected guests. The girls were in their chambers, taking a 
 last peep into the mirror before going down. Mrs. Craw- 
 ford, who had finished dressing, was giving them that care- 
 ful survey befitting her important responsibility in bringing 
 out two such beautiful young ladies. She might well look 
 satisfied and happy ; there was but one fault to be found 
 with her youthful friends, and that was that both wore a 
 grave and anxious expression little befitting the gayety of 
 the occasion. She begged of them to look a little more an- 
 imated ; and to please her they tried hard, but down would 
 drop the corners of the mouth the next moment, and the 
 delicate brows would settle into gravity. Both wore ele- 
 gant dresses of white. Lucy's sleeves were looped and fast- 
 ened with two old-fashioned jewels which were heir-looms 
 
172 THE senator's son. 
 
 in her family ; her hair was braided in a rich coiffure bj 
 Mrs. Crawford's dressing-maid, and its dark beauty set oft 
 by one or two white flowers. 
 
 The back of Alice's hair was prettily knotted, and the 
 rest fell in lovely curls down either cheek. As her friend, 
 being taller and more queenly in her look, wore the came- 
 lias, she contented herself with a few rose-buds from a rare 
 tree which blossomed in the conservatory. 
 
 The fans and delicate handkerchiefs were ready to be 
 taken up, when there came a light knock at the door. Alice 
 hastened to open it, and there stood Parke, looking more 
 like himself than she had seen him for weeks, and in fine 
 spirits. He brought two costly bouquets, which he handed 
 to his sister, designating which one he had caused to be 
 made up for Lucy. It was wonderful to see how both the 
 ladies brightened up ; the anxious expression fled, and they 
 went down to the parlors as happy as they were fair. A 
 dread lest Parke should appear in a condition to disgrace 
 himself and others had been the secret of their sadness; 
 and now to see him so well and bright was the removing of 
 a weight which allowed their spirits to rebound with more 
 than their usual buoyancy. 
 
 The evening was pleasant to all ; to most of the guests 
 delightful. Little Mrs. Crawford, as we have said before, 
 had no children to occupy her mind, and as it was naturally 
 inclined to such matters, she excelled the most of her five 
 hundred friends in the arrangements of all kinds of parties 
 from a ball to a pic-nic. 
 
THE SENATORS SON. I/O 
 
 Alice was always urged for music — not tliat she had to 
 be urged — hut people were never satisfied when she had 
 given them as much as she thought she had a right to. 
 After singing several times, she declined to sing again ; but 
 she played an accompaniment while Lucy, who only had a 
 knowledge of the guitar, sang these words : 
 
 Return ! return ! a voice is calling, 
 
 I hear it down the stormy sky, 
 Distant and sweet the tones are falling 
 
 Like silver dew distilled on high. 
 It is an angel-mother crying 
 
 Unto a lost and wandering child — 
 *' From heaven — from me, why art thou flying ? 
 
 Dash down — dash down the wine-cup wild ! " 
 
 Return ! return ! I hear her praying, 
 
 A sister on her bended knee. 
 " Where are thy poor feet darkly straying? — 
 
 Return to happiness, and me." 
 Her tears and smiles so sweetly beaming 
 
 Call thee from the alluring way ; 
 False is the light before thee gleaming — 
 
 Dash down ! dash down the wine-cup gay ! 
 
 Return ! return ! they faint and falter. 
 
 Those accents with such son-ow breathe ; 
 Dash down the wine on pleasure's altar, 
 
 Tear from thy brow the glowing wreatli ! 
 It is a maiden pale who calls thee — 
 
 *' Come back, to love, to hope, to light! " 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE senator's son. 
 
 Break from the shining chain that thralls thee — 
 Dash down ! dash down the wine-cup bright ! 
 
 Return ! return ! it is the pleading 
 
 Of Jesus with a wandering lamb. 
 How darest thou still stray on, unheeding 
 
 That voice rebuking, heavenly-calm ? 
 Ah ! soon will cease the loving warning — 
 
 The sainted mother lose her child ! 
 And thou be left to angel's scorning — 
 
 Dash down ! dash down the wine-cup wild ! 
 
 Her voice quivered a little through the first verse, but 
 after that she sang with thrilling sweetness and power. She 
 dared to let her eyes rest' on nothing but the sheet of music 
 before her, but she seemed to be pleading with some one 
 present; with such impassioned pathos did she sing. The 
 words and music were both new ; and while the listeners wert 
 expressing their pleasure and asking some questions about 
 the song, Parke, who had leaned by the piano when it was 
 commenced, quitted the apartment. The first words had 
 fixed his eyes upon the singer ; he had grown pale as she 
 proceeded, but he listened till the last quiver died away, 
 and then went out, and appeared no more during the stay 
 of the guests. 
 
 If others had not noticed his emotion, it was because all 
 were in a measure spell-bound by the earnestness of her 
 manner. There were others besides Parke who might have 
 felt the appeal — who did feel it for a moment, and then 
 forgot it as they had done other appeals. 
 
THE senator's SON. 175 
 
 After the company liad left, as the young girls stood by 
 the library table, pulling the flowers from their hair, draw- 
 ing oif their gloves, and talking over the events of the even- 
 ing, Parke came in, walking up to Miss Van Duyn, he 
 seized her hands in so tight a grasp that she nearly cried 
 out. 
 
 " Lucy, how dared you sing that song this evening (* 
 Did you do it only to mortify me ? Every one must have 
 known at whom it was sung with such effect ) I shall never 
 forgive you — never I '' 
 
 And . flinging away her hands, he went out again, leav- 
 ing the offender in tears. 
 
 A fortnight from then, Mr. Crawford again banished 
 Parke from his house, and with no hope of restoration to 
 his favor. Of age, and at liberty to pursue his inclinations, 
 the young man would have long ago left the home of his 
 former guardian, whose strictness of principle was a contin- 
 ual reproach to him, had he not been restrained from love 
 to his sister. She was still the star whose changeless ray 
 beamed brightly over his fortunes j the farther he fell from 
 self-respect the more deeply he reverenced and adored her. 
 She seemed to him a creature without fault, yet who, amid 
 all her own perfections, could love and cherish him. He 
 was unhappy if denied her society, and he was unhappy 
 when in it, as he felt the gentle sadness of her mannner 
 the severest rebuke to his wild behavior. He mockingly 
 thanked Mr. Crawford for dismissing him; and taking 
 rooms in a g^ Y part of the town, he furnished them with 
 
176 THE senator's son. 
 
 great splendor, and set up the establishment of a rich and 
 reckless young bachelor. 
 
 Alice did not this time propose to follow him. She 
 gave herself up for a while to dismay and despair; then 
 struggling with her cares, she endeavored to throw them off 
 and be free. She never failed in love, nor in making every 
 effort which seemed worth the trial, to save her brother. 
 
 Lucy was called home by the illness of little Katy, so 
 that the poor child had no real fi'iend and comforter. Mrs. 
 Crawford worshiped her, and could not bear to see her in 
 any trouble ; but she was not a woman capable of giving 
 so and advice, or of bearing up a sinking spirit. 
 
 The most terrible hours of life are those passed alone in 
 struggles with one's self. Whether it be a struggle for the 
 mastery over temptation, over an evil fortune, over fate, 
 over affliction, over remorse, we shudder at ourselves and 
 the power of our own passions. Parke Madison was hold- 
 ing sueh a war with himself. Midnight had long rolled by, 
 and the lamps in his chamber were burning dim. He did 
 not think of sleep. 
 
 '^Ruinl ruin!'' he muttered, flinging himself into a 
 chair, and the next moment starting up again. "It is all 
 over with me now. My fortune is gone — my health, my 
 good name — Alice's heart is broken, the family honor for- 
 ever sullied — and I am a wretch, fated to pass the hours 
 of a cursed life within the walls of a prison. Yes, a prison ! 
 Alice, can you bear that?*'asking the question, with bitter 
 emphasis, as if his sister stood before him. " But I will 
 
THE senator's SON. 177 
 
 die and rot in the darkest cell before he shall have the re- 
 ward which would purchase his silence. Alfred Clyde, you 
 are a traitor — oh, you are a traitor, or you would not force 
 upon me this bitter choice." 
 
 It had chanced to Parke, that having surrendered his 
 judgment, prudence, and reason, for a glass of intoxicating 
 beverage, while in that helpless situation where he had 
 placed himself, he had committed a crime. His suppers, 
 horses, cards, billiards, and bets, for the last eighteen 
 months, had amounted to nearly the whole of his once fine 
 fortune. 
 
 Added to the lavish expenditure upon his new rooms, he 
 had of late been very unfortunate at the gaming-table, so 
 that he found himself burdened with a * debt of honor ' 
 which he could command no means to pay. He dared not 
 ask Alice for the amount out of her fortune, for he knew 
 that she could not procure it without the knowledge of Mr, 
 Crawford. He applied to his friend Alfred; but he de- 
 cidedly refused to loan him anything for such a purpose. 
 Mortified and angry at this refusal from a friend, he went 
 home and drank several glasses of brandy-and-water, and 
 while in the excited mood induced by these, Alfred came in. 
 
 " I have been remembering our college-days," said he, 
 " when I was indebted to you for aiding me out of many a 
 tight place ; and have repented, almost, my refusal ; though 
 I blame your folly, and tell you truly that you will be a 
 beggar before the end of a year." 
 
 ' If I could only free myself from this afiair, and win 
 
178 THE senator's son. 
 
 my money back again, I would be willing to forswear play/* 
 replied Parke. 
 
 " Well/' said Alfred, sitting down at a table and writ- 
 ing, '^ I am going to write an order on my banker for five 
 thousand dollars, and leave it here, but I shall give it no 
 signature, so that it will be a mere piece of paper. Bring 
 it to me one week from now, with the assertion thit you 
 have not been a drunken man for that length of time, and 
 I will put my name to it, and you may take your time 
 about returning it.'' 
 
 ^' That's a little more like it, Alf , my boy ! but why 
 not sign it now ? That debt was to be paid to-morrow, and 
 I'd rather have three thousand then, than the whole of it 
 in seven days." 
 
 " You can put them off a week easily. I've a fancy to 
 see if five thousand dollars will tempt you to keep sober a 
 week. I do it for Alice's sake, my friend — you know that 
 you are killing her. So be a good child for once," he added, 
 laughing as he went out, " and don't be tempted to fill out 
 that little piece of paper with my name until I see fit to do 
 it myself." 
 
 " Alf. always concludes to be generous, whatever ugly 
 freaks he may take," mused the young man when left alone. 
 " Why in the mischief, though, does he want to keep me 
 waiting ? St. Ormond will suspect I am pretty hard up, 
 and cut my acquaintance. Very well ! I hate him anyhow j 
 but he's such a sneering way with him, that I'd rather fail 
 to meet any other debt than that. By the way, that was a 
 
THE senator's SON. 179 
 
 timely liint of AltVs. If my liand T7as only steady enough, 
 I might just as well add the signature to this and get the 
 money for to-moiTOW. Of course I can keep my senses a 
 week if I have a mind to try, and it will make no difference 
 with him when the time is up." 
 
 A thousand times* he had imitated Clyde's signature 
 when they were at school together ; he now sat down, and 
 with a few flourishes of his pen, the paper was ready for 
 use. Tlie mouse had nibbled at the bait so temptingly laid, 
 the trap was sprung and fastened upon its helpless victim. 
 
 Alfred Clyde hardly dared hope so easily to get poor, 
 foolish Parke into his power. At the end of a week he 
 called upon him. 
 
 " So you have been a little up in the clouds once or 
 twice lately, despite of a weight of five thousand dollars to 
 attach you to earth ? " he asked, carelessly. " You can give 
 me back that draft, Parke, for I am a man of my word." 
 
 " Pooh, Alf., I've been trudging along as soberly as any 
 man — only two bottles of genuine old Madeira, ' Sheffield' 
 on the wax, that some unknown friend sent me. Too late 
 for you to repent now, at all events. Your order was pre- 
 sented six days ago, money received, and, what's better, 
 spent." 
 
 '^The deuce it was! without any signature?" 
 
 " I could always write more like you than you could 
 yourself," said Parke, laughing ; " and as it was inconve- 
 nient for me to await your further action, I tried my skill 
 on your banker." 
 
180 niE senator\s son. 
 
 " Ah-h I are you aware that was forgery ?'' 
 
 '' Why I suppose it would Lave been to haye used any 
 body else's name in that manner/' was the easy' reply j for 
 if he had served Alice so^ he would as soon have looked for 
 its being taken up. 
 
 " And it is to have used mine/' said Alfred, with icy 
 coolness. " You shall learn, Mr. Madison, that I am not 
 to be trifled with." 
 
 Parke looked up in astonishment. There was bo ap- 
 pearance of affectation in the dark eye bent threateningly 
 upon him. 
 
 " You promised to lend me the amount, Alfred. What 
 difference can it possibly make with you ? you are not in 
 earnest ? " 
 
 " Am I not ? Well, perhaps I had better relinquish all 
 claims to anything of my own, since a man, who is half the 
 time less responsible than a fool, can at any moment licli) 
 himself to a few thousands, without as much as saying ' by 
 your leave.' No, Sir 1 You have done a pretty deed, and 
 not with impunity." 
 
 " As you please," replied Parke, offended at such lan- 
 guage. '' I am very sorry that I ventured to ' trifle' with 
 a brother. But since I have been guilty of such indiscre- 
 tion, he shall be satisfied. By the sale of my black ponies, 
 disposing of these rooms, and a few other sacrifices, I can 
 have the money returned to you in a very few days." 
 
 ^' But that will not satisfy me. You have committed a 
 forgery, and you are in my power." 
 
THE senator's SON. 181 
 
 "What would you have me do?'' asked Parke, indig- 
 nantly, the fire flashing from his eyes as he turned abruptly 
 and faced his companion, whose countenance wore a look of 
 unpleasant triumph. 
 
 " Nothing very difficult for you, "but of vast importance 
 to me. You can keep your ponies and your establishment. 
 All I ask of you is to try and interest Alice in my favor. 
 Parke ! " continued he, with sudden earnestness, that was 
 almost sadness, " I have loved her for years. You know 
 it. So well, that I have never, like all other young men, 
 had any passing fancy, any fleeting passion, that was not 
 true to her. I have been a faithful and humble worshiper 
 of her maiden beauty ; and in return I have received noth- 
 ing but the calmest friendship. I cannot live so any lon- 
 ger, and since you have such influence with your sister, I 
 wish you to use it. It is not that I wish you harm — it is 
 only that I cannot live without Alice." 
 
 '^ I have not the control of my sister's affections; if I 
 had, they would have been yours long ago ; you know that, 
 Alfred. It seems to me that your course of proceeding is 
 more worthy of her dislike than her love. This is more 
 the act of a traitor than an honest man and a friend." 
 
 " Oh, it is a forger who talks about honesty. The devil 
 in the pope's robes ! I have wooed Alice long and modestly, 
 and she would not be won. Now she shall take her choice 
 between a brother disgraced and in prison, or a husband 
 whose fault is that he has loved her so well as to stoop to 
 falsehood towards a friend, rather than give her up." 
 16 
 
182 THE t-EN Axon's SON. 
 
 '' I would bear the severest penalty attached to my error 
 — under the circumstances I will not call it crime — before 
 I would even make known to her youi disgraceful proposi- 
 tion/' cried Parke, waving his hand towards the door. 
 
 " Oh, undoubtedly ! the fcon of the late Hon. Everard 
 Madison, convicted of forgery, sentenced to ten years in the 
 penitentiary — beautifully arrayed in striped drawers — 
 hair cropped — nobly employed in pegging shoes under the 
 eye of an overseer ! " 
 
 With this t"scinating picture held up before the eyes of 
 the dismayed young geucleman, he made a mocking bow, 
 turned on his heel and departed ; leaving his whilom friend 
 to ponder upon his frightful dilemma. 
 
 It was the ma^er-hand of art which painted his parting 
 words. Had he referred to a lonely cell, where no ray of 
 light was permitted to enter, where years must be worn 
 away in solitary confinement, and untold pangs of anguish 
 endured in silence, Parke would have brought romance, 
 proud endurance, sublime fortitude to his aid, and taken a 
 gloomy comfort in looking upon himself as the victim to a 
 friend's perfidy, and of unparalleled devotion to a sister. . 
 Now he saw himself the beau, par-excellence, of Broad- 
 way, the elegant, the accomplished Parke Madison, whose 
 horses were the finest, whose wines the oldest, whose dress 
 the most fastidiously gi-accful of all the admired aristocrats 
 of New York — he saw himself in a convict's dress ! — he 
 turned to a mirror and ran his long, fair fingers through his 
 luxuriant locks, and shuddered. It was more than hu- 
 
THE senator's SON. 1B3 
 
 man nature could endure ! There was no dignity — no 
 gloomy grandeur in such a sacrifice. Would " The Pris- 
 oner of Chillon^' be an object of noble symyathy if pre- 
 sented to view in striped drawers, head shaved, sitting on a 
 bench, beating a lap stone? Parke was beautiful, was 
 youthful, was fond of pleasure, was dainty in all his tastes. 
 His fortitude gave way — he sank into an arm-chair with a 
 groan of agony. 
 
 He had fretted the night away in contending with the 
 passions of fear, sorrow, remorse, anger. The first gleam 
 of morning found him exhausted, but with his mind still 
 undecided. He threw himself upon his bed and slept heav- 
 ily for three or four hours. When he awoke it was with 
 that weight upon the breast which reminds us of the an- 
 guish under which we have sank to slumber. He rang for 
 his servant, and dispatched a brief note to Alice, begging 
 her to come to him at once and without any other person's 
 knowledge. Before he had finished dressing she was await- 
 ing him in the adjoining rooms. She scarcely noticed the 
 air of voluptuous luxury which pervaded these bachelor's 
 apartments. Sinking into an arm-chair, with her feet ner- 
 vously patting the carpet, and her eyes fixed upon his bed- 
 room door, she passed the five minutes of delay, impatient 
 to learn what new calamity this wilful brother had brought 
 upon himself. She could hardly repress a cry when he 
 came into the apartment. Late nights, late mornings, 
 brandy and cigars, the excitements of gambling and bet- 
 ting, with the anguish of the last sleepless hours, had nearly 
 
184 THE senator's son. 
 
 erased God's inscriptions from that once eloquently expres- 
 sive countenance. 
 
 " Is this my brother ? " 
 
 No wonder she asked the question in a tone of touching 
 reproach ; for the eye sunken and dim with lowering lid, 
 the haggard brow, and colorless cheek, were these the ones 
 her mother kissed and praised ? the ones she regarded with 
 a pride than was only less than the fondness which softened 
 it ? And the trembling of his hands ! A fear deadly and 
 dark rushed over her soul, staggering it beneath a weight 
 of horror, so that she could not rise from her seat to wel- 
 come him, nor could her tongue frame a syllable in response 
 to his agitated " Good morning, Alice." To see a young 
 man of twenty-two so wrecked by excess, that he should 
 come from his morning toilet, trembling as with the infirm- 
 ities of four score years, what a frightful spectre of ap- 
 proaching insanity did it conjure up ! 
 
 '^ Do not look at me so, Alice ! '^ implored Parke in a 
 faint voice, and, as if unable longer to stand, he sank into a 
 chair. 
 
 " Parke Madison," said she at last, " I tell you truly," 
 and she lifted up her right hand, "you are upon the very 
 verge of a horrible madness and death ! you totter upon the 
 brink of delirium-tremens ! be warned ! be warned ! " 
 
 " It is not the only brink upon which I stand," he re- 
 plied, summoning up the last remains of his sinking cour- 
 age, but shivering from head to foot; " I stand upon the 
 precipice of disgrace, and when I fall it will be into a prison. 
 
THE senator's SON. 185 
 
 There is a chaDce of safety, but I will not avail myself of 
 it. You can be my savior, Alice, but you shall not be.'' 
 
 '' How ? go on with your story, sir I" 
 
 " Alice ! for Heaven's sake be more pitying ! — you 
 have no conception of what I suffer. It is mental agony, 
 not physical weakness, that shakes me so." 
 
 " It is both," she said, leaning forward in her chair as if 
 desirous to hear quickly what he might have to say. 
 
 He began in a faltering voice and explained the peril of 
 his present situation. He made no vain attempt to extenu- 
 ate the extravagance and excess which had led him into 
 difficulty, but the manner of the forgery, and the advantage 
 which was taken of it, he spoke of, as one speaks who feels 
 himself wronged by a friend. 
 
 " I always knew that Alfred Clyde was rotten at heart," 
 said Alice ; " but what are those conditions to which you re- 
 fer which shall ensure your safety ? " 
 
 " You know he has always wished you to become his 
 wife ; — but I do not ask it," he added, as he saw her grow 
 pale. 
 
 She arose and walked several times across the floor. 
 
 " Why do you not fly ? " she asked. 
 
 " An outcast from society, disowning my own name, 
 penniless, what would I become ? Better submit to a 
 prison, where, at least, I cannot yield to my besetting sin ! 
 No, I will not fly and leave disgrace behind only to rush 
 into a fresh ruin ; but you, dear Alice, have sufi'ered enough 
 for me, and shall suficr no more. No more ! alas, what but 
 16* 
 
186 THE senator's son. 
 
 suffering is there for you in a brother's ignominy, in being 
 pointed at as a forger's sister? Oh! my father — my 
 mother — I have dishonored your names upon the tomb- 
 stone!" 
 
 Alice still continued her walk up and down the suite of 
 rooms. Ever as she reached either extremity, she was con- 
 fronted by her own image in the tali mirror — a pale, 
 troubled face shadowed by the bonnet which she had not 
 taken off, hands clasped tightly together, eyes which seemed 
 to ask their perplexed reflection for the solution of a prob- 
 lem the answer to which must still be — '^sorrow" — re- 
 solve it as they might. 
 
 It was at least an hour before the eyes gave her the re- 
 quired answer; then she stood before her brother, who had 
 followed her light foim with an eager, inquiring gaze, 
 
 ^' It is not to save our father's name from infamy, nor 
 you from being an outcast ; it is not that I fear that portion 
 of the disgrace which will fall upon me ; it is not even to 
 save your young years from being wasted in a prison work- 
 shop, that I tell you that I am resolved to marry Alfred. 
 All these things have their influence, of course, but I have 
 already suffered so much on your account that I do not 
 think they would have much power, but /cannot forget the 
 last words of my mother. Ever since I have been walking 
 here I have heard that dying voice — so precious, so be- 
 loved, saying, " Be faithful — love one another." I will be 
 faithful, even to this extremity. I will do the utmost that 
 can be expected from a sister; and if, through the grace of 
 
THE senator's SON. 187 
 
 Grod, my love be rewarded by your final reform, I shall be 
 abundantly repaid for every sacrifice." 
 
 " It shall be — it shall be, Alice. Hear me swear that 
 henceforth " 
 
 "Parke, you have made too many promises. I will 
 not hear one ; I do not require any ; I leave the matter 
 with your conscience, I am going home now ; you may see 
 Alfred and tell him that I wish him to call at our house 
 this evening." 
 
 "After all, it is Alfred's great love for you which has 
 caused him to treat me so illy," said Parke, whose fault it 
 was to be too generous and forgiving. 
 
 She made no reply except the tears that dropped upon 
 her checks. It seemed to her — she knew, that her brother 
 could have no conception of the trial she was enduring for 
 his sake. He went down stairs with her, and accompanied 
 her part of the way to Mr. Crawford's. Here they parted on 
 the street, she simply remarking that she wished him now 
 to pursue such a course as his judgment and conscience 
 should approve. 
 
 She spent the rest of that dismal March day in a vain 
 attempt to become reconciled to her destiny. Mrs. Craw- 
 ford was going out for the evening to visit with a small 
 circle of friends ; and an hour after tea, Alice was left alone 
 to receive the expected call. She stood up as she heard 
 Mr. Clyde come in, receiving him in the centre of the room. 
 He held out his hand, and she placed her's, which was icy 
 cold, in his clasp. He pressed it passionately, as if he 
 
188 THE senator's son. 
 
 would in that tender action express the feelings wbich had 
 prompted his conduct, and at the same time make his excuse. 
 
 " Dear Miss Madison/' he said, leading her to the sofa, 
 and sitting by her side ; " the depth, the truth of my love 
 for you, is my only apology ! — do I need a better ? '' 
 
 " If you truly loved me, Mr. Clyde, you would most de- 
 sire that which would make me the happiest. Love is not 
 selfish." 
 
 He almost smiled at those beautiful rebuking eyes. 
 
 "Human love is selfish," he replied; "I know not 
 about divine. Show me the man upon earth who doted on 
 a beautiful price of perfection like this, and yet would re- 
 sign it, when, by any means not criminal, he could make it 
 his own, and you will show me a triumph of self-denial 
 which I have not yet witnessed. This peerless hand ! to 
 claim it as my wife's — the thought is enough to drive all 
 other considerations away ! But how am I selfish ? what 
 great sacrifice do I require of Parke, or you ? If I thought 
 it was a sacrifice I would not require it ; but this fright will 
 perhaps recall him from otherwise certain ruin ; and as for 
 you — why, Alice, what more of devotion can you ask ? If 
 it is love that makes a woman happy, then you will be the 
 happiest of women, for you will be beloved beyond all oth- 
 ers of your sex. If I did not think that I could make you 
 contented — that after you are my wife you will learn to 
 regard me with tenderness, I would say no more. But to 
 give you up — impossible ! That would be requiring of me 
 a thousand times more than you are willing to do for a 
 
THE senator's SON. 189 
 
 brother. Give you up, Alice, after you have once said that 
 you would marry me ? '* 
 
 His eyes rested upon that bowed face as if it would be 
 an impossibility indeed to resign that fair and trembling 
 young creature. 
 
 ^^ Is there no other way, then, of obtaining your mercy ? 
 Will not the whole of my fortune buy of you the few days* 
 use of that miserable five thousand dollars ? " 
 
 '^ There is none," he answered with a darkening brow. 
 ^' Alice, you are to be my wife, and it will be better for 
 both of us — for your happiness as well as mine, that you 
 betray no more coldness or reluctance. Come," he added 
 in a softer voice, " let us talk about Parke, and what we 
 can do for him, to protect him from his own follies." 
 
 He proceeded to give such excellent advice, and to dis- 
 play such good judgment and apparent kindness, that Alice 
 felt almost grateful. She wondered why a man of such 
 reason and discretion had not exercised a more powerful in- 
 fluence for the right over her brother's easily governed 
 mind. Clyde knew very well that hitherto his efforts had 
 secretly been the other way ; but now, made generous by 
 the certainty of his own success, he was willing to undo the 
 past and make, if possible, some amends for it. 
 
 When he arose to go, he again took the young girl's hand. 
 
 " Alice, will you not give me a kiss in token that I have 
 now some small portion of your good will ? You will soon 
 be my wife ; but even now I would think more of a smile 
 than a kiss." 
 
190 THE senator's son. 
 
 She held up her face with what she endeavored to have 
 a cheerful expression, but she succeeded only in wearing a 
 resigned one ; and the moment he had left the apartment, 
 she brushed her cheek with an involuntary motion, as if 
 ghe would have brushed away the unwelcome kiss. 
 
 *^ It will never do to indulge such feeling," she mur- 
 mured, sorry at herself; "if I am to be his wife, I must 
 school my thoughts as well as my actions." 
 
 So pure was her mind, so humble her religion, that from 
 the moment she was pledged to Alfred Clyde, she endeav- 
 ored to exercise as firm a control over her very dreams as 
 over her outward behavior. If he was to be her husband, 
 she must not even think any ill of him. Alas, poor child ! 
 what a hopeless task was that, when the more intimately 
 they were associated, the more did her true spirit shrink 
 from the hardness and selfishness of his. 
 
 In a few days, Parke Madison had disposed of his bach 
 elor's hall and its extravagant furniture, his horses, car- 
 riages, jewelry; dismissed his groom and valet de cliambrcj 
 and with only the faithful John and his library of books re- 
 served from his dashing establishment, he retired to the 
 farm. This farm belonged to Alice, but she sold it to him 
 for the sum of five dollars, that when she was married he 
 might still have something from which to secure a living, 
 his own fortune being almost dissipated. This Alfred pro- 
 posed himself; and it was through his energy and good 
 management that the sales were efi"ccted, the removal made, 
 and Parke once more somewhat removed from temptation. 
 
THE senator's son. 191 
 
 It was not an idle life that Parke now proposed to spend. 
 His health was very much impaired, but what strength he 
 had left, he wished to expend in personal oversight of his 
 larijc and highly-cultivated farm. 
 
 He boarded in the family of the man who worked it ob 
 shares, and who permitted him the control of a portion of 
 it. Here he occupied the room which used to be his moth- 
 er's, and in which she died. After a day of activity he 
 would return to this hallowed apartment, and with books, 
 music, writing letters, and rude attempts at sculptury, while 
 away the now brief evenings. 
 
 Alice's engagement was to be short. Alfred desired an 
 early day to be appointed for their marriage, urging the 
 lenoth of time for which he had been a suitor, as one reason 
 why his wishes should be considered. In the latter part of 
 May they were to be wedded. Early in April, Lucy came 
 to stay with her friend until after the ceremony. She was 
 surprised when Alice told her of the engagement, for she 
 had long come to the conclusion that if her friend did not 
 dislike Mr. Clyde, she did not at least love him ; but as no 
 confidence was given her any further, she was not so indel- 
 icate as to hint her suspicions or to force her way to the 
 truth. Besides she knew of no compulsion, and could frame 
 no device why that good and beautiful girl should cast her- 
 self away upon one who did not have her affection. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford was in her element during the times of 
 preparation. She occasionally rallied her adopted daugh- 
 ter's pale cheeks into blushes, but she had not discernment 
 
192 THE senator's son. 
 
 to discover any sadness deeper than a bride's pensiveness 
 beneath that quiet, gentle manner. Even Lucy was not 
 certain that the sadness was other than that subdued re- 
 serve into which a young maiden retires who is so soon to 
 change her position in life. There is something then with 
 which a young girl veils her hopes and fears which is sacred 
 from the acquaintances of friendship. The sadness at part- 
 ing with home and freedom, the doubt when thinking of 
 the increased care and importance of the new life, the hope 
 of untried happiness, keep her thoughts in the sanctuary of 
 her heart, from the observation of others. Alice would 
 sometimes look up from the pretty stitching she was doing 
 and find her companion's eyes fixed upon her face with a 
 grave and dissatisfied look, when she would smile and shake 
 her head as if denying the mute question. 
 
 " It is a very serious matter, this getting married," she 
 would say, as if in apology for her own abstracted demeanor. 
 
 Lucy had changed not less than Alice, who saw more 
 plainly into the reason of her melancholy smile and droop- 
 ing eye-lashes. 
 
 " How much misery one victim of intemperance can 
 bring upon the hearts of others," was her thought. ^' Had 
 Parke not ^ tarried long at the wine ' I should not have been 
 this unhappy creature that I am, nor poor Lucy be pining 
 her life away in a vain endeavor to stifle an unwise passion, 
 and conceal a wild regret." 
 
 It was not long until the twenty-third of May. Mrs. 
 Crawford had wished for the show and splendor of an even 
 
THE senator's SON. 193 
 
 ing wedding. The fashion, the season of the year, and the 
 wishes of the parties were against her, and twelve o'clock 
 of the morning was the hour appointed. The day was as 
 fresh and fair and beautiful as the bride herself — more 
 fresh, for its roses were of the brightest, and the bride's 
 cheeks were pale. 
 
 Quite a party of friends, among them Mrs. Van Diiyn, 
 were assembled in the parlors, where, as Mrs. Crawford had 
 so long ago determined, there was no lack of camclias. 
 Lucy and Parke were the attendants. Finding that Parke 
 had once more abandoned his reckless habits, and had been 
 living industriously in the country for some time, Mr. Craw- 
 ford had invited him to be present at his sister's wedding. 
 
 Colder and colder grew the heart of Alice in her bosom 
 as the hour drew nigh that was to unite her with one whom 
 she did not and could not love. Her fortitude would have 
 given entirely away had she not been encouraged by the 
 improved appearance of her brother. As it was, although 
 she exercised the greatest vigilance over herself, she knew 
 that Alfred was displeased and dissatisfied. It was true 
 that he need not then have compelled the marriage ; but 
 since he did compel it, she must try to please him, lot 
 his injustice be great as it would. She was dressed, even to 
 the typical vail; the bridal party stood in the room at 
 the head of the stairs ready to descend ; when in arranging 
 some trifling part that was to be performed, she fretted the 
 already moody temper cf Alfred, and he spake to her sharp 
 and quick. The tyrant was already beginning to manifest 
 
 n 
 
194 THE senator's son. 
 
 liimself. A thought of the life to be led with one who 
 could speak in that tone in the very hour of their union, 
 rolled over her soul like a cold and drenching wave. But 
 she smiled when she saw that the attendants look surprised, 
 as if her smile was to excuse his hastiness, and taking 
 Lucy's arm she said something about having forgotten to 
 wear her pearl bracelet, and drew her into the adjoining 
 apartment. Here the mastery of her emotions gave way ; 
 the tears rushed forth in a sudden torrent ; leaning against 
 the wall, she shook with terrible emotion. 
 
 '' Lucy ! Lucy ! I wish that I were dead ! " she cried in 
 a low voice, with white and writhing lips. 
 
 Her friend stood, frightened and pale, not knowing what 
 to say or what to do. 
 
 " It is not too late, dear Alice, if you feel in that man- 
 ner," she ventured to suggest. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is too late ! there is no help for me now — 
 but in heaven. Mother — mother — I implore your aid! 
 oh, heavenly Father, I know thou wilt be my comforter.'^ 
 
 She sank a moment upon her knees, and when she arose 
 the Fpasm of agony had passed. A holiness and sweetness 
 came over her demeanor, and with this look she went out 
 again to the rest, and the party descended, took their places 
 before the hushed gazers, and in a few brief moments she 
 was the wife of Alfred Clyde. Wife ! strange, sweet name, 
 when heard for the first time ! even to her it sounded inex- 
 pressibly soft and solemn. The looks of the bride were 
 admired, and yet people were sure that she did not appear 
 
THE senator's SON. 195 
 
 precisely as it might be expected a bride should appear. 
 Beautiful she always was; and now their admiration was 
 mingled with a wonder at the exquisite and almost saintly 
 style of her beauty. She did not seem sorrowful nor glad, 
 There were a few blushes, but no tears. In her aspect 
 were resignation and sweetness ; in the faint smile she gave 
 her husband there was forgiveness. He had recovered from 
 his transient anger, and strove to conceal his mortification 
 by a show of reverence and devotion. Passion and worship 
 he felt ; yet as the thought had lately chafed him that even 
 a husband could not compel answering love, and that a wife 
 might be his as a marble statue was his, and yet he have no 
 more control over her affections, her intangible spirit, her 
 will, than over the moveless beauty of the statue : as this 
 thought had forced its truth upon him, for the first time, he 
 had hesitated in his selfish pursuit. But pshaw ! he had 
 no idea of relinquishing his object, for such a trifle as her 
 happiness, or even his own future comfort. If he should 
 tire of her, he could neglect her. 
 
 Of course some of the guests said that the groomsman 
 would soon marry the bridesmaid; and others said not. 
 Some, that she was a noble girl, and would make too good 
 a wife for such a wild young man ; others, that Parke Madi- 
 son would never choose a poor w fe with nothing but her 
 lady-like manner and fine looks to recommend her; and 
 still others, that a woman like Lucy Yac Duyn would have 
 a great influence over him in keeping him out of bad hab- 
 its, and they hoped it would be a match. "What the two 
 
196 THE senator's son. 
 
 themselves thought was known only to their own bosoms^ 
 and certainly not spoken to each other. There was some 
 embarrassment in Parke's manner, and some sadness in 
 Lucy's. '' After all, it was a grand wedding, and made the 
 same stir that the announcement of Miss Madison's mar- 
 riage with Mr. Clyde would make anywhere. 
 
 The two were gone a short time upon their bridal tour. 
 
 Upon their return Mrs. Crawford, despite the lateness 
 of the season, gave a large party. None of the elegantes 
 had left town, as it was yet June, and the weather con- 
 tinued delightfully moderate; so the lady's parlors were 
 thronged ; and as she looked around upon the gay people 
 and beheld the attention bestowed upon the bride, she had 
 only to wish that she had a dozen daughters yet to be 
 married. 
 
 A week or two after, Mr. and Mrs. Clyde went to the 
 farm to spend the summer with Parke. This was the wish 
 of the brother and sister ; and as Alfred was for the present 
 contented wherever his wife was, he made no objections. 
 Alice began again to enjoy the society of Parke, whose 
 health was rapidly mending, and whose conversation and 
 thoughts began to flow in nobler channels. His gratitude 
 and love to her made him tireless in her service. No eff'ort 
 was too great that was rewarded by securing any pleasure to 
 her. He hung upon her words and smiles with a devotion 
 that called forth the ridicule and wit of Alfred ; and at the 
 same time his jealousy. He could not bear to be rivaled 
 even by a brother, and his vexation so often made itself ap- 
 
THE senator's son. 197 
 
 parent, that Alice grew afraid to express her affection with 
 the old freedom. Parke was innocent of this, for she 
 Minded his eyes with the rosy sweetness of her temper, and 
 allowed him not to suspect but that all was prosperous. 
 
 Ilis loving, dependent disposition rested itself fondly 
 upon his sister and contentedly upon her husband's judg- 
 ment and strength of mind. The summer was to him as 
 happy as it could be with the past no more atoned for. 
 
 He dreaded the approach of winter, for then he was to 
 be left alone with his books, dog, gun, and sculpturing. 
 
 Alfred Clyde and his wife were going south to remain 
 until spring. Alice gave her brother plenty of good advice, 
 of love and prayers at parting ; she was afraid to leave him 
 so long, lest in the meantime some temptation should occur 
 too strong for him to resist unaided. 
 
 They spent the winter in Cincinnati, and St. Louis, 
 frhcre Alfred had acquaintances and distant relatives. Al- 
 ice would have been very happy had she been married to a 
 man whnni she resDectcd and loved ; but her husband gave 
 n?r J. :rrnQ.i| ';ha'2'?'=» to cultivate either her affection or es- 
 f ec %.. Highly displeased at not meeting with the warmth 
 and tenderness which he could only have expected from a 
 willing wife, he began early to exercise that tyranny which 
 flourishes and grows to full size in an indolent, self-loving, 
 passionate, luxurious nature. 
 
 Ahce had not grown rosy or brilliant during her sojourn 
 at the south. When they returned in April, her air was 
 languid; her aerial figure seemed to have acquired more 
 17* 
 
198 THE SENATOtl's SON. 
 
 airiness of outline, and lier step had a weariness in it, as if 
 mind or body had lost its youthful buoyancy. 
 
 Her joy at finding Parke a better man than he had ever 
 been before revived for awhile her drooping spirits. His 
 health was excellent — his affairs prosperous — and on the 
 anniversary of his sister's wedding-day Lucy and himself 
 were to be married. 
 
 Alice hastened to the cottage to see Mrs. Van Duyn, 
 and to wish happiness to her friend and soon-to-be sister. 
 What a soft light there was in Lucy's brown eyes, and what 
 a changing glow upon her dazzling cheeks ! How prettily 
 she blushed — how brilliantly she smiled! — oh, she could 
 answer for herself now whether the hope was not stronger 
 than the fear, the bliss greater than the sadness. While 
 she busied herself with adorning her not too costly ward- 
 robe, any one regarding her might observe the hurried 
 brightness gathering beneath the silken lashes, the flitting 
 color of her cheeks changing with the beating of her heart, 
 and sudden gleams of joy stealing over her thoughtful face. 
 
 Oh, it almost maddened Alice to look \.pon her and 
 think of the desolate, dreary waste of her own life. But 
 she was goodness and sweetness personified ; patiently re- 
 pressing the bursting regrets which she could not but feel, 
 she tried to be happy in her friend's happiness, and to find 
 in her brother's reform a consolation for her own trials. 
 Contrasting his joyful independence with a convict's doom, 
 and Lucy's happiness with a broken heart, she thanked Grod 
 and was silent. 
 
THE senator's SON. 199 
 
 " 0, she that hath a heart of that fine frame 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
 How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft 
 Hath killed the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her ! " 
 
 To tlie heart of Alice Clyde came never at answer to 
 tli.is impassioned inquiry. Loneliness came to it, and yearn- 
 ings which drowned themselves in tears, wild wishes, unut- 
 terable pangs ! for the most part, her life was a struggle 
 against her own lovely nature, to bow it to the rude will v^f 
 a capricious and obstinate ruler. 
 
 How lovely a picture was the cottage upon the wedding- 
 morning ! There was nothing but tasteful simplicity. The 
 roses breathed their fragrant congratulations, and the birds 
 warbled the bridal anthems. In Parke's frank and beam- 
 ing face and proud carriage there remained no trace of 
 former sin. One there was though who could not forget, 
 and who trembled with secret forebodings. What mother 
 ever gave a beloved daughter into the care of another, for 
 weal or woe, without some trembling ? Mrs. Van Duyn could 
 not banish the reluctance she felt. She loved Parke as a 
 son, yet she knew the weaknesses of his character; and had 
 they obeyed her wishes they would have waited another 
 year before they were united. She left a tear on the bride's 
 check when she kissed her ; and in the look she gave her 
 daughter's husband as she grasped his hand, she seemed to 
 implore of him a promise to bring no shame or sorrow upon 
 that innocent brow. 
 
200 THE senator's son. 
 
 " She is my wife/' said Parke, in a tone deep with feel- 
 ing, as Alice came up to him, and they stood a moment 
 apart from the rest ; " my wife and I owe this happiness 
 all to you. Oh, my sister, even in the lowest depths of 
 •my degradation how I loved that noble girl. Her perfec- 
 tions only made my faults the blacker, I saw that she loved 
 me, unworthy as I was, that she pitied while she loved, and 
 faded beneath a sorrowful regret. I longed to throw my- 
 self upon her compassion, and beg her to save me from my- 
 self. But I knew that if you, if my mother, could not 
 restrain me, that even Lucy could not, and I dared not ap- 
 proach her with the mantle of my guilt upon me. Through 
 you, dearest Alice, I have been able to come to lier, saved 
 and redeemed, with the humble offering of my love ; and 
 now she is mine ! You have made two happy hearts — 
 hearts brimming over with happiness. God forever bless 
 you!" 
 
 Could Alice regret tlie offering she had made of herself? 
 There sat her husband moodily regarding her, as if invent- 
 ing what new torture he should inflict upon the patient soul 
 of the woman whose fault and injury was, that what force, 
 tyranny, pride, and ill-humor demanded, her shrinking 
 spirit did not give. She had never failed in becoming re- 
 spect or in silent endurance. But endurance was not what 
 he wanted in a wife. He wanted sympathy; and more, he 
 wanted her soul to be in subjection to his will. No matter ; 
 she was his own ) and she should feel his power to the in- 
 most fibre of her f quivering heart. He smiled at the thought. 
 
THE senator's SON. 201 
 
 As she turned from Parke's fervent blessing, she met that 
 smile, sinister and threatening. 
 
 i( JSo ! — no ! I will regret nothing," she cried silently. 
 " Surely I can find some recompense in the joy of others, 
 and after a time it may be that unresisting gentleness will 
 soothe this tiger into less ferocious moods." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Madison were soon established in the old 
 country-house. He now had half the farm under his own 
 management. A comfortable house was erected for his 
 tenant, who boarded all the men employed. An excellent 
 superintendent of the kitchen and dairy relieved Lucy from 
 all care as to those matters. With long visits from little 
 Katy and short ones from her mother, she grew to be so 
 contented in her own home, as to lose those pinings after 
 the mother-home which disturb a young wife's joy. 
 
 Mr. Clyde purchased an elegant residence in the city, 
 and surrounded himself and wife with a golden halo of 
 splendor. Although he was so indolent, there was a 
 strength and power of his mind which could not be smoth- 
 ered in ease, and this directed itself to the difficult study of 
 how he could most delight his senses and gratify his luxuri- 
 ous tastes with the least exertion, and to make the greatest 
 impression upon others. Art and science, genius and beauty, 
 were called into requisition to give a finish to his heartless 
 epicureanism. The more he lapped it in the sensuous soft- 
 ness of indulgence, the harder did his soul become. The 
 tact, judgment, and intrigue of his character, which applied 
 to the lever of some noble purpose might have lifted him 
 
202 THE senator's son. 
 
 into enviable fame, were dedicated to giving a polish and cer- 
 tain distinction to his known extravagance of living. To be 
 the slave of this self-lover was Alice's fate. As a slave, he 
 would not set a value upon her, for she was something upon 
 which to exercise his refined tyranny; further than that, 
 he hated her. Like the devotional nun, who binds the 
 thorny girdle over her bleeding heart, and conceals it with 
 a garment of white, she concealed her sufferings under a 
 calm and sweet demeanor. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Three years of prosperity rolled over the dwellers at 
 the farm. A baby, with flaxen ringlets and blue eyes, sat 
 upon Lucy's knee, or tottered with mighty baby ambition 
 across the floor. The whilom library was turned into a 
 nursery, where sat Lucy, one October evening, in a little, 
 low rocking chair, having a great frolic with the darling 
 Carrie. Carrie, of course, was the baby ; and by the way, 
 she had gained her name through much tribulation. The 
 mother wanted her called Katy, after her own mother, and 
 sister Katy of the golden curls. The father said the name 
 was too German, and Alice must the little one be called. 
 But Alice wanted no child named after her, lest, as she said 
 with a smile and sigh, it should not be a gift which would 
 bring happiness. Finally, an old bachelor, who lived alone 
 on an adjoining farm, proposed that if they would call the 
 pretty creature Caroline, he would stand god-father, and 
 make an hc.iress of the wee lady by deeding her a city lot. 
 
 Every one liked the old bachelor, and suspected that 
 
204 THE senator's son. 
 
 Caroline was the name of his lady-love who died in her 
 youth, leaving him a faithful mourner and a solitary man. 
 They would have pleased him with gratifying his wish with- 
 out the offer of the city-lot ; but as he was rich, and had 
 no children of his own, they allowed the unconscious baby 
 to accept his gift. No attention was paid to Miss Katy's 
 suggestion that she should be called Olive Olivia ; and at 
 last, after all these important undecisionS; she rested safe 
 with the noble appellation of Caroline^ abridged for short 
 and sweet to Carrie. 
 
 ^' Will you have your tea served now, Madam ? " asked 
 the house-keeper, looking in good-naturedly at the gay 
 mother. 
 
 " No, Hester, not until Mr. Madison comes home ; he 
 said he should be back by half-past seven." 
 
 Hester shut the door, and Lucy went on with her frol- 
 icking. 
 
 ''Now, baby, now — say papa! look at mother 
 
 pa — pa ! " 
 
 But baby was pulling at mamma's dress and would say 
 nothing. 
 
 " No, lady Carrie, you are not old enough to wear jewels 
 yet ; let the brooch be. Now — pa - pa ! " 
 
 '' Ga ! Ga!" said lady Carrie, and laughed at her tri- 
 umph in achieving such a wonderful speech. 
 
 ^' You little darling ! if father had only heard that ! 
 will Carrie say ' papa' when he comes home? pa -pa." 
 
 ^' Ga ! Ga!" repeated the little genius; and if she had 
 
THE senator's SON. 205 
 
 been the " fairy who spoke pearls," her motlier could not 
 liave been more delighted. She half smothered her with 
 kisses. 
 
 Then they had such a play-spell ! Baby's fat fingers 
 would dive into mamma's hair, and pull down one of its 
 shining braids ; then mamma would give a pretended, pretty 
 cry, wdiich would set the baby into an extasy. Then the 
 dimpled hands would be made willing prisoners, and patted 
 together in tune with the wonderful ditty of 
 
 •' Rock-a-by, baby, upon the tree-top." 
 
 Next the chubby feet were made to illustrate the ballad of 
 
 *' One foot up and one foot down — 
 That is the way to London-town." 
 
 Presently Carrie grew tired of play; when she had had her 
 supper, been attired in her night-gown, and fell to sleep in 
 her pretty crib, it was eight o'clock. 
 
 Hester again presented herself at the door, and told 
 Mrs. Madison she had better have her tea, for more likely 
 than not, Mr. Madison would not be at home that night. 
 
 " John's at home an hour ago, and he says there's go- 
 ing to be great doings with their speeches and processions ; 
 and some of Mr. Madison's friends were going to have a 
 supper at the Astor, and their candidate for Governor was 
 going to be there and make a speech." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope he will not stay ! " was the young wife's 
 thoughts, as a thrill of apprehension ran through her. 
 
 It was a time of great political excitement. Parke, 
 18 
 
206 THE senator's son. 
 
 now developed into the full grown man, witli established 
 views and active purposes, was not contented with devoting 
 all his energies, talents, and education to farming. Though 
 his farm was a model, exhibiting all the latest improve- 
 ments, and cultivated upon scientific principles ; though it 
 was the admiration of the country around, and though it 
 brought him an income amply sufficient for a generous and 
 elegant way of living, he was not content. lie had plenty 
 of leisure, since he was only the head, not the hands, of his 
 farm, to turn his attention to other pursuits ; and the Sen- 
 ator's son, following in the path marked out by his father, 
 was fast becoming ambitious of political distinction. 
 
 His wife had a dread of this. To her, who had always 
 lived in the country, there seemed no life so free, so happy, 
 so virtuous, so healthy as country-life ; no occupation so 
 pleasant as the cultivation of land. She did not see how 
 there could be any tameness, any want of variety in avoca- 
 tions which brought one continually to observe the changes 
 and endless industry of nature. The budding of the tree, 
 the ripening of its fruit, the gathering it into the winter- 
 stores — the springing of the grain, the forming of the 
 heads, the harvesting, the thrashing out, the carrying to the 
 mill — all the seasons of the year were full of beauty and 
 mterest to her. The blessing of the deep, warm snow, 
 clothing the planted wheat, or the evil of the biting frost 
 killing it in its tender infancy, were things which called for 
 lier gentle sympathy. She felt a grateful solicitude for the 
 comfort of the sleek cows so richly contributing their flow- 
 
THE senator's SON. 207 
 
 ing bounties to the universal plenty. She had a tender 
 aflPection for the pretty lambs, a kind care for the broods of 
 chi-ekens, a gi-eat respect for the sturdy oxen, and a love for 
 the noble horses. Her heart and mind expanded while con- 
 templating the broad stretch of land with whose features 
 and peculiarities she had become as familiar as with those 
 of a fiiiend. She knew what soil was greedy for food, what 
 tired with successive years of labor, what thirsted for more 
 drink from the abundant stream, and what plead for relief 
 from its too bountiful supply. She knew what ground had 
 a fancy for feeding, with summer luxuries of clover-blos- 
 soms, the cattle — and what was willing to devote the warm 
 weather to growing a golden store of corn for their winter 
 uses. The earth to her personified one who conferred great 
 favors and required a few in return. The plums had a dul- 
 cet voice, beseeching aid to free themselves from the tor- 
 menting curculio; even the cucumbers looked coolly up 
 and pointed to their yellow-backed destroyers. 
 
 The peas reached out their arms for ladders to aid their 
 climbing — the peaches turned their crimson cheeks lov- 
 ingly towards her, and the rosy apples nodded and blushed 
 as if saying — "we grow for you!" And that grove of 
 maples ! was there ever a moment when it was not useful 
 and beautiful ? With the first sunshining days of March, 
 their veins, overflowing with sweetness, were yielded by the 
 stately trees to the farmer's lancet. Then came the time 
 for a woodland frolic with her ; while the farmer and his 
 boys went about among the buckets, emptying the contents 
 
208 THE senator's son. 
 
 of each into a common receptacle in the shape of a hogs- 
 head, and from thence replenish the singing kettles, she 
 loved to find her a seat on some inverted trough under a 
 tree close by. The blazing fire, the bubbling cauldron, the 
 mystic smoke, the grim workmen, were objects which her 
 fancy did not hesitate to turn mU) sorcery and its accompa- 
 niments, or at least into the romance of gyp=eying. She took 
 a curious interest in the skilful abstraction of the natural 
 contents of an egg-shell, and the filling of the same with su- 
 gar-wax ; and delighted in bringing her husband's talents at 
 sculpture, to the carving of various fancifu] hollows in pieces 
 of wood, for the moulding of this wax into tempting cakes 
 for Kitty and her other juvenile visitors. A bit of frozen 
 snow hid away in a hollow or corner of a fence was eagerly 
 searched for, to make a moulding-board, upon whose cold 
 surface the syrup might quickly obtain the wished-for 
 toughness. After the sugar-making days were over, she 
 could mark from the windows of her room, the soft green 
 gradually breaking from the swelled buds ; and when the 
 days grew oppressive with heat, there were the full grown 
 leaves, offering their fair shelter and murmuring of refresh- 
 ment to be found in the shadowy alleys which they roofed. 
 In autumn the grove was past all description beautiful — a 
 tossing, waving sea of splendor, which every breeze changed 
 in aspect and color, lifting up sprays of crimson, edged with 
 scarlet, dashing down billows of gold capped with purple 
 and green. Even winter could not disrobe the maples of 
 their charm, for the sprites came down from the mystic 
 
209 
 
 north on silent nights, and behold ! in the morning sun- 
 shine, there they stood, so many crystal towers, of an ar- 
 chitecture rivaling the Grothic, the pride of man ; delicate 
 in structure and profusely ornamented from column to spire 
 with glittering yet chaste decorations. 
 
 Yes ! Lucy found enough in country-life to interest, in- 
 struct, and ennoble. She thought that no one could accuse 
 her husband of an inactive or useless existence if he em- 
 ployed it only in such occupations as their present position 
 suggested. She had reason to dread his being drawn into 
 political whirlpools. She was suspicious of the strength of 
 his resolutions; and had no cause to think but that the 
 country would be just as safe if her husband took no part 
 in its debates. Feverish, unhealthy, and dangerous seemed 
 to her the ambition which was coming over him ; the coun- 
 try was safer without him than he was with it. Therefore, 
 by all the tact and power of affection, she endeavored to di- 
 vert his mind from its tendencies. But Parke was deter- 
 mined not to be satisfied with a wife, a baby, a home, and 
 a farm. Politics seem in this country frequently to take 
 the shape of a fever, which disturbs the quiet operations of 
 the physical and mental powers, exciting the brain to a kind 
 of delirium which for the time destroys its finely-balanced 
 qualities. Mental blindness ; a strange inability to discern 
 truth from falsehood ; an insane conception that our insti- 
 tutions are tottering into the gulf of their opponent's treach- 
 ery, and will soon fall unless they rush to the rescue and 
 make columns of support out of themselves ; an itching at 
 18* 
 
210 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 their fingers-ends to dabble in the spoils, and a burning de- 
 sire for office, are some of the symptoms apparent in many 
 of the victims of this disease. 
 
 Parke Madison had not the fever in such a violent de- 
 gree. He did not care about the emoluments, nor think 
 the sudden dissolution of the Union at hand; but there 
 were some principles he desired to see advocated, some more 
 he wished to uphold ) and as he felt himself competent to 
 speak on certain questions, he was bound to make himself 
 heard. The honor paid to the talents of his father encour- 
 aged him to believe that he could achieve eminence in tlie 
 same path. 
 
 Upon the day which is introduced in the beginning of 
 this chapter, he had .gone to New York to join his party in 
 a great outbreak of enthusiasm ; he spoke, and was loudly 
 applauded; the excitement of the dny was followed by a 
 supper given by the leaders to one of the great men, and 
 to which Mr. Madison of course must remain. 
 
 The supper at the Astor was faultless, the wines were 
 guch as great men may drink without doing injustice to 
 their taste, the remarks were profound, disinterested, and 
 logical. Under the influence of the champagne and the 
 speeches the country came very near being saved ! But, 
 alas, for one of its eloquent friends I Parke Madison, the 
 generous, the witty, the earnest, the well-meaning, could 
 control others better than he could himself. Forever striv- 
 ing after the right, and forever falling ! That fatal weak- 
 ness of resolution broke down this evening as it had done in 
 
THE senator's SON. 211 
 
 tlajs gone by. Not more surely will a moth always flutter 
 into destruction when a lamp is by, than he would be 
 tempted to excess by a scene like this. He knew it before 
 be placed himself in the way of temptation ; but his ardent 
 temperament was already excited beyond prudence by the 
 events of the day. He attended the feast given to the great 
 man, and became intoxicated in his honor. 
 
 Lucy followed the suggestion of her house-keeper, and 
 drank her tea, but it was with very little relish. She then 
 returned to a charming employment, which was that of 
 sketching little Carrie as she lay asleep in her crib. She 
 was intending to surprise Parke with a birth-day present of 
 the picture, painted on ivory, and handsomely set. The 
 dimpled arm tossed up beside the rosy cheeks, the golden 
 lashes, and the still more golden curls, the pouting, parted 
 lips, made a fine subject for the mother artist. She drew 
 the outlines and drapery, after which she laid her work 
 aside in order to do the coloring by the nicer light of day. 
 It was the usual hour of retiring ; she no longer expected 
 her husband that night, but she could not go to bed as long 
 as there was a possibility of his returning. She hemmed a 
 little on a piece of cambric, she played a short time on her 
 guitar, she tried to get interested in a book, but her mind 
 was uneasy, and she could not amuse it. At twelve o'clock, 
 \weary but nervous, she retired to short slumbers and dis- 
 turbing dreams. It was her first night of watching for a 
 dissipated husband, but it was not her last. 
 
 At noon, of the foUcv^ing day, Mr. Madison came home. 
 
212 THE senator's son. 
 
 He thoiiglit that bis secret Wcas safe from lils ^vife. He 
 greeted her gayly, and with many excuses for not sending 
 her word that he should remain in town over night, he 
 kissed Carrie, sat her upon his knee, and proceeded to as- 
 tonish and deh'ght her with the gift of her first doll-baby. 
 But the quick eye of affection detected the lurking shame in 
 his glance, its ear pined with the nervous hastiness of the 
 first greeting ; and in his kiss, despite of the frequent con- 
 fection he had been eating, remained the feverish complaint 
 of an ill-used stomach. Lucy kept her wretched discovery 
 to herself, and abated nothing of her gentle welcome. She 
 would not humble the pride of her husband, by allowing 
 him to know that she was conscious of his error. But when 
 she found him more absorbed than ever in politics, and bent 
 upon walking right into the net — that he was restless until 
 the next day came for a public excitement, and that he 
 spent more than half of his time in the city, she was 
 obliged to remonstrate. Such remonstrance might rather 
 be called the very gentleness of entreaty. It was with 
 threads of silver and gold that she endeavored to keep him 
 within the sacred circle of home, where the evil genii that 
 surrounded him in the outer air could not intrude. 
 
 The worm of the still, when its eye is once fastened upon 
 a victim, must exercise a fascination more alluring than the 
 dreaded enchantments of the rattle-snake. Else how could 
 it draw Parke Madison, held back as he was by past expe- 
 rience, by a wife like Lucy, a sister like Alice ; how could it 
 
THE senator's SON. 213 
 
 draw him from the holiness of his hearth-stone, downwards 
 to the old desperation of excess ? 
 
 Upon that birthday, when Lucy designed to surprise 
 him with the exquisitely-finished portrait of Carrie asleep, 
 he came home, for the first time, in a disgraceful condition. 
 Hitherto he had carefully remained away until in a fit state 
 to return to his family. It happened that Mrs. Madison 
 had company. Mrs. Van Duyn was out, with an old friend 
 from Philadelphia, a lady of such mind and attainments as 
 secured for her the love and respect of whatever circle she 
 adorned with her presence. She had always made a pet of 
 Lucy, who, in her girlhood, had once or twice visited her 
 in her own city. Now she had come to see what kind of a 
 home the fair girl had to boast of, what kind of a husband, 
 and what kind of a baby ; for she had heard a great deal 
 about all of these, but she had not beheld with her own 
 eyes the prosperity of this beautiful branch of the father- 
 land vine. 
 
 When they first arrived Mr. Madison was not at home. 
 Lucy gave them a cheerful welcome. There was not even a 
 shadow upon her brow that day, for Parke had been so good 
 for the past week, and she had so pleased herself with thoughts 
 of the present she had as a surprise for him, that her brown 
 eyes were seldom brighter, or her cheeks more glowing. 
 
 " I think you have chanced here to keep Parke's birth- 
 day, she said, as she drew chairs for them close to the grate 
 in the large parlor. 
 
 ^^k 
 
 ■»- 
 
214 THE senator's son. 
 
 It was a cold day for October, and they had rode from 
 Mrs. Yan Duyn's on the other side of New York. 
 
 " Dear mother, I am so glad to see you ; why didn't 
 you bring Katy or Willy with you ? too cold ! but they 
 would have been so delighted with Carrie, now that she can 
 run alone. It is an unexpected happiness to have you for a 
 guest, ]\Irs. Smythc ; I am so much obliged to you for com- 
 ing. I wish Mr. Madison was at home. But he will be, 
 before tea; and of course you will not stay less than a 
 week, so a few hours will be no great robbery." 
 
 How musically the tongue of the young wife ran on. 
 The mother and friend smiled at each other to witness her 
 fine spirits. As soon as they were warmed, and had par- 
 taken of the refreshments welcome after their chilly ride, 
 Margery, the maid, was sent after Carrie, who was taking 
 her afternoon siesta. Margery led her into the parlor with 
 triumph, walking in her own tiny shoes, and not tumbling 
 down once all tlie immense distance from the door to her 
 mamma's arms. 
 
 " This only 'leven months old," the maid informed Mrs. 
 Smythc, who, eager as she was to get the little creature on 
 her lap, must wait for ' grand-ma' to have done with her 
 caresess. 
 
 " Aye ! she's not a year old yet, and she walks, and 
 says papa, and docs a thousand such pretty things. Don't 
 you think, Mrs. Smythc, that she is the greatest baby of the 
 age?" 
 
 '' I have not had very extensive opportunities for judg- 
 
THE senator's SON. 215 
 
 ing," replied tliat lady with her genial smile, ''^ I am not 
 acquainted with over thirty of her size^ but I think that she 
 compares ftivorably with the most of them. Come here, 
 little one ! Carrie is your name ? let me look at you — 
 soft, fine hair, curling up like golden grape-tendrils around 
 your head — pure complexion — clear, full, violet eyes — 
 those -Lire father's eyes, are they not ? — a mouth so beauti- 
 ful in its rosiness that I cannot tell yet whether it will be a 
 beauty's mouth or not — mother's neck, slender and peer- 
 less, as if the ' blood of all the Howards' had taught it its 
 queenly mould — yes. Madam Madison, you may be for- 
 given for pride in your baby's looks. But as for her talk- 
 ing and walking, she isn't a bit more precocious than the 
 rest of the thirty ; and you do not want to be, do you, Car- 
 rie ? You do not want to die of smartness in your in- 
 fancy? nor to be a little wonder, in order to grow up a 
 great dunce ? '' Probably Carrie did not, for she shook her 
 head and laughed. " That is right. You shall not be if I 
 can help it. You shall know nothing for a good while yet 
 except to love papa, mamma, and sugar-plums. Here is a 
 sucar-plum with which to engage your affections; it has 
 hidden itself in the depths of my pocket as if on purpose for 
 this occasion. Do not look so gravely, Mrs. Madison, there 
 is nothing poison in this confection ; it is pure sweet and 
 will do no harm." 
 
 " I shall be jealous," said Mrs. Van Duyn, " of my 
 i;r;;nd-motherly rights, if Carrie is to take to you so cou- 
 tcuccdly. She is perched on your knee too quietly." 
 
216 THE senator's son. 
 
 ^^ The babies all like me — I am their aunt-in-general." 
 
 ^' Like your sweet gifts, perhaps/' said Lucy. 
 
 " No, they like me. It is seldom that I purchase their 
 love with sweets. I want them to love me on the sympa- 
 thetic principle that I love them." 
 
 ^' And I know that they do/' said Lucy, looking af- 
 fectionately into that countenance which beamed with kind- 
 ness and intelligence. " It isn't the little folks, alone, 
 either." 
 
 " I am not ungrateful," replied Mrs. Smythe, gently. 
 
 That was the charm of her character. To give as much 
 as was given, and more, of affection to all. Her sympathies 
 were always ready to be enlisted, and her heart overflowed 
 with that christian charity and good will to her fellow-crea- 
 tures, which secured her in return their confidence and love. 
 
 Lucy brought the picture of Carrie, which she had 
 caused to be set in gold and pearls the last time she was in 
 the city, and showed it to her visitors. They were warm in 
 their praises, and admired the design exceedingly. 
 
 ''What does Parke think of it?" asked Mrs. Van 
 Duyn. 
 
 " Ah I I should like to know what he will think of it, 
 when he sees it I" replied Lucy. '' It is his birthday gift; 
 and you shall see the manner in which he receives it. I 
 hope it will please him ! " 
 
 " It cannot fail to do that. He ought to be enrap- 
 tured," said her friends, and she put it in her bosom for 
 safe keeping until tea-time. 
 
THE senator's son. 217 
 
 Tlie three ladies had such a social and happy afternoon, 
 as confidential chit-chat among a kindly friend, a proud 
 grand-mother, a joyous mother, aud a good-natured little 
 one ought to make. Lucy inquired minutely into every 
 little circumstance of the life at the old home. That sister 
 to whom she was teaching Grerman, the eventful day upon 
 which she introduced herself to her future husband, as he 
 lay, regardless of elegance at her feet — that sister was now 
 a blooming young lady, who had taken her place in the 
 household circle. Katy was growing into a slender maiden, 
 with a sentimental turn of mind, who read a great deal of 
 poetiy, and had been known to scribble romantic verses 
 under the old oaks in the meadow. Willie was begging 
 sturdily to go to his uncle Nold's in Philadelphia. This 
 uncle was a forwarding merchant, who having not a boy, 
 although blessed with five girls, desired to adopt this of his 
 sister's. 
 
 The lamps were lighted before the sound of a carriage 
 rolling up to the door, and of steps in the hall, told Lucy 
 that her husband had returned. A rich color rushed into 
 her cheek, and her dark eyes lighted up. Mrs. Smythe 
 smiled secretly to observe the unconscious pride and brill- 
 iancy that came over her demeanor. Lucy was indeed 
 proud of her husband, not only of his beauty and accom- 
 plishments, but of that eloquence of conversation and grace 
 of manner which he had inherited from his father. She 
 arose as he came into the apartment, but hesitated as she 
 was about to advance to meet him. 
 19 
 
218 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Lute, my love !" lie began, in no very dulcet voice, 
 <' how do you do ? Gen. Taylor will be President as sure as 
 ah ! Mrs. Van Duyn ! " he shook hands with her gaily. 
 
 She was astonished at his flushed face and disorderly 
 air ; but as Lucy made no move to»do so, she presented him 
 to her friend. 
 
 '' Mrs. Smythe — Smythe ! you are not the person who 
 makes shirts for me, by that name ? ah, no ! I remember 
 now — from Philadelphia ? I beg your pardon — how well 
 you are looking — extremely well ! I think I never saw 
 you looking so finely, Madam." 
 
 " I jiiresume you never did," replied that lady, not dar- 
 ing to glance towards the young wife, whose face had grown 
 pale, and who stood motionless as if from alarm. 
 
 He took a chair and sat down confidentially near her. 
 
 " Would you ever have thought Old Whitey's prospects 
 were so ftivorable?" he asked, in a muddled tone. '' Pve 
 a bet of two thousand against one thousand that he will 
 never sit in the Presidential chair/' 
 
 '' I dare say you will win,'' replied his guest, a flash of 
 humor breaking through her gravity. ^' We have never 
 elevated horses to that dignity yet ; though it has been as- 
 pired to by a still inferior animal." 
 
 <' ' My horse I my horse 1 a kingdom for my horse!' 
 
 f^ays Hudibras. So tliere^ Madam, was a man who was wil- 
 
 lin.'j to give his horse a kingdom, if we are not. But you are 
 
 right, 1 intended to speak of Old Whitcy — not his master." 
 
 '' Ah 'i " was all his companion ventiu-ed to say. 
 
THE senator's SON. 219 
 
 Mrs, Van Duyn was sitting opposite, her face burning 
 with indignation and surprise. Poor Lucy retreated into 
 the nursery, where she sank down upon the bed, and burst 
 into tears of mortification. Was this the husband she had 
 arisen in such a glow of pride to present to her old friend ? 
 Bitter was her humiliation j but humiliation is not the 
 worst suffering of a drunkard's wife; and if we pity her 
 now, we shall have more to pity her for bye-and-bye. 
 
 " It seems to me that you are hardly yourself, Sir, this 
 evening," observed his mother-in-law, coldly. 
 
 '^Why — no — I am not. At least I thought that I 
 was not a short time ago,'^ he replied, looking at her comi- 
 cally. ^^I imagined that I was a bottle of champagne 
 which the Whigs and Locos were playing a game of 'brag* 
 for. As I was only a bottle of wine they thought nothing 
 of my looking over, and from where I sat on the table, I 
 could see the Old General cheating furiously : I tried to in- 
 flate myself enough to get the cork out of my mouth, so 
 that I could cry out ' fraud ! treason ! ' and in trying to do 
 it I upset myself — crash ! fizz ! — I was a bottle of spilled 
 champagne, not worth quarreling about. I had no hopes 
 of ever getting myself together again, when John picked 
 me up and put me, not in the broken bottle, but on my 
 seat. You see, the roads were so confounded rough, and he 
 had driven over a stone and jostled me off"!" 
 
 He told this little story with great spirit. The two la- 
 dies glanced at each other as if not knowing whether to 
 laugh or cry 
 
220 THE senator's son. 
 
 "Are you satisfied now of your identity?" inquired 
 Mrs. Smythe, after a pause. " I suspect that you hold 
 more champagne now than a steady, respectable bottle 
 should do." 
 
 " You wrong me/' Mrs. Brown/' he replied, with an 
 air of dignity that would have been superb upon a sober 
 man. " There no doubt appears something peculiar in my 
 manner, but it is owing to the excitement of the times. I 
 have taken a glass once or twice to-day with a few of my 
 friends — but the condition of our party demanded it. 
 AVhen the interests of the country are at stake a man must 
 not stand " 
 
 " Nor fall — " suggested Mrs. Smythe. 
 
 " There you have me again. You are witty, Mrs. 
 Brown," with an admiring bow : " no, he must not fall, as 
 I did once to-day ; but he must not stand upon trifles. It 
 is against my principles to touch any kind of intoxicating 
 beverage. I swore to my dear Lucy, before I was married, 
 that I never would ^ toy with the dangerous flame / did I 
 not, my love?" he turned to where his wife had stood, but 
 she was gone ; " and I am bound to keep my promise sa- 
 credly after the first Tuesday in November. Excuse me, 
 my dear mother — pardon me, Mrs. Brown — I must leave 
 you a moment ^ to the society of your sweet selves ' — I 
 haven't had a kiss from Carrie yet." 
 
 He made another princely bow, and retreated to the 
 nur°ery in search of his baby. 
 
 '' Poor Lucy ! my prophecy has come true ! " cried the 
 
THE senator's SOX. 221 
 
 mother, as he disappeared, ^^woe and wretchedness are in 
 store for you, I fear/' 
 
 " Displeasure and pride for a time kept back her tears, 
 and then they flowed accordant with her daughter's. 
 
 "1 am more than surprised! I had no suspicion of^r 
 this," said her friend. Poor Lucy ! indeed ! He looks like 
 a splendid man though, what a pity — pity — pity I" 
 
 " It is the first time that I have known him to touch 
 wine for more than four years. I had began to lose all my 
 old apprehensions ; but I had reason for them, I could read 
 his character better than those young people who thought 
 that a few months of trial had proved him sufficiently. 
 ' Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,' is written upon 
 his destiny. It mars the brilliancy of his gifts, it makes of 
 no account his good resolutions. Yet how could I blame 
 Lucy for loving him — or for determining to share his for- 
 tunes, be they good or bad ? For if his character is unsta- 
 ble as water, like water it is fascinating — sparkling with 
 evanescent hues and shades, lit up by every gleam of 
 beauty, musical with depths that excite curiosity, and tones 
 that are strangely pleasing." 
 
 " I should judge as much of him. But, alas ! of what 
 avail are these excellencies, if all to be darkened in this 
 manner ! Probably though, this is but a rare excess, and 
 will never lead to confirmed intemperance. Surely the in- 
 fluence of a strong-minded and warm-hearted girl like Lucy 
 ought to prevent any man from becoming a brute." 
 
 ^' I pray heaven that it may ! but I have no confidence 
 19* 
 
222 THE senator's son. 
 
 in him. With him it has always been to take one step and 
 then look back no more, until dragged by some powerful 
 effort of others into comparative safety.'^ 
 
 Lucy interrupted them by coming to lead them to the 
 tea-table. 
 
 ^' It is the first time I have seen him so — but he has 
 been drinking for two or three weeks/' she said in reply to 
 her mother's question. 
 
 Traces of tears were upon her cheeks, but she said noth- 
 ing more upon the subject. Mr. Madison was at tea, but 
 as the stimulus he had taken subsided in its exhilarating 
 effects he grew silent and sleepy. Immediately after the 
 uncomfortable meal was finished, he pleaded fatigue, and 
 politely withdrew. The ladies gathered around the centre- 
 table in the parlor with their knitting, and tried to pass a 
 cheerful evening, but tried in vain. Lucy was proud as 
 well as afibctionate ; so that whatever her secret fears were, 
 or however much she felt disposed to blame, she would not 
 touch upon her feelings, even to her mother. She remem- 
 bered that mother's warning ; and with a swelling heart she 
 resolved that the prophecy should not be realized if every- 
 thing that a truthful and patient wife could do should have 
 any effect. 
 
 Of course the presentation of the portrait had to be de- 
 layed until morning. Something of the mortification which 
 had tortured Lucy the preceding evening was now endured 
 by Parke, as he, with a faint recollection of his yesterday's 
 absurdities, was obliged to be present at breakfast. He 
 
THE senator's son. 223 
 
 would have given half his farm to be a hundred miles away 
 from the reproachful glance of Mrs. Van Duyn's eye, as she 
 took his hand at . meeting. He felt that he had wounded 
 the mother through her child's heart — that beloved child 
 whom he had taken from her, to cherish with a husband's 
 fondness. Lucy was all kindness; and Mrs. Smythe ap- 
 peared to have forgotten the manner in which their ac- 
 quaintance was made. The remembrance to him was intol- 
 erable ; hearing that the guests designed returning home 
 that afternoon, he made an errand to town, that he might 
 be relieved from that society which would have been so 
 agreeable but two days ago ; resolved not to return until 
 they had departed. 
 
 There was a silent language in the embrace Mrs. Van 
 Duyn gave her daughter at parting — unutterable love, 
 the wish to avert danger, to protect from coming sorrow. 
 It brought the quick drops to Lucy's eyes, but she bravely 
 drove them back. 
 
 " Mrs. Smythe," she said, " you must forgive Mr. Mad- 
 ison for my sake. It is his first offence, and I am deter- 
 mined that it shall be his last.'' 
 
 She smiled, but it did not hide the quiver of her lips. 
 ~ That night, again, Parke did not retura home. 
 
 From that time began for Lucy Madison the untold 
 miseries of an inebriate's wife. It had been hard and bitter 
 for a sister to wear out the midnight hours in waiting — to 
 wear out her hopes in watching — to wear out her heart in 
 sorrow ; but a sister's wretchedness cannot be that of a wife's. 
 
224 THE SEJfATOR's SOK-, 
 
 She looked upon her child with mingled feelings ; it was her 
 consolation and her trouble. Its pretty ways wiled her of 
 many a weary hour ; but thoughts of its future, as cursed 
 by an unhappy father, gaye her many another sleepless one. 
 It was with no tender thrill of joy that she found, before the 
 winter was past, that she had the promise of again becom- 
 ing a mother. Ah, no I why should she desire children ? 
 that they might grow up ashamed, with an inheritance of 
 vice ? Her spirits ebbed to the lowest tide, but she never 
 for a moment gave up to despair. Parke, wavering and un- 
 steady as he was, could not have had a companion more 
 purposed for his good. With all her affection, Lucy had 
 her mother^s indomitable soul, her noble pride and perse- 
 vering energy. "When she saw that he neglected his farm 
 affairs, and that his carelessness was taken advantage of by 
 his men, she, herself, stepped forward to the rescue of their 
 falling fortunes, and made their people feel that there was 
 still a head at work, if it was a woman's head. One third 
 of their beautiful estate went immediately after election into 
 the hands of those with whom he had betted. This loss 
 was not sufficient to diminish any of their comforts — it only 
 foreboded troubles that were yet to come. 
 
 A few months of dissipation produced their usual effects 
 upon Parke. His nerves, unstrung by escess, grew irrita- 
 ble, and as a natural consequence his temper grew harsh 
 and fretful. His remorse did not tend to sooth them, and 
 the result was coldness and unkindncss towards his wife. 
 In vain she tried now to wile him back to his former self 
 
^ THE senator's SON. 225 
 
 with the sweetness of her guitar, and the still softer music 
 of her voice. In vain that she strove to keep him at home 
 by making their artless daughter the pretty pleader. His 
 every-day stimulus was brandy now; and it eat into his 
 heart and brain as well as hi? stomach. It preyed upon 
 those nice perceptions and glowing imaginations which once 
 added such spirit to his character ; it gnawed ceaselessly at 
 those heart-strings once so finely strung to the lightest touch 
 of love, until they mouldered one by one, and when Lucy 
 would have wakened their melody as of old, there was si- 
 lence where once was sweetest sound. It inflamed the 
 coarser passions of his nature, those which could endure 
 the fiery lash ; but his more delicate sensibilities fell and 
 perished under the infliction. There grew less and less in 
 him to love. It was not only that harshness and moodiness 
 repelled her afi"ection ; when Lucy looked for those qualities 
 which had won her passionate regard, they were gone. 
 Gone the soul-beaming glance — gone the glory and purity 
 of intellectual gifts — gone the gentleness of manner — 
 gone the playful fancy — gone the tender and reverential 
 admiration of her wifely excellence ! In their place, the 
 sullen and abashed look, the dull and diseased mind, the 
 reckless hardness of actions, the senseless gayety startling at 
 times out of stupidity, the cowardly coldness on the maud- 
 lin caress. 
 
 It takes more than a few months of trial to wear out a 
 woman's endurance. Lucy's devotion was more than ever, 
 if her aff'ection was somewhat less. She loved him for what 
 
226 THE senator's son. 
 
 he had been and for what she still hoped he would yet be. 
 She loved him as the love of her youth, her husband, and 
 the father cf Carrie. A protector he had ceased to be, and 
 had become instead a persecutor. 
 
 The days came for maple-sugar making. Lucy allowed 
 the fires to glare, the smoke to struggle with the leaflesa 
 trees, the kettles to bubble and sing, without going out to 
 enjoy this little piece of domestic romance. She thanked 
 the farmer's boys when they brought her hearts, and doves, 
 and eggs of new sugar, with a smile that sent them off 
 happy, but she neglected her old seat among the gnarled 
 roots of a maple ; and giving the sweet devices to Carrie, 
 who could best appreciate them, she turned with a sigh to 
 other employments. 
 
 Dear little Carrie ! playing a fairy's part in the drama 
 of home, with a wand of sunshine, whose power fell bright- 
 ly upon all. She was too little to fear the shadows gather- 
 ing around the hearth ; at last, they began to fall even upon 
 her. Her father, in his irritable moods, would let his ill- 
 humor rest upon her — a scowl, an impatient word, a cruel 
 shake of that tiny form, was enough to grieve her to the 
 heart, and send her sobbing to her mother. She did not 
 run, as she was wont, to lead him by the hand the moment 
 she heard his step in the hall ; but shrinking close to her 
 protecting mamma, she would wait until she had read his 
 face before she ventured to intrude her innocent affection 
 upon him. Whenever he observed this it displeased him, 
 and he would accuse Lucy of teaching his child to dislike 
 
THE senator's SON. '227 
 
 her father ! There -was another subject npon which he took 
 it into his disordered mind to be uncontented. They were 
 getting too poor, he said, to afford to raise a family, and he 
 did not see what Lucy was such a dunce for as to be troub- 
 ling him with the prospects of more children, when they 
 could just manage to live now I Well might her mother 
 exclaim, '' Poor Lucy ! woe and wretchedness are ia store 
 for you ! '' 
 
 The warm weather was trying to her health. Her 
 mother, Mrs. Crawford, and Alice, all endeavored to induce 
 her to spend a few weeks with them ', but she refused, be- 
 cause she was afraid that in her absence her husband would 
 feel still less restraint. It was " for better, for worse,'' that 
 she married him, and she was not going to desert him even 
 for a little while. In these dark days of his trial and temp- 
 tation, if she did not cling to him, who would ? If he had 
 no patience, she must have all \ if he had no dignity, she 
 must have more ; if he had no prudence, she must exercise 
 double vigilance. God, who knows the heart, knows that 
 Parke had hours of deep repentance, of mental agony ; and 
 that Lucy knew of those, and pitied while she blamed, and 
 loved while she pitied. To others and to herself she urged, 
 in extenuation, his inherited defects of energy and passion 
 for stimulating drink, and they were good excuses as far aa 
 they went. She cried out as Parke's mother and sister, as 
 he himself, had done — 
 
 " Since he cannot control himself, why is there no 
 power that can be brought to bear to prevent this worst of 
 
228 THE senator's sow. 
 
 iself-murders ?'^ In her anguish there was evidenee that bo 
 sophistry, no policy of state^ could refnte. If any one had 
 asked her in such moments "if tho traffick in intoxicating 
 drinks was an evil ?" she would have gazed at him in aston- 
 ishment. If he had went on with his questions and en- 
 quired " whether it was right to prohibit evil by law ?" she 
 would still have regarded tdese simple propositions^, already 
 decided in tne hearts of every drunkard's wife and child 
 and friend, and of every drunkard himself, as so established 
 in the affirmative as to require no answer. She would not 
 have stopped to enquire, " Will it add to or take away from 
 the income of this Government ? '^ but she would have 
 stretched out her hands to the nation and cried, 
 
 " Give me my husband ! give me back my husband 1 " 
 
 One pleasant day in September, Lucy sat by the window 
 in that west room where Parke's mother had died, and 
 which was always the pleasantest of summer rooms. In 
 her lap was a variety of Carrie's out-grown baby-clothes 
 which she was preparing for the expected little stranger. 
 A tear would occasionally steal slowly down her cheek and 
 drop upon her work, as she mused upon the past, and with 
 what different and happier emotions she had first fashioned 
 those fine cambrics, soft flannels, and dainty embroideries. 
 
 Carrie sat on a footstool by her side, with a huge needle, 
 a long thread, and a wee-bit of cloth, taking her first lesson 
 in the womanly-accomplishment of sewing. 
 
 Suddenly she hushed her childish prattle, for she heard 
 her father coming around the portico with hasty steps. 
 
THE senator's fiON. 229 
 
 " Curse it ! '^ he was swearing to himself, " that dog 
 Dixon has cheated me out of five hundred dollars — I know 
 he has ; and he's so cursed impudent about it, too I I'll 
 not have him on this farm another year — no ! he shall 
 leave, if he goes to perdition !" 
 
 He came into his wife's presence and commenced his 
 complaints. He was not intoxicated, though he had been 
 drinking some. She ventured a remonstrance, when he 
 swore that he would discharge his farmer; for she knew 
 that Dixon would do better than anybody else, even if he 
 did not always do right, and she told him so. 
 
 " What do you women know about that ? he asked, with 
 contempt. " Here, Carrie, come to your father ! " 
 
 Mrs. Madison thought that she had had good opportu- 
 nities for learning something of his affairs, but she said 
 nothing. Carrie was hiding behind her chair, regarding 
 her father fearfully, one eye just visible through Lucy's 
 net-work of braided hair. She hesitated to obey his com- 
 mand, which was spoken in no gentle tone. 
 
 " What are you skulking there for ? are you afraid of 
 me ? This is some of your work, Mrs. Madison, teaching 
 our child to dislike me ! I will have no such actions in a 
 daughter of mine. When I call her, she shall come ; and 
 without turning white, either." 
 
 He was terribly out of humor, and as he approached 
 the trembling little girl, Lucy was afraid that he would lay 
 violent hands upon her. She stood up, and pushed Carrie 
 behind her. 
 
 «0 
 
230 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Parke ! what do you mean ? I have tauglit your child 
 no disobedience. You know very well that she has reason 
 to be afraid of you. It is you who have taught her this 
 fear." 
 
 <^ Is she to witness your disrespect, Madam, and to think 
 that you are going to interfere with my commands ? " 
 
 He put out his hand, not to strike, but to thrust her 
 rudely to one side. In her present condition she was not 
 strong; she staggered and dropped to the floor, bruising 
 her temple against the window-casement. Ashamed and 
 alarmed, her husband raised her, and found that she had 
 fainted. At that moment his sister Alice confronted him. 
 She had rode out from town upon horseback to enquire after 
 Lucy's health, and coming silently up the greensward had 
 dismounted and entered the house without being perceived. 
 She stood in the door during this brief scene. When she 
 stepped forward to the wife's aid, her face was colorless, and 
 her eyes flashed with a fire that had never been kindled in 
 their depths before. 
 
 ^' Go ! " she said, in a clear, ringing voice, '^ leave her 
 with me ! You are unfit to render assistance here." 
 
 She took the suff"erer from him, as if she had the 
 strength of a giant, laid her tenderly upon the lounge, dip- 
 ped her handkerchief in a pitcher of ice-water which stood 
 upon the table, bathing that bruised forehead and wiping 
 the blood which trickled slowly from the temple. He lin- 
 gered until Lucy opened her eyes, and then retreated from 
 the room. With mechanical comjposure^ Alice continued- 
 
THE senator's SON. 231 
 
 her efforts, until consciousness had fully returned and Lucy 
 made an effort to sit up. 
 
 ^' I am not hurt," she said, " I was only stunned for a 
 moment. He did not intend to hurt me — I know he 
 didn't — but I was so weak. Now, Alice, do not tell 
 mother.'' 
 
 Alice turned away her eyes from that pleading face — 
 she could hear no more — rising abruptly she went from 
 the room. She entered the parlor and closed the door. 
 Parke was there, moving restlessly about the room. He 
 paused and gazed at her as she stood before him. Despite 
 of his shame, he could not but look at her in wonder. She 
 seemed two or three inches taller than usual. Her wasted, 
 delicate figure expanded and heightened with the inward 
 force of her emotions. Her face and lips were hueless — 
 only those dark, large eyes burned with the flame that was 
 kindled within. 
 
 " Oh, wretched man ! will you have another victim V 
 
 Was that his sister who was speaking ? Something in 
 her changed voice compelled his confused faculties to gather 
 into one clear sense of hearing. 
 
 " Will you add murder to your crushing responsibility ? 
 Look at me, Parke ; is this the eye, the brow, the cheeks of 
 twenty-two ? I am one of your victims ; I gave myself a 
 sacrifice to keep you from that prison where it were better 
 you now were. I have inflicted upon myself more misery 
 than a life of imprisonment in a dungeon could bring. I 
 am the wife of 9, man who esteems himself a god, and wor- 
 
232 THE senator's son. 
 
 sliips himself accordingly. I am the slave of a heartless 
 voluptuary. To save you, I overcame that terror with 
 which my purer nature shrank from his, and stood beside 
 him at the altar. I lived with him, and found that I had 
 linked my earthly fate with that of an infidel, a hater of 
 man and a scorner of God. I could not love him. He did 
 not demand my love. It was enough for him to feel that I 
 belonged to him ; he made no demand for those tender fan- 
 cies and yearning affections which form so large a part of a 
 woman's nature. He laughed at my religion. I lived on 
 with the heart of youth growing cold in my bosom, and its 
 warm pulses declining to a weary slowness ; associated with 
 a tyrant, wrapped in luxurious indulgences, who took all 
 that he could secure of pleasure in this world with no fear 
 or expectation of another. At last he has grown tired of 
 me. That coldness and resignation which he once delighted 
 in, because he could torture it, has become too cold and too 
 resigned for him. He will have no more of me. To-mor- 
 row, Mr. Clyde goes south, and leaves me behind. He 
 never intends to see me again ; but he does not wish the 
 world to think it a case of heartless desertion, for he lives 
 upon the honey of the world, and would keep its good opin- 
 ion. So he has instituted an understanding that business 
 calls him him away, and will leave people to discover in the 
 course of time what his real motives are. He leaves me 
 alone, exposed to misrepresentation and calumny. He 
 leaves me without sufficient means for my support, for my 
 fortune and his own are not too much for his pleasure. I 
 
THE senator's SON. 233 
 
 must either become dependent upon the kindness of the 
 Crawford's or give lessons in music for a living. Parke 
 Madison ! this is your work. In being faithful to you as 
 my mother demanded, your own follies have led me into 
 this bitter and neglected state. What is my reward ? Have 
 I a brother who will step forth like a man and demand the 
 rights of his sister ? Instead, I see before me a brute, who 
 has just stricken the wife of his bosom to the earth. I see 
 two hearts breaking. I see a little child, learning in its in- 
 fancy the language of curses, frowns, and blows. And see- 
 ing this, I am tempted to renounce you, I think that I am 
 absolved from that dying injunction, since I have beheld 
 you strike your wife prostrate — and such a wife, and in 
 such a condition. I wronged Lucy when I permitted her 
 to marry you, without vowing to her that it would be her 
 curse. Now I am going to take her away from you until 
 she is in at least a less dangerous situation for enduring the 
 blows of an enraged husband. I shall take her back to her 
 mother, this very day, whether she wishes to go or not, and 
 there she shall remain until you are worthy to claim her, or 
 until her health permits her to return to you. Oh ! my 
 mother!" she laid her hands together and lifted up her 
 eyes ; ''if thou canst look down from thy walks in Paradise, 
 my sunken cheek, my dreary brow, my lingering step, my 
 blighted heart, shall be to thee the assurance of my faith- 
 fulness ; thou canst require no more of me — thou wilt not 
 blame if I now forsake him !" 
 
 Had she ceased to speak ? — Parke stood shivering be- 
 20* 
 
234 TTTE senator's son. 
 
 fore licr, thrilled through and through by her voice, as by a 
 blast of cold mountain wind. He half expected to hear the 
 tones of his mother in response floating down through the 
 sky and sealing his condemnation. 
 
 ^^ My God ! Alice ! " he cried with a sudden burst of des- 
 pair, ^^ are you going to forsake me? then I am indeed lost I " 
 
 It seemed as if he had some idea that as long as so pure 
 and etherial a creature as Alice clung to him, that the an- 
 gels and their Lord might have compassion upon him and 
 consider him kindly for her sake. 
 
 She made no reply, but glided like a shadow out of the 
 room. 
 
 By her directions the family carriage was prepared as 
 comfortably as possible, and Lucy placed therein. Carrie 
 and a trunk of clothing followed. Lucy was loth to go. 
 She felt iis if she ought to go, out of consideration for her 
 own comfort ; but she could not endure to leave her hus- 
 band to his own unhappy society. Parke saw them depart 
 from the parlor-window ; Alice riding her pony close by the 
 carriage, looking in and talking to its occupants. Should he 
 let them go ? it was his right and privilege to recall his 
 wife and child and compel them to obedience. The terror 
 which came over him when he saw Lucy lying senseless 
 before him, recurred to his mind ; how should he answer 
 for himself, that to-morrow he might not again be as much 
 of a brute, or perhaps a murderer ? How could he give 
 surety for the conduct of a madman ? and did he not innke 
 a madman of himself every day ? 
 
THE senator's SON. 235 
 
 He turned from the window, as the carriage slowly 
 rolled away, and walked rapidly back and forth, such fire 
 scorched his brain, such red shapes swam before his eyes, 
 such hideous images thronged his mind, that he was seized 
 with a fear of the drunkard's mania. Was that madness 
 coming upon him, too ? with a cry between a groan and 
 shriek he rushed out of the house and ran towards the 
 grove. Anywhere, anywhere, out into the open air where 
 no eye could behold him, nor ear take note of his distress. 
 He fled along ; in gaining the grove, he had to cross the 
 stream which wound through the meadow. Late rains had 
 swelled it to quite a little river. As his foot lingered on 
 the log which spanned it, a new sound confused him — 
 " Anywhere — anywhere out of the world!'' rang through 
 his ear; he obeyed the cunning suggestion and sprang into 
 the stream. He fell face downwards, sank, and rose again 
 struggling. He struck out his hands, but they clutched 
 not even a straw. Demons were shouting in his ears and 
 sitting upon his breast. Off ! off ! would they not release 
 him from their dreadful weight upon his bosom ? no ! they 
 lauo-hed and roared, and their pressure grew intolerable. 
 Then they slowly swam away, leaving him floating upon a 
 cloud airily through the sky, and Lucy singing her cradle- 
 songs to Carrie, close by his side. Then * * * * 
 > It was scarcely more than a week after Lucy was set- 
 tled in her mother's home before her baby was born. She 
 was very ill, and the baby, a boy, was a feeble, tiny little 
 creature. She had the best of nurses in Alice and Mrs. 
 
236 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 Van Duyn. The slow-spoken Doctor^ who once attended 
 upon Parke's broken head and arm, was exceedingly inter- 
 ested in his patient and anxious to have her recover. For 
 some time her life was in danger, but in the course of two 
 or three weeks she began to amend. Every comfort and 
 kindness surrounded her sick bed; every blessing except 
 that she most pined for, the presence of her husband. He 
 was the father of a boy; and perhaps he did not even know 
 of it; he had never taken the little fellow in his arms, 
 kissed its puny face, nor thanked her for the peril she had 
 endured, nor the son she had given. For long hours she 
 would lay with closed eyes, her whole being absorbed in an 
 intense yearning to look upon her husband, to feel his lips 
 upon her forehead, and to nestle her hand in his. She 
 spoke to her mother about it every day ; but the mother-in- 
 la^could not forget, as her daughter had, the wrongs of the 
 sufferer. She was not aware of how powerful Lucy's feel- 
 ings were upon the subject, until the physician told her that, 
 as long as the cause for such nervous excitement existed in 
 his patient, he could not hope to see her get well. 
 
 Katy was very much disappointed because the baby was 
 not a girl. She had a name ready for it, but it would not 
 sound well to call a boy ^ Jane Eyre,' and she was obliged 
 to relinquish tlie idea. She puzzled her brain to decide be- 
 tween '■ Herbert Gray' and ' Vivian.' Poor little thing ! 
 it needed no name. After a brief month of pain and pining 
 away, it closed its eyes upon a troublous earth. The chil- 
 dren wept over the corpse, tiny and white in its pretty 
 
237 
 
 coffin, for ' the baby' was a precious thing to them. Carrie 
 cried because ^ brother ' was so cold, and because they took 
 him away and put him in the ground beneath the oak in 
 the meadow and left him alone in the dark. 
 
 Lucy mourned deeply over its loss. It was all the 
 dearer to her for being so surrounded by tribulations. Its 
 sickliness and feebleness had awakened strange feelings of 
 tenderness ; and it was born, and dead, and buried, and its 
 father had never beheld it. What to her now were his 
 cruel taunts when he had declared himself too poor to be 
 burdened with a family ? nothing ; she forgave him all and 
 felt that she should die if she should not see him. She 
 eank again so rapidly that messengers were dispatched with 
 the news of her danger, and her desire to see him, to Mr. 
 Madison. 
 
 When Parke left the house with that fierce cry, he had 
 startled the house-keeper from her quiet seat in the dining- 
 room, where she sat reflecting upon the wickedness of men, 
 and wondering when her mistress thought of returning. 
 
 " Mercy sakes ! I believe he's gone crazy !'' she 'ejac- 
 ulated, as she saw him flying across the meadow. ^' Here, 
 Dixon, set down that milk and come and see what's the 
 matter with Mr. Madison." 
 
 Dixon was in the kitchen helping himself to a bowl of 
 bread and milk ; he did not stir at her bidding. 
 
 ^' I don't care what's the matter with him, I'm sure. 
 He called me a liar and robber not three hours ago." 
 
 ^' Lord a'mercy ! if he hasn't jumped plump into the 
 
288 THE senator's son. 
 
 creek ! He's drowning ; Dixon, you fool, aint you going to 
 start?" 
 
 The former's resentment did not extend as far as to 
 wish death for his landlord just then ) so he threw down his 
 spoon, and started on a lumbering run to the rescue. The 
 drowning man was insensible w^hen he dragged him out. 
 Hester prided herself on her skill as a doctress as well as 
 house-keeper ; her strong arms and rude remedies were of 
 good account. She threw over the first barrel she came to, 
 which chanced to be the swill-barrel, and helped Dixon to 
 bear him to it, and left him with injunctions to roll him 
 desperately every minute while she hastened after blankets, 
 and hot ashes, and the bellows. Their united exertions 
 were crowned with success. Parke recovered his breath, 
 wdth a portion of his senses, and passed a sick night with 
 only Hester to sit by his couch. But the demons were 
 driven away for the present. Hydropathy had cured him 
 of incipient delirium-tremens. 
 
 The next day, haggard and weak, he rode on horseback 
 to the city, to give Alfred Clyde a warning not to ill-treat 
 his sister ! but that gentleman had already left on the boat, 
 and Alice was out at Mrs. Van Duyn's. 
 ^ " After all," he muttered, turning from the Clyde resi- 
 dence, '^what could I have said to the villain, when my 
 own wife has taken refuge in her mother's home from my 
 ferocity?" 
 
 Truly he could have said nothing ) for Alfred with cool 
 sarcasm, polished and sharp as steel, would have defeated 
 
THE senator's son. 239 
 
 him, and left him powerless on the field. As Alice accused 
 him, he was not fit to be a brother or protector. 
 
 This reflection was so humiliating that he called at the 
 fir.st saloon for something to exhilarate his self-esteem. 
 Another week of intoxication ensued^ from which he was 
 aroused by hearing of Lucy's danger. This appalling news 
 brouglit another of those seasons of repentance, when the 
 tempter was nearly overcome. Not daring to intrude into 
 the house, he haunted the vicinity of the cottage day after 
 day. Several nights he set under the window of the sick- 
 room, as if there he could hear that feeble breathing which 
 might so soon be suspended. His suspense was such that 
 he always contrived to be somewhere near when the physi- 
 cian took his departure, and from him he was informed of 
 her condition constantly. Had Hebe then offered him a 
 goblet of nectar he would have dashed it to earth. He knew 
 when his boy died; he saw the grave hallowed and the 
 tiny coffin lowered; that night he lay upon the mound, 
 with the bible Alice had given him in his school days, 
 clasped in his hand, praying God to listen to his prodigal 
 prayers, to strengthen Lis renewed resolutions. 
 
 The messenger had not far to go, who was sent for him. 
 The doctor had informed him that he should order Lucy's 
 wishes attended to. He, with Mrs. Van Duyn and Alice, 
 sat in the outer room when Parke passed through to the 
 sick-chamber. He did not look at them, but passed with a 
 (jiiiek, liglit step to his wife's bedside. 
 
 "Parke I" . 
 
240 THE senator's son. 
 
 He bowed his head upon that thin hand and wet it with 
 his tears. A faint pressure of her attenuated fingers and a 
 wan smile was all the welcome she could give him. 
 
 " You are not going to die ?^' he asked, gazing eagerly 
 into her face. 
 
 '*No — I feel better this noon/' she whispered. 
 
 In ten brief moments the physician separated them; 
 but Lucy knew that her husband was under the same roof, 
 and she sank into a refreshing sleep. 
 
 It was many weeks before she recovered strength so as 
 to return to her own home. In the meantime Alice had 
 found a refuge, pale and weary dove ! with Mrs. Crawford 
 As Mr. Crawford was gone, to be absent a year in the west 
 attending to extensive agencies, she was delighted to gel 
 her adopted daughter back again. Not even to her did Al- 
 ice confide the truth that she was deserted. Comparatively 
 happy to escape from daily persecutions, she made an efi'ort 
 to regain some portion of her j^outhful vivacity. But her 
 spirits had been too long strained to an unnatural tension ; 
 they would not spring back with the old buoyancy. 
 
 With no one who was meet to be her companion, Lucy 
 and Parke absorbed in each other, and no one of her own 
 age, in whose society to recover herself, she drooped, grow- 
 ing more silent, lily-like, and fragile every day. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 In a small dwelling, upon the outskirts of a western vil- 
 lage, a lamp burned late at night. Snow was heaped about 
 the stcpS; and upon the casement, which rattled to the tune 
 of a disconsolate wind. Within, a woman of twenty-five, 
 her chair and table drawn close to the stove, was busy with 
 some motherly employment, A box of water-color paints, 
 with brushes and drawing utensils, occupied a portion of 
 the small table, but these were not now in use. A pair of 
 small stockings, that had been darned for the fiftieth time, 
 lay beside them, and the solitary worker, shivering over the 
 stove, which contained only the pretence of a fire, wa« busily 
 sewing up the rents in a pair of shabby shoes. A little 
 girl, about four years of age, lay asleep in her crib, the 
 clothes tucked warmly about her ; unconscious, during the 
 blessed rest of childhood, of the care her mother was giving 
 to her humble apparel. She had placed the patched shoes 
 beside the stockings, and was proceeding with a weary air 
 to wash out a couple of aprons in a kettle of water that 
 21 
 
242 _ THE senator's son. 
 
 stood upon the stove, when the sound of an unsteady step, 
 and a hand feeling for the latch, arrested her. She hastily 
 hid the painting materials in a drawer of the stand, before 
 she unfastened the door, 
 
 '' What the deuce do you keep a fellow standing all 
 night in the cold for?'' grumbled a cross voice, as a per- 
 son, who had once been a gentleman, stumbled over the 
 threshold. 
 
 ^' I came as quickly as I could." 
 
 " No, you didn't come as quickly as you could. Do 
 you call this a fire ? a pretty way to treat a man when he is 
 out until midnight, to come home and find no fire, and the 
 weather cold enough to freeze the ." 
 
 He sat down and commenced rubbing his hands to 
 warm them, glaring half angrily, half stupidly at the 
 hearth; while his wife wrung out the aprons and hung 
 them upon a chair. 
 
 '^ I say, Lucy, where' s that five dollars you got to-day ? " 
 he suddenly exclaimed, lifting up his head. 
 
 " What five dollars ? — what do you mean ?" she asked, 
 with an endeavor to look unconcerned, but a slight flush 
 arose to her care-worn cheek. 
 
 " Now, don't pretend ignorance in that style. I mean 
 the five dollars that you got for painting little James Kin- 
 ney. I know that you have it, for his father told me to- 
 day that he had just paid it to you." 
 
 *' Mr. Kinney is a villain!'' burst from the indignant 
 lips of the wife. 
 
THE senator's SON. 243 
 
 Mr. Kinney was a grocer, whose little boy's miniature 
 she had done for the contemptible sum of six dollars ; and 
 when she called for her pay he had the heartlessness to tell 
 her that her husband owed him nearly that for liquor. 
 Perhaps the arrows of scorn and resentment which shot 
 from the lips and eyes of a woman like Lucy Madison had 
 wounded him in the only tender part of his heart, his 
 vanity ; for he doggedly paid her the money she had earned, 
 except one dollar which she took in sugar, coffee, and tea. 
 But you injure the self-esteem of such a man and he will 
 be revenged. The grocer's casual mention to his customer 
 of the picture his wife had painted, and the sum he had 
 paid for it, was not so carelessly done as it appeared to be. 
 
 *' I say, Lute, I want that money !'' 
 
 ^' You cannot have it. I have imperative use for every 
 penny." 
 
 ^^And so have L Confound it! I've drank nothing 
 but whiskey for a month. And to-morrow I am bound to 
 have a high ; on genuine brandy, too, such as a gentleman 
 ought to drink.'^ 
 
 " Wouldn't it be better to spend it for the children, 
 Parke ? Carrie has no shoes ; nor stockings either, for that 
 matter, that are fit to wear. Besides, we are out of wood, 
 and yet you complain of the fire." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. Lute, let me have the money." 
 
 ^' I must not, and I shall not," she replied firmly. ^' It 
 is after one o'clock, and you had better go to bed." 
 
 A baby, lying in its parents' bed, awaked at the sound 
 
244 THE senator's son. 
 
 of their voices, and began to cry. Lucy went to it and 
 was soothing it, while its drunken father stumbled around 
 the room, searching in drawers, cupboard, and corners, for 
 the coveted five dollars. He could not find them. 
 
 '' If you don't tell me where it is, I will beat you to 
 death," he said, stamping his foot upon the floor, when he 
 found his search to be in vain. 
 
 She laid down her child and turned towards him. 
 
 ^^ Parke, if I give it to you, it will do no good, and the 
 children will suffer. I will not do it for their sakes, nor 
 for your own. You are better without it." 
 
 "Where is it?" he demanded, with increasing fury, 
 regarding that slender woman with a threatening air which 
 might well make her secretly tremble, though she tried to 
 be brave, at the thought of her little ones. She folded her 
 arms over her swelling heart and stood silent and pale. 
 
 With an oath he seized the kettle from the stove and 
 hurled its contents towards her. The fire had truly burned 
 low, but the kettle was placed immediately above the wast- 
 ing embers and retained enough heat to be dangerous. 
 
 It was the instinct of self-preservation — she forgot her 
 child — she stepped aside — and the scalding water fell into 
 Carrie's crib. The piercing screams of the little sufferer 
 startled the midnight echoes. The mother snatched up lu^r 
 darling, and ran wildly about the room, holding her to Lt» 
 bosom, too distracted to think of any means for her relief 
 At last she sank into a chair, and tore the night-slip from 
 that quivering form. One side of the face, neck, and chest. 
 
• THE senator's son. 245 
 
 and one arm, were dreadfully scalded ; as the dress was re- 
 moved, the blistered skin came with it, leaving the flesh 
 exposed and inflicting such excruciating agony that the child 
 went into convulsions. 
 
 '' Will you go for some one — will you do something?" 
 cried the wretched mother to the man who stood like a 
 stone, sobered by those shrieks of pain and appalled at his 
 own deed. '^ For a doctor — a doctor I— there is one upon 
 this street, quick!'' He went out with so stupid a look, 
 that gazing upon those spasms of pain she hesitated whether 
 she should not leave the poor child alone, while she, herself, 
 ran for aid. Fortunately the physician was returning from 
 a very sick patient whom he had been called up to visit, and 
 encountered Mr. Madison, before he had taken six steps. 
 He returned with him. 
 
 " How does this happen. Madam ? " 
 
 He looked around upon the drunkard's home and needed 
 no other reply. He took the little girl, and gave such di- 
 rections as Lucy had gained composure enough to follow. 
 The wounds were soon dressed, in as soothing a manner as 
 possible, and the exhausted child laid carefully on a pre- 
 pared bed where her mother sat by her side the rest of the 
 night, listening to her feeble moans with an aching heart. 
 Overcome by heavy sleep, the author of this misery lay be- 
 fore the stove, drawing long and noisy inspirations, and 
 filling the apartment with the odors of his corrupted breath. 
 The physician had assured her that the burns were not deep 
 
 21 
 
246 THE senator's SOX. 
 
 enougli to be dangerous, unless that upon the chest proved 
 more serious than he anticipated. 
 
 " I am almost tempted to vote for the Maine-law men, 
 after the scene which I have witnessed to-night/' he told 
 his wife, as he returned to the comfortable bed from which 
 he had been roused. '^ I can't do it very consistently, ei- 
 ther, for there are not three of them who belong to our 
 party ; and, after all, if men will make fools and beasts of 
 themselves, I don't know who has a right to interfere." 
 
 " The heart knoweth its own bitterness," and none may 
 know what bitterness filled Lucy Madison's during her 
 watch that night. 
 
 Within less than a year after the birth of their second 
 child the farm had gone from Parke's hands. His sister 
 Alice could furnish him with no further means, and Mr. 
 Crawford did not feel bound to do it. After gathering to- 
 gether the small remnant of their property, he found that 
 there was enough to take them to some western village, 
 within whose thriving precincts he was sure some employ- 
 ment could be found. And so there could have been for a 
 steady and energetic poor man. But what was there for 
 him, or what would he do if work was furnished, Lucy 
 asked herself and him. There was no living for them in 
 the city, however. Finding him bent upon going, and think- 
 ing it the best that could be done, Mr. Crawford offered 
 him some business, which his knowledge of the law made 
 him peculiarly compeient to transact, in the village of 
 
THE senator's SON. 247 
 
 A , ill a western State. Luc}^ was urged by all her 
 
 friends to remain behind with her mother, at least until it 
 was seen whether Parke met with any success. She was 
 strongly tempted to do so. She felt homesick at the very 
 thought of parting with the scenes of her youth ; and both 
 terror and loneliness at the idea of going into a strange place 
 with a husband who she well knew would bring mortifica- 
 tion and disgrace upon her, instead of procuring for her and 
 himself that position which she was, and he had been, en- 
 titled to. Duty as well as affection whispered, " for better, 
 for worse.'' Striving nobly to overcome her repinings, she 
 bade a tearful farewell to all endeared associations, and with 
 beautiful little Carrie for her consolation, went with him to 
 sojourn in a strange land. For a short time, pride restrained 
 . Mr. Madison from his worst excesses. His reputation as the 
 son of the late senator Madison, the known excellence and 
 fame of his family, pro- ired for him a cordial welcome in 
 
 the limited society of A . His wife was esteemed as 
 
 a most accomplished and dignified woman. They took a 
 small house and furnished it plainly. Lucy's guitar and 
 their books was about all th-A they retained of their former 
 splendor ; but good taste and refinement presided over their 
 poverty, and all would have been well had Parke continued 
 in respectable habits. His restraint soon wore off, and 
 where he had been regarded as a dissipated gentleman he 
 soon found himself a wretched debauchee. 
 
 Although Lucy had anticipated severe trials, hundreds 
 that were unlooked for pressed upon her. Parke's situation 
 
248 THE senator's son. 
 
 was a sinecure; a respectable income and nothing of any 
 account to do. Every dollar though, which he received, 
 was wasted in self-indulgence. As long as he had the 
 means, he got drunk bravely and fashionably upon wine, 
 with cards and friends, and dishes of oysters. Want in- 
 truded its pinched face within their doors. Lucy adver- 
 tised as an artist, and for a time received considerable pat- 
 ronage. Upon these earnings she supported the household 
 expenses. She secluded herself entirely within her humble 
 home. Ashamed of her husband, she felt unpleasantly to 
 receive respect and attention which was no longer shown to 
 him. Friends and well-wishers she had, but they were 
 strangers. They pitied secretly, though they dared not con- 
 dole. She shrank alike from pity and condolence. Her 
 wardrobe began to grow shabby, and she had no purse from 
 which to replenish it. Her health, too, became poor; so 
 that in solitude and loneliness the days passed away. She 
 would have sunk under her afflictions had not Carrie been a 
 constant source of diversion, something to love, to live, to 
 hope, to work for. With her own hands Lucy performed 
 the household labor until nearly the time that her third 
 child was born. She was attended through her illness by 
 kind neighbors, who watched and nursed her, and brought 
 numberless delicacies to tempt her dainty appetite. She 
 was grateful for their attention and care, without which she 
 would have suffered much more than she did; but they 
 were not to her like her mother and Alice and Mrs. Smythe. 
 He who should have made every effort to lighten the tedi- 
 
THE senator's son. 249 
 
 ousness of her invalid hours, was passing the time in sa- 
 loons and grog-shops, careless of her comfort and forgetful 
 of her loneliness. Great drops would roll down her cheeks 
 and fall upon her little baby's face, as he lay upon her bo- 
 som, while with a sigh the words would break from her 
 lips as if they could no longer be repressed — 
 
 ^^ Oh ! if I could see my mother once more ! oh, if Al- 
 ice was only here to stay with me I '' 
 
 When she recovered so as to go about the house, she 
 found a sad lack even of the necessities of life. With an 
 infant in her arms, little Carrie to do for, and the family 
 work to perform, she had no leisure for painting. That 
 source of income was cut off; besides, those who were 
 pleased with her work, had nearly all employed her before 
 this, and she had but few opportunities of profiting by her 
 talents. 
 
 During the summer, it was the second summer of their 
 
 stay in A , these privations could be endured. A 
 
 fire was not necessary, nor warm clothing ; and she and the 
 children could fare content upon simple food. With cold 
 weather, matters grew infinitely worse. As Parke neglected 
 what little business he had to do, his receipts thereupon 
 grew less. Bad liquor — mean, contemptible stuff (not but 
 that the best is bad enough) — was his food, drink, and 
 clothing. He took it from a dirty glass, at a dirty bar, and 
 then lounged in dirty attire upon a dirty bench. This was 
 
 Parke Madison ! The dwellers of the town of A , 
 
 who passed one of its numerous grog-shops, might cast care- 
 
250 THE senator's son. 
 
 less glances upon the shabby man, sunning his rusty broad- 
 cloth in the door or upon the vagabond's seat, without a 
 suspicion that he had once been the Count D'Orsay of 
 New York. A lingering of gentility there was about him, 
 a nicety of language, a courtliness sometimes in his drunken 
 dignity • and some remains of his former beauty ; but noth- 
 ino; else to distinguish him from the lowest sot who laid 
 his sixpence upon the bar and swallowed his abominable 
 whiskey. 
 
 Lucy disposed of her guitar — she had no heart to 
 touch its strings to sweetness now — for money to buy a 
 couple of cords of wood and a barrel of flour. From her 
 own worn-out attire she could still fashion comfortable gar- 
 ments for the children. The first part of the winter passed 
 until at the time when we have seen her in her miserable 
 home sitting up until after midnight, to await a brutal hus- 
 band, and to eke out the means of a wretched subsistence. 
 There were some chairs, a pretty sewing-stand, a carpet, and 
 some knick-knacks in her little sitting-room, which pride 
 had forbidden her to dispose of, and which prudence sug- 
 gested her to reserve against a case of actual starvation. 
 
 When the grocer had come to have his boy's miniature 
 painted, she was not aware of who he was. She kept her 
 work concealed from Parke, for she knew that he would 
 possess himself of the proceeds; and was carefully calculat- 
 ing in what manner the money could be most judiciously 
 distributed among so many wants. She was indignant to 
 find that she had been employed by one of those vampires 
 
THE senator's SON. 251 
 
 wlio preyed upon the weakness of her husband ; and when 
 Mr. Kinney would have reserved her dearly-earned dues to 
 pay the score of his most constant customer, her resentment 
 had taken some words and looks which smarted his small 
 soul with a sting which would not be appeased until he had 
 applied the balm of his characteristic revenge. 
 
 Here were some of the consequences. The mother 
 watched by her suffering child. Bitter feelings arose. Her 
 sense of duty transferred itself from her husband to her 
 children. He had chosen his own lot — they were helpless, 
 and she was their natural protector. She blamed herself 
 for so long exposing them to the dangers of their father's 
 presence. She resolved that the coming day she would 
 write to Alice, and implore her to seek from her friends the 
 means for her return to them. 
 
 Circumstances had changed in the old home. The sis- 
 ter next younger was happily married, residing in the cot- 
 tage, and having her mother and Katy with her, while 
 Willy had gone to his Uncle Nold's. But Lucy knew that 
 somewhere they would cheerfully find a place for her and 
 her little ones. She did not despair of being able to sup- 
 port them well, if left unmolested to her own resources. 
 For the first time, she saw plainly that she was under no 
 farther obligations to live with one who was no longer a 
 man, but a something worse than brute. This was not the 
 person with whom she had stood at the altar — the man, 
 endowed with intellect, reason, judgment, heart, and tliosc 
 a:t:ibutes which distinguish the immortal from the least. 
 
252 
 
 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 This was a sot, with whom it was an outrage upon refine- 
 ment or decency to live — this was a madman with whom 
 it was dangerous to be associated — this was an animal who 
 had nearly drowned all indications of soul or mind in the 
 burning bowl. 
 
 Her resolution was taken. If God spared poor Carrie's 
 life, she should never again be the victim of a father's in- 
 sanity. She counted up the weeks until she could return 
 by the lake. It would be an impossibility almost to travel 
 by stage, with two such small children. It was nearly the 
 first of March. Courage — courage ! she whispered to her- 
 self. " If it be necessary, I can at least claim the protec- 
 tion of the law, and have him imprisoned. Anything to 
 save my children." 
 
 Even with the moans of the sufierer setting her nerves 
 in, a tremble, she felt a sense of relief. A crushing burden 
 seemed lifted from her shoulders — that feeling of ' duty ^ 
 which had weighed upon her heart and prevented her taking 
 any steps for her own comfort or her babies. The thought 
 that she could leave this disgusting companion — be free 
 from his foul breath, his curses, and hateful caresses, and 
 yet do him no wrong, came over her with a thrill of strength 
 and hope. Her love had departed. She loved the Parke 
 Madison of old with a passionate, regretful love, as one 
 mourns for a friend who is dead ; but this Parke Madison 
 she could not love. Soul and sense refused to be enchanted 
 with such loathsomeness. 
 
 Wlien day dawned upon them, it found Lucy shivering 
 
THE senator's son. 253 
 
 with cokl, wrapped in a large shawl, Carrie sleeping under 
 the influence of an opiate, and Parke rousing from his 
 heavy slumber. Grumbling at the freezing state of afijiirs, 
 and rubbing his shoulders, which ached with their repose 
 upon the floor, he arose and stared at his wife. 
 
 " What are you up for ? you look as if you had been 
 sitting there all night." 
 
 She pointed to the bed; he approached and gazed at 
 the poor little form lying there swathed in bandages. As 
 recollection of the scenes of the night broke upon him, 
 some thrilling screams rang again in his ears, his lips trem- 
 bled as he spoke with an effort — 
 
 ^^ I suppose this is some of the work of that cursed 
 whiskey." 
 
 " It is a work which will bring you more sorrow than 
 it has your victim. As sure as there is a God in Heaven, 
 such things as these will bring retribution \" 
 
 '' I know it — they will ! " — he shook with cold and 
 fear. 
 
 " Have you no fire ? " he asked, to turn the subject ; 
 shall I build one up ? " 
 
 " There is no wood. This is no place for you, either. 
 Sir; I shall not complain of you this time, though the 
 neighbors will probably see fit to have you placed in safety ; 
 but, if you dare to enter these doors again while Carrie 
 lies here in this condition, I will no longer forbear. You 
 shall have a home in the county-jail, where it will be impos- 
 sible for you to beat your wife or burn your children." 
 90 
 
254 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Why, Lucy ! I never heard you quite so bitter before. 
 But I suppose I deserve it. I shall see first if I can get 
 anything for a fii-e^ and then go, if I must. Where do you 
 expect me to sleep ? at the tavern ? You might at least 
 then give me a little money to pay for a bed, since you 
 know I cannot get trusted." 
 
 Her look of contempt would have blasted a man in his 
 senses ; he only continued in a whining tone — 
 
 " Come ! do be a little generous with your husband." 
 
 As she made no reply, he went out into the wood-shed, 
 looked up a board, split it to pieces, and with some barks 
 that were lying about, kindled quite a cheerful fire. He 
 also filled the tea-kettle and put it on the stove. 
 
 " Hadn't you better get us a little breakfast first?" he 
 next inquired, lingering by the fire, while Lucy took up her 
 baby and nursed him. 
 
 As she made no move to do so, he ground some coifee in 
 the mill, and had just got it finely boiling, and was slicing 
 some bread and butter, when the doctor's step at the door 
 arrested him. As Lucy opened it, he dodged into the sit- 
 ting-room, afraid and ashamed to be seen. As the physi- 
 cian's call promised to be a long one, and as he began ty 
 feel the need of his morning bitters, he helped himself to a 
 handsomely-bound volume of Longfellow's poems, which he 
 hid in his coat and crept out the door, provided with thf 
 means of obtaining a day's whiskey. 
 
 Doctor Browning was a humane man who visited Life 
 poor patients almost as cheerfully as he did his rich one.«i. 
 
THE senator's SON. 255 
 
 Familiar as lie was with poverty and distress, he was touched 
 by the noble demeanor of Mrs. Madison, so superior to the 
 station in which he found her. In a kind and delicate man- 
 ner, he informed her that if she was in want of any com- 
 fort, she must not hesitate to let him know it. She smiled 
 sadly as she went to the Bible which lay on the mantel and 
 took from between its leaves five dollars. 
 
 " You see I am not quite destitute," she said. ^^ If you 
 will do me the favor to take two dollars and send a load of 
 wood here ; I cannot go out to look for it ; and, as you see, 
 I have none.'' 
 
 "Ah!" he gave a little sympathetic shiver at the 
 thought of a February day and no fire. You shall have it 
 in less than an hour. Madam. And if you will consent, T 
 will speak to my niece — she's a pleasant, warm-hearted 
 girl, and will be glad to come — to stay with you this after- 
 noon and evening. She will be very gentle with the little 
 girl — a good nurse is Miss Mary." 
 
 Mrs. Madison thanked him gratefully. He lingered 
 with his hand upon the door-latch. 
 
 " And, my dear Madam, if you wish to get rid of your 
 troublesome husband, we have a place where he will have a 
 quiet chance to reflect upon his conduct. I will have him 
 taken care of, if you say so ; it is my opinion that it had 
 better be done." 
 
 " I have warned him not to return here," replied Lucy, 
 a faint blush mounting to her temples. " If he does, I will 
 inform you, and you may take what steps you please." 
 
256 THE senator's son. 
 
 " Yery well. But remember your children, Mrs. Mad- 
 ison, and do not be too merciful.'' 
 
 He bowed respectfully and went away. A load of wood, 
 and a man to prepare it, were soon at the door. It was 
 hardly noon, before the niece of Dr. Browning, Miss Mary 
 Browning, made her appearance, prepared to stay through 
 the day and night. She was an amiable, rosy-cheeked girl, 
 to whom the baby took immediately, laughing and crowing 
 back answers to her smiles. Her hands were skilful in 
 holding and soothing the little sufferer ; and she let more 
 than one tear fall amid the golden curls fastened back from 
 that poor, tortured neck and cheek. Perhaps the mother 
 saw these compassionate drops, for Mary had not been with 
 her an hour, before she felt both love and gratitude towards 
 her. As for Mary, she had conceived a kind of girlish 
 worship for Mrs. Madison from the first moment she beheld 
 those beautiful brown eyes and heard those sweet, touching 
 cadences in her voice. She would follow every movement 
 of that elegant figure with secret attention, wondering from 
 what circle of brightness this star had dropped to so forlorn a 
 sphere. Bits of poetry would come into her head — romances 
 of a princess in disguise — all the stories she had ever read of 
 fallen fortunes and the inebriate's home. Hitherto she had 
 thought that only low, ignorant people became drunkards 
 — at least such drunkards as Mr. Madison was a specimen 
 of — and that their wives, although to be pitied, were some- 
 how incapable of very sensitive feeling, and that sympathy 
 would be somewhat wasted upon them. She had enter- 
 
THE senator's SON. 257 
 
 tainecl a dim idea that when drunkards' children had their 
 limbs broken, or fell into the fire, or had hot water throwu 
 upon them, that the limbs undoubtedly ached and the 
 burns smarted, but not with any such pain as would set 
 the whole village in commotion had it chanced to her own 
 pretty cousin, or to Lawyer Harris' beautiful little boy. 
 Here, however, she saw a child, whose shining ringlets and 
 f^iir complexion, whose violet eyes and dimpled hands, might 
 awaken the pity of these fastidious people who were insen- 
 sible to other distress than that of refinement and beauty 
 afilicted. She saw a woman, born to queenliness of station, 
 dragged down to share her husband's disgrace. She would 
 have done just as much for the most ignorant; every 
 fellow-creature had claims upon her attention and kind- 
 ness ; but what she often did out of pity she now did out 
 of love. 
 
 Several people were in during the day. Numberless 
 little gifts accompanied their visits ', a pitcher of milk for 
 the baby, a basket of pippins, a large paper of sweet crack- 
 ers for Carrie to eat when she got well enough, and the like. 
 Doctor Browning dressed the burns again in the afternoon. 
 Mary iron^ the aprons, played with the baby, brought in 
 the wood for night, made her bed while the mother held 
 Carrie, and did all that there was to be done. Mrs. Madi- 
 son was enabled to set out a very well-spread tea-table ; and 
 had not her child been so injured, she would have felt a 
 glow of comfort in her heart as she sat opposite to her bright- 
 eyed friend. 
 
 22* 
 
•258 THE senator's son. 
 
 There was scuetliing so caressing and genial in Mary's 
 manner, that she was almost unconsciously led on to speak 
 of things long past and obscured by the darkness of 
 the present. As they were putting away the tea-things, 
 their conversation chanced upon music. Miss Browning 
 listened with delight to the description of those rare singers 
 and great performances which her companion gave her ; sh6 
 sighed to hear an opera and see a prima donna ; to sit in 
 the midst of a wilderness of jeweled glasses, bouquets, and 
 light, and behold a splendidly-dressed cantatrice come out 
 upon the boards and thrill an audience with the wonders of 
 her divine execution ; while the lorgnettes were all leveled 
 in that direction, ditto the bouquets — then an exciting mur- 
 mur of applause, and the brilliant prima donna bowing low 
 and more lowly, smiling, dropping deep courtsies and re- 
 tiring. 
 
 Mrs. IMadison could not help laughing, as the fimciful 
 girl, who had read and imagined so much, but seen noth- 
 ing, ran on wdth her voluble wishes. Mary, who played 
 the piano tolerably, was anxious to take lessons on the 
 guitar; and she promised when Carrie got better to give 
 them to her if she remained in the place any time. 
 
 Speaking of the guitar, they came to talk of Germany, 
 and from that, the older lady spoke of her own family, and 
 of her mother being German in birth, but American in ed- 
 ucation. At ten o'clock that evening, Mrs. Madison was 
 telling in tremulous tones something of her history, while 
 
THE senator's son. 259 
 
 Mary sat at her feet, with her head in her lap, sobbing in 
 sympathy with her new friend. 
 
 " This will never do to sit here disconsolate all night," 
 she said, with a return of her natural gayety. " You must 
 go to bed, Mrs. Madison, and sleep as securely as you have 
 a mind. I will put on my dressing-gown and lie here upon 
 the lounge, where I can hear the slightest moan that little 
 Carrie makes, I will take good care of her." 
 
 "Are the doors fastened?'' asked Lucy, trying them 
 all before she ventured to undress. She was worn out, and 
 needed rest so much, that she willingly obeyed the dictates 
 of her companion, and was just in bed by the side of her 
 baby, when she heard her husband's knock at the door. 
 
 '^ He has come," she whispered, slipping out of bed and 
 putting on her dress; "but we must not let him in." 
 
 " Of course not," responded Mary ; " he must find other 
 lodging this night, as sure as I am Mary Browning." 
 
 A thundering rap at the door set the baby awake and 
 crying. Its mother hushed it at her breast, and her friend 
 went to make sure that the other door was secure. 
 
 " Can't you hear a fellow knock when he's knocked his 
 knuckles off?" they heard him muttering outside. "Its 
 a pretty pass things have come to, when a gentleman's wife 
 locks him out on a night as cold as the Dickens. What's 
 the use of having a wife? Lucy!" raising his voice, 
 i( L^cy — Lucy, let Mr. Madison come in, that's a lady ! if 
 you don't I shall go back to Kinney's and sleep with old 
 
260 THE senator's son. 
 
 Peter, and he's as dirty as tlie swine — got the measles too, 
 I suspect.'^ 
 
 Finding that this threat produced no eflfect, his temper 
 rose like a gust of wind, as he rattled at the door. 
 
 ^' You'll be sorry, if ever I do get in there ! " he mum- 
 bled, giving a kick at the panels, which startled Lucy into a 
 faint shriek. 
 
 ^^ He will burst the button off!" she cried, clasping her 
 hands. The door was only secured by a wooden button. 
 
 '^ And if he does, we will be a match for him," returned 
 Miss Browning, taking up a stick of wood. " Two women 
 ought to conquer one drunken rascal." 
 
 There was a short silence, and they heard him going 
 away from the steps, but it was only to frighten them by 
 crashing in a pane of glass at the window. The curtain 
 protected them from sight. 
 
 " Oh, dear, what will he do," ejaculated Lucy; for her 
 experience of the preceding night had made her cowardly. 
 Another assault upon the door sent the button so nearly off 
 that they saw their defence was nearly gone. Mary was 
 a courageous girl and not to be subdued. 
 
 ^' Stand here, out of sight, Mrs. Madison, I am going to 
 hold a parley with the enemy." 
 
 Laying her stick close at hand, she opened the door. 
 '' What do you mean. Sir, disturbing your neighbors at 
 this late hour, and breaking their windows ? You will be 
 fined to-morrow for this tumult.'^ 
 
 ^^ My neighbors ? " said he, putting a foot on the thresh- 
 
THE senator's SON. 261 
 
 old, and winking at her with one eye, " perhaps this is not 
 my house, and you are not Lucy Madison, Esquire ? " 
 
 *' Well I am I ? '^ she asked, turning her face so that 
 the lamp shone full upon it. 
 
 " Keally, I do believe it isn't you, after all," he said, 
 drawing back ; ^' but that's Carrie's crib, I'll be sworn," 
 catching a glimpse at it, " and that's our bed and stove. 
 ^' If you are not my wife, whose are yoa ? " he inquired, 
 gazing at her with a mixture of suspicion, astonishment, 
 and incredulity. 
 
 " You will learn to your satisfaction when Mr. Brown 
 gets his boots on. Sir. Come ! are you going away quietly 
 to the tavern where you belong, or will you wait until Mr. 
 Brown is ready to accompany you ? " 
 
 " Well, I guess I'll go back to Kinney's, since I can't 
 find my own house. I was certain it stood here, and it did 
 this morning; but I'll be bound it isn't anywhere in the 
 neighborhood now. I beg your pardon. Ma'am, and Mr. 
 Brown's. He need not trouble himself to see me home. 
 But, really, I was sure — 
 
 While he took a puzzled survey of the premises, Mary 
 shut the door, with a word of warning against stirring up 
 Mr. Brown's indignation by making any more noise at their 
 door. As they heard him mutteringly depart, Mary laughed 
 over her stratagem — honorable in war — and Lucy again 
 retired to her couch. 
 
 There was no further disturbance that night. The next 
 day Mary, with Mrs. Madison's consent, informed her uncle 
 
Iw 
 
 262 
 
 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 of the affair, and Parke was arrested, and remained in the 
 jail for the next three weeks. 
 
 Carrie slowly recovered from her injuries; but that dear 
 cheek and once lovely neck and arm were so cruelly scarred, 
 that the physician would not promise that they should ever 
 regain their smoothness and beauty. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A ' Maine-Law ' banner bad been hoisted in the prin- 
 cipal street of the village of A , giving its blue and 
 
 white folds to the sultry breezes of a summer's day, A 
 party of men were gathered around the staff from which it 
 floated, and as the flag had just been placed there, their 
 conversation was of course upon the subject. 
 
 Lawyers, politicians, merchants, mechanics, and, as it 
 chanced, three notorious drunkards, were of the crowd. 
 Some listened in silence, but the most of them expressed 
 their opinion for or against the Maine Law, and its adoption 
 in that State. One or two of the politicians made short 
 speeches, explaining the grounds upon which they stood in 
 its defence or condemnation. 
 
 '^ I propose,'^ said a gentleman who warmly advocated 
 the law, '' that we listen to the opinion of these three per- 
 sons, whose approval or disapproval will be valuable, since 
 it is their ^ rights' which arc to be 'interfered with.' " 
 
I 
 
 264 THE senator's son. 
 
 He pointed to the trio of sots who disgraced the village 
 with their long-continued excesses. 
 
 "A3^e! let us have your opinions, gentlemen/' cried 
 another, thinking the proposition vastly amusing. 
 
 " Yes !" added a non-advocate, pleased with the idea — 
 " You, Peter Greene, speak fii'st ; you are the oldest, the 
 drunkest, and the worst of the three. Come, man, rouse 
 yourself, and tell the people what you think of their for- 
 bidding you your privilege of taking a dram when you 
 want it.'' 
 
 The old creature got upon his feet, but being already 
 considerably intoxicated, although it was but the middle of 
 the day, he found it difficult to keep there. 
 
 ^^ We'll sustain you — opinions and all," laughed some 
 of the young men, taking hold of his arms, and keeping 
 him up. '^ Speak out boldly, Peter Greene, for your rights, 
 or perhaps we will take them away." 
 
 " I don't know much what you're talking about," he 
 began in a weak, high-pitched voice, looking at the non- 
 advocate with red eyes, which were nearly hidden in a 
 bloated mass. '^ But if its about getting drunk, or not 
 getting drunk, why, drink as much whiskey as you can get ; 
 and when you can't get it any longer, die, and go to the 
 place where I am going next week ! Pll tell you how I 
 knt)w. Last night, as I lay awake, feelin' mighty unwell, 
 I saw the door open, and a real gentleman, dressed all in 
 black, came in — he looked like a Doctor. I was just a 
 going to ask him — ^ Doctor, what do you think is the mat- 
 
THE SENATOR S SON. 265 
 
 ter with me ? ' when I sees his foot sticking out^ and a pair 
 of horns on his head. I knew the rascal by them^ and sat 
 up in bed, while a queer kind of shiver went all over me. 
 
 " I am not just ready to go jet/' says I, thinkin' he 
 had come for me. " I'm owing Stuck's widder for making 
 me these pants as much as two years ago, and I'd like to 
 settle up my affairs first.'^ 
 
 '' Very well/^ says he, with a polite bow, and speaking 
 like a gentleman, '^ I didn't expect you to go along to- 
 night; I only called to let ye know that I'd be coming for 
 you next week.'' 
 
 " Its very good of you to let me know," says I. 
 
 " Where's your bottle of rum ?'' says he. 
 
 " Its in the closet/' says I ; " won't you step in and 
 take a little ? you're welcome." 
 
 " Thank ye," says he ; and goes into the closet after the 
 bottle, and I up like a streak and shuts him in and kept 
 him 'til mornin'. I could hear him all night a-beggin' me 
 to let him out, and a promisin' to let me off and take Gus 
 Elliott in my place. But I allers' knew him for an liar, 
 and I jist kept the key turned on him till mornin'. When 
 I went to let him out, about sunrise, he wasn't there ! I 
 suppose he'll be along again at the time appointed; so I 
 expect to have one more ' high,' and then bid ye all fare- 
 well." 
 
 He sank back, a loathsome object, upon his bench, amid 
 the rather curious applause of the crowd. 
 
 " Now, Gus Elliott, let's hear you." 
 
266 THE senator's son. 
 
 The second person addressed was the youngest son of 
 one of the finest families in the State. His brothers, one 
 in the Navy, one in the Army, were ornaments to society, 
 and highly respected men. He had sank so low that they 
 could no longer uphold him, and although still sharing a 
 corner of the hearth-stone when he chose to claim it, the 
 largest part of his time was spent upon the grog-shop settle. 
 He had just taken a glass of brandy, but was not intoxi- 
 cated. 
 
 " Friends ! if that law had been passed twenty years 
 ago, I should have been the richest man in this State. 
 Many is the night I have spent my three hundred dollars 
 on a champagne supper,^' he said, looking round as if some 
 of those gentlemen might have shared his prodigality in 
 years gone by. " What I am, and what my brothers and 
 sisters have tried to make me, you all know. All that I 
 can say is, that I wish it had been passed before I was 
 born, I wish it could be passed this year — it might do for 
 others what it is too late to do for me.'^ 
 
 After closing his brief speech, he sauntered down the 
 ~*reet, trying to look less miserable than he felt; his hat 
 Dattered down, his cloth coat bearing the marks of the 
 gutter, and two or three little scamps of boys amusing them- 
 selves by throwing dust at him. 
 
 " Now, IMr. Madison, will you be as kind as your com- 
 peers and tell us whether you are going to vote for the 
 Maine Law ? '' The last of the trio had eagerly regarded 
 Gus. Elliott while he spoke. Something in the similarity 
 
THE senator's SON. 267 
 
 of their circumstances might haye attracted him. His 
 countenance had a pallor and ghastliness unlike the bloated ' 
 red of his companions. He was leaning against an awning- 
 post when they addressed him ; he straitened himself up 
 and advanced a step or two ; a flush came into his haggard 
 cheeks, and he spoke in a clear, round tone which startled 
 them. 
 
 " I am no longer fit to address gentlemen ; but if you 
 wish to know whether I intend to vote for the Maine Law or 
 not, I answer that if I live to go to the polls again, I shall 
 vote for it. Do you want to know my reasons ? I, too, 
 have spent my three hundred a night on champagne-suppers 
 — I say it to my disgrace — not boastingly. I was in- 
 tended to be a pretty fine man ! God gave me talent, an 
 eloquent tongue, and a generous, afiectionate heart. He 
 gave me, too, a christian mother, and a sister ! — a sister 
 worthy of the best man that ever lived. My father be- 
 queathed me wealth and a good name. But he bequeathed 
 me, too, that weakness which made him ^^ tarry long at the 
 wine," and which, at last, led directly to his murder, as 
 some of you may have heard. Well ! what has this incli- 
 nation led me into ? After years of ambitious study it sent 
 me disgraced from college — it led me into all the accom- 
 panying temptations of a city, and destroyed my mother^s 
 health with anxiety and sorrow. Upon that beloved moth- 
 er's dying requirement I vowed to never again taste wine, 
 and it led me to break that vow. It led me to commit for- 
 gery ; and that beautiful, that angelic sister of whom I 
 
268 THE senator's son. 
 
 scarcely dare speak, to save me from a prison, made the sac- 
 rifice I demanded of her, and married the villain in whose 
 power I was. I wooed and won a noble, true-hearted and 
 lovely woman, and it led me to blast her happiness, to in- 
 flict upon her poverty, disgrace, and wordless wretchedness 
 — it led me to nearly murder my only and innocent little 
 daughter; she wears upon her once charming face the scars 
 which tell of a father's fiendishness. This passion has made 
 a pauper of me ; it has caused me to break the most pow- 
 erful chains that were ever woven by the love of friends, 
 the pride of position, the desire to be a good man ; it has 
 brought me days of anguish, such as I pray God none of 
 you may ever feel ; it has gnawed my heart out with re- 
 morse, and yet drawn me on with its burning fascination 
 into this depth of degradation. It has killed my pride — 
 destroyed my intellect — hardened my heart — ruined my 
 soul ! In my extreme youth, when I lifted the sparkling 
 goblet to my lips, I laughed and said — '^I can take care 
 of myself! — it is nobody's business but my own ! " NoWy 
 I would go down on my knees to the world if it would 
 stretch out its hand and save me. I ask of the law, of you 
 who make the law, to save me from this monster which 
 preys upon human hearts. Hercules was sent out to slay 
 the Namean lion, and to kill the dreaded boar of Eryman- 
 thus, but what were their ravages to that of this passion for 
 strong drink, that such thousands of your fellow-creatures 
 have to struggle with ! Will you aid them ? will you send 
 out the Hercules of the law to protect them ? or shall 
 
THE senator's SON. 2G9 
 
 they all perish, as I am perishing ? Heaven knows I have 
 fought until I have fainted many times, and yet I am a 
 victim. You may throw a class of men out of employment, 
 but if they make their living out of the blood and tears of 
 the hearts of wives and children, why should they not aban- 
 don the unholy work, and turn to more righteous gains ? 
 The serpents prey upon frogs, the frogs upon spidersf the 
 spiders upon flies, but need man to prey upon the weaknesses 
 of his brothers, in order to find food ? If you throw this 
 grog-shop across the way out of business, and in return gain 
 three honest, industrious, and peaceable citizens, who are 
 now its patrons and the pest of society, can you answer 
 whether you gain or lose ? You may say that rich men can 
 procure their costly wines and privately poison themselves, 
 and teach their children to do the same, even if you should 
 have this law. The rich are not the largest class of any 
 community ; and if they refuse to be benefited, shall the 
 other classes all suffer for want of that protection which 
 their need demands ? When they have sunk as low as I, 
 they will not refuse this rope which is thrown to keep them 
 from drowning. If every man in this State, who could not 
 pay five dollars for a bottle of wine twice or thrice a week, 
 was to stand up with steady hand, undimmed eye, clear 
 voice, and dignified demeanor, before the rich, free from all 
 marks of this vice, those who now grow pompous over their 
 costly decanters, would be ashamed of the wine-odor in 
 their breath and its flush upon their cheek. 
 
 " Speak ! gentlemen, I cannot speak what I feel ! My 
 23* 
 
270 THE senator's son. 
 
 mother is dead — my sister's heart is broken — my wife has 
 gone from me to struggle alone against poverty and woe — 
 my children are afraid of me — they tremble at the mention 
 of my name — they too are gone, and I am left to my fate. 
 My fortune is gone — my health is gone — my religion, my 
 talents, my happiness. It is this passion which has stolen 
 all; now that I am weak and forlorn, incapable of taking 
 care of myself, have you not the heart of humanity enough 
 to try to obtain for me my rights ? I charge you to do it ! 
 in the name of a]l the misery I have inflicted and endured 
 — in the name of christian charity — in the name of a 
 DYING SOUL ! — will you serve me ? Will you save my 
 soul ? I know that Satan is bound to obtain it ; he has 
 visited me as plainly as ever he did the disordered fancy of 
 Old Peter ; but if you do your best you may cheat him of 
 his gains. Will you do it ? '^ 
 
 He stretched out his hands for a moment. 
 As a lamp that has burned nearly out suddenly lifts it- 
 self into temporary brilliancy, after it is apparently extin- 
 guished, his mind had once more startled into life. The 
 gi'oup regarded him with astonishment. He had not made 
 exactly that expression of his sentiments which they antici- 
 pated. The flame blazed up a moment, betraying the shat- 
 tered and ruined condition of the lamp, and sank back into 
 darkness. His strength was overtasked by the sudden ex- 
 citement, and, as his arms fell to his side, he dropped faint- 
 ing to the ground. After the little tumult attending his 
 
THE senator's son. 271 
 
 recovery had subsided^ tlie crowd dispersed, satisfied for 
 that day with what they had heard about the Maine Law. 
 
 " I wish that / had a voice to speak with or a pen to 
 write with/' said Mary Browning, with sudden energy, after 
 listening to her uncle's narrative of the above incidents. 
 
 " What would 7/ou have to say, Miss Mary ? " asked he, 
 smiling, as the roses brightened in her already glowing 
 cheeks. 
 
 ^' Well ! I should say — that — yoxi know I am not ac- 
 customed to public speaking ! uncle — that though I spake 
 with the tongue of a denouncing angel, from now till the 
 day of retribution, I could not depict all the evils of the 
 liquor traffic ; that though I wrote with a pen inspired 
 with terror and winged with lightning, I could never write 
 out the half of its abominations. I should say that a poor 
 and virtuous nation was more secure of immortality and 
 dignity than a rich and wicked one ; and that if it was go- 
 ing to impoverish this country to abolish this traffic, it had 
 better be honorably humble, than magnificently wicked; 
 and I would refer my hearers to those often quoted exam- 
 ples of the cities of the Plain, of Babylon, and Rome. But 
 I would further affirm, that so far from decreasing agricul- 
 tural and commercial prosperity, it would increase both, just 
 as certain as the wretched inebriates who support one rum- 
 mery would invest the money which they there throw away 
 on food, rent, and clothing. I would say that if there are 
 ten thousand men supported in this State by the trade, that 
 
272 
 
 THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 thej are supported by tlie entire ruin of thirty thousand, 
 and the injury of three hundred thousand. I would ask if 
 that was political economy. I would state a very simple 
 proposition, and let them multiply the answer by as many 
 drunkards as there are in these United States. If a man 
 instead of eating twelve bushels of grain, drinks eight and 
 eats four, will the farmer have any larger market for his 
 produce ? — and by the loathing of food which liquor pro- 
 duces, the wasting of strength, and the shortening of life, 
 will he not lose ten years of that man's custom ? while the 
 producers of clothing lose almost entirely his support, his 
 employers lose what might be a profitable workman, and the 
 man himself, and those whom he would have benefited by 
 it in honest exchanges, loses almost the whole of that com- 
 fortable income which his wasted strength and industry 
 would have achieved ! The farmer sells ten dollars' worth 
 of grain ; to support the distiller and rumseller, both need- 
 less and useless members of society, the consumer pays 
 thirty for it — the thirty dollars is all that he could earn 
 under the influence of the distilled grain, where he would 
 otherwise have earned ninety — the hatter, and shoemaker, 
 and landlord, and merchant are robbed of sixty — and the 
 many lose that the few may gain. Then there is another 
 loss in the diminished demands of his starving and naked 
 family ; another in his requiring a police-ofiicer or sherifi" 
 to attend to him, a prison or workhouse to put him in — a 
 coffin and six feet of earth, at the expense of the communitj-. 
 "Another loss in his premature death. So much for the po- 
 
THE senator's SON. 273 
 
 litical economy. Of some other losses I miglit not have the 
 courage to speak ; the loss of health, of peace of mind, of 
 reason, of friends, of domestic prosperity, and the loss of 
 future happiness. I am afraid my woman's voice would 
 fail if it touched upon such losses. Perhaps I should re- 
 gain my courage, however, if I had little Carrie Madison by 
 my side, and could hold up her injured form in my arms 
 and point to the cruel proceeds of a shilling's worth of 
 whiskey." 
 
 '^ Of course — of course — you women try to prove eve- 
 rything by an appeal to our sympathies. '^ 
 
 ^^ Well, what better part of you is there to appeal to ? 
 Reason, of which you men are so boastful, forever and for- 
 ever runs away with itself unless restrained and directed by 
 the heart. Take those greatest and most subtle reasons, 
 and let them run the rounds of then* mighty intellects, and 
 to what have many of the most brilliant returned ? — to a 
 lower point than the humblest heart could ever fall to — to 
 a belief in their own brutishness and materiality. 
 
 " Pooh ! my dear niece, what are you talking about ?" 
 
 " I hardly know, uncle," replied Mary, a little confused. 
 " But is it not a principle in all good governments to adopt 
 those measures which will secure the greatest good to the 
 most people ? You know that the Maine Liquor Law, or 
 Dven a more stringent one, would do this. I tell you what 
 it is, dear uncle, there are a latge class of people demand 
 this law, who have yet no voice in the matter. They are 
 the wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters of those who sup- 
 
274 THE senator's son. 
 
 port the distillers and rumsellers. Not fhat I wish women 
 to go to the polls/' with another blush, as she saw Dr. 
 Browning opening his eyes ; " but if every man, this com- 
 ing autumn, would ask the female portion of his house who 
 to vote for, those men would be elected who would not fail 
 to give us this law." 
 
 " A pretty way that would be to place the reins of gov- 
 ernment in the hands of women ! — 
 
 *' We'll even let them hold the reins, 
 But we'll show them the way to go ! " 
 
 '' Oh, you ladies are so crafty and so ambitious that I 
 should not be surprised to see some one of you stealing her 
 way into the Presidential Chair before ten years. In that 
 case, farewell to Liberty and the American Eagle ! the chair 
 would become a throne in less than three weeks, and there 
 would be an end of our ' glorious Republic' Of all tyrants, 
 women are the worst ! no more to be trusted with power 
 than a child with a candle in a barrel of tow ! " 
 
 " For shame, Uncle Browning ! that sentiment is not 
 original, I know. You have caught it out of some crabbed 
 book, and you don't believe it yourself. However, if you 
 wish 77ie to play the tyrant, I will begin now and exercise 
 my power over your favorite — that talented, promising 
 young student of yours — and not one word of encourage- 
 ment shall he ever receive from me, unless he approves of, 
 and gives his influence to, securing for our State the Maine 
 Law." 
 
THE senator's SON. 275 
 
 '^ In that state of afliiirs, I should like to know who 
 would do the voting ? for his views lead him just the other 
 way ; and if he is weak enough to "become your waiter, to 
 carry your vote to the polls, then I shall no longer extend 
 to him my approval. Ha ! what did I tell you ? that you 
 were slily working to get the reins into your own hands V 
 
 ^' Mrs. Browning, I do wish you had educated my good 
 uncle to be a little more sensible ! I do not care who votes, 
 nor for what men, nor who induced them, only that we get 
 absolved from this terrible liquor-traffic. There is where I 
 have set my foot down, and I have a thousand excellent 
 reasons for keeping it there. 
 
 " And yet reason has a tendency to " 
 
 " From what I have observed of your student's convi- 
 vial inclinations, there may yet come a time when he will 
 gladly wear the ^arbitrary' chain of this law, and I am 
 going to compel him to forge one of the rivets himself. 
 You, aunt, can do as much for your struggling and ill- 
 disposed partner, and will have them both under wholesome 
 restrictions, 
 
 " I wonder if you don't think we need restriction," 
 spoke up the good Doctor, a little tartly, for he never drank 
 anything but his cherry-bounce in the morning, his currant 
 wine for dinner, and something warm, in the shape of a 
 punch or hot toddy, before going to bed. 
 
 " No," said Mary, lightly touching her pretty finger to 
 her uncle's ruddy nose; " not until this is twice as rosy as 
 it is at present, will we make any complaint against you." 
 
276 
 
 THE SENATOR .S FON. 
 
 The Doctor was very sensitive about the peculiar glow 
 upon his nose ; he could not imagine why it should be red- 
 der than the noses of other people wbo took their brandj- 
 and-water daily, whereas he only took cherry-bounce ', start- 
 ing after his mischievous nieeOj he caught her and pinched 
 both her cheeks. The effect was to make her look prettier 
 than ever ; but being tired of her attempts at ' public- 
 speaking/ she sat down demurely to a paper. Suddenly 
 she lifted up her head, — 
 
 " Here is something in point of fact, uncle. Not a bit 
 of' romance : 
 
 " ' If England would sign the temperance-pledge, and 
 devote all the money now spent in intoxicating drinks to its 
 liquidation, she could pay her debt of four billions of dol- 
 lars in fourteen years. What a fact ! And we have calcu- 
 lated nothing but the mere money spent ; not the waste of 
 time, labor, strength, health, and life.' 
 
 '' Now if the temperance-pledge would do so muck for 
 that little island, what would not the Maine Law do for 
 these United States? And when we add to the saving of 
 money, the saving of tears, of broken hearts, of midnight 
 watching, of neglected children growing up to ruin, of 
 wasted happiness, of lost souls, what a saving is that ! Ah, 
 Uncle Browning, what economy is there ! political, domes- 
 tic, religious economy ! I declare," here she threw aside 
 her paper and started to her feet, " I am going to lecture 
 on this subject. It is getting fashionable for ladies to lec- 
 ture • and I have -/hoseu my theme. I can't keep still any 
 
THE SENATOR S SON. 
 
 277 
 
 longer — my heart and conscience won't let me! I would 
 write a book were it not for three reasons. Firstly, I can- 
 not ; secondly, no one will publish it after it is written ; 
 thirdly, no one will read it after it is published. But a lec- 
 ture ! people will come to hear a woman speak when she is 
 as young and as beautiful as I. (Quoted, uncle, quoted 
 from that truly reliable source, the young medical student). 
 So you must have the advertisement in the next number of 
 
 tlie A Republican ; for I shall commence in this vil- 
 
 lao-e, and from thence my eloquence shall diverge in widen- 
 ing circles until bounded by the Atlantic and Pacific." 
 
 ^' It would not be for the want of a ' gift of tongues/ 
 if you did not succeed. About the advertisement — we 
 ^in see — we will see ! we will have to consult our younger 
 partner about that.'^ 
 
 So saying. Dr. Browning composed himself for a siesta 
 upon the settee, which occupied a cool place on the back 
 portico. 
 
 It is improbable that his niece. Miss Mary Browning, 
 carried her sudden resolution into practice; though she 
 would fain have studied out some method by which she 
 could have made her enthusiasm felt on more hearts than 
 those of her worthy uncle and his gay protagee. 
 
 One or two of her youthful opinions, having been 
 f shaken like unripe fruit into this book, may be gathered 
 up a moment and cast down again; but no wider range 
 will ever chance to her ambition, notwithstanding that allu- 
 sion to the two great oceans which bound our continent. 
 24 
 
278 THE senator's son. 
 
 To her honor and wisdom be it said; however, that the 
 medical student, whose predelictions for the doctor's cherry- 
 bounce had prevented her giving any decided encourage- 
 ment to his otherwise pleasing attachment, was converted to 
 her v>-ay of thinking before autumn, and became willing to 
 resign his own especial inclinations for the general good ; so 
 that at the polls, his voice was heard, not for men against 
 measures, but for " men and measures." 
 
 In the meantime, Parke Madison, while Dr. Browning 
 reposed in comfort upon his settee, reclined also upon a set- 
 tee, seeking his afternoon's repose. . His couch was the 
 lounger's bench before the grog-shop, which stood opposite 
 to the liberty-pole, from which floated the newly-made ban- 
 ner. It was not as cool as the doctor's portico, for the sun 
 shone down upon his face, but poorly protected by a rimless 
 hat of straw. An awning would have made too comfortable 
 a refuge for his customers, and taken from the respectable 
 look of the place by encouraging loungers, and so Mr. Kin- 
 ney had no awning before his shop. The August sun beat, 
 therefore, upon the inebriate's face and head in cruel power. 
 When he had recovered from his fainting-fit, nothing but a 
 glass of brandy could restore him to his feet or overcome 
 the trembling of his limbs. Mr. Kinney, to whose tender 
 mercy he was left, furnished him with the restorative for 
 which he pleaded. When he had drank it, he crept out 
 and stretched himself upon the bench. His blood-shot 
 eyes, shaded somewhat by the rimless hat, were fixed upon 
 the blue and white folds of that graceful flag. His mind 
 
THE senator's SON. 279 
 
 was confused, his memory was gone ; but an idea, vague, 
 phantom-like, dim, swam in his brain, that that banner was 
 the precursor and proclamation of some great good that was 
 coming to him. He would fall partially asleep ; the heat 
 would waken him, or the flies, or the step of a passer-by, 
 and his gaze would rest upon the flag, following its undula- 
 tions with dull dreaminess in which there was the shadow 
 of a speculation. What good it was going to achieve for 
 him he did not know. Whether it was going to bring his 
 wife back, with some angelic power, to restore him to his old 
 prosperity ; whether, it was the spirit of little Carrie hover- 
 ing there on blue and white wings to bear him up and show 
 him the forgotten way to his mother, he could not think. 
 Once, opening his eyes upon it suddenly, he thought that 
 his mother was leaning out of heaven with the banner in 
 her hand, waving it gently to and fro. Presently he fell 
 into so heavy a slumber that passing objects no longer 
 aroused him. The hot sun had retreated from the sky, and 
 the calm moon was shining in his place when the inebriate 
 awoke again. He awoke with a cry. He felt a huge ser- 
 pent creeping and crawling over his breast ; he put his hand 
 there and tried to thrust it ofi", but it would not go. He 
 endeavored to fling it away, but it writhed and twisted itself 
 around his hand in slimy folds, while its fiery tongue pricked 
 him in his breast a dozen times. With another cry and a 
 furious effort, he plucked at the noisome thing. A hiss was 
 the only answer, so loud, so threatening, that he sprang to 
 his feet in terror. His eyes fell upon the banner, hanging 
 
280 THE senator's SON. 
 
 against the sweet, blue sky, the moon just shining over its 
 softly-fluttering edge. He fell upon his knees and raised 
 his hands ; the serpent glided down his limbs and ran away. 
 It came back no more that night; but the unhappy man's 
 nerves were too keenly awake for him to slumber again. 
 He crossed the street, and leaning up against the liberty- 
 pole, watched its long, slender shadow down the street, and 
 listened to the sighing, fluttering spirit in the folds that 
 rustled above his head. 
 
 " It is Lucy's voice," he whispered tremblingly; " she is 
 charming the serpents, to keep them from stinging me. 
 She was always kind — but why is she 'way up there be- 
 side the moon ? — perhaps she is afraid of that reptile — 
 ugh ! how cold, how horrible it felt.'' 
 
 The moon sank behind the horizon ; poor Parke sank 
 too, to the friendly ground at last, pillowing his swimming 
 head upon the soft, fat side of a kind old porker, which an- 
 imal is not denied street-room in the most of our western 
 villages. 
 
 From that time forward there grew upon his side a 
 strong attachment, if it may be so called, for that banner 
 which waved its azure folds against an azure sky. He had 
 a dim perception that it hung there for his benefit — Jiim 
 whom nobody in the world cared for except to misuse, who 
 slept with swine, who had no father, mother, wife, sister, 
 child, or friend. In his most lucid moments he understood 
 its meaning ; how it could advance his good, what princi- 
 ples it advocated, in what manner its friends might save 
 
THE senator's SON. 281 
 
 liim. But the most of the time, unsubstantial fancies 
 thronged his disordered intellect; the banner became, by 
 turns, his old-time companions, one or another to whom he 
 muttered unmeaning jargon, on Kinney extending a glass 
 of champagne, inviting him to drink and be merry. His 
 favorite seat and couch was the bench upon which he could 
 recline and follow those playful folds with his half-idiotic 
 gaze. 
 
 Oh ! most wretched, most forlorn of lives ! what fate is 
 there so wholly miserable as that of the inebriate when he 
 is wearing out the last few months or years of his life, for- 
 saken by heaven and earth, tormented with glimpses of 
 that punishment which is to overtake him at the close of 
 time ? Leaning above my paper, with the pen dropping 
 idly from my hand, I have fallen into a reverie over the fate 
 of Parke Madison, who has thus become a victim to an 
 inherited passion which has taken from him all and be- 
 stowed upon him nothing. I see that a mother and sister 
 have done all for him that they could do — I see that his 
 wife was compelled to leave him by a higher duty than 
 prompted her to remain — I see that society has abandoned 
 him — that he is left alone with the robber. I see that the 
 robber has taken already everything but the base remains 
 of a base life ; but while there is life, there is hope. Hope 
 is calling in piercing tones upon the law to rush to the res- 
 cue of the dying; to chain and throw into prison, aye, and 
 execute this highwayman, who has cast his dead victims by 
 every road-side in the land. 
 24* 
 
282 THE senator's son 
 
 Election day came, Parke understood that an effort 
 would be made to place such men in power as would give 
 him and others the protection they demanded. He endeav- 
 ored to keep his senses enough about him to vote for these 
 men. But his friend Kinney had motives and designs the 
 opposite ; he did not begrudge a few gksses of whiskey, if 
 it would make one vote the smaller the chance of interrup- 
 tion to his profitable employment. Parke was not the 
 only poor fool to whom, that day, he proved himself gen- 
 erous ; nor his the only vote he secured by this dishonest 
 means. 
 
 The Maine Law banner hung at half-mast, mourning 
 for the defeat of those who would have waved it high and 
 broad in triumph across the State. Parke lounged upon his 
 bench, staring drearily at its drooping lengths. A chilly 
 rain began to gather out of mist, and, dropping slowly from 
 the gray sky, saturated the soiled folds till they clung for- 
 lornly to the staff. It saturated Parke's shabby clothing 
 also — it chilled him to the heart. Dreary, desolate, shiv- 
 ering, miserable, he arose, and with one despairing glance at 
 the lowered flag, he turned into the grog-shop, muttering — 
 
 " They won't do anything for me, this year, and next 
 it'll be too late. I've given up doing anything to save my- 
 self long ago, and now I'll not wait any longer. I'm all in 
 a shiver — I can't live without whiskey; its the only com- 
 fort there is left, and I don't see, after all, what they wanted 
 to take it away for. How could I get warm if it was not 
 for whiskey, when I've no fire of my own, and Kinney's 
 
THE senator's SON. 283 
 
 always driving me away from his of niglits ? I sliall never 
 Btop again. I sliall take all I can get, and wlien I can't get 
 it, the old fellow will be after me." 
 
 His bottle was filled with liquor ; he took it and wan- 
 dered forth, filled with a momentarv pleasure. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A LADY came up in the omnibus from ih<; cars one 
 
 bleak November evening, and stopped at a hotel in A . 
 
 The best private parlor was placed at her disposal, and tea 
 was served attentively in her room ; for there was that in 
 her appearance which demanded respectful consideration. 
 She was young and beautiful ; but her beauty was of a rare 
 and touching kind, such as emanates from the spirit and is 
 diffused over a fragile form for a little while before the 
 earth closes over it and it is no more. A pair of large, lu- 
 minous hazel eyes lighted up a pale face with a soft, smile- 
 less, melancholy lustre, giving it so sad and lovely an ex- 
 pression that the maid who brought up the tea lingered at 
 the door, server in hand, lost in a maze of wonder. So fair 
 an apparition had never brightened that dull parlor before ; 
 an apparition she almost seemed, so shadowy and yet beam- 
 ing were her looks. The lady leaned back in her chair as 
 if very much fatigued ; she had just tasted the tea and toast 
 which were brought up. 
 
THE senator's SON. 285 
 
 " Is tliere nothing else you'll be pleased to have, 
 Ma'am?'' 
 
 ^^ Nothing at present j except you may ask the landlord 
 if he will be so good as to come up here for a moment." 
 
 The girl disappeared; in a short time the proprietor 
 stood bowing before the stranger. She motioned him to 
 take a seat, and struggled a moment with some emotion be- 
 fore she spoke. As she fixed her eyes upon the fire, a hectic 
 flush stole through the transparent whiteness of her cheeks. 
 
 " Do you know anything of a person by the name of 
 Parke Madison ? " she asked, after he had taken a chair. 
 
 He started at her inquiry, looking at her close. This 
 was not Mr. Madison's wife, though ; for he had seen her 
 several times — was it a sister ? who ? what ? 
 
 ^^ Yes, Madam, I have seen Mr. Madison nearly every 
 day for the last two years." 
 
 " I am his sister, Mrs. Clyde. I have come to A 
 
 on purpose to visit him. Can you tell me where he can be 
 found?" 
 
 The gentleman hesitated, giving a nervous hitch to his 
 chair. 
 
 ^' He is in this house," he replied, presently. 
 
 " Will you ask him to come in and see me ? " 
 
 " He will not be able to do so to-night. Madam. The 
 truth is, he is ill — very ill." 
 
 ^< Then I must go and see him, I have come just in 
 time to be his nurse." 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs. Clyde, he is in the best hands, now. 
 
286 THE senator's son. 
 
 You had not better think of seeing him to-night — you ar 
 tired." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I must. What is the matter with him ?" 
 
 The landlord gave another twitch to his chair. 
 
 "Fever — dangerous kind. He would not recognize 
 you, Madam, if you should go to him, and at present he is 
 so raving that it might be unpleasant for you. You seem 
 too delicate to endure much. After a night's rest you will 
 have more nerve." 
 
 " I know what is the matter with him/' she continued 
 with a slight shiver — "do I not ? " 
 
 He bowed a silent reply in answer to those melancholy 
 eyes. 
 
 " Has he been sick long ? is there any hope of his get 
 ting well ? " 
 
 " But litttle, I am afraid. He was brought here this 
 afternoon by some benevolent gentlemen, who promised to 
 see to the necessary expenses. I do not care for that ; but 
 he will disturb my guests some, I apprehend. However, I 
 am glad he is here. We will do all for him that can be 
 done." 
 
 "Thank you — thank you. You will be repaid here 
 and hereafter. I must go to him," rising from her chair, 
 " perhaps I can soothe him, or recall him from his delirium 
 by the sound of my voice." 
 
 "Indeed, Madam, Mrs. Clyde, you have no idea — it 
 will be too trying. It is enough to make m?/ blood run 
 cold, and I fancy that I have pretty strong " 
 
THE senator's SON. 287 
 
 A slirill scream, rising from a distant room, interrupted 
 him. Alice sprang into the ball; before that shriek of 
 agony had died in prolonged echoes through the house, she 
 stood at the door of the chamber from which it emanated. 
 Opening it she passed in. Her brother, at that moment, 
 was lying quiet upon the bed, as if exhausted by the passion 
 of mortal terror which had given rise to that loud cry. It 
 was only a moment that his disease would allow him rest. 
 Turning his eyes to the door at the slight noise made by 
 closing it, they dilated with icy and staring horror, his teeth 
 chattered, the hair rose bristling upon his head ; pointing 
 his finger at Alice, he spoke — 
 
 " It has come back ! oh, my God ! it has come back 1 " 
 
 So shivering was the sound, so dreadful the look, that 
 the intruder dropped fainting into a chair. Three or four 
 gentlemen were in attendance ; one of them. Dr. Browning, 
 advanced to her side. 
 
 ^< In heaven's name. Madam, what are you doing here ?" 
 
 ''He is my brother,^' sobbed she, recovering herself 
 with difficulty. " I promised never to forsake him.'^ 
 
 "■ You can be of no service to him here, dear lady; you 
 had better retire ; a few hours will close his sufferings.'^ 
 
 '' And he will die in such a state \" — she buried her 
 face in her hands — ''oh, mother, intercede with Christ for 
 him!" 
 
 The Doctor lifted her gently from her seat and carried 
 
 lior liilO iliC hull. 
 
 " Should he have a lucid interval I will certainly call 
 
288 THE senator's son. 
 
 you; but I cannot permit you to remain here/^ he said, 
 and returning, lie bolted the door. 
 
 " Doctor ! " whispered his patient. 
 
 ^' What is it, my dear Sir,'' he asked, as he approached 
 the bed. 
 
 '^ Do mad dogs always foam at the mouth so, just be- 
 fore they spring ? " he pointed to a chair which stood in a 
 corner. 
 
 The physician looked around involuntarily, as if he ex- 
 pected to behold the dreaded animal upon which that fixed 
 and fascinated gaze was riveted. 
 
 ^' There is no dog there," he said decidedly, recovering 
 himself. 
 
 ^' Yes there is, there — yes! hear him snarl and snap 
 — now ! — here he comes — keep him off ! Doctor ! keep 
 him off!" 
 
 He struggled with the bed clothes desperately, until 
 his strength was once more gone. 
 
 ^^ Why didn't you turn him out?" he queried in a 
 faint voice; " or at least let me have my pistols — I could 
 have finished him with one of them, without getting half 
 eaten up in this manner. Look at my arm ! there isn't an 
 ounce of flesh left on it — but I strangled him — the cursed 
 cur! — I strangled him. He's dead — he's dead — he's 
 dead!" 
 
 Suddenly his roving eyes were arrested and fixed upon 
 the wall with a look of such inconceivable fear and despair 
 that every one in the room turned theirs in the same dii-ec- 
 
THE senator's SON. 289 
 
 tion; theij beheld only the blank white wall, but what 
 shape of horror he beheld, their frightened fancy dared not 
 devise. It was enough reflected in his countenance — rage 
 contending with an agony of terror, 
 
 ^' It was Satan's dog that I strangled/' he shrieked. 
 ^^ He's here to threaten me about it. Hell and all the fu- 
 ries ! what do you stand there grinning for?" 
 
 He seized a candle-stick which chanced to be on a stand 
 at the head of the bed, and hurled it at the inoJQTensive wall. 
 His companions wanted no more definite idea of the ex- 
 pression of the ruined angel than was stereotyped in his 
 stony face, while he glared defiance at the foe. 
 
 It seemed that the missile did not overthrow his adver- 
 sary, for the next moment he recommenced his struggles 
 and began a succession of those long and quivering screams 
 whose unearthly anguish curdled the blood of the remotest 
 listener. 
 
 Alice heard them, as she paced with restless steps her 
 apartment. The hotel-keeper's wife, who had kindly volun- 
 teered to stay with her, shuddered, and placed her fingers in 
 her ears. Alice threw herself prone upon the floor. The next 
 instant she started to her feet. Her quick ear had detected 
 another sound. She rushed to the window — threw it up 
 — and looked down. A dark mass, dimly revealed in the 
 starlight, lay upon the pavement, beneath the window of 
 her brother's room : two or three heads were thrust from 
 that window, also looking down, and she heard exclamations 
 of terror. She turned away and ran into the hall — down 
 25 
 
290 THE senator's son. 
 
 the broad stair-case — out tlie door — and fell with a cry 
 beside that quivering but lifeless heap. 
 
 She was the fii'st to reach the spot. They raised her 
 from the dead body of her brother and bore her back to 
 her room. She was indeed faithful to the last. If a sis- 
 ter's love could have redeemed an erring man from ruin, 
 Parke Madison would not have died the drunkard's death. 
 
 The law refused to aid him in his great extremity — 
 the last refuge of the lost was denied him — in what should 
 have been the pride and vigor of manhood he fell, and was 
 overcome by the Destroyer. 
 
 Alice was the only mourner at his funeral. A grave 
 she gave him in a pleasant place, and a stone to bear his 
 dishonored yet beloved name. 
 
 Poor child ! her own grave is ready for the marble now. 
 The sods lie fresh and chill upon it — the first light snow 
 has covered it with a cold, fair drift. The most tender 
 heart, the most beautiful form, lie fading in the coffin upon 
 which the mourner's tears are scarcely yet dry. The pale 
 and peerless dove has folded her wings over a breast that 
 grew cold and colder under the pressure of earth's bitter 
 cares ; that voice which was the sweetest in mortal choirs 
 has gained a more inspired sweetness in the land to which 
 she has flown. 
 
 Alfred Clyde, having spent the most of his princely for- 
 tune in brilliant extravagancies, infests our southern cities, 
 living splendidly upon the weakness and inexperience of tho^e 
 rich young men whom he can tempt to the gambling-table. 
 
THE senator's SON. 291 
 
 Lucy Madison has found a refuge for herself and chil- 
 dren in her mother's home. By industrious application to 
 her art, she will obtain for them a comfortable living ; and 
 she has friends who will see to the education of her boy. 
 Sad and resigned, in widow^s weeds, she moves about; that 
 placid and noble expression which always characterized 
 her, receiving a yet higher beauty from the touch of pa- 
 tience and sorrow. 
 
 Even if lightened by christian faith and sweetened by 
 resignation, her future life will be one that claims sympathy 
 — left lonely, poor, and unprotected in the summer and 
 bloom of her youth, with two helpless little ones to cherish 
 and provide for. 
 
 But what a joy and comfort are these little ones; Car- 
 rie is a gay and affectionate child, the sunshine and music 
 of the house. The marks of the sad accident which so 
 nearly disfigured her for life are fading out, as its memory 
 has already vanished from her happy mind. 
 
 As for the boy, he is as promising as a boy of eighteen 
 months dares to be ; but if he should grow up with the in- 
 clinations which ruined his father, we have only to pray 
 that, before lie reaches the dangers of manhood, the law 
 will have woven about him a protection too arbitrary for 
 him to loosen. So prays his mother nightly as she lays 
 him in his crib and joins his tiny hands together while she 
 makes her mute appeal. 
 
 siifMI^ 
 
1 
 
/