^OF-CAIIFOJ 
 S '
 
 HOME 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 BT T. S. ARTHUR, 
 
 AUTHOB OF LIFTS PICTURES," " OLD MAN'S B1UDE," AND 
 "SPARING TO SPEND." 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 J. W. BRADLEY, 
 
 48 N. FOURTH STBEET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Consress in the ye.ir 1853, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for th 
 Southern District of New York.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Jfcow at the word. ; a crowd of 
 pleasant iJ^n^hts awaken. What sun-bright 
 images are pictured to the imagination. 
 Yet, there is no home without its shadows 
 as well as sunshine. Love makes the home- 
 lights and selfishness the shadows. Ah ! 
 how dark the shadow at times how faint 
 and fleeting the sunshine. How often sel- 
 fishness towers up to a giant height, barring 
 but from our dwellings every golden ray. 
 There are few of us, who do not, at times, 
 darken with our presence the homes that 
 should grow bright at our coming. It is 
 sad to acknowledge this ; yet, in the very 
 
 2057012
 
 IV. PREFACE. 
 
 acknowledgement is a promise of better 
 things, for, it is rarely that we confess, 
 without a resolution to overcome the .evil 
 that mars our own and others' happiness 
 Need we say, that the book now presented 
 to the reader is designed to aid in the work 
 of overcoming what is evil and selfish, that 
 home-lights mry dispel horr e-shadows, and 
 keep them forever from our dwellings.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS .... 7 
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE * 30 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY . . 44 
 
 BOTH TO BLAME . . . 72 
 
 IT'S NONE OP MY BUSINESS . . '. 89 
 
 THE MOTHER'S PROMISE . 115 
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS . . . . 126 
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS . . 164 
 
 NOT AT HOME . . * . 191 
 
 THE FATAL ERROR . . . 204 
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS . . . 217 
 
 A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE . 237 
 
 AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION . . . 249 
 
 HELPING THE POOR .... 261 
 
 COMMON PEOPLE . . . . 279 
 
 MAKING A SENSATION .... 299 
 
 SOMETHING FOR A COLD . . . 328 
 
 THE PORTRAIT 337 
 
 VERY POOR . 361
 
 BIGHTS AND WRONGS. 
 
 IT is a little singular yet certainly true that 
 people who are very tenacious of their own 
 rights, and prompt in maintaining them, usually 
 have rather vague notions touching the rights of 
 others. Like the too eager merchant, in securing 
 their own, they are very apt to get a little more 
 than belongs to them. 
 
 Mrs. Barbara TJhler presented a notable in- 
 stance of this. We cannot exactly class her with 
 the "strong-minded" women of the day. But she 
 had quite a leaning in that direction ; and if not 
 very strong-minded herself, was so unfortunate as
 
 8 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 to number among her intimate friends two or three 
 ladies who had a fair title to the distinction. 
 
 Mrs. Barbara Uhler was a wife and a mother 
 She was also a woman ; and her consciousness of 
 this last named fact was never indistinct, nor ever 
 unmingled with a belligerent appreciation of the 
 rights appertaining to her sex and position. 
 
 As for Mr. Herman Uhler, he was looked upon, 
 abroad, as a mild, reasonable, good sort of a man, 
 At home, however, he was held in a very differ- 
 ent estimation. The " wife of his bosom" re- 
 garded him as an exacting domestic tyrant ; and, 
 in opposing his will, she only fell back, as she 
 conceived, upon the first and most sacred law of 
 her nature. As to " obeying" him, she had scout- 
 ed that idea from the beginning. The words, 
 " honor and obey," in the marriage service, she 
 had always declared, would have to be omitted 
 when she stood at the altar. But as she had, in 
 her maidenhood, a very strong liking for the 
 handsome young Mr. Uhler, and, as she could 
 not obtain so material a change in the church 
 ritual, as the one needed to meet her case, she 
 wisely made a virtue of necessity, and went to the 
 altar with her lover. The difficulty was reconciled 
 to her own conscience by a mental reservation.
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 9 
 
 It is worthy of remark that above all other of the 
 obligations here solemnly entered into, this one, 
 not to honor and obey her husband, ever after 
 remained prominent in the mind of Mrs. Barbara 
 Uhler. And it was no fruitless sentiment, as Mi- 
 Herman Uhler could feelingly testify. 
 
 From the beginning it was clearly apparent to 
 Mrs. Uhler that her husband expected too much 
 from her; that he regarded her as a kind of upper 
 servant in his household, and that he considered 
 himself as having a right to complain if things 
 were not orderly and comfortable. At first, she 
 met his looks or words of displeasure, when his 
 meals, for instance, were late, or so badly cooked 
 as to be unhealthy and unpalatable, with 
 
 " I'm sorry, dear ; but I can't help it." 
 ' " Are you sure you can't help it, Barbara ?" 
 Mr. Uhler at length ventured to ask, in as mild a 
 tone of voice as his serious feelings on the subject 
 would enable him to assume. 
 
 Mrs. Uhler's face flushed instantly, and she an- 
 swered, with dignity : 
 
 " I am sure, Mr. Uhler " 
 
 It was the first time, in speaking to her hus 
 band, that she had said " Mr. Uhler," in her life
 
 10 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 the first time she had ever looked at him with 
 so steady and defiant an aspect. 
 
 Now, we cannot say how most men would have 
 acted under similar circumstances ; we can only 
 record what Mr. Uhler said and did : 
 
 " And I am not sure, Mrs. Uhler," was his 
 prompt, impulsive reply, drawing himself up, and 
 looking somewhat sternly at his better half. 
 
 " You are not ?" said Mrs. Uhler ; and she 
 compressed her lips tightly. 
 
 " I am not," was the emphatic response. 
 
 " And what do you expect me to do, pray ?" 
 came next from the lady's lips. 
 
 "Do as I do in my business," answered the 
 gentleman. " Have competent assistance, or see 
 that things are done right yourself." 
 
 " Go into the kitchen and cook the dinner, you 
 mean, I suppose ?" 
 
 " You can put my meaning into any form of 
 words you please, Barbara. You have charge 
 of this household, and it is your place to see that 
 everything due to the health and comfort of its 
 inmates is properly cared for. If those to whom 
 you delegate so important a part of domestic 
 economy as the preparation of food, are ignorant 
 or careless, surely it is your duty to go into the
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 11 
 
 kitchen daily, and see that it is properly done 
 I never trust wholly to any individual in my 
 employment. There is no department of the 
 business to which I do not give personal atten- 
 tion. Were I to do so my customers would pay 
 little regard to excuses about ignorant work 
 men and careless clerks. They would soon 
 seek their goods in another and better conduct- 
 ed establishment." 
 
 "Perhaps you had better seek your dinners 
 elsewhere, if they are so little to your fancy at 
 home." 
 
 This was the cool, defiant reply of the outraged 
 Mrs. TJhler. 
 
 Alas, for Mr. Herman Uhler ; he had, so far 
 as his wife was concerned, committed the un- 
 pardonable sin ; and the consequences visited 
 upon his transgression were so overwhelming that 
 he gave up the struggle in despair. Contention 
 with such an antagonist, he saw, from the instinct 
 of self-preservation, would be utterly disastrous. 
 While little was to be gained, everything was in 
 danger of being lost. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," was his repeated 
 answer to the running fire which his wife kept up 
 against him for a long time. " You are mistress
 
 12 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 of the house ; act your own pleasure. Thank you 
 for the suggestion about dinner. I may find it 
 convenient to act thereon." 
 
 The last part of this sentence was extorted by 
 the continued irritating language of Mrs. Uhler. 
 Its utterance rather cooled the lady's indignant 
 ardor, and checked the sharp words that were 
 rattling from her tongue. A truce to open 
 warfare was tacitly agreed upon between the 
 parties. The antagonism was not, however, the 
 less real. Mrs. Uhler knew that her husband 
 expected of her a degree of personal attention 
 to household matters that she considered degrad- 
 ing to her condition as a wife ; and, because he 
 expected this, she, in order to maintain the dignity 
 of her position, gave even less attention to these 
 matters than would otherwise have-been the case. 
 Of course, under such administration of domestic 
 affairs, causes for dissatisfaction on the part of 
 Mr. Uhler, were ever in existence. For the 
 most part he bore up under them with com- 
 mendable patience ; but, there were times when 
 weak human nature faltered by the way when, 
 from heart fulness the mouth would speak. This 
 was but to add new fuel to the flame. Thia 
 only gave to Mrs. Uhler a ground of argument
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 13 
 
 against her husband as an unreasonable, oppres- 
 sive tyrant ; as one of the large class of men who 
 not only regard woman as inferior, but who, in 
 all cases of weak submission, hesitate not to put 
 a foot upon her neck. 
 
 Some of the female associates, among whom 
 Mrs. Uhler unfortunately found herself thrown, 
 were loud talkers about woman's rights and man's 
 tyranny ; and to them, with a most unwife-like 
 indelicacy of speech, she did not hesitate to allude 
 to her husband as one of the class of men who 
 would trample upon a woman if permitted to do 
 so. By these ladies she was urged to maintain 
 her rights, to keep ever in view the dignity and 
 elevation of her sex, and to let man, the tyrant, 
 know, that a time was fast approaching when his 
 haughty pride would be humbled to the dust 
 
 And so Mrs, Uhler, under this kind of 
 stimulus to the maintainance of her own rights 
 against the imaginary aggressions of her husband, 
 trampled upon his rights in numberless ways. 
 
 As time wore on, no change for the better oo 
 curred. A woman does not reason to just 
 conclusions, either from facts or abstract prin- 
 ciples like man ; but takes, for the most part, the 
 directer road of perception. If, therefore her
 
 womanly instincts are all right, her conclusions 
 will be true; but if they are wrong, false judg- 
 ment is inevitable. The instincts of Mrs. Uhler 
 were wrong in the beginning, and she was, in 
 consequence, easily led by her associates, into 
 wrong estimates of both her own and her hus- 
 band's position. 
 
 One day, on coming home to dinner, Mr. Uhler 
 was told by a servant, that his wife had gone to 
 an anti-slavery meeting, and would not get back 
 till evening, as she intended dining with a friend. 
 Mr. Uhler made no remark on receiving this in- 
 formation. A meagre, badly-cooked dinner was 
 served, to which he seated himself, alone, not to 
 eat, but to chew the cud of bitter fancies. Busi- 
 ness, with Mr. Uhler, had not been very pros- 
 perous of late ; and he had suffered much from a 
 feeling of discouragement. Yet, for all this, his 
 wife's demands for money, were promptly met 
 and she was not inclined to be over careful as to 
 the range of her expenditures. 
 
 There was a singular expression on the face ol 
 Mr. Uhler, as he left his home on that day. 
 Some new purpose had been formed in his mind, 
 or some good principle abandoned. He was a
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS 15 
 
 changed man changed for the worse, it may well 
 be feared. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Uhler 
 returned. To have inquired of the servant whe- 
 ther Mr. Uhler had made any remark, when he 
 found that she was abse nt at dinner time, she 
 would have regarded as a betrayal to that per 
 souage of a sense of accountability on her part. 
 No; she stooped not to any inquiry of this kind 
 jom promised not the independence of the indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 The usual tea hour was at hand but, strange 
 to say, the punctual Mr. TJhler did not make his 
 appearance. For an hour the table stood on the 
 floor, awaiting his return, but he came not. 
 Then Mrs. TJhler gave her hungry, impatient 
 little ones their suppers singularly enough, she 
 had no appetite for food herself and sent them 
 to bed.. 
 
 Never since her marriage had Mrs. Uhler 
 spent so troubled an evening as that one proved 
 to be. A dozen times she rallied herself a 
 dozen times she appealed to her independence 
 and individuality as a woman, against the o'er- 
 shadowing concern about her husband, which 
 came gradually stealing upon her mind. And 
 with this UD comfortable feeling were some intru-
 
 16 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ding and unwelcome thoughts, that in no way 
 stimulated her self-approval. 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock when Mr. Uhler 
 came home ; and then he brought in his clothes 
 such rank fumes of tobacco, and his breath was 
 so tainted with brandy, that his wife had no need 
 of inquiry as to where he had spent his evening. 
 His countenance wore a look of vacant unconcern. 
 
 " Ah ! At home, are you ?" said he, lightly, 
 as he met his wife. " Did you have a pleasant 
 day of it ?" 
 
 Mrs. Uhler was frightened shall we say ? 
 We must utter the word, even though it meet the 
 eyes of her " strong minded" friends, who will be 
 shocked to hear that one from whom they had 
 hoped so much, should be frightened by so in- 
 significant a creature as a husband. Yes, Mrs. 
 Uhler was really frightened by this new aspect in 
 which her husband presented himself. She felt 
 that she was in a dilemma, to which, unhappily, 
 there was not a single horn, much less choice be- 
 tween two. 
 
 We believe Mrs. Uhler did not sleep very well 
 during the night. Her husband, however, slept 
 '' like a log." On the next morning, her brow was 
 overcast; but his countenance wore a careless
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. U 
 
 aspect. He chatted with the children at the 
 breakfast table, goodnaturedly, but said little to 
 his wife, who had penetration enough to see that 
 he was hiding his real feelings under an assumed 
 exterior. 
 
 " Are you going to be home to dinner to-day ?" 
 said Mr. Uhler, carelessly, as he arose from the 
 table. He had only sipped part of a cup of bad 
 coffee. 
 
 " Certainly I am," was the rather sharp reply. 
 The question irritated the lady. 
 
 "You needn't on my account," said Mr. 
 Uhler. " I've engaged to dine at the Astor with 
 a friend." 
 
 " Oh, very well 1" Mrs. Uhler bridled and 
 looked dignified. Yet, her flashing eyes showed 
 that cutting words were ready to leap from her 
 tongue. And they would have come sharply 
 on the air, had not the manner of her husband 
 been so unusual and really mysterious. In a 
 word, a vague fear kept her silent. 
 
 Mr. Uhler went to his store, but manifested 
 little of his usual interest and activity. Much 
 that he had Deen in the habit of attending to per- 
 sonally, he delegated to clerks. He dined at the 
 Astor, and spent most of the afternoon there,
 
 18 HOME LIGHTS AN1J SHADOWS 
 
 smoking, talking, and drinking. At tea-time he 
 came home. The eyes of Mrs. Uhler sought hia 
 face anxiously as he came in. There was a veil 
 of mystery upon it, through which her eyes could 
 not penetrate. Mr. Uhler remained at home du- 
 ring the evening, but did not seem to be himself. 
 On the next morning, as he was about leaving 
 the house, his wife said 
 
 " Can you let me have some money to-day ?" 
 
 Almost for the first time in her life, Mrs. Uhler 
 asked this question in a hesitating manner ; and, 
 for the first time, she saw that her request was 
 not favorably received. 
 
 " How much do you want ?" inquired the hus- 
 band. 
 
 " I should like to have a hundred dollars," said 
 Mrs. Uhler. 
 
 " I'm sorry ; but I can't let you have it," waa 
 answered. <( I lost five hundred dollars day be- 
 fore yesterday through the neglect of one of my 
 clerks, while I was riding out with some friends." 
 
 " Riding out !" exclaimed Mrs. Uhler. 
 
 " Yes. You can't expect me to be always tied 
 down to business. I like a little recreation and 
 pleasant intercourse with friends as much as any 
 one. "Well, you see, a country dealer, who owed
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 19 
 
 me five hundred dollars, was in the city, and pro 
 mised to call and settle on the afternoon of day 
 before yesterday. I explained to one of my clerka 
 what he must do when the customer came in, 
 and, of course, expected all to be done right. 
 Not so, however. The man, when he found that 
 he had my clerk, and not me, to deal with, ob- 
 jected to some unimportant charge in his bill, and 
 the foolish fellow, instead of yielding the point, 
 insisted that the account was correct. The cus- 
 tomer went away, and paid out all his money iji 
 settling a bill with one of my neighbors. And 
 so I got nothing. Most likely, I shall lose the 
 whole account, as he is a slippery chap, and will, 
 in all probability, see it to be his interest to make 
 a failure between this and next spring. I just wan- 
 ted that money to-day. Now I Shall have to be 
 running around half the morning to make up the 
 sum I need." 
 
 " But how could you go away under such cir. 
 cumstances, and trust all to a clerk ? said Mrs. 
 IJhler warmly, and with reproof in her voice. 
 
 " How could I !" was the quick response. 
 " And do you suppose I am going to tie myself 
 down to the store like a slave ! You ar mistak-
 
 20 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 en if you do ; that is all I have to say ! I hire 
 clerks to attend to ray business." 
 
 " But suppose they are incompetent ? "What 
 then ?" Mrs. Uhler was very earnest. 
 
 " That doesn't in the least alter my character 
 and position." Mr Uhler looked his wife fixedly 
 in the face for some moments after saying this, 
 and then retired from the house without further 
 remark. 
 
 The change in her husband, which Mrs. Uhler 
 at first tried to make herself believe was mere as- 
 sumption or caprice, proved, unhappily, a per- 
 manent state. He neglected his business and his 
 home for social companions ; and whenever asked 
 by his wife for supplies of cash, invariably gave 
 as a reason why he could not supply her want, 
 the fact of some new loss of custom, or money, 
 in consequence of neglect, carelessness, or incom- 
 petency of clerks or workmen, when he was away, 
 enjoying himself. 
 
 For a long time, Mrs. Uhler's independent 
 spirit struggled against the humiliating necessity 
 that daily twined its coils closer and closer 
 around her. More and more clearly did she see, 
 in her husband's wrong conduct, a reflection of 
 her own wrongdeeds in the beginning. It was hard
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 21 
 
 for her to acknowledge that she had been in error 
 even to herself. But conviction lifted before 
 her mind, daily, its rebuking finger, and she could 
 not shut the vision out. 
 
 Neglect of business brought its disastrous con- 
 sequences. In the end there was a failure ; and 
 yet, to the end, Mr. Uhler excused his conduct on 
 the ground that he wasn't going to tie himself 
 down like a galley slave to the oar wasn't go- 
 ing to stoop to the drudgery he had employed 
 clerks to perform. This was all his wife could gain 
 from him in reply to her frequent remonstrances. 
 
 Up to this time, Mr. Uhler had resisted the 
 better suggestions which, in lucid intervals, if we 
 may so call them, were thrown into her mind. 
 Pride would not let her give to her household 
 duties that personal care which their rightful per- 
 formance demanded ; the more particularly, as, in 
 much of her husband's conduct, she plainly saw 
 rebuke. 
 
 At last, poverty, that stern oppressor, drove 
 the Uhlers out from their pleasant home, and they 
 shrunk away into obscurity, privation, and want. 
 In the last interview held by Mrs. Uhler with the 
 " strong minded" friends, whose society had sc 
 long thrown its fascinations around her, and
 
 22 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 whose views and opinions had so long exercised 
 a baleful influence over her home, she was ur- 
 gently advised to abandon her husband, whom 
 one of the number did not hesitate to denounce 
 in language so coarse and disgusting, that the 
 latent instincts of the wife were shocked beyond 
 measure. Her husband was not the brutal, sen- 
 sual tyrant this refined lady, in her intemperate 
 zeal, represented him. None knew the picture 
 to be so false as Mrs. Uhler, and all that was 
 good and true in her rose up in indignant rebel- 
 lion. 
 
 To her poor, comfortless home, and neglected 
 children, Mrs. Uhler returned in a state of mind 
 BO different from anything she had experienced 
 for years, that she half wondered within herself if 
 she were really the same woman. Scales had 
 fallen suddenly from her eyes, and she saw every 
 thing around her in new aspects and new relations. 
 
 " Has my husband really been an exacting ty- 
 rant ?" This question she propounded to herself 
 almost involuntarily. " Did he trample upon 
 my rights in the beginning, or did I trample up- 
 on his ? He had a right to expect from me the 
 best service I could render, in making his home 
 comfortable and happy. Did I render that ser
 
 RIGHTS ANL WKONGS. 23 
 
 vice ? did I see in my home duties my highest 
 obligation as a wife ? have I been a true wife to 
 him ? 
 
 So rapidly came these rebuking interrogations 
 upon the mind of Mrs. Uhler, that it almost seem- 
 ed as if an accuser stood near, and uttered the 
 questions aloud. And how did she respond? 
 Not in self justification. Convinced, humbled, 
 repentant, she sought her home. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, almost evening, 
 when Mrs. Uhler passed the threshold of her own 
 door. The cry of a child reached her ears the 
 moment she entered, and she knew, in an instant, 
 that it was a cry of suffering, not anger or ill 
 nature. Hurrying to her chamber, she found her 
 three little ones huddled together on the floor, 
 the youngest with one of its arms and the side of 
 its face badly burned in consequence of its clothes 
 having taken fire. As well as she could learn, the 
 girl in whose charge she had left the children, and 
 who, in the reduced circumstances of the family, 
 was constituted doer of all work, had, from some 
 pique, gone away in her absence. Thus left free 
 to go where, and do what they pleased, the chil- 
 dren had amused themselves in playing with the 
 fire. "When the clothes of the youngest caught in
 
 24 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 the blaze of a lighted stick, the two oldest, with 
 singular presence of mind, threw around her a 
 wet towel that hung near, and thus saved he* 
 ife. 
 
 " Has your father been home ?" asked Mrs 
 Uhler, as soon as she comprehended the scene 
 before her. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," was answered. 
 
 " "Where is he ?" 
 
 <( He's gone for the doctor," replied the oldest 
 of the children. 
 
 " "What did he say ?" This question was in- 
 voluntary. The child hesitated for a moment, 
 and then replied artlessly 
 
 " He said he wished we had no mother, and 
 then he'd know how to take care of us himself." 
 
 The words came with the force of a blow. 
 Mrs. TJhler staggered backwards, and sunk upon 
 a chair, weak, for a brief time, as an infant. Ere 
 yet her strength returned, her husband came in 
 with a doctor. He did not seem to notice her 
 presence ; but she soon made that apparent. All 
 the mother's heart was suddenly alive in her. 
 She was not over officious had little to say ; but 
 her actions were all to the purpose. In due time,
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 25 
 
 the little sufferer was in a comfortable state and 
 the doctor retired. 
 
 Not a word had, up to this moment, passed 
 between the husband and wife. Now, the eyes 
 of the latter sought those of Mr. Uhler; but 
 there came no answering glance. His face was 
 sternly averted. 
 
 Darkness was now beginning to fall, and Mrs. 
 Uhler left her husband and children, and went 
 down into the kitchen. The fire had burned low, 
 and was nearly extinguished. The girl had not 
 returned ; and, from what Mrs. Uhler gathered 
 from the children would not, she presumed, come 
 back to them again. It mattered not, however ; 
 Mrs. Uhler was in no state of mind to regard 
 this as a cause of trouble. She rather felt reliev- 
 ed by her absence. Soon the fire was rekindled ; 
 the kettle simmering ; and, in due time, a com- 
 fortable supper was on the table, prepared by 
 her own hands, and well prepared too. 
 
 Mr. Uhler was a little taken by surprise, when, 
 on being summoned to tea, he took his place at 
 the usually uninviting table, and saw before him 
 a dish of well m ade toast, and a plate of nicely 
 boiled ham. He said nothing ; but a sensation 
 of pleasure, so warm that it made his heart beat 
 
 2
 
 26 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 quicker, pervaded bis bosom ; and this was in 
 creased, when he placed the cup of well made 
 fragrant tea to his lips, and took a long delicious 
 draught. All had been prepared by the hands 
 of his wife that he knew. How quickly his 
 pleasure sighed itself away, as he remembered 
 that, with her ample ability to make his home 
 the pleasantest place for him in the world, she 
 was wholly wanting in inclination. 
 
 Usually, the husband spent his evenings away. 
 Something caused him to linger in his own home 
 on this occasion. Few words passed between 
 him and his wife ; but the latter was active 
 through all the evening, and, wherever her hand 
 was laid, order seemed to grow up from dis- 
 order ; and the light glinted back from a hundred 
 places in the room, where no cheerful reflection 
 had ever met his eyes before. 
 
 Mr. Uhler looked on, in wonder and hope, but 
 said nothing. Strange enough, Mrs. Uhler was 
 up by day-dawn on the next morning ; and in 
 due time, a very comfortable breakfast was pre 
 pared by her own hands. , Mr. Uhler ventured a 
 word of praise, as he sipped his coffee. Never 
 had he tasted finer in his life, he said. Mrs. 
 Uhler looked gratified ; but offered no response.
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 27 
 
 At dinner time Mr. Uhler came home from 
 the store, where he was now employed at a small 
 salary, and still more to his surprise, found a 
 well cooked and well served meal awaiting him. 
 Never, since his marriage, had he eaten food at 
 his own table with so true a relish never before 
 had every thing in his house seemed so much like 
 home. 
 
 And so things went on for a week, Mr. Uhler 
 wondering and observant, and Mrs. Uhler find- 
 ing her own sweet reward, not only in a con- 
 sciousness of duty, but in seeing a great change 
 in her husband, who was no longer moot j and 
 ill-natured, and who had not 1 been absent once at 
 meal time, nor during an evening, since she had 
 striven to be to him a good wife, and to her chil- 
 dren a self denying mother. 
 
 There came, now, to be a sort of tacit emula- 
 tion of good offices between the wife and hus- 
 band, who had, for so many years, lived in a 
 state of partial indifference. Mr. Uhler urged 
 the procuring of a domestic, in place of the girl 
 who had left them, but Mrs. Uhler said no their 
 circumstances would not justify the expense. 
 Mr. Uhler said they could very well afford it,
 
 28 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 and intimated something about an expected ad 
 vance in his salary. 
 
 " I do not wish to see you a mere household 
 drudge," he said to her one day, a few weeks 
 after the change just noted. " You know so well 
 how every thing ought to be done, that the office 
 of director alone should be yours. I think there 
 is a brighter day coming for us. I hope so. From 
 the first of next month, my salary is to be in- 
 creased to a thousand dollars. Then we will 
 move from this poor place, into a better home." 
 
 There was a blending of hopefulness and 
 tender .ess in the voice of Mr. Uhler, that touched 
 his wife deeply. Overcome by her feelings, she 
 laid her face upon his bosom, and wept. 
 
 " Whether the day be brighter or darker," she 
 said, when she could speak calmly, " God helping 
 me, I will be to you a true wife, Herman. If 
 there be clouds and storms without, the hearth 
 shall only burn the brighter for you within. For- 
 give me for the past, dear husband ! and have 
 faith in me for the future. You shall not be dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 And he was not. Mrs. Uhler had discovered 
 her true relation, and had become conscious of 
 her true duties. She was no longer jealous of
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS. 29 
 
 her own rights, and therefore never trespassed on 
 the rights of her husband. 
 
 The rapidity with which Mr. TJhler rose to his 
 old position in business, sometimes caused a feel- 
 ing of wonder to pervade the mind of his wife. 
 From a clerk of one thousand, he soon came into 
 the receipt of two thousand a year, then rose to 
 be a partner in the business, and in a singularly 
 short period was a man of wealth. Mrs. TJhler 
 was puzzled, sometimes, at this, and so were other 
 people. It was even hinted, that he had never 
 been as poor as was pretended. Be that as it 
 may, as he never afterwards trusted important 
 matters to the discretion of irresponsible clerks, 
 his business operations went on prosperously; and, 
 on the other hand, as Mrs. Uhler never again 
 left the comfort and health of her family entirely 
 in the hands of ignorant and careless domestics, 
 the home of her husband was the pleasantest 
 place in the world for him, and his wife, not a 
 mere upper servant, but a loving and intelligent 
 companion, whom he cared for and cherished 
 with the utmost tenderness.
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE 
 
 " WHAT was that ?" exclaimed Mrs. Andrews, 
 to the lady who was seated next to her, as a sin- 
 gle strain of music vibrated for a few momenta 
 on the atmosphere. 
 
 " A violin, I suppose," was answered. 
 
 " A violin !" An expression almost of horror 
 came into the countenance of Mrs. Andrews. 
 " It can't be possible." 
 
 It was possible, however, for the sound came 
 again, prolonged and varied. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" asked Mrs. Andrews,
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. < 
 
 looking troubled, and moving uneasily in her 
 chair. 
 
 " Cotillions, I presume," was answered, care- 
 lessly. ' 
 
 " Not dancing, surely !" 
 
 But, even as Mrs. Andrews said this, a man 
 entered, carrying in his hand a violin. There 
 was an instant movement on the part of several 
 younger members of the company; partners were 
 chosen, and ere Mrs. Andrews had time to col- 
 lect her suddenly bewildered thoughts, the mu- 
 sic had struck up, and the dancers were in mo- 
 tion. 
 
 " I can't remain here. It's an outrage !" said 
 Mrs. Andrews, making a motion to rise. 
 
 The lady by whom she was sitting comprehen 
 ded now more clearly her state of mind, and lay- 
 ing a hand on her arm, gently restrained her. 
 
 " "Why not remain ? What is an outrage, 
 Mrs. Andrews ?" she asked. 
 
 '' Mrs. Burdick knew very well that I was a 
 member of the church." The lady's manner 
 was indignant. 
 
 " All your friends know that, Mrs. Andrews," 
 replied the other. A third person might have 
 detected in her tones a lurking sarcasm. But
 
 dX HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 this was not perceived by the individual addressed 
 " But what is wrong ?" 
 
 " "Wrong ! Isn't that wrong ?" And she glan- 
 ced towards the mazy wreath of human figures 
 already circling on the floor. " I could not have 
 believed it of Mrs. Burdickj.she knew that I was 
 a professor of religion." 
 
 " She doesn't expect you to dance, Mrs. An- 
 drews," said the lady. 
 
 " But she expects me to countenance the sin 
 and folly by my presence." 
 
 " Sin and folly are strong terms, Mrs. An- 
 drews." 
 
 " I know they are, and I use them advisedly, 
 I hold it a sin to dance." 
 
 " I know wise and good people who hold a dif- 
 ferent opinion." 
 
 " Wise and good !" Mrs. Andrews spoke 
 with strong disgust. " I wouldn't give much for 
 their wisdom and goodness not I !" 
 
 " The true qualities of men and women are 
 best seen at home. When people go abroad, 
 they generally change their attire mental as 
 well as bodily. Now, I have seen the home-life 
 of certain ladies, who do not think it sin to dance, 
 and it was full of the heart's warm sunshine ; and
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 33 
 
 I have seen the home-life of certain ladies who 
 hold dancing to be sinful, and I have said to my- 
 self, half shudderingly : " What child can breathe 
 that atmosphere for years, and not grow up with 
 a clouded spirit, and a fountain of bitterness in 
 the heart !' " 
 
 " And so you mean to say," Mrs. Andrews 
 spoke with some asperity of manner, " that danc- 
 ing makes people better ? Is, in fact, a means ot 
 grace ?" 
 
 " No. I say no such thing." 
 
 " Then what do you mean to say ? I draw 
 the only conclusion I can make." 
 
 " One may grow better or worse from danc- 
 ing," said the lady. " All will depend on the 
 spirit in which the recreation is indulged. In it- 
 self the act is innocent." 
 
 Mrs. Andrews shook her head. 
 
 " In what does its sin consist ?" 
 
 " It is an idle waste of time." 
 
 " Can you say nothing worse of it ?" 
 
 " I could, but delicacy keeps me silent." 
 
 " Did you ever dance ?" 
 
 " Me ? What a question ! No !" 
 
 " I have danced often. And, let me say, that 
 
 2*
 
 34 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 your inference on the score of indelicacy is alto- 
 gether an assumption." 
 
 " Why everybody admits that." 
 
 " Not by any means." 
 
 " If the descriptions of some of the midnight 
 balls and assemblies that I have heard, of the 
 waltzing, and all that, be true, then nothing could 
 be more indelicate, nothing more injurious to 
 the young and innocent." 
 
 " All good things become evil in their perver- 
 sions," said the lady. " And I will readily agree 
 with you, that dancing is perverted, and its use, 
 as a means of social recreation, most sadly chan- 
 ged into what is injurious. The same may be 
 said of church going." 
 
 " You shock me," said Mrs. Andrews. "Ex- 
 cuse me, but you are profane." 
 
 " I trust not. For true religion for the holy 
 things of the church I trust that I have tha 
 most profound reverence. But let me prove 
 what I say, that even church going may become 
 evil." 
 
 " I am all attention," said the incredulous Mrs. 
 Andrews. 
 
 " You can bear plain speaking." 
 
 " Me !" The church member looked surprised.
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 35 
 
 " Yes, you." 
 
 " Certainly I can. But why do you ask ?" 
 
 " To put you on your guard, nothing more." 
 
 " Don't fear but what I can bear all the plain 
 speaking you may venture upon. As' to church 
 going being evil, I am ready to prove the nega- 
 tive against any allegations you can advance. 
 So speak on." 
 
 After a slight pause, to collect her thoughts, 
 the lady said : 
 
 " There has been a protracted meeting in Mr. 
 B 's church." 
 
 " I know it. And a blessed time it was." 
 
 " You attended ?" 
 
 "Yes, every day; and greatly was my soul re 
 freshed and strengthened." 
 
 " Did you see Mrs. Eldridge there ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Eldridge ? No indeed, except on Sun- 
 day. She's too worldly-minded for that." 
 
 " She has a pew in your church." 
 
 " Yes ; and comes every Sunday morning be- 
 cause it is fashionable and respectable to go to 
 church. As for her religion, it isn't worth much 
 and will hardly stand her at the last day." 
 
 " "Why Mrs. Andrews ! You shock me ! Have 
 you seen into her heart ? Do you know her pur
 
 $6 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 poses ? Judge not, that ye be not judged, is the 
 divine injunction." 
 
 " A tree is known by its fruit," said Mrs. An- 
 drews, who felt the rebuke, and slightly colored 
 
 " True ; and by their fruits shall ye know 
 them," replied the lady. " But come, there are 
 too many around us here for this earnest conver- 
 sation. We will take a quarter of an hour to 
 ourselves in one of the less crowded rooms. No 
 one will observe our absence, and you will be 
 freed from the annoyance of these dancers." 
 
 The two ladies quietly retired from the draw- 
 ing rooms. As soon as they were more alone, 
 the last speaker resumed. 
 
 " By their fruits ye shall know them. Do men 
 gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles ? Let 
 me relate what I saw and heard in the families 
 of two ladies during this protracted meeting. 
 One of these ladies was Mrs. Eldridge. I was 
 passing in her neighborhood about four o'clock 
 and as I owed her a call, thought the opportuni- 
 ty a good one for returning it. On entering, my 
 ears caught the blended music of a piano, and 
 children's happy voices. From the front parlor, 
 through the partly opened door, a sight, beauti- 
 ful to my eyes, was revealed. Mrs. Eldridge was
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 37 
 
 eeated at the instrument, her sweet babe asleep 
 on one arm, while, with a single hand, she was 
 touching the notes of a familiar air, to which 
 four children were dancing. A more innocent, 
 >ving, happy group I have never seen. For 
 nearly ten minutes I gazed upon them unobser- 
 ved, so interested that I forgot the questionabla 
 propriety of my conduct, and during that time, 
 not an unkind word was uttered by one of the 
 children, nor did anything occur to mar the har- 
 mony of the scene. It was a sight on which an- 
 gels could have looked, nay, did look with pleas- 
 ure ; for, whenever hearts are tuned to good af- 
 fections, angels are present. The music was sus- 
 pended, and the dancing ceased, as I presented 
 myself. The mother greeted me with a happy 
 smile, and each of the children spoke to her visi- 
 tor with an air at once polite and respectful. 
 
 " ' I 've turned nurse for the afternoon, you 
 see,' said Mrs. Eldridge, cheerfully. ' It's Alice's 
 day to go out, and I never like to trust our little 
 ones with the chambermaid, who is n't over fond 
 of children. We generally have a good time on 
 these occasions, for I give myself up to them en- 
 tirely. They've read, and played, and told sto-
 
 38 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ries, until tired, and now I Ve just brightened 
 them up, body and mind, with a dance.' 
 
 " And bright and happy they all looked. 
 
 " ' Now run up into the nursery for a littla 
 while, and build block houses,' said she, ' while 1 
 have a little pleasant talk with my friend. That's 
 good children. And I want you to be very quiet, 
 for dear little Eddy is fast asleep, and I'm go- 
 ing to lay him in his crib.' 
 
 " Away went the children, and I heard no more 
 of them for the half hour during which I staid. 
 "With the child in her arms, Mrs. Eldridge went 
 up to her chamber, and I went with her. As 
 ehe was laying him in the crib, I took from the 
 mantle a small porcelain figure of a kneeling 
 child, and was examining it, when she turned to 
 me. ' Very beautiful,' said I. ' It is,' she replied. 
 ' We call it our Eddy, saying his prayers. 
 There is a history attached to it. Very early I 
 teach my little ones to say an evening prayer. 
 First impressions are never wholly effaced ; I 
 therefore seek to implant, in the very dawning 
 of thought, an idea of God, and our dependence 
 on him for life and all our blessings, knowing 
 that, if duly fixed, this idea will ever remain, and 
 be the vessel, in after years, for the reception of
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 39 
 
 truth flowing down from the great source of all 
 truth. Strangely enough, my little Eddy, so 
 sweet in temper as he was, steadily refused to 
 say his prayers. I tried in every way that I could 
 think of to induce him to kneel with the othei 
 children, and repeat a few simple words , but not 
 his aversion thereto was unconquerable. I at 
 last grew really troubled about it. There seem- 
 ed to be a vein in his character that argued no 
 good. One day I saw this kneeling child in a 
 store. With the sight of it came the thought of 
 how I might use it. I bought the figure, and 
 did not show it to Eddy until he was about go- 
 ing to bed. The effect was all I had hoped to 
 produce. He looked at it for some moments ear- 
 nestly, then dropped on his little knees, clasped 
 his white hands, and murmured the prayer I had 
 BO long and so vainly striven to make him repeat.' 
 " Tears were in the eyes of Mrs. Eldridge, as 
 she uttered the closing words. I felt that she 
 was a true mother, and loved her children with a 
 high and holy love. And now, let me give you 
 a picture that strongly contrasts with this. Not 
 far from Mrs. Eldridge, resides a lady, who is 
 remarkable for her devotion to the church, and, 
 I am compelled to. say, want of cha rity towards
 
 40 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 all who happen to differ with her more particu- 
 larly, if the difference involves church matters 
 It was after sundown; still being in the neigh- 
 borhood, I embraced the opportunity to make a 
 call. On ringing the bell, I heard, immediately, a 
 clatter of feet down the stairs and along the pass- 
 age, accompanied by children's voices, loud and 
 boisterous. It was some time before the door 
 was opened, for each of the four children, wish- 
 ing to perform the office, each resisted the oth- 
 ers' attempts to admit the visitor. Angry excla- 
 mations, rude outcries, ill names, and struggles 
 for the advantage continued, until the cook, at- 
 tracted from the kitchen by the noise, arrived^at 
 the scene of contention, and after jerking the chil- 
 dren so roughly as to set the two youngest cry- 
 ing, swung it open, and I entered. On gaining 
 the parlor, I asked for the mother of these chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " ' She isn't at home,' said the cook. 
 
 " ' She's gone to church,' said the oldest of the 
 children. 
 
 " ' I wish she'd stay at home,' remarked cook 
 in a very disrespectful way, and with a manner 
 that showed her to be much fretted in her mind. 
 It 's Mary's day out, and she knows I can't do
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 41 
 
 anything with the children. Such children I never 
 saw! They don't mind a word you say, and 
 quarrel so among themselves, that it makes one 
 sick to hear them.' 
 
 " At this moment a headless doll struck against 
 the side of my neck. It had been thrown by one 
 child at another ; missing her aim, she gave me the 
 benefit of her evil intention. At this, cook lost 
 all patience, and seizing the offending little one, 
 boxed her soundly, before I could interfere. The 
 language used by that child, as she escaped from 
 the cook's hands, was shocking. It made my 
 flesh creep ! 
 
 "'Did I understand you to say that your 
 mother had gone to' church ?' I asked of the oldest 
 child. 
 
 " ' Yes, ma'am,' was answered. ' She's been 
 every day this week. There's a protracted meet* 
 ing.' 
 
 "'Give me that book!' screamed a child, at 
 this moment. Glancing across the room, I saw 
 two of the little ones contending for possession of 
 a large family Bible, which lay upon a small table. 
 Before I could reach them, for I started forward, 
 from an impulse of the moment, the table was
 
 42 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 thrown over, the marble top broken, and the cover 
 torn from the sacred volume." 
 
 The face of Mrs. Andrews became instantly of 
 a deep crimson. Not seeming to notice this, her 
 friend continued. 
 
 " As the table fell, it came within an inch of 
 striking another child on the head, who had seat- 
 ed himself on the floor. Had it done so, a fractured 
 skull, perhaps instant death, would have been the 
 consequence." 
 
 Mrs. Andrews caught her breath, and grew 
 very pale. The other continued. 
 
 " In the midsfe of the confusion that followed, 
 the father came home. 
 
 " ' Where is your mother ?' he asked of one of 
 the children. 
 
 " ' Gone to church,' was replied. 
 
 " ' dear !' I can hear his voice now, with its 
 tone of hopelessness, ' This church-going mania 
 is dreadful. I tell my wife that it is all wrong. 
 That her best service to God is to bring up her 
 children in the love of what is good and true, in 
 filial obedience and fraternal affection. But it 
 avails not.' 
 
 " And now, Mrs. Andrews," continued the lady, * 
 not in the least appearing to notice the distress
 
 THE HUMBLED PHARISEE. 43 
 
 and confusion of her over-pious friend, whom she 
 had placed upon the rack, " When God cornea 
 to make up his jewels, and says to Mrs. Eldridge, 
 and also to this mother who thought more of 
 church-going than of her precious little ones, 
 Where are the children I gave you ? which do 
 you think will be most likely to answer, Here 
 they are, not one is lost ?" 
 
 "Have I not clearly shown you that even church- 
 going may be perverted into an evil ? That 
 piety may attain an inordinate growth, while 
 charity is dead at the root ? Spiritual pride ; a 
 vain conceit of superior goodness because of the 
 observance of certain forms and ceremonies, is the 
 error into which too many devout religionists fall. 
 But God sees not as man seeth. He looks into 
 the heart, and judges his creatures by the motives 
 that rule them." 
 
 And, as she said this, she arose, the silent and 
 rebuked Mrs. Andrews, whose own picture had 
 been drawn, following her down to the gay draw- 
 ing rooms. 
 
 Many a purer heart than that o/ the humbled 
 Pharisee beat there beneath the bosoms of happy 
 maidens even though their feet were rising and 
 falling in time to witching melodies.
 
 ROMANCE AND EEALITY. 
 
 " I MET with a most splendid girl last evening," 
 remarked to his friend a young man, whose fine, 
 intellectual forehead, and clear bright eye, gave 
 indications of more than ordinary mental endow- 
 ments. 
 
 " Who is she ?" was the friend's brief ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Her name is Adelaide Merton. Have you 
 ever seen her ?" 
 
 " No, but I have often heard of the young 
 lady." 
 
 " As a girl of more than ordinary intelligence ?" 
 
 " yes. Don't you remember the beautiful
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 45 
 
 little gems of poetry that used to appear in the 
 Gazette, under the signature of Adelaide ?" 
 
 "Very well. Some of them were exquisite, 
 and all indicative of a fine mind. Was she their 
 author ?" 
 
 " So I have been told." 
 
 " I can very readily believe it ; for never have 
 I met with a woman who possessed such a bril- 
 liant intellect. Her power of expression is almost 
 unbounded. Her sentences are perfect pictures 
 of the scenes she describes. If she speaks of a 
 landscape, not one of its most minute features is 
 lost, nor one of the accessories to its perfection 
 as a whole overlooked. And so of every thing 
 else, in the higher regions of the intellect, or in 
 the lower forms of nature. For my own part, I 
 was lost ra admiration of her qualities. She will 
 yet shine in the world." 
 
 The young man who thus expressed himself in 
 regard to Adelaide Merton, was named Charle? 
 Fenwick. He possessed a brilliant mind, whic 
 had been well stored. But his views of life were 
 altogether perverted and erroneous, and his ends 
 deeply tinctured with the love of distinction, for 
 its own sake. A few tolerably successful literary 
 efforts, had been met by injudicious over praise,
 
 46 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 leading him to the vain conclusion that his abilities 
 were of so high a character, that no field of action 
 was for him a worthy one that had any thing to 
 do with what he was pleased to term the ordinary 
 grovelling pursuits of life. Of course, all mere 
 mechanical operations were despised, and as a na- 
 tural consequence, the men who were engaged in 
 them. So with merchandizing, and also with the 
 various branches of productive enterprise. They 
 were mere ministers of the base physical wants 
 of our nature. His mind took in higher aims than 
 these ! 
 
 His father was a merchant in moderate circum- 
 stances, engaged in a calling which was of course 
 despised by the son, notwithstanding he was in- 
 debted to his father's constant devotion to that 
 calling for his education, and all the means of com- 
 fort and supposed distinction that he enjoyed. 
 The first intention of the elder Mr. Fenwick had 
 been to qualify his son, thoroughly, for the call- 
 'ng of a merchant, that he might enter into busi 
 ess with him and receive the benefits of his ex 
 perience and facilities in trade. But about the 
 age of seventeen, while yet at college, young 
 Fenwick made the unfortunate discovery that he 
 could produce a species of composition which he
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 47 
 
 called poetry. His efforts were praised and this 
 induced him to go on, until he learned the art of 
 tolerably smooth versification. This would all 
 'nave been well enough had he not imagined him- 
 self to be in consequence, of vastly increased im- 
 portance. Stimulated by this idea, he prosecuted 
 his collegiate studies with renewed diligence, 
 storing a strong and comprehensive mind with 
 facts and principles in science and philosophy, 
 that would have given him, in after life, no ordi- 
 nary power of usefulness as a literary and profes- 
 sional man, had not his selfish ends paralysed and 
 perverted the natural energies of a good intellect. 
 The father's intention of making him a mer- 
 chant was, of course, opposed by the son, who 
 chose one of the learned profession as more hon- 
 orable not more useful ; a profession that would 
 give him distinction not enable him to fill his 
 right place in society. In this he was gratified. 
 At the time of his introduction to the reader, he 
 was known as a young physician without a 
 patient. He had graduated, but had not yet seen 
 any occasion for taking an office, as his father's 
 purse supplied all his wants. His pursuits were 
 mainly literary consisting of essays and reviews 
 for some of the periodicals intermixed with a lib-
 
 48 HOME LIGHTS AND IIADOWS. 
 
 eral seasoning of pretty fair rhymes which rose 
 occasionally to the dignity of poetry or, as he 
 supposed, to the lofty strains of a Milton or a 
 Dante. Occasionally a lecture before some liter-' 
 ary association brought his name into the news- 
 papers in connection with remarks that kindled 
 his vanity into a flame. Debating clubs afforded 
 another field for display, and he made liberal 
 use of the facility. So much for Charles Fen- 
 wick. 
 
 Of Adelaide Merton, we may remark, that she 
 was just the kind of a woman to captivate a 
 young man of Fenwick's character. She was 
 showy in her style of conversation, but exceed- 
 ingly superficial. Her reading consisted princi- 
 pally of poetry and the popular light literature 
 of the day, with a smattering of history. She 
 could repeat, in quite an attractive style, many 
 fine passages from Homer, Virgil, Milton, Shak- 
 epeare, Pope, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, an* 3 
 a host of lesser lights in the poetic hemisphere 
 and could quote from and criticise the philosophy 
 and style of Bulwer with the most edifying self- 
 satisfaction imaginable not to enumerate her 
 many other remarkable characteristics. 
 
 A second visit to Adelaide confirmed the first
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITV. 49 
 
 favorable impression made upon the mind of 
 Fenwick. At the third visit he was half in love 
 with her, and she more than half in love 
 with him. A fourth interview completed the 
 work on both sides. At the fifth, the following 
 conversation terminated the pleasant intercourse 
 of the evening. They were seated on a sofa, and 
 had been talking of poetry, and birds, and flowers, 
 green fields, and smiling landscapes, and a 
 dozen other things not necessary to be repeated 
 at present. A pause of some moments finally 
 succeeded, and each seemed deeply absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 " Adelaide," at length the young man said in a 
 low, musical tone, full of richness and pathos 
 " Do you not feel, sometimes, when your mind 
 rises into the region of pure thoughts, and ranges 
 free among the beautiful and glorious images that 
 then come and go like angel visitants, a sense of 
 loneliness, because another cannot share what 
 brings to you such exquisite delight ?" 
 
 " Yes often and often," replied the maiden 
 lifting her eyes to those of Fenwick, and gazing 
 at him with a tender expression. 
 
 " And yet few there are, Adelaide, few indeed 
 who could share such elevating pleasures." 
 3
 
 bQ HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Few, indeed," was the response. 
 
 " Pardon me, for saying," resumed the young 
 man, " that to you I have been indebted for such 
 added delights. Earely, indeed, have I been able 
 X) find, especially among your gentler sex, one 
 who could rise with me into the refining, elevat- 
 ing, exquisite pleasures of the imagination. But 
 you have seemed fully to appreciate my senti- 
 ments, and fully to sympathize with them." 
 
 To this Adelaide held down her head for a 
 moment or two, the position causing the blood to 
 deepen in her cheeks and forehead. Then look- 
 ing up with an expression of lofty poetic feeling 
 she said 
 
 " And, until I met you, Mr. Fenwick, I must 
 be frank in saying, that I have known no one, 
 whose current of thought and feeling no one 
 whose love of the beautiful in the ideal or natural 
 has seemed so perfect a reflection of my own." 
 
 To this followed another pause, longer and 
 *nore thoughtful than the first. It was at length 
 oroken by Fenwick, who said, in a voice that 
 trembled perceptibly. 
 
 " I have an inward consciousness, that sprung 
 into activity when the first low murmur of your 
 voice fell upon my ear, that you were to me a
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 51 
 
 kindred spirit. Since that moment, this conscious- 
 ness has grown daily more and more distinct, and 
 now I feel impelled, by a movement which I 
 cannot resist, to declare its existence. First 
 parden this freedom, Adelaide, and then say if 
 you understand and appreciate what I have utter- 
 ed in all frankness and sincerity ?" 
 
 Not long did our young friend wait for an an- 
 swer that made him happier than he had ever 
 been in his life happy in the first thrilling con- 
 sciousness of love deeply and fervently recip- 
 rocated. To both of them, there was a degree of 
 romance about this brief courtship that fully ac- 
 corded with their views of love truly so called. 
 The ordinary cold matter-of-fact way of coming 
 together, including a cautious and even at times 
 a suspicious investigation of character, they 
 despised as a mere mockery of the high, sponta- 
 neous confidence which those who are truly 
 capable of loving, feel in each other a confidence 
 which nothing can shake. And thus did they 
 pledge themselves without either having thought 
 of the other's moral qualities ; or either of them 
 having formed any distinct ideas in regard to the 
 true nature of the marriage relation. 
 
 A few months sufficed to comsjimmate their
 
 52 HOME. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 union, when, in accordance with the gay young 
 couple's desire, old Mr. Fenwick furnished them 
 out handsomely, at a pretty heavy expense, in un 
 establishment of their own. As Charles Fenwick 
 had not, heretofore, shown any inclination to 
 enter upon the practice of the profession he had 
 chosen, his father gently urged upon him the 
 necessity of now doing so. But the idea of be- 
 coming a practical doctor, was one that Charles 
 could not abide. He had no objection to the 
 title, for that sounded quite musical to his ear; 
 but no farther than that did his fancy lead him. 
 
 " Why didn't I choose the law as a profession ?" 
 he 'would sometimes say to his young wife. 
 " Then I might have shone. But to bury myself 
 as a physician, stealing about from house to 
 house, and moping over sick beds, is a sacrifice 
 of my talents that I cannot think of without turn 
 ing from the picture with disgust." 
 
 " Nor can I," would be the wife's reply. " And 
 what is more, I never will consent to such a per- 
 version of your talents." 
 
 "Why cannot you study law, even now, 
 Charles ?" she asked of him one day. " With 
 your acquirements, and habits of thought, I am
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 53 
 
 t,ure you would soon be able to pass an examina- 
 tion." 
 
 " I think that is a good suggestion, Adelaide," 
 her husband replied, thoughtfully. " I should 
 only want a year or eighteen months for prepara- 
 tion, and then I could soon place myself in the 
 front rank of the profession." 
 
 The suggestion of Charles Fenwick's wife was 
 promptly adopted. A course of legal studies 
 was entered upon, and completed in about two 
 years. Up to this time, every thing had gone on 
 with our young couple as smoothly as a summer 
 sea. A beautifully furnished house, well kept 
 through the attention of two or three servants, 
 gave to their indoor enjoyments a very important 
 accessory. For money there was no care, as the 
 elder Mr. Fenwick's purse-strings relaxed as 
 readily to the hand of Charles as to his own. A 
 pleasant round of intelligent company, mostly of 
 i literary character, with a full supply of all the 
 new publications and leading periodicals of the 
 day, kept their minds elevated into the region of 
 intellectual enjoyments, and caused them stiii 
 more to look down upon the ordinary pursuits of 
 life as far beneath them. 
 
 But all this could not lust forever. On the day
 
 54 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Charles was admitted to the bar, he received a 
 note from his father, requesting an immediate 
 interview. He repaired at once to his counting 
 room, in answer to the parental summons. 
 
 " Charles," said the old man, when they wei 
 alone, " I have, up to this time, supplied all your 
 wants, and have done it cheerfully. In order to 
 prepare you for taking your right place in socie- 
 ty, I have spared no expense in your education, 
 bearing you, after your term of college life had 
 expired, through two professional courses, so 
 that, as either a physician or a lawyer, you are 
 fully equal to the task of sustaining yourself and 
 family. As far as I am concerned, the tide of 
 prosperity has evidently turned against me. For 
 two years, I have felt myself gradually going 
 back, instead of forward, notwithstanding my 
 most earnest struggles to maintain at least the 
 position already gained. To-day, the notice of a 
 heavy loss completes my inability to bear the 
 burden of your support, and that of my own 
 family. You must, therefore, Charles, enter the 
 world for yourself, and there struggle as I have 
 done, and as all do around you, for a living. But, 
 as I know that it will be impossible for you tc 
 ^ obtain sufficient practice at once in either law or
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 55 
 
 medicine to maintain yourself, I will spare you 
 out of my income, which will now be small in 
 comparison to what it has been, four hundred 
 dollars a year, for the next two years. You 
 must yourself make up the deficiency, and no 
 doubt you can easily do so." 
 
 " But, father," replied the young man, his face 
 turning pale, " I cannot, possibly, make up the 
 deficiency. Our rent alone, you know, is four 
 hundred dollars." 
 
 "I am aware of that, Charles. But what then? 
 You must get a house at one half that rent, and 
 reduce your style of living, proportionably, in 
 other respects." 
 
 ".What! And compromise my standing in 
 society ? I can never do that, father." 
 
 " Charles," said the old man, looking at his son 
 with a sterner countenance than he had ever yet 
 put on when speaking to him, " remember that 
 you have no standing in society which you can 
 truly call your own. I have, heretofore, held 
 you up, and now that my sustaining hand is 
 about to be withdrawn, you must fall or rise to 
 your own level. And 1 am satisfied, that the 
 sooner you are permitted to do so the better." 
 
 The fact was, that the selfish, and to old Mr,
 
 56 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Fenwick, the heartless manner in which Charles 
 had received the communication of his changed 
 circumstances, had wounded him exceedingly 
 and suddenly opened his eyes to the false rela 
 tion which his son was holding to society. 
 
 " You certainly cannot be in earnest, father," 
 the son replied, after a few moments of hurried 
 and painful thought, " in declaring your intention 
 of throwing me off with a meagre pittance of 
 four hundred dollars, before I have had a chance 
 to do any thing for myself. How can I possibly 
 get along on that sum ?" 
 
 " I do not expect you to live on that, Charles. 
 But the difference you will have to make up 
 yourself. You have talents and acquirements. 
 Bring them into useful activity, and you will 
 need little of my assistance. As for me, as I 
 have already told you, the tide of success is 
 against me, and I am gradually moving down the 
 stream. Four hundred dollars is the extent of 
 what I can give you, and how long the ability to 
 do that may last, Heaven only knows." 
 
 Reluctantly the young couple were compelled 
 to give up their elegantly arranged dwelling, and 
 move into a house of about one half of its dimen* 
 eions. In this there was a fixed, cold, common
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 57 
 
 place reality, that shocked the sensibilities of both 
 even though throughout the progress of the 
 change, each had remained passive in the hands 
 of the eider Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick, who had to 
 choose them a house, and attend to all the 
 arrangements of moving and refitting the new 
 home. For Charles to have engaged in the 
 vulgar business of moving household furniture, 
 would have been felt as a disgrace ; and as for 
 Adelaide, she didn't know how to do any thing 
 in regard to the matter, and even if she had, 
 would have esteemed such an employment as 
 entirely beneath her . 
 
 While the packing up was going on under the 
 direction of her husband's mother, Adelaide, half 
 dressed, with an elegant shawl thrown carelessly 
 about her shoulders, her feet drawn up and her 
 body reclining upon a sofa, was deeply buried in 
 the last new novel, while her babe lay in the arms, 
 of a nurse, who was thus prevented from render- 
 ing any assistance to those engaged in preparing 
 the furniture for removal. As for her husband, 
 he was away, in some professional friend's office, 
 holding a learned discussion upon the relative 
 merits of Byron and Shelley. 
 
 After the removal had been accomplished, and
 
 58 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 the neat little dwelling put, as the elder Mrs. 
 Fenwick termed it, into " apple-pie order" the 
 following conversation took place between her 
 and her daughter-in-law. 
 
 " Adelaide, it will now be necessary for you to 
 let both your nurse and chambermaid go. Charles 
 cannot possibly afford the expense, as things now 
 are." 
 
 " Let my nurse and chambermaid go !" ex- 
 claimed Adelaide, with a look and tone of pro- 
 found astonishment. 
 
 "Certainly, Adelaide," was the firm reply. 
 "You cannot now afford to keep three servants." 
 
 " But how am I to get along without them ? 
 You do not, certainly, suppose that I can be my 
 own nurse and chambermaid ?" 
 
 " With your small family," was Mrs. Fenwick's 
 reply, " you can readily have the assistance of 
 your cook for a portion of the morning in your 
 chamber and parlors. And as to the nursing 
 part, I should think that you would desire no 
 higher pleasure than having all the care of dear 
 little Anna. I was always my own nurse, and 
 never had assistance beyond that of a little girl." 
 
 " It's no use to speak in that way, mother ; I
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 59 
 
 cannot do without a nurse," said Adelaide, burst- 
 ing into tears. " I couldn't even dress the baby." 
 
 " The sooner you learn, child, the better," was 
 the persevering reply of Mrs. Fenwick. 
 
 But Adelaide had no idea of dispensing witL 
 either nurse or chambermaid, both of whom 
 were retained in spite of the remonstrances and 
 entreaties of the mother-in-law. 
 
 Driven to the absolute necessity of doing so, 
 Charles Fenwick.opened an office, and advertised 
 for business. Those who have attempted to 
 make their way, at first, in a large city, at the 
 bar, can well understand the disappointment and 
 chagrin of Fenwick on finding that he did not 
 rise at once to distinction, as he had fondly ima- 
 gined he would, when he turned his attention, 
 with strong reasons for desiring success, to the 
 practice of his profession. A few petty cases, the 
 trifling fees of which he rejected as of no consid- 
 eration, were all that he obtained during the firs 4 
 three months. At the end of this time he found 
 himself in debt to the baker, butcher, milkman, 
 tailor, dry-goods merchants, and to the three ser- 
 vants still pertinaciously retained by his wife. 
 And, as a climax to the whole, his father's busi- 
 ness was brought to a termination by bankruptcy
 
 60 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 and the old man, in the decline of life, with 
 etiil a large family dependent upon him for sup- 
 port, thrown upon the world, to struggle, almost 
 powerless, for a subsistence. Fortunately, the 
 Presidency of an Insurance Company was ten- 
 dered him, with a salary of fifteen hundred dol- 
 lars per annum. On this he could barely support 
 those dependent upon him, leaving Charles the 
 whole task of maintaining himself, his wife, and 
 their child. 
 
 To be dunned for money was more than the 
 young man could endure with any kind of pa- 
 tience. But creditor tradesmen had no nice 
 scruples in regard to these matters, and duns 
 came, consequently, thick and fast,, until poor 
 Charles was irritated beyond measure. Cold, 
 and sometimes impatient, and half insulting an- 
 swers to applications for money, were not to be 
 endured by the eager applicants for what was 
 justly their own. Warrants soon followed, as a 
 matter of course, which had to be answered by a 
 personal appearanc before city magistrates, thus 
 causing the infliction of a deeper mortification 
 than had yet assailed him. Added to these came 
 the importunities of his landlord, which was met 
 by a response which was deemed insulting, and
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 61 
 
 then came a distraint for rent. The due bill of 
 the father, saved the son this utter prostration 
 and disgrace. 
 
 The effect of all this, was to drive far away 
 from their dwelling the sweet angel of peace and 
 contentment. Fretted and troubled deeply in 
 regard to his present condition and future pros- 
 pects, Charles had no smiling words for his 
 wife. This, of course, pained her deeply. But 
 she readily found relief from present reality in the 
 world of pure romance. The more powerful 
 fictions of the day, especially the highly wrought 
 idealities of Bulwer, and those of his class, in- 
 troduced her into a world above that in which 
 she dwelt, and there she lingered the greatest 
 portion of her time, unconscious of the calls of 
 duty, or the claims of affection. 
 
 A single year sufficed to break them up 
 entirely. Expenses far beyond their income, 
 which rose to about three hundred dollars during 
 the first year of Charles' practice at the bar, 
 brought warrants and executions, which the 
 father had no power to stay. To satisfy these, 
 furniture and library had to be sold, and Charles 
 and his wife, child and nurse, which latter Ade-
 
 62 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 laide would retain, were thrown upon old Mr. 
 Fenwick, for support. 
 
 For four years did they remain a burden upon 
 the father, during which time, unstimulated to 
 xertion by pressing necessities, Chai-les made but 
 *ttle progress as a lawyer. Petty cases he des- 
 pised, and generally refused to undertake, and 
 those of more importance were not trusted to one 
 who had yet to prove himself worthy of a high 
 degree of legal confidence. At the end of that 
 time both his father and mother were suddenly 
 removed to the world of spirits, and he was again 
 thrown entirely upon his own resources. 
 
 With no one now to check them in any thing 
 Charles and his wife, after calculating the results 
 of the next year's legal efforts, felt fully justfied 
 in renting a handsome house, and furnishing it on 
 credit. The proceeds of the year's practice rose 
 but little above four hundred dollars, and at its 
 conclusion they found themselves involved in a 
 new debt of three thousand dollars. Then came 
 another breaking up, with all of its harrowing 
 consequences consequences which to persons of 
 their habits and mode of thinking, are so deeply 
 mortifying, followed by their shrinking away, 
 with a meagre remnant of their furniture, into a
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 63 
 
 couple of rooms, in an obscure part of the 
 town. 
 
 " Adelaide," said the husband, one morning, as 
 he roused himself from a painful reverie. 
 
 " Well, what do you want ?" she asked abstrac- 
 tedly, litting her eyes with reluctant air from the 
 pages of a novel. 
 
 " I want to talk to you for a little while ; so 
 shut your book, if you please." 
 
 " "Won't some other time do as well ? I have 
 just got into the middle of a most interesting 
 scene." 
 
 " No I wish to talk with you now." 
 
 " Well, say on," the wife rejoined, closing the 
 book in her hand, with her thumb resting upon 
 the page that still retained her thoughts, and as- 
 suming an attitude of reluctant attention. 
 
 " There is a school vacant at N , some 
 
 twenty miles from the city. The salary is eight 
 hundred dollars a year, with a house and garden 
 included. I can get the situation, if I will accept 
 fit." 
 
 " And sink to the condition of a miserable 
 country pedagogue ?" 
 
 " And support my family comfortably and hon 
 estly," Eenwick replied in a tone of bitterness.
 
 64 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 "Precious little comfort will your family ex- 
 perience immured in an obscure country village, 
 without a single congenial associate. What in 
 the name of wonder has put that into your nead ?" 
 
 " Adelaide ! I cannot succeed at the bar at 
 least, not for years. Of that I am fully satisfied. 
 It is absolutely necessary, therefore, that I should 
 turn my attention to something that will supply 
 the pressing demands of my family." 
 
 " But surely you can get into something better 
 thau the office of schoolmaster, to the sons of 
 clodpoles." 
 
 " Name something." 
 
 " I'm sure I cannot tell. That is a matter for 
 you to think about," and so saying, Mrs. Fenwick 
 re-opened her book, and commenced poring again 
 over the pages of the delightful work she held in 
 her hand. 
 
 Irritated, and half disgusted at this, a severe 
 reproof trembled on his tongue, but he suppressed 
 it. In a few minutes after he arose, and left the 
 apartment without his wife seeming to notice the 
 movement. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Fenwick !" said a well 
 known individual, coming into the lawyer's office 
 a few minutes after he had himself entered.
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 65 
 
 ''That trial comes on this afternoon at four 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Well, John, I can't help it. The debt is a 
 just one, but I have no means of meeting it 
 now." 
 
 " Try, and do so if you can, Mr. Fenwick, for 
 the plaintiff is a good deal irritated about the 
 matter, and will push the thing to extremities." 
 
 " I should be sorry for that. But if so, let 
 him use his own pleasure. Take nothing from 
 nothing, and nothing remains." 
 
 " You had better come then with security, Mr. 
 Fenwick, for my orders are, to have an execution 
 issued against your person, as soon as the case is 
 decided." 
 
 " You are not in earnest, John ?" suddenly 
 ejaculated the lawyer, rising to his feet, and look- 
 ing at the humble minister of the law with a pale 
 
 cheek and quivering lip. " Surely Mr. is 
 
 not going to push matters to so uncalled-for an 
 extremity !" 
 
 " Such, he positively declares, is his fixed de- 
 termination. So hold yourself prepared, sir, to 
 meet even this unpleasant event." 
 
 The debt for which the warrant had been issued 
 against Mr. Fenwick, amounted to ninety dollars.
 
 66 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 The whole of the remaining part of that day waa 
 spent in the effort to obtain security in the case. 
 But in vain. His friends knew too well his in- 
 ability to protect them from certain loss, should 
 hey step between him and the law. Talents, 
 education, brilliant addresses, fine poetry "and 
 all that," turned to no good and useful ends, he 
 found availed him nothing now. Even many of 
 those with whom he had been in intimate liter- 
 ary association, shrunk away from the penniless 
 individual, and those who did not actually shun 
 him had lost much of their former cordiality. 
 
 The idea of being sent to jail for debt, was to 
 him a terrible one. And he turned from it with 
 a sinking at the heart. He said nothing to Ade- 
 laide on returning home in the evening, for the 
 high communion of spirit, in which they had pro- 
 mised themselves such deep and exquisite delight, 
 had long since given place to coldness, and a 
 state of non-sympathy. He found her deeply 
 iuried, as usual, in some volume of romance, 
 while every thing around her was in disorder, 
 and full of unmitigated realities. They were 
 living alone in two small rooms, and the duty of 
 keeping them in order and providing their frugal 
 meals devolved as a heavy task upon Adelaide
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 67 
 
 so heavy, that she found it utterly impossible to 
 do it justice. 
 
 The fire that essential preliminary to house- 
 hold operations had not even been made, when 
 Fenwick reached home, and the dinner table re- 
 mained still on the floor, with its unwashed dishes 
 strewn over it, in admirable confusion. 
 
 "With a sigh, Adelaide resigned her book, soon 
 after her husband came in, and commenced pre- 
 parations for the evening meal. This was soon 
 ready, and despatched in silence, except so far aa 
 the aimless prattle of their little girl interrupted 
 it. Tea over, Mrs. Fenwick put Anna to bed, 
 much against her will, and then drew up to the 
 table again with her book. 
 
 Cheerless and companionless did her husband 
 feel as he let his eye fall upon her, buried in Bel- 
 fish enjoyment, while his own heart was wrung 
 with the bitterest recollections and the most heart- 
 sickening anticipations. 
 
 Thoughts of the gaming table passed through 
 his mind, and with the thought he placed his 
 hand involuntarily upon his pocket. It was empty. 
 Sometimes his mind would rise into a state of 
 vigorous activity, with the internal consciousness 
 of a power to do any thing. But, alas it was
 
 08 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 strength without skill intellectual power without 
 the knowledge to direct it aright. 
 
 Late on the next morning he arose from a pil- 
 low that had been blessed with but little sleep, 
 and that unrefreshing. It was past eleven o'clock 
 before Adelaide had breakfast on the table. This 
 over, she, without even dressing Anna or ar- 
 ranging her own person sat down to her novel, 
 while he gave himself to the most gloomy and 
 desponding reflections. He feared to go out lest 
 the first man he should meet, should prove an 
 officer with an execution upon his person. 
 
 About one o'clock, sick and weary of such a 
 comfortless home, he went out, glad of any 
 change. Ten steps from his own door, he was 
 met by a constable who conveyed him to prison. 
 
 Several hours passed before his crushed feel- 
 ings were aroused sufficiently to cause him even 
 to think of any meaus of extrication. When his 
 mind did act, it was with clearness, vigor, and 
 decision. The walls of a jail had something toa 
 nearly like reality about them, to leave much of 
 the false sentiment which had hitherto marred hia 
 prospects in life. There waa, too, something 
 deeply humiliating in his condition of an impris- 
 oned debtor.
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 69 
 
 " What shall I do ?" he asked himself, towards 
 the close of the day, with a strong resolution to 
 discover the best course of action, and to pursue 
 that course, unswayed by any extraneous influ- 
 ences. The thought of his wife came across his 
 mind. 
 
 " Shall I send her word where I arn ?" A 
 pause of some moments succeeded this ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " No," he at length said, half aloud, while an 
 expression of pain flitted over his countenance. 
 " It is of little consequence to her where I am or 
 what I suffer. She is, I believe, perfectly heart- 
 less. 
 
 But Fenwick was mistaken in this. She need- 
 ed, as well as himself, some powerful shock to 
 a waken her to true consciousness. That shock prov- 
 ed to be the knowledge of her husband's imprison- 
 ment for debt, which she learned early on the next 
 norning, after the passage of an anxious and 
 sleepless night, full of strange forebodings of 
 approaching evil. She repaired, instantly, to the 
 prison, her heart melted down into true feeling. 
 The interview between herself and husband waa 
 full of tenderness, bringing out from each heart
 
 70 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 the mutual affections which had been sleeping 
 there, alas ! too long. 
 
 But one right course presented itself to the mind 
 of either of them, and that was naturally ap 
 proved by both, as the only proper one. It was 
 for Fenwick to come out of prison under the act 
 of insolvency, and thus free himself from the tram- 
 mels of past obligations, which could not possibly 
 be met. 
 
 This was soon accomplished, the requisite 
 security for his personal appearance to interro- 
 gatories being readily obtained. 
 
 " And now, Adelaide, what is to be done ?" he 
 asked of his wife, as he sat holding her hand in 
 his, during the first hour of his release from im- 
 prisonment. His own mind had already decided 
 still he was anxious for her suggestion, if she 
 had any to make. 
 
 " Can you still obtain that school you spoke of?' 1 
 she asked with much interest in her tone. 
 
 " Yes. The offer is still open." 
 
 "Then take it, Charles, by all means. One 
 such lesson as we have had, is enough for a life 
 time. Satisfied am I, now, that we have not 
 tought for happiness in the right paths." 
 , The school was accordingly taken, and with
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITV. 71 
 
 humbled feelings, modest expectations, and a mu- 
 tual resolution to be satisfied with little, did 
 Charles Fenwick and his wife re-commence the 
 world at the bottom of the ladder. That he was 
 sincere in his new formed resolutions, is eviden 
 from the fact, that in a few years he became th 
 principal of a popular literary institution, for 
 which office he was fully qualified. She, too, 
 learned, by degrees, to act well her part in all 
 her relations, social and domestic and uow finds 
 far more pleasure in the realities, than she ever 
 did in the romance of life.
 
 " OF course, both are to blame." 
 
 " Of course. You may always set that down 
 as certain when you see two persons who have 
 formerly been on good terms fall out with each 
 other. For my part, I never take sides in these 
 matters. I listen to what both have to say, and 
 make due allowance for the wish of either 
 party to make his or her own story appear most 
 favorable." 
 
 Thus we heard two persons settling a matter 
 of difference between a couple of their friends, 
 and it struck us at the time as not being exactly 
 the true way in all cases. In disputes and dif-
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 73 
 
 ferences, there are no doubt times when bott are 
 equally to blame ; most generally, however, one 
 party ia more to blame than the other. And it 
 not unfrequently happens that one party to a dif- 
 ference is not at all to blame, but merely stands 
 on a just and honorable defensive. The follow- 
 ing story, which may or may not be from real life, 
 will illustrate the latter position. 
 
 " Did you hear about Mrs. Bates and Mrs. 
 Tarleton?" said one friend to another. 
 
 " No ; what is the matter ?" 
 
 " They are up in arms against each other." 
 
 " Indeed ; it's the first I've heard of it. "What 
 is the cause ?" 
 
 " I can hardly tell ; but I know that they don't 
 speak. Mrs. Tarleton complains bitterly against 
 Mrs. Bates ; and Mrs. Bates, they say, is just as 
 bitter against her. For my part, I've come to 
 the conclusion that both are to blame." 
 
 "There is no doubt of that I never knew a 
 ase of this kind where both were not to blame." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
 But don't you know the ground of the differ- 
 ence ?" 
 
 " They say it is about a head-dress." 
 
 " I'll be bound dress has something to do with 
 4
 
 74 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 it," grumbled out Mr. Brierly, the husband of 
 one of the ladies, who sat reading a newspaper 
 while they were talking. 
 
 " My husband is disposed to be a little severe 
 on the ladies at times, but you musn't mind him. 
 I never do," remarked Mrs. Brierly, half sarcas- 
 tically, although she looked at her husband with a 
 smile as she spoke. " He thinks we care for no- 
 thing but dress. I tell him it is very well for 
 him and the rest of the world that we have some 
 little regard at least to such matters. I am sure 
 if I didn't think a good deal about dress, he 
 and the children would soon look like scare- 
 crows." 
 
 Mr. Brierly responded to this by a " Humph !" 
 and resumed the perusal of his newspaper. 
 
 " It is said," resumed Mrs. Brierly, who had 
 been asked to state the cause of the unhappy dif- 
 ference existing between the two ladies, " that 
 Mrs. Bates received from her sister in New York 
 a new and very beautiful head-dress, which had 
 been obtained through a friend in Paris. Mrs. 
 Tarleton wanted it very badly, and begged Mrs. 
 Bates for the pattern ; but she refused to let her 
 have it, because a grand party was to be giveu 
 by the Listens in a few weeks, and she wanted to
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 75 
 
 show it off there herself. Mrs. Tarleton, however, 
 was not going to take ' no' for an answer ; she had 
 set her heart upon the head-dress and must have 
 it. You know what a persevering woman she i 
 when she takes anything into her head. Well, 
 she called in almost every day to see Mrs. Bates, 
 and every time she would have, something to say 
 about the head-dress, and ask to see it. In this 
 way she got the pattern of it so perfectly in her 
 mind that she was able to direct a milliner how 
 to make her one precisely like it. All unknown 
 to Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Tarleton came to the party 
 wearing this new style of head-dress, which made 
 her so angry when she discovered it, that she in- 
 sulted Mrs. Tarleton openly, and then retired from 
 the company." 
 
 " Is it possible !" 
 
 " That, I believe, is about the truth of the whole 
 matter. I have sifted it pretty closely." 
 
 " Well, I declare ! I was at the party, but 1 
 saw nothing of this. I remember Mrs. Tarle- 
 ton's head-dress, however, very well, it certain- 
 ly was very beautiful, and has become quite fash- 
 ionable since." 
 
 " Yes, and is called by some the Tarleton 
 head-dress, from the first wearer of it."
 
 76 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " This no doubt galls Mrs. Bates severely 
 They say she is a vain woman." 
 
 " It is more than probable that this circum 
 stance has widened the breach." 
 
 " I must say," remarked the other lady, " thai 
 Mrs. Tarleton did not act well." 
 
 " No, she certainly did not. At the same time, 
 I think Mrs. Bates was served perfectly right for 
 her selfish vanity. It wouldn't have hurt her at 
 all if there had been two or three head-dresses 
 there of exactly the pattern of hers. But extreme 
 vanity always gets mortified, and in this case I 
 think justly so." 
 
 " Besides, it was very unladylike to insult 
 Mrs. Tarleton in public." 
 
 " YeS) or anywhere else. She should have 
 taken no notice of it whatever. A true lady, 
 under circumstances of this kind, seems perfectly 
 unaware of what has occurred. She shuns, with 
 the utmost carefulness, any appearance of an 
 .affront at so trivial a matter, even if she feels it." 
 
 Such was the opinion entertained by the ladies 
 in regard to the misunderstanding, as some others 
 called it, that existed between Mrs. Bates and 
 Mrs. Tarleton. Both were considered to blame, 
 and nearly equally so ; but whether the parties
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 77 
 
 really misunderstood their own or each other's 
 true position will be seen when the truth appears. 
 
 Mrs. Bates did receive, as has been stated, a 
 beautiful head-dress from a sister in New York, 
 who had obtained it from a friend in Paris. The 
 Btyle was quite attractive, though neither unbe- 
 coming nor showy. Mrs. Bates had her own 
 share of vanity, and wished to appear at a large 
 party soon to take place, in this head-dress, where 
 she knew it must attract attention. Although a 
 little vain, a fault that we can easily excuse in a 
 handsome woman, Mrs. Bates had a high sense 
 of justice and right, and possessed all a lady's 
 true delicacy of feeling. 
 
 The head-dress, after being admired, was laid 
 aside for the occasion refrered to. A few days 
 afterwards, Mrs. Tarleton, an acquaintance, drop- 
 ped in. 
 
 " I have something beautiful to show you," said 
 Mrs. Bates, after she had chatted awhile with her 
 visitor. 
 
 " Indeed ! What is it ?" 
 
 " The sweetest head-dress yeu ever saw. My 
 sister sent it to me from New York, and she had 
 it direct from a friend in Paris, where it was all 
 the fashion. Mine I believe to be the only one
 
 78 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 yet received in the city, and I mean to wear it at 
 Mrs. Liston's party. 
 
 " Do let me see it," said Mrs. Tarleton, all alive 
 with expectation. She had an extravagant love 
 )f dress, and was an exceedingly vain woman. 
 
 The head-dress was produced. Mrs. Tarleton 
 lifted her hands and eyes. 
 
 " The loveliest thing I ever saw ! Let me try 
 it on," she said, laying off her bonnet and taking 
 the head-dress from the hands of Mrs. Bates. 
 " Oh, it is sweet ! I never looked so well in any- 
 thing in my life," she continued, viewing herself 
 in the glass. " I wish I could beg it from you ; 
 but that I havn't the heart to do." 
 
 Mrs. Bates smiled and shook her head, but 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Here, you put it on, and let me see how you 
 look in it," went on Mrs. Tarleton, removing the 
 cap from her own head and placing it upon that 
 of her friend. " Beautiful ! How well it becomes 
 ou ! you must let me have the pattern. We can 
 wear them together at the party. Two will attract 
 more attention than one." 
 
 " I am scrry to deny you," replied Mrs. Bates, 
 " but I think I shall have to be alone in my .glory 
 this time."
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 79 
 
 " Indeed, you must let me have the pattern, 
 Mrs. Bates. I never saw anything in my life that 
 pleased me so much, nor anything in which I 
 looked so well. I have been all over town for a 
 head-dress without fnding anything I would 
 wear. If you don't let me have one like yours, I 
 do not know what I will do. Come now, say yes, 
 that is a dear." 
 
 But Mrs. Bates said no as gently as she could. 
 It was asking of her too much. She had set her 
 heart upon appearing in that head-dress as some- 
 thing new and beautiful, and could not consent 
 to share the distinction, especially with Mrs. 
 Tarleton, for whom, although a friend, she enter- 
 tained not the highest esteem, and for the reason 
 that Mrs. Tarleton had rather a vulgar mind, and 
 lacked a lady's true perceptions of propriety. 
 
 " Well, I must say you are a selfish woman," 
 returned Mrs. Tarleton, good-humoredly, and yet 
 meaning what she said. " It wouldn't do you a 
 bit of harm to let me have the pattern, and would 
 gratify me more than I can tell." 
 
 " I'll tell you what I will do," said Mrs. Bates, 
 to this, with a reluctant effort that was readily 
 perceived by her visitor, " I will give you the head-
 
 80 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 dress and let you wear it, as long as you seem to 
 have set your heart so upon it." 
 
 " Oh no, no ; you know I wouldn't do that. 
 But it seems strange that you are not willing for 
 us to wear the same head-dress." 
 
 The indelicate pertinacity of her visitor annoy, 
 ed Mrs. Bates very much, and she replied to this 
 rather more seriously than she had before 
 spoken. 
 
 " The fact is, Mrs. Tarleton," she said, " this 
 head-dress is one that cannot fail to attract atten- 
 tion. I have several very intimate friends, be- 
 tween whom and myself relations of even a closer 
 kind exist than have yet existed between you and 
 me. If I give you the pattern of this cap and the 
 privilege of wearing it with me for the first time 
 it is seen in this city, these friends will have just 
 cause to think hard of me for passing them by. 
 This is a reason that would inevitably prevent 
 me from meeting your wishes, even if I were in 
 different about appearing in it myself alone." 
 
 " I suppose I must give it up, then,", said Mrs. 
 Tarleton, in a slightly disappointed tone. 
 
 " As I said before," returned Mrs. Bates, " 1 
 will defer the matter entirely to you You shall
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 81 
 
 have the head-dress and I will choose some other 
 one." 
 
 " Oh no ; I couldn't think of such a thing," re- 
 turned Mrs. Tarleton. That is more than I ought 
 to ask or you to give." 
 
 " It is the best I can do," Mrs. Bates said, with 
 a quiet smile. 
 
 " Sister," said Mrs. Tarleton, on returning 
 home, " you can't imagine what a sweet head- 
 dress Mrs. Bates has just received from Paris 
 through her sister in New York. It is the most 
 unique and beautiful thing I ever saw. I tried 
 hard for the pattern, but the selfish creature 
 wouldn't let me have it. She is keeping it for 
 the Liston's party, where it will be the admiration 
 of every one." 
 
 " What is it like ?' ; 
 
 " Oh, I can't begin to describe it. It is alto- 
 gether novel. I wish now I had asked her to let 
 me bring it home to show it to you." 
 
 " I wish you had. You must go there again 
 and get it for me." 
 
 " I believe I will call in again to-morrow. 
 Perhaps she will have thought better of it by that 
 time, and changed her mind. At any rate, if not, 
 4*
 
 82 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 I will ask her to let me bring it home and show 
 it to you," 
 
 This was done. Mrs. Bates did not object to 
 etting Mrs. Tarleton take the head-dress and 
 show it to her sister, for she had the fullest confi- 
 dence that she would not do anything with it 
 that she knew was against her wishes, which had 
 been clearly expressed. 
 
 The sister of Mrs. Tarleton was ift raptures 
 with the head-dress. 
 
 "It is right down mean and selfish in Mrs. 
 Bates not to let you have the pattern," she said. 
 " What a vain woman she must be. I always 
 thought better of her." 
 
 " So did I. But this shows what she is." 
 
 " If I were you," remarked the sister, " I 
 would have it in spite of her. It isn't her pattern, 
 that she need pretend hold it so exclusively. It 
 is a Paris fashion, and any body else may get it 
 iust as well as she. Sne has no property in it." 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 " Then while you have the chance, take it to 
 Madame Pinto and get her to make you one ex- 
 actly like it." 
 
 " I have a great mind to do it ; it would serve 
 her perfectly right."
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 83 
 
 " I wouldn't hesitate a moment," urged the 
 sister. "At the last party, Mrs. Bates managed 
 to have on something new that attracted every 
 one and threw others, into the shade, I wouldn't 
 let her have another such triumph." 
 
 Thus urged by her sister, Mrs.Tarleton yielded 
 to the evil counsel, which was seconded by her 
 own heart. The head-dress was taken to Madame 
 Pinto, who, after a careful examination of it, said 
 that she would make one exactly similar for Mrs. 
 Tarleton. After charging the milliner over and 
 over again to keep the matter a profound secret, 
 Mrs. Tarleton went away and returned the head- 
 dress to Mrs. Bates. It had been in her possession 
 only a couple of hours. 
 
 Mrs. Pinto was a fashionable milliner and dress 
 ' maker, and was patronized by the most fashion- 
 able people in the city, Mrs. Bates among the 
 rest. The latter had called in the aid of this wo- 
 man in the preparation of various little matters 
 of dress to be worn at the party. Three or four 
 days after Mrs. Tarleton's visit to Mrs. Pinto 
 with the head-dress, Mrs. Bates happened to step 
 in at the milliner's, who, during their consulta- 
 tion, about little matters of dress, drew the lady 
 aside, saying "I've got something that I know I
 
 84 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 can venture to show you. It's for the party, and 
 the loveliest thing you ever saw." 
 
 As she said this she took from a box a fac- 
 simile of Mrs. Bates, own beautiful head-dreas, 
 and held it up with looks of admiration. 
 
 " Isn't it sweet ?" she said. 
 
 "It is the most beautiful head-dress I ever 
 saw," replied Mrs. Bates, concealing her sur- 
 prise. " Who is it for ?" 
 
 " It's a secret, but I can tell you. It is for 
 Mrs. Tarleton." 
 
 " Ah ! Where did she get the pattern ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; she brought it here, but said 
 she couldn't leave it for the world. I had to 
 study it all out, and then make it from my recol- 
 lection of the pattern." 
 
 " The pattern did not belong to her ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. Somebody had it who was going to 
 show it off at the party, she said ; but she meant 
 to surprise her." 
 
 ' " Have you any new patterns for head-dresses 
 not chosen by the ladies who have made selec- 
 tions of you for Mrs. Liston's party ?" asked 
 Mrs. Bates, not seeming to notice the reply of 
 Mrs. Pinto. 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, a good many ;" and half-a-
 
 BOTH TO BLAME. 85 
 
 dozen realiy handsome head-dresses were shown 
 none, however, that pleased her half so well as 
 the one she was about throwing aside. She suit- 
 ed herself from the assortment shown her, and 
 directed it to be sent home. 
 
 Mrs. Bates felt justly outraged at the conduct 
 of Mrs. Tarleton, but she did not speak of what 
 had taken place, except to one or two very inti- 
 mate friends and to her husband. The evening 
 of the party at length arrived. Mrs. Tarleton 
 was there a little earlier than Mrs. Bates, in all 
 the glory of her ungenerous triumph. The beau- 
 tiful head-dress she wore attracted every eye, and 
 in the admiration won by the display of her taste, 
 she lost all the shame she had felt in anticipation 
 of meeting Mrs. Bates, to whom her meanness 
 and dishonesty would be at once apparent. 
 
 At length she saw this lady enter the parlors 
 by the side of her husband, and noticed with sur- 
 prise that her head-dress was entirely different 
 "rom the one she wore. The truth flashed across 
 ner mind. Mrs. Pinto had betrayed her secret, 
 and Mrs. Bates, justly outraged by what had 
 occurred, had thrown aside her beautiful cap and 
 selected another. 
 
 Now Mrs. Bates was a woman whom Mra
 
 86 HOME LI3HTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Tarleton would be sorry to offend seriously, be 
 cause her position ji certain circles was undoubt- 
 ed, while her own was a little questionable. The 
 fact that Mrs. Bates had declined wearing so 
 beautiful a head-dress because she had obtained 
 one of the same pattern by unfair means, made 
 her fear that serious offence had been given, and 
 dashed her spirits at once. She was not long left 
 in doubt. Before ten minutes had elapsed she 
 was thrown into immediate contact with Mrs. 
 Bates, from whom she received a polite but cold 
 bow. 
 
 Mrs. Tarleton was both hurt and offended at 
 this, and immediately after the party, commenced 
 talking about it and mis-stating the whole trans- 
 action, so as not to appear so much to blame as 
 ehe really was. Mrs. Bates, on the contrary, said 
 little on the subject, except to a few very intimate 
 friends, and to those who made free to ask her 
 about it, to whom she said, after giving fairly the 
 cause of complaint against Mrs. Tarleton M I 
 spoke to her coldly because I wished our more 
 intimate acquaintance to cease. Her conduct was 
 unworthy of a lady, and therefore I cannot and 
 will not consider her among my friends. No 
 apologies, if she would even make them, could
 
 1JOTH TO BLAME. 87 
 
 change the wrong spirit from which she acted, or 
 make her any more worthy of my confidence, es- 
 teem or love." 
 
 " But you will surely forgive her ?" said one. 
 
 " The wrong done to me I am ready enough tc 
 forgive, for it is but a trifling matter ; but the 
 violation of confidence and departure from a truly 
 honest principle, of which she has been guilty, I 
 cannot forgive, for they are not sins against me, 
 but against Heaven's first and best laws." 
 
 But that did not satisfy some. Persons calling 
 themselves mutual friends strove hard to recon- 
 cile what they were pleased to call a misunder- 
 standing in which " both were to blame." But 
 it availed not. To their interference, Mrs. Bates 
 usually replied " If it will be any satisfaction to 
 Mrs. Tarleton to be recognized by me and treat- 
 ed kindly and politely in company, I will most 
 cheerfully yield her all that; but I cannot feel 
 towards her as heretofore, because I have been 
 deceived in her, and find her to be governed by 
 principles that I cannot approve. We can never 
 again be on terms of intimacy." 
 
 But it was impossible to make some understand 
 the difference between acting from principle and 
 wounded pride. The version given by Mrs.
 
 88 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Tarleton was variously modified as it passed from 
 mouth to mouth, until it made Mrs. Bates almost 
 as much to blame as herself, and finally, as th 
 coldness continued until all intercourse at las* 
 ceased, it was pretty generally conceded, excep 
 by a very few, that " both were about equally t< 
 blame." 
 
 The reader can now make up his own mind on 
 the subject from what has been related. For our 
 part, we do not think Mrs. Bates at all to blame 
 in at once withdrawing herself from intimate as- 
 sociation with such a woman as Mrs. Tarleton 
 showed herself to be, and we consider that a false 
 charity which would seek to interfere with or set 
 aside the honest indignation that should always 
 be felt in similar cases of open betrayal of confi- 
 dence and violation of honest and honorable prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 We have chosen a very simple and common- 
 place incident upon which to " hang a moral." 
 But it is in the ordinary pursuits of business and 
 pleasure where the true character is most prone 
 to exhibit itself, and we must go there if we would 
 read the book of human life aright.
 
 IT 8 NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 
 
 " WAS N'T that young Sanford ?" asked Mrs. 
 Larkin of her husband, as the two stood at a 
 window of their dwelling one Sunday afternoon, 
 noticing the passers by. The individual she 
 alluded to was a young man who had ridden 
 gaily along on a spirited horse. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. 
 
 " He rides past here almost every Sunday af 
 ternoon, and often in company with Harriet 
 Meadows He is quite a dashing young fellow." 
 
 " He is dashing far beyond his ostensible 
 means. I wonder at Millard for keeping him in 
 his store. I would soon cast adrift any one oi
 
 90 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 my lerks who kept a fast horse, and sported 
 about with the gay extravagance that Sanford 
 does. His salary does not, I am sure, meet half 
 his expenses. I have heard some of my young 
 men speak of his habits. They say money with 
 him is no consideration. He spends it as freely 
 as water." 
 
 " Strange that his employer does not see this !" 
 
 " It is. But Millard is too unsuspicious, and 
 too ignorant of what is going on out of the nar- 
 row business circle. He is like a horse in a mill. 
 He sees nothing outside of a certain limit. He 
 gets up in the morning, dresses himself, goes to 
 his store, and then devotes himself to business 
 until dinner time. Then he goes home and dines. 
 After this he comes back to his store and stays 
 until nignt. His evenings are either spent in 
 reading or dozing at home, or with a neighbor at 
 checkers. On Sunday morning he goes to church, 
 in the afternoon he sleeps to kill time, and in the 
 evening retires at eight, unless a friend steps in, 
 to sleep away the tedious hours. Of the habits 
 of his clerks, when out of his store, he knows as 
 little as the man in the moon." 
 
 " But some one ought to give him a hint." 
 
 " It would be a charity."
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 91 
 
 " "Why do n t you do it ?" 
 
 " Me ! Oh, it's none of my business. Let 
 Millard look after his own affairs. 1 'ra not going 
 to get myself into trouble by meddling with 
 things that do n't concern me. It is his place to 
 see into the habits of his clerks. If he neglects to 
 do so, he deserves to be cheated by them." 
 
 " I do n't know. It seems to me that it would 
 be no more than right to give him a hint, and put 
 him on his guard." 
 
 " It would be a good turn, no doubt. But 
 I 'm not going to do it It 's no affair of mine." 
 
 " I do n't think he is fit company for Harriet 
 Meadows," said Mrs. Larkin, after a pause. 
 
 " Nor I," returned her husband. I should be 
 very sorry to see our Jane riding with him, or in- 
 deed, associating with him in any way. Surely 
 Harriet's father and mother cannot know that 
 their daughter rides out with him almost every 
 Sunday afternoon." 
 
 " Of course not. They are religious peopl 
 and would think it a sin for her to do so. I am 
 surprised that Harriet should act m such direct 
 violation of what she knows to be their real senti- 
 ments."
 
 92 HOME JLIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Some one ought to give them a hint upon 
 the subject." 
 
 " I think so. If it were my child I would take 
 it as a great favor indeed. ' 
 
 " Yes, so would I. Suppose, Ellen, you drop 
 a word in Mrs. Meadows' ear." 
 
 " Me !" with a look and tone of surprise. " Oh 
 no, I never interfere in other people's business. 
 Every one ought to look after his or her own 
 concerns. I hate your meddlesome folks. I '11 
 take good care that my own child do n't form 
 such associations. Let every body else do the 
 same. The fact is, parents are too careless about 
 where their children go, and what kind of coin 
 pany they keep." 
 
 " That's very true. Still I think no harm 
 could come of your just giving Mrs. Meadows a 
 hint." 
 
 " Oh, no indeed ! It's none of my business." 
 
 ""Well, just as you like," returned Mr. Larkin, 
 indifferently. " Let every one see that his own 
 stable door is locked before the horse is stolen." 
 
 Mr. Millard, who was in the same line of bu- 
 siness with Larkin, was just the plodding, unob- 
 serving, unsuspicious person that the latter had 
 described him. Sanford was an intelligent clerk
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 93 
 
 and an active salesman. These were valuable 
 qualities, for which he was appreciated by his 
 employer. As to what he did or where he went 
 after business hours, Millard never thought. He, 
 doubtless, on the supposition of the merchant, 
 went into good company, and acted with the 
 same prudence that had governed himself under 
 similar circumstances. .But in this he was mis- 
 taken. The young man's habits were bad, and 
 his associates often of a vicious character. Bad 
 habits and bad associates always involve the 
 spending of money freely. This consequence 
 naturally occurred in the case of Sanford. To 
 supply his wants his salary proved insufficient. 
 These wants were like the horse-leech, and cried 
 continually " give, give." They could not be 
 put off. The first recourse was that of borrowing, 
 in anticipation of his quarterly receipt of salary, 
 after his last payment was exhausted. It was 
 not long before, under this system, his entir 
 quarterly receipt had to be paid away to balance 
 his borrowed money account, thus leaving him 
 nothing to meet his increasing wants for the next 
 three months. By borrowing again from some 
 friends immediately, and curtailing his expenses 
 down to the range of his income, lie was able to
 
 94 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 get along for two or three quarters. But, of 
 course, he was always behind hand just the 
 amount of three months' salary. At length, as 
 ew wants pressed upon him, he was tempted to 
 exceed in his borrowed money account the sum 
 received as his quarterly dues. This made it im- 
 possible for him to pay off, when he received his 
 instalments of salary, the whole amount of bor- 
 rowed money, and caused him to cast about for 
 some new resource. In ^balancing the cash ac- 
 count one day, he had charge of this, he found 
 that there was an error of one hundred dollars in 
 favor of cash that is, there were on hand one 
 hundred dollars more than was called for by the 
 account. He went over the account again and 
 again, but could not discover the error. For 
 more than an hour he examined the various entries 
 and additions, but with no better success. At last, 
 however, a little to his disappointment, for he had 
 already began to think of quietly appropriating 
 the surplus, he found the error to consist in the 
 carriage of tens four instead of five having been 
 earned to the third or column of hundreds on c ne 
 of the pages of the cash book, thus making the 
 amount called for in the book one hundred dol- 
 lars less than the real sum on hand.
 
 IT'S NONE or MY BUSINESS. 95 
 
 For some time after this discovery, Sanford 
 eat at his desk in a state of abstraction and irres- 
 olution. He was vexed that the error had been 
 ound out, for he had already nearly made up his 
 mind to keep the overplus and say nothing about 
 it. He did not attempt to change the erroneous 
 figure. Why should it not remain so? he at 
 length asked himself. If it had cost him so much 
 time and labor to find it out, it was not probable 
 that any one else would detect it. Indeed, no 
 one but himself and Mr. Millard had any thing 
 to do with the general cash account of the estab- 
 lishment, and he knew very well that the latter 
 did not examine it with a very close scrutiny. 
 Finally, pressing demands for money determined 
 him to put the surplus into his pocket, at least 
 for the present. He did so, and in that act let 
 into his mind a flood of evil counsellors, whose 
 arguments, enforced by his own cupidities, could 
 at any time afterwards have sufficient control to 
 guide him almost at will. "With this sum of one 
 hundred dollars, he paid off a portion of what he 
 owed, and retained the rest to meet the demands 
 that would be made upon him before the arrival 
 of the next quarter day. It was a rule with Mil- 
 lard to pay off his clerks only in quarterly instal- 
 ments. No other payments were allowed them.
 
 96 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 It was not long before a deliberate false entry 
 was made, by which another hundred dollars 
 passed into Sanford's pockets. With this increase 
 of income came a freer expenditure. Hitherto he 
 nad been in the habit of riding out on Sundays 
 on hired horses ; but now he was inspired with 
 a wish to own a horse himself. A beautiful 
 animal just at this time came under his eye. It 
 was offered at one hundred and fifty dollars. 
 The owner, knowing Sanford's fondness foi a gay, 
 fast-going horse, urged him to buy. 
 
 The temptation was very strong. He looked at 
 the animal again and again, rode him out, talked 
 about him, until, finally, the desire to own him 
 became almost irresistible. He had not twenty 
 dollars, however, and it would be two months 
 before his salary came due, which at any rate waa 
 all wanted for current expenses. The cash book 
 was looked at for a week or ten days before he 
 could make up his mind to pen another false entry. 
 At last, however, he picked up the courage to do 
 so. The horse was purchased, and for a few days 
 the thought of possessing so noble an animal waa 
 very pleasant. 
 
 On the third day after this act of dishonesty
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 97 
 
 Mr. Millard, who had been looking over the cash 
 book, discovered the erroneous figures. 
 
 " Look here, Sanford," said he, "you have made 
 a mistake here. This figure should be nine instead 
 of eight, and this five instead of four." 
 
 The young man's heart gave a quick throb, 
 but he controlled himself by a strong effort. 
 
 " Where ?" he asked, quickly, coming at once 
 to Mr. Millard, and looking over the cash-book. 
 
 " Here jnst add up these two columns." 
 
 Sanford added them up, and then said 
 
 " Yes, that's a fact. I 'm glad you have found 
 it out. The cash has been over about two hundred 
 dollars for several days, and I have tried in vain 
 to find where the error lay. Strange, after adding 
 up these columns for some twenty times or more, 
 I should have still been wrong in these figures. 
 Let me strike a balance for you now, so that you 
 can count the cash, and see that there is just this 
 amount over. 
 
 This dispelled all suspicions from the mind of 
 Millard, if any had found a place there. 
 
 " No," he replied, " I hav n't time now. I have 
 no doubt of it being right. Make the corrections 
 required." 
 
 5
 
 98 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 . And as he thus remarked, he turned away 
 from the desk. 
 
 Sanford trembled from head to foot the moin_ent 
 his employer left him. He tried to make the 
 ' orrections, but his hand shook so that he could 
 not hold the pen. In a little while he mastered 
 this agitation so far as to be externally composed. 
 He then changed the erroneous figures. But 
 this did not make the matter straight. The cash 
 account now called for two hundred dollars more 
 than the funds on hand would show. If the 
 money should be counted before he could make 
 other false entries, he would be discovered and 
 disgraced. And now that errors had been dis- 
 covered, it was but natural to suppose that Mr. 
 Millard would glance less casually at the account 
 than he had been in the habit of doing. At last, 
 he determined to erase a few pages back certain 
 figures, and insert others in their places, and 
 carry down from thence the error by a regular 
 series of erasures and new entries. This he did 
 o skilfully, that none but the eye of suspicion 
 could have detected it. It was some weeks before 
 he again ventured to repeat these acts. When 
 he did so, he permitted the surplus cash to remain 
 in the drawer for eight or ten days, so that if a
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 99 
 
 discovery happened to be made, the balance on 
 hand would show that it was an error. But Mr. 
 Millard thought no more about the matter, and 
 the dishonest clerk was permitted to prosecute 
 his base conduct undetected. In this way month 
 after month passed, unt:'. 1 the defalcation rose to 
 over a thousand dollars. Nightly Sanford attend- 
 ed places of public amusement, usually accompani- 
 ed by a young lady, the daughter of some respec- 
 table citizen, who knew as little of the habits and 
 character of the young man as did his employer 
 himself. Among those with whom he had become 
 intimate was Harriet Meadows, the daughter of a 
 merchant possessing a high sense of honor and 
 considerable wealth. Mr. Meadows, so soon as 
 the young man began to visit at his house, gave 
 him to understand by his manner that he was not 
 welcome. This was so plainly done that there 
 was no room for mistake in the matter. Piqued at 
 
 
 
 this, Sanford determined that he would keep the 
 daughter's company in spite of her crusty old 
 father, Harriet was gay and thoughtless, and 
 had been flattered by tha attentions of Sanford. 
 She met him a few times after his repulse, at 
 balls, and hesitated not to dance with him. 
 These meetings afforded full opportunity for the
 
 100 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 young man to push himself still farther into her 
 good opinion, and to prevail upon her at length to 
 meet him clandestinely, which she frequently did 
 on Sunday afternoons, when, as has already been 
 seen, she would ride out in his company. This 
 kind of intimacy soon led to a declaration of love 
 on the part of Sanford, which was fully responded 
 to by the foolish girl. The former had much, he 
 thought, to hope for in in a union with Miss 
 Meadows. Her father was well off, and in a very 
 excellent business. His fortune would be made 
 if he could rise to the position of his son-in-law. 
 He did not hope to do this by a fair and open 
 offer for Harriet's hand. The character of 
 Meadows, which was decided, precluded all hope 
 of gaining his consent after he had once frowned 
 upon his approaches. The only road to success was 
 a secret marriage, and to that he was gradually in- 
 clining the mind of the daughter at the time our 
 story opened. 
 
 It is not always that a villain remains such 
 alone. He generally, by a kind of intuition, per- 
 ceives who are like him in interiors, and he as- 
 sociates with these on the principle that birds of 
 a feather flock together. He was particularly in- 
 timate with one of Larkin's clerks, a young man
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 101 
 
 named Hatfield, who had no higher views of life 
 than himself, and who was governed by no sound 
 er principles. Hatfield found it necessary to be 
 more guarded than Sanford, from the fact that his 
 employer was gifted with much closer observation 
 than was Millard. He, too, rode a fast trotting 
 horse on Sunday, but he knew pretty well the 
 round taken by Larkin on that day, and the 
 hours when he attended church, and was very 
 careful never to meet him. At some place of 
 public resort, a few miles from the city, he would 
 join Sanford, and together they would spend the 
 afternoon. 
 
 On Jane Larkin, his employer's only daughter, 
 Hatfield had for some time looked with a favour- 
 able eye. But he felt very certain that neither 
 her father nor mother would favor his address- 
 es. Occasionally, with her parents' knowledge, 
 he would attend her to places of public amuse- 
 ment. But both himself and the young lady saw 
 that even this was not a thing that fully met 
 their approbation. Hatfield would, on such oc- 
 casions, ingeniously allude to this fact, and thus 
 gather from Jane how she regarded their coldness. 
 It was not agreeable to her, he quickly perceived. 
 This encouraged him to push matters further.
 
 102 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Soon the two understood each other fully, and 
 soon after the tacit opposition of the parents to 
 their intimacy was a matter of conversation be 
 tween them, whenever they could get an oppor 
 tunity of talking together without awakening sus- 
 picion. 
 
 Harriet Meadows and Jane Larkin were par- 
 ticular friends, and soon became confidants. 
 They were both quite young, and, we need not 
 say, weak and thoughtless. Sanford and Hatfield, 
 as the reader has seen, were also intimate. In a 
 short time after the latter had made up their 
 minds to secure the hands of these two young 
 ladies, if possible, there was a mutual confession of 
 the fact. This was followed by the putting of their 
 heads together for the contrivance of such plans 
 as would best lead to the effectuation of the end 
 each had proposed to himself. It is a curious fact, 
 that on the very Sunday afternoon on which we 
 have seen Mr. and Mrs. Larkin conversing about 
 the danger and impropriety of Harriet Meadows 
 keeping company with a man like Sanford, their 
 own daughter was actually riding out with 
 Hatfield. In this ride they passed the r'esidtence 
 of Mr. Meadows, who, in turn, commented upon 
 the fact with some severity of censure towards
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 103 
 
 Mr. Larkin and his wife for not looking more 
 carefully after their only child. 
 
 " They certainly cannot know it," finally re- 
 marked Mr. Meadows. 
 
 " No, I should think not. It would be a rea 1 
 charity for some one just to mention it to them.' 1 
 
 " It certainly would." 
 
 " Suppose you speak to Mr. Larkin about it," 
 said Mrs. Meadows. 
 
 " Me ? Oh no !" was the reply. " It is none 
 of my business. I never meddle with family 
 affairs. It is their duty to look after their daugh- 
 ter. If they do n't, and she rides about with 
 Tom, Dick and Harry on Sundays, they have 
 no one to blame but themselves for the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 Thus their responsibility in the affair was dis- 
 'missed. It was no business of theirs. 
 
 In the mean time the two clerks were laying 
 their plans for carrying off the young ladies, and 
 marrying them secretly. 
 
 " Have you sounded Jane on this subject ?" 
 asked Sanford of his friend one evening, when 
 the matter had come up for serious discussion. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 i * 
 
 " How does she stand ?"
 
 104 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " I think there is no doubt of her. But how is 
 Harriet ?" 
 
 " All right. That point we settled last night. 
 She is ready to go at any time that Jane is will- 
 ing to take a similar step. She would rather not 
 go all alone." 
 
 " If she will only second me in urging the ab- 
 solute necessity of the thing upon Jane, there 
 can be no doubt of the result. And she will do 
 that of course." 
 
 " Oh yes all her influence can be calculated 
 upon. But how do you think Larkin will stand 
 affected after all is over?" 
 
 " It 's hard to tell. At first he will be as mad 
 as a March hare. But Jane is his only child, and 
 he loves her too well to cast her off. All will 
 settle down quietly after a few weeks' ebullition 
 and I shall be as cosily fixed in the family as I 
 could wish. After that, my fortune is made. 
 Larkin is worth, to my certain knowledge, fifty 
 or sixty thousand dollars, every cent of which 
 will in the end come into my hands. And, be- 
 sides, Larkin's son-in-law will have to be set up 
 in business. Give me a fair chance, and I '11 turn 
 a bright penny for myself."
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 105 
 
 " How are you off for funds at this present 
 time ?" 
 
 " Low, very low. The old fellow do n't pay 
 me half a salary. I 'm in debt three or four hun- 
 dred dollars, and dunned almost to death when- 
 ever I am in the way of duns. All the people I 
 owe know better than to send their bills to the 
 store, for if they were to do so, and by thus ex- 
 posing me cause me to lose rny situation, they aro 
 well aware that they might have to whistle for 
 their money." 
 
 "Can't you make a raise some how? "We 
 must both have money to carry out this matter. 
 In the first place, we must go off a hundred or 
 two miles and spend a week. After we return 
 we may have to board for weeks at pretty high 
 charges before a reconciliation [can be brought 
 about. During this time you will be out of a 
 situation, for old Larkin won 't take you back 
 into the store until the matter is made up. You 
 ought at least to have a couple of hundred dol 
 lare." * 
 
 . " And I have n't twenty." 
 
 "Bad, very bad. But don't you think you 
 could borrow a couple of hundred from Larkin, 
 
 5*
 
 106 HOME LIGHTS AND SHALtOWS. 
 
 and pay him back after you become his son-in 
 law ?" 
 
 " Borrow from Larkin ! Goodness ! He 'd 
 clear me out in less than no time, if I were to ask 
 him to loan me even fifty dollars." 
 
 " No, but you don't understand me," remarked 
 Sanford after a thoughtful pause. " Can 't you 
 borrow it without his knowledge, I mean ? No 
 harm meant of course. You intend borrowing 
 his daughter, you know, for a little while, until 
 he consents to give her to you." 
 
 Hatfield looked into the face of his tempter 
 with a bewildered air for some moments. He 
 did not yet fully comprehend his drift. 
 
 " How am I to borrow without his knowing it ? 
 Figure me that out if you please," he said. 
 
 " "Who keeps the cash ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Ah ! so far so good. You keep the cash. 
 Very well. Now is n't it within the bounds of 
 possibility for you to possess yourself of a couple 
 of hundred dollars in such a way that the deficit 
 need not appear ? If you can, it will be the 
 easiest thing in the world, after you come back, 
 * and get the handling of a little more money in
 
 IT'S NOiNE OF MY BUSINESS. 107 
 
 your right than has heretofore been the case, tc 
 return the little loan." 
 
 " But suppose it possible for me thus to get 
 possession of two hundred dollars, and suppos 
 I do not get back safely after our adventure, and 
 do not have the handling of more money in my 
 own right what then ?" 
 
 " You'll only be supporting his daughter out 
 of his own money that is all." 
 
 " Humph ! Quite a casuist." 
 
 " But is n't there reason in it ?" 
 
 " I do n't know. I am not exactly in a state to 
 see reasons clearly just now." 
 
 " You can see the necessity of having a coupla 
 of hundred dollars, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh yes as clear as mud." 
 
 " You must have that sum^at least, or to pro- 
 ceed will be the height of folly." 
 
 " I can see that too." 
 
 " It is owing to Larkin's mean pride that you 
 are driven to this extremity. He ought to pay 
 for it." 
 
 " But how am I to get hold of two hundred 
 dollars ? That's the question." 
 
 " Is there ordinarily much cash on hand ?" 
 
 " Yes. We deposit some days as high as ten
 
 108 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 thousand dollars; particularly at this season, 
 when a good many merchants are in." 
 
 "The chance is fair enough. Two hundred 
 won't be missed." 
 
 " No, not until the cash is settled, and then it 
 will come to light." 
 
 " That does n't follow." 
 
 " I think it does." 
 
 " You may prevent it." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Miss a couple of tens in your additions on 
 the debit side of the cash book. Do you under- 
 stand ?" 
 
 " Not clearly." 
 
 " You are dull. Change a figure in footing up 
 your cash book, so that it will balance, notwith- 
 standing a deficit of two hundred dollars. After 
 you come back, this can be set right again. No 
 one will think of adding up the back columns to 
 see if there is any fraud." 
 
 " After Sanford ceased speaking, his friend 
 cast his eyes to the floor, and reflected for some 
 time. There was in his mind a powerful struggle 
 between right and wrong. When the plan was 
 first presented, he felt an inward shrinking from 
 it. It involved an act of fraud, that, if found out,
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 109 
 
 would blast his character. But the longer he re- 
 flected, and the more fully he looked in the face 
 of the fact that without money he could not pro- 
 ceed to the consummation of his wishes, the more 
 favorable the plan seemed. 
 
 " But," he said, lifting his eyes and drawing a 
 long breath, " if it should be found out ?" 
 
 " Larkin will not expose his son-in-law for his 
 daughter's sake." 
 
 " True there is something there to hope for. 
 Well, I will think of it. I must have two hundred 
 dollars from some source." 
 
 And he did think of it to evil purpose. He 
 found no very great difficulty in getting Jane to 
 consent to run away with him, especially as her 
 particular friend, Harriet Meadows, was to ac- 
 company her on a like mad-cap expedition with 
 Sanford. 
 
 Nothing occurred to prevent the acts proposed 
 By false entries, Hatfield was enabled to abstrac 
 two hundred dollars in a way that promised 
 perfect concealment of the fraud, although in 
 doing it he felt much reluctance and many com- 
 punctions of conscience. 
 
 About ten days after the conversation between 
 the young men, just giren, Jane Larkin obtained
 
 110 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 her mother's consent to spend a few days with a 
 cousin who resided some miles from the city on 
 a road alcng which one of the omnibus lines pass- 
 ed. Harriet Meadows did not uae this precaution 
 o elude suspicion. She left her father's house at 
 the time agreed upon, and joined young Sanford 
 at an appointed place, where a carriage was wait- 
 ing, into which Hatfield and Jane had already 
 entered. The two couples then proceeded to the 
 house of an alderman, who united them in mar- 
 riage bonds. From thence they drove to a rail- 
 road depot, took passage for a neighboring city, 
 and were soon gliding away, a suspicion una- 
 wakened in the minds of the young ladies' friends. 
 The absence of Harriet on the night following 
 alarmed the fears and awakened the suspicions 
 of her father and mother. Early on the next 
 day, Mr. Meadows learned that his daughter had 
 
 been seen entering the cars in company 
 
 with young Sanford. Calling upon Millard, he 
 ascertained that Sanford had not been to the store 
 on the previous day, and was still absent. To 
 merge suspicion and doubt into certainty, the 
 alderman who had married the couples was met 
 accidentally. He testified to the fact of his hav- 
 ing united them. Sick at heart, Mr. Meadows
 
 IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. 1 1 1 
 
 returned home to communicate the sad intelligence 
 to the mother of Harriet. When he again went 
 out, he was met by the startling rumor that a 
 defalcation had been discovered on the part of 
 young Sanford to a large amount. Hurrying to 
 the store of Mr. Millard, he was shocked to find 
 that the rumor was but, alas ! too true. Already 
 false entries in the cash book had been discovered 
 to the amount of at least five thousand dollars. 
 An officer, he also learned, had been despatched 
 to , for the purpose of arresting the dis- 
 honest clerk and bringing him back to justice. 
 
 " Quite an affair this," remarked Larkin to an 
 acquaintance whom he met some time during the 
 day, in a half-serious, half-indifferent tone. 
 
 " About Meadows' daughter and Sanford ? 
 Yes, and rather a melancholy affair. The worst 
 part of it is, that the foolish young man has been 
 embezzling the money of his employer." 
 
 " Yes, that is very bad. But Millard might 
 have known that Sanford could not dash about 1 
 nd spend money as he did upon his salary alone." 
 
 " I do n't suppose he knew any thing about hia 
 habits. He is an unsuspicious man, and keepa 
 himself quietly at home when not in his store." . 
 
 "Well, I did then. I saw exactly how he was
 
 112 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 going on, and could have told him; but it wasn't 
 any of my business." 
 
 " I do n't care so much for Millard or his clerk 
 as I do for the foolish girl and her parents. Her 
 happiness is gone and theirs with it." 
 
 " Ah, yes that is the worst part. But they 
 might have known that something of the kind 
 would take place. They were together a good 
 deal, and were frequently to be seen riding out on 
 Sunday afternoons." 
 
 " This was not with the knowledge of her pa- 
 rents, I am sure." 
 
 " I do n't suppose it was. Still they should 
 have looked more carefully after their child. I 
 knew it and could have told them how things 
 were going but it was n't any of my business. I 
 always keep myself clear from these matters." 
 
 Just at this moment a third person came up. 
 He looked serious. 
 
 " Mr Larkin," he said, " I have just heard that 
 your daughter and Hatfield, your clerk, were mar- 
 ried at the same time that Sanford was, and went 
 off with that young man and his bride. Alderman 
 , it is said, united them." 
 
 Larkin turned instantly pale. Hatfield had been 
 away since the morning of the day before, and his
 
 IT'S NONE OP MY BUSINESS. 113 
 
 daughter was not at home, having asked the priv- 
 ilege of going to see a cousin who resided a few 
 miles from the city. A call upon Alderman 
 
 confirmed the afflicting intelligence. The 
 
 father returned home to communicate the news 
 to his wife, on whom it fell with such a shock that 
 she became quite ill. 
 
 " He might have known that something of this 
 kind would have happened," remarked the per- 
 son who had communicated the intelligence, as 
 soon as Larkin had left. " No man who does n't 
 wish his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to 
 let them go to balls and concerts together, and ride 
 out when they please on Sunday afternoons." 
 
 " Did Larkin permit this with Jane and Hat- 
 field?" 
 
 " They were often thus together whether he per 
 mitted it or not." 
 
 " He could n't have known it." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I could have given him a hint 
 on the subject, if I had chosen but it was none 
 of my business." 
 
 On the next day all the parties came home 
 Sanfprd compulsorily, in the hands of an officer ; 
 Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible alarm. The 
 two brides were of course included. Sanford soon
 
 1 1 4 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 after left the city, and has not since been heard of. 
 His crime was " breach of trust 1" As for Hat- 
 eld, he was received on the principle that, in such 
 natters, the least said the soonest mended. In the 
 course of a few months he was able to restore the 
 two hundred dollars he had abstracted. After 
 this was done he felt easier in mind. He did not, 
 however, make the foolish creature he had marri- 
 ed h^ppy. Externally, or to the world, they seem 
 united, but internally they are not conjoined. 
 Too plainly is this apparent to the father and mo- 
 ther, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly 
 loved chUd.
 
 THE MOTHEK'S 
 
 A LADY, handsomely dressed, was about leav 
 ing her house to make a few calls, when a little 
 boy ran out from the nursery, and clasping one of 
 her gloved hands in both of hia, looked up into 
 her face with a glance of winning entreaty, saying, 
 as he did so : 
 
 " Mamma ! dear mamma ! "Won't you buy me 
 a picture-book, just like cousin Edie's ?" 
 
 " Yes, love," was the. unhesitating reply; and 
 the lady stooped to kiss the sweet lips of her child. 
 
 " Eddy must be a good boy, and mind nurse 
 while mamma is away," she added. 
 
 " I'll be so good," replied Eddy, with all the 
 earnestness of a childish purpose. "You may ask
 
 1 1 6 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 nurse when you come home, if I have not been the 
 goodest little boy that ever was." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert kissed h er darling boy again, and 
 then went forth to make her morning round of 
 calls. Eddy returned to the nursery, strong in 
 his purpose, to be a good boy, as he had pro- 
 mised. 
 
 " Such a dear little picture-book as mamma is go- 
 ing to bring me home," he said to nurse, as he 
 leaned his arms against her, and looked up into 
 her face. " Oh 1 won't I be so glad. It's to be 
 just like cousin Edie's. Mamma said so; and 
 cousin Edie's book is so beautiful. I 've wanted 
 one ever since I was there. Is'nt mamma good ?" 
 
 " Yes, Eddy," replied the nurse, "your mamma 
 is very good ; and you should love her so much, 
 and do everything she tells you to do." 
 
 " I do love her," said the child. " Oh, I love 
 her more than all the world ; and I'm going to 
 mind every thing she says." 
 
 Then the child went to his play, and was happy 
 with his toys. But his thoughts were on the pic- 
 ture-book", and pleasantly his young imagination 
 lingered amid its attractive pages. 
 
 " Is'nt it 'most time for mother to be home ?" he
 
 THE MOTHER'S PROMISE. 117 
 
 asked, at the end of half an hour, coming to the 
 side of his nurse, and gazing up into her face. 
 
 " "Why no, child," replied the nurse, "not for a 
 long while yet." 
 
 Eddy looked disappointed. But that instant 
 the door bell rung. 
 
 " There's mamma !" exclaimed the child, clap- 
 ping his hands ; and before nurse could restrain 
 him, he had bounded from the room, and his little 
 feet were heard pattering down the stairs. Slow 
 ly he came back, after a little while, and with a 
 look of disappointment on his sweet young face, 
 entered the nursery, saying, as he did so : 
 
 " It was only a man with brooms to sell." 
 
 " Your mamma won't be home for a long time 
 yet, Eddy," said hie nurse, " so it is of no use for 
 you to expect her. Go and build block houses 
 again." 
 
 " I'm tired of block houses," replied the little 
 boy, "and now that mamma has promised me a 
 picture-book like cousin Edie's I can't think of 
 anything else." 
 
 " Oh, well," said nurse, a little impatiently, 
 " she'll be home in good time. Try and not think 
 of the book. It won't do any good it won't 
 bring her home a minute sooner."
 
 118 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 "I can t help thinking of it," persisted the child 
 in whom the imaginative faculty was unusually 
 strong for one of his age* 
 
 In a little while, however, something occurred 
 to interest him, and a full hour elapsed before h 
 again recurred to his mother and the expected 
 picture book. As best she could, his nurse 
 diverted his mind, and kept him, in a measure, 
 occupied with what was around him. At length 
 it was full time for Mrs. Herbert to return. Eddy 
 had ceased to find interest in anything appertain- 
 ing to the nursery. He went down into the par- 
 lor, and seating himself at the window, watched, 
 with childish eagerness, for the form of his 
 mother. 
 
 Strange as it may seem to the reader, Mrs. 
 Herbert had scarcely passed into the street, ere 
 her promise was forgotten. Not that she was 
 indifferent to the happiness of her child not that 
 she was a heartless mother. Far very far from 
 this. Purely and truly did she love this sweet 
 boy. But, so much were her thoughts interest- 
 ed in other- things, that she did not, at the time, 
 comprehend the earnestness of his childish wishes; 
 nor think of her promise as a sacred thing. The 
 request for a picture book seemed to her but the
 
 THE MOTHER'S PROMISE. , 1 19 
 
 expression of a sudden thought, that passed from 
 his mind as soon as uttered. And yet, she had 
 not promised without intending to meet the wishes 
 of her child, for she was an indulgent mother 
 and rarely said " No," to any request that migh 
 reasonably be gratified. She had noticed Cousin 
 Edie's pretty book, and thought that she would, 
 Borne time or other, get one like it for Eddy. 
 The child's request but seconded this thought. 
 There was will, therefore, in her promise. She 
 meant to do as she had said. 
 
 But things of more interest to Mrs. Herbert, 
 than the simple wish of a child, so fully occupied 
 her mind from the time she left her own door, 
 that she never again thought of the book, until 
 she saw Eddy's dear face at the window. It was 
 serious, and slightly impatient, as if he were wea- 
 ried with watching and waiting ; but the moment 
 his eyes rested upon her form, his whole counte- 
 nance brightened, as though lit up by a sunbeam. 
 Almost as soon as Mrs. Herbert's hand touched 
 the bell, the street door was thrown open, and 
 the glad child stood, like a rebuking spirit, before 
 her. 
 
 '' Where's my book, mamma? Give me my 
 book, mamma ! Oh, I'm so glad you've come 1"
 
 120 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Now, the first conviction of wrong, often haa 
 an irritating effect upon the mind, obscuring its 
 perceptions, and leading, sometimes, to the im- 
 pulsive commission of greater wrongs. It was so 
 n the present case. The happy countenance of 
 her child did not bring joy to the mother's heart ; 
 for she knew that with a word, she must dash 
 to the ground all his buoyant anticipations. And 
 she remembered, too, at the moment, how poorly 
 he could bear disappointment. 
 
 " Eddy, dear," said Mrs. Herbert, taking her 
 little boy by the hand, and advancing toward the 
 parlor door with him, " Eddy, dear, let me tell 
 you something." 
 
 Her grave tone and look caused a shiver to 
 pass inward toward the heart of the child. He 
 understood, but too well, that the mother, whose 
 word he had trusted so implicitly, had been faith- 
 less to her promise. 
 
 Poor child ! even this advancing shadow of a 
 coming disappointment, darkened his young face 
 and filled his eyes with tears. * 
 
 Mrs. Herbert sat down on the nearest chair, as 
 she entered the parlor, and drew Eddy to her 
 side. She saw, from his sad face, that words 
 were not reauired to make him aware that the
 
 THE MOTHER'S PROMISE. 121 
 
 promised book was not in her possession ; and 
 she knew, from former experience, that trouble 
 was before her. Unhappily, she did not feel 
 softened, but rather irritated, toward the child. 
 
 " Eddy," she said firmly, yet with as muck 
 tenderness as she could assume, " E<ldy, yoc 
 Know you promised me to be such a good boy." 
 
 " And I have been good," eagerly answered 
 the little fellow, lifting his swimming eyes to her 
 face, " you may ask nurse if I havn't been good 
 all the time." 
 
 " I'm sure you have," said Mrs. Herbert, 
 touched by the manner of her child ; " and yet, 
 Eddy, I have not brought your book." 
 
 The tears, which had been ready to start, now 
 gushed over his face, and a low cry pained the 
 mother's ears. 
 
 " Eddy," said she, seriously, " let me tell you 
 about it. You must listen to reason." 
 
 Reason 1 poor, disappointed little one ! He 
 had no ear for the comprehension of reasons. 
 
 " Now, Eddy 1 1 can't have this 1" Mrs. Her- 
 bert spoke firmly, for already the child was weep- 
 ing bitterly. " Crying will do no good. I promis- 
 ed you the book, and you shall have it. I had no 
 
 6 "
 
 122 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 opportunity to get it this morning. Come now ! 
 you must stop at once, or I " 
 
 Mrs. Herbert did not utter the threat which 
 came to her lips ; for her mind shrunk from the 
 thought of punishing her child, especially as his 
 fault was a consequence of her own actions. But, 
 as he continued to cry on, and in a louder voice, 
 she not only began to feel excessively annoyed, 
 but deemed it her duty to compel a cessation of 
 what could do no possible good, but rather harm. 
 
 " Eddy, you must stop this crying 1" Firmness 
 had changed to sternness. 
 
 The words might as well not have been spoken. 
 
 " Then you are not going to stop !" The tones 
 were angry now ; and, as Mrs. Herbert uttered 
 them, she caught the arm of her child with a tight 
 grip. 
 
 At this moment, the sound of the latch-key was 
 heard in the street door. It was dinner time, and 
 Mr. Herbert entered. 
 
 " Bless us! what's the trouble here ?" the father 
 of Eddy exclaimed, good-naturedly, as he presen- 
 ted himself in the parlor. 
 
 " The trouble is," said Mrs. Herbert, in a fret- 
 ful voice, " that I promised to buy him a book, 
 and forgot all about it."
 
 THE MOTHER'S PROMISE. 123 
 
 ' Oho 1 Is that all ?" Mr. Herbert spoke cheer 
 fully. " This trouble can soon be healed. Come 
 dear, and let us see what I can do for you." 
 
 And Mr. Herbert drew forth a small, square 
 packet, and began untying the string, with which 
 it was bound. Eddy ceased crying in an instant, 
 while a rainbow light shone through his tears. 
 Soon a book came to view. It was the book. 
 Singularly enough, Mr. Herbert had, that morn- 
 ing, observed it in a store, and thinking it would 
 please his child, had bought it for him. 
 
 " Will that do ?" he said, handing the book to 
 Eddy. 
 
 What a gush of gladness came to the child's 
 face. A moment or two he stood, like one be- 
 wildered, and then throwing his arms around his 
 father's neck and hugging him tightly, he said, in 
 the fullness of his heart, 
 
 " Oh J you are a dear good papa ! I do love 
 you so much !" 
 
 Ere the arms of Eddy were unclasped from 
 his father's neck, Mrs. Herbert had left the room. 
 When, on the ringing of the dinner bell, she join- 
 ed her husband and child at the table, her coun- 
 tenance wore a sober aspect, and . there were 
 aigns of tears about her eyes! What her thoughts
 
 124 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 had been, every true mother can better imaging 
 than we describe. That they were salutary, may 
 be inferred from the fact that no promise, not 
 even the lightest, was ever afterwards made to 
 her child, which was not righteously kept to the 
 very letter.
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Jane, how can you tolerate that dull, spirit* 
 less creature ? I never sat by his side for five min- 
 utes, without getting sleepy." 
 
 " He does not seem so very dull to me, Cara," 
 replied her companion. 
 
 " It is a true saying, that there never was a 
 Jack without a Jill ; but I could not have believed 
 Jiat my friend Jane Emory would have been wil- 
 ling to be the Jill to such a Jack." 
 
 A slight change was perceptible in the counte- 
 nance of Jane Emory, and for a moment the co- 
 lor deepened on her cheek. But when she spoke 
 in reply to her friend's remark, no indication that 
 she felt its cutting import, was perceptible.
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 127" 
 
 " I am convinced, from close observation of 
 Walter Gray," said Jane, " that he has in hia 
 character that which should ever protect him 
 rom jest or ridicule." 
 
 " And what is that, my lady Jane ?" 
 
 " Right thoughts and sound principles." 
 
 " Fiddle stick !" 
 
 These should not only be respected, but hon- 
 ored wherever found," said Jane, gravely. 
 
 " In a bear or a boor 1" Cara responded, in a 
 tone of irony. 
 
 " My friend Cara is ungenerous in her allusions. 
 Surely, she will not assert that Walter Gray is a 
 bear or a boor ?" 
 
 " He is boorish enough, at any rate." 
 
 " There I differ with you, Cara. His manner 
 is not so showy, nor his attentions to the many 
 little forms and observances of social life, so 
 prompt as to please the fastidious in these mat 
 ters. These defects, however, are not defects of 
 character, but of education. He has not mingled 
 enough in society to give him confidence. 
 
 " They are defects, and are serious enough to 
 make him quite offensive to me. Last evening, at 
 Mrs. Clinton,s party, I sat beside him for half an
 
 128 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 hour, and was really disgusted with his marked 
 disregard of the little courtesies of social life." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Jane, her manner becoming 
 more serious, " and in what did these omissions 
 consist ?" 
 
 " Why, in the first place, while we were con- 
 v ersing, " 
 
 " He could converse, then ?" said Jane, inter 
 rupting her friend. 
 
 " 0, no, I beg pardon ! While we were trying 
 to converse for among his other defects is an 
 inability to talk to a lady on any subject of inter- 
 est I dropped my handkerchief, on purpose, of 
 course, but he never offered to lift it for me ; in- 
 deed, I doubt whether he saw it at all." 
 
 " Then, Cara, how could you expect him to 
 pick it up for you, if he did not see it ?" 
 
 " But he ought to have seen it. He should 
 have bad his eyes about him ; and so should every 
 gentleman who sits by or is near a lady. I kno\\ 
 one that never fails." 
 
 c< And pray, who is the perfect gentleman ?" 
 asked Jane smiling. " Is he one of my acquain 
 tances ?" 
 
 " Certainly he is. I mean Charles Wilton."
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 129 
 
 " He is, I must confess, different from Walter 
 Gray," Jane remarked, drily. 
 
 " I hope fee is !" said Cara, tossing*her head, for 
 she felt that something by no means complimen- 
 tary was implied in the equivocal remark of her 
 friend. 
 
 " But, seriously, Cara, I must, in turn, express 
 regret that you allow yourself to feel interested 
 in one like Charles Wilton. Trust me, my friend, 
 he is unworthy of your regard." 
 
 " And pray, Miss," said Cara, warming sud- 
 denly, " what do you know of Charles Wilton, 
 that will warrant your throwing out such insinu- 
 ations against him ?" 
 
 " Little beyond what I have learned by my own 
 observation." . 
 
 "And what has that taught you? I should 
 like very much to know." 
 
 " It has taught me, Cara," replied Jane, serious- 
 ly, " to estimate him very lightly indeed. From 
 what I have seen, I am convinced that ha 
 possesses neither fixed principles nor any decision 
 of character. In the world, without these a 
 man is like a ship upon the ocean, having neither 
 helm nor compass^ 
 6*
 
 130 
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 " You make broad and bold charges, Jane 
 But I am sure you are mistaken." 
 
 " I may be. But so certain am ! that I am 
 right, that I would rather die this hour than be 
 compelled to link my lot in life with his. Certain 
 I am that I should make shipwreck of hope and 
 affection." 
 
 " You deal in riddles, Jane. Speak out more 
 plainly." 
 
 " Surely, Cara, long before this you have or 
 ought to have discovered, that Charles Wilton 
 exhibits far too much love of appearance for a 
 sensible man. He dresses in the very best style 
 and may be able to afford it ; but that is not all ; 
 he evidently esteems these external embellish- 
 ments of superior importance to mental or moral 
 endowments. He rarely fails to remark upon men 
 not so well dressed as himself, and to refer to the 
 defect as one sufficient to make the individual 
 contemptible, no matter what may be the circum- 
 stances or merit of the person referred to. I 
 have more than once noticed that Charles Wilton 
 passes over every thing in his disgust for defect 
 in dress." 
 
 " 1 do not see a matter of terious importance 
 in that," said Cara. " His love of dress is a mere
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 131 
 
 foible, that may be excused. It certainly has no- 
 thing to do with his real character.'* 
 
 " It is an indication of the man's true charac- 
 ter," her friend replied. " I am sure that I want 
 no plainer exhibition. If he was simply fond of 
 dress, and indulged in that fondness even* to the 
 extent he now does it might indicata a mere 
 weakness of character, in the form of an undue 
 love of admiration. But when, to this, we see a 
 disposition to value others, and to judge of them 
 by their garments, then we may be sure that 
 there is a serious defect of character. The man, 
 Cara, believe me, who has no higher standard of , 
 estimation for other men, than the form, manner, 
 and texture of their garments, has not the ca- 
 pacity rjghtly to value a woman or to know 
 wherein her true merit lies. This is one of the 
 reasons why I said that I would rather die than 
 link my lot in life with that young man." 
 
 " Well, as for me, Jane, I am sure that I would 
 rafter have a man with some spirit in him, than 
 to be tied to such a drone as Walter Gray. 
 Why, I should die in a week. I can't for my 
 life, see how you can enjoy his society for a mo- 
 ment 1" 
 
 " I should think any woman ought to be abl<
 
 132 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 to enjoy the company of a nian of sense," Jana 
 remarked, quietly. 
 
 "Surely, Jane, you don't pretend by that to 
 set up Walter Gray as the superior of Charlea 
 Wilton in regard to intelligence ?" 
 
 " Certainly I do, Cara." 
 
 " Why, Jane 1 There is no comparison, in this 
 respect, between them. Every one knows that 
 while Walter is dull, even to stupidity, Charles 
 has a brilliant, well informed mind. It is only 
 necessary to hear each converse for an hour, to de- 
 cide upon their respective merits." 
 
 " In that last sentence you have uttered the 
 truth, Cara, but the result would depend much 
 upon the' character of the listeners. For a time, 
 no doubt, if Charlae made an effort to show off, he 
 would eclipse the less brilliant and unobtrusive 
 "Walter. But a close and discriminating observ- 
 er would soon learn to judge between sound and 
 sense, between borrowed thoughts and truthful 
 sentiments originating in a philosophical and ever 
 active mind. The shallow stream runs sparkling 
 and flashing in the sunlight, while the deeper wa- 
 ters lie dark and unattractive." 
 
 Cara shook her head as her friend ceased speak 
 ing, and replied, laughingly
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 133 
 
 " You can beat me at talking, Jane but all 
 your philosophy and poetry can't make me think 
 Charles Wilton less brilliant and sensible, or Wal- 
 ter Gray less dull and spiritless." 
 
 The two young men whose merits Jane Emor^ 
 and Cara Linton had thus been discussing, had 
 been law students for some years in the same of- 
 fice, and were now just admitted to practice at 
 the bar in one of our Atlantic cities. They were 
 friends, though altogether unlike each other. 
 Walter Gray was modest and retiring, while 
 Charles Wilton was a dashing, off-hand kind of a 
 fellow, with more pretensions than merit. The 
 mind of Walter was rather sluggish, while that of 
 his friend was quick, and what some were dis- 
 posed to esteem brilliant. The one was fond of 
 dress and show, and effect ; while the other paid 
 less regard to these things than was really neces- 
 sary to make him, with many, an agreeable com- 
 panion. But the quick perceptions of the one 
 were not equal to the patient, untiring application 
 of the other. When admitted to practice, Wilton 
 could make an effective, brilliant speech, and in 
 ordinary cases, where an appeal to the feelings 
 could influence a jury, was uniformly successful. 
 But, where profound investigation, concise rea-
 
 134 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 toning, and a laborious array of authorities were 
 requisite, he was no competitor for his friend Gray. 
 He was vain of his personal appearance, as has 
 before been indicated, and was also fond of plea- 
 sure and company. In short, he was one of those 
 dashing young men to be met with in all profes- 
 sions, who look upon business as an necessary 
 evil, to be escaped whenever a opportunity 
 fFers whose- expectations of future prosperity 
 are always large, and who look for success, not in 
 the roads of patient, laborious application, but by 
 a quicker and more brilliant way. They hope to 
 produce a sensation by their tact or talents, and 
 thus take fortune by storm. Few, indeed we 
 might say none, of this class succeed. Those who 
 startle a community by rapid advances, are, in all 
 cases, such as have, to quick perceptions and bril- 
 liant powers, added much labor. Talent is noth- 
 ing without prolonged and patient application ; 
 and they who suppose the road to success lies in 
 any other way, may discover their error too late. 
 The estimation in which the characters of these 
 two young men was held, at least by two individ- 
 uals, the preceding conversation has apprised the 
 reader. Each made his impression upon a cer- 
 tain order of mind, and each was regarded, or
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 135 
 
 lightly esteemed accordingly. Although in tal- 
 ents and in a right estimation of life and its true 
 ends, the two young men were altogether dissim- 
 ilar ; yet were they friends, and in many respects 
 intimate. "Why they were so, we shall not stop 
 to enquire, but proceed to introduce them more 
 particularly to the reader. 
 
 " I suppose you are going to Mrs. Melton's 
 this evening ?" said Wilton to his friend, a few 
 weeks after the period indicated in the opening of 
 this story. 
 
 " I feel as if I would like to go. A social eve- 
 ning, now and then, I find pleasant, and I have 
 no doubt it is useful to me." 
 
 " That is right, Walter. I am glad to see you 
 coming out of your recluse habits. You want the 
 polish and ease that social life will give you." 
 
 " I feel that, Wilton. But I fear I am too old 
 now to have all the rough corners knocked off, 
 
 and worn smooth." 
 
 t 
 
 " 0, don't despair. You'll make a ladies' man 
 after awhile, if you persevere, and become more 
 particular in your dress. But, to change the sub- 
 iect, a little, tell me what you think of Cara Lin- 
 ton ? Her father is worth a plum, and she is jnst
 
 136 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 the showy, brilliant woman, of which a man like 
 me ought to be proud of." 
 
 " As you. ask me, Charles, I must reply candid 
 ly. I would think her a dear bargain with all her 
 father's money thrown in with her ; and as to your 
 other reasons for thinking of her as a wife, I con- 
 sider them, to speak plainly, as I always do to you, 
 despicable !" 
 
 " And why so, Mr. Philosopher ?" 
 
 " A wife should be chosen from much higher 
 considerations than these. "What do you want 
 with a brilliant, showy wife ? You marry, or ought 
 to marry, a companion for yourself not a wo- 
 man for the world to admire." 
 
 " You are too matter-of-fact, by half, "Walter. 
 Your common sense ideas, as you call them, will 
 keep you grubbing in a mole hill all your life. 
 
 "I should like to see the woman you would choose 
 
 for a wife !" " I wish you had a few of these 
 
 common sense ideas you despise so much. I am 
 
 fraid, Charles, that the time is not very distant 
 
 when you will stand sadly in need of them." 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself, Walter. I'll take 
 care of number one. Let me alone for that. But, 
 I should like to know your serious objections to 
 Cara ? You sweep her aside with one wave of
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 137 
 
 your hand, as if she were too insignificant to be 
 thought of for a moment." 
 
 " I said that / should consider her a dear bar- 
 gain, and so I would for she would not suit me 
 t all." 
 
 " Ah, there I believe you. But come, let me 
 hear why she would not suit you." 
 
 " Because she has no correct and common 
 sense estimation of life and its relations. She is 
 full of poetry and romance, and fashion, and show, 
 and ' all that kind of thing ;' none of which, with- 
 out a great deal of the salt of common sense, 
 would suit me." 
 
 " Common sense ! Common sense 1 Common 
 sense ! That is your hobby. Verily, Walter, you 
 are a monomaniac on the subject of common sense ; 
 but, as for me, I will leave common sense to com- 
 mon people. I go in for uncommon sense." 
 
 " The poorest and most unprofitable sense of 
 all, let me tell you. And one of these days you 
 /ill discover it to be so." 
 
 " It is no use for us to compare our philosophi- 
 cal notes, I see plainly enough," Wilton respond- 
 ed. " We shall never view things in the same 
 light. You are not the man of the world you 
 shonld be, Walter. Men of half your merit will
 
 138 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 eclipse you, winning opulence and distinction- 
 while you, with your common sense notions, will 
 be plodding on at a snail's pace. You are be- 
 hind the age, and a stranger to its powerful, on- 
 ward impulses." 
 
 " And ever do I desire to remain behind the 
 age, Wilton, if mere pretension and show be its 
 ruling and impulsive spirit." 
 
 " The old fashioned way of attaining eminence," 
 Charles "Wilton replied, assuming an attitude and 
 speaking out truly the thoughts that were in his 
 mind ; " by plodding on with the emmet's patience, 
 and storing up "knowledge, grain by grain, brings 
 not the hoped for reward, now. You must startle 
 and surprise. The brilliant meteor attracts a 
 thousand times more attention, than the brightest 
 star that shines in the firmament." 
 
 " You are trifling, Charles." 
 
 " Never was more in earnest in my life. I have 
 made up my mind to succeed ; to be known and 
 envied. And to gain the position of eminence I 
 desire, I mean to take the surest way. The world 
 will be deceived, and, therefore, they who would 
 succeed must throw dust in people's eyes." 
 
 " Or, in other words, deceive them by preten- 
 sion. Charles, let me warn you against any such
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 139 
 
 unmanly, and, I must say, dishonest course. Be 
 true to yourself and true to principle." 
 
 " I shall certainly be true to myself, Walter. 
 For what pray do we toil over dry and musty 
 law books in a confined office, months and years 
 if not to gain the power of rising in the world ? 
 I have served my dreary apprenticeship I have 
 learnt the art and mystery, and now for the best 
 and most certain mode of applying it." 
 
 " But, remember your responsibility to society. 
 Your " 
 
 " Nonsense ! What do I, or what does any 
 one else care about society ? My motto is, Every 
 one for himself, and the deuce take the hindmost. 
 And that's the motto of the whole world." 
 
 " Not of the whole world, Charles." 
 
 " Yes, of the whole world, with, perhaps, the 
 single, strange exception of Walter Gray. And 
 he will be flung to the wall, and soon forgotten, 
 I fear." 
 
 " You jest on a serious subject, Charles." 
 
 " I tell you, Walter, I am in earnest," Wilton 
 replied with emphasis. "He that would be ahead, 
 must get ahead in the best way -possible. But I 
 cannot linger here. It is now nearly night ; and 
 it will take me full two hours to prepare myself
 
 140 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 to meet Miss Cara Linton. I must make a cap- 
 tive of the dashing maiden this very evening." 
 And so saying, he turned, and left the office. 
 
 That evening, amid a gay and fashionable as- 
 semblage at Mrs. Merton's, was to be seen the 
 showy Charles Wilton, with his easy, and even 
 elegant manners, attracting almost as much atten- 
 tion as his vain heart could desire. And the 
 quiet, sensible Walter Gray was there also, look- 
 ing upon all things with a calm, philosophic 
 mein. 
 
 " Your friend Mr. Wilton is quite the centre 
 of attraction for the young ladies, this evening," 
 remarked Jane Emory, who was leaning upon the 
 arm of Walter Gray, and listening with an inter- 
 est she scarcely dared confess to herself, to hia 
 occasional remarks, that indicated a mind active 
 with true and healthful thought. 
 
 " And he seems to enjoy it," replied Walter, 
 with a pleasant tone and smile. 
 
 " Almost too much so, it seems to me, for a 
 man," his companion said, though with nothing 
 censorious in her manner. She merely expressed 
 a sentiment without showing that it excited un- 
 kind feelings.
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 141 
 
 " Or for a woman, either," was the quick res- 
 ponse. 
 
 "True. But if pleased with attentions, and 
 even admiration may we not be excused?" 
 
 " 0, certainly. We may all be excused for our 
 weaknesses ; still they are weaknesses, after all." 
 
 " And therefore should not be encouraged." 
 
 " Certainly not". We should be governed by 
 some higher end than the mere love of admiration 
 even admiration for good qualities." 
 
 " I admit the truth of what you say, and yet, 
 the state is one to which I have not yet attained." 
 
 Walter Gray turned a look full of tender inter- 
 est upon the maiden by his side, as she ceased 
 speaking, and said in a tone that had in it much 
 of tenderness, 
 
 " You express, Miss Emory, but the feeling 
 which every one has who truly desires the attain 
 ment of true excellence of character. We have 
 not this excellence, naturally, but it is within the 
 compass of effort. Like you, I have had to re- 
 gret the weaknesses and deficiencies of rny own 
 character. But, in self-government, as in every 
 thing else, my motto is, Persevere to the end. 
 The same motto, or the same rule of action,
 
 142 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 clothed in other words, perhaps, I trust nay,*I 
 am sure, rules in your mind." 
 
 For a few moments Jane did not reply. She 
 feared to utter any form of words that would 
 mislead. At length she^said, modestly, 
 
 " I try to subdue in me what is evil, or that 
 which seems to me to act in opposition to good 
 principles." 
 
 Before Walter Gray, pleased with the answer, 
 could frame'in bis mind a fitting reply, Charles 
 Wilton, with Cara Linton on his arm, was thrown 
 in front of them. 
 
 " Has Walter been edifying you with one of 
 the Psalms of David, Miss Emory ?" said Wilton, 
 gaily. " One would think so from his solemn 
 face, and the demure, thougttlful expression of 
 yours." 
 
 Neither Walter nor his fair companion were 
 what is called quick-witted ; and both were so 
 checked in their thoughts and feelings that neither 
 could, on the moment, fitly reply. 
 
 " 0, I see how it is," the gay young man con- 
 Unued. " He has been reading you some of his 
 moral homilies, and you are tired to death. 
 Well, you must bear with him, Miss Emory, he
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. '143 
 
 will learn better after awhile." .And the young 
 man and his thoughtless companion turned laugh- 
 ing away. 
 
 For a few moments the disturbed thoughts of 
 .Walter and his fair friend, trembled upon the 
 surface of their feelings, and then all was again as 
 tranquil as the bosom of a quiet lake. 
 
 Enough has now been said, to give a fair idea 
 of the ends which the two young men, we have 
 introduced, set before them upon entering life. 
 Let us now proceed to trace the effects of these 
 ends ; effects, which, as a necessary consequence, 
 involved others as much as themselves. 
 
 CHAPTEK n. 
 
 " "Well, Gray, the business is all settled," said 
 Wilton, one day, coming into the office of the in- 
 dividual he addressed so familiarly. 
 
 " What business, Charles ?" 
 
 " Why, I've won the rich and beautiful Miss 
 Linton. Last night I told my story, and was- re- 
 ferred to the old man, of course. I have just seen 
 him, and he says I am welcome to the hand of 
 his daughter. Now, is not that a long stride up 
 the ladder 1 The. most beautiful and attractive
 
 144' HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 woman in the city for a wife, and an old dadtly 
 in law as rich as Croesus !" 
 
 " You are what some would call a lucky dog," 
 said Wilton, with a smile. 
 
 " And yet there is no luck in it. ' Faint heart, 
 they say, ' never won fair lady.' I knew half-a- 
 dozen clever fellows who were looking to Miss 
 Lintoh's hand ; but while they hesitated, I stepped 
 boldly up and carried off the prize. Let me alone, 
 "Walter. I'll work my way through the world." 
 
 " And I, too, have been doing something in 
 that line." 
 
 " You ? Why, Walter, you confound me ! I 
 never dreamed that you would have the courage 
 to make love to a woman." 
 
 " Wiser ones than you are mistaken, some- 
 times." 
 
 " No doubt of it. But who is the fair lady ?" 
 
 " Can you not guess ?" 
 
 " Jane Emory ?" 
 
 " Of course. She is the most sensible women 
 it has yet been my fortune to meet." 
 
 " Has the best common sense, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " You are a genius, Walter. When you die, I 
 expect you will leave a clause in your will, to the
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 145 
 
 effect that the undertaker shall be a man of good, 
 plain, common sense. dear ! "What a dull life 
 you will lead ! Darby and Joan !" 
 
 " You are still a trifler with serious matters, 
 Charles. But time will sober you, I trust, and do 
 it before soch a change will come too late." 
 
 " How much is old Emory worth, Walter ?" 
 "Wilton asked, without regarding the last remark 
 of his friend. 
 
 " I am sure I do not know. Not a great deal, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "You don't know?" 
 
 " No ; how should I ?" 
 
 "Well, you are a queer one 1 It is time that you 
 did then, let me tell you." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " In the name of sense, Walter, what are you 
 going to marry his daughter for." 
 
 " Because I love her." 
 
 " Pah ! I know how much of that sort of thing 
 appertains to the business." 
 
 Charles 1" 
 
 " Don't look so utterly dumfounded, friend 
 Walter." 
 
 " I am surprised, and I must say pained, to
 
 146 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 hear you speak thus. Surely you love the young 
 lady you propose to marry ?" 
 
 " Of course. But then I have a decent regard 
 for her old father's wealth ; and I am by no 
 means insensible to her personal attractions. I 
 group all that is desirable into one grand consid- 
 eration beauty, wealth, standing, mental endow- 
 ments, etc., and take her for the whole. But 
 for love a mere impulse that will die of itself, if 
 left alone to marry a young lady ! no, I am 
 not the simpleton for that !" 
 
 Walter Gray looked his friend in the face for 
 a moment or two, but did not reply. He was 
 pained, even shocked at his levity. 
 
 " You seem really to doubt my being in 
 earnest?" said Wilton, after a pause. 
 
 " I would doubt, if I could, Charles. But I 
 fear you are speaking out too truly, sentiments 
 that I could not have believed you capable of en- 
 tertaining." 
 
 " You are too simple and unsophisticated to live 
 in this world, my old friend Walter Gray." 
 
 " And long may I remain so," was the calm 
 response, " if to be honest and sincere is to be 
 simple and unsophisticated."
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 147 
 
 " "Well, good morning to you, and success to 
 your love marriage." 
 
 And so saying, Charles Wilton left the office 
 of his friend. 
 
 A few weeks more passed away, and the two 
 young men had, in the meantime, consummated 
 their matrimonial engagements. The wedding of 
 Charles "Wilton and Cara Linton was a splendid 
 affair, succeeded by parties and entertainments 
 for five or six weeks. That of Walter Gray and 
 Jane Emory passed off more quietly and rationally. 
 
 Three months after their wedding-day, let us 
 look in upon the two friends and their fair part- 
 ners; and first, upon Charles Wilton and hia 
 bride. The time is evening, and they are sitting 
 alone in one of their richly furnished parlors. 
 
 " dear !" yawned out Wilton, rising and walk- 
 ing backwards and forwards, " this is dull work. 
 Is there no place where we can go and spend a 
 pleasant evening ?" 
 
 " I don't know, dear. Suppose we step over 
 and see Pa ?" 
 
 " no. We were there two or three evenings 
 ago. And, any how, I am in no humor for play- 
 ing at draughts."
 
 148 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Well, I should like to go there this evening 
 I want to see Ma about something." 
 
 " You can easily go to-morrow, Cara, and stay 
 as long as you choose." 
 
 " But I should like to go to night, dear." 
 
 "Don't think of it, Cara." 
 
 " Then suppose we call in and sit an hour with 
 the Melton's ?" 
 
 " Not to-night, Cara. The old man is deaf, and 
 talks you out of all patience about sugars and teas 
 cotton and tobacco." 
 
 " But the girls are lively and entertaining." 
 
 "Not for me, Cara. Think again." 
 
 " Why not stay at home ?" 
 
 " And pray what shall we do here ?" 
 
 " I'll sing and play for you." 
 
 " I am in no humor for music to-night." 
 
 His young wife sighed, but Wilton did not no- 
 tice it. 
 
 " Come, let us go over to the Grogans ?" he at 
 length said. 
 
 " I can't say that I care much about going 
 there," his wife replied. 
 
 " Of course not. You never seem to care much 
 about going where I wish to," said Wilton, pet 
 tishly.
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 149 
 
 His wife burst into tears, and sat sobbing for 
 some minutes, during which time "Wilton paced 
 the room backwards and forwards, in moody si- 
 lence. After a while his wife rose up and stole 
 quietly from the room, and in a few minutes re- 
 turned, dressed, to go out. 
 
 " I am ready," she said. 
 
 " Ready to go where ?" 
 
 " To Mr. Grogan's, of coursa You wish to 
 go." 
 
 " I don't care about going now, as long as you 
 are unwilling." 
 
 " Yes, but I am willing, Charles, if the visit 
 will be pleasant to you." 
 
 " 0, as to that, I don't wish to compel you to 
 go anywhere." 
 
 " Indeed, Charles, I am willing to go," said his 
 wife, while her voice trembled and sounded harsh- 
 ly. " Come, now that I am ready. I wish to go.' 
 
 For a moment longer Wilton hesitated, and 
 then took up his hat and went with her. - Eew 
 were the words that passed between them as they 
 walked along the street. Arrived at their friend's 
 house they both suddenly changed, and were as 
 gay, and seemed as happy, as the gayest and the 
 happiest.
 
 150 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 * * 
 
 " Shall we call in upon some pleasant friends 
 to-night or spend our evening alone ?" asked 
 Walter Gray, taking a seat upon the sofa beside 
 his happy wife, on the same evening that the fore- 
 going conversation and incidents occurred. 
 
 " Let it be as you wish, Walter," was the af- 
 fectionate, truthful reply. 
 
 " As for me, Jane, I am always happy at 
 home too happy, I sometimes think." 
 
 " How, too 1 happy ?" 
 
 " Too happy to think of others, Jane. We 
 must be careful not to become isolated and sel- 
 fish in our pleasures. Our social character must 
 not be sacrificed. If it is in our power to add to 
 the happiness of others, it is right that we should 
 mingle in the social circle." 
 
 " I feel the truth of what you say, Walter, and 
 yet I find it hard to be thus unselfish. I am sure 
 that I would a thousand times rather remain at 
 home and read with you a pleasant book, or sing 
 and play for you, than to spend an evening away 
 from our pleasant home." 
 
 " I feel the same inclinations. But I am unwil- 
 ling to encourage them. And yet, I am not an 
 advocate for continual visitings. The delights
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 151 
 
 of our own sweet fireside, small though tne circle 
 be, I would enjoy often. But these pleasures 
 will be increased tenfold by our willingness to let 
 others share them, and, also, by our joining in 
 their home-delights and social recreations." 
 
 A pause of a few moments ensued, when Mrs. 
 Gray said, 
 
 " Suppose, then, Walter, we call over and see 
 how they are getting on at ' home ?' Pa and Ma 
 are lonesome, now that I am away." 
 
 " Just what I was thinking of, Jane. So get 
 on your things, and we will join them and spend 
 a pleasant evening." 
 
 These brief conversations will indicate to the 
 reader how each of the young men and their 
 wives were thus early beginning to reap the fruits 
 of true and false principles of action. We can- 
 not trace each on his career, step by step, during 
 the passage of many years, though much that 
 would interest and instruct could be gathered 
 from their histories. The limits of a brief story 
 like this will not permit us thus to linger. On, 
 then, to the grand result of their lives we must 
 pass. Let us look at the summing up of the 
 whole matter, and see which of the young men 
 started with the true secret of success in the
 
 152 
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 world, and which of the young ladies evinced 
 most "wisdom in her choice of a husband. 

 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *- - " . ' 
 
 " Poor Mrs. "Wilton !'' remarked Mrs. Gray, 
 now a cheerful, intelligent woman of forty, with 
 half-a-dozen grown and half-grown up daughters, 
 " it makes me sad whenever I see her, or think of 
 her." 
 
 " Her husband was not kind to her, I believe, 
 while she lived with him," said Mrs. Gray's 
 visitor, whom she had addressed. 
 
 "It is said so. But I am sure I*do not know. 
 I never liked him, nor thought him a man of prin- 
 ciple. I said as much as I thought prudent to dis- 
 courage her from receiving his attentions. But she 
 was a gay girl herself, and was attracted by dash- 
 ing pretension, rather than by unobtrusive merit." 
 
 " It was thought at one time that Mr. Wilton 
 would lead in the profession here. I remember 
 when his name used frequently to get into the 
 newspapers, coupled with high compliments on 
 his brilliant talents." 
 7*
 
 154 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Yes. He flashed before the eyes of the crowd 
 for awhile, but it was soon discovered that he had 
 more brilliancy than substance. The loss of two 
 or three important cases, that required solid ar- 
 gument and a well-digested array of facts and 
 authorities, instead of flights of fancy and appeals 
 to the feelings, ruined his standing at the bar. 
 The death of his father- in law, with an insolvent 
 estate, immediately after, took wonderfully from 
 the estimation in which he was held. Thrown, 
 thus, suddenly back, and upon his own resources, 
 he sunk at once from the point of observation, 
 and lingered around the court-house, picking up 
 petty cases, as a matter of necessity. Long be- 
 fore this, I had noticed that Mrs. Wilton had 
 greatly changed. But now a sadder change took 
 place a separation from her husband. The cause 
 of this separation I know not. I never asked her, 
 nor to me has she ever alluded to it. But it is 
 said that his manner towards her became insuffer- 
 able, and that she sought protection and an a*y- 
 lum among her friends. Be the cause what it 
 may, it is enough to make her a poor, heart- 
 stricken creature." 
 
 " How well I remember, when their parties
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 155 
 
 were the most splendid and best attended of the 
 season." 
 
 " Yes, I well remember it too. Still, even then, 
 gay and brilliant as Mrs. Wilton was, I never 
 thought her happy. Indeed, seeing her often 
 alone as I did, I could not but mark the painful 
 contrast in her spirits. At home, when not enter- 
 taining company, she was listless or unhappy. 
 How often have I come in upon her, and noticed 
 her moistened eyes." 
 
 " Ah me ! it must be a wrong beginning that 
 makes so sad an ending." 
 
 The truth of the remark, as applicable in this 
 case, struck Mrs. Gray forcibly, and she mused 
 in thoughtful silence for a few moments. 
 
 " Have you heard the news, Judge Gray ?" said 
 a lawyer, addressing the individual he had named, 
 about the same hour that the conversation, just 
 noted, occurred. 
 
 No. What is it ?" 
 
 " Why, Wilton has committed a forgery." 
 
 " no, it cannot be !" said the Judge, in tones 
 of painful surprise. 
 
 " It is too true, I fear, Judge." 
 
 " Is the amount considerable ?" 
 
 " Ten thousand dollars is the sum mentioned."
 
 156 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Has he been arrested ?" 
 
 "No. But the officers are hard after him 
 The newspapers will announce the fact to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Judge Gray leaned his head upon his hand, 
 and, with his eyes cast upon the floor, sat for 
 some moments in painful thought. 
 
 " Poor man 1" he at length said, looking up. 
 " The end has come at last. I have long feared 
 for him. He started wrong in the beginning." 
 
 " I hope they will catch him," remarked the in- 
 dividual he was addressing. 
 
 Judge Gray did not reply, but cast his eyes, 
 again upon the floor. 
 
 " He has lived by gambling these six years," 
 continued the lawyer, " and I suppose he has com- 
 mitted this forgery to pay some ' debt of honor.' 
 "Well, I can't say that I am sorry to be rid of him 
 from this bar, for he was not a pleasant man to 
 be forced into contact with." 
 
 " And yet he was a man of some talents," re- 
 marked the Judge, musingly. 
 
 " And when that is said all is said. Without 
 industry, legal knowledge, or sound principles of 
 action, what was he good for ? He would do for
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 157 
 
 a political stump declaimer but, as a lawyer, in 
 any case of moment, he was not worth a copper." 
 
 And thus saying, the lawyer turned away, and 
 'eft Judge Gray to his own thoughts. 
 
 " I have unpleasant news to tell you, Jane," said 
 Judge Gray, coming into the room where sat his 
 wife, an hour afterwards. 
 
 " What is that, husband ?" asked Mrs. Gray, 
 looking up with a concerned countenance. 
 
 " Why, our old friend Charles Wilton has com- 
 mitted a forgery !" * . 
 
 " Poor Cara ! It will break her heart," Mrs. 
 Gray said in a sad tone. 
 
 " I do not suppose she has much affection for 
 him, Jane." 
 
 " No, but she has a good deal of pride left all, 
 in fact, that sustains her. This last blow, I fear, 
 will be too much for one who has no true strength 
 of character." 
 
 " Would it not be well for you to call in and 
 see her to-morrow ? The papers will all announce 
 the fact in the morning, and t she may need the 
 consolation which a true friend might be able to 
 afford her." 
 
 " I will go, most certainly, much as my natural 
 feelings shrink from the task. Where she is, I
 
 158 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 am sure she has no one to lean upon : for there is 
 not one of her so-called friends, upon whom she 
 feels herself a burden, that can or will sympa- 
 thize with her truly." 
 
 " Go, then. And may mercy's errand find 
 mercy's reward." 
 
 On the next morning all the city papers teem- 
 ed with accounts of the late forgery, and blazon- 
 ed Charles Wilton's name, with many opprobrious 
 epithets before the public. Some went even so 
 far as to allude to his wife, whom they said he 
 had forsaken years before, and who was now, it 
 was alleged, living in poverty, and, some hinted 
 in disgrace and infamy. 
 
 Early in the day, Mrs. Gray repaired to the, 
 cheerless home of her early friend. She was 
 shown to her chamber, where she found her lying 
 insensible on the bed, with one of the newspapers 
 in her hand, that alluded to herself in disgraceful 
 terms. 
 
 Long and patient efforts to restore her, at length 
 produced the desired result. But it was many 
 days before- she seemed distinctly conscious of 
 what was passing or would converse with any de- 
 gree of coherency. 
 
 "Come and spend a few weeks with me, Cara, '
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 159 
 
 Mrs. Gray said to her, one day, on calling in to 
 see her ; " I am sure it will do you good." 
 
 There was a sad, but grateful expression in the 
 pale face of Mrs. Wilton, as she looked into the 
 eye of her old friend, but ventured no reply. 
 
 " You will come, will you not, Cara?" urged 
 Mrs. Gray. 
 
 " My presence in your happy family would be 
 like the shadow of an evil wing," said she bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Our happy family, say rather, would chase 
 away the gloomy shadows that darken your 
 heart. Come then, and we will give you a cheerful 
 welcome." 
 
 " I feel much inclined, and yet I hesitate, for I 
 ought not to throw a gloom over your household," 
 and the tears filled her eyes, and glistened through 
 the lids which were closed suddenly over 
 them. 
 
 " Come, and welcome !" Mrs. Gray urged, tak- 
 ing her hand and gently pressingjt. 
 . That evening Mrs. Wilton spent in the plea- 
 sant family of her old friend. 
 
 Three weeks afterwards, Mrs. Gray asked of 
 her husband, if anything had been heard of Mr 
 Wilton
 
 160 
 
 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Nothing," he replied. " He has escaped all 
 pursuit thus far, nnd the officers, completely at 
 fault, have returned." 
 
 " I cannot say that I am sorry, at least for the 
 sake of his wife. She seems more cheerful since 
 she came here. I feel sometimes as if I should 
 like to offer her a home, for she has none, that 
 might truly be so called." 
 
 " Act up to your kind desire, Jane, if you think 
 it right to do so," said her husband. " Perhaps 
 in no other home open to her could so much be 
 done for her comfort." 
 
 The home was accordingly offered, and tear- 
 fully accepted. 
 
 " Jane," said the sad hearted woman, " I can- 
 not tell you how much I have suffered in the last 
 twenty years. How much from heart- sickening 
 disappointments, and lacerated affections. High 
 hopes and brilliant expectations that made my 
 weak brain giddy to think of, have all ended thus. 
 How weak and foolish how mad we were 1 
 But my husband was not all to blame. I was 
 as insane in my views of life as he. We lived 
 only for ourselves thought and cared only for 
 ourselves and here is the result. How wisely 
 and well did you choose, Jane. Where rny eye
 
 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 161 
 
 saw nothing to admire, yours more skilled, per 
 ceived the virgin ore of truth. I was dazzled by 
 show, while you looked below the surface, and 
 saw true character, and its effect in action. How 
 signally has each of us been rewarded 1" and the 
 heart-stricken creature bowed her head and 
 wept. 
 
 And now, kind reader, if there be one who has 
 followed us thus far, are you disappointed in not 
 meeting some startling denoument, or some effec- 
 tive point in this narrative. I hope not. Natural 
 results have followed, in just order, the adoption 
 of true and false principles of action and thus 
 will they ever follow. Learn, then, a lesson from 
 the history of the two young men and the maid- 
 ens of their choice. Let every young man remem- 
 ber, that all permanent success in life depends 
 upon the adoption of such principles 'of action as 
 are founded in honesty and truth ; and let every 
 young woman take it to heart, that all her mar 
 ried life will be affected by the principles which 
 her husband sets down as rules of action. Let 
 her give no consideration to his brilliant pros- 
 pect, or his brilliant mind, if sound moral prin- 
 ciples do not govern him. 
 
 " But what became of Charles Wilton and his
 
 162 THE TWO HUSBANDS. 
 
 wife ?" I hear a bright-eyed maiden asking, as 
 she turns half impatient from my homily. 
 
 Wilton has escaped justice thus far, and his 
 wife, growing more and more cheerful every day, 
 is still the inmate of Judge Gray's family, and I 
 trust will remain so until the end of her journey- 
 ing here. And what is more, she is learning the 
 secret, that there is more happiness in caring for 
 others, than in being all absorbed in selfish con- 
 sideration. Still, she is a sad wreck upon the 
 stream of life a warning beacon for your eyes, 
 young lady.
 
 VISITING- AS NEIGHBOK6. 
 
 " I see that the house next door has been taken,* 1 
 remarked Mr. Leland to his wife, as they sat 
 alone one pleasant summer evening. 
 
 " Yes. The family moved in to-day," returned 
 Mrs. Leland. 
 
 " Do you know their name ?" 
 
 " It is Halloran." 
 
 " Halloran, Halloran," said Mr. Leland, mus- 
 ingly. " I wonder if it's the same family that 
 lived in Parker Street." 
 
 " Yes, the same ; and I wish they had stayed 
 there.'
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 165 
 
 " Then- moving in next door need not trouble 
 us, Jane. They are not on our list of acquain- 
 tances." 
 
 "But I shall have to call upon Mrs. Halo- 
 ran; and Emma upon her grown-up daughter 
 Mary." 
 
 " I do not see how that is to follow as a con- 
 eequence of their removal into our neighborhood'." 
 
 " Politeness requires us to visit them as neigh- 
 bors." 
 
 " Are they really our neighbors ?" asked Mr. 
 Leland, significantly. 
 
 " Certainly they are. How strange that you 
 should ask the question !" 
 
 " "What constitutes them such ? Not mere prox- 
 imity, certainly. Because a person happens to 
 live in a house near by, can that make him or her 
 really a neighbor, and entitled to the attention 
 and consideration due a neighbor ?" 
 
 This remark caused Mrs. Leland to look 
 thoughtful. " It ought not," she said, after sit- 
 ting silent a little while, " but still, it does." 
 
 " I do not think so. A neighbor that is, one 
 to whom kind offices is due ought to come with 
 higher claims than the mere fact of living in a cer- 
 tain house located near by the dwelling in which
 
 166 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 we reside. If mere location is to make any one a 
 neighbor, we have no protection against the an- 
 noyance and intrusions of persons we do not like ; 
 nay, against evil-minded persons, who would de- 
 light more in doing us injury than good. These 
 Hallorans for instance. They move in good soci- 
 ety ; but they are not persons to our mind. I 
 should not like to see you on terms of intimacy 
 with Mrs. Halloran, or Jane with her daughter. 
 In fact, the latter I should feel, did it exist, to be 
 a calamity." 
 
 " Still they are our neighbors," Mrs. Leland 
 said. " I do not see how we can avoid calling 
 upon them." 
 
 " Perhaps," remarked the husband, " you have 
 not thought seriously enough on the subject. 
 
 " Who is my neighbor ? is a question of im- 
 portance, and ought to be answered in every 
 mind. Something more than living in the same 
 street, or block of houses, is evidently implied in 
 the word neighbor. It clearly involves a reciproc- 
 ity of good feelings. Mere proximity in space 
 cannot effect this. It requires another kind of 
 nearness the nearness of similar affections ; and 
 these must, necessarily, be unselfish ; for in sel- 
 fishness there is no reciprocity. Under this view,
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 167 
 
 could you consider yourself the neighbor of such 
 a person as Mrs. Halloran ?" 
 
 " No matter what the character, we should be 
 kind to all. Every one should be our neighbor, 
 so far as this is concerned. Do you not think so ?' 
 
 " I do not, Jane." 
 
 " Should we not be kind to every one ?" 
 
 " Yes, kind ; but not in the acceptation of the 
 word as you have used it. There is a false, as 
 well as a true kindness. And it often happens 
 that true kindness appears to be any thing but 
 what it really is. In order to be kind to another, 
 we are not always required to exhibit flattering 
 attentions. These often injure where distance 
 and reserve would do good. Besides, they too 
 frequently give power to such as are evil-disposed 
 a power that is exercised injuriously to others." 
 
 " But the simple fact of my calling upon Mrs. 
 Halloran cannot, possibly, give her the power of 
 injuring me or any one else." 
 
 " I think differently. The fact that you have 
 called upon her will be a reason for some others 
 to do the same ; for, you know, there are persons 
 who never act from a distinct sense of right, but 
 merely follow in the wake of others. Thus the 
 influence of a selfish, censorious, evil-minded wo-
 
 163 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 man will be extended. So far as you are con 
 cerned, the danger may be greater than you im- 
 agine. Is Mary Halloran, in your estimation, a 
 fit companion for our daughter ? Could she be- 
 come intimate with her, and not suffer a moral de- 
 terioration ?" 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Are you sure that a call upon Mrs. Hallo- 
 ran will not lead to this result ?" 
 
 " No, I am not sure. Still, I do not apprehend 
 any danger." 
 
 " I should be very much afraid of the experi- 
 ment." 
 
 " But, do you not think, husband, that, apart 
 from all these fears, I am bound to extend to Mrs. 
 Halloran the courtesies due a neighbor ?" 
 
 " I cannot, in the true sense of the word, con- 
 sider her a neighbor ; and, therefore, do not see 
 that you owe her the courtesies to which you al- 
 lude. It is the good in any one that really 
 makes the neighbor. This good should ever be 
 regarded. But, to show attentions, and give em- 
 inence and consideration to an evil-minded person, 
 is to make evil, instead of good, the neighbor. 
 It is to give that power to evil which is ever ex- 
 ercised in injury to others."
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 169 
 
 Mrs. Leland's mind perceived only in a small 
 degree the force of what her husband said. 
 She was not a woman who troubled herself about 
 the characters of those who stood upon a certain 
 level in society. Mrs. Halloran claimed her 
 place from wealth and family connexions, and this 
 place was rather above than below that occupied 
 by Mrs. Leland. The temptation to call upon 
 her was, therefore, pretty strong. It was not so 
 much a regard for her new neighbor, as a desire 
 to make her acquaintance, that influenced her. 
 Acting in opposition to her husband's judgment, 
 in a few days she called upon Mrs. Halloran. 
 
 She found her, to use her own words, a "charm- 
 ing woman." The next move was for the daugh- 
 ter to call upon Mary Halloran. Before the week 
 passed, these calls had been returned. In a month 
 the two families that is, the female members of 
 them had become quite intimate. This intima- 
 cy troubled Mr. Leland. He was a man of pure 
 principles, and could tolerate no deviation from 
 them. Deeply did he regret any association that 
 might tend to weaken the respect for such princi- 
 ples with which he had sought 10 inspire the mind 
 of his daughter. In them he knew lay the power 
 that was to protect her in the world. But he 
 8
 
 170 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 could not interfere, arbitrarily, with his wife ; 
 that he would have considered more dangerous 
 than to let her act in freedom. But he felt con- 
 cerned for the consequence, and frequently urged 
 her not to be too intimate with her new neighbor. 
 
 " Some evil, I am sure, will grow out of it," 
 he would say, whenever allusion was in any way 
 made to the subject of his wife's intimacy with 
 Mrs. Halloran. "No one can touch pitch and 
 not be defiled." 
 
 " I really must blame you," Mrs. Leland replied 
 to a remark like this, " for your blind opposition 
 to Mrs. Halloran. The more I see of her, the 
 better I like her. She is a perfect lady. So 
 kind, so affable, so so" 
 
 Mr. Leland shook his head. 
 
 " The mere gloss of polite society," he returned. 
 " There is no soundness in her heart. We know 
 that, for the tree is judged by its fruit." 
 
 " We have seen no evil fruit," said the wife. 
 
 " Others have, and we know that others have. 
 Her conduct in the case of the Percys is notori- 
 ous." 
 
 " Common report is always exaggerated." 
 
 " Though it usually has some foundation in 
 truth. But granting all the exaggeration and false
 
 t 
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 171 
 
 judgment that usually appertain to common re- 
 port, is it not wiser to act as if common report 
 were true, until we know it to be false ?" 
 
 But it was useless for Mr. Leland to talk. 
 His wife was charmed with the fascinating neigh- 
 bor, and would hear nothing against her. Jane, 
 too, had become intimate with Mary Halloran, a 
 bold-faced girl, who spent half of her time in the 
 street, and talked of little else but beaux and 
 dress. Jane was eighteen, and before her acquain- 
 tance with Mary, had been but h'ttle into compa- 
 ny. Her intimacy with Mary soon put new no- 
 tions into her head. She began to think more of 
 dress, and scarcely a day passed that she did not 
 go out with her very intimate and pleasant friend. 
 Mrs. Leland did not like this. Much as she was 
 pleased Mrs. Halloran, she never fancied the 
 daughter a great deal, and would have been 
 much better satisfied if the two young ladies had 
 not become quite so intimate. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she said to Jane, 
 who came down stairs dressed to go out, one 
 morning. 
 
 " Mary and I are going to make some calls," 
 she replied. 
 
 " You were out making calls, yesterday, with
 
 
 ; 
 
 172 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Mary, and the day before also. This is too great 
 a -waste of time, Jane. I would rather see you 
 at home more." 
 
 " I don't know why you should wish to confine 
 me down to the house. Mary Halloran goes and 
 comes when she pleases." 
 
 " Mary Halloran is in the street a great deal 
 too much. I am far from wishing to see you im- 
 itate her example." 
 
 " But what harm is there in it, mother ?" 
 
 " A great deal, Jane. It gives idle habits, and 
 makes the mind dissatisfied with the more sober 
 duties of life." 
 
 " I am too young for the sober duties of life," 
 said Jane, rather pertly. 
 
 " That is, doubtless, one of your friend Mary's 
 sentiments ; and it is worthy of her." 
 
 This was true, and Jane did not deny it. 
 
 " Go now," said Mrs. Leland, with much sobri- 
 ety of manner. " But remember that I disapprove 
 of this gadding about, and object to its continu- 
 ance. I should be very sorry to have your father 
 know to what extent you are carrying it." 
 
 Jane went out and called for Mary, and the 
 two young ladies made a few calls, and then 
 walked the streets until dinner time ; not, how-
 
 ViSITING AS NEIGHBOK8.' 173 
 
 ever, alone, but accompanied by a dashing young 
 fellow, who had been introduced to Mary a few 
 evenings before, and now made bold to follow up 
 the acquaintance, encouraged by a glance from 
 the young lady's bright, inviting eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Leland, in the mean time, felt unhappy. 
 Her daughter was changing, and the change trou- 
 bled her. The intimacy formed with Mary Hal- 
 loran, it was clear, was doing her no good, but 
 harm. By this time, too, she had noticed some 
 things in the mother that were by no means to 
 her taste. There was a coarseness, vulgarity and 
 want of delicacy about her, that showed itself 
 more and more every day, traits of character par- 
 ticularly offensive to Mrs. Leland, who was a wo- 
 man of refined sentiments. Besides, Mrs. Hallo- 
 ran's conversation involved topics neither interest 
 ing nor instructing to her neighbors ; and often 
 of a decidedly objectionable kind. In fact, she 
 liked her less and less every day, and felt her too 
 frequently repeated visits as an annoyance ; and 
 though " Why don't you come in to see me often- 
 er ?" was repeated almost daily, she did not re- 
 turn more than one out of every half dozen calls 
 she received. 
 
 " I've seen Jane in the street with that Mary
 
 174 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Halloran no less than three times this week," said 
 Mr. Leland, one day,'" and on two of these occa- 
 sions there was a beau accompanying each of the 
 young ladies." 
 
 " She goes out too oiten, I know," returned Mrs. 
 Leland seriously. " I have objected to it several 
 times, but the girl's head seems turned with that 
 Mary Halloran. I do wish she had never known 
 her." 
 
 " So do I, from my heart. We knew what she 
 was, and never should have permitted Jane to 
 make her acquaintance, if it had been in our pow- 
 er to prevent it." 
 
 " It is too late now, and can't be helped." 
 
 " Too late to prevent the acquaintance, but not 
 Loo late to prevent some of the evil consequences 
 likely to grow out of such an improper intimacy, 
 which must cease from the present time." 
 
 " It will be a difficult matter to break it off 
 now." * ,. 
 
 " No matter how difficult it may be, it must be 
 done. The first step toward it you will have to 
 make, in being less intimate with the mother, 
 whom I like less and less the oftener I meet her." 
 
 " That step, so far as I am concerned, has al- 
 ready been taken. I have ceased visiting Mrs.
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 175 
 
 Halloran almost entirely ; but she is here just as 
 often, and sadly annoys me. I dislike her more 
 and more every day." 
 
 " If I saw as much in any one to object to aa 
 you see in Mrs. Halloran, I would soon make vis- 
 iting a thing by no means agreeable. You can 
 easily get rid of her intrusive familiarity if you 
 think proper." 
 
 " Yes, by offending her, and getting the ill-will 
 of a low-minded unprincipled woman; a thing 
 that no one wants." 
 
 " Better offend her than suffer, as we are likely 
 to suffer, from a continuance of the acquaintance. 
 Offend the mother, I say, and thus you get rid of 
 the daughter." 
 
 But Mrs. Leland was not prepared for this step, 
 yet. From having been fascinated by Mrs. Hal- 
 loran, she now began to fear her. 
 
 " I should not like to have her talk of me as she 
 talks of some people whom I think a great deal 
 better than she is." 
 
 " Let her talk. What she says will be no scan- 
 dal," returned Mr. Leland. 
 
 " Even admit that, I don't want to be on bad 
 terms with a neighbor. If she were to remove 
 from the neighborhood, the thing would assume
 
 176 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 a different aspect. As it is, I cannot do as 1 
 please." 
 
 " Can't you indeed ? Then I think we had bet- 
 ter move forthwith, in order that you may be free 
 to act right. There is one thing that I intend do- 
 ing, immediately, in any event, and that is, to for- 
 bid Jane from associating any longer with Mary 
 Halloran." 
 
 " She cannot help herself. Mary calls for her 
 every day." % 
 
 " She can help going out with her and re- 
 turning her calls ; and this she must do." 
 
 " I wish it could be prevented. But I am afraid 
 of harsh measures." 
 
 " I am more afraid of the consequences to our 
 daughter. We know not into what company this 
 indiscreet young lady may introduce, nor how 
 deeply she may corrupt her. Our duty to our 
 child requires us at once to break up all inter- 
 course with the family." 
 
 The necessity Mrs. Leland saw clearly enough, 
 but she hesitated. Her husband, however, was 
 not a man to hold back when his duty was before 
 him. Neither fear nor favor governed him in his 
 actions toward others. When satisfied that a 
 thing ought to be done, he entered fearlessly *-ton
 
 VISITING AS KKiGHBORS. 177 
 
 the work, leaving consequences to take care of 
 themselves. 
 
 While they were yet conversing Jane came to 
 the door, accompanied by a young gallant. Mr, 
 Lelaud happened to be sitting near the window 
 and saw him. 
 
 " Bless my heart 1" he said, in an excited voice, 
 
 " Here she is now, in company with that good- 
 for-nothing son of Mr. Clement. She might almost 
 as well associate with Satan himself." 
 
 " With John Clement ?" asked Mrs. Leland, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " It is too true j and the fellow had the assur- 
 ance to kiss his hand to her. This matter has 
 gone quite far enough now, in all conscience, and 
 must be stopped, if half the world become of- 
 fended." 
 
 Mrs. Leland doubted and hesitated no longer. 
 The young man who had come home with Jane 
 bore a notoriously bad character. It was little 
 less than disgrace, in the eyes of virtuous people, 
 for a lady to be seen in the street with him. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Leland were shocked and distressed at 
 the appearance of things ; and mutually resolved 
 that all intercourse with Mrs. Halloran and her 
 daughter should cease. This could not be effected
 
 178 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 without giving offence; but no matter, offence 
 would have to be given. 
 
 On that very afternoon Mrs. Halloran called in. 
 But Mrs. Leland sent her word that she was en- 
 gaged. 
 
 " Engaged, indeed !" said the lady to the ser- 
 vant, tossing her head. " I'm never engaged to 
 a neighbor." 
 
 The servant repeated the words. 
 
 " Be engaged again, if she calls," said Mr. Le- 
 land, when his wife mentioned the remark of her 
 visitor. "It will raise an effectual barrier be- 
 tween you." 
 
 Some serious conversation was had with Jane 
 that day by her mother, but Jane was by no 
 means submissive. 
 
 " Your father positively forbids any farther in- 
 timacy between you and Mary Halloran. I shall 
 have nothing more to do with her mother." 
 
 Jane met this declaration with a passionate 
 gush of tears, and an intimation that she was not 
 prepared to sacrifice the friendship of Mary, 
 whom she believed to be quite as good as herself. 
 
 " It must be done, Jane. Your father has the 
 best of reasons for desiring it, and I hope you will 
 not think for a moment of opposing his wishes."
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 179 
 
 " lie doesn't know Mary as I know her. His 
 prejudices have no foundation in truth," said 
 Jana 
 
 " No matter how pure she may be," replied the 
 mother, " she has already introduced you into bad 
 company. A virtuous young lady should blush 
 to be seen in the street with the man who came 
 home with you to-day." 
 
 " "Who, Mr. Clement ?" inquired Jane. 
 
 " Yes, John Clement. His bad conduct is so 
 notorious as to exclude him entirely from the fam- 
 ilies of many persons, who have the independence 
 to mark with just reprehension his evil deeds. It 
 grieves me to think that you were not instinctively 
 repelled by him the moment he approached you." 
 
 Jane's manner changed at these words. But 
 the change did not clearly indicate to her mother 
 what was passing in her mind. From that mo- 
 ment she met with silence nearly every thing that 
 her mother said. 
 
 Early on the next day Mary Halloran called 
 for Jane, as she was regularly in the habit of do- 
 ing. Mrs. Leland purposely met her at the door, 
 and when she inquired for Jane, asked her, with 
 an air of cold politeness, to excuse her daughter, 
 as she was engaged.
 
 180 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 "Not engaged to me," said Mary, evincing 
 surprise. 
 
 " You must excuse her, Miss Halloran ; she is 
 engaged this morning," returned the mother, with 
 as much distance and formality as at first. 
 
 Mary Hallorau turned away, evidently of- 
 fended. 
 
 " Ah me 1" sighed Mrs. Leland, as she closed 
 the door upon the giddy young girl ; " how much 
 trouble has my indiscreetness cost me. My hus- 
 band was right, and I felt that he was right , but, 
 in the face of his better judgment, I sought the 
 acquaintance of this woman, and now, where the 
 consequences are to end, heaven only knows." 
 
 "Was that Mary Halloran?" inquired Jane, 
 who came down stairs as her mother returned 
 along the passage. 
 
 " It was," replied the mother. 
 
 " Why did she go away ?" 
 
 " I told her you were engaged." 
 
 " Why, mother 1" Jane seemed greatly dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " It is your father's wish as well as mine," said 
 Mrs. Leland calmly, "that all intercourse between 
 you and this young lady cease, and for reasons 
 that I have tried to explain to you. She is one
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 181 
 
 whose company you cannot keep without in- 
 jury." 
 
 Jane answered with tears, and retired to her 
 chamber, where she wrote a long and tender let- 
 ter to Mary, explaining her position. This letter 
 she got the chambermaid to deliver, and bribed 
 her to secrecy Mary replied, in an epistle full 
 of sympathy "for her unhappy condition, and full 
 of indignation at the harsh judgment of her pa- 
 rents in regard to herself. The letter contained 
 various suggestions in regard to the manner in 
 which Jane ought to conduct herself, none of 
 them at all favorable to submission and concluded 
 with warm attestations of friendship. 
 
 From that time an active correspondence took 
 place between the young ladies, and occasional 
 meetings at times when the parents of Jane sup- 
 posed her to be at the houses of some of their 
 friends. 
 
 As for Mrs. Halloran, she was seriously offend- 
 ed at the sudden repulse both she and her daugh- 
 ter had met, and spared no pains, and let no op- 
 portunity go unimproved, for saying hard things 
 of Mrs. Leland and her family. Even while Mary 
 was carrying on a tender and confidential corres 
 pondence with Jane, she was hinting disreputable
 
 182 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 things against the thoughtless girl, and doing hei 
 a serious injury. 
 
 The first intimation that the parents had of any 
 thing being wrong, was the fact that two very esti- 
 mable ladies, for whom they had a high respect, 
 and with whose daughters Jane was on terms of 
 intimacy, twice gave Jane the same answer that 
 Mrs. Leland had given Mary Halloran ; thus vir- 
 tually saying to her that they did not wish her to 
 visit their daughters. Both Mr. and Mrs. Leland, 
 when Jane mentioned these occurrences, left trou- 
 bled. Not long after, a large party was given 
 by one of the ladies, but no invitations were sent 
 to either Mr. or Mrs. Leland, or their daughter. 
 This was felt to be an intended omission. 
 
 After long and serious reflection on the subject, 
 Mrs. Leland felt it to be her duty, as a parent, to 
 see this lady, and frankly ask the reason of her 
 conduct towards Jane, as well as toward her and 
 her husband. She felt called upon to do this, 
 in order to ascertain if there were not some 
 things injurious to her daughter in common re- 
 port. The lady seemed embarrassed on meeting 
 Mrs. Leland, but the latter, without any excite- 
 ment, or the appearance of being in the least of
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 183 
 
 fended, spoke of what had occurred, and then 
 said 
 
 " Now, there must be a reason for this. Will 
 you honestly tell me what it is ?" 
 
 The lady seemed confused and hesitated. 
 
 " Do not fear to speak plainly, my dear mad- 
 am. Tell me the whole truth. There is some- 
 thing wrong, and I ought to know it. Put your- 
 self in my place, and you will not long hesitate 
 what to do." 
 
 " It is a delicate and painful subject for me to 
 speak of to you, Mrs. Leland." 
 
 " No matter. Speak out without disguise." 
 
 After some reflection, the lady said 
 
 " I have daughters, and ant tremblingly alive 
 to their good. I feel it to be my duty to protect 
 them from all associations likely to do them an 
 injury. Am I not right in this ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly." I 
 
 " There is one young man in this city whose 
 very name should shockj;he ear of innocence and 
 purity. I mean Clement." 
 
 " You cannot think worse of him than I do." 
 
 " And yet, I am told, Mrs. Leland, that your 
 daughter may be seen on the street with him al-
 
 184 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS, 
 
 most every day ; and not only on the streeet, but at 
 balls, concerts, and the theatre." 
 
 " "Who says so ?" 
 
 " I have heard it from several," replied the lady 
 speaking slower and more thoughtfully. " Mrs. 
 Halloran mentioned it to the person who first told 
 me ; and, since then, I have frequently heard it 
 spoken of." 
 
 In answer to this, Mrs. Leland related the 
 whole history of her intercourse with Mrs. Hal- 
 loran, and the cause of its interruption. She then 
 said 
 
 " Once, only, are we aware of our daughter's 
 having met this young man. Since then, she has 
 gone out but rarely, and has not been from home 
 a single evening, unless in our company ; so that 
 the broad charge of association with Clement is 
 unfounded, and has had its origin in a malignant 
 spirit." 
 
 " I understand it all, now, clearly," replied the 
 lady. " Mrs. Halloran is a woman of no princi- 
 ple. You have deeply offended her, and she takes 
 this method of being revenged." 
 
 " That is the simple truth. I was urged by my 
 husband not to call upon her when she moved in
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 185 
 
 our square, but I felt it to be only right to visit 
 her as a neighbor." 
 
 " A woman like Mrs. Halloran is not to be re- 
 garded as a neighbor," replied the lady. 
 
 " So my husband argued, but I was blind 
 enough to think differently, and to act as I 
 thought. Dearly enough am I paying for my 
 folly. Where the consequences will end is more 
 than I can tell." 
 
 " We may be able to counteract them to a cer- 
 tain extent," said the lady. " Understanding as 
 I now do, clearly, your position toward Mrs. Hal- 
 loran, I will be able to neutralize a great deal 
 that she says. But I am afraid your daughter 
 is misleading you in some things, and giving color 
 to what is said of her." 
 
 " How so ?" asked Mrs. Leland in surprise. 
 
 " Was she out yesterday ?" 
 
 "Yes. She went to see her cousins in the 
 morning." 
 
 " One of my daughters says she met her in the 
 street, in company with the very individual of 
 whom we are speaking." 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 " My daughter says she is not mistaken," re 
 turned the lady.
 
 186 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Mrs. Leland's distress of mind, as to this intel- 
 ligence, may be imagined. On returning home 
 she found that Jane had gone out during her ab- 
 sence. She went up into her daughter's room, 
 and found a note addressed to J ane lying upon 
 her table. After some reflection, she felt it to be 
 her duty to open the note, which she did. It was 
 from Mary Halloran, and in these words : 
 
 " MY SWEET FRIEND, I saw Mr. Clement last 
 night at the opera. He had a great deal to say 
 about you, and uttered many flattering compli- 
 ments on your beauty. He says that he would 
 like to meet you to-morrow evening, and will be 
 at the corner of Eighth and Pine streets at half 
 past seven o'clock. Can you get away at that 
 time, without exciting suspicion ? If you can, 
 don't fail to meet him, as he is very desirous that 
 you should do so. I was delighted with the opera, 
 and wished a hundred times that you were with 
 ine to enjoy it. Yours, forever, 
 
 MARY." 
 
 Mrs. Lei and clasped her hands together, and 
 leaned forward upon the bureau near which she 
 had been standing, scarcely able to sustain her 
 own weight. It was many minutes before she
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 187 
 
 could think clearly. After much reflection, she 
 thought it best not to say anything to Jane about 
 the note. This course was approved by Mr. Le- 
 land, who believed with his wife, that it was bet- 
 ter that Jane should be kept in ignorance of ita 
 contents, at least until the time mentioned for her 
 joining Clement had passed. Both the parents 
 were deeply troubled ; and bitterly did Mrs. Le 
 land repent her folly in making the acquaintance 
 of their new neighbor, simply because she was a 
 neighbor according to proximity. 
 
 It was after seven o'clock when the tea bell 
 rang that evening. Mr. and Mrs. Leland de- 
 scended to the dining-room, and took their places 
 at the table. 
 
 " Where is Jane ?" asked Mrs. Leland, after 
 they had been seated a few moments. 
 
 "'She went out five, or ten minutes ago," replied 
 the waiter. 
 
 Both the mother and father started, with excla 
 mations of surprise and~ alarm, from the table 
 Mr. Leland seized his hat and cane, and rushing 
 from the house, ran at full speed toward the place 
 which Clement had appointed for a meeting with 
 his daughter. He arrived in time to see a lady 
 hastily enter a carriage, followed by a man. The
 
 188 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 carnage drove off rapidly. A cab was passing 
 near him at the time, to the driver of which he 
 called in an excited voice. 
 
 " Do you see that carriage ?" Mr. Leland said 
 eagerly, as the man reined up his horse. " Keep 
 within sight of it until it stops, and I will give 
 you ten dollars." 
 
 " Jump in," returned the driver. " I'll keep in 
 sight." 
 
 For nearly a quarter of an hour the wheels of 
 the cab rattled in the ears of Mr. Leland. It then 
 stopped, and the anxious father sprang out upon 
 the pavement. The carriage had drawn up a little 
 in advance, and a lady was descending from it, 
 assisted by a man. Mr. Leland knew the form of 
 Tiis daughter. Ere the young lady and her attend- 
 ant could cross the pavement, he had confronted 
 them. Angry beyond the power of control, he 
 seized the arm of Jane with one hand, and, as he 
 drew away from her companion, knocked hirn 
 down with a tremendous blow from the cane 
 which he held in the other. Then dragging, or 
 rather carrying, his frightened daughter to the 
 cab, thrust her in, and, as he followed after, gave 
 the driver the direction of his house, and ordered 
 him to go there at the quickest speed. Jane either
 
 VISITING AS NEIGHBORS. 189 
 
 was, or affected to be, unconscious, when she ar- 
 rived at home. 
 
 Two days after, this paragraph appeared in one 
 of the daily papers. 
 
 " SAVED FROM THE BRINK OF RUIN. A young 
 man of notoriously bad characfer, yet connected 
 with one of our first families, recently attempted 
 to draw aside from virtue an innocent but thought- 
 less and unsuspecting girl, the daughter of a re- 
 spectable citizen. He appointed a meeting with 
 her in the street at night, and she was mad enough 
 to join him at the hour mentioned, fortunately 
 it happened that the father, by some means, re- 
 ceived intelligence of what was going on, and hur- 
 ried to the place. He arrived in time to see them en- 
 ter a carriage and drive off. He followed in an- 
 other carriage, and when they stopped before 
 a hou&e, well known to be one of evil repute, he 
 confronted them on the pavement, knocked the 
 young villain down, and carried his daughter off 
 home. We forbear to mention names, as it would 
 do harm, rather than good, the young lady being 
 innocont of any evil intent, and unsuspicious of 
 wrong in her companion. We hope it will prove
 
 190 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 a lesson that she will never forget. She made a 
 most fortunate escape." 
 
 When Jane Leland was shown this paragraph, 
 she shuddered and turned pale ; and the shudder 
 went deeper, and her cheek became still paler, a 
 few weeks later when the sad intelligence came 
 that Mary Halloran had fallen into the same 
 snare that had been laid for her feet ; a willing 
 victim too many believed, for she was not igno- 
 rant of Clement's real character. 
 
 By sad experience Mrs. Leland was taught 
 the folly of any weak departure from what is clear- 
 ly seen to be a right course of action; and she un- 
 derstood, better than she had ever done before, 
 the oft-repeated remark of her husband that " only 
 those whose principles and conduct we approve 
 are to be considered, in any true sense, neigh- 
 bors."
 
 NOT AT HOME. 
 
 JONAS BEBEE has one merit, if he possesses no 
 other, and that is, the merit of being able to make 
 himself completely at home with all his friends, 
 male or female, high or low, rich or poor, under 
 any and all circumstances. His good opinion of 
 himself leaves no room for his imagination to con- 
 ceive the idea, that possibly there may be, in his 
 character, certain peculiarities not agreeable to 
 all. It never occurs to him, that he may chance 
 to make a malapropos visit, nor that the prolon- 
 gation of a call may be a serious annoyance ; for 
 he is so entirely satisfied with himself that he is
 
 192 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. . 
 
 sure every one else must feel his presence as a 
 kind of sunshine. 
 
 Of course, such being the character of Mr. Jo- 
 nas Bebee, it may readily be inferred that he is 
 very likely to commit an occasional mistake, and 
 blunder, though unconsciously, into the commis- 
 sion of acts most terribly annoying to others. His 
 evening calls upon ladies generally produce a 
 marked effect upon those specially selected for the 
 favor. The character of the effect will appear in 
 the following little scene, which we briefly sketch- 
 " Gentleman in the parlor," says a servant 
 coming into a room where two or three young la 
 dies sit sewing or reading. 
 
 " Who is he ?" is the natural inquiry. 
 "Mr. Bebee. ;i 
 " Goodness !" 
 
 " Say we are not at home, Kitty." 
 No no, Kitty, you mustn't say that," inter- 
 poses one. " Tell him the ladies will be down in 
 a little while." 
 
 Kitty accordingly retires. 
 " I'm not going down," says one, more self 
 willed and independent than the rest. 
 
 " You've as much right to be annoyed with him 
 as we have," is replied to this.
 
 NOT AT HOME. 193 
 
 ' I don't care." 
 
 " I wish he'd stay away from here. Nobody 
 wants nim." 
 
 " He's after you, Aggy." 
 
 " After me !" replied Agnes. " Goodness Knows 
 I don't want him. I hate the very sight of him !" 
 
 " It's no use fretting ourselves over the annoy- 
 ance, we've got to endure it," says one of the 
 young ladies. " So, come, let's put on the best 
 face possible." 
 
 " You can go, Cara, if you choose, but I'm in 
 no hurry ; nor will he be in any haste to go. Say 
 to him that I' 11 bp along in the course of half an 
 hour." 
 
 " No, you must all make your own apologies." 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Bebee patiently awaits 
 the arrival of the ladies, who make their appear- 
 ance, one after the other, some time during the 
 next half hour. He cornplimeniathem, asks them 
 to sing and play, and jf">ds the conversation until 
 towards eleven o'clock, when he retires in the 
 best possible humor with himself and the inter- 
 esting young ladies favored with his presence. 
 He has hot even a distant suspicion of the real 
 truth, that his visit was considered an almost un- 
 endurable infliction. 
 9
 
 194 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Mr. Bebee's morning calls are often more un- 
 welcome. He walks in, as a matter of cpurse, 
 takes his seat in the parlor, and sends up his 
 name by the servant. If told that the lady is not 
 at home, a suspicion that it may not be so does 
 not cross his mind ; for he cannot imagine it pos- 
 sible that any one would make such an excuse in 
 order to avoid seeing him. Should the lady not 
 be willing to utter an untruth, nor feel indepen- 
 dent enough to send word that she is engaged, an 
 hour's waste of time, at least, must be her penal- 
 ty; for Mr. Bebee's morning calls are never of 
 shorter duration. He knows, as well as any one, 
 that visits of politeness should be brief; but he is 
 on such familiar terms with all his friends, that 
 he can waive all ceremony and he generally does 
 so, making himself " at home," as he says, 
 wherever he goes. 
 
 One day Mr. Jonas Bebee recollected that he 
 had not called upon a certain Mrs. Fairview, for 
 some weeks; and as the lady was, like most of 
 his acquaintances, a particular friend, he felt that 
 he was neglecting her. So he started forth to 
 make her a call. 
 
 It was Saturday, and Mrs. Fairview, after hav- 
 ing been, for the greater part of the morning, in
 
 NOT AT HOME. 195 
 
 the kitchen making cake, came up to the parlor 
 to dust and re-arrange some of the articles there 
 a little more to her liking. Her hair was in pa- 
 pers, and her morning wrapper not in a very ele- 
 gant condition, having suffered a little during the 
 cake-making process. It was twelve o'clock, and 
 Mrs. Fairview was about leaving the parlor, when 
 some one rung the bell. Gliding noiselessly to 
 the window, she obtained a view of Mr. Bebee. 
 
 " 0, dear 1" she sighed, " am I to have this in 
 fliction to-day ? But it's no use ; I won't see 
 him 1 
 
 By this time the servant was moving along the 
 passage towards the door. 
 
 " Hannah !" called the lady, in a whisper, beck 
 oning at the same time with her hand. 
 
 Hannah came into the parlor. 
 
 " Say I'm not at home, Hannah." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied the girl, who proceeded 
 on towards the street door, while Mrs. Fairview 
 remained in the parlor^-. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Fairview in ?" the latter heard the 
 visitor ask. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Hanuah. 
 
 " Not in ?" 
 
 t; JSo, sir. She's gone out."
 
 196 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 By this time Mr. Bebee stood within the ves- 
 tibule. 
 
 " 0, well; I reckon I'll just drop in and wait 
 awhile. No doubt she'll be home, soon." 
 
 " I don't think she will return before two 
 o'clock," said Hannah, knowing that her mis- 
 tress, looking more like a scare- crow than a gen- 
 teel lady, was still in the parlor, and seeing that 
 the visiter was disposed to pass her by and make 
 himself a temporary occupant of the same room. 
 
 " No matter," returned the gentleman, " I'll 
 just step in for a little while and enjoy myself by 
 the parlor fire. It's a bitter cold day perhaps 
 she will be home sooner." 
 
 " 0, no, sir. She told me that she would not 
 come back until dinner-time," said the anxious 
 Hannah, who fully appreciated the dilemma in 
 which her mistress would find herself, should Mr. 
 Bebee make his way into the parlor. 
 
 " It's no consequence. You can just say to 
 her, if she does not return while I am here, that 
 I called and made myself at home for half an 
 hour or so." And with this, Mr. Bebee passed 
 by the girl, and made his way towards the parlor. 
 
 In despair, Hannah ran back U, iioi pi ace in 
 the kitchen, wondering what her mistress would
 
 NOT AT HOME. 197 
 
 say or do when Mr. Bebee found that she was at 
 home and, moreover, in such a plight ! 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Fairview, who had been 
 eagerly listening to what passed between Hannah 
 and the visiter, finding that he was about invad- 
 ing her parlor, and seeing no way of escape, re- 
 treated into a little room, or office, built off from 
 and communicating only with the parlor. As 
 she entered this room and shut the door, the cold 
 air penetrated her garments and sent a chill 
 through her frame. There was no carpet on the 
 floor of this little box of a place, and it contained 
 neither sofa, chair, nor anything else to sit upon. 
 Moreover, it had but a single door, and that one 
 led into the parlor. Escape, therefore, was cut 
 off, entirely ; and to remain long where she was 
 could not be done except at the risk of taking a 
 severe cold. 
 
 Through the openings in a Venitian blind that 
 was hung against the glass door, Mrs. Fairview 
 saw the self-satisfied Mr. Bebee draw up the large 
 cushioned chair before the grate, and with a boo& 
 in his hand, seat himself comfortably and begin 
 to make himself entirely " at home." The pros- 
 pect was, that he would thus remain " at home," 
 for at least the next half hour, if not longer
 
 198 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 "What was she to do ? The thermometer was al- 
 ; most down to zero, and she was dressed for a 
 temperature of seventy. 
 
 " I shall catch my death a cold," she sighed, 
 as the chilly air penetrated her garments, and 
 sent a shudder through her frame. 
 
 Comfortably, and as much at home as if he 
 were in his own parlor, sat Mr. Bebee in front of 
 the roaring grate, rocking himself in the great 
 arm-chair, and enjoying a new book which he had 
 found upon the table. 
 
 As Mrs. Fairview looked at him, and saw the 
 complete repose and satisfaction of his manner, 
 she began to feel in utter despair. Already her 
 teeth were beginning to chatter, and she was 
 shivering as if attacked by a fit of ague. Five, 
 ten, fifteen, twenty minutes elapsed but there 
 sat the visitor, deeply absorbed in his book ; and 
 there stood the unfortunate lady who was " not 
 at home," so benumbed with cold as almost to 
 have lost the sense of bodily feeling. A certain 
 feeling in the throat warned her that she was 
 taking cold, and would, in all probability, suffer 
 from inflammation of the windpipe and chest. 
 Five, ten, fifteen minutes more went by ; but Mr
 
 NOT AT HOME. 199 
 
 Beebe did not move from his place. He was far 
 too comfortable to think of that. 
 
 At last after remaining in prison for nearly an 
 hour, Mrs. Fairview, who by this time was be- 
 ginning to sufler, besides excessive fatigue, from 
 a sharp pain through her breast to her left shoul- 
 der blade, and who was painfully aware that she 
 had taken a cold that would, in all probability, 
 put her in bed for a week, determined to make 
 her escape at all hazards. Mr. Beebe showed no 
 disposition to go, and might remain for an hour 
 longer. Throwing an apron over her head and 
 face, she softly opened the door, and gliding past 
 her visitor, escaped into the hall, and ran panting 
 up stairs. Mr. Beebe raised his head at this un- 
 expected invasion of the parlor, but on reflection 
 concluded that the person who so suddenly ap- 
 peared and disappeared was merely a servant in 
 the family. 
 
 About an hour afterwards, finding that Mrs. 
 Fairview did not return, Mr. Beebe left his card 
 on the table, and departed in his usual comforta 
 ble state of mind. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Fairview paid dearly for her part in 
 this transaction. A severe attack of inflammation 
 of the lungs followed, which came near resulting
 
 200 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 in death. It was nearly three weeks before she 
 was able to leave her room, and then her physician 
 said she must not venture out before the mild 
 weather of the opening spring. 
 
 A few days after the lady was able to go about 
 the house again, Mr. Bebee called to congratulate 
 her on her recovery. Two of her children were 
 in the parlor ; one eleven years old, and the other 
 a child in her fourth year. 
 
 " 0, you naughty man, you !" exclaimed the 
 latter, the moment she saw Mr. Bebee. The old- 
 est of the two children, who understood in a mo- 
 ment what her little sister meant, whispered : 
 
 " H-u-s-h ! h-u-s-h ! Mary !" 
 
 " What am I naughty about, my little sis ?" 
 said Mr. Bebee. 
 
 " O, because you are a naughty man ! You 
 made my mother sick, so you did ! And mother 
 says she never wants to look in your face again. 
 You are a naughty man !" 
 
 " Mary ! Mary ! Hush ! hush !" exclaimed the 
 elder sister, trying to stop the child. 
 
 " Made your mother sick ?" said Mr. Bebee. 
 How did I do that ?" 
 
 " "Why, you shut her up in that little room there,
 
 NOT AT HOME. 20 i 
 
 9 
 
 all in the cold, when you were here and staid so 
 long, one day. And it made her sick so it did." 
 
 " Shut her up in that room ! what does the 
 child mean ?" said Mr. Bebee, speaking to the 
 elder sister. 
 
 " Mary ! Mary ! I'm ashamed of you. Come 
 away !" was the only response made to this. 
 
 Mr. Bebee was puzzled. He asked himself as 
 to the meaning of this strange language. All at 
 once, he remembered that after he had been sit' 
 ting in the parlor for an hour, on the occasion re- 
 ferred to, some one had come out of the little room 
 referred to by the child, -and swept past him al- 
 most as quick as a flash. But it had never once 
 occurred to him that this was the lady he had 
 called to visit, who, according to the servant, was 
 not at home. 
 
 " I didn't* shut your mother up in that room, 
 Mary," said he, to the child. 
 
 " 0, but you did. And she got cold, and al- 
 most died." 
 
 At this the elder sister, finding that she could 
 do nothing with little Mary, escaped from the 
 parlor, and running up stairs, made a report to her 
 mother of what was going on below. 
 
 9*
 
 202 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 % 
 
 " Mercy !" exclaimed the lady, in painful sur. 
 prise. 
 
 " She told him that you said you never wanted 
 to look upon his face again," said the little girl. 
 
 " She did !" 
 
 " Yes. And she is telling him a great deal 
 more. I tried my best to make her stop, but 
 couldn't." 
 
 " Eachel ! Go down and bring that child out 
 of the parlor 1" said Mrs. Fairview, to a servant. 
 " It is too bad ! I had no idea that the little witch 
 knew anything about it. So much for talking 
 before children !" 
 
 " And so much for not being at home when 
 you are," remarked a sister of Mrs. Fairview, 
 who happened to be present 
 
 " So much for having an acquaintance who 
 makes himself at home in your house, whether you 
 vant him or not." 
 
 " No doubt you are both sufficiently well pun- 
 ished." 
 
 " I have been, I know." 
 
 The heavy jar of the street door was heard at 
 this moment. 
 
 " He's gone, I do believe !" 
 
 And so it proved. What else little Mary said
 
 VISITING AB NEIGHBORS. 203 
 
 to him was never known, as the violent scolding 
 she received when her mother got hold of her, 
 sealed her lips on the subject, or drove all im- 
 pressions relating thereto from her memory. 
 Mr Bebee never called again 

 
 THE FATAL EEBOE 
 
 " CLINTON !" said Margaret Hubert, with a look 
 of supreme contempt. " Don't speak of him to 
 me, Lizzy. His very name is an offence to my 
 ears !" and the lady's whole manner became dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " He will be at the ball to-night, of course, and 
 will renew his attentions," said the friend, in an 
 earnest, yet quiet voice. " Now, for all your ex- 
 pressions of dislike, I have thought that you 
 were really far from being indifferent to Mr. 
 Clinton, and affected a repugnance at variance - 1 
 with your true feelings."
 
 THE FATAL ERROR. 
 
 205 
 
 " Lizzy, you will offend me if you make use of 
 such language. I tell you he is hateful to me," 
 replied Miss Hubert. 
 
 " Of course, you ought to know your own state 
 of mind best," said Lizzy Edgar. " If it is really 
 as you say, I must confess that my observation 
 has not been accurate. As to ther^Aeing any- 
 thing in Mr. Clinton to inspire an Wnotion of 
 contempt, or create so strong a dislike as you ex. 
 press, I have yet to see it. To me he has ever 
 appeared in the light of a gentleman." 
 
 " Then suppose you make yourself agreeable 
 to him, Lizzy," said Miss Hubert. 
 
 " I try to make myself agreeable to every one," 
 replied the even-minde/l girl. " That is a duty I 
 owe to those with whom I associate." 
 
 " "Whether you like them or not ?" 
 
 " It doesn't follow, because I do not happen to 
 like a person, that I should render myself dis- 
 agreeable to him." 
 
 " I never tolerate people that I don't like," said 
 Miss Hubert. 
 
 " "We needn't associate too intimately with 
 those who are disagreeable to us," returned her 
 friend ; " but when we are thrown together in 
 society, the least we can do is to be civil."
 
 206 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " You may be able to disguise your real feelings, 
 but I cannot. Whatever emotion passes over my 
 mind is seen in my face and discovered in my tone 
 of voice. All who know me see me as I am." 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding this affirmation, Mar- 
 garet Hubert did not, at all times, display her real 
 feelings. -*A.nd her ^riend Lizzy Edgar was right 
 in assuiiflfe,tliat she was by no means indifferent 
 to Mr. Clinton. The appearance of dislike was 
 assumed as 'a. mask, and the distance and reserve 
 she displayed towards him were the offspring of a 
 false pride and unwomanly self-esteem. The truth 
 was, her heart had, almost unsought, been won. 
 The manly bearing, personal grace and brilliant 
 mind of Philip Clinton, had captivated her feelings 
 and awakened an emotion of love ere she was 
 conscious that her heart was in danger. And she 
 had even leaned towards him instinctively, and so 
 apparently that the young man observed it, and 
 * was attracted thereby. The moment, however, 
 he became at all marked in his attentions, the 
 *%hole manner of Margaret changed. She was 
 then aware of the rashness she had displayed, and 
 her pride instantly took the alarm. Reserve, dig- 
 nity, and even hauteur, characterized her bearing 
 towards Clinton ; and to those who spoke of him
 
 THE FATAL ERROR. 207 
 
 as a lover, she replied in terras nearly similar to 
 what she used to her friend Lizzy Edgar, on the 
 occasion to which reference has just been made. 
 
 All this evidenced weakness of mind as well as 
 pride. She wished to be sought before she was 
 won at least, that, was the language she used to 
 herself. Her lover must come, like a knight of 
 old, and sue on bended knee for favor. 
 
 Clinton observed the marked change in her man- 
 ner. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he was 
 not so deeply in love as to be very seriously dis- 
 tressed. He had admired her beauty, her accom- 
 plishments, and the winning grace of her manners ; 
 and more, had felt his heart beginning to warm to- 
 wards her. But the charm with which she had 
 been invested, faded away the moment the change 
 of which we have spoken became apparent. He 
 was not a man of strong, ungovernable impulses ; 
 all his passions were under the control of right 
 reason, and this gave him a clear judgment. Con- 
 sequently, he was the last person in the world for 
 an experiment such as Margaret Hubert was ma- 
 king. At first he thought there must be some 
 mistake, and continued to offer the young lady 
 polite attentions, coldly and distantly as they were 
 received. He even went farther than his real
 
 208 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 feelings bore him out in going, and made partic- 
 ular advances, in order to be perfectly satisfied 
 that there was no mistake about her dislike or re- 
 pugnance. 
 
 But there was one thing which at first Clinton 
 did not understand. It was this. Frequently, 
 when in company where Margaret was present, he 
 would, * he turned his eyes suddenly upon her, 
 find that she was looking at him with an expression 
 which told him plainly that he was not indifferent 
 to her. This occurred so often, and was so fre- 
 quently attended with evident confusion on her 
 part, that he began to have a suspicion of the real 
 truth, and to feel disgust at so marked an exhibi- 
 tion of insincerity. Besides, the thought of be- 
 ing experimented upon in this way, did not in the 
 least tend to soften his feelings towards the fair 
 one. He believed in frankness, honesty and re- 
 ciprocal sincerity. He liked a truthful, ingenuous 
 mind, and turned instinctively from all artifice, co- 
 quetry or affectation. 
 
 The game which Miss Hubert was playing had 
 been in progress only a short time, when her 
 friend Lizzy Edgar, who was on terms of close in- 
 timacy, spent the day with her, occupying most 
 of the time in preparation for a fancy ball that was
 
 THE FATAL ERROR. 209 
 
 to come off that night. The two young ladies at- 
 tired themselves with much care, each with a 
 view to effect. Margaret looked particularly to 
 the assumption of a certain dignity, and her cos- 
 tume for the evening had been chosen with that 
 end in view. A ruff, and her grand-mother's rich 
 silk brocade, did give to her tall person all the 
 dignity she could have desired. 
 
 At the proper time the father of Miss Hubert 
 accompanied the young ladies to the ball, pre- 
 parations for which had for some time been in pro- 
 gress. As soon almost as Margaret entered the 
 room, her eyes began to wander about in search 
 of Mr. Clinton. It was not long before she dis- 
 covered him nor long before his eyes rested upon 
 and recognized her stately figure. 
 
 " If she be playing a part, as I more than half 
 suspect," said the young man to himself, " her 
 performance will end to-night, so far as I am con- 
 cerned." 
 
 And with the remark, he moved towards that 
 part of the room where the two young ladies were 
 standing. Lizzy returned his salutations with a 
 frank and easy grace, but Margaret drew herself 
 up coldly, and replied to his remarks with brief 
 formality. Clinton remained with them only long
 
 210 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 enough to pass a few compliments, and then mov 
 ed away and mingled with the crowd in another 
 part of the large saloon, where the gay company 
 were assembled. During the next hour, he took 
 occasion now and then to search out Margaret in 
 the crowd, and more than once he found that her 
 eyes were upon him. 
 
 " Once more," he said, crossing the room and 
 going up to where she was leaning upon the arm 
 of an acquaintance. 
 
 " May I have the pleasure of dancing with you 
 in the next set ?" 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied Margaret, with un- 
 bending dignity ; " I am already engaged." 
 
 Clinton bowed and turned away. The fate of 
 the maiden was sealed. She had carried her ex- 
 periment too far. As the young man moved 
 across the room, he saw Lizzy Edgar sitting 
 alone, her face lit up with interest as she noted 
 the various costumes, and observed the ever-form 
 ing and dissolving tableaux that filled the saloon, 
 and presented to the eye a living kaleidoscope. 
 
 " Alone," he said, pausing before the warm- 
 hearted, even tempered girl. 
 
 " One cannot be alone here," she replied, with 
 a sweet smile irradiating her countenance. " What
 
 THE FATAL ERROR. 211 
 
 a fairy scene it is," she added, as her eyes wan- 
 dered from the face of Clinton and again fell upon 
 the brilliant groups around them. 
 
 " Have you danced this evening ?" asked Clin- 
 ton. 
 
 " In one set," answered Lizzy. 
 
 " Are you engaged for the next in which you 
 may feel disposed to take the floor ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then may I claim you for my partner ?" 
 
 " If it is your pleasure to do so," replied Lizzy 
 smiling. 
 
 In a cotillion formed soon afterward in that part 
 of the room, were Margaret Hubert and her 
 sweet friend Lizzy Edgar. Margaret had a 
 warmer color on her cheeks than usual, and her 
 dignity towered up into an air of haughtiness, all 
 of which Clinton observed. Its effect was to make 
 his heart cold towards her, instead of awakening 
 an ardent desire to win a proud and distant 
 beauty. 
 
 In vain did Margaret look for the young man 
 to press forward, the moment the cotillion was 
 dissolved, and claim her for the next. He lin- 
 gered by the side of Miss Edgar, more charmed 
 with her than he had ever been, until some one
 
 212 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 else came and engaged the hand of Miss Hubert 
 The disappointed and unhappy girl now unbent 
 herself from the cold dignity that had marked her 
 bearing since her entrance into the ball-room, and 
 sought to win him to her side by the flashing 
 brilliancy of her manners ; but her efforts were 
 unavailing. Clinton had felt th sweeter, purer, 
 stronger attractions of one free from all artifice ; 
 and when he left her side, he had no wish to pass 
 to that of one whose coldness had repelled, and 
 whose haughtiness had insulted him. 
 
 On the next day, when Lizzy called upon her 
 friend, she found her in a very unhappy state of 
 mind. As to the ball and the people who attend- 
 ed, she was exceedingly captious in ail her re- 
 marks. When Clinton was mentioned, she spoke 
 of him with a sneer. Lizzy hardly knew how to 
 take her. Why the young man should be so of- 
 fensive, she was at a loss to imagine, and honestly 
 came to the conclusion that she had been mis- 
 taken in her previous supposition that Margaret 
 really felt an interest in him. 
 
 A few evenings only elapsed before Clinton 
 called upon Miss Edgar, and from that time 
 visited her regularly. An offer of marriage was 
 the final result. This offer Lizzy accepted.
 
 THE FATAL ERROR. 213 
 
 The five or six months that elapsed from the 
 time Clinton became particular in his attentions 
 to Miss Edgar, until he formally declared himself 
 a lover, passed with Margaret Herbert in one long- 
 continued and wild struggle with her feelings. 
 Conscious of her error, and madly conscious, be- 
 cause conviction had come too late, she wrestled 
 vigorously, but in vain, with a passion that, but 
 for her own folly, would have met a free and full 
 return. Lizzy spoke to her of Clinton's marked 
 attentions, but did not know how, like heavy and 
 painful strokes, every word she uttered fell upon 
 her heart. She saw that Margaret was far from 
 being happy, and often tenderly urged her to tell 
 the cause, but little dreamed of the real nature of 
 her sufferings. 
 
 At last Lizzy told her, with a glowing cheek, 
 that Clinton had owned his love for her, and claim- 
 ed her hand in marriage. For some moments af- 
 ter this communication was made, Margaret could 
 offer no reply. Her heart trembled faintly in her 
 bosom and almost ^ceased to beat; but she rallied 
 herself, and concealed what she felt under warm 
 congratulations. Lizzy was deceived, though in 
 her friend's manner there was something that she 
 could not fully comprehend.
 
 2 1 I HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " You must be my bridesmaid," said the happy 
 girl, a month or two afterwards. 
 
 " Why not choose some one else ?" asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Because I love you better than any friend I 
 have," replied Lizzy, putting an arm around the 
 neck of Margaret and kissing her. 
 
 " No, no ; I cannot I cannot !" was the unex- 
 pressed thought of Margaret while something 
 like a shudder went over her. But the eyes of 
 her "friend did not penetrate the sad secret of 
 her heart. 
 
 " Come, dear, say yes. "Why do you hesitate ? 
 I would hardly believe myself married if you 
 were not by my side when the nuptial pledge was 
 given." 
 
 " It -shall be as you wish," replied Margaret. 
 
 " Perhaps you misunderstood me," said Lizzy, 
 playfully ; "I was not speaking of my funeral, but 
 of my wedding." 
 
 This sportive sally gave Margaret an opportu- 
 nity to recover herself, which she did promptly ; 
 and never once, from that time until the wedding 
 day of her friend arrived, did she by look or word 
 betray what was in her heart. 
 
 Intense was the struggle that went on in the
 
 THE FATAL FRROR. 215 
 
 mind of Margaret Hubert. But it was of no avail ; 
 she loved Clinton with a wild intensity that was 
 only the more fervid from its hopelessness. But 
 pride and a determined will concealed what nei- 
 ther could destroy. 
 
 At last the wedding night of Lizzy Edgar ar- 
 rived, and a large company assembled to witness 
 the holy rite that was to be performed, and to cele- 
 brate the occasion with appropriate festivities. 
 M argaret, when the morning of that day broke 
 coldly and drearily upon her, felt so sad at heart 
 that she wept, and, weeping, wished that she could 
 die. There bad been full time for reflection since, 
 by her own acts, she had repulsed one in whom 
 her heart felt a deep interest, and repulsed him 
 with such imprudent force that he never returned 
 to her again. Suffering had chastened her spirit, 
 although it could not still the throbbings of pain. 
 As the time approached when she must stand be- 
 side her friend and listen to vows of perpetual 
 love that she would have given all the world, 
 were it in her possession, to hear as her own, she 
 felt that she was about entering upon a trial for 
 which her strength would be little more than ad- 
 equate. 
 
 But there was no retreat ncfw. The ordeal had
 
 216 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 to be passed through. At last the time of trial 
 came, and she descended with her friend, and 
 stood up with her before the minister of God, who 
 was to say the fitting words and receive the sol 
 emn vows required in the marriage covenant 
 From the time Margaret took her place on the 
 floor, she felt her power over herself failing. 
 Most earnestly did she struggle for calmness and 
 self-control, but the very fear that inspired this 
 struggle made it ineffectual. When the minister 
 in a deeply impressive voice, said, " I pronounce 
 you husband and wife," her eyes grew dim, and 
 her limbs trembled and failed ; she sunk forward, 
 and was only kept from falling by the arm of the 
 
 minister, which was extended in time to save her- 
 
 ******* 
 
 Twenty years have passed since that unhappy 
 evening, and Margaret Hubert is yet unmarried. 
 It was long before she could quench the fire that 
 had burned so fiercely in her heart. When it did 
 go out, the desolate hearth it left remained ever 
 after cold and dark.
 
 FOLLOWINGTHE FASHIONS. 
 
 " WHAT is this ?" asked Henry Grove of his 
 sister Mary, lifting, as he spoke, a print from the 
 centre- table. 
 
 " A fashion plate," was the quiet reply. 
 
 " A fashion plate ? What in the name of won 
 der, are you doing with a fashion plate ?" 
 
 " To see what the fashions are." 
 
 " And what thentf" 
 
 " To follow them, of course," 
 
 " Mary, is it possible you are so weak ? I 
 thought better of my sister." 
 
 " Explain yourself, Mr. Censor," replied Mary 
 10
 
 218 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 with an arch look, and a manner perfectly self- 
 
 " There is nothing I despise so much as a heart- 
 less woman of fashion." 
 
 " Such an individual is certainly, not much to be 
 admired, Henry. But there is a vast difference 
 you must recollect, between a lady who regards 
 the prevailing mode of dress and a heartless wo- 
 man, be she attired in the latest style, or in the 
 costume of the times of good queen Bess. A 
 fashionably dressed woman need not, of necessity, 
 be heartless." 
 
 " no, of course not ; nor did I mean to say so. 
 But it is very certain, to my mind, that any one 
 who follows the fashions cannot be very sound in 
 the head. And where there is not much head, it 
 seems to me there is never a superabundance of 
 heart." 
 
 " Quite a philosopher 1" 
 
 "You needn't try to beat me off by ridicnle t 
 Mary. I am in earnest." 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 " In condemning this blind slavery to fash- 
 : on." 
 
 " You follow the fashions." 
 
 ' No, Mary, I do not."
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 219 
 
 " Your looks very much belie you, then." 
 Mary !" 
 
 " Nonsense ! Don't look so grave. "What I 
 eay is true. You follow the fashion as much as 
 I do." 
 
 " I am sure I never examined a plate of .fash- 
 ions in my life." 
 
 " If you have not, your tailor has for you, many 
 a time." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it. I don't have my 
 clothes cut in the height of the fashion. They.are 
 made plain and comfortable. There is nothing 
 about them that is put on merely because it is 
 fashionable." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir." 
 " It is a fact" 
 
 " Why do you have your lappels made to roll 
 three button-holes instead of two. There's father's 
 old coat, made, I don't know when, that roll but 
 two/' 
 
 " Because, I suppose, its now the fash " 
 
 " Ah, exactly ! Didn't I get you there nicely ?' 
 " No. but Mary, that's the tailor's business, not 
 mine." 
 
 "Of course, you trust to him to make you 
 clothes according to the fashion, while I choose to
 
 220 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 see if the fashions are just such as suits my stature, 
 shape, and complexion, that I may adopt them full- 
 ly, or deviate from them in a just and rational 
 manner. So there is this difference between us ; 
 you follow the fashions blindly, and I with judg- 
 ment, and discrimination !" 
 
 " Indeed, Mary, you are too bad." 
 
 " Do I speak anything but the truth ?" 
 
 " I should be very sorry, indeed, if your deduc- 
 tions were true in regard to my following the fash- 
 ions so blindly, if indeed at all." 
 
 " But don't you follow them ?" 
 
 " I never think about them." 
 
 " If you don't, somehow or other, you manage 
 to be always about even with the prevailing 
 modes. I don't see any difference between your 
 dress and that of other young men." 
 
 " I don't care a fig for the fashions, Mary 1" re- 
 joined Henry, speaking with some warmth. 
 
 " So you say." 
 
 " And so I mean." 
 
 " Then why do you wear fashionable clothes ?" 
 
 "I don't wear fashionable ciothes that is 
 
 " You have figured eilk or cut velvet buttons, on 
 your coat, I believe. Let me see ? Yes. Now,
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 221 
 
 lasting buttons are more durable, and I remem- 
 ber very well when you wore them. But they 
 are out of fashion ! And here is your collar turn- 
 ed down over your black satin stock, (where, by 
 the by, have all the white cravats gone, that were 
 a few years ago so fashionable ?) as smooth as a 
 puritan's ! Don't you remember how much trou- 
 ble you used to have, sometimes, to get your col- 
 lar to stand up just so ? Ah, brother, you are an 
 incorrigible follower of the fashions !" 
 
 " But, Mary, it is a great deal less trouble to 
 turn the collar over the stock." 
 
 " I know it is, now that it is fashionable to do 
 
 80." 
 
 " It is, though, in fact." 
 
 "Eeally?" 
 
 " Yes, really." 
 
 " But when it was fashionable to have the col- 
 lar standing, you were very willing to take the 
 trouble." 
 
 " You would not 4iave me affect singularity, 
 sister?" 
 
 " Me ? No, indeed 1 I would have you con 
 tinue to follow the fashions as you are now do- 
 ing. I would have you dress like other people.
 
 222 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 And there is one other thing that I would like to 
 see in you." 
 
 " What is that." 
 
 " I would like to see you willing to allow me 
 the same privilege." 
 
 " You have managed your case so ingeniously, 
 Mary," her brother now said, " as to have beaten 
 me in argument, though I am very sure that I am 
 right, and you in error, in regard to the general 
 principle. I hold it to be morally wrong to fol- 
 low the fashions. They are unreasonable and ar- 
 bitrary in their requirements, and it is a species 
 of miserable folly, to be led about by them. I 
 have conversed a good deal with old aunt Abigail 
 on the subject, and she perfectly agrees with me. 
 Her opinions, you can not, of course, treat with 
 indifference ?" 
 
 " No, not my aunt's. But for all that, I do not 
 think that either she or uncle Absalom is perfect- 
 ly orthodox on all matters." 
 
 " I think that they can both prove to you be. 
 yond a doubt that it is a most egregious folly to 
 be ever changing with the fashions." 
 
 " And I think that I can prove to them that 
 they are not at all uninfluenced by the fickle god
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 223 
 
 " Do so, and I will give up the point Do so 
 and I will avow myself an advocate of fashion." 
 
 " As you are now in fact. But I accept your 
 challenge, even though the odds of age and num- 
 bers are against me. I am very much mistaken, 
 indeed, if I cannot maintain my side of the argu- 
 ment, at least to my own satisfaction." 
 
 ' You may do that probably ; but certainly not 
 to ours." 
 
 " We will see," was the laughing reply. 
 
 It was a few evenings after, that Henry Grove 
 and his sister called in to see uncle Absalom and 
 aunt Abigail, who were of the old school, and 
 rather ultra-puritanical in their habits and no- 
 tions. Mary could not but feel, as she came in- 
 to their presence, that it would be rowing against 
 wind and tide to maintain her point with them 
 confirmed as they were in their own views of 
 things, and with the respect due to age to give 
 weight to their opinions. Nevertheless, she de- 
 termined resolutely to maintain her own side of 
 the question, and to use all the weapons, offensive 
 and defensive, that came to her hand. She was 
 a light-hearted girl, with a high flow of spirits, 
 and a quick and discriminating mind. All these 
 were in her favor. ..The contest was not long de-
 
 224 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 layed, for Henry, feeling 'that he had powerful 
 auxiliaries on his side, was eager to see his own 
 positions triumph, as he was sure that they must. 
 The welcome words that greeted their entrance 
 had not long been said, before he asked, turning 
 to his aunt, 
 
 " What do you think I found on Mary's table, 
 the other day, Aunt Abigail ?" 
 
 " I don't know, Henry. What was it ?" 
 
 " You will be surprised to hear, a fashion 
 plate! And that is not all. By her own con- 
 fession, she was studying it in order to conform 
 to the prevailing style of dress. Hadn't you a 
 better opinion of her ?" 
 
 " I certainly had," was aunt Abigail's half smi- 
 ling, half grave reply. 
 
 " Why, what harm is there in following the 
 fashions, aunt?" Mary asked. 
 
 " A great deal, my dear. It is following after 
 the vanities of this life. The apostle tells us not 
 to be conformed to this world." 
 
 " I know he does ; but what has that to do with 
 the fashions ? He doesn't say that you shall not 
 wear fashionable garments ; at least I never saw 
 the passage." 
 
 " But that is clearly what he means, Mary."
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 225 
 
 "I doubt it. Let us hear what he further 
 says ; perhaps that will guide us to a truer mean- 
 ing?" 
 
 " He says : ' But be ye transformed by the 
 renewing of your minds.' That elucidates and 
 gives force to what goes before." 
 
 " So I think, clearly upsetting your position. 
 The apostle evidently has reference to a deeper 
 work than mere external non-conformity in regard 
 to the cut of the coat, or the fashion of the dress. 
 Be ye not conformed to this world in its selfish, 
 principles and maxims be ye not as the world, 
 lovers of self more than lovers of God but be ye 
 transformed by the renewing of your minds. That 
 is the way I understand him." 
 
 " Then you understand him wrong, Mary," 
 uncle Absalom spoke up. " If he had meant 
 that, he would have said it in plain terms." 
 
 " And so he has, it seems to me. But I am 
 not disposed to excuse my* adherence to fashion 
 upon any passage that allows of two interpreta- 
 tions. I argue for it upon rational grounds." 
 
 " Fashion and rationality ! The idea is absurd, 
 Mary 1" said uncle Absalom, with warmth- 
 M They are antipodes." 
 10*
 
 226 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ". Not by any means, uncle, and I think I can 
 make it plain to you." 
 
 TJncle Absalom shook his head, and aunt Abi- 
 gail fidgeted in her chair. 
 
 " You remember the celebrated John "Wesley 
 the founder of that once unfashionable people, 
 the Methodists ?" Mary ,asked. 
 
 " 0, yes." 
 
 " What would you think ;f I proved to you 
 that he was an advocate for fashion upon ration- 
 al principles ?" 
 
 " You can't do it." 
 
 " I can. On one occasion, it is related of him, 
 that he called upon a tailor to make him a coat. 
 ' How will you have it made ?' asked the tailor. 
 1 0, make it like other people's,' was the reply. 
 ' Will you have the sleeves in the new fashion ?' 
 ' I don't know, what is it ?' ' They have been 
 made very tight, you know, for some time,' the 
 tailor said, ' but the newest fashion is loose 
 sleeves.' ' Loose sleeves, ah ? Well, they will 
 be a great deal more comfortable than these. 
 Make mine loose.' What do you think of that, 
 uncle ? Do you see no rationality there ?" 
 
 " Yes, but Mary," replied aunt Abigail, " fash- 
 ion and comfort hardly ever go together." 
 
 f
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 227 
 
 '' There you are mistaken, aunt. Most fash- 
 ionable dress-makers aim at producing garments 
 comfortable to the wearers ; and those fashions 
 which are most comfortable, are most readily 
 adopted by the largest numbers." 
 
 " You certainly do not pretend to say, Mary," 
 Henry interposed, " that all changes in fashions 
 are improvements in comfort ?" 
 
 " no, certainly not. Many, nay, most of the 
 changes are unimportant in that respect." 
 
 " And are the inventions and whims of fashion 
 makers," added aunt Abigail with warmth. 
 
 " No doubt of it," Mary readily admitted. 
 
 " And you are such a weak, foolish girl, as to 
 adopt, eagerly, every trifling variation in fash- 
 ion ?" continued aunt Abigail. 
 
 " No, not eagerly, aunt." 
 
 " But at all ?" 
 
 " I adopt a great many, certainly, for no other 
 reason than because they 5re fashionable." 
 
 " For shame, Mary, to make auch an admission 1 
 I really thought better of you." 
 
 " But don't you follow the fashions, aunt ?" 
 
 " Why Mary," exclaimed both uncle Absalom 
 and her brother, at once. 
 
 "Me follow the fashions, Mary?" broke in
 
 228 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 aunt Abigail, as soon as she could recover her 
 breath, for the question struck her almost speech- 
 less. " Me follow the fashions ? Why, what can 
 the girl mean ?" 
 
 " I asked the question," said Mary. " And if 
 you can't answer it, I can." 
 
 " And how will you answer it, pray ?" 
 
 " In the affirmative, of course." 
 
 " You are trifling, now, Mary," said uncle Ab- 
 salom, gravely. 
 
 " Indeed I am not, uncle. I can prove to her 
 satisfaction and yours, too, that aunt Abigail is 
 almost as much a follower of the fashions as I 
 am." 
 
 " For shame, child 1" 
 
 " I can though, uncle ; so prepare yourself to 
 be convinced. Did you never see aunt wear a 
 different shaped cap from the one she now has 
 on?" 
 
 " yes, 1 suppose so. I don't take much no- 
 tice of such things. But I believe she has 
 changed the pattern of her cap a good many 
 times." 
 
 " And what if I have, pray ?" asked aunt Abi- 
 gail, fidgeting uneasily.
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 229 
 
 " 0, nothing, only that in doing so, you were 
 following some new fashion," replied Mary. 
 
 " It is no such thing 1" said aunt Abigail 
 
 " I can prove it" 
 
 " You can't." 
 
 " Yes I can, and I will. Don't you remember 
 when the high crowns were worn ?" 
 
 " Of course I do." 
 
 " And you wore them, of course." 
 
 " Well, suppose I did ?" 
 
 " And then came the close, low-crowned cap. 
 I remember the very time you adopted that fash 
 ion, and thought it so much more becoming than 
 the great tower of lace on the back part of the 
 head." 
 
 " And so it was." 
 
 " But why didn't you think so before," asked 
 Mary, looking archly into the face of her aunt. 
 
 " Why because because " 
 
 " 0, 1 can tell you, so ^ou needn't search all 
 over the world for a reason. It was because the 
 high crowns were fashionable. Come out plain 
 and aboveboard and say so." 
 
 " Indeed, I won't say any such thing." 
 
 " Then what was the reason ?" 
 
 " Every body wore them, and their unsightly 
 
 t
 
 230 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 appearance had not been made apparent by con- 
 trast." 
 
 " Exactly 1 They were fashionable. But when 
 a new fashion laughed them out of countenance, 
 you cast them aside, as I do an old fashion for a 
 new one. Then came the quilled border all 
 around. Do you remember that change ? and 
 how, in a little while after, the plain piece of 
 lace over your forehead disappeared ? Why was 
 that, aunt Abigail ? "Was there no regard for 
 fashion there ? And now, at this very time your 
 cap is one that exhibits the latest acd neatest 
 style for old ladies' caps. I could go on and 
 prove to your satisfaction, or at least to my own, 
 that you have followed the fashion almost as 
 steadily as I have. But I have sufficiently made 
 out my case. Don't you think so, Henry ?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, her brother, who had been 
 surprised at the turn the conversation had taken, 
 not expecting to see Mary carry the war home so 
 directly as she had done, hardly knew how to re- 
 ply. He, however, gave a reluctant 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But there is some sense in your aunt's adop- 
 tion of fashion," said uncle Absalom. 
 
 " Though not much, it would seem in yours,
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 231 
 
 if you estimate fashion by use," retorted Mary. 
 
 " "What does the girl mean ?" asked aunt Abi- 
 gail in surprise. 
 
 " Of what use, uncle, are those two buttons on 
 the back of your coat ?" 
 
 " I am sure I don't know." 
 
 " Then why do you wear them if you don't 
 know their use, unless it be that you wish to be 
 in the fashion ? Then there are two more at the 
 bottom of the skirt, half hid, half seen, as if they 
 were ashamed to be found so much out of their 
 place. Then, can you enlighfen me as to the use 
 of these two pieces of cloth here, called, I believe, 
 flaps ?" 
 
 " To give strength to that part of the coat, I 
 presume." 
 
 " And yet it is only a year or two since it was 
 the fashion to have no flaps at all I do not re- 
 member ever to have seen a coat torn there, do 
 you ? It is no use, uncl# you might as well be 
 out of the world as out of the fashion. And old 
 people feel this as well as young. They have 
 their fashions, and we have ours, and they are as 
 much the votaries of their peculiar modes as we 
 are of our. The only difference is, that, as our 
 states of mind change more rapidly, there is a
 
 232 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 corresponding and more rapid change in our fash 
 ions. You change as well as we do but slower.' 
 
 " How could you talk to uncle Absalom and 
 aunt Abigail as you did ?" said Henry Grove to 
 his sister, as they walked slowly home together. 
 
 " Didn't I make out my point ? Didn't I prove 
 that they too were votaries of the fickle god- 
 dess ?" 
 
 " I think you did, in a measnre." 
 
 "And in a good measure too. So give up 
 your point, as you promised, and confess your- 
 self an advocate of fashion." 
 
 " I don't see clearly how I can do that, not 
 withstanding all that has passed to-night ; for I 
 do not rationally perceive the use of all these 
 ahanges in dress." 
 
 " I am not certain that I can enlighten you 
 fully on the subject ; but think that I may, per- 
 haps in a degree, if you will allow my views 
 their proper weight in your mind." 
 
 " I will try to do so ; but shall not promise to 
 be convinced." 
 
 " No matter. Convinced or not convinced 
 you will still be arried aiong . y the current.
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 233 
 
 As to the primary cause of the change in fashion 
 it strikes me that it is one of the visible effects of 
 that process of change ever going on in the hu- 
 man mind. The fashion of dress that prevails 
 may not be the true exponent of the internal and 
 invisible states, because they must necessarily be 
 modified in various ways by the interests and 
 false tastes of such individuals as promulgate 
 them. Still, this does not affect the primary 
 cause." 
 
 " Granting your position to be true, Mary, 
 which I am not fully prepared to admit or deny 
 why should we blindly follow these fash- 
 ions?" 
 
 "We need not blindly. For my part, I am sure 
 that I do not blindly follow them." 
 
 '" You do when you adopt a fashion without 
 thinking it becoming." 
 
 " That I never do." 
 
 " But, surely, you do not pretend to say that 
 all fashions are becoming ?" 
 
 "All that prevail to any extent, appear so, 
 during the time of their prevalence, unless they 
 involve an improper exposure of the person, or are 
 injurious to health." 
 
 " That is singular."
 
 234 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " But is it not true." 
 
 " Perhaps it is. But how do you account fqj? 
 it?" 
 
 On the principle that there are both external 
 and internal causes at work, modifying the mind's 
 perceptions of the appropriate and beautiful." 
 
 " Mostly external, I should think, such as a de- 
 sire to be in the fashion, etc." 
 
 " That feeling has its influence no doubt, and 
 operates very strongly." 
 
 " But is it a right feeling ?" 
 
 " It is right or wrong, according to the end in 
 view. If fashion be followed from no higher 
 view than a selfish love of being admired, then 
 the feeling is wrong." 
 
 " Can we follow fashion with any other end ?" 
 
 " Answer the question yourself. You follow 
 the fashions." 
 
 " I think but little about them, Mary." 
 
 " And yet you dress very much like people 
 who do." 
 
 "That may be so. The reason is, I do not 
 wish to be singular." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "For this reason. A man who affects any 
 singularity of dress or manners, loses his true in-
 
 FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS. 235 
 
 fluence in society. People begin to think that 
 there must be within, a mind not truly balanced 
 and therefore do not suffer his opinions, no mat- 
 ter how sound, to have their true weight." 
 
 " A very strong and just argument why wo 
 should adopt prevailing usages and fashions, if 
 not immoral or injurious to health. They are the 
 badges by which we are known diplomas which 
 give to our opinions their legitimate value. I 
 could present this subject in many other points 
 of view. But it would be of little avail, if you 
 are determined not to be convinced." 
 
 " I am not so determined, Mary. What you 
 have already said, greatly modifies my view of 
 the subject. I shall, at least, not ridicule your 
 adherence to fashion, if I do not give much 
 thought to it myself." 
 
 " I will present one more view. A right atten- 
 tion to dress looks to the development of that 
 which is appropriate and beautiful to the eye. 
 This is a universal benefit. For no one can look 
 upon a truly beautiful object in nature or art 
 without having his mind correspondingly elevated 
 and impressed with beautiful images, and these 
 do not pass away like spectrums, but remain ever 
 after more or less distinct, bearing with them an
 
 236 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 elevating influence upon the whole charactei 
 Changes in fashion, so far as they present new 
 and beautiful forms, new arrangements, and new 
 and appropriate combination of colors, are the 
 dictates of a true taste, and so far do they tend to 
 benefit society." 
 
 " But fashion is not always so directed by true 
 taste." 
 
 " A just remark. And likewise a reason why all 
 who have a right appreciation of the truly beau- 
 tiful should give some attention to the prevail- 
 ing fashion in dress, and endeavor to correct er- 
 rors, and develop the* true and the beautiful here 
 as in other branches of art."
 
 A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE. 
 
 " FIFTY-FIVE cents a yard, I believe you said ?" 
 The customer was opening her purse. 
 
 Now fifty cents a yard was the price of the 
 goods, and so Mr. Levering had informed the 
 lady. She misunderstood him, however. 
 
 In the community, Mr. Levering had the rep- 
 utation of being a conscientious, high-minded 
 man. He knew that he was thus estimated, and 
 self-complacently appropriated the good opinion 
 as clearly his due. 
 
 It came instantly to the lip of Mr. Levering to 
 say, " Yes, fifty -five." The love of gain was 
 strong in his mind, and ever ready to accede to
 
 238 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 new plans for adding dollar to dollar. But, ere 
 the words were uttered, a disturbing perception 
 of something wrong restrained him. 
 
 " I wish twenty yards," said the customer 
 taking it for granted that fifty-five cents was the 
 price of the goods. 
 
 Mr. Levering was still silent; though he com- 
 menced promptly to measure off the goods. 
 
 " Not dear at that price," remarked the lady. 
 
 " I think not," said the storekeeper. " I bought 
 the case of goods from which this piece was taken 
 very low." 
 
 " Twenty yards at fifty-five cents ! Just eleven 
 dollars." The customer opened her purse as she 
 thus spoke, and counted out the sum in glittering 
 gold dollars. " That is right, I believe," and she 
 pushed the money towards Mr. Levering, who, 
 with a kind of automatic movement of his hand, 
 drew forward the coin and swept it into nis till. 
 
 " Send the bundle to No. 300 Argyle Street," 
 said the lady, with a bland smile, as she turned 
 from the counter, and the half-bewildered store- 
 keeper. 
 
 "Stay, madam! there is a slight mistake!" 
 The words were in Mr. Levering's thoughts, and 
 on the point of gaining utterance, but he had not
 
 A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE. 239 
 
 the courage to speak. He had gained a dollar in 
 the transaction beyond his due, and already it 
 was lying heavily on his conscience. "Willingly 
 would he have thrown it off ; but when 'about to 
 do so, the quick suggestion came, that, in ac- 
 knowledging to the lady the fact of her having 
 paid five cents a yard too much, he might falter in 
 his explanation, and thus betray his attempt to do 
 her wrong. And so he kept silence, and let her 
 depart beyond recall. 
 
 Any thing gained at the price of virtuous self- 
 respect is acquired at too large a cost. A single 
 dollar on the conscience may press so heavily as 
 to bear down a man's spirits, and rob him of all 
 the delights of life. It was so in the present case. 
 Vain was it that Mr. Levering sought self justi- 
 fication. Argue the matter as he would, he found 
 it impossible to escape the smarting conviction 
 that he had unjustly exacted a dollar from one of 
 his customers. Many times through the day he 
 found himself in a musing, abstracted state, and 
 on rousing himself therefrom, became conscious, 
 in his external thought, that it was the dollar by 
 which he was troubled. 
 
 14 I'm very foolish," said he, mentally, as he 
 walked homeward, after closing his store for the
 
 240 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 evening. " Very foolish to worry myself about a 
 trifle like this. The goods were cheap enough at 
 fifty-five, and she is quite as well contented with 
 her bargain as if she had paid only fifty." 
 
 But it would not -do. The dollar was on his 
 conscience, and he sought in vain to remove it by 
 efforts of this kind. 
 
 Mr. Levering had a wife and three pleasant 
 children. They were the sunlight of his home. 
 When the business of the day was over, he usually 
 returned to his own fireside with buoyant feeling. 
 It was not so on this occasion. There was a 
 pressure on his bosom a sense of discomfort a 
 want of self-satisfaction. The kise of his wife, and 
 the clinging arms of his children, as they were 
 twined around hia neck, did not bring the old 
 delight. 
 
 " What is the matter with you this evening, 
 dear ? Are you not well ?" inquired Mrs. Lev- 
 ering, breaking in upon the thoughtful mood of 
 her husband, as he sat in unwonted silence. 
 
 " I'm perfectly well," he replied, rousing him' 
 self, and forcing a smile. 
 
 " You look sober." 
 
 " Do I ?" Another forced smile. 
 
 " Something troubles you, I'm afraid."
 
 A DOLLAR O* THE CONSCIENCE. 241 
 
 " no ; it's all in your.imagination." 
 
 " Are you sick, papa ?" now asks a bright little 
 fellow, clambering upon his knee. 
 
 " Why no, love, I'm not sick. "Why do you 
 think so ?" 
 
 " Because you don't play horses with me." 
 
 " Oh dear ! Is that the ground of your suspi- 
 cion ?" replied the father, laughing. " Come ! we'll 
 soon scatter them to the winds." 
 
 And Mr. Levering commenced a game of 
 romps with the children. But he tired long be- 
 fore they grew weary, nor did he, from the be- 
 ginning, enter into this sport with his usual zest. 
 
 " Does your head ache, pa ?" inquired the child 
 who had previously suggested sickness, as he saw 
 his father leave the floor, and seat himself, with 
 Borne gravity of manner, on a chair. 
 
 " Not this evening, dear," answered Mr. Lev- 
 ering. 
 
 " Why don't you play longer, then ?" 
 
 " Oh pa 1" exclaimed another child, speaking 
 from a sudden thought, " you don't know what 
 a time we had at school to-day." 
 
 " Ah ! what was the cause ?" 
 
 " Oh ! you'll hardly believe it. But Eddy Jonea 
 stole a dollar from Maggy Enfield 1" 
 11
 
 242 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Stole a dollar !" ejaculated Mr. Levering. His 
 voice was husky, and he felt a cold thrill passing 
 along every nerve. 
 
 " Yes, pa 1 he stole a dollar ! Oh, wasn't it 
 dreadful ?" 
 
 " Perhaps he was wrongly accused," suggested 
 Mrs. Levering. 
 
 " Emma Wilson saw him do it, and they found 
 the dollar in his pocket. Oh ! he looked so pale, 
 and it made me almost sick to hear him cry as if 
 his heart would break." 
 
 " What did they do with him ?" asked Mrs. 
 Levering. 
 
 " They sent for his mother, and she took him 
 home. Wasn't it dreadful ?" 
 
 " It must have been dreadful for his poor mo- 
 ther," Mr. Levering ventured to remark. 
 
 " But more dreadful for him," said Mrs. Lev- 
 ering. " Will he ever forget his crime and dis- 
 grace ? Will the pressure of that dollar on his 
 conscience ever be removed ? He may never do 
 so wicked an act again ; but the memory of this 
 wrong deed cannot be wholly effaced from his 
 mind." 
 
 How rebukingly fell all these words on the ears 
 of Mr. Levering. Ah 1 what would he not then
 
 A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE. 245> 
 
 have given to have the weight of that dollar re- 
 moved ? Its pressure was so great as almost to 
 suffocate him. It was all in vain that he tried to 
 be cheerful, or to take an interest in what was 
 passing immediately around him. The innocent 
 prattle of his children had lost its wonted charm, 
 and there seemed an accusing expression in the 
 eye of his wife, as, in the concern his changed 
 aspect had occasioned, she looked soberly upon 
 him. Unable to bear all this, Mr. Levering went 
 out, something unusual for him, and walked the 
 streets for an hour. On his return, the children 
 were in bed, and he had regained sufficient self- 
 control to meet his wife with a less disturbed ap- 
 pearance. 4 
 
 On the next morning, Mr. Levering felt some- 
 thing better. Sleep had left his mind more tran- 
 quil. Still there was a pressure on his feelings, 
 which thought could trace to that rfnlucky dollar. 
 About an hour after going to his store, Mr. Lev- 
 ering saw his customer of the day previous enter, 
 and move along towards the place where he stood 
 behind his counter. His heart gave a sudden 
 bound, and the color rose to his face. An accu- 
 sing conscience was quick to conclude as to the 
 object of her visit. But he soon saw that no sus-
 
 244 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 picion of wrong dealing was in the lady's mind. 
 With a pleasant half recognition, she asked to 
 look at certain articles, from which she made pur- 
 chases, and in paying for them, placed a ten dol- 
 lar bill in the hand of the storekeeper. 
 
 " That weight shall be off my conscience," said 
 Mr. Levering to himself, as he began counting 
 out the change due his customer; and, purposely, 
 he gave her one dollar more than was justly hers 
 in that transaction. The lady glanced her eyes 
 over the money, and seemed slightly bewildered. 
 Then, much to the storekeeper's relief, opened her 
 purse and dropped it therein. 
 
 " All right again !" was the mental ejaculation 
 of Mr. Levering, as he saw the purse disappear 
 in the lady's pocket, while his breast expanded 
 with a sense of relief. 
 
 The customer turned from the counter, and had 
 nearly gained the door, when she paused, drew 
 out her purse, and emptying the contents of one 
 end into her hand, carefully noted the amount. 
 Then walking back, she said, with a thoughtful 
 air 
 
 " I think you Ve made a mistake in the change} 
 Mr. Levering."
 
 A DOLLAR ON THE CONSCIENCE. 245 
 
 " I presume not, ma'am. T gave you four and 
 thirty-five," was the quick reply. 
 
 "Four, thirty-five," said the lady, musingly. 
 
 " Yes, here is just four, thirty-five." 
 
 " That 's right ; yes, that 's right," Mr. Lever 
 ing spoke, somewhat nervously. 
 
 " The article came to six dollars and sixty-five 
 cents, I believe ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that was it 1" * 
 
 " Then three dollars and thirty-five cents will 
 be my right change," said the lady, placing a small 
 gold coin on the counter. " You gave me too 
 much." 
 
 The customer turned away and retired from 
 the store, leaving that dollar still on the conscience 
 of Mr. Levering. 
 
 " I'll throw it into the street," said he to him- 
 self, impatiently. ",0r give it to the first beggar 
 that comes ajong." 
 
 But conscience whispered that the dollar wasn't 
 his, either to give away or to throw away. Such' 
 prodigality, or impulsive benevolence, would be 
 at the expense of another, and this could not mend 
 the matter. 
 
 " This is all squeamishness," said Mr. Levering 
 trying to argue against his convictions. But it
 
 246 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 was of no avail. His convictions remained as 
 clear and rebuking as ever. 
 
 The next day was the Sabbath, and Mr. Lever- 
 ing went to church, as usual, with his family. 
 Scarcely had he taken a seat in his pew, when, 
 on raising his eyes, they rested on the countenance 
 of the lady from whom he had abstracted the dol- 
 lar. How quickly his cheek flushed ! How trou- 
 bled became, instantly, the beatings of his heart ! 
 Unhappy Mr. Levering ! He could not make the 
 usual responses that day, in the services ; and 
 when the congregation joined in the swelling hymn 
 of praise, his voice was heard not in the general 
 thanksgiving. Scarcely a word of the eloquent 
 sermon reached his ears, except something about 
 " dishonest dealing ;" he was too deeply engaged 
 in discussing the question, whether or no he 
 should get rid of the troublesome dollar by drop- 
 ping it into the contribution box, at the close 
 of the morning service, to listen td the words of the 
 preacher. This question was not settled when 
 the box came round, but, as a kind of desperate 
 alternative, he cast the money into the treasury. 
 
 For a short time, Mr. Levering felt consider- 
 able relief of mind. But this disposition of the 
 money proved only a temporary palliative. There
 
 A DOLLAR UiN THE CONSCIENCE. 247 
 
 was a pressure on his feelings ; still a weight on 
 his conscience that gradually became heavier. 
 Poor man ! "What was he to do ? How was he 
 to get this dollar removed from his conscience ? 
 He could not send it back to the lady and tell 
 her the whole truth. Such an exposure of him- 
 self would not only be humiliating, but hurtful 
 to his character. It would be seeking to do right, 
 in the infliction of a wrong to himself. 
 
 At last, Mr. Levering, who had ascertained the 
 lady's name and residence, inclosed her a dollar, 
 anonymously, stating that it was her due ; that 
 the writer had obtained it from her, unjustly, in 
 a transaction which he did not care to name, and 
 could not rest until he had made restitution. 
 
 Ah ! the humiliation of spirit suffered by Mr. 
 Levering in thus seeking to get ease for his con- 
 science 1 It was one of his bitterest life experien- 
 ces. The longer the dollar remained in his pos- 
 session, the heavier became its pressure, until he 
 could endure it no longer. He felt not only dis- 
 graced in his own eyes, but humbled in the pres- 
 ence of his wife and children. Not for worlds 
 would he have suffered them to look into bis 
 heart. 
 
 If a simple act of restitution could have cover
 
 248 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ed all the past, happy would it have been for Mr. 
 Levering. But this was not possible. The deed 
 was entered in the book of his life, and nothing 
 could efface the record. Though obscured by the 
 accumulating dust of time, now and then a hand 
 sweeps unexpectedly over the page, and the wri- 
 ting is revealed. Though that dollar has been 
 removed from his conscience, and he is now guilt- 
 less of wrong, yet there are times when the old 
 pressure is felt with painful distinctness. 
 
 Earnest seeker after this world's goods, take 
 warning by Mr. Levering, and beware how, in a 
 moment of weak yielding, you get a dollar on 
 your concience. One of two evils must follow. It 
 will give you pain and trouble, or make callous 
 the spot where it rests, And the latter of these 
 evils is that which is most to be deplored.
 
 AUNT MAKY'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 " JOHN THOMAS !" Mr. Belknap spoke in a 
 firm, rather authoritative voice. It was evident 
 that he anticipated some reluctance on the boy's 
 part, and therefore, assumed, in the outset, a very 
 
 decided manner. 
 
 f 
 
 John Thomas, a lad between twelve and thir- 
 teen years of age, was seated on the doorstep, 
 reading. A slight movement of the body indicated 
 that he heard ; but he did not lift his eyes from 
 the book, nor make any verbal response. 
 
 " John Thomas !" This time the voice of Mr 
 Belknap was loud, sharp, and imperative.
 
 250 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Sir,'' responded the boy, dropping the vol- 
 ume in his lap, and looking up with a slightly 
 flushed, but sullen face. 
 
 " Did n't you hear me when I first spoke ?" 
 said Mr. Belknap, angrily. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then, why did n't you answer me ? Always 
 respond when you are spoken to. I'm tired of 
 this ill-mannerd, disrespectful way of yours." 
 
 The boy stood up, looking, now, dogged, as 
 well as sullen. 
 
 " Go get your hat and jacket." This was said 
 in a tone of command, accompanied by a side toss 
 of the head, by the way of enforcing the order. 
 
 " What for ?" asked John Thomas, not mov- 
 ing a pace from where he stood. 
 
 " Go and do what I tell you. Get your hat 
 and jacket." 
 
 The boy moved slowly and with a very reluctant 
 air from the room. 
 
 " Now, don't be all day," Mr. Belknap called 
 after him, " I'm in a hurry. Move briskly." 
 
 How powerless the father's words died upon 
 the air. The motions of John Thomas were not 
 quickened in the slightest degree. Like a soul- 
 less automaton passed he out into the passage
 
 AUNT MARY 8 SUGGESTION. 25 1 
 
 and up the stairs ; while the impatient Mr. Bel 
 knap could with difficulty restrain an impulse to 
 follow after, and hasten the sulky boy's move* 
 ments with blows. He controlled himself, how 
 ever, and resumed the perusal of his newspaper. 
 Five, ten minutes passed, and John Thomas had 
 not yet appeared to do the errand upon which 
 his father designed to send him. Suddenly Mr. 
 Belknap dropped his paper, and going hastily to 
 the bottom of the stairs, called out : 
 
 " You John 1 John Thomas !" 
 
 '' Sir !" came a provokingly indifferent voice 
 from one of the chambers. 
 
 ft Did n't I tell you to hurry say ?" 
 
 " I can't find my jacket." 
 
 " You don't want to find it. "Where did you 
 lay it when you took it off last night ?" 
 
 " I don't know, i forget." 
 
 " If you're not down here, with your jacket on, 
 in one minute, I'll warm your shoulders well for 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Belknap was quite in earnest in this 
 threat, a fact plainly enough apparent to John 
 Thomas in the tone of his father's voice. Not 
 just wishing to have matters proceed to this ex- 
 tremity, the boy opened a closet, and, singularly
 
 252 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 enough, there hung his jacket in full view. At 
 the expiration of the minute, he was standing be- 
 fore his disturbed father, with hi& jacket on, and 
 buttoned up to the chin. 
 
 " "Where's your hat ?" now asked Mr. Belknap. 
 
 " I don't know, sir." 
 
 " Well, find it, then." 
 
 " I've looked everywhere." 
 
 " Look again. There ! What is that on the 
 hat rack, just under my coat ?" 
 
 The boy answered not, but walked moodily to 
 the rack, and took his hat therefrom. 
 
 " Eeady at last. I declare I'm out of all pa- 
 tience with your slow movements and sulky man- 
 ner. What do you stand there for, knitting your 
 brows and pouting your lips ? Straighten out 
 your face, sir ! I won't have a boy of mine put on 
 such a countenance." 
 
 The lad, thus angrily and insultingly rated, 
 made a feeble effort to throw a few rays of sun- 
 shine into his face. But, the effort died fruitless. 
 All was too dark, sullen, and rebellious within 
 his bosom. 
 
 " See here." Mr. Belknap still spoke in that 
 peculiar tone of command which always stifles 
 self-respect in the one to whom it is addressed.
 
 AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION. 253 
 
 " Do you go down to Leslie's and tell him to 
 send me a good claw hammer and three pounds of 
 eightpenny nails. And go quickly." 
 
 The boy turned off without a word of reply, 
 and was slowly moving away, when his father 
 said, sharply : 
 
 " Look here, sir !" 
 
 John Thomas paused and looked back. 
 
 " Did you hear me ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What did I tell you to do ?" 
 
 " Go get a claw hammer and three pounds of 
 eightpenny nails." 
 
 " Very well. Why did n't you indicate, in some 
 way, that you heard me ? Have n't I already this 
 morning read you a lecture about this very thing ? 
 Now, go quickly. I'm in a hurry." 
 
 For all this impatience and authority on the 
 part of Mr. Belknap, John Thomas moved away 
 at a snail's pace ; and as the former in a state of 
 considerable irritability, gazed after the boy, he 
 felt strongly tempted to call him back, and give 
 him a good flogging in order that he might clearly 
 comprehend the fact of his being in earnest. But 
 as this flogging was an unpleasant kind of busi- 
 ness, and had, on all previous occasions, been sue-
 
 254 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ceeded by a repentant and self-accusing state, Mr. 
 Belknap restrained his indignant impulses. 
 
 " If that stubborn, incorrigible boy returns in 
 half an hour, it will be a wonder," muttered Mr. 
 Belknap, as he came back into the sitting-room. 
 " I wish I knew what to do with him. There 
 is no respect 'or obedience in him. I never saw 
 such a boy. He knows that I'm in a hurry ; and 
 yet he goes creeping along like a tortoise, and 
 ten chances to one, if he does n't forget his errand 
 altogether before he is half way to Leslie's. What 
 is to be done with him, Aunt Mary ?" 
 
 Mr. Belknap turned, as he spoke to an elderly 
 lady, with a mild, open face, and clear blue eyes, 
 from which goodness looked forth as an angel. 
 She was a valued relative, who was paying him 
 a brief visit. 
 
 Aunt Mary let her knitting rest in her lap, and 
 turned her mild, thoughtful eyes upon the speaker. 
 
 " 'What is to be done with that boy, Aunt 
 Mary ?" Mr. Belknap repeated his words. " I've 
 tried everything with him ; but he remains incor- 
 rigible." 
 
 " Have you tried " 
 
 Aunt Mary paused, and seemed half in doubt
 
 AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION. 255 
 
 whether it were best to give utterance to what was 
 in her mind. 
 
 " Tried what ?" asked Mr. Belknap. 
 
 " May I speak plainly ?" said Aunt Mary. 
 
 " To me ? Why yes ! The plainer the better." 
 
 " Have you tried a kind, affectionate, unim- 
 passioned manner with the boy ? Since I have 
 been here, I notice that you speak to him in a 
 cold, indifferent, or authoritative tone. Under 
 such treatment, some natures, that soften quickly 
 in the sunshine of affection, grow hard and stub- 
 born." 
 
 The blood mounted to the cheeks and brow of 
 Mr. Belknap. 
 
 " Forgive me, if I have spoken too plainly," 
 said Aunt Mary. 
 
 Mr. Belknap did not make any response for 
 some time, but sat, with his eyes upon the floor, 
 in hurried self-examination. 
 
 " No, Aunt Mary, not too plainly," said he, as 
 he looked at her with a sobered face. " I needed 
 that suggestion, and thank you for having made 
 it." 
 
 " Mrs. Howitt has a line which beautifully ex- 
 presses what I mean," said Aunt Mary, in her 
 gentle, earnest way. " It is
 
 256 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 t 
 
 1 For love hath readier will than fear.' 
 
 Ah, if we could all comprehend the wonderful 
 power of love ! It is the fire that melts ; while 
 fear only smites, the strokes hardening, or break- 
 ing its unsightly fragments. John Thomas has 
 many good qualities, that ought to be made as 
 active as possible. These, like goodly flowers 
 growing in a carefully tilled garden, will absorb 
 the latent vitality in his mind, and thus leave noth- 
 ing from which inherent evil tendencies can draw 
 nutrition." 
 
 Aunt Mary said no more, and Mr. Belknap's 
 thoughts were soon too busy with a new train of 
 ideas, to leave him in any mood for conversation. 
 
 Time moved steadily on. Nearly half an hour 
 had elapsed, in which period John Thomas might 
 have gone twice to Leslie's store, and returned ; 
 yet he was still absent. Mr. Belknap was partic- 
 ularly in want of the hammer and nails, and the 
 delay chafed him very considerably; the more 
 particularly, as it evidenced the indifference of hia 
 eon in respect to his wishes and commands. 
 Sometimes he would yield to a momentary blind- 
 ing flush of anger, and resolve to punish the boy 
 severely the moment he could get his hands on 
 him. But quickly would come in Aunt Mary's
 
 AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION. 257 
 
 suggestion, and he would again resolve to try the 
 power of kind words. He was also a good deal 
 strengthened in his purposes, by the fact that 
 Aunt Mary's eyes would be upon him at the re- 
 turn of John Thomas. After her suggestion, and 
 his acknowledgment of its value, it would hardly 
 do for him to let passion so rule him as to act in 
 open violation of what was right. To wrong his 
 son by unwise treatment, when he professed to 
 desire only his good. 
 
 The fact is, Mr. Belknap had already made the 
 discovery, that if he would govern his boy, he 
 must first govern himself. This was not an easy 
 task. Yet he felt that it must be done. 
 
 " There comes that boy now," said he, as he 
 glanced forth, and saw John Thomas coming 
 homeward at a very deliberate pace. There was 
 more of impatience in his tone of voice than he 
 wished to betray to Aunt Mary, who let her 
 beautiful, angel-like eyes rest for a moment or 
 two, penetratingly, upon him. The balancing 
 power of that look was needed ; and it performed 
 its work. 
 
 Soon after, the loitering boy came in. He had 
 a package of nails in his hand, which he reached, 
 half indifferently, to his father.
 
 258 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " The hammer !" John started with a half 
 frightened air. 
 
 " Indeed, father, I forgot all about it I" said he, 
 looking up with a flushed countenance, in which 
 genuine regret was plainly visible. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Mr. Belknap, in a disappoint- 
 ed, but not angry or rebuking voice. " I've been 
 waiting a long time for you to come back, and 
 now I must go to the store without nailing up 
 that trellice for your mother's honeysuckle and 
 wisteria, as I promised." 
 
 The boy looked at his father a moment or two 
 with an air of bewilderment and surprise ; then 
 he said, earnestly : 
 
 " Just wait a little longer. I'll run down to the 
 store and get it for you in a minute. I'm very 
 sorry that I forgot it." 
 
 " Eun along, then," said Mr. Belknap, kindly. 
 
 How fleetly the lad bounded away 1 His father 
 gazed after him with an emotion of surprise, not 
 unmixed with pleasure. 
 
 " Yes yes," he murmured, half aloud, " Mrs. 
 Howitt never uttered a wiser saying. ' For love 
 hath readier will than fear.' " 
 
 Quicker than even Aunt Mary, whose faith in 
 kind wnrds was very strong, had expected, John
 
 AUNT MART'S SUGGESTION. 259 
 
 t 
 came in with the hammer, a bright glow on hia 
 
 cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes that strongly- 
 contrasted with the utter want of interest dis- 
 played in his manner a little while before. 
 
 " Thank you, my son," said Mr. Belknap, as 
 he took the hammer ; " I could not have asked a 
 prompter service." 
 
 He spoke very kindly, and in a voice of ap- 
 proval. " And now, John," he added, with the 
 manner of one who requests, rather than com- 
 mands, " if you will go over to Frank "Wilson's, 
 and tell him to come over and work for two or 
 three days in our garden, you will oblige me very 
 much. I was going to call there as I went to the 
 store this morning ; but it is too late now." 
 
 " 0, I'll go, father I'll go," replied the boy, 
 quickly and cheerfully. " I'll run right over at 
 once." 
 
 " Do, if you please," said Mr. Belknap, now 
 speaking from an impulse of real kindness, for a 
 thorough change had come over his feelings. A 
 grateful look was cast, by John Thomas, into hia 
 father's face, and then Le was off to do his errand. 
 Mr. Belknap saw, and understood the meaning 
 of that look. 
 
 " Yes yes yes, " thus he talked with him- 

 
 260 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 self as he took his way to the store, " Aunt 
 Mary and Mrs. Howitt are right. Love hath a 
 readier will. I ought to have learned this lesson 
 earlier. Ah ! how much that is deformed in 
 this self-willed boy, might now be growing in 
 beauty." 

 
 HELPING THE POOB. 
 
 " I'M on a begging expedition," said Mr. Jonas, 
 as he came bustling into the counting-room of 
 a fellow-merchant named Prescott. " And, as 
 you are a benevolent man, I hope to get at least 
 five dollars here in aid of a family in extremely 
 indigent circumstances. My wifa heard of them 
 yesterday; and the little that was learned, has 
 strongly excited our sympathies. So I am out 
 on a mission for supplies. I want to raise enough 
 to buy them a ton of coal, a barrel of flour, a bag 
 of potatoes, and a small lot of groceries." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the family for
 
 262 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 which you propose this charity ?" inquired Mr 
 Prescott, with a slight coldness of manner. 
 
 " I' only know that they are in want and that it 
 is the first duty of humanity to relieve them,'' said 
 Mr. Jonas, qijite warmly. 
 
 " I will not question your inference," said Mr. 
 Prescott. " To relieve the wants of our suffering 
 fellow creatures is an unquestionable duty. Bui 
 there is another Important consideration con- 
 nected with poverty and its demands upon us." 
 
 " "What is that pf ay ?" inquired Mr. Jonas, who 
 felt considerably fretted by so unexpected a dam- 
 per to his benevolent enthusiasm. 
 
 " How it shall be done," answered Mr. Prescott, 
 calmly. 
 
 " If a man is hungry, give him bread ; if he is 
 naked, clothe him," said Mr. Jonas. " There is 
 no room for doubt or question here. This family 
 I learn, are suffering for all the necessaries of 
 life, and I can clearly see the duty to supply their 
 wants." 
 
 " Of how many does the family consist ?" asked 
 Mr. Prescott. 
 
 " There is a man and his wife and three or four 
 children." 
 
 " IB the man sober and industrious ?"
 
 HELPING THE POOR. 263 
 
 " I don't know anything about him. I've had 
 no time to make inquiries. I only know that 
 hunger and cold are in his dwelling, or, at 
 least were in his dwelling yesterday." 
 
 " Then you have already furnished relief ?" 
 " Temporary relief. I shouldn't have slept 
 last night, after what I heard, without just send- 
 ing them a bushel of coal, and a basket of pro- 
 visions." 
 
 " For which I honor your kindness of heart, 
 Mr. Jonas. So far you acted right. But, I am 
 by no means so well assured of the wisdom and 
 humanity of your present action in the case. The 
 true way to help the poor, is to put it into their 
 power to help themselves. The mere bestowal 
 of alms is, in most cases an injury; either encou- 
 raging idleness and vice, or weakening self-respect 
 and virtuous self-dependence. There is innate 
 strength in every one ; let us seek to develop thia 
 strength in the prostrate, rather than hold them 
 up by a temporary application of our own powers, 
 to fall again, inevitably, when the sustaining hand 
 is removed. This, depend upon it, is not true 
 benevolence. Every one has ability to serve the 
 common good, and society renders back sustenance 
 for bodily life as the reward of this service."
 
 264 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " But, suppose a man cannot get work," said 
 Mr. Jonas. " How is he to serve society, for 
 the sake of a reward ?" 
 
 " True charity will provide employment for 
 him rather than bestow alms." 
 
 " But, if there is no employment to be had 
 Mr. Prescott ?" 
 
 " You make a very extreme case. For all who 
 are willing to work, in this country, there is em- 
 ployment." 
 
 " I'm by no means ready to admit this asser- 
 tion." 
 
 " "Well, we'll not deal in general propositions . 
 because anything can be assumed or denied. 
 Let us come direct to the case in point, and thus 
 determine our duty towards the family whose 
 needs we are considering. Which will be best 
 for them ? To help them in the way you pro- 
 pose, or to encourage them to help themselves ?" 
 
 " All I know about them at present," replied 
 Mr. Jonas, who was beginning to feel considerably 
 worried, " is, that they are suffering for the com- 
 mon necessaries of life. It is all very well to tell a 
 man to help himself, but, if his arm be paralyzed, 
 or he have no key to open the provision shop, he 
 will soon starvs under that system of benevolence.
 
 HELPING THE POOR. 265 
 
 Feed and clothe a man first, and then set him to 
 work to help himself. He will have life in his 
 heart and strength in his hands." 
 
 " This sounds all very fair, Mr. Jonas ; and 
 yet, there is not so much true charity involved 
 there as appears on the surface. It will avail 
 little, however, for us to debate the matter now. 
 Your time and mine are both of too much value 
 during business hours for useless discussion. I 
 cannot give, understandingly, in the present case, 
 and so must disappoint your expectations in this 
 quarter." 
 
 " Good morning, then," said Mr. Jonas, bow- 
 ing rather coldly. 
 
 " Good morning," pleasantly responded Mr. 
 Prescott, as his visitor turned and left his store. 
 
 " All a mean excuse for not giving," said Mr. 
 Jonas, to himself, as he walked rather hurriedly 
 away. I don't believe much in the benevolence 
 of your men who are so particular about the whys 
 and wherefores so afraid to give a dollar to a 
 poor, starving fellow reature, lest the act encour- 
 age vice or idleness." 
 
 The next person upon whom Mr. Jonas called, 
 happened to be very much of Mr. Prescott's way 
 of thinking ; and the next chanced to know some- 
 12
 
 266 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 thing about the family for whom he was solicit- 
 ing aid. " A lazy, vagabond set !" exclaimed the 
 individual, when Mr. Jonas mentioned his errand, 
 " who would rather want than work. They may 
 starve before I give them a shilling." 
 
 " Is this true ?" asked Mr. J onas, in surprise. 
 
 " Certainly it is. I've had their case stated be- 
 fore. In fact, I went through the sleet and rain 
 one bitter cold night to take them provisions, so 
 strongly had my sympathies in regard to them 
 been excited. Let them go to work." 
 
 " But can the man get work ?" inquired Mr. 
 Jonas. 
 
 " Other poor men, who have families dependent 
 on them, can get work. Where there's a will 
 there's a way. Downright laziness is the disease 
 in this case, and the best cure for which is a little 
 wholesome starvation. So, take my advice, and 
 leave this excellent remedy t<3 work out a cure." 
 
 Mr. Jonas went back to his store in rather a 
 vexed state of mind. All his fine feelings of be 
 nevolence were stifled. He was angry with the 
 indigent family, and angry with himself for being 
 "the fool to meddle with any business but his 
 own." 
 
 " Catch me on such an errand again," said he,
 
 HELPING THE FOOE. 267 
 
 indignantly. " I'll never seek to do a good turn 
 again as long as I live." 
 
 Just as he was saying this, his neighbor Pres- 
 cott came into his store. 
 
 " Where does the poor family live, of whom 
 you were speaking to me ?" he inquired. 
 
 " 0, don't ask me about them 1" exclaimed Mr. 
 Jonas. " I've juet found them out. They're a 
 lazy, vagabond set." 
 
 " You are certain of that?" 
 
 " Morally certain. Mr. Caddy says he knows 
 them like a book, and they'd rather want than 
 work. With him, I think a little wholesome starv- 
 ation will do them good." 
 
 Notwithstanding this rather discouraging tea 
 timony, Mr. Prescott made a memorandum of the 
 street and number of the house in which the fam- 
 ily lived, remarking as he did so : 
 
 " I have just heard where the services of an 
 able-bodied man are wanted. Perhaps Gardiner, 
 as you call him, may be glad to obtain the situ- 
 ation." 
 
 " He won't work ; that's the character I have 
 received of him," replied Mr. Jonas, whose mind 
 was very much roused against the man. The
 
 268 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 pendulum of his impulses had swung, from a light 
 touch, to the other extreme. 
 
 " A dollar earned, is worth two received in char- 
 ity," said Mr. Prescott ; " because the dollar earn- 
 ed corresponds to service rendered, and the man 
 feels that it is his own that he has an undoubted 
 right to its possession. It elevates his moral char- 
 acter, inspires self-respect, and prompts to new 
 efforts. Mere alms-giving is demoralizing for the 
 opposite reason. It blunts the moral feelings, 
 lowers the self-respect, and fosters inactivity and 
 idleness, opening the way for vice to come in and 
 sweep away all the foundations of integrity. Now, 
 true charity to the poor is for us to help them to 
 help themselves. Since you left me a short time 
 ago, I have been thinking, rather hastily, over the 
 matter; and the fact of hearing about the place 
 for an able-bodied man, as I just mentioned, has 
 led me to call around and suggest your making 
 interest therefor in behalf of Gardiner. Helping 
 him in this way will be true benevolence." 
 
 " It's no use," replied Mr. Jonas, in a positive 
 tone of voice. " He's an idle good-for-nothing 
 fellow, and I'll have nothing to do with him." 
 
 Mr. Prescott urged the matter no farther, for 
 he saw that to do so would be useless. On his
 
 HELPING THE POOR. 269 
 
 way home, on leaving his store, he called to see 
 Gardiner. He found, in two small, meagerly fur- 
 nished rooms, a man, his wife, and three children. 
 Everything about them indicated extreme pov- 
 erty ; and, worse than this, lack of cleanliness and 
 industry. The woman and children had a look 
 of health, but the man was evidently the subject 
 of some wasting disease. His form was light, his 
 face thin and rather pale, and his languid eyes 
 deeply sunken. He was very far from bein# the 
 able-bodied man Mr. Prescott had expected to 
 find. As the latter stepped into the miserable 
 room where they were gathered, the light of ex- 
 pectation, mingled with the shadows of mute suf- 
 fering, came into their countenances. Mr. Pres- 
 ' cott was a close observer, and saw, at a glance, 
 the assumed sympathy-exciting face of the mendi- 
 cant in each. 
 
 " You look rather poor here," said he, as he 
 took a chair, which the woman dusted with her 
 dirty apron before handing it to him. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, and we are miserably off," replied 
 the woman, in a half whining tone. " John, there, 
 hasn't done a stroke of work now for three 
 months; and " 
 
 " "Why not 1" interrupted Mr. Prescott
 
 270 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " My health is very poor," said the man. " I 
 suffer much from pain in ray side and back, and 
 am so weak most of the time, that I can hardly 
 creep about." 
 
 " That is bad, certainly," replied Mr. Prescott, 
 " very bad." And as he spoke, he turned his eyes 
 to the woman's face, and then scanned the chil- 
 dren very closely. 
 
 " Is that boy of yours doing anything ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " No, sir," replied the mother. " He's too young 
 to be of any account." 
 
 " He's thirteen, if my eyes do not deceive me." 
 
 " Just a little over thirteen." 
 
 " Does he go to school ?" 
 
 " No sir. He has no clothes fit to be seen in 
 at school." 
 
 " Bad bad," said Mr. Prescott, " very bad. 
 The boy might be earning two dollars a week ; in- 
 stead of which he is growing up in idleness, which 
 surely leads to vice." 
 
 Gardiner looked slightly confused at this re- 
 mark, and his wife, evidently, did not feel very 
 comfortable under the steady, observant eyes that 
 were on her.
 
 HELPING THE POOR. 271 
 
 " You seem to be in good health," said Mr. 
 Prescott, looking at the woman. 
 
 " Yes sir, thank God ! And if it wasn't for that. 
 I don't know what we should all have done. 
 Everything has fallen upon me since John, there, 
 has been ailing." 
 
 Mr. Prescott glanced around the room, and 
 then remarked, a, little pleasantly : 
 
 " I don't see that you make the best use of 
 your health and strength." 
 
 The woman understood him, for the color came 
 instantly to her face. 
 
 " There is no excuse for dirt and disorder," 
 said the visitor, more seriously. " I once called 
 to see a poor widow, in such a state of low health 
 that she had to lie in bed nearly half of every day. 
 She had two small children, and supported her- 
 self and them by fine embroidery, at which she 
 worked nearly all the time. I never saw a neater 
 room in my life than hers, and her children, 
 though in very plain and patched clothing, were 
 perfectly clean. How different is all here ; and 
 yet, when I entered, you all sat idly amid this 
 disorder, and shall I speak plainly filth." 
 
 The woman, on whose face the color had deep- 
 ened while Mr. Prescott spoke, now rose up
 
 272 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 quickly, and commenced bustling about the room, 
 which, in a few moments, looked far less in dis- 
 order. That she felt his rebuke, the visiter re- 
 garded as a good sign. 
 
 " Now," said he, as the woman resumed her 
 seat, " let me give you the best maxim for the 
 poor in the English language ; one that, if lived 
 by, will soon extinguish poverty, or make it a very 
 light thing, 'God helps those who help them- 
 selves.' To be very plain with you, it is clear to 
 my eyes, that you do not try to help yourselves ; 
 such being the case, you need not expect gratuit- 
 ous help from God. Last evening you received 
 some coal and a basket of provisions from a kind- 
 hearted man, who promised more efficient aid to- 
 day. You have not yet heard from him, and 
 what is more, will not har from him. Some one 
 to whom he applied for a contributiou happened 
 to know more about you than he did, and broad- 
 ly pronounced you a set of idle vagabonds. Just 
 think of bearing such a character ! He dropped 
 the matter at once, and you will get nothing from 
 him. J am one of those upon whom he called. 
 Now, if you are all disposed to help yourselves, I 
 will try to stand your friend. If not, I shall have 
 nothing to do with you. I speak plainly ; it is
 
 HELPING THE POOR, 273 
 
 better ; there will be less danger of apprehension. 
 That oldest boy of yours must go to work and 
 earn something. And your daughter can work 
 about the house for you very well, while you go 
 out to wash, or scrub, and thus earn a dollar or 
 two, or three, every week. There will be no dan- 
 ger of starvation on this income, and you will then 
 eat your bread in independence. Mr. Gardiner 
 can help some, I do not in the least doubt." 
 
 And Mr. Prescott looked inquiringly at the 
 man. 
 
 " If I was only able-bodied," said Gardiner, in 
 a half reluctant tone and manner. 
 
 " But you are not. Still, there are many things 
 you may do. If by a little exertion you can earn 
 the small sum of two or three dollars a week, it 
 will be far better even for your health than 
 idleness. Two dollars earned every week by 
 your wife, two by your boy, and three by yourself, 
 would make seven dollars a week ; and if I am 
 not very much mistaken, you don't see half that 
 sum in a week now." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, and you speak the truth there,' 
 . said the woman. 
 
 " Very well. It's plain, then, that work is bet- 
 ter than idleness." 
 12*
 
 274 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " But we can't get work." The woman fell 
 back upon this strong assertion. 
 
 " Don't believe a word of it. I can tell you 
 how to earn half a dollar a day for the next four 
 or five days at least. So there's a beginning for 
 you. Put yourself in the way of useful employ- 
 ment, and you will have no difficulty beyond." 
 
 " What kind of work, sir ?" inquired the wo- 
 man. 
 
 " We are about moving into a new house, and 
 my wife commences the work of having it cleaned 
 to-morrow morning. She wants another assistant. 
 Will you come ?" 
 
 The woman asked the number of his residence, 
 and promised to accept the offer of work. 
 
 " Very well. So far so good," said Mr. Pres- 
 cott, cheerfully, as he arose. " You shall be paid 
 at the close of each day's work ; and that will give 
 you the pleasure of eating your own bread a 
 real pleasure, you may depend upon it ; for a loaf 
 of Dread earned is sweeter than the richest food 
 bestowed by charity, and far better for the 
 health." 
 
 " But about the boy, sir?" said Gardiner, 
 whose mind was becoming active with more inde- 
 pendent thoughts.
 
 HELPING THE POOR. 275 
 
 " All in good time," said Mr. Prescott smiling. 
 " Rome was not built in a day, you know. First 
 let us secure a beginning. If your wife goes to- 
 morrow, I shall think her in earnest ; as willing to. 
 help herself, and, therefore, worthy to be helped. 
 All the rest will come in due order. But you 
 may rest assured, that, if she does not come to 
 work, it is the end of the matter as far as I am 
 concerned. So good evening to you." 
 
 Bright and early came Mrs. Gardiner on the 
 next morning, far tidier in appearance than when 
 Mr. Prescott saw her before. She was a stout, 
 strong woman, and knew how to scrub and clean 
 paint as well as the best. When fairly in the 
 spirit of work, she worked *on with a sense of plea- 
 sure. Mrs. Prescott was well satisfied with her 
 performance, and paid her the half dollar earned 
 when her day's toil was done. On the next day, 
 and the next, she came, doing her work and re- 
 ceiving her wages. 
 
 On the evening of the third day, Mr. Prescott 
 thought it time to call upon the Gardiners. 
 
 " "Well this is encouraging !" said he, with an 
 expression of real pleasure, as he gazed around 
 the room, which scarcely seemed like the one he 
 had visited before. All was clean, and everything
 
 276 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 iu order ; and, what was better still, the persons 
 of all, though poorly clad, were clean and tidy. 
 Mrs. Gardiner sat by the table mending a gar- 
 ment; her daughter was putting away the sup- 
 per dishes j while the man sat teaching a lesson 
 in spelling to their youngest child. 
 
 The glow of satisfaction that pervaded the bo- 
 som of each member of the family, as Mr. Pres- 
 cott uttered these approving words, was a new 
 and higher pleasure than had for a long time been 
 experienced, and caused the flame of self respect 
 and self-dependence, rekindled once more, to rise 
 upwards in a steady flame. 
 
 " I like to see this," continued Mr. Prescott. 
 " It does me good. You have fairly entered the 
 right road. Wulk on steadily, courageously, un- 
 weariedly. There is worldly comfort and happi- 
 ness for you at the end. I think I have found a 
 very good place for your son, where he will re- 
 ceive a dollar and a half a week to begin with. 
 In a few months, if all things suit, he will get two 
 dollars. The work is easy, and the opportunities 
 for improvement good. I think there is a chance 
 for you, also, Mr. Gardiner. I have something 
 in my mind that will just meet your case. Light 
 work, and not over five or six hours application
 
 HKLPLNG THE POOR, 277 
 
 each day the wages four dollars a. week to be- 
 gin with, and a prospect of soon having them 
 raised to six or seven dollars. What do you think 
 of that?" 
 
 " Sir !" exclaimed the poor man, in whom per- 
 sonal pride and a native love of independence 
 were again awakening, " if you can do this for 
 me, you will be indeed a benefactor." 
 
 "It shall be done," said Mr. Prescott, positively. 
 " Did I not say to you, that God helps those who 
 help themselves ? It is even thus. No one, in 
 our happy country who is willing to work, need 
 be in want ; and money earned by honest indus- 
 try buys the sweetest bread." 
 
 It required a little watching, and urging, and 
 admonition, on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, 
 to keep the Gardiners moving on steadily, in the 
 right way. Old habits and inclinations had gain- 
 ed too much power easily to be broken ; and but 
 for this watchfulness on their part, idleness and 
 want would again have entered the poor man's 
 dwelling. 
 
 The reader will hardly feel surprise, when told, 
 that in three or four years from the time Mr. 
 Prescott so wisely met the case of the indigent 
 Gardiners, they wore living in a suug little house
 
 278 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 of their own, nearly paid for out of the united in- 
 dustry of the family, every one of which was now 
 well clad, cheerful, and in active employment. As 
 for Mr. Gardiner, his health has improved, in- 
 Btead of being injured by light employment. 
 Cheerful, self- approving thoughts, and useful la- 
 bor, have temporarily renovated a fast sinking 
 constitution. 
 
 Mr. Prescott's way of helping the poor is the 
 right way. They must be taught to help them- 
 selves. Mere alms-giving is but a temporary aid, 
 and takes away, instead of giving, that basis of 
 eelf-dependence, on which all should rest. Help 
 a man up, and teach him to use his feet, so that 
 he can walk alone. This is true benevolence
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 
 
 " ARE you going to call upon Mrs. Clayton 
 and her daughters, Mrs. Marygold?" asked a 
 neighbor, alluding to a family that had just moved 
 into Sycamore Row. 
 
 " No, indeed, Mrs. Lemmington, that I am not. 
 I don't visit everybody." 
 
 " I thought the Claytons were a very respect- 
 able family," remarked Mrs. Lemmington. 
 
 " Respectable I Everybody is getting respect- 
 able now-a-days. If they are respectable, it is 
 very lately that they have become so. What is 
 Mr. Clayton, I wonder, but a school-master 1 It's 
 too bad that such people will come crowding
 
 280 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 themselves into genteel neighborhoods. The time 
 was when to live in Sycamore Row was guarantee 
 enough for any one but, now, all kinds of peopl 
 have come into it." 
 
 " I have never met Mrs. Clayton," remarked 
 Mrs. Lemmington, " but I have been told that 
 she is a most estimable woman, and that her 
 daughters have been educated with great care. 
 Indeed, they are represented as being highly ac 
 complished girls." 
 
 " "Well, I don't care what they are represented 
 to be. I'm not going to keep company with a 
 schoolmaster's wife and daughters, that's certain." 
 
 " Is there anything disgraceful in keeping a 
 school ?" 
 
 " No, nor in making shoes, either. But, then, 
 that's no reason why I should keep company with 
 my shoemaker's wife, is it ? Let common people 
 associate together that's my doctrine." 
 
 " But what do you mean by common people, 
 Mrs. Marygold?" 
 
 " Why, I mean common people. Poor people. 
 People who have not come of a respectable fami- 
 ly. That's what I mean." 
 
 " I am not sure that I comprehend your expla- 
 nation much better than I do your classification.
 
 COMMOW PEOPLE. 281 
 
 If you mean, as you say, poor people, your ob- 
 jection will not apply with full force to the Clay- 
 tons, for they are now in tolerably easy circum. 
 stances. As to the family of Mr. Clayton, I be- 
 lieve hia father was a man of integrity, though 
 not rich. And Mrs. Clayton's family I know to 
 be without reproach of any kind." 
 
 "And yet they are common people for ah 1 
 that," persevered Mrs. Marygold. " Wasn't old 
 Clayton a mere petty dealer in small wares. 
 And wasn't Mrs. Clayton's father a mechanic ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, if some of us were to go back for a 
 generation or two, we might trace out an ances- 
 tor who held no higher place in society," Mrs. 
 Lemmington remarked, quietly. " I have no 
 doubt but that I should." 
 
 " I have no fears of that kind," replied Mrs. 
 Marygold, in an exulting tone. " I shall never 
 blush when my pedigree is traced." 
 
 " Nor I neither, I hope. St^, I should not 
 wonder if some one of my ancestors had disgraced 
 himself, for there are but few families that are not 
 cursed with a spotted sheep. But I have nothing 
 to do with that, and ask only to be judged by 
 what I am not by what my progenitors have 
 been."
 
 282 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " A standard that few will respect, let me tell 
 you." 
 
 " A standard that far the largest portion of so- 
 ciety will regard as the true one, I hope," replied 
 Mrs. Leramington. " But, surely, you do not in- 
 tend refusing to call upon the Claytons for the 
 reason you have assigned, Mrs. Marygold." 
 
 " Certainly I do. They are nothing but com- 
 mon people, and therefore beneath me. I shall 
 not stoop to associate with them." 
 
 " I think that I will call upon them. In fact, 
 my object in dropping in this morning was to see 
 if you would not accompany me," said Mrs. 
 Lemmington. 
 
 " Indeed, I' wilt not, and for the reasons I have 
 given. They are only common people. You 
 will be stooping." 
 
 " No one stoops in doing a kind act. Mrs. 
 Clayton is a stranger in the neighborhood, and is 
 entitled to the Courtesy of a call, if no more; and 
 that I shall extend to her. If I find her to be 
 uncongenial in her tastes, no intimate acquaint- 
 anceship need -be formed. If she is congenial, I 
 will add another to my list of valued friends. 
 You and I , I find, estimate differently. I judge
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 283 
 
 every individual by merit, you by family, or 
 descent." 
 
 " You can do as you please," rejoined Mrs. 
 Marygold, somewhat coldly. " For my part, I 
 am particular about my associates. I will visit 
 Mrp. Florence, and Mrs. Harwood, and such an 
 move in good society, but as to your school- 
 teachers' wives and daughters, I must beg to be 
 excused." 
 
 " Every one to her taste," rejoined Mrs. Lem- 
 mington, with a smile, as she moved towards 
 the door, where she stood for a few moments to 
 utter some parting compliments, and then with- 
 drew. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards she was shown into 
 Mrs. Clayton's parlors, where, in a moment or 
 two, she was met by the lady upon whom she 
 had called, and received with an air of easy grace- 
 fulness, that at once charmed her. A brief con- 
 versation convinced her that Mq|. Clayton was, 
 in intelligence and moral worth, as far above 
 Mrs. Marygold, as that personage imagined her- 
 self to be above her. Her daughters, who came 
 in while she sat conversing with their mother, 
 showed themselves to possess all those graces of 
 mind and manner that ^jn upon our admiration
 
 284 HOME LIGHTS AN1> SHADOWS. 
 
 so irresistably. An hour passed quickly and 
 pleasantly, and then Mrs. Lemrnington with- 
 drew. 
 
 The difference between Mrs. Lemmington and 
 Mrs. Marygold was simply this. The former had 
 been familiar with what is called the best so 
 ciety from her earliest recollection, and being there- 
 fore, constantly in association with those looked 
 upon as the upper class, knew nothing of the up- 
 start self-estimation which is felt by certain 
 weak ignorant persons, who by some accidental 
 circumstance are elevated far above the condi- 
 tion into which they moved originally. She 
 could estimate true worth in humble garb as well 
 as in velvet and rich satins. She was one of 
 those individuals who never pass an old and 
 worthy domestic in the street without recogni- 
 tion, or stopping to make some kind inquiry 
 one who never forgot a familiar face, or neglected 
 to pass a kind^word to even the humblest who 
 possessed the merit of good principles. As to 
 Mrs. Marygold, notwithstanding her boast in re- 
 gard to pedigree, there were not a few who could 
 remember when her grandfather carried a ped- 
 lar's pack on his back and an honest and 
 worthy pedlar he was, saving his pence until they
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 285 
 
 became pounds, and then relinquishing his pere- 
 grinating propensities, for the quieter life of a 
 small shop-keeper. His son, the father of Mrs. 
 Marygold, while a boy had a pretty familiar ac- 
 quaintance with low life. But, as soon as his 
 father gained the means to do so, he was put to 
 school and furnished with a good education. 
 Long before he was of age, the old man had be- 
 come a pretty large shipper; and when his son 
 arrived at mature years, he took him into busi- 
 ness as a partner. In marrying, Mrs. Mary gold's 
 father chose a young lady whose father, like his 
 own, had grown rich by individual exertions. 
 This young lady had not a few false notions in 
 regard to the true genteel, and these fell legiti- 
 mately to the share of her eldest daughter, who, 
 when she in turn came upon the stage of action, 
 married into an old and what was called a highly 
 respectable family, a circumstance that puffed her 
 up to the full extent of her capacity to bear infla- 
 tion. There were few in the circle of her acquain- 
 tances who did not fully appreciate her, and smile 
 at her weakness and false pride. Mrs. Florence, 
 to whom she had alluded in her conversation with 
 Mrs. Lemmington, and who lived in Sycamore 
 Kow, was not only faultless in regard to family
 
 286 HOME LIGHTS <LND SHADOWS. 
 
 connections, but was esteemed in the most intel 
 ligent circles for her rich mental endowments and 
 high moral principles. Mrs. Harwood, also allu- 
 ded to, was the daughter of an English barrister 
 and wife of a highly distinguished professional 
 man, and was besides richly endowed herself, 
 morally and intellectually. Although Mrs. Mary- 
 gold was very fond of visiting them for the mere 
 eclat of the thing, yet their company was scarcely 
 more agreeable to her, than hers was to them, for 
 there was little in common between them, Still , 
 they had to tolerate her, and did so with a good 
 grace. 
 
 It was, perhaps, three months after Mrs. Clay- 
 ton moved into the neighborhood, that cards of 
 invitation were sent to Mr. and Mrs. Marygold 
 and daughter to pass a social evening at Mrs 
 Harwood's. Mrs. M. was of course delighted 
 and felt doubly proud of her own importance. 
 Her daughter Melinda, of whom she was exces 
 eively vain, was an indolent, uninteresting girl, too 
 dull to imbibe even a small portion of her mother's 
 self-estimation. In company, she attracted but 
 little attention, except what her father's money 
 and standing in society claimed for her. 
 
 On the evening appointed, the Marygolds re
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 287 
 
 paired to the elegant residence of Mrs. Harwood 
 and were ushered into a large and brilliant com- 
 pany, more than half of whom were strangers even 
 to them. Mrs. Lemmington was there, and Mrs. 
 Florence, and many others with whom Mrs. 
 Marygold was on terms of intimacy, besides sev- 
 eral "distinguished strangers." Among those 
 with whom Mrs, Marygold was unacquainted, 
 were two young ladies who seemed to attract 
 general attention. They were not showy, chat- 
 tering girls, such as in all companies attract a 
 swarm of shallow-minded youug fellows about 
 them. On the contrary, there was something re- 
 tiring, almost shrinking in their manner, that 
 shunned rather than courted observation. And 
 yet, no one, who, attracted by their sweet, modest 
 faces, found himself by their side that did not feel 
 inclined to linger there. 
 
 " Who are those girls, Mrs. Lemmington ?" 
 asked Mrs. Marygold, meeting the lady she ad- 
 dressed in crossing the room. 
 
 " The two girls in the corner who are attract- 
 ing so much attention ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Don't you know them ?" 
 
 " I certainly do not."
 
 288 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " They are no common persons, I can assure 
 you, Mrs. Marygold." 
 
 " Of course, or they would not be found here. 
 But who are they ?" 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Lemmington ! how are you ?" said 
 a lady, coming up at this moment, and interrupt- 
 ing the conversation. " I have been looking for 
 you this half hour." Then, passing her arm with- 
 in that of the individual she had addressed, she 
 drew her aside before she had a chance to answer 
 Mrs. Mary gold's question. 
 
 In a few minutes after, a gentleman handed 
 Meliuda to the piano, and there was a brief pause 
 as she struck the instrument, and commenced 
 going through the unintelligible intricacies of a 
 fashionable piece of music. She could strike all 
 the notes with scientific correctness and mechan- 
 ical precision. But there was no more expression 
 in her performance than there is in that of a 
 musical box. After she had finished her task, 
 she left the instrument with a few words of com- 
 mendation extorted by a feeling of politeness. 
 
 " Will you not favor us with a song ?" asked 
 Mr. Harwood, going up to one of the young ladies 
 to whom allusion has just been made. 
 " My sister sings, I do not," was the modest
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 289 
 
 reply, " but I will take pleasure in accompanying 
 her." 
 
 All eyes were fixed upon them as they moved 
 towards the piano, accompanied by Mr. Har- 
 wood, for something about their manners, appear- 
 ance and conversation, had interested nearly all 
 in the room who had been led to notice them par- 
 ticularly. The sister who could not sing, seated 
 herself with an air of easy confidence at the in- 
 strument, while the other stood near her. The 
 first few touches that passed over the keys show- 
 ed that the performer knew well how to give to 
 music a soul. The tones that came forth were 
 not the simple vibrations of a musical chord, but 
 expressions of affection given by her whose fin- 
 gers woke the strings into harmony. But if the 
 preluding touches fell witchingly upon every ear, 
 how exquisitely sweet and thrilling was the voice 
 that stole out low and tremulous at first, and 
 deepened in volume and expression every mo- 
 ment, until the whole room seemed filled with 
 melody ! Every whisper was hushed, and every 
 one bent forward almost breathlessly to listen 
 And when, at length, both voice and instrument 
 were hushed into silence, no enthusiastic expres- 
 sions of admiration were heard, but only half 
 13
 
 290 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 whispered ejaculations of " exquisite 1" sweet 1' 
 " beautiful !" Then came earnestly expressed 
 wishes for another and another song until the 
 sisters, feeling at length that many must be 
 wearied with their long continued occupation of 
 the piano, felt themselves compelled to decline 
 further invitations to sing. No one else ventured 
 to touch a key of the instrument during the 
 evening. 
 
 " Do pray, Mrs. Lemmiugton, tell me who those 
 girls are I am dying to know," said Mrs. Mary- 
 gold, crossing the room to where the person she 
 addressed was seated with Mrs. Florence and 
 several other ladies of " distinction," and taking a 
 chair by her side. 
 
 " They are only common people," replied Mrs. 
 Lemmington, with affected indifference. 
 
 " Common people, my d,ear madam ! What do 
 you mean by such an expression ?" said Mrs. 
 Florence in surprise, and with something of in- 
 dignation latent in her tone. 
 
 " I'm sure their father, Mr. Clayton, is nothing 
 but a teacher." 
 
 " Mr. Clayton 1 Surely those are not Clayton's 
 daughters I" ejaculated, Mrs. Marygold, in sur- 
 prise.
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 291 
 
 "They certainly are ma'am," replied Mrs. 
 Florence in a quiet but firm voice, for she in- 
 stantly perceived, from something in Mrs. Mary- 
 gold's voice and manner, the reason why her friend 
 had alluded to them as common people. 
 
 "Well, really, I am surprised that Mrs. Har 
 wood should have invited them to her house, and 
 introduced them into genteel company." 
 " Why so, Mrs. Marygold ?" 
 " Because, as Mrs. Lemmington has just said, 
 they are common people. Their father is nothing 
 but a schoolmaster." 
 
 " If I have observed them rightly," Mrs. Flo- 
 rence said to this, " I have discovered them to be 
 a rather uncommon kind of people. Almost any 
 one can thrum on the piano ; but you will notjfind 
 onje in a hundred who can perform with such ex- 
 quisite grace and feeling as they can. For half 
 an hour this evening I sat charmed with their 
 conversation, and really instructed and elevated 
 by the sentiments they uttered. I cannot say as 
 much for any other young ladies in the room, for 
 there are none others here above the common run 
 of ordinarily intelligent girls none who may not 
 really be classed with common people in the true 
 acceptation of the term."
 
 202 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " And take them all in all," added Mrs. Lem- 
 mington with warmth, " you will find nothing 
 common about them. Look at their dress ; see 
 how perfect in neatness, in adaptation of colors 
 and arrangement to complexion and shape, is 
 every thing about them. Perhaps there will not 
 be found a single young lady in the room, besides 
 them, whose dress does not show something not 
 in keeping with good taste. Take their manners. 
 Are they not graceful, gentle, and yet full of 
 nature's own expression. In a word, is there any 
 thing about them that is ' common ?' " 
 
 " Nothing that my eye has detected," replied 
 Mrs. Florence. 
 
 " Except their origin," half-sneeringly rejoined 
 Mrs. Marygold. 
 
 " They were born of woman," was the grave 
 remark. " Can any of us boast a higher origin ?" 
 
 " There are various ranks among women," Mrs. 
 Marygold said, firmly. 
 
 " True. But, % 
 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 The man's the gold for a' that.' 
 
 Mere position in society does not make any of us 
 more or less a true woman. I could -name you 
 over a dozen or more in my circle of acquaintance,
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 203 
 
 who move in what is called the highest rank ; who 
 in all that truly constitutes a woman, are incom- 
 parably below Mrs. Clayton ; who, if thrown with 
 her among perfect strangers, would be instantly 
 eclipsed. Come then, Mrs. Marygold, lay aside all 
 these false standards, and estimate woman more 
 justly. Let me, to begin, introduce both yourself 
 and Melinda to the young ladies this evening. You 
 will be charmed with them, I know, and equally 
 charmed with their mother when you know her." 
 
 " No, ma'am," replied Mrs. Marygold; drawing 
 herself up with a dignified air. " I have no wish to 
 cultivate their acquaintance, or the acquaintance 
 of any persons in their station. I am surprised 
 that Mrs. Harwood has not had more considera- 
 tion for her friends than to compel them to come 
 in contact with such people." 
 
 No reply was made to this ; and the next re- 
 mark of Mrs. Florence was about some matter 
 of general interest. 
 
 " Henry Florence has not been here for a 
 week," said Mrs. Marygold to her daughter Me- 
 linda, some two months after the period at which 
 the conversation just noted occurred. 
 
 " No ; and he used to come almost every even-
 
 294 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 ing," was Melinda's reply, made in a tone that 
 expressed disappointment. 
 
 " I wonder what can be the reason ?" Mrs. 
 Marygold said, half aloud, half to herself, but 
 with evident feelings of concern. The reason of 
 her concern and Melinda's disappointment arose 
 from the fact that both had felt pretty sure of se- 
 curing Henry Florence as a member of the Ma- 
 rygold family such connection, from his stand- 
 ing in society, being especially desirable. 
 
 At the very time the young man was thus al- 
 luded to by Mrs. Marygold and her daughter, he 
 sat conversing with his mother upon a subject 
 that seemed, from the expression of his -counte- 
 nance, to be of much interest to him. 
 
 " So you do not feel inclined to favor any pre- 
 ference on my part towards Miss Marygold ?" he 
 said, looking steadily into his mother's face. 
 
 " I do not, Henry," was the frank reply. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " There is something too common about her, 
 if I may so express myself." 
 
 " Too common ! What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " 1 mean that there is no distinctive character 
 about her. She is, like the large mass around us, 
 a mere made-up girl."
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 295 
 
 " Speaking in riddles." 
 
 " I mean then, Henry, that her character haa 
 been formed, or made up, by mere external ac- 
 cretions from the common-place, vague, and often 
 too false notions of things that prevail in society, 
 instead of by the force of sound internal princi- 
 ples, seen to be true from, a rational intuition, 
 and acted upon because they are true. Cannot 
 you perceive the difference ?" 
 
 " yes, plainly. And this is why you use the 
 word 'common,' in speaking of her ?" 
 
 u The reason. And now my son, can you not 
 see that there is force in my objection to her 
 that she really possess any character distinctively 
 her own, that is founded upon a clear and ration- 
 al appreciation of abstractly correct principles of 
 action ?" 
 
 "I cannot say that I differ from you very 
 widely," the young man said, thoughtfully. " But, 
 if you call Melinda 'common,' where shall I go to 
 find one who may be called 'uncommon ?' " 
 
 " I can point you to one." 
 
 Say on." 
 
 " You have met Fanny Clayton ?" 
 
 " Fanny Clayton !" ejaculated the young man,
 
 296 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 taken by surprise, the blood rising to his face 
 " yes, I have met her." 
 
 " She is no common girl, Henry," Mrs. Flo- 
 rence said, in a serious voice. She has not her 
 equal in my circle of acquaintances." 
 
 " Nor in mine either," replied the young man, 
 recovering himself. " But you would not feel 
 satisfied to have your son address Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 " And why not, pray ? Henry, I have never 
 met with a young lady whom I would rather see 
 your wife than Fanny Clayton." 
 
 " And I," rejoined the young man with equal 
 warmth, " never met with any one whom I could 
 truly love until I saw her sweet young face." 
 
 " Then never think again of one like Melinda 
 Marygold. You could not be rationally happy 
 with her." 
 
 Five or six months rolled away, during a large 
 portion of which time the fact that Henry Flo- 
 rence was addressing Fanny Clayton formed a 
 theme for pretty free comment in various quar- 
 ters. Most of Henry's acquaintance heartily ap- 
 proved his choice ; but Mrs. Marygold, and a few 
 like her, all with daughters of the " common " 
 class, were deeply incensed at the idea of a " com- 
 mon kind of a girl " like Miss Clayton being fore
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 297 
 
 ed into genteel society, a consequence that would 
 of course follow her marriage. Mrs. Marygold he- 
 sitated not to declare that for her part, let others 
 do as they liked, she was not going to associate 
 with her that was settled. She had too much 
 regard to what was due to her station in life. As 
 for Melinda, she had no very kind feelings for her 
 successful rival and such a rival too ! A mere 
 schoolmaster's daughter! And she hesitated not 
 to speak of her often and in no very courteous 
 terras. 
 
 "When the notes of invitation to the wedding at 
 length came, which ceremony was to be perform- 
 ed in the house of Mr. Clayton, in Sycamore Row, 
 Mrs. Marygold declared that to send her an invi- . 
 tation to go to such a place was a downright 
 insult. As the time, however, drew near, and 
 she found that Mrs. Harwood and a dozen others 
 equally respectable in her eyes were going to the 
 wedding, she managed to smother her indigna- 
 tion so far as, at length, to make up her mind to 
 be present at the nuptial ceremonies. But it was 
 not until her ears were almost stunned by the 
 repeated and earnestly expressed congratulations 
 to Mrs. Florence at the admirable choice made by 
 her son, and that too by those whose tastes and 
 13*
 
 ^98 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 opinions she dared not dispute, that she could 
 'perceive any thing even passable in the beautiful 
 young bride. 
 
 Gradually, however, as the younger Mrs. Flo- 
 rence, in the process of time, took her true posi- 
 tion in the social circle, even Mrs. Marygold could 
 begin to perceive the intrinsic excellence of her 
 character, although even this was more a tacit 
 assent to a universal opinion than a discovery of 
 her own. 
 
 As for Melinda, she was married about a year 
 after Fanny Clayton's wedding, to a sprig of gen- 
 tility with about as much force of character as 
 herself. This took place on the same night that 
 Lieut. Harwood, son of Mrs. Harwood before al- 
 luded to, led to the altar Mary Clayton, the sister 
 of Fanny, who was conceded by all, to be the 
 loveliest girl they had ever seen lovely, not only 
 in face and form, but loveliness itself in the sweet 
 perfections of moral beauty. As for Lieut. Har- 
 wood, he was worthy of the heart he had won.
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 
 
 " Do you intend going to Mrs. Walshingham's 
 party, next week, Caroline ?" asked Miss Melvina 
 Fenton of her friend Caroline Gay. " It is said 
 that it will be a splendid affair." 
 
 " I have not made up my mind, Melvina." 
 
 " you'll go of course. / wouldn't miss it for 
 the world."' 
 
 " I am much inclined to think that I will stay 
 at home or spend my evening in some less brilliant 
 assemblage," Caroline Gay replied in a quiet tone, 
 
 " Nonsense, Caroline ! There hasn't been such 
 a chance to make a sensation this season."
 
 300 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " And why should I wish to make a sensation, 
 Melvina ?" 
 
 " Because it's the only way to attract attention. 
 Now-a-days, the person who creates a sensation, 
 secures the prize that a dozen quiet, retiring indi 
 viduals are looking and longing after, in vain. 
 We must dazzle if we would win." 
 
 " That is, we must put on false colors, and de- 
 ceive not only ourselves, but others." 
 
 " How strangely you talk, Caroline ! Every 
 one now is attracted by show and eclat. 1 * 
 
 " Not every one, I hope, Melvina." 
 
 " Show me an exception." 
 
 " Caroline smiled as she answered, 
 
 " Your friend Caroline, as you call her, I hope 
 is one." 
 
 " Indeed ! And I suppose I must believe you. 
 But come, don't turn Puritan. You are almost 
 behind the age, as it is, and if you don't take 
 care, you will get clear out of date, and either 
 live and die an old maid, or have to put up with 
 one of your quiet inoffensive gentlemen who hardly 
 dare look a real briliant belle in the face." 
 
 Caroline Gay could not help smiling at her 
 friend's light bantering, even while she felt inclin- 
 ed to be serious in consideration of the false views
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 301 
 
 of life that were influencing the conduct and af- 
 fecting the future prospects of one, whose many 
 good qualities of heart, won her love. 
 
 " And if I should get off," she said, " with one 
 of those quiet gentlemen you allude to, it will be 
 about the height of my expectation." 
 
 " "Well, you are a queer kind of a girl, any 
 how 1 But, do you know why I want to make a 
 sensation at Mrs. Walshingham's ?" 
 
 " No. I would be pleased to hear." 
 
 " Then I will just let you into a bit of a secret. 
 I've set my heart on making a conquest of Henry 
 Clarence." 
 
 " Indeed !" ejaculated Caroline, with an em 
 phasis that would have attracted Melvina's atten- 
 tion, had her thoughts and feelings not been at 
 the moment too much engaged. 
 
 "Yes, I have. He's so calm and cold, and 
 rigidly polite to me whenever we meet, that I am 
 chilled with the frigid temperature of the atmos- 
 phere that surrounds him. But as he is a prize 
 worth the trouble of whining, I have set my heart 
 on melting him down, and bringing him to my 
 feet." 
 
 Caroline smiled as her friend paused, but did 
 not reply
 
 302 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " I know half a dozen girls now, who are 
 breaking their hearts after him," continued the 
 maiden. " But I'll disappoint them all, if there 
 is power in a woman's winning ways to conquer. 
 So you see, my lady Gay Grave it should be 
 that I have some of the strongest reasons in the 
 world, for wishing to be present at the 'come off' 
 next week. Now you'll go, won't you ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I will, if it's only to see the effect of 
 your demonstrations on the heart of Henry Clar- 
 ence. But he is one of your quiet, inoffensive 
 gentlemen, Melvina. How comes it that you set 
 him as a prize ?" 
 
 " If he is quiet, there is fire in him. I've seen 
 his eye flash, and his countenance brighten with 
 thought too often, not to know of what kind of 
 stuff be is made." 
 
 " And if I were to judge of his character, he is 
 not one to be caugnt by effect," Caroline remarked. 
 
 " 0, as to that, all men have their weak side. 
 There isn't one, trust me, who can withstand the 
 brilliant attractions of the belle of the ball room, 
 such as, pardon my vanity, I hope to be on next 
 Tuesday evening. I have seen a little of the 
 world in my time, and have always observed, that 
 whoever can eclipse all her fair compeers at one
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 303 
 
 of these brilliant assemblages, possesses, for the 
 time, a power that may be used to advantage. 
 All the beaux flock around her, and vie with each 
 other in kind attentions. If, then, she distinguish 
 some individual of them above the rest, by her 
 marked reciprocation of his attentions, he is won. 
 The grateful fellow will never forsake her." 
 
 " Quite a reasoner, upon my word ! And so in 
 this way you intend winning Henry Clarence ?" 
 
 " Of course I do. At least, I shall try hard." 
 
 " And you will fail, I am much disposed to 
 think." 
 
 " I'm not sure of that. Henry Clarence is but 
 a man." 
 
 " Yet he is too close an observer to be deceived 
 into any strong admiration of a ball-room belle." 
 
 " You are behind the age, Caroline. Your quiet 
 unobtrusiveness will I fear cause you to be passed 
 by, while some one not half so worthy, will take 
 the place which you should have held in the affec- 
 tions of a good husband." 
 
 " Perhaps so. But, I wish to be taken for what 
 I am. I want no man, who has not the good sense 
 and discrimination to judge of my real character." 
 
 " You will die an old maid, Caroline."
 
 3C4 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " That may be. But, in all sincerity, I must 
 say that I hope not." 
 
 " You will go to the ball, of course ?" 
 
 I think I will, Melvina." 
 
 " Well, that settled, what are you going to 
 wear ?" 
 
 " Something plain and simple, of course. But 
 I have not thought of that." 
 
 " don't Caroline. You will make yourself 
 singular." 
 
 " I hope not, for I dislike singularity. But how 
 are you going to dress ? Splendid, of course, as 
 you expect to make a sensation." 
 
 " I'll try my best, I can assure you ?" 
 
 " Well, what kind of a dress are you going to 
 appear in ?" 
 
 " I have ordered a robe of blue tulle, to be 
 worn over blue silk. The robe to be open in 
 front, of course, and confined to the silk-skirt with 
 variegated roses." 
 
 " And your head-dress ?" 
 
 " I shall have my hair ornamented with varie- 
 gated roses, arranged over the brow like a coronet 
 Now, how do you like that ?" w 
 
 " Not at all."
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 305 
 
 " 0, of course not. I might have known that 
 
 your taste was too uneducated for that." 
 
 " And I hope it will ever remain so, Melvina." 
 " But how will you dress, Caroline. Do let me 
 
 hear, that I may put you right if you fix on any 
 
 thing outre." 
 
 " Well, really, Melvina, I have not given the 
 
 subject a thought. But it never takes me long to 
 
 choose. Let me see. A plain *" 
 
 " Not plain, Caroline, for mercy sake !" 
 
 " .Yes. A plain white dress, of India muslin." 
 
 " Plain white ! 0, don't Caroline let me beg 
 
 of you." 
 
 " Yes, white it shall be." 
 
 " Plain white ! Why nobody will see you !" 
 
 " 0, yes. Among all you gay butterflies, I 
 
 will become the observed of all observers," said, 
 
 Caroline laughing. 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself. But you will have 
 
 some pink trimming, will you not ?" 
 
 " No, not a flower, nor ribbon, nor cord, nor 
 
 tassel." 
 
 " You will be an object of ridicule." 
 " Not in a polite company of gentlemen and la- 
 dies, I hope !"
 
 306 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " No ; but . And your head-dress, Caro- 
 line. That I hope will atone for the rest." 
 
 " No, my own dark hair, plain " 
 
 " For mercy sake, Caroline ! Not plain." 
 
 " Yes, my hair plain." 
 
 " And no ornament !" 
 
 " 0, yes a very beautiful one." 
 
 " Ah, that may help a little. A ray of sunshine 
 on a barren waste. " 
 
 " A simple sprig of buds and half blown 
 flowers." 
 
 " The color ?" 
 
 " White, of course." 
 
 ' You are an original, Caroline. But I suppose 
 I can't make you change your taste ?" 
 
 ' I hope not, Melvina." 
 
 " I am sorry that I shall be compelled to throw 
 you so far in the shade, my little Quakeress friend. 
 The world will never know half your real worth, 
 Caroline. You are hiding your light. 
 
 " Many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 The deep unfatnomed caves of ocean bear 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 And as she repeated these lines, applying them 
 to her friend, Melvina rose to depart. 
 
 " You are resolved on trying to make a sensa- 
 tion, then ?" said Caroline.
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 307 
 
 " Of course, and what is more, I will succeed." 
 
 " And win Henry Clarence ?" 
 
 " I hope so. He must be made of sterner stuff 
 than I think him, if I do not." 
 
 " Well, we shall see." 
 
 " Yes, we will. But good-bye ; I must go to 
 the mantua-maker's this morning, to complete ray 
 orders." 
 
 After Melvina Felton had gone, Caroline Gray's 
 manner changed a good deal. Her cheek, the 
 color of which had heightened during her conver- 
 sation with her friend, still retained its beautiful 
 glow, but the expression of her usually calm face 
 was changed, and slightly marked by what seemed 
 troubled thoughts. She sat almost motionless for 
 nearly two minutes, and then rose up slowly with 
 a slight sigh, and went to her chamber. 
 
 It was early on the same evening that Henry 
 Clarence, the subject of her conversation with 
 Melvina, called in, as he not unfrequently did, to 
 spend an hour in pleasant conversation with Car- 
 oline Gay. He found her in the parlor reading- 
 
 " At your books, I see," he remarked, in a 
 pleasant tone, as he entered. 
 
 " Yes ; I find my thoughts need exciting by
 
 308 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 contact with the thoughts of others. A good 
 book helps us much sometimes." 
 
 " You were reading a book then. May I ask 
 its author ?" 
 
 " Degerando." 
 
 " You are right in calling this a good book, 
 Caroline," he said, glancing at the title page, to 
 which she had opened, as she handed him the 
 volume. "Self-education is a most important mat- 
 ter, and with such a guide as Degerando, few can 
 go wrong." 
 
 " 'So I think. He is not so abstract, nor does 
 he border on transcendentalism, like Coleridge, 
 who notwithstanding these peculiarities I am yet 
 fond of reading. Degerando opens for you your 
 own heart, and not only opens it, but gives you 
 the means of self-control at every point of your 
 exploration." 
 
 The beautiful countenance of Caroline was lit 
 up by pure thoughts, and Henry Clarence could 
 not help gazing upon her with a lively feeling of 
 admiration. 
 
 " I cannot but approve your taste," he said. 
 " But do you not also read the lighter works of 
 the day ?" 
 
 " I do not certainly pass all these by. I would
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 309 
 
 lose much were I to do so. But I read only a 
 few, and those emanating from such minds as 
 James, Scott, and especially our own Miss Sedg- 
 wick. The latter is particularly my favorite. 
 Her pictures, besides being true to nature, are 
 pictures of home. The life she sketches, is the 
 life that is passing all around us perhaps in the 
 family, unknown to us, who hold the relation of 
 next door neighbors." 
 
 " Your discrimination is just. After reading 
 Miss Sedgwick, our sympathies for our fellow 
 creatures take a more humane range. We are 
 moved by an impulse to do good to relieve the 
 Buffering to regulate our own action in regard 
 to others by a higher and better rule. You are 
 A reader of the poets, too and like myself, I 
 believe, are an admirer of Wordsworth's calm 
 And deep sympathy with the better and nobler 
 principles of our nature." 
 
 " The simple beauty of Wordsworth has ever 
 charmed me. How much of the good and true, 
 fike precious jewels set in gold, are scattered 
 thickly over his pages !" 
 
 " And Byron and Shelly can you not enjoy 
 them ?" Clarence asked, with something of lively
 
 310 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 interest in her reply, expressed in his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " It were but an affectation to say that I can 
 find nothing in them that is beautiful, nothing to 
 please, nothing to admire. I have read many 
 things in the writings of these men that were ex 
 quisitely beautiful. Many portions of Childe 
 Harold's Pilgrimage are not surpassed for gran 
 deur, beauty, and force, in the English language : 
 and the Alastor of Shelly, is full of passages of 
 exquisite tenderness and almost unequalled finish 
 of versification. But I have never laid either of 
 them down with feelings that I wished might 
 remain. They excite the mind to a feverish and 
 unhealthy action. We find little in them to 
 deepen our sympathies with our fellows little to 
 make better the heart, or wiser the head." 
 
 " You discriminate with clearness, Caroline,' 
 he said; "I did not know that you looked so 
 narrowly into the merits of the world's favorites. 
 But to change the subject ; do you intend going 
 to Mrs. Walsingham's next week ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think I will be there." *' 
 
 " Are you fond of such assemblages ?" the 
 young man asked. 
 
 " Not particularly so," Caroline replied. " But
 
 I 
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 311 
 
 I think it right to mingle in society, although all 
 of its forms are not pleasant to me." 
 
 " And why do you mingle in it then, if its 
 sphere is uncongenial ?" 
 
 "I cannot say, Mr. Clarence, that it is alto- 
 gether uncongenial. Wherever we go, into soci- 
 ety, we come in contact with much that is good. t 
 Beneath the false glitter, often assumed and worn 
 without the heart's being in it, but from a weak 
 spirit of conformity, lies much that is sound in 
 principle, and healthy in moral life. In mingling, 
 then, in society, we aid to develope and strengthen 
 these good principles in others. We encourage, 
 often, the weak and wavering, and bring back 
 such as are beginning -to wander from the simple 
 dignity and truth of nature." 
 
 " But is there not danger of our becoming daz- 
 zled by the false glitter ?" 
 
 " There may be. But we need not fear this, 
 if we settle in our minds a right principle of action, 
 and bind ourselves firmly to that principle." 
 
 A pause followed this last remark, and then 
 the subject of conversation was again changed to 
 one of a more general nature. 
 
 An evening or two after, Henry Clarence called 
 in to see Melvina Fenton. Melvina was what may
 
 312 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 be called a showy girl. Her countenance, which 
 was really beautiful, when animated, attracted 
 every eye. She had a constant flow of spirits, had 
 dipped into many books, and could make a little 
 knowledge in these matters go a great way. 
 Clarence could not conceal from himself that he 
 admired Melvina, and, although his good sense 
 and discrimination opposed this admiration, he 
 could rarely spend an evening wijth Miss Fenton, 
 without a strong prepossession in her favor. Still, 
 with her, as with every one, he maintained a con- 
 sistency of character that annoyed her. He could 
 not be brought to flatter her in any way ; and for 
 this she thought him cold, and often felt under 
 restraint in his society. One thing in her which 
 he condemned, was her love of dress. Often he 
 would express a wonder to himself, how a young 
 woman of her good sense and information could 
 be guilty of such a glaring departure from true 
 taste. 
 
 On this evening she received him in her very 
 best manner. And she was skilful at acting; so 
 skilful, as even to deceive the keen eye of Henry 
 Clarence. Fully resolved on making a conquest, 
 she studied his character, and tried to adapt her- 
 self to it.
 
 MAKIHGr A SENSATION. 313 
 
 " I have your favorite here," she remarked, 
 during the evening, lifting a copy of Wordsworth 
 from the centre table. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! so you have. Do you ever look 
 into him, Miss Fenton ?" 
 
 " yes. I did not know what a treasure was 
 hid in this volume, until, from hearing your admi- 
 ration of Wordsworth, I procured and read it 
 with delighted interest." 
 
 " I am glad that you are not disappointed. If 
 you have a taste for his peculiar style of thinking 
 and writing, you have in that volume an inex- 
 haustible source of pleasure," 
 
 " I have discovered that, Mr. Clarence, and 
 must thank you for the delight I have received, 
 and I hope I -shall continue to receive." 
 
 Nearly two hours were spent by the young 
 man in the company of Miss Fenton, when he 
 went away, more prepossessed in her favor than 
 he had yet been. She had played her part to 
 admiration. The truth was, Wordsworth, except 
 in a few pieces, she had voted a dull book. By 
 tasking herself, she had mastered some passages, 
 to which she referred during the evening, and 
 thus obtained credit for being far more familiar 
 with the poet of nature than she ever was or ever 
 14
 
 314 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 would be. She went upon the principle of making 
 a sensation, and thus carrying hearts, or the heart 
 she wished to assault, by storm. 
 , " I believe that I really love that girl,' 1 Henry 
 Clarence said, on the evening before the party at 
 Mrs. Walsingharn's to a young friend. 
 
 " Who, Melvina Fenton ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She is certainly a beautiful girl." 
 
 " And interesting and intelligent." 
 
 " Yes I know of no one who, in comparison 
 with her, bears off the palrn." 
 
 " And still, there is one thing about her that I 
 do not like. She is too fond of dress and 
 display." 
 
 " 0, that is only a little foible. No one is alto- 
 gether perfect." 
 
 " True and the fault with me is, in looking 
 fcfter perfection." 
 
 " Yes, I think you expect too much." 
 
 " She is affectionate, and that will make up foi 
 many deficiencies. And what is more, I can see 
 plainly enough that her heart is interested. The 
 brightening of her cheek, the peculiar expression 
 of her eye, not to be mistaken, when certain sub-
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 315 
 
 jeets are glanced at, convince me that I have dnly 
 to woo to win her." 
 
 " "What do you think of Caroline Gay ?" asked 
 his friend. 
 
 " "Well, really* I can hardly tell what to think 
 of her. She has intelligence, good sense, and 
 correct views on almost every subject. But she 
 is the antipodes of Melvina in feeling. If she were 
 not so calm and cold, I could love her ; but I do 
 not want a stoic for a wife. I want a heart that 
 will leap to my own, and send its emotion to the 
 cheek and eye." 
 
 " I am afraid you will not find an angel in this 
 world," his friend said, smiling. 
 
 " No, nor do I want an angel. But I want as 
 perfect a woman as I can get." 
 
 " You will have to take Melvina, then, for she 
 has three exceeding good qualities, at least, over- 
 shadowing all others." 
 
 " And what are they ?" 
 
 " Beauty." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 M An affectionate heart." 
 
 " Something to be desired above every thing 
 else. And her next good quality ?"
 
 316 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Her father is worth a < plum.' " 
 
 " I would dispense with that, were she less 
 fond of show, and effect, and gay company." 
 
 " 0, they are only the accompaniments of girl- 
 hood. As a woman and a wife, she will lay them 
 all aside." 
 
 " I should certainly hope so, were I going to 
 link my lot with hers." 
 
 " Why, I thought your mind was made up." 
 
 " Not positively. I must look on a little longer, 
 and scan a little closer before I commit myself." 
 
 " Well, success to your marrying expedition. 
 I belong yet to the free list." 
 
 In due time Mrs. Walshingham's splendid af- 
 fair came off. 
 
 " Isn't she an elegant woman 1" exclaimed a 
 young man in an under tone, to a friend, who 
 stood near Henry Clarence, as Melvina swept 
 into the room dressed in a style of elegance and 
 effect that attracted every eye. 
 
 " Beautiful 1" responded his companion. " I 
 must dance with her to night. I always make 
 a point to have one round at least with the belle 
 of the ball-room." 
 
 The individual who last spoke, was well known
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 317 
 
 to all in that room as the betrayer of innocence. 
 And Henry Clarence felt his cheek burn and his 
 heart bound with an indignant throb as he heard 
 this remark. 
 
 " He will be disappointed, or I am mistaken," 
 he said to himself as the two, who had been con- 
 versing near him, moved to another part of the 
 room. " But if Melvina Fenton has so little of 
 that sensitive innocence, that shrinks from the 
 presence of guilt as to danfie with him, and suffer 
 her hand to be touched by his, my mind is made 
 up. I will never marry her." 
 
 '* She is the queen of beauty to-night, Clar- 
 ence," said a friend coming to Henry's side, and 
 speaking in an under tone. 
 
 " She is, indeed, very beautiful ; but I cannot 
 help thinking a little too showy. Her dress would 
 be very good for the occasion were those varie- 
 gated roses taken from their blue ground. 
 Flowers never grow on such a soil ; and her head 
 dress is by far too conspicuous, and by no means 
 in good taste." 
 
 " Why you are critical to-night, Clarence. I 
 thought Melvina one of your favorites?" 
 
 " I must confess a little good will towards her,
 
 318 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 and perhaps that is the reason of my being some- 
 what particular in my observation of her style of 
 dress. Certainly, she makes a most decided sen- 
 sation here to-night ; for every eye is upon her, 
 and every tongue, that I have yet heard speak is 
 teeming with words of admiration." 
 
 " That she does," responded the friend. Every 
 other girl in the room will be dying of envy or 
 neglect before the evening is over." 
 
 " That would speak little for the gallantry of 
 the men or the good sense of the young ladies," 
 was the quiet reply. 
 
 Several times the eye of Henry Clarence wan- 
 dered around the room in search of Caroline- - 
 but he did not see her in the gay assemblage. 
 
 " She told me she would be here," he mentally 
 said, " and I should really like to mark the contrast 
 between her and the brilliant Miss Fenton. Oh ! 
 there she is, as I live, leaning on the arm of her 
 father, the very personification of innocence and 
 beauty. But her face is too calm by half. I 
 fear she is cold." 
 
 Truly was she as Henry Clarence had said, 
 the personification of innocence and beauty. Her 
 dress of snowy whiteness, made perfectly plain, 
 and fitting well a figure that was rather delicate,
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 319 
 
 but of exquisite symmetry, contrasted beautifully 
 with the gay and flaunting attire of those around 
 her. Her head could boast but a single ornament, 
 besides her own tastefully arranged hair, and 
 that was a sprig of buds and half-blown flowers 
 as white as the dress she had chosen for the even- 
 ing. Her calm sweet face looked sweeter and 
 more innocent than ever, for the contrast of 
 the whole scene relieved her peculiar beauty ad- 
 mirably. 
 
 " An angel ?" ejaculated a young man by the 
 side of Clarence, moving over towards the part of 
 the room where Caroline stood, still leaning on the 
 arm of her father. 
 
 " We wanted but you to make our tableau 
 complete," he said, with a graceful bow. Let 
 me relieve you, Mr. Gay, of the care of this young 
 lady," he added offering his arm to Caroline 
 and in the next minute he had joined the prom- 
 enade with the sweetest creature in the room by 
 his side. 
 
 The beautiful contrast that was evident to all, 
 between Caroline, the plainest-dressed maiden in 
 the room, and Melvina the gayest and most inv 
 posing, soon drew all eyes upon the former, and 
 Melvina had the discrimination to perceive that
 
 320 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 she had a rival near the throne, in one whom she 
 little dreamed of fearing ; and whose innocent 
 heart she knew too weU to accuse of design. 
 
 Soon cotillion parties were formed, and among 
 the first to offer his hand to Melvina, was a young 
 man named Sheldon, the same alluded to as de- 
 claring that he would dance with her, as he al- 
 ways did with the belle of the ball room. Mel- 
 vina knew his character well, and Henry Clarence 
 was aware that she possessed this knowledge. 
 His eye was upon her, and she knew it. But 
 she did not know of the determination that he 
 formed or else she would have hesitated. 
 
 " The most splendid man in the room, and the 
 most graceful dancer," were the thoughts that 
 glanced through her mind, as she smiled an assent 
 to his invitation to become his partner. " I shall 
 not yet lose my power." 
 
 And now all eyes were again upon the brilliant 
 beauty threading the mazy circles, with glowing 
 cheek and sparkling eye. And few thought of 
 blaming her for dancing with Sheldon, whose 
 character ought to have .banished him from virtu- 
 ous society. But there was one whose heart 
 sickened as he looked,on, and that one was Henry 
 Clarence. He lingered near the group of dancers
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 321 
 
 
 
 but a few minutes, and. then wandered away to 
 another room. 
 
 " Permit me to transfer ray company, Mr. Clar- 
 ence," said the young man who had thus far 
 monopolized the society of Caroline Gay. " I 
 will not be selfish ; and besides, I fear I am be- 
 coming too dull for my fair friend here." 
 
 With a bow and a smile, Clarence received on 
 his arm the fair girl. He felt for her a tenderer 
 regard than had heretofore warmed his heart, as 
 he strolled through the rooms and listened to her 
 sweet, penetrating voice. And whenever he turned 
 and looked her in the face, he saw that in the ex- 
 pression of her eyes which he had never marked 
 before something of tenderness that made his 
 own heart beat with a quicker motion. As they 
 drew near the dancers, they observed Sheldon 
 with Melvina leaning on his arm, and two or 
 three others, engaged in maikng up another 
 cotillion. 
 
 " "We want but one more couple, and here they 
 are," said Sheldon, as Clarence and Caroline 
 came up. 
 
 " Will you join this set ?" asked Clarence, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 " Not this one," she replied.
 
 322 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Miss Gay does not wish to dance now," her 
 companion said, and they moved away. 
 
 But the cotillion was speedily formed without 
 them, and the dance proceeded. 
 
 Half an hour after, while Henry Clarence and 
 Caroline were sitting on a lounge, engaged in 
 close conversation, Sheldon came up, and bowing 
 in his m<5st graceful manner, and, with his bland- 
 est smile, said, 
 
 
 
 " Can I have the pleasure of dancing with Miss 
 
 Gay, this evening ?" 
 
 " No, sir," was the quiet, firm reply of the 
 maiden, while she looked him steadily in the face. 
 
 Sheldon turned hurriedly away, for he under- 
 stood the rebuke, the first he had yet met with 
 in the refined, fashionable, virtuous society of one 
 of the largest of the Atlantic cities. 
 
 The heart of Henry Clarence blessed the 
 maiden by his side. 
 
 " You are not averse to dancing, Caroline ?" he 
 said. 
 
 " no. But I do not dance with every one." 
 
 " In that you are right, and I honor your deci- 
 sion and independence of character." 
 
 During the remainder of the evening, she 
 danced several times, more frequently with Henry
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 323 
 
 than with any other, but never in a cotillion of 
 which Sheldon was one of the partners. Much 
 to the pain and alarm of Melvina, Clarence did 
 not offer to dance with her once ; and long- before 
 the gay assemblage broke up, her appearance 
 had failed to produce any sensation. The eye 
 tired of viewing her gaudy trapping, and turned 
 away unsatisfied. But let Caroline go where she 
 would, she was admired by all. None wearied 
 of her chaste, simple and beautiful attire; none 
 looked upon her mild, innocent face, without an 
 expression, tacit or aloud, of admiration. Even 
 the rebuked, and for a time angered, Sheldon, 
 could not help ever and "anon seeking her out 
 amid the crowd, and gazing upon her with a 
 ' feeling of respect that he tried in vain to subdue. 
 Melvina had sought to produce a " sensation" 
 by gay and imposing attire, and after a brief and 
 partial success, lost her power. But Caroline, 
 with no wish to be noticed, much less to be the 
 reigning belle of the evening, consulting her own 
 pure taste, went in simple garments, and won the 
 spontaneous admiration of all, and, what was 
 more, the heart of Henry Clarence. He never, 
 after that evening, could feel any thing of his 
 former tenderness towards Melvina Felton. The
 
 324 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 veil had fallen from his eyes. He saw the differ- 
 ence between the desire of admiration, and a sim- 
 ple love of truth and honor, too plainly, to cause 
 him to hesitate a moment longer in his choice be- 
 tween two so opposite in their characters. And 
 yet, to the eye of an inattentive observer nothing 
 occurred during the progress of Mrs. Walshing- 
 ham's party more than ordinarily takes place on 
 such occasions. All seemed pleased and happy, 
 and Melvina the happiest of the whole. And 
 yet she had signally failed in her well-laid scheme 
 to take the heart of Henry Clarence while Car- 
 oline, with no such design, and in simply follow- 
 ing the promptings of a pure heart and a right 
 taste, had won his affectionate regard. 
 
 It was some three or four months after the 
 party at Mrs. Walshingham's, that Melvina Fen- 
 ton and Caroline Gay were alone in the chamber 
 of the latter, in close and interested conversation. 
 
 " I have expected as much," the former said, in 
 answer to some communication made to her by the 
 latter. 
 
 " Then you are not surprised ?" 
 
 1 Not at all." 
 
 " And I hope not pained by the intelligence ?" 
 
 " No, Caroline, not now," her friend said, smil-
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 325 
 
 ing ; " though two or three months ago it would 
 have almost killed me. I, too, have been wooed 
 and won." 
 
 " Indeed ! That is news. And who is it, Mel- 
 vina ? I am eager to know." 
 
 " Martin Colburn." 
 
 " A gentleman, and every way worthy of your 
 hand. But how in the world comes it that so 
 quiet and modest a young man as Martin has now 
 the dashing belle ?" 
 
 "It has occurred quite naturally, Caroline. 
 The dashing belle has gained a little more good 
 sense than she had a few months ago. She has 
 not forgotten the party at Mrs. "Walsaingham's. 
 And by the bye, Caroline, how completely you 
 out-generalled me on that occasion. I had a great 
 mind for a while never to forgive you." 
 
 " You are altogether mistaken, Melvina," Caro- 
 line said, with a serious air. " I did not act a 
 part on that occasion. I went but in my true 
 character, and exhibited no other." 
 
 " It was nature, then, eclipsing art; truth of 
 character outshining the glitter of false assump- 
 tion. But all that is past, and I am wiser and 
 better for it, I hope. You will be happy, I know, 
 with Henry Clarence, for he is worthy of you,
 
 326 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 and can appreciate your real excellence ; and 1 
 shall be happy, I trust, with the man of my 
 choice." 
 
 " No doubt of it, Melvina. And by the way," 
 Caroline said, laughing, " we shall make another 
 1 sensation,' and then we must be content to retire 
 into peaceful domestic obscurity. You will have 
 a brilliant time, I suppose ?" 
 
 " yes. I must try my hand at creating one 
 more sensation, the last and most imposing ; and, 
 as my wedding comes the first, you must be my 
 bridesmaid. You will not refuse ?" 
 
 " Not if we can agree as to how we are to dress 1 
 We ought to be alike in this, and yet I can never 
 consent to appear in any thing but what is plain, 
 and beautiful for its simplicity." 
 
 " You shall arrange all these. You beat me 
 the last time in creating a sensation, and now I 
 will give up to your better taste." 
 
 And rarely has a bride looked sweeter than did 
 Melvina Fenton on her wedding-day. Still, she 
 was eclipsed by Caroline, whose native grace ac- 
 corded so well with her simple attire, that who- 
 ever looked upon her, looked again, and to ad- 
 mire. The "sensation" they created was not 
 soon forgotten.
 
 MAKING A SENSATION. 327 
 
 Caroline was married in a week after, and then 
 the fair heroines of our story passed from the 
 notice of the fashionable world, and were lost 
 with the thousands who thus yearly desert the 
 gay circles, and enter the quiet sphere and sweet 
 obscurity of domestic life.
 
 SOMETHING- FOR A COLD. 
 
 " Henry," said Mr. Green to his little son 
 Henry, a lad in his eighth year, " I want you to 
 go to the store for me." 
 
 Mr. Green was a working-man, who lived in a 
 comfortable cottage, which he had built from 
 money earned from honest industry. He was, 
 moreover, a sober, kind-hearted man, well liked 
 by all his neighbors, and beloved by his own 
 family. 
 
 " I'm ready, father," said Henry, who left his 
 play, and went to look for his cap, the moment 
 he was asked to go on an errand.
 
 SOMETHING FOR A COLD. 329 
 
 " Look in the cupboard, and get the pint flask. 
 It's on the lower shelf." 
 
 Henry did as desired, and then asked " What 
 shall I get, father ?" 
 
 " Tell Mr. Brady to send me a pint of good 
 Irish whiskey." 
 
 The boy tripped lightly away, singing as he 
 went. He was always pleased to do an errand 
 for his father. 
 
 " This cold of mine gets worse," remarked Mr. 
 Green to his wife, as Henry left the house. " I 
 believe I'll try old Mr. Vandeusen's remedy a 
 bowl of hot whiskey-punch. He says it always 
 cures him ; it throws him into a free perspiration, 
 and the next morning he feels as clear as a bell." 
 
 " It is not always good," remarked Mrs. Green, 
 " to have the pores open. We are more liable to 
 take cold." 
 
 " Very true. It is necessary to be careful how 
 we expose ourselves afterwards." 
 
 " I think I can make you some herb-tea, that 
 would do you as much good as the whiskey 
 punch," said Mrs. Green. 
 
 "Perhaps you could," returned her husband, 
 " but I don't like your bitter stuff. It never was 
 to my fancy."
 
 330 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Mrs. Green smiled, and said no more. 
 . " A few moments afterwards, the door opened 
 and Henry came in, looking pale and frightened. 
 
 " Oh, father !" he cried, panting, " Mr. Brooks 
 is killing Margaret !" 
 . " What !" Mr. Green started to his feet. 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed the child, " he's killing her I 
 he's killing her ! I saw him strike her on the 
 head with his fist." And tears rolled over the 
 boy's cheeks. 
 
 Knowing Brooks to be a violent man when in- 
 toxicated, Mr. Green lost not a moment in hesi- 
 tation or reflection, but left his house hurriedly, 
 and ran to the dwelling of his neighbor, which 
 was near at hand. On entering the house, a sad 
 scene presented itself. The oldest daughter of 
 Brooks, a girl in her seventeenth year, was lying 
 upon a bed, insensible, while a large bruised and 
 bloody spot on the side of her face showed where 
 the iron fist of her brutal father had done its fear- 
 ful if not fatal work. Her mother bent over her, 
 weeping; while two little girls were shrinking 
 with frightened looks into a corner of the room. 
 
 Mr. Green looked around for the wretched 
 man, who, in the insanity of drunkenness, had
 
 SOMETHING FOR A COLD. 331 
 
 done this dreadful deed ; but he was not to be 
 seen. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Brooks ?" he asked. 
 
 " He has gone for the doctor," was replied. 
 
 And in a few minutes he came in with a phy- 
 sician. He was partially sobered, and his coun- 
 tenance had a troubled expression. His eyes 
 shrunk beneath the steady, rebuking gaze of his 
 neighbors. 
 
 " Did you say your daughter had fallen down 
 stairs ?" said the doctor, as he leaned over Mar- 
 garet, and examined the dreadful bruise on her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Yes yes," stammered the guilty father, ad- 
 ding this falsehood to the evil act 
 
 " Had the injury been a few inches farther up, 
 she would ere this have breathed her last," said 
 the doctor looking steadily at Brooks, until the 
 eyes of the latter sunk to the floor. 
 
 Just then there were signs of returning life in 
 the poor girl, and the doctor turned towards her 
 all his attention. In a little while, she began to 
 moan, and moved her arms about, and soon open- 
 ed her eyes. 
 
 After she was fully restored again to conscious 
 life, Mr. Green returned to his home, where he
 
 332 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 was met with eager questions from his wife. . 
 After describing all he had seen, lie made this 
 remark 
 
 " There are few better men than Thomas Brooks 
 when he it sober ; but when he is drunk he acts 
 like a demon." 
 
 " He must be a demon to strike with his hard 
 fist, a delicate creature like his daughter Marga- 
 ret. And she is so good a girl. Ah, me ! to what 
 dreadful consequences does this drinking lead !" 
 
 "It takes away a man's reason," said Mr. 
 Green, " and when this is gone, he becomes the 
 passive subject of evil influences. He is, in fact, 
 no longer a man." 
 
 Mrs. Green sighed deeply. 
 
 " His poor wife !" she murmured ; " how my 
 heart aches for her, and his poor children ! If the 
 husband and father changes, from a guardian 
 and provider for his family, into their brutal as- 
 sailant, to whom can they look for protection ? 
 Oh, it is sad ! sad !" 
 
 " It is dreadful ! dreadful !" said Mr. Green. 
 
 " It is only a few years ago," he added, " since 
 Brooks began to show that he was drinking too 
 freely. He always liked his glass, but he knew 
 how to control himself, and never drowned his
 
 8OMETHING FOR A COLD. 333 
 
 reason in his cups. Of late, however, he seems 
 to have lost all control over himself. I never 
 saw a man abandon himself so suddenly." 
 
 " All effects of this kind can be traced back to 
 very small beginnings," remarked Mrs. Green. 
 
 " Yes. A man does not become a drunkard in 
 a day. The habit is one of very gradual forma- 
 tion." 
 
 " But when once formed," said Mrs. Green, 
 " hardly any power seems strong enough to break 
 it. It clings to a man as if it were a part of 
 himself." 
 
 " And we might almost say that it was a part 
 of himself," replied Mr. Green : "for whatever we 
 do from a confirmed habit, fixes in the mind an 
 inclination thereto, that carries us away as a ves- 
 sel is borne upon the current of a river." 
 
 " How careful, then, should every one be, not 
 to put himself in the way of forming so dangerous 
 a habit. Well do I remember when Mr. Brooks 
 was married. A more promising young man 
 could not be found nor one with a kinder heart. 
 The last evil I feared for him and his gentle wife 
 was that of drunkenness. Alas ! that this calam- 
 ity should have fallen upon their household. 
 What evil, short of crime, is greater than this ?"
 
 334 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " It is so hopeless," remarked Mr. Green. " I 
 have talked with Brooks a good many times, but 
 it has done no good. He promises amendment, 
 but does not keep his promise a day." 
 
 " Touch not, taste not, handle not. This is the 
 only safe rule," said Mrs. Green. B - 
 
 " Yes, I believe it," returned her husband. 
 " The man who never drinks is in no danger of 
 becoming a drunkard." 
 
 For some time, Mr. and Mrs. Green 'continued 
 to converse about the sad incident which had just 
 transpired in the family of their neighbor, while 
 their little son, upon whose mind the fearful 
 sight he had witnessed was still painfully vivid, 
 sat and listened to all they were saying, with 
 a clear comprehension of the meaning of the 
 whole. - 
 
 After awhile the subject was dropped. There 
 had been a silence of some minutes, when the at- 
 tention of Mr. Green was again called to certain 
 unpleasant bodily sensations, and he said 
 
 " I declare ! this cold of mine is very bad. I 
 must do something to break it before it gets 
 worse. Henry, did you get that Irish whiskey I 
 sent for ?" 
 
 " No, sir," replied the child, " I was so fright-
 
 , SOMETHING FOR A COLD. 335 
 
 ened when I saw Mr. Brooks strike Margaret, 
 that I ran back." 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't wonder ! It was dreadful. 
 Mr. Brooks was very wicked to do so. But take 
 the flask and run over to the store. Tell Brady 
 that I want a pint of good Irish whiskey." 
 
 Henry turned from his father, and went to the 
 table on which he had placed the flask. He did 
 not move with his usual alacrity. 
 
 " It was whiskey, wasn't it," said the child, as 
 he took the bottle in his hand, " that made Mr. 
 Brooks strike Margaret?" And he looked so 
 earnestly into his father's face, and with so strange 
 an expression, that the man felt disturbed, while 
 he yet wondered at the manner of the lad. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Green, " it was the whis- 
 key. Mr. Brooks, if he had been sober, would 
 not have hurt a hair of her head." 
 
 Henry looked at the bottle, then at his father, 
 in so strange a way, that Mr. Green, who did not 
 at first comprehend what was in the child's 
 thoughts wondered still more. All was soon 
 understood, for Harry, bursting into tears, laid 
 
 
 
 down the flask, and, throwing his arms around 
 his father's neck, said 
 
 " Ob, father ! don't get any whiskey !"
 
 336 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Mr. Green deeply touched by the incident, 
 hugged his boy tightly to his bosom. He said 
 
 " I only wanted it for medicine, dear. But, 
 never mind. I won't let such dangerous stuff 
 come into my house. Mother shall make me some 
 of her herb-tea, and that will do as well." 
 
 Henry looked up, after a while, timidly. 
 " You're not angry with me, father ?" came from 
 his innocent lips. 
 
 " Oh, no, my child ! "Why should I be angry ?' 
 replied Mr. Green, kissing the cheek of his boy 
 Then the sunshine came back again to Henry's 
 heart, and he was happy as before. 
 
 Mrs. Green made the herb-tea for her husband, 
 and it proved quite as good for him as the whis- 
 key-punch. A glass or two of cold water, on 
 going to bed, would probably have been of more 
 real advantage in the case, than either of these 
 doubtful remedies.
 
 THE POKTKAIT. 
 
 " BLESS the happy art !" ejaculated Mrs. Mor- 
 ton, wiping the moisture from her eyes. " Could 
 anything be more perfect than that likeness of his 
 sweet, innocent face ? Dear little Willie ! I fear 
 I love him too much." 
 
 " It is indeed perfect," said Mr. Morton, after 
 viewing the picture in many lights. " My favour- 
 ite painter has surpassed himself. What could be 
 more like life, than that gentle, half-pensive face 
 looking so quiet and thoughtful, and yet so full of 
 childhood's most innocent, happy expression ?" 
 
 Mr. Morton, here introduced to the reader, was 
 15
 
 338 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 a wealthy merchant of Philadelphia, and a liber- 
 a. patron of the arts. He had, already, obtained 
 several pictures from Sully, who was, with him, 
 as an -artist, a great favourite. The last order 
 had just been sent home. It was a portrait of 
 his youngest, and favourite child a sweet little 
 boy, upon whose head three summers had not 
 yet emiled. 
 
 " I would not take the world for it !" said Mrs. 
 Morton after looking at it long and steadily for 
 the hundredth time. " Dear little fellow ! A year 
 from now, and how changed he will be. And 
 every year he will be changing and changing ; but 
 this cannot alter, and even from the period of 
 manhood, we may look back and see our Willie's 
 face when but a child." 
 
 " Every one who is able," remarked Mr. Mor- 
 ton, " should have the portraits of his children 
 taken. What better legacy could a father leave 
 to his child, than the image of his own innocent 
 face 1 Surely, it were enough to drive away 
 thoughts of evil, and call up old and innocent af- 
 fections, for any man, even the man of crime, to 
 look for but a moment upon the image of what he 
 was in childhood." 
 
 " And yet there are some," added Mrs. Mor-.
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 339 
 
 ton, " who call portraits, and indeed, all paintings, 
 mere luxuries meaning, thereby, something that 
 is utterly useless." 
 
 " Yes, there are such, but even they, it seems 
 to me, might perceive their use in preserving the 
 innocent features of their children. The good 
 impressions made in infancy and childhood, are 
 rarely if ever lost ; they come back upon every 
 one at times, and are, frequently, all-powerful in 
 the influence they exert against evil. How like a 
 spell to call back those innocent thoughts and af- 
 fections, would be the image of a man's face in 
 childhood ! No one, it seems to me, could resist 
 its influence." 
 
 One, two, and three years passed away, and 
 every one wrought some change upon ' little 
 Willie," but each change seemed to the fond pa- 
 rents an improvement, yet, did they not look 
 back to earlier years, as they glanced at his pic- 
 ture, with less of tender emotion, and heart-stir- 
 ring delight. But now a sad change, the q^ddest 
 of all changes that occur, took place. Disease 
 fastened upon the child, and ere the parents, and 
 fond sisters of a younger and only brother, were 
 fully sensible of danger, the spirit of the child had, 
 fled. We will not linger to pain the reader with
 
 340 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 any minute description of the deep and abiding 
 grief that fell, like a shadow from an evil wing 
 overspreading them, upon the household of Mr. 
 Morton, but pass on to scenes more exciting, if 
 not less moving to the heart. 
 
 For many weeks, Mrs. Morton could not trust 
 herself to look up to the picture that still hung in 
 its place, the picture of her lost one. But after 
 time had, in some degree, mellowed the grief that 
 weighed down her spirits, she found a melancholy 
 delight in gazingintently upon the beautiful face 
 that was still fresh and unchanged that still 
 looked the impersonation of innocence. 
 
 " He was too pure and too lovely for the 
 earth," she said, one day, to her husband, about 
 two months after his death, leaning her head upon 
 his shoulder " and so the angels took him." 
 
 "Then do not grieve for him," Mr. Morton replied 
 in a soothing tone. "We know that he is with 
 the angels, and where they are, is neither evil, nor 
 sorrow, nor pain. Much as I loved him, much as 
 I grieved for his loss, I would not recall him if I 
 could. But, our picture cannot die. And though 
 it is mute and inanimate, yet it is something to 
 awaken remembrances, that, even though sad, we
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 341 
 
 delight to cherish. It is something to remind us 
 that we have a child in heaven." 
 
 But the loss of their child seemed but the be- 
 ginning of sorrows to Mr. Morton and his family. 
 An unexpected series of failures in business so 
 fatally involved him, that extrication became im- 
 possible. He was an honest man, and therefore, 
 this sudden disastrous aspect of affairs was doubly 
 painful, for he knew no other course but the hon- 
 ourable giving up of everything. On learning the 
 whole truth in relation to his business, he came 
 home, and after opening the sad news to his wife, 
 he called his family around him. 
 
 " My dear children," he said, " I have painful 
 news to break to you ; but you cannot know it 
 too soon. Owing to a succession of heavy fail- 
 ures, my business has become embarrassed be- 
 yond hope. I must give up all, even our com- 
 fortable and elegant home must be changed for 
 one less expensive, and less comfortable. Can 
 you, my children, bear with cheerfulness and con- 
 tentment such a changed condition ?" 
 
 The heart of each one had already been subdued 
 and chastened by the affliction that removed the 
 little playmate of all so suddenly away, and now 
 the news of a painful and unlooked-for reverse
 
 342 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 came with a shock that, for a few moments, bewil 
 dered and alarmed. 
 
 " Are not my children willing to share the good 
 and evil of life with their father ?" Mr. Morton re- 
 sumed after the gush of tears that followed the 
 announcement of his changed fortunes had in a 
 degree subsided. 
 
 " Yes, dear father 1 be they what they may," 
 Constance, the eldest, a young lady in her seven- 
 teenth year, said, looking up affectionately through 
 her tears. 
 
 Mary, next in years, pressed up to her father's 
 side, and twining an arm around his neck, kissed 
 his forehead tenderly. She did not speak; for 
 her heart was too full ; but it needed no words to 
 assure him that her love was as true as the needle 
 to the pole. 
 
 Eliza, but twelve, and like an unfolding bud 
 half revealing the loveliness and beauty within, 
 could not fully comprehend the whole matter. 
 But enough she did understand, to know that her 
 father was in trouble, and this brought her also 
 to his side. 
 
 " Do not think of us, dear father ! u Constance 
 said, after the pause of a few oppressive mo- 
 ments. " Let the change be what it may, it cannot
 
 THE PO&TRA1T. 543 
 
 take from us our father's love, and our father's 
 honourable principles. Nor can it change the 
 true affection of his children. I feel as if I could 
 say, With my father I could go unto prison or to 
 death." 
 
 The father was much moved. " That trial, my 
 dear children, I trust you may never be called 
 upon to meet. The whole extent of the painful 
 one into which you are about to enter, you can- 
 not now possibly realize, and I earnestly hope 
 that your hearts may not fail you while passing 
 through the deep waters. But one thought may 
 strengthen ; think that by your patience and 
 cheerfulness, your father's burdens will be light- 
 ened. He cannot see you pained without suffer- 
 ing a double pang himself." 
 
 " Trust us, father," was the calm, earnest, 
 affectionate reply of Constance ; and it was plain, 
 by the deep resolution expressed in the faces of 
 her sisters, that she spoke for them as well as 
 herself. 
 
 And now, the shadow that was obscuring their 
 earthly prospects, began to fall thicker upon 
 them. At the meeting of his creditors which 
 was called, he gave a full statement of bis affairs
 
 344 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 "And now," he said, "I am here to assign 
 everything. In consequence of heavy, and you 
 all must see, unavoidable, losses, this assignment 
 will include all my property, and still leave a 
 small deficiency. Beyond that, I can only hopo 
 for success in my future exertions, and pledge 
 that success in anticipation. Can I do more ?" 
 
 " We could not ask for more certainly," was 
 the cold response of a single individual, made in 
 a tone of voice implying no sympathy with the 
 debtor's misfortunes, but rather indicating disap- 
 pointment that the whole amount of his claim 
 could not be made out of the assets. 
 
 Some degree of sympathy, some kind consid- 
 eration for his painful condition Mr. Morton nat- 
 urally looked for, but nearly every kind emotion 
 for him was stifled by the sordid disappointment 
 which each one of his former business friends felt 
 in losing what they valued, as their feelings indi- 
 cated, above everything else their money. 
 
 " When will the assignment be made ?" was the 
 next remark. 
 
 " Appoint your trustees, and I am ready at any 
 moment." 
 
 Trustees were accordingly appointed, and these 
 had a private conference with, and received their
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 345 
 
 instructions from the creditors. In a week they 
 commenced their work of appraisement. After a 
 thorough and careful examination into accounts, 
 deeds, mortgages, and documents of various kinds, 
 and becoming satisfied that every thing was as 
 Mr. Morton had stated it, it was found that the 
 property represented by these would cover ninety 
 cents in the dollar. 
 
 " Tour furniture and plate comes next," said 
 one of the trustees. 
 
 Mr. Morton bowed and said, while his heart 
 sunk in his bosom 
 
 " To-morrow I will be ready for that.' 
 
 " But why not to-day ?" inquired one of the 
 trustees. " We are anxious to get through with 
 this unpleasant business." 
 
 " I said to-morrow," Mr. Morton replied, 
 while a red spot burned upon his cheek. 
 
 The trustees looked at each other, and hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Surely," said the debtor, " you cannot hesitate 
 to let me have a single day in which to prepare 
 my family for so painful a duty as that which is 
 required of me." 
 
 " We should suppose," remarked one of the 
 
 15*
 
 346 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 trustees, in reply, " that your family were already 
 prepared for that." , 
 
 The debtor looked the last speaker searchingly 
 in the face for some moments, and then said, as 
 if satisfied with the examination 
 
 " Then you are afraid that I will make way, in 
 the mean time, with some of my plate !" 
 
 " I did not say so, Mr. Morton. But, you 
 know we are under oath to protect the interest of 
 the creditors." 
 
 An indignant reply trembled on the lips of 
 Morton, but he curbed his feelings with a strong 
 effort. 
 
 " I am ready now," he said, after a few mo- 
 ments of hurried self-communion. " The sooner 
 it is over the better." 
 
 Half an hour after he entered his house with 
 the trustees, and sworn appraiser. He left them 
 in the parlour below, while he held a brief but 
 painful interview with his family. 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, dear father !" Con- 
 stance said, laying her hand upon his shoulder. 
 We expected this, and have fully nerved our- 
 selves for the trial." 
 
 "May he who watches over and regards us
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 347 
 
 all, bless you, my children !" the father said with 
 emotion, and hurriedly left them. 
 
 A careful inventory of the costly furniture that 
 adorned the parlours was first taken. The plate 
 was then displayed, rich and beautiful, and val- 
 ued ; .and then the trustees lifted their eyes to the 
 wall they were connoisseurs in the fine arts ; at 
 least one of them was, but a taste for the arts 
 had, in his case, failed to soften his feelings. He 
 looked at a picture much as a dealer in precious 
 stones looks at a diamond, to determine its money- 
 value. 
 
 " That is from Guido," he said, looking admi- 
 ringly at a sweet picture, which had always been 
 a favourite of Mr. Morton's, " and it is worth a 
 hundred dollars." 
 
 " Shall I put it down at that ?" asked the ap- 
 praiser, who had little experience in valuing 
 pictures. 
 
 " Yes ; put it down at one hundred. It will 
 bring that under the hammer, any day," replied 
 the connoisseur. " Ah, what have we here ?" 
 A copy from Murillo's 'Good Shepherd.' Isn't 
 that a lovely picture? Worth a hundred and 
 fifty, every cent. And here is 'Our Saviour, 
 from Da Vinci's celebrated picture of the Last
 
 348 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Supper ; and a ' Magdalen' from Correggio. You 
 are a judge of pictures, I see, Mr. Morton ! But 
 what is this ?" he said, eyeing closely a large en- 
 graving, richly framed. 
 
 " A proof, as I live ! from the only plate worth 
 looking at of Raphael's Madonna of St. Sixtus. 
 I'll give fifty dollars for that, myself." 
 
 The pictures named were all entered up by the 
 appraiser, and then the group continued their ex- 
 amination. 
 
 " Here is a Sully," remarked the trustee above 
 alluded to, pausing before Willie's portrait. 
 
 " But that is a portrait," Mr. Morton said, ad- 
 vancing, while his heart leaped with a new and 
 sudden fear. 
 
 " If it is, Mr. Morton, it is a valuable picture, 
 worth every cent of two hundred dollars. "We 
 cannot pass that, Sir." 
 
 ""What !" exclaimed Mr. Morton, " take my 
 Willie's portrait ? no, you cannot do that !" 
 
 " It is no doubt a hard case, Mr. Morton," said 
 one of the trustees. " But we must do our duty, 
 however painful. That picture is a most beau- 
 tiful one, and by a favourite artist, and will bring 
 at least two hundred dollars. It is not a neces- 
 sary article of household furniture, and is not
 
 THE PORTRAIT 349 
 
 covered by the law. We should be censured, and 
 justly too, if we were to pass it." 
 
 For a few moments, Mr. Morton's thoughts 
 were so bewildered and his feelings so benumbed 
 by the sudden and unexpected shock, that he 
 could not rally his mind enough to decide what 
 to say or how to act To have the unfeeling hands 
 of creditors, under the sanction of the law, seize 
 upon his lost Willie's portrait, was to him so un- 
 expected and sacrilegious a thing, that he could 
 scarcely realize it, and he stood wrapt in painful, 
 dreamy abstraction, until roused by the direction, 
 
 " Put it down at a hundred and fifty," given 
 to the appraiser, by one of the trustees. 
 
 " Are your hearts made of iron ?" he asked 
 bitterly, roused at once into a distinct conscious- 
 ness of what was transpiring. 
 
 " Be composed, Mr. Morton," was the cold, 
 quiet reply. 
 
 " And thus might the executioner say to the 
 victim he was torturing Be composed. But 
 surely, when I tell you that that picture is the 
 likeness of my youngest child, now no more, you 
 will not take it from us- To lose that, would 
 break his mother's heart. Take all the rest, and
 
 350 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 I will not murmur. But in the name of humanity 
 spare me the portrait of my angel boy." 
 
 There was a brief, cold, silent pause, and the 
 trustees continued their investigations. Sick at 
 heart, Mr. Morton turned from them and sought 
 his family. The distressed, almost agonized ex- 
 pression of his countenance was noticed, as he 
 came into the chamber where they had retired. 
 
 " Is it all over ?" asked Mrs. Morton. 
 
 " Not yet," was the sad answer. 
 
 The mother and daughter knew how much 
 their father prized his choice collection of pictures, 
 and supposed that giving an inventory of them 
 had produced the pain that he seemed to feel. 
 Of the truth, they had not the most distant idea. 
 For a few minutes he sat with them, and then, 
 recovering in some degree, his self-possession, he 
 returned and kept with the trustees, until every- 
 thing in the house that could be taken, was val- 
 ued. He closed the door after them, when they 
 left, and again returned to his family. 
 
 " Have they gone ?" asked Constance, in a low, 
 almost whispering voice. 
 
 " Yes, my child, they have gone at last." 
 
 " And what have they left us ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Morton, somewhat anxiously.
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 351 
 
 " Nothing but the barest necessaries for house- 
 keeping." 
 
 " They did not take our carpets and " 
 
 "Yes, Mary," said Mr. Morton interrupting 
 her, " every article in the parlors has been set 
 down as unnecessary." 
 
 " 0, father !" exclaimed the eldest daughter, 
 " can it be possible ?" 
 
 " Yes, my child, it is possible. We are left 
 *poor, indeed. But for all that I would not care, 
 if they had only left us Willie's portrait !" 
 
 Instantly the mother and daughters rose to their 
 feet, with blanched cheeks, and eyes staring wildly 
 into the father's face. 
 
 " no, not Willie's portrait, surely !" the 
 mother at length said, mournfully. " We cannot 
 give that up. It is of no comparative value to 
 others, and is all in all to us." 
 
 " I plead with them to spare us that. But it 
 was no use," Mr. Morton replied. " The ten- 
 derest ties in nature were nothing to them in 
 comparison with a hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 " But surely," urged Constance, "the law will 
 protect us in the possession of the picture. Who 
 ever heard of a portrait being seized upon by a 
 creditor ?"
 
 352 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " It is a cruel omission ; but nevertheless, Con- 
 stance, there is no law to protect us in keeping 
 it." 
 
 " But they shall not have it !" Mary said indig- 
 nantly. " I will take it away this very night, 
 where they can never find it." 
 
 " That would be doing wrong my child," Mr. 
 Morton replied. " I owe these men, and this 
 picture, they say, will bring a hundred and fifty 
 dollars. If they claim it, then, I cannot honestly 
 withhold it. Let us, then, my dear Children, re- 
 solve to keep our consciences clear of wrong, and 
 endeavor patiently to bear with our afflictions. 
 They can only result in good to us so far as we 
 humbly acquiesce in them. Nothing happens by 
 chance. Every event affecting us, I have often 
 told you, is ordered or permitted by Divine Prov- 
 idence, and is intended to make us better and wi- 
 ser. This severest trial of all, if patiently borne, 
 will, I am sure, result in good. 
 
 But, even while he tried to encourage and bear 
 up the drooping spirits of his family, his own 
 heart sunk within him at the thought of losing the 
 portrait of his child. 
 
 One week sufficed to transfer his property into 
 the hands of the individuals appointed to receive
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 353 
 
 it. He sought to make no unnecessary delay, 
 and, therefore, it was quickly done. At the end 
 of that time, he removed his family into a small 
 house at the northern extremity of the city, and 
 furnished it with the scanty furniture that, as an 
 insolvent debtor the law allowed him to claim. 
 Ere he left his beautiful mansion with his wife 
 and children, they all assembled in the parlour 
 where still hung Willie's sweet portrait. The 
 calm, innocent face of the child had for their eyes 
 a melancholy beauty, such as it had never worn 
 before ; and they gazed upon it until every 'cheek 
 was wet, and every heart oppressed. A sale of 
 the furniture had been advertised for that day, 
 and already the house had been thrown open. 
 Several strangers had come in to make examina- 
 tions before the hour of sale, and among them 
 was a young man, who on observing the family in 
 the parlour, instinctively withdrew ; not, however 
 before he had glanced at the picture they were 
 all looking at so earnestly. Aware that strangers 
 were gathering, Mr. Morton and his family soon 
 withdrew, each taking a last, lingering, tearful 
 glance at the dear face looking so sweet, so calm, 
 so innocent. 
 
 Their new home presented a painful and dreary
 
 354 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 contrast to the one from which they had just part- 
 ed. In the parlours, the floors of which were all 
 uncarpeted there were a dozen chairs, and a ta- 
 ble, and that was all ! Bedding barely enough 
 for the family, with but scanty furniture, sufficed 
 for the chambers ; and the same exacting hands 
 had narrowed down to a stinted remnant the ap- 
 pendages of the kitchen. 
 
 It was an hour after the closing in of evening, 
 and the family greatly depressed in spirits, were 
 gathered in one of the chambers, sad, gloomy, 
 and silent, when the servant which they had re- 
 tained came in and said that Mr. Wilkinson* was 
 \ 
 
 below and wished to see Miss Constance. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, mother, I cannot see him !" 
 Constance said bursting into tears. " It is cruel 
 for him to come here so soon," she added, after 
 she had a little regained her self-possession, 
 
 " You can do no less than see him Constance," 
 her mother said. " Do not lose that conscious- 
 ness of internal truth of character which alone can 
 sustain you in your new relations. You are not 
 changed, even if outward circumstances are no 
 
 O ' 
 
 longer as they were. And if Mr. Wilkinson does 
 not regard these do not you. Meet him my child, 
 as you have ever met him."
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 355 
 
 " We have only met as friends," Constance re- 
 plied, while her voice trembled in spite of her ef- 
 forts to be calm. 
 
 " Then meet now as friends, and equals. Re- 
 member, that, all that is of real worth in you re- 
 mains. Adversity cannot rob you of your true 
 character." 
 
 " Your mother has spoken well and wisely," 
 Mr. Morton said. " If Mr. Wilkinson, whom I 
 know to be a man of most sterling integrity of 
 character, still wishes your society, or ours, it 
 must not, from any foolish pride or weakness on 
 our part, be denied." 
 
 " Then I will see him, and try to meet him as 
 I should, though I feel that the task will be a 
 hard one," Constance replied. And her pale 
 cheek and swimming eye, told but too well, that 
 it would need all her efforts to main-tain her self- 
 possession. 
 
 In a few minutes she descended and met Mr. 
 Wilkinson in the parlour. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said advancing and taking 
 her hand as she entered, " for so soon intruding 
 upon you after the sad change in your condition. 
 But I should have been untrue to th". kind feel- 
 ings I bear yourself and family, had I, from a
 
 355 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 principle of false delicacy, staid away. I trust 
 I shall be none the less welcome now than be- 
 fore." 
 
 " We must all esteem the kindness that prompt- 
 ed your visit," Constance replied with a strong 
 effort to subdue the troubled emotions within, 
 and which were but too plainly indicated, by her 
 now flushed cheek and trembling lips. 
 
 " No other feeling induced me to call, except 
 indeed, one stronger than that possibly could 
 be " Mr. Wilkinson said, still holding her hand, 
 and looking intently in her face " the feeling of 
 profound regard, nay, I must call it, affection, 
 which I have long entertained for you." 
 
 A declaration so unexpected, under the circum- 
 stances, entirely destroyed all further efforts on 
 the part of Constance, to control her feelings. 
 She burst into tears, but did not attempt to with- 
 draw her hand. 
 
 " Can I hope for a return of like sentiment, 
 Constance ?" he at length said, tenderly. 
 
 A few moments' silence ensued, when the weep- 
 ing girl lifted her head, and looked him in the 
 face with eyes, though filled with tears, full of 
 love's tenderpet expression.
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 357 
 
 " I still confide in my father, Mr. "Wilkinson,' 
 was her answer. 
 
 " Then I would see your father to-night." 
 
 Instantly Constance glided from the room, anu 
 in a few minutes her father came down into the 
 parlour. A long conference ensued ; and then 
 the mother was sent for, and finally Constance 
 again. Mr. Wilkinson made offers of marriage, 
 which, being accepted, he urged an immediate 
 consummation. Delay was asked, but he was so 
 earnest, that all parties agreed that the wedding 
 should take place in three days. 
 
 In three days the rite was said, and "Wilkinson, 
 one of the most prosperous young merchants of 
 Philadelphia, left for New York with his happy 
 bride. A week soon glided away, at the end of 
 which time they returned. 
 
 " Where are we going ?" Constance asked, as 
 they entered a carriage on landing from the steam- 
 boat. 
 
 " To our own house, of course 1" was her hus- 
 band's reply. 
 
 " You didn't tell me that you had taken a 
 house, and furnished it." 
 
 " Didn't I ? Well, that is something of an
 
 358 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 oversight. But you hardly thought that I was 
 BO simple as to catch a bird without having a 
 cage first provided for it." 
 
 " You had but little time to get the cage," 
 thought Constance, but she did not utter the 
 thought. 
 
 In a few minutes the carriage stopped before 
 a noble dwelling, the first glance of which bewil- 
 dered the senses of the young bride, and caused 
 her to lean silent and trembling upon her hus- 
 band's arm, as she ascended the broad marble 
 steps leading to the entrance. Thence she was 
 ushered hurriedly into the parlours. 
 
 There stood her father, mother, and sisters, 
 ready to receive her. There was every article of 
 furniture in its place, as she had left it but a little 
 over a week before. The pictures, so much ad- 
 mired by her father, still hung on the wall ; and 
 there, in the old spot, was Willie s dear portrait, 
 as sweet, as innocent, as tranquil as ever ! One 
 glance took in all this. In the next moment she 
 fell weeping upon her mother's bosom. 
 
 A few words will explain all. Mr. "Wilkinson, 
 who was comparatively wealthy, was just on the 
 eve of making proposals for the hand of Constance 
 Morton, when the sudden reverse overtook her
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 359 
 
 father, and prostrated the hopes of the whole 
 family. But his regard was a true one, and not 
 to be marred or effaced by external changes. 
 When he saw the sale of the house and furniture 
 announced, he determined to buy all in at any 
 price. And he did so. On the day of the sale, 
 he bid over every competitor. 
 
 On the night of his interview with Constance and 
 her father, he proposed a partnership with the 
 latter. 
 
 " But I have nothing, you know, Mr. "Wilkin- 
 son," he replied. 
 
 " You have established business habits, and 
 extensive knowledge of the operations of trade, 
 and a large business acquaintance. And besides 
 these, habits of discrimination obtained by long 
 experience, which I need. With your co-opera- 
 tion in my business, I can double my profits. 
 Will you join me ?" 
 
 " It were folly, Mr. Wilkinson, to say nay," 
 Mr. Morton replied. " Then I will announce the 
 co-partnership at once," he said. 
 
 And it was announced before the day of mar- 
 riage, but Constance did not see it. 
 
 A happy elevation succeeded of course, the 
 sudden, painful, but brief depression of their for
 
 360 flOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 tunes. Nor was any of that tried family less 
 happy than before. And one was far happier. 
 Still, neither Mr. Morton, nor the rest could 
 ever look at Willie's portrait without remember- 
 ing how near they had once been to losing it, nor 
 without a momentary fear, that some change in 
 life's coming mutations might rob them of the 
 precious treasure, now doubly dear to them.
 
 VEEY P OOE. 
 
 " WHAT has become of the Wightmans ?" I 
 asked of my old friend Payson. I had returned to 
 my native place after an absence of several years. 
 Payson looked grave. 
 
 " Nothing wrong with them, I hope. Wight- 
 man was a clever man, and he had" a pleasant 
 family." 
 
 My friend shook his head ominously. 
 
 " He was doing very well when I left," said I. 
 
 " All broken up now," was answered. " He 
 failed several years ago." 
 
 c< Ah ! I'm sorry to hear this. What has be- 
 come of him ?" 
 16
 
 .12 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " I see him now and then, but I don't know 
 what he is doing." 
 
 " And his family ?" 
 
 " They live somewhere in Old Town. I havn't 
 met any of them for a long time. Some one told 
 me that they were very poor." 
 
 This intelligence caused a feeling of sadness to 
 pervade my mind. The tone and manner of Pay- 
 eon, as he used the words " very poor," gave to 
 them more than ordinary meaning. I saw, in 
 imagination, my old friend reduced from comfort 
 and respectability, to a condition of extreme pov- 
 erty, with all its sufferings and humiliations. 
 While my mind was occupied with these unpleas- 
 ant thoughts, my friend said, 
 
 *' You must dine with me to-morrow. Mrs. 
 Payson will be glad to see you, and I want to 
 have a long talk about old times. We dine at 
 three." 
 
 I promised to be with them, in agreement with 
 the invitation ; and then we parted. It was during 
 business hours, and as my friend's manner was 
 somewhat occupied and hurried, I did not think' 
 it right to trespass on his time. What I had 
 learned of the Wightmans troubled my thoughts. 
 I could not get them out of my mind. They were
 
 VERY POOR. 363 
 
 estimable people. I had prized them above ordi- 
 nary acquaintances; and it did seem peculiarly 
 hard that they should have suffered misfortune 
 " Very poor" I could not get the words out of 
 my ears. The way in which they were spoken 
 involved more than the words themselves ex- 
 pressed, or rather, gave a broad latitude to their 
 meaning. " VERY poor ! Ah me !" The sigh 
 was deep and involuntary. 
 
 I inquired of several old acquaintances whom I 
 met during the day for the Wightmans ; but all 
 the satisfaction I received was, that Wightman 
 had failed in business several years before, and 
 was now living somewhere in Old Town in a very 
 poor way. " They are miserably poor," said one. 
 " I see "Wightman occasionally," said another 
 " he looks seedy enough." " His girls take in 
 sewing, I have heard," said a third, who spoke with 
 a slight air of contempt, as if there were some- 
 thing disgraceful attached to needle-work, when 
 pursued as a means of livelihood. I would have 
 called during the day, upon Wightman, but failed 
 to ascertain his place of residence. 
 
 " Glad to see you !" Payson extended his hand 
 with a show of cordiality, as I entered his store 
 between two and three o'clock, on the next day
 
 364 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " Sit down and look over the papers for a little 
 while," he added. " ['11 be with you in a moment. 
 Just finishing up my bank business." 
 
 " Business first," was my answer, as I took the 
 proffered newspaper. " Stand upon no ceremony 
 with me." 
 
 As Payson turned partly from me, and bent 
 his head to the desk at which he was sitting, I 
 could not but remark the suddenness with which 
 the smile my appearance had awakened faded 
 from his countenance. Before him was a pile of 
 bank bills, several checks, and quite a formidable 
 array oi bank notices. He counted the bills and 
 checks, and after recording the amount upon a 
 slip of paper glanced uneasily at his watch, sighed, 
 and then looked anxiously towards the door. At 
 this moment a clerk entered hastily, and made 
 some communication in an undertone, which 
 brought from my friend a disappointed and im- 
 patient expression. 
 
 " Go to Wilson," said he hurriedly, " and tell 
 him to send me a check for five hundred without 
 fail. Say that I am so much short in my bank 
 payments, and that it is now too late to get th
 
 VERT POOR 365 
 
 mohey any where else. Don't linger a moment ; 
 it is twenty five minutes to three now." 
 
 The clerk departed. He was gone full ten min- 
 utes, during which period Payson remained at 
 his desk, silent, but showing many signs of uneas- 
 iness. On returning, he brought the desired check, 
 and was then dispatched to lift the notes for 
 which this late provision was made. 
 
 "What a life for a man to lead," said my friend, 
 turning to me with a contracted brow and a sober 
 face. " I sometimes wish myself on an island in 
 mid ocean. You remember C ?" 
 
 Very well." 
 
 " He quit business a year ago, and bought a 
 farm. I saw him the other day. ' Payson,' said 
 he, with an air of satisfaction, ' I haven't seen a 
 bank notice this twelvemonth.' He's a happy 
 man ! This note paying is the curse of my life. 
 I'm forever on the street financiering Financier- 
 ing. How I hate the word ! But come they'll 
 be waiting dinner for us. Mrs. Payson is de- 
 lighted at the thought of seeing you. How long 
 is it since you were here ? About ten years, if 
 I'm not mistaken. You'll find my daughters 
 quite grown up. Clara is in her twentieth year,
 
 366 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 You, of course, recollect her only as a school girl 
 Ah me ! how time does fly !" 
 
 I found my friend living in a handsome house 
 in Franklin street. It was showily, not tastefully, 
 furnished, and the same might be said of his wife 
 and daughters. When I last dined with them 
 it was many years before they were living in a 
 modest, but very comfortable way, and the whole 
 air of their dwelling was that of cheerfulness and 
 comfort. Now, though their ample parlors were 
 gay with rich Brussels, crimson damask, and bro- 
 catelle, there was no genuine home feeling there. 
 Mrs. Payson, the last time I saw her, wore a 
 mousseline de lain, of subdued colors, a neat lace 
 collar around her neck, fastened with a small dia- 
 mond pin, the marriage gift of her father. Her 
 hair, which curled naturally, was drawn behind 
 her ears in a few gracefully falling ringlets. She 
 needed no other ornament. Anything beyond 
 would have taken from her the chiefest of her 
 attractions, her bright, animated countenance, in 
 which her friends ever read a heart-welcome. 
 
 How changed from this was the rather stately 
 woman, whose real pleasure at seeing an old 
 friend was hardly warm enough to melt through 
 the ice of an imposed formality. How changed
 
 VERY POOR. 367 
 
 from this the pale, cold, worn face, where selfish- 
 ness and false pride had been doing a sad, sad 
 work. Ah ! the rich Honiton lace cap and costly 
 cape ; the profusion of gay ribbons, and glitter of 
 jewelry ; the ample folds of glossy satin ; how 
 poor a compensation were they for the true wo- 
 man I had parted with a few years ago, and now 
 sought beneath these showy adornments in vain 1 
 
 Two grown-up daughters, dressed almost as 
 flauntingly as their mother, were now presented. 
 In the artificial countenance of the oldest, I failed 
 to discover any trace of my former friend Clara. 
 
 A little while we talked formally, and with some 
 constraint all round ; then, as the dinner had been 
 waiting us, and was now served, we proceeded to 
 the dining-room. I did not feel honored by the 
 really sumptuous meal the Paysons had provided 
 for their old friend ; because it was clearly to be 
 seen that no honor was intended. The honor was 
 all for themselves. The ladies had not adorned 
 their persons, nor provided their dinner, to give 
 me welcome and pleasure, but to exhibit to the eyes 
 of their guest, their wealth, luxury, and social 
 importance. If I had failed to perceive this, the 
 conversation of the Paysons would have made it 
 plain, for it was of style and elegance in house
 
 368 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 keeping and dress of the ornamental in all its 
 varieties ; and in no case of the truly domestic and 
 useful. Once or twice I referred to the "Wight- 
 mans ; but the ladies knew nothing of them, and 
 seemed almost to have forgotten that such per- 
 sons ever lived. 
 
 It did not take long to discover that, with all 
 the luxury by which my friends were surrounded, 
 they were far from being happy. Mrs. Payson 
 and her daughters, had, I could see, become en- 
 vious as well as proud. They wanted a larger 
 house, and more costly furniture in order to make 
 as imposing an appearance as some others whom 
 they did not consider half as good as themselves. 
 To all they said on this subject, I noticed that 
 Payson himself maintained, for the most part, a 
 half-moody silence. It was, clearly enough, un- 
 pleasant to him. 
 
 " My wife and daughters think I am made of 
 money," said he, once, half laughing. " But if 
 they knew how hard it was to get hold of, some- 
 times, they would be less free in spending. I tell 
 them I am a poor man, comparatively speaking 
 but I might as well talk to the wind." 
 
 " Just as well," replied his wife, forcing an m
 
 VERY POOR. 369 
 
 credulous laugh ; " why will you use such Ian 
 guage ? A poor man !" 
 
 " He that wants what he is not able to buy, is 
 a poor man, if I understand the meaning of the 
 term," said Payson, with some feeling. " And 
 he who lives beyond his income, as a good many 
 of our acquaintances do to my certain knowledge, 
 is poorer still." 
 
 " Now don't get to riding that hobby, Mr. 
 Payson," broke in my friend's wife, deprecat- 
 ingly " don't, if you please. In the first place, 
 it's hardly polite, and, in the second place, it is 
 by no means agreeable. Don't mind him " and 
 the lady turned to me gaily " he gets in these 
 moods sometimes." 
 
 I was not surprised at this after what I had wit- 
 nessed, about his house. Put the scenes and 
 circumstances together, and how could it well be 
 otherwise ? My friend, thus re-acted upon, ven- 
 tured no further remark on a subject that was so 
 disagreeable to his family. But while they talked 
 of style and fashion, he sat silent, and to my mind 
 oppressed with no very pleasant thoughts. After 
 the ladies had retired, he said, with considerable 
 feeling 
 
 " All this looks and sounds very well, perhaps; 
 16*
 
 970 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 but there are two aspects to almost everything. 
 My wife and daughters get one view of life, and 
 I another. They see the romance, I the hard 
 reality. It is impossible for me to get money as 
 fast as they wish to spend it. It was my fault in 
 the beginning, I suppose. Ah 1 how difficult it is 
 to correct an error when once made. I tell them 
 that I am a poor man, but they smile in my face, 
 and ask me for a hundred dollars to shop with in 
 the next breath. I remonstrate, but it avails not, 
 for they don't credit what I say. AND I AM POOR 
 poorer, I sometimes think, than the humblest of 
 iny clerks, who manages, out of his salary of four 
 hundred a year, to lay up fifty dollars. He is 
 never in want of a dollar, while I go searching 
 about, anxious and troubled, for my thousands 
 daily. He and his patient, cheerful, industrious 
 little wife find peace and contentment in the sin- 
 gle room their limited means enables them to pro- 
 cure, while my family turn dissatisfied from the 
 costly adornments of our spacious home, and sigh 
 for richer furniture, and a larger and more showy 
 mansion. If I were a millionaire, their ambition 
 might be satisfied. Now, their ample wishes may 
 not be filled. I must deny them, or meet inevit- 
 able ruin. As it is, I am living far beyond a pru-
 
 VERY POOR. 371 
 
 dent limit not half so far, however, as many 
 around me, whose fatal example is ever tempting 
 the weak ambition of their neighbors." 
 
 This and much more of similar import, was 
 said by Payson. When I returned from his ele- 
 gant home, there was no envy in my heart. He 
 was called a rich and prosperous man by all 
 whom I heard speak of him, but in my eyes, he 
 was very poor. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, I saw "Wightman in 
 the street. He was so changed in appearance 
 that I should hardly have known him, had he not 
 first spoken. He looked in my eyes, twenty years 
 older than when we last met. His clothes were 
 poor, though scrupulously clean ; and, on observ- 
 ing him more closely, I perceived an air of neat- 
 ness and order, that indicates nothing of that dis- 
 regard about external appearance which so often 
 accompanies poverty. 
 
 He grasped my hand cordially, and inquired, 
 with a genuine interest, after my health and wel- 
 fare. I answered briefly, and then said : 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that it is not so well with 
 you in worldly matters as when I left the city." 
 
 A slight shadow flitted over his countenance, 
 but it grew quickly cheerful again. 
 16*
 
 372 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 " One of the secrets of happiness in this life," 
 said he, " is contentment with our lot. We rarely 
 learn this in prosperity. It is not one of the les- 
 sons taught in that school." 
 
 " And you htrve learned it ?" said I. 
 
 " I have been trying to learn it," he answered, 
 smiling. " But I find it one of the most difficult 
 of lessons. I do not hope to acquire it perfectly." 
 
 A cordial invitation to visit his family and take 
 tea with them followed, and was accepted. I 
 must own, that I prepared to go to the Wight- 
 mans with some misgivings as to the pleasure I 
 should receive. Almost every one of their old 
 acquaintances, to whom I had addressed inqui- 
 ries on the subject, spoke of them with commis- 
 eration, as " very poor." If Wightrnan could bear 
 the change with philosophy, I hardly expected to 
 find the same Christian resignation in his wife, 
 whom I remembered as a gay, lively woman, fond 
 of social pleasures. 
 
 Such were ray thoughts when I knocked at 
 the door of a small house, that stood a little back 
 from the street. It was quickly opened by a tall, 
 neatly-dressed girl, whose pleasant face lighted 
 into a smile of welcome as she pronounced my 
 name.
 
 VERY POOR. 373 
 
 " This is not Mary ?" I said as I took her prof 
 fered hand. 
 
 Yes, this is your little Mary," she answered. 
 " Father told me you were coming." 
 
 Mrs. "Wightman came forward as I entered the 
 room into which the front door opened, and gave 
 me a most cordial welcome. Least of all had 
 time and reverses changed her. Though a little 
 subdued, and rather paler and thinner, her face 
 had the old heart-warmth in it the eyes were 
 bright from the same cheerful spirit. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you again !" said Mrs. 
 Wightman. And she was glad. Every play of 
 feature, every modulation of tone, showed this. 
 
 Soon her husband came in, and then she ex- 
 cused herself with a smile, and went out, as I very 
 well understood, to see after tea. In a little while 
 supper was ready, and I sat down with the family 
 in their small breakfast room, to one of the plea- 
 santest meals I have ever enjoyed. A second 
 daughter, who was learning a trade, came in just 
 as we were taking our places at the table, and 
 was introduced. What a beautiful glow was up- 
 on her young countenance ! She was the very 
 image of health and cheerfulness. 
 
 When I met Wightman in the street, I thought
 
 374 B^ME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 his countenance wore something of a troubled 
 aspect this was the first impression made upon 
 mo. Now, as I looked into his face, and listened 
 to his cheerful, animated conversation, so full of 
 life's true philosophy, I could not but feel an 
 emotion of wonder. " Very poor !" How little 
 did old friends, who covered their neglect of this 
 family with these commiserating words, know of 
 their real state. How little did they dream that 
 sweet peace folded her wings in that humble 
 dwelling nightly; and that morning brought to 
 each a cheerful, resolute spirit, which bore them 
 bravely through all their daily toil. 
 
 " How are you getting along now Wightman ?" 
 I asked, as, after bidding good evening to his 
 pleasant family, I stood with him at the gate 
 opening from the street to his modest dwelling. 
 
 " Very well," was his cheerful reply. " It was 
 up hill work for several years, when I only re- 
 ceived five hundred dollars salary as clerk, and 
 all my children were young. But now, two of 
 them are earning something, and I receive eight 
 hundred dollars instead of five. We have man- 
 aged to save enough to buy this snug little house. 
 The last payment was made a month since. I am 
 beginning to feel rich." .
 
 VERY POOR. 375 
 
 And he laughed a pleasant laugh. 
 
 " Very poor," 1 said to myself, musingly, as 1 
 walked away from the humble abode of the 
 Wightmans. " Very poor. The words have had 
 a wrong application." 
 
 On the next day I met Payson. 
 
 " I spent last evening with the "Wightmans," 
 said I. 
 
 " Indeed ! How did you find them ? Very 
 poor, of course." 
 
 " I have not met a more cheerful family for 
 years. No, Mr. Payson they are not ' very poor? 
 for they take what the great Father sends, and 
 use it with thankfulness. Those who ever want 
 more than they possess are the very poor. But such 
 are not the Wightmans." 
 
 Payson looked at me a moment or two curious- 
 ly, and then let his eyes fall to the ground. A 
 little while he mused. Light was breaking in 
 upon him. 
 
 " Contented and thankful 1" said he, lifting his 
 eyes from the ground. " Ah ! my friend, if I and 
 mine were only contented and thankful !" 
 
 " You have cause to be," I remarked. " The 
 great Father hath covered your table with bles- 
 sings."
 
 376 HOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 And yet we are poor VERY POOR," said he, 
 " for we are neither contented nor thankful. We 
 ask for more than we possess, and, because it is 
 not given, we are fretful and impatient. Yes, yes 
 we, not the Wightmans, are poor very poor." 
 
 And with these words on his lips, my old friend 
 turned from me, and walked slowly away, his head 
 bent in musing attitude to the ground. Not 
 long afterwards, I heard that he had failed. 
 
 " Ah 1" thought I, when this news reached me, 
 " now you are poor, VERY poor, indeed !" And it 
 was so
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPTJLA& BOOKS. 
 
 ; 
 
 n mm mvmm 
 
 TRAVELS & RESEARCHES 
 
 UJtfOs of Soutf) Africa 
 
 This is a work of thrilling adventures and hair-breadth 
 scapes among savage beasts and more savage men. Dr. 
 Livingstone was alone, and unaided by any white man, 
 traveling with African attendants, among different tribes 
 and nations, all strange to him, and many of them hostile, 
 and altogether forming the most astonishing book <r 
 travels the world has ever seen. All acknowledge it is 
 the most readable book published. Price $1.25. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 It abounds ' descriptions of strange and wonderful scenes, among a people and in 
 onntry enHifiy new to the civilized world ; and altogether we regard it as one of tb 
 most interesting books issued within the past year. Dotty Democrat, Patterson, NtM 
 Jtrsey. 
 
 The eub'ects treated of are new and strangt, and take a deep hold npon popular feel- 
 ing. The book is having a great run, and will be read by every reading man, woman, 
 tad child, in this as well as other lands. Ashtahtda (Ohio) Telegraph. 
 
 v,ose of our readers who would have a delightful book for reading at any kour, wlH 
 nt be disappointed in this work. United States Journal. 
 
 This imeresung work should be in the hands of every one. Its interesting pagw tt 
 dT*Etures are full of instruction and amusement. Avlrurn American. 
 
 With truth we can say, that seldom is presented to the reading public a work oon 
 Uloiug such a vast amount of solid instruction us the one in question. Family Mag* 
 ttne. 
 
 It is a rich and valnable book for the general reader ; and the admirable style in.whl* 
 Ike pub!, slier has issued it, will commend it to the favor of thousands: Christiam 
 
 . 
 
 Tkis is a valuable work for the general reader, gotten up in beautiful style. A 
 Interest i.- given to this volume by the addition of valuable "Historical Notices of Di- 
 overies in Africa." Altogether, it would be difficult to name any work which would 
 ore completely meet the popular taste of our day. Those of our friends who hart 
 pwused "our' copy, speak very highly of it. Fort.Edward Inst. Monthly. 
 
 The present volume is a beautiful 12mo., of 446 pages, numerously illustrated, an4 
 tontams all of the original, except some of the more dry, scientific details. It U M* 
 >h*tically an edition for the people ; and, judging from the rapid sale with which ^ -f 
 '- , it is folly appro n%ted bj them. Cfcrfettea .freema*, Boston.
 
 * LIST 0? VALUABLE AND POPULAR BOOKS. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS. 
 
 TThe following List of Books are all written by T. S. ARTHPR, the 
 well-known author, of whom it has been said, "that dying ht hat 
 not writt a n a worl he would tvish to erase." They are all gotten ap 
 in the best style of binding, and are worthy of a place in eTr/ 
 household.] 
 
 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM, 
 
 n ^AW sm 
 
 This powerfully-written work, one of the best by its popular Author, 
 has met with an immense sale ten thousand copies having been 
 ordered within a month of publication. It is a large 12mo., illus- 
 trated with a beautiful Mezzotint Engraving, bySartain; printed 
 on fine white paper, and bound in the best English muslin, gilt 
 oack. Price $1.00. 
 
 The following are a few of the many Notices of the Press. 
 
 Powerful and seasouable. N. T. Independent. 
 
 Its scenes are painfully graphic, and furnish thrilling arguments for the temperance 
 lause. Norton's Literary Gazette. 
 
 Written in the author's most forcible and vigorous style. Lehigh Valley Times. 
 
 In the "Ten Nights in a Bar-Room," some of the consequences of tavern-keeping, the 
 "sowing of the wind" and "reaping the whirlwind," are followed by a "fearful con- 
 cremation," and the "closing scene," presenting pictures of fearful, thrilling interest, 
 T-Am. Courier. 
 
 There is no exaggeration in these pages they seem to have been filled up from actual 
 k-feservation. Philadelphia. Sun. 
 
 We have read it with the most Intense interest, and commend it as a work caltnlated 
 to do an immense amount of good. Lancaster Express. 
 
 We wish that all lovers of bar-rooms and rum would read the book. It will pay them 
 richly to do so. N. . Northern Blade. 
 
 It is safflcifut commendation of this little volume to say that it is from the graphia 
 yen of T. S. Arthur, whose works will be read and reread long after he has passed 
 way. He is as true to nature, as far as he attempts to explore it, as Shakspewt 
 himself; and iie works, consequently, have an immense popularity. New Haven 
 
 There are many scenes nnequaled for pathos and beauty. The death of little Mary 
 scarcely be surpassed. N. Y. Home Journal. 
 
 WHAT CAN WOMAN DO? 
 
 Lime , with Mezzotint Engraving, Price fLW 
 
 Ow purpose is to show, in a series of life pictures, what woman can do, as well foi 
 Mod as for evil We desire to bring her before you as a living entity, that yon may set 
 br M sh is, and comprehend in some small degree the influence (the yields in the 
 world's progress upward, as well as her power to mar the human goal and drag it dw 
 t perdition, w\en ni own spirit is darkened, by e;iL rnrfioar. ~*}*ruj' JV*" <* 
 
 t
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPULAE BOOKS. 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS Continued. 
 
 ST1PS T@W^HB> 
 
 OB. 
 
 RELIGION IN COMMON LIFE. 
 
 NOTICES O7 THK PRESS. 
 
 It panders to the doctrines and tenets of no particular sect, and will be found an 
 feat boek to place in the hands of young people. Savannah Georgian. 
 
 It is a work well calculated to do good, and to put into the hands of <fce youth f UM 
 onntry. Enquirer. 
 
 This work will interest the reader, and at the same time teach lesions of practical 
 Vftlue. Ch. ifefsenger, VI. 
 
 It is designed to show that the beauties and endearments of Christianity are to be 
 developed amid the stern realities of every -day life. Vermont Sfetsenger. 
 
 It is a timely and good book, aria should be widely read, especially by young Chris- 
 Hans Central Ch. Herald, Cincinnati. 
 
 Mr. Arthur is already well known as an earnest man, whose object has been to do 
 his part in spreading the doctrines and teachings of the Christian religion ; and in the 
 present volume be urges the necessity of charity, and endeavors to impress upon the 
 reader the fact that religion is for daily life, " and cannot be put aside at the tranquil 
 close of Sabbath evenings." Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 More decidedly religious in its character than Arthur's other works, though it ii 
 neither doctrinal nor sectarian. Ch. Ttmeg, Chicago. 
 
 The pen of T. 8. Arthur nev^ tires. In this new volume, we preceiv* that he i 
 still laboring s nccessfully in . educing brief stories, the aim of which is moral. 3 
 ays truly, when he declares ii "no special theology is taught in this volume," by 
 which he means, we suppose, that controverted dogmas are not introduced. His main 
 point is, " Religion, to be of any real use to a man, must come down into all his. daily 
 duties, and regulate his actions by a divine standard." Exeter Newt Letter. 
 
 No special theology is taught in this volume. It addresses itself to no particular sect 
 or denomination. It has no aim but to assist men to grow better, and thence, happier. 
 Salem Oazette. 
 
 Arthur has produced few more satisfactory books than this. Atlas and Bet. 
 
 THE HAND WITHOUT THE HEART; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE LIFE TRIALS OF JESSIE LORING. 
 Pric, tl.OO 
 
 The point of this story Is expressed in the title ; and the story itself Is a charply draw* 
 Illustration of the folly and madness of linking together two immortal souls by tbt 
 tough chains of selfish interest, pride, or baser passion. The lesson taught is one at 
 deep significance ; and thousands of hearts will throb in almost wild response, to the 
 Bis experiences of Jessie Loring, who in all the bitter trials of her unhappy union, 
 swerved not a hair's breadth from honor, principle, or religions duty, though temptation 
 Mime in its most alluring shape. A. the type of a true woman, she is worthy to b 
 he memory of every reader. Southern Argus. 
 
 THE lOUNG Um IT HOME. 
 
 i oiB. to nrav - Pri<, $1 Of
 
 10 LIST OF VALUABLE AND FOFVLAB BOOKS. 
 
 T. 8. ARTHUR'S WORKS Continued. 
 
 ARTHUR'S SKETCHES 
 
 OP 
 
 UFB AND CHARACTER 
 
 a ottavo volume of over 400 pages ; beautifully Illustrated, an 
 Ixmud in the best English muslin, gilt. Price $2.00. 
 
 NOTICES OF THB-PBESS. 
 
 The present volume, containing more than four hundred finely-printed octavo pages 
 W illustrated by splendid engravings, and made particularly valuable to those who lik 
 to "see the face of him they talk withal," by a correct likeness of the author, finely en- 
 graved on steel. Weal's Gazette. 
 
 In the princely mansions of the Atlantic merchants, and in the rude log cabins of th 
 backwoodsmen, the name of Arthur is equally known and cherished as the friend of 
 fittue. Graham's Magazine. 
 
 We would not exchange our copy of these sketches, with its story of " The Methodist 
 Preacher, " for anyone of the gilt-edged and embossed Annuals which we have yet seen. 
 Lady's National Magazine. 
 
 The first story in the volume, entitled " The Methodist Preacher, or nights and 
 Rhadows in the Life of an Itinerant," is alone worth the price of the work. Evening 
 Bulletin. 
 
 It is emphatically a splendid work. Middletown Whig. 
 
 Its worth and cheapness should place it in every person's hands who desires to read 
 n interesting book. Odd Fellow, Boonsboro'. 
 
 "The Methodist Preacher," "Seed-Time and Harvest," "Dyed in the Wool," are full 
 >f truth as well as instruction, and any one of them is worth the whole price of tha 
 rolume. Lowell Day-star, Rev. D. O. Eddy, Editor. 
 
 There is a fascination about these sketches which so powerfully interests the reader, 
 that few who commence one of them will part with it till it is concluded ; and they will 
 bear reading repeatedly. Norfolk and Portsmouth Herald. 
 
 Those who have not perused these model stories have a rich feast in waiting, and we 
 shall be happy if we can be instrumental in pointing them to it. Family Visitor, 
 Madison, Ga. 
 
 No library for family reading should be considered complete without this volume, 
 Which is as lively and entertaining in its character, as it is salutary in its influence. 
 ff. T Tribune. 
 
 The work is beautifully illustrated. Those wno are at all acquainted with Arthnr' 
 writings need hardly be told that the present work is a prize to whoever possesses it. 
 If. Y. Sun. 
 
 We know no better book for the table of any family, whether regarded for its ne 
 Wtterior or valuable contents. Vox Populi, Lowell. 
 
 The name of the author is in itself a sufficient recommendation of the work. La 
 pence Sentir^H. 
 
 T. 8. Arthur fs one of the best literary writers of the age. Watchman, Cii-clevOit 
 Ohio. 
 
 The name alone of the author is a sufficient guarantee to the reading public of Hi u 
 passing merit. The Argus Gallatin, Miss. 
 
 Probably he has not written a line which, dying, he could wish to erase. P.irto* 
 a.) Gazette. 
 
 THE WITHERED HEART. 
 
 12mo., with fine Mezzotint Frontispiece. Cloth Prioe $1.0C 
 
 This work has gone through several editions in England although 
 published but a few weeks, and has had the most flattering notice* 
 Uvm the EuglisL Press
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPULAR BOOKS. LI 
 
 T. J3. ARTHUR'S WORKS Continued. 
 
 f* T i v nyi < c e CM> f <Mi>*f 
 iggts ani Sgaktos of $ual JLm. 
 
 With an Autobiography and Portrait of the Author. Over flv 
 hundred pages, octavo, with fine tinted Engravings. Price 22.00. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 Im this Yolnma m*y be fonnd a "mora". suasion," which cannot but tffert for ifo4 
 ftJi who read. The mechanical execution of the work is very beautiful throuKUOut.- 
 V*v> Haven Palladium. 
 
 It i* by far the most valuable book ever published of his works, inasmuch as it Is wt> 
 Hched with a very interesting, though brief autobiography. American Courier. 
 
 Jfo family library is complete without a copy of this bolk. Scott's Weekly Paper. 
 
 No better or worthier present could be made U> the young ; no offering more pure, 
 charitable, and practicable could be tendered to those who are interested in the trniy 
 Benevolent reforms of the day. Godey's Lady's Book. 
 
 The paper, the engravings, the binding, and the literary contents, are all calculated 
 to make it a favorite. Penn. Inquirer. 
 
 This volume cannot be too highly recommended. ff. T. Tribune. 
 
 More good has been effected, than- by any other single medium that we know of. 
 K. f. Sun. 
 
 The work should be upon the centre-table of every parent in the land. Xationa* 
 Temperance Magazine. 
 
 LEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE, 
 
 Large 12mo. With Thirty Illustrations and Steel Plate. Price 1.00 
 
 A. single story is worth the price charged for the book. Union, Netoburyport 1 Mast. 
 "It includes some of the best humorous sketches of the author." 
 
 'The following Books are bound in uniform style as "ARTHUR'8 
 COTTAGE LIBRARY," and are sold in sets, or separately, each 
 volume being complete in itself. Each volume is embellished 
 with a fine Mezzotint Engraving.] 
 
 TO :P:R,OS:P:E:R,, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 Cloth, 12mo., with Mezzotint Engraving, ..................... Price $3.01 
 
 TRUE RICHES; OR, WEALTH WITHOUT WINGS. 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 loth, 12me. with Mezzotint Engraving, .................... Piioe 
 
 ANGEL OF THE HOUSEHOLD 
 
 AND OTHER TAI Eg. 
 Cloth, 12mo., witL Mezzotint Engraving, ... . jf-i
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPULAR BOOKS. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S WO RKS Continued. 
 
 GOLDEN GRAINS FROM LIFE'S HARVEST-FIELD. 
 
 Bound in gilt back and sides, sheep, with a beautiful Mezzotint Ka 
 graying. 12mo. Price $1.00. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 It is not too much to say, that the Golden Grains here presented to the reader, tat 
 ncL M will be productive of a far greater amount of human happiness than those i 
 earoh of which so many are willing to risk domestic peace, health, and even life itsel 
 In a distant and inhospitable region. 
 
 These narratives, like all of those which proceed from th same able pen, are r- 
 Biarkable not only for their entertaining and lively pictures of actual life, but for theit 
 admirable moral tendency. 
 
 It is printed in excellent style, and embellished with a mezzotint engraving. We 
 cordially recommend it to the favor of our readers. Godey'g Lady's Magazine. 
 
 ome fibmj." 
 
 I The following four volumes contain nearly 500 pages, Illustrated 
 with fine Mezzotint Engravings. Bound in the best manner, and 
 sold separately or in sets. They have been introduced into the 
 District, Sabbath-school, and other Libraries, and are considered 
 one of the best series of the author.] 
 
 THREE ERAS IN A WOMAN'S LIFE. 
 
 Containing MAIDEN, WIFE, and MOTHER. 
 
 Cloth, 12mo., with Mezzotint Engraving, ..................... Price $1.00 
 
 "This, by many, is considered Mr. Arthur's best work." 
 
 TALES OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 Containing LOVERS and HUSBANDS, SWEETHEARTS and 
 WIVES, and MARRIED and SINGLE. 
 
 Gloth, 12mo., with Mezzotint Engraving, ..................... Price $1.00. 
 
 " In this volume may be found some valuable bints for wives and husbands, as wel 
 M the young." 
 
 TALES OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 Containing MADELINE, THE HEIRESS, THE MART If H 
 WIFE, and RUINED GAMESTER. 
 
 Cloth, 12mo., with Mezzotint Engraving, ................... Price $1.00 
 
 OonUins several sketches of thrilling interest." 
 
 TALES OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 Containing BULL. MARTIN, PRIDE and PRINCIPLE, MAR1 
 ELLIS, FAMILY PRIDE, and ALICE MELVILLE. 
 
 Cloth, 12mo., with Mezzotint Engraving, ............ . ........ Price $1. Oft. 
 
 * Vkls roltime gives ths rprienes of real life by nsany who round not their ideal.
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPlrLAB BOOKS. 
 T 8. ARTHUR'S WO RK S Continued. 
 
 A BOOK OF STARTLING INTEREST. 
 
 THE mm MD THB DESIGN, 
 
 A handsome 12mo. volume. Price $1.00 
 
 In this exciting story Mr. ABTHUB has taken hold of the reader'i 
 Attention with a more than, usually vigorous grasp, and keeps him 
 absorbed to the end of the volume. The book is one of START 
 LING INTEREST. Ita lessons should be 
 
 IN THE HEART OF EVERY MOTHER. 
 
 Onward, with a power of demonstration that makes conviction a 
 necessity, the Author sweeps through his subject, fascinating at 
 evary step. In the union of 
 
 THRILLING DRAMATIC INCIDENT, 
 
 with moral lessons of the highest importance, this volume standi 
 forth pre-eminent among the author's many fine productions. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PBESS. 
 
 r^au Sw^^^cB5- excell * at moral and religious spirit "^ 
 
 This volume is among his best productions, and worthy of a place on every centra. 
 tW. Clarion, Pa., Banner. 
 
 This is a most fascinating book, one which the reader will find it quite bard to Uf 
 MM* without reading to the last page. Albany, A'. T., Jcurnal and Courier. 
 
 THE GOOD TIME COMING. 
 
 Large 12mo., with fine Mezzotint Frontispiece, Price $1.00 
 
 *t is like every thing ernaa4ng from that source worth reading. Toledo Blade. 
 It Is characterized b. *11 the excellencies of hl style. " Phila Bulletin. 
 
 K Is a book the most jcropulotu parent ay i*w ia tb hand of hi Aild^-AW 
 WMV Srttrncript.
 
 LIST OF VALUABLE AND POPULAR BOOKS. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S W R K S Continued. 
 
 The Old Man's Bride, Price $1.0 
 
 Heart Histories and Life Pictures, - " 1.0 
 
 Sparing to Spend; or, The Loftons and 
 Pinkertons, - - 
 
 Home Scenes, 
 
 1.0 
 1.0 
 
 OF 
 
 .Two vols. in one. By Gen. S. P. LYMAN. Price $1.00. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM PREFACE. 
 
 The Personal Memorials, which compose so large a portion of 
 these volumes, are from the pen of Gen. S. P. Lyman, whose inti- 
 mate and confidential relations with Mr. Webster afford a sufficient 
 guarantee for their authenticity. They are believed by the publisher 
 to embrace a more copious collection of original and interesting 
 memoranda, concerning the life and character of the great States- 
 man whose recent death has created BO deep a sense of bereavement 
 throughout the country, than has hitherto been given to the wotld. 
 
 COOK'S WES ROUND THE WORLD. 
 
 Two volumes in one, 
 
 Price $1.00
 
 kp -MA-AAKA* 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 s NO PHONE 
 
 TDCMi 
 
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 ( MARO 11988 
 
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 ! RENEWALS 
 
 
 
 
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 ) 
 
 
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 A 000135098 2 
 
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