X
 
 aitij Frariklm's a.fp ' 
 
 arid Srnovec Street*. 
 
 BQSTOi'- O A.V ' 
 
 *
 
 THE PENNIMANS; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 
 
 " Now, hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 
 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
 With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweet, 
 That no rude savor maritime invade 
 The nose of nice nobility ! Breathe soft 
 Ye clarionets, and softer still ye flutes ; 
 That winds and waters lulled by magic sounds 
 May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! " 
 
 COWPKB. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 GARDNER A. FULLER,
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1862, l>y 
 
 GABDNEB A. FULLER, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To those who can appreciate the sentiment of a true love, of a 
 noble womanhood and manhood ; who condemn those vulgar notions 
 which are entertained v by fashion in regard to what constitutes respect- 
 ability ; who can understand how a true woman may, from a sense 
 of duty, mingle with crime without becoming criminal, and through 
 her nobility of nature rescue from total depravity the erring of her 
 sex, to these right-minded and humane persona we dedicate this 
 humble effort of our pen, trusting that it may be received in the same 
 spirit in which it was conceived. 
 
 2063471
 
 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " From no affliction is the poor exempt ; 
 He thinks. feach eve surveys him with contempt ; 
 Unmanly poverty subdues the heart, 
 Cankers each wound, and sharpens every dart." 
 
 IT was Autumn. The leaves were strewn over the 
 Common. Those noble trees, which in summer time 
 cast such a grateful shade, were nearly bare of their 
 sapless foliage. October is a funereal month ; it speaks 
 so earnestly of death ; it points to the dried-up leaf 
 blown here and there and everywhere by the exulting 
 breeze, and whispers to our ears the sad and sober les- 
 son of nature's annual decay. Yet October is ever wel- 
 comed by those who love an honest, faithful teacher, 
 and a friend that will not flatter. If it saddens, this is 
 well ; for sadness cometh as a joy to the heart that is 
 not satisfied with what this life can offer for its love. 
 And who of all created mind after youth's novelties are 
 past, and the truth is realized of what we are and may 
 become through the elements of sin, unfolded by cir- 
 cumstance will cry content, and claim that they are 
 happy ? Let us pass from the Common into a fine, well- 
 swept avenue, which is lined with some of the most 
 costly and tastefully-constructed edifices in the city. 
 Wealth has centered here ; there is an air of superiority 
 in the locality striking to all beholders ; envy is chal- 
 lenged, and what, oh, what would not the multitude 
 give who pass and re-pass the streets which surround
 
 6 THE PENNIMAN3 J OB, 
 
 our beautiful Common, to live within its view, to be 
 of the aristocracy ! They would be so happy then. 
 They toil hard for a bare support ; how much harder 
 would they work if their labors would only insure them 
 an elegant residence upon these aristocratic grounds. 
 Having .acquired such a position, they would be so, se 
 happy. Indeed 1 Look yonder, where lies, at the foot 
 of a flight of stone steps, a poor old man, who has just 
 been kicked from the door by the irritable proprietor, a 
 person in years, with the coloring matter of his hair 
 quite gone. 1 He had been asked for alms. The poor 
 old beggar had sought bread, and received a stone. 
 He might or he might not have deserved assistance ; 
 his feeble step, however, should have shielded him from 
 a blow. Think you that retired merchant, with all his 
 dollars, with all his aristocratic style, was happy? 
 We think not ; we think were he a happy man there 
 would have been something better at his door than a 
 kick for old age, something more worthy a prominent 
 citizen in a prominent place. No, he was not happy. 
 He was proud, disdainful ; he had grown old in admin- 
 istering to the passions of a mind which had never been 
 softened by any actual faith in Christianity. It is true 
 he was a patron of the ministry ; he paid a certain sum 
 for its support ; but his affections were upon the things 
 of this world, and not upon the glories of the next. 
 There are many men who are pleased with the formality 
 of public worship. The Sabbath is a day on which they 
 cannot move in the business of the counting-house ; so 
 they resort to the house of prayer. The pew is a matter 
 of custom with them, and having the pulpit supplied 
 with a good-natured and mayhap eloquent divine, it is 
 pleasant to hear in terms of classic beauty the Scrip- 
 tural plan of salvation propounded, and the many noble 
 texts of the Bible discoursed of, though it may be re- 
 garded all the while as an ingenious fable, by an attent- 
 ive and prayer-bending congregation This is pleasant ; 
 it kills time, it 'consumes a day which otherwise would 
 pass heavily ; and above all it gains one the reputation 
 of godliness. Our man of wealth loves reputation, and 
 doubtless he would give handsome sums for notorious
 
 1HK TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 7 
 
 objects, that his name might wake a deep respect among 
 those with whom it was his ambition to associate ; that 
 his person might command the deference of the edu- 
 cated as well as the vulgar. But he was not, he could 
 not be happy, and of the two, the beggar and Dives, we 
 are of the opinion that the poverty of the one, with its 
 kicks even, was a greater blessing than the riches of 
 the other, with all the consequence that style and large 
 bank accounts could insure. It is not essential that a 
 man should be rich, but it is essential that he should 
 have a clear conscience, and be in fellowship with Deity 
 through its personification in the flesh by Jesus Christ, 
 who on Calvary looked down, through sweet blood and 
 tears, at men by whom an ignominious death was deemed 
 a fit award for the guilt of love. Pope Adrian IV says, 
 in his Philosophical Trifles, " I know no person more 
 unhappy than the sovereign pontiff. Labor alone, 
 were that his only evil, would destroy him in a short 
 time. His seat is full of thorns, his robes stuck with 
 points, and of an overwhelming weight. His crown and 
 tiara shine, but it is with a fire that will consume him. 
 I have risen by degrees," adds he, " from the lowest to 
 the highest dignity in this world, and have never found 
 that any of these elevations made the least addition to 
 my happiness. On the contrary, I feel it impossible to 
 bear the load with which I am charged." Petrarch, in 
 writing to a friend, says, " I now experience the truth of 
 what was told me, that to learn to live well is the most 
 difficult of all arts. I would not exchange my repose 
 for your labors and cares, my poverty for your riches. 
 It is not that I despise your fortune ; but if I were offered 
 the same rank, nothing would persuade me to accept 
 it." Happiness, then, is not glory, if these two great 
 men are any authority, whose names are as imperishable 
 as the human mind. A fashionable street, from whose 
 superb residences aged beggars may be kicked with 
 impunity, is in point of fact no more respectable than 
 localities where, if the poor receive not alms, there is 
 too honorable a sentiment to permit of abuse ; and those 
 who perchance may envy the rich and gaudy aristocrat 
 should remember, happiness is not glory, but to be truly
 
 THE PENNIMANS } OR, 
 
 happy is to be really humble. " If the situation of 
 man " says a sweet poet, 
 
 " Whose own genius gave the fatal blow, 
 And help'd to plant the wound that laid it low, 
 
 if man's situation in the present life be considered in all 
 its relations and dependencies, a striking inconsistency 
 will be apparent to a very cursory observer. We have 
 sure warrant for believing that our abode here is to 
 form a comparatively insignificant part of our existence, 
 and that on our conduct in this life will depend the hap- 
 piness in the life to come ; yet our actions daily con- 
 tradict the proposition, in as much as we commonly act 
 like men who have no thought but for the present scene, 
 and to whom the grave is the boundary of anticipation." 
 
 But to return to the poor old beggar, whom we left at 
 the bottom of a flight of steps, from the door of which 
 he had been heartlessly kicked by a purse-proud, unman- 
 nerly fellow. He did not weep, that poor old beggar, for 
 the experience of time had taught him that tears were 
 of no avail. There was a low muttering, and that was 
 all, as he walked feebly away. 
 
 An urchin was near by, whose appearance indicated a 
 good deal of character. He had a firm step and a bright 
 eye. He saw the inhumanity of wealth practised on 
 helpless poverty. "Did he hurt you, sir, that bad 
 man," said he, walking up to the beggar, with a marked 
 anxiety in his countenance. 
 
 " No, good little boy," replied the old man, a tear 
 coursing down his shriveled, bloodless cheeks ; " him- 
 self he injured more." 
 
 " 0, yes, he did so," returned the boy ; " God will 
 punish him for all he did to you. I am so sorry, sir, 
 you should be obliged to beg ; so old, so poor." 
 
 " Good boy, sweet boy," replied the beggar, unable 
 to restrain the emotions of his heart ; and taking the 
 little fellow by the hand, he requested that he would 
 walk with him. 
 
 They had proceeded only a short distance when they 
 were met by a little girl, driving a press-hoop, who, per-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 9 
 
 ceiving an acquaintance in the urchin, stopped, and asked 
 him, with a tender and somewhat embarrassed accent 
 and manner, where he was going. 
 
 " This poor old man has been abused for asking char- 
 ity/' replied the boy, indignantly ; "I wish I could help 
 him." 
 
 " Good boy, blessed boy," muttered the beggar, in 
 tones almost inaudible. 
 
 " I have some cents in my pocket, mother gave me to 
 buy cake," said the little girl, " but you, good sir, shall 
 have them, if you are poor." Then, swinging her hoop 
 from her right hand to the left, she put her clean, deli- 
 cate fingers into her pocket, and drew forth some cop- 
 pers. " There, sir, take them ; they are yours." 
 
 " No, no, my dear child," said the beggar, overcome 
 by the girl's generosity; "please yourself with the 
 money ; buy cake, buy cake, as your mother told you." 
 
 " We are rich, sir," returned the girl. " I can get 
 plenty more cents. Do, do take them, it will make me 
 happy." 
 
 " Yes, take them, sir," spoke the boy. " Her father is 
 
 real rich. He lives in Square, sir, where the 
 
 wealthiest people live. Do take the money, poor old 
 man." 
 
 The eyes of the beggar, which till now had remained 
 dull and passionless, began to brighten ; and as the little 
 girl pulled open his pocket, and dropped into it the 
 coppers, they warmed with his better nature. He drew 
 the children to his lips and kissed them fervently ; then 
 passed on, muttering a benediction on their heads. 
 
 " 0, do not go sir, without us," said the children. 
 
 The old man halted. His face, which hard fortune 
 had begrimmed with sorrow and stamped with despair, 
 relaxed its wonted gloom, and the tint of joy was there. 
 
 " I want, sir, to know where your home is," said the 
 boy, "so that I can go and see you when you are in want. 
 My father is not a wealthy man, like this little girl's, but 
 he is always good to the poor, and says I must be good 
 to them too." 
 
 " Come, then, my dear little fellow," rejoined the beg- 
 gar ; " and may God Almighty bless your blood." 
 1*
 
 1 THE PEXNIMAN'S ', OR, 
 
 The children and the old man walked off together. 
 They had not gone far, when they were approached by 
 an individual with a shuffling gait, a slight stoop, gray 
 hair, and a countenance as hard as was his petrified con- 
 science. He had grown rich, as most wealthy men do, 
 by grinding the face of the poor, and running hard bar- 
 gains with all those who happen to have any dealings 
 with them. His manners were affable, but his soul was 
 the concentration of meanness and pride. He could 
 keep his carriage, but could not keep a clerk to collect 
 his rents, and attend to the details of his affairs. His 
 property was large, and the collection of his rents a busi- 
 ness in itself. But doubtless he was himself a knave, 
 and suspected knavery in all about him. This, reader, 
 was the tender doting father of the good little girl who had 
 given all her coppers in behalf of a distressed old man. 
 
 His eye no sooner detected his daughter in company 
 with a beggar, and a boy whose appearance, though re- 
 spectable, was not altogether satisfactory to the mind 
 of Dives, than he seized her nervously by the hand, and 
 hurried her from their company. " Never let me see 
 you with a beggar or a vulgar boy again," sternly coun- 
 seled our man of wealth. " Go home to your mother, at 
 once." 
 
 " 0, father, the old man is very poor and feeble. Give 
 him a little change, won't you, father ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " returned this good Samaritan ; " go home I 
 I forbid your ever again being seen with a beggar. 
 What boy was that ? " 
 
 " Little Billy Andrews, father." 
 
 " Andrews, Andrews," returned the old rascal, some- 
 what disturbed. " What, his father must be Andrews 
 the musician 1 " 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl, " his father is a musician, and 
 Billy wants me to go to his house to hear the rehears- 
 als." 
 
 "Don't you dare to go among such vulgar people," 
 harshly replied the father. " If I ever find you in that 
 company again, I '11 punish you severely. Now, mind 
 me. How many times I have cautioned you about street 
 acquaintances."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF J3ENIUS. 11 
 
 "Billy is a good boy," sobbed the girl. "I wish I 
 were as good." 
 
 " Hush crying," rejoined the father. " Run right home 
 to your mother. Beggars and musicians' boys, indeed ! 
 I '11 have you kept in the house altogether, if you 've no 
 more pride than to mingle with such company." 
 
 The little girl's heart seemed broken ; she sobbed piti- 
 fully, as by her father's directions she took the street 
 for home. He, with his face flushed with anger, and his 
 head bent down, glided off to an opposite point. The 
 beggar and the boy, in the mean time, had gone on their 
 way, and we now find them at the door of a dilapidated 
 wooden dwelling situated on a street at the west end of 
 the city, which runs towards Charles River. They enter, 
 and passing up a rickety stairway, dark and dirty, with 
 a rotten, broken baluster, they are, in a moment, in the 
 beggar's lodgings. The place was so strange, unnat- 
 ural, so different from any the little boy had seen before, 
 that a sense of insecurity came over him, as the old man 
 shut the green, paint-worn door. He burst into tears, and 
 begged that he might go ; but the old man having suc- 
 ceeded in quieting his fears, he was content to set him- 
 self upon a stool, and listen to what the beggar might 
 have to say. The room was small ; it had an air of neat- 
 ness ; was well swept, and free from offensive odor ; but 
 it was entirely without furniture, save a pine chair and 
 -..able, together with a tin plate, knife and fork, and a 
 cot-bedstead. On the mantlepiece was a Bible which 
 looked as though it had been well thumbed. Against 
 the wall was tacked a print of the Crucifixion, and the 
 head of John the Baptist delivered in a charger. 
 
 The beggar sat himself in the chair, apparently some- 
 what fatigued, and gazing steadfastly at the child, mut- 
 tered, " Good boy, good boy ; God bless you." Then, 
 raising his voice, he inquired the age and name of his 
 little friend. 
 
 " I am eight years old, sir, and my name is William 
 Andrews, son of Richard Andrews, musician." 
 
 " God bless you, boy," said the old man, the tears 
 streaming from his eyes ; "you speak with manly prom- 
 ise. William Andrews, son of Richard Andrews, musi-
 
 12 THE PENNIMAN3J OB, 
 
 cian, eh ? He has a treasure ; yes, yes, a treasure ! I 
 know your father, little lad ; he has bought books of 
 me." 
 
 " 0, you once kept a book-store, did you, sir?" said 
 Billy, his eyes sparkling with delight at the thought that 
 the old man had not always been so poor. 
 
 " No, not a book-store ; I did not keep a book-store ; 
 no ; but I peddled such literature as I could sell from 
 door to door. I remember one day I was being rudely 
 
 driven from the steps of a house in L Street, by 
 
 the servant, when a man of noble presence, from within 
 bade her desist. He asked me into the house, pitied my 
 hard fortune, and purchased of me a Life of Garrick. I 
 thought him a good, kind man, and did not fail to look 
 for his name upon the door. It was Richard Andrews. 
 Then, befriended by the father ; now, by the son ;" and 
 the old man, as he said this, was deeply moved. 
 
 " Don't cry, sir; we shall always be good to you," 
 rejoined the boy, rising from the stool, and passing to 
 the side of the beggar. " Don't cry. God is always 
 careful of those who put their trust in him." 
 
 " So he is, my boy ; BO he is," returned the old man, 
 trembling. " You must always love him. Had I been 
 blessed with a good father, and kind, tender mother, my 
 grey hairs would not require the protection they do. I 
 should have been the equal, perhaps, of the proud man 
 who kicked me from his door." 
 
 " Were your parents naughty people, poor old man ?" 
 earnestly inquired the boy, affectionately resting his 
 hand on Throckmorton's shoulder, and gazing steadfastly 
 in his face. 
 
 "Yes, dear child, they were very naughty," re- 
 sponded the beggar. "They cast me unprotected on the 
 world, without religion or knowledge. I grew up a bad, 
 reckless, thoughtless boy ; and when I became a man I 
 was qualified for no employment of honorable usefulness 
 whatever. I was bad, very bad ; grew to be criminal, 
 and was put in prison. But God has been good to me, 
 my child, in many ways, and I hope for pardon and ac- 
 ceptance through the blessed Jesus." 
 
 " Yes," returned Billy, " God will surely forgive you,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 13 
 
 if penitent ; for in the Bible it is written, ' though your 
 sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' He 
 will forgive you, sir, if you love and fear him, and sin 
 no more." 
 
 "Good boy!" exclaimed Throckmorton ; "Heaven 
 bless you." 
 
 " Tell me, poor old man, what most you need," said 
 Billy, " and I will tell father all about it. He won't let 
 you suffer." 
 
 " I want but little, child. Something to eat and 
 drink," rejoined the beggar, " and clothes to keep my 
 body warm is all I ask. Soon this little I shall not 
 require." 
 
 " Won't you ? " said Billy, with an expression of sur- 
 prise. " How can you live without it ? " 
 
 " I am very old, dear child," rejoined the beggar, 
 " and soon must die. When dead, the things I now re- 
 quire will be no longer necessary." 
 
 " I wish you were young, like me," returned the boy ; 
 "I am so happy." 
 
 " The young have no past," rejoined the beggar ; 
 " no past ; but the aged, alas ! have in that a frightful 
 reality ;" and as he said this a deep, long-drawn sigh 
 bespoke the sorrow of his soul. 
 
 Some further conversation transpired, when the boy, 
 having promised to visit the beggar often, left the lodg- 
 ing. 
 
 The beggar sat for some moments in his chair, with 
 Iris eyes closed, apparently in profound abstraction. 
 There was a nervous tremulousness of the lips, and an 
 occasional twiching of the muscles of the face. The boy, 
 as stated, had left the room. The tears began now to 
 stream from the old man's eyes, as he muttered, " Good 
 boy, good girl ; God bless them. Would I were a boy 
 again. The past, the past ! oh, how it stings me I 
 William Andrews, son of Richard Andrews, and Nelly 
 Penniman, sweet little girl ; those names the good angels 
 have recorded. That I should come to this ; the care 
 of children 1 " 
 
 The thought evidently was a painful one ; for he sighed 
 most pitifully. Old age is a period of life that has se-
 
 14 THE PENNIMANS ', OR, 
 
 vere emotions, even to one who can look back upon life's 
 voyage with least self-reproach, remorse, and condemna- 
 tion. Before us is the judgment, the revelation of every 
 secret which has escaped the vigilance of man ; behind 
 us that vast array of motives which make up the sum- 
 total of our existence, in obedience to which we have 
 acted, and sought out either noble and disinterested re- 
 sults, or selfish and irreligious ones. 
 
 Throckmorton was often melancholy. For days he 
 would not leave his apartment ; but with Bible in hand 
 he pored over its inspired truth. He feared to die ; mis- 
 erable as was his condition in this life, he would cling 
 to it rather than resign himself to what he suspected 
 might be hia punishment beyond the portals of the grave. 
 He looked upon a life of eighty years, whose fruit was 
 nettles ; he felt that he had passed this weary waste of 
 time to no end worthy of a Christian or a man ; he knew 
 unto whom little had been given but little would be re- 
 quired ; yet there was an ever-wakeful consciousness 
 he had buried that little, instead of improving it. Would 
 such disobedience to his Saviour's commands be forgiven 
 him ? was an inquiry ever on the lips of his affright- 
 ened and grief-smitten conscience. There were times 
 when his fears so clouded his mental scope that hope 
 vanished, and darkness closed in up6n eternity. He 
 groaned for hours, and sweat profusely, in his agony, 
 while this night of moral blight hung o'er him. He could 
 feel its suffocating pressure ; its cold, cold, icicled dews 
 formed about his convulsed and furrowed brow. He 
 looked at the world ; it kicked and shunned him. He 
 sought his Maker, but stumbled in the search. Into such 
 a state of mind he had now fallen, and strangely too, on 
 parting with good little Willie Andrews. The boy's in- 
 nocence, contrasted with his own fell sins, had thrown 
 him into a train of reflection which brought this fit of mel- 
 ancholy on. He was wretched, that poor old man, as he 
 sat with his head bent down, the tears rolling from his 
 cheeks. There is something profoundly sacred in all 
 sorrow, but to see an old man mourn over a life misspent 
 is among the deepest of human pains. 
 
 Besides Throckmorton, there were two or three other
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 15 
 
 occupants of this dilapidated dwelling ; an Irish, a 
 Scotch, and an English woman, whose means of obtain- 
 ing support might be honest, for aught we know, but we 
 should be slow to believe them on oath, if the face can 
 be relied on for a judgment of character. More sensual, 
 hard, reckless-featured women it would be difficult either 
 for a poet-painter to imagine, or nature to devise. They 
 were in a room under Throckmorton's, and were seated 
 around a table whereon was a jug of whiskey. Each 
 had a pipe, and all were under the excitement of the 
 liquor. To understand with any nicety of connection 
 their broad Scotch and Irish brogue was utterly impos- 
 sible ; and the little English that was spoken was too 
 coarse for repetition. We will, however, present a part 
 of their conversation, that the reader's curiosity may 
 not go entirely unappeased. 
 
 "To h 1 wid ye," said the Irish woman, who had a 
 dirty bandage over her left eye, as she wrested from the 
 grasp of the English wench the jug of whiskey ; " to 
 h 1 wid ye ! and is it all the trate ye would be after 
 putting into yar own dirty throat, yar ugly-faced thing, 
 yar." 
 
 " You 've had two swigs to my one, you greedy-gut," 
 retorted the English woman, " and drunk enough ye 
 are." 
 
 " It's yarself that's drunk, yar bloated daughter of 
 the divil. To h 1 wid ye, yar graduate of Bride- 
 well." 
 
 " Come, I tell you what it is, my honey," returned 
 the other, " I '11 smash your mug for you, if you don't 
 make less splutter." Thereupon she took from her 
 mouth a clay pipe, and threw it with a good deal of force 
 at the head of her assailant. She dodged ; it struck the 
 wall, and broke into several fragments. The Irish wo- 
 man, conceiving herself much abused, seized, in a fit of 
 violent rage, the whiskey-jug, which she was about to 
 send at the head of her companion, when the Scotch 
 woman, a fat, rubicund-nosed individual, caught her arm, 
 and stayed the charge. " I canna," vociferated she, 
 " let ye waste our grog ! There 's mair virtue, I trow, 
 in guid whiskey than in both ye skins. Guidness ! wha
 
 16 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 could hae thought the like o' this ? Na, na ; I Ve twa 
 drinks only ; and I '11 gae my life afore ye shall gae all 
 to her." 
 
 The Scotch woman ran on with a lengthy remonstrance 
 against throwing the whiskey at the English woman's 
 head ; not that she would save that piece of property 
 from injury ; for little cared she how soon, or in what 
 manner it might be smashed. She had interposed iu 
 behalf of the liquor, which she finally succeeded in se- 
 curing. 
 
 The quarreling was kept up briskly, and after a good 
 deal of speculation about the boy Willie's visit to Throck- 
 morton's room, they were startled by a heavy fall of 
 something on the floor overhead. As it was an unusual 
 noise, their attention, though in liquor as they were, 
 was peremptorily challenged. 
 
 The English woman, by far the most sober and rational 
 of the three, rose from her seat, and proceeded up stairs, 
 to the old man's room. On opening the door, she found 
 him stretched upon the floor. He had fallen in a fit. 
 She grasped him by the arms, and lifted him rudely to 
 the bed, with a terrible oath, and a fiendish indifference. 
 This done, she dashed a mug of water in his face, and 
 rejoined her companions below. 
 
 Throckmorton's situation did not appear to give the 
 women the least uneasiness. They talked it over in a 
 rude and vulgar way, seeming to think the beggar had 
 lived long enough, and that it would be a lucky day's 
 work for him to die. No one proposed to get a physi- 
 cian, or to administer the least relief to their suffering 
 neighbor. He had fallen in a fit several times before, 
 and recovered without ado. " So," said they, "he may 
 come out of this in the same way." 
 
 It is a painful scene, that of coarse ignorance, of 
 heartless vulgarity ; and those of us who have been 
 blessed with kind, anxious parents, who shielded our 
 early years from the rough treatment of strangers, and 
 gave to us the advantages of a thorough intellectual 
 training, by means of which the chance was ours to be 
 useful in honorable positions, cannot be too willing to 
 enter into the strifes of good men for the moral and social
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 17 
 
 elevation of every being that bears an immortal soul, or 
 too grateful that their lot is, instead of ignorance, pen- 
 ury, and crime, knowledge, influence, and plenty. In 
 the great drama of life in which each one has a part as- 
 signed, the marked disparity of these parts, also that of 
 the moral and intellectual players, is owing, perhaps, 
 less to innate virtue and mental force, than to the aids 
 of education and adventitious circumstances. If this 
 be so, the vile, base-born, and thankless, should not be 
 regarded with too stern a brow, or too unforgiving a 
 temper, since their experience of life, together with their 
 passions, may have prostituted them no more than 
 would have been debased citizens "in purple and fine 
 linen who fare sumptuously every day," had they been 
 bred to the vices of poverty instead of riches. 
 
 " Think gently of the erring ! 
 
 Ye know not of the power 
 With which the dark temptation came, 
 
 In some unguarded hour. 
 Ye may not know how earnestly 
 
 They struggled, or how well, 
 Until the hour of weakness came, 
 
 And sadly thus they fell." 
 
 It is an exceedingly painful thought, abandoned, for- 
 saken old age, penniless, shiftless ; and wherever found 
 it should be dealt with tenderly. 
 
 The kick of arrogant Dives and the sweet humanity of 
 the boy Andrews are in striking contrast. We love the 
 one ; we pity the other. It is indeed a custom not to 
 be encouraged, street begging ; yet the really benevo- 
 lent will never abuse beggars, however little disposed 
 to befriend them. They are among us, and are God's 
 creatures. Doubtless many of them have been vicious ; 
 perhaps all ; hence their poverty ; yet who will presume 
 to say that the circumstances which may have controlled 
 their lives did not absolutely prevent any other condi- 
 tion than that of poverty and crime. It should be the 
 aim of every community organized on the principles of 
 civil and religious liberty to institute such a system of 
 relief for indigence as would clear our streets of beg-
 
 18 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 gary. Every community is bound by all honorable and 
 moral principle, to assume the guardianship of those 
 poor unfortunates whom circumstances have disgraced 
 and rendered wretched. Work should be provided, and 
 where they are too old and infirm to labor, a comfortable 
 home should be in all cases assigned them. 
 
 " It is a little thing," says Ion, in Talfourd's match- 
 less play of that name, " it is a little thing 
 
 'To give a cup of water ; yet its draught 
 Of cool refreshment, draiu'd by fever'd lips, 
 May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
 More exquisite than when nectarean juice 
 Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
 It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
 Of common comfort, which by daily use 
 Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear 
 Of him who thought to die unmourn'd 't will fall 
 Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye 
 With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand, 
 To know the bonds of fellowship again ; 
 And shed on the departing soul a sense 
 More precious than the benison of friends, 
 About the honor'd death-bed of the rich, 
 To him who else were lonely, that another 
 Of the great family is near and feels.' "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Worthy friends, 
 
 You that can keep your memories to know 
 Your friends in misery, and cannot frown 
 On men disgraced in virtue." 
 
 LET us return to Throckmorton, the old beggar, whom 
 we left in a fit, upon his cot-bedstead, where he had 
 been rudely placed by the drunken English wench who 
 found him on the floor. By chance, early in the eve- 
 ning, and soon after the old man's- fit came on, his 
 trusty dog Bone, who had been absent for many weeks, 
 and was supposed lost, came unexpectedly home. He 
 ran as if mad to the bed of his master, whereon he 
 jumped, and, stretching himself beside the lean, blood- 
 less, and almost lifeless body of the beggar, began to 
 lap his time-beaten face. The presence of the dog was 
 as an angel's visit. Throckmorton, with the tears 
 streaming from his dark-blue, sunken eyes, put his long 
 arms around the shaggy neck of the animal, and kissed 
 him with parental fondness. He had believed, as be 
 fore stated, that the dog was lost, and that he would 
 never more return. Now, that he had him by his side, 
 his spirits revived, and he felt new life within him ; for 
 the old man had but one love on this earth, and that 
 was his good, faithful friend and servant, Bone. 
 
 Bone was a knowing animal, possessing something 
 more than instinct, something even of the godlike 
 reason of man. " It may be asserted," says Goldsmith, 
 in his "Animated Nature," "that the dog is the only 
 animal whose fidelity is unshaken ; the only one who 
 knows his master and the friends of the family ; the v 
 only one who instantly distinguishes a stranger ; the 
 only one who knows his name, and answers to the do-
 
 20 THE PENNIilANS J OB, 
 
 mestic call ; the only one who seems to understand the 
 nature of subordination, and seeks assistance ; the only 
 one who, when he misses his master, testifies his loss by 
 bis complaints ; the only one who, carried to a distant 
 place, can find the way home ; the only one whose nat- 
 ural talents are evident, whose education is always 
 successful." 
 
 Bone no sooner discovered, by his keen sent (which 
 is to be attributed to the fact of the diffusion of the 
 olfactory nerves upon a very extensive membrane within 
 the skull), that his master was ill, than his joy was con- 
 verted into grief, and he began to moan pitifully. His 
 master did all he could to soothe him, but in vain. 
 Presently, Bone leaped from the bed, and made his way 
 to the street ; then off he bounded to the office of the 
 city physician, who had attended Throckmorton on sev- 
 eral occasions. The dog remembered he had been with 
 his master to the doctor's office, and by an association 
 of relative ideas, he was able to act, in the present emer- 
 gency, with all the directness and dispatch of human 
 intellect. 
 
 Arriving at the physician's office, the dog began to 
 howl and scratch lustily at the door. The doctor's 
 notice was challenged ; he no sooner perceived Bone, 
 whom he knew very well, than he suspected, from his 
 strange action, that something was the matter with his 
 master. The dog crouched at his feet imploringly ; 
 seized the doctor by the clothes, pulling him towards 
 the door ; then, running into the street, in the direction 
 of the beggar's lodgings, would stop' to ascertain if the 
 physician followed. The man of physic did not wait 
 for any further demonstrations of the dog's wishes, for 
 he understood well enough that Bone would lead him to 
 some place where his services would be required. So 
 he put on his hat and followed him. 
 
 On arriving at the bed-side of Throckmorton, he found 
 him to be dying. It was doubtful if he lived through the 
 night. Bone sat upon his hind-legs, with his eyes fixed 
 on the physician's countenance, as if to learn from it 
 something of his master's fate ; but that face had long 
 been rendered impassable by the practice of a profes-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 21 
 
 sion which requires that it should be educated to the 
 greatest possible immobility. 
 
 In the room below the beggar's, the drunken wenches 
 still kept up a boisterous mirthfulness, totally indiffer- 
 ent to the old man's condition ; whether he lived or died 
 was quite the same thing to them ; so that we have in a 
 dumb animal more real affection and nobility of nature 
 than in those stamped with the image of their Maker ; 
 having the promise, under the Christian dispensation, 
 of an immortality of glory, if they will have faith in sal- 
 vation, and do " unto others as they would be done by." 
 
 Throckmorton passed a sleepless night. His breath, 
 with every respiration, growing weaker and weaker. 
 His only watcher was Bone. 
 
 In the morning, early, came William Andrews, in 
 company with a bright-looking miss, the daughter of a 
 highly respectable tradesman, who lived not far from 
 the residence of the Andrews. Willie had told her 
 of the old man's poverty and distress, and she, having 
 a ready sympathy, begged of Willie to let her accom- 
 pany him to Throckmorton's apartment. The boy at 
 once consented ; for he loved so well a noble nature 
 that he was ever willing to grant its requests. 
 
 The boy and the girl stood by the emaciated form of 
 Throckmorton. He was happy to look upon their young, 
 sweet, and open faces ; yet he could give only a slight 
 expression to his emotions, for he was nearly dead. 
 Extending his long, bony hand from the bed, he placed 
 it on the head of Willie, and invoked God's blessing 
 on him and his young companion. Then, taking the 
 boy by the hand, he clasped it in his own, and said, in a 
 feeble and almost indistinguishable voice, " I ana dy- 
 ing." 
 
 The dog still rested on his haunches, his dark, 
 sombre eyes fixed upon his master's form. The chil- 
 dren began to weep at the beggar's hopeless condition, 
 which Bone perceiving removed himself to a corner of 
 the room, and placing his head close in the angle began 
 to cry pitifully. 
 
 "That dog," muttered Throckmorton, gasping for 
 breath, " is a noble animal ; and it is fit he should have
 
 22 THE PEXXIMANS ', OR, 
 
 a noble master. I give Bone to you to you to you 
 
 my sweet little friend, whose future years are full of 
 honors." Willie was in tears. He spoke not. "Don't 
 cry, my boy ; don't cry," continued the sick man. " I 
 am glad to go; and so so so will you you 
 when time time, does its wonted work. Yes yes 
 
 you too will will be glad to die." 
 
 " Have you no fears ?" timidly inquired the girl. 
 
 " Yes," replied the old man, promptly, and with all 
 the energy of which he was capable, " many, many fears, 
 but but in Jesus I have oh! I I have 
 hope." 
 
 The beggar now closed his eyes, and his breathing 
 was so faint that Willie thought him dead. The little 
 fellow was entirely unprepared for such a scene. It 
 was a new position to him, and he was, in consequence, 
 much agitated ; but he bore himself like a man. He 
 smothered, as much as it was possible in one of his ex- 
 treme sensibilities, the sympathy the old man's poverty 
 and forsaken condition naturally excited. He could 
 not, however, repress his tears ; for his emotions were 
 those of genius ; and if the reader would know what 
 that is, we would say, not alone common sense, intent 
 upon new ideas, as Madam de Stael has it, but something 
 more, as expressed in immortal verse, by an English 
 poet of the close of the last century, the son of a 
 butcher ; which in the minds of many Modern Athenian 
 snobs, no doubt is incredible, that a poet could origi- 
 nate from so vulgar a source I 
 
 Thus the sweet and noble poet sings, noble not in 
 title, but in soul ! 
 
 " Many there be who through the vale of life, 
 
 With velvet pace, unnoticed, softly go, 
 While jarring discord's inharmonious strife 
 Awakes them not to woe. 
 By them unheeded, carking care, 
 Green-eyed grief, and dull despair ; 
 Smoothly they pursue their way, 
 
 With even tenor and with equal breath, 
 Alike through cloudy and through sunny day, 
 Then sink in peace to death.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 23 
 
 " But, ah ! a few there be whom griefs devour, 
 
 And weeping woe and disappointments keen, 
 Repining penury, and sorrow sour, 
 And self-consuming spleen ; 
 And these are genius' favorites : these 
 Knew the thought-throned mind to please, 
 And from her fleshy seat to draw 
 
 To realms where Fancy's golden orbits roll, 
 Disdaining all but 'wildering Rapture's law, . 
 The captivated soul. 
 
 " Genius, from thy starry throne, 
 
 High above the burning zone, 
 In radiant robe of light array 'd, 
 Oh ! hear the plaint by thy sad favorite made, 
 
 His melancholy moan. 
 He tells of scorn, he tells of broken vows, 
 
 Of sleepless nights, of anguish-ridden days, 
 Pangs that his sensibility uprouse 
 
 To curse his being, and his thirst for praise. 
 Thou gav'st to him with treble force to feel 
 The sting of keen neglect, the rich man's scorn : 
 
 And what o'er all does in his soul preside 
 Predominant, and tempers him to steel 
 
 His high indignant pride. 
 
 " Lament not ye, who humbly steal thro' life, 
 That Genius visits not your lowly shed ; 
 For, ah, what woes and sorrows ever rife 
 Distract his hapless head ! 
 For him awaits no balmy sleep, 
 He wakes all night, and wakes to weep ; 
 Or by his lonely lamp he sits 
 
 At solemn midnight, when the peasant sleeps, 
 In feverish study and in moody fits 
 His mournful vigil keeps. 
 
 " And, oh ! for what consumes his watchful oil ? 
 
 For what does thus he waste life's fleeting breath ? 
 'T is for neglect and penury he doth toil, 
 'T is for untimely death. 
 Lo ! where dejected, pale he lies, 
 Despair depicted in his eyes, 
 He feels the vital flame decrease, 
 
 He sees the grave wide-yawning for its prey, 
 Without a friend to soothe his soul to peace, 
 And clear the expiring ray. 
 
 ' By Sulmo's bard of mournful fame, 
 By gentle Otway's magic name,
 
 24 THE PENN1MANS ; OR, 
 
 By him, the youth who smiled at death, 
 And rashly stopp'd his vital breath, 
 
 Will I thy pangs proclaim ; 
 For still to misery closely thou 'rt allied. 
 Though gaudy pageants glitter by thy side, 
 
 And far resounding Fame. 
 What though to thee the dazzl'd millions bow, 
 And to thy posthumous merit bend them low ; 
 Though unto thee the monarch looks with awe, 
 And thou at thy flash 'd car dost nations draw, 
 
 Yet, ah ! unseen behind thee fly 
 Corroding anguish soul-subduing pain, 
 
 And discontent that clouds the fairest sky ; 
 A melanoholly train. 
 
 " Yes, Genius, thee a thousand cares await, 
 Mocking thy derided state ; 
 Thee, child, adversity will still attend, 
 Before whose face flies fast the summer's friend, 
 
 And leaves thee all forlorn ; 
 While leaden Ignorance rears her head and laughs, 
 
 And fat Stupidity shakes his jolly sides, 
 And while the cup of affluence he quaffs 
 
 With bee-eyed Wisdom, Genius derides, 
 Who toils and every hardship doth out-brave, 
 To gain the meed of praise, when mouldering in his grave." 
 
 Willie was a boy of the keenest sensibilities, and such 
 a scene as was now before him could not fail to touch 
 his warm and tender heart. It moved to deep sadness, 
 likewise, the little girl, who stood silently beside the 
 cot. The beggar looked at both the boy and girl, for a 
 moment or two, with a most unnatural stare ; then clos- 
 ing his eyes appeared to be in prayer, his breath grow- 
 ing fainter and fainter with each instant. At length he 
 broke the silence : "My dear young friends, I am dying 
 fast fast. Take an old man's blessing, a beggar's 
 prayers, that that you may both both be be 
 happy. Love one another, and remem mem ber, 
 virtue is all worth stri stri ving for in life ; and " 
 His strength was so reduced that he could not complete 
 the sentence, but he made motions with his hands 
 towards heaven, indicating that his thought? were of 
 that nature. He laid perfectly calm, his gray hair being 
 gently pushed from his bloodless brow by the soft hand 
 f Willie. Bone, the while had sat quite motionless,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 25 
 
 watching alternately the countenance of his master and 
 Willie, and, strange as some of our readers may think it, 
 there were tears in that faithful dog's eyes. He seemed 
 to know that the poor old beggar was going into another 
 state of being ; he seemed to anticipate and to feel pro- 
 foundly his loss. A brute in tears ! ay, reader, and they 
 were tears more burdened with sorrow than half of hu- 
 man kind, and none the less acceptable because flowing 
 from a brain in which was no deceit and no affectation. 
 Bone was a treasure, and it was fortunate for Willie that 
 his keeping had been confided to him. There is a rare 
 pleasure in the possession of faithful servants, whether 
 in the shape of brutes or humanity. 
 
 Bone, for the first time since Willie entered the room, 
 removed himself from his fixed position, which at once 
 attracted the notice of the children. Giving a most dis- 
 tressing howl, the poor disconsolate dog darted from 
 the room. 
 
 Willie, turning to Throckmorton, found him dead ! 
 He had expired without a struggle or the least sign of 
 pain. The boy fell upon his bosom and wept copiously. 
 The little girl withdrew from the cot, and seated herself 
 in an old cane-bottom chair, which had seen no slight 
 service, and was altogether the worse for wear. Some 
 little time elapsed before Wilfie fully recovered from 
 the sad emotions which the death of the beggar excited, 
 when, turning to his fair companion, he took her hand, 
 and bade her follow him. " What," said she, " you 
 would not leave the poor old man alone ?" 
 
 " I must go and tell father that he is d.ead," rejoined 
 Willie, " and that there is no one to bury him." 
 
 " And will your father bury him ? " inquired the girl, 
 with a sweet, innocent expression of girlish interest. 
 
 "Oh yes," returned Willie; "my father loves the 
 poor, and helps them whenever he can. This old man 
 I 'm sure he '11 bury, as he has no friends." 
 
 He and the little girl now left the apartment. As 
 they passed to the street, there sat at the window of a 
 small wooden house opposite a beautiful girl, whose 
 gaze was fixed intently on Willie. " Who is that ?" in 
 quired his friend. 
 2
 
 26 THE PEXNIMANS } OR, 
 
 " They call her Agnes," returned Willie. " Is she not 
 beautiful?" 
 
 " She is indeed ;" replied the girl. " Ah, Willie, I 
 am so sad." As she said this, she cast a look of marked 
 dissatisfaction towards Agnes. 
 
 Just at this moment, Bone came running up, and soon 
 made his presence known to his new young master. 
 Willie escorted his fair friend to the door of her resi- 
 dence, and then directed his steps to that of his own. 
 He informed his father of the beggar's death and desti- 
 tution, and begged that he would see him well bestowed. 
 
 Mr. Andrews was a man of large benevolence, and, 
 for one of his limited means, somewhat too liberal. His 
 son's story affected him sensibly. He became at once 
 interested in the beggar's cause, and decided to be at 
 the expense of his burial. A neat coffin was ordered, a 
 grave in one of the cemeteries adjoining the city was 
 purchased, wherein the remains of the poor old beggar 
 were deposited, under this inscription : 
 
 " JOHN P. THKOCKMORTON 
 
 " Here lies, who died of years, 
 
 Of grief, mis'ry, regret. 
 His bread he begged with tears, 
 With kicks and buffets met ; 
 * He liv'd and died unmourn'd, 
 
 Save by his faithful ' Bone.' 
 And they who raised this stone."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Succeeding years thy early fame destroy, 
 Thou who b'eguu'st a man, wilt end a boy." 
 
 LET us now turn to the Pennimans the immaculate 
 Pennimans, the incomparable, adorable, exclusive, indefinite, 
 religiously inclined, and irreligiously inclined, God-defying, 
 and church-going, out-spoken and in-spoken, clean and un- 
 clean in fact the Pennimans of the great, the flourishing, 
 the pretentious, and charming metropolis of New England, 
 where sense and no sense, goodness and wickedness, Chris- 
 tianity and Paganism, are delicately and indelicately blend- 
 ed together and where, above all things, hypocrisy and 
 cant bear away the palm of popularity ! to their residence, 
 grand and truly comfortable, built not with a view to catch- 
 pennies no, no, it was no such an affair, but a good sub- 
 stantial piece of property. Look ! on the steps is a little girl : 
 it is Nelly sweet little Nelly ! the playmate of Willie 
 Andrews, who with his youthful sweetheart, had had many a 
 tumble in the grass on the Common, and many a race with 
 hoop, and many a play at ball, and would softly say, " Nelly, 
 dear, when we grow up, we'll be friends still won't we ; it 
 is so mean to quarrel. I never will quarrel with you puss, 
 no never ! as I hope to die." There she is, this charming 
 little one, with her eyelids swollen, and grief upon her coun- 
 tenance. Her father, it will be remembered, had treated her 
 harshly for being seen in the company of a beggar and a strange
 
 28 THE PENMMANS ; OR, 
 
 boy, and had sent her straight-way home. Let us enter 
 with the girl that costly mansion, much in contrast, to 
 be sure, with the beggar's home we have just left ; still 
 none the less an honest home, for that. We shall not 
 find the coarseness of the whiskey-women here, but some- 
 thing even worse : a pride and fashionable heartlessness, 
 which make up a sum of sin the more unpardonable be- 
 cause they who make a merit of ungodliness have well- 
 paid ministers who teach them that it is wrong. 
 
 Little Nelly had no sooner gone up stairs than she 
 was met by her mother, a coarse-featured woman, with 
 little to boast of personal attractions, unless it was her 
 big nose and mouth. " You have been crying, Nelly. 
 What 's the matter ? Come, I want to know what 's 
 the matter ;" and as she spoke she took hold of the child, 
 and drew her nervously to her side. 
 
 Nelly burst into tears, and said her father had been 
 Bcolding her. 
 
 " What naughty thing have you done ? Come, tell 
 me instantly," commanded Mrs. Penniman, in a tone ex- 
 cessively imperious. 
 
 " He he he scolded me, because be cause 
 I I was with Willie Andrews and a beggar," 
 whimpered the girl. 
 
 " Willie Andrews and a beggar! " returned the haughty 
 and heartless mother. "My daughter in such company! 
 Scold you ; I 'm only surprised he did not give you a 
 good whipping, on the spot. Willie Andrews I And 
 what family is this, pray ? I know no such people. 
 Beggars ! What had you to do with beggars ? " 
 
 " I met Willie with a poor old beggar-man, who had 
 been kicked from a rich man's door," replied Nelly, 
 snivelling. "He was very poor." 
 
 " Well, suppose he was," returned the mother, sharply ; 
 "what of that?" 
 
 "Why, I have heard our minister say," replied the 
 child, still grieving, " that he who giveth to the poor, 
 lendeth to the Lord ; so 1 gave the old man all the cents 
 I had to buy cake with " 
 
 y You did ?" interrupted the mother, her face flushed 
 with dissatisfaction ; "you ought to be ashamed of your
 
 THK TRICMPH OF GENIUS. 29 
 
 folly. Well, if that 's the use you make of your pocket- 
 chauge, you '11 get no more until you acquire better 
 sense. Who ever heard of such doings ? I forbid you, 
 miss, ever after this, either speaking or looking at beg- 
 gars, or boys whose parents are not on visiting terms 
 with me." 
 
 " Well, then I must not notice any more Lucinda 
 McAlpine," rejoined the girl ; and she began to cry 
 heartily. 
 
 " yes, notice Lucinda," returned Mrs. Penniman ; 
 "you may continue Luciuda's aquaintance. Don't cry, 
 my dear ; don't cry." 
 
 "You don't visit her, mother," returned Nelly, with 
 her half-closed hand placed against her eye. 
 
 "No, but I should have no objections to," rejoined 
 Mrs. Penniman. They are very wealthy, and Mr. Mc- 
 Alpine is one of our first lawyers. 
 
 " Would they visit you, mama ! " asked Nelly, with a 
 sweetly innocent tone. 
 
 " You are too inquisitive, my child ; much too curi- 
 ous," replied the mother, evidently not relishing a ques- 
 tion which reminded her of fruitless endeavors to be on 
 visiting terms with the McAlpines, who were people of 
 substantial worth, well-born, and well-bred. Mr. Mc- 
 Alpine and Mr. Penniman were distinct and opposite 
 men ; the one was a scholar, a gentleman, and a tho- 
 rough business man ; the other a sordid usurer, with a 
 conscience as tough as an ox-hide, who had first acquired 
 money by the tricks of trade, in goods denominated dry ; 
 then by loans on heavy interest, and every species of 
 niggardly economy which a soul with narrow-limited 
 views of morals and of happiness could devise. Such 
 was Mr. Me Alpine and Mr. Penniman ; nor was the con- 
 trast of their better-halves any more creditable to snob- 
 bery. Mrs. McAlpine was a thorough-bred lady. Her 
 mind was judiciously cultivated, and her heart was 
 God's. ,Mrs. Penniman was a thorough-bred nobody-in- 
 particular, with a mind stuffed with flummery, and a heart 
 deeded to the world. Yet Mrs. Penniman longed to visit 
 the McAlpines ; while at the same time she would reprove 
 her daughter for an acquaintance with the noble little
 
 30 TEE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 
 
 Willie Andrews, and for charity to the poor old beggar. 
 Indeed there is a pitiful absurdity in the action of every 
 mind which has no just conceptions of its relations either 
 to this state of being or that to follow ; and the more 
 prominent they are placed in a community, through a 
 faculty for money-getting and money-changing, the more 
 unfortunate it is for themselves and the interest of so- 
 ciety. Such persons were the Pennimans. Little Nelly 
 was a good, sweet child ; but in the charge of foppery 
 as she was, there could be little to hope in favor of her 
 womanhood. It was necessary that she should be cor- 
 rupted, in order to adapt her to the heartlessness of that 
 life to which she was to be educated, a life of self-lau- 
 dation, idleness, and vanity. She was told to associate 
 with none of her schoolmates whose parents were not on 
 visiting terms with hers ; and whenever little Nelly had 
 a party, not one of this class was invited, notwithstand- 
 ing they were all the children of highly respectable 
 trades-people, and, as the world goes, quite honest 
 enough. Their children, were at the same school with 
 Nelly, for an education, and her superiors in intelli- 
 gence ; yet they had forbade all friendship. This could 
 not possibly be, because it was entirely out of the ques- 
 tion to place the daughter of a dealer in ^dry-goods, real 
 estate, and notes at usurious interest, upon a par with 
 a dealer in calf-skins and ready-made boots and shoes. 
 This was an equality which could not for a moment be 
 tolerated, notwithstanding we are a democratic people, 
 and striving after the perfection of social and political 
 science ; notwithstanding we are prone to believe 
 that all are born free and equal ; that there should be 
 no other distinction, no other cast but actual talent and 
 usefulness ; and it will be conceded that in the social 
 scale there must be gradations, as there ever will be, 
 on the basis of virtue, intellect, education, and industry. 
 Pretension, in its self-conceit and impertinence, admits 
 of nor recognizes no superiors, but trains its sons and 
 daughters, early in life, to an insolent bearing and to 
 moral obliquity, in order to make sure of perpetuating 
 its kind. So little Nelly was invariably checked in all 
 the manifestations of her natural and noble impulses ;
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 31 
 
 taught, by a cold, meanly-calculating, inhuman mother, 
 that her heart and conscience were no guides for her ; 
 but that she must be ambitious, and look with favor 
 upon none below her plane, but hang to the skirts of all 
 above. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman was, in the common acceptation of 
 the term, " a very smart woman." She could push her 
 way in the world with comparative ease, in whatever 
 direction she might choose. With little or no sensibil- 
 ity, the shafts of ridicule were shot at her in vain. She 
 had wealth " to go on," and with it she determined to 
 out-face everybody. Nothing moved her ; nothing dis- 
 turbed her serene complacency. She had several daugh- 
 ters, but chance had given her no sons. These daughters 
 were showy women ; dressed expensively, and had a 
 vast deal of their mother's worldly air. They had, 
 through the manceuverings of a fashion-struck mama, 
 been all married off, save little Nelly ; one to a Mr. 
 Artemas Bottlefly ; another to Mr. Edward Roundhead 
 (who, by the way, was a "devilish clever fellow"); 
 and another to Jerry Donothing, who flourished on his 
 "shape and talents," and the name of his honored 
 father. They were all what are technically termed 
 " youngimen of the. highest standing," that is, they 
 had rich fathers, and had received the education of 
 gentlemen ; but in all the essential qualities of men they 
 were sadly deficient. They were fond of fast horses 
 and fast women, and the et ceteras of a lazy, idle life. 
 
 These were the individuals whom Mrs. Penniman had 
 selected for her daughters. She deemed such fellows 
 all sufficient to insure their happiness ; and who should 
 know better than she what was, and what was not, to 
 their advantage ? The various members of her family, 
 in the direct and collateral line, when gathered together 
 on any occasion, made quite a glitter of snobbery ; but 
 they were profoundly unconscious of this, their true 
 character. Everybody with rational views of life, and 
 just conceptions of duty, laughed heartily at these peo- 
 ple, in a quiet way, whilst they little suspected the 
 "jokes cracked" at their pretension, and the immode-
 
 32 THB PKNNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 rate mirth even of those with whom they were the most 
 intimate. 
 
 Little Nelly was a great pet of the entire family, and, 
 in fact, of all who visited the house ; and as she was re- 
 garded by her ambitious ma. as an attractive, smart girl, 
 a "great match" was anticipated. No one with less 
 pretensions than the son of a statesman would be at all 
 acceptable. Mama was on the constant look out, and 
 the late bad company in which her daughter had been 
 found only tended to sharpen her vigilance over the girl. 
 Mr. Penniman was a sort of Dolly, a character drawn 
 most admirably in London Assurance, by Dion Beauci- 
 cault ; a kind of pack-horse, to do and to go just as 
 Zantippe should decide. She had married for money a 
 man much older than herself ; and rule him she would. 
 Old Penniman had no advantages of education, in early 
 life. He was of humble parentage, and became so im- 
 pressed, when a boy, of the value of money, that he ap- 
 prenticed himself to a trader, and very soon was initi- 
 ated into all the mysteries of traffic. Being of an 
 industrious, plodding turn, he gradually "worked his 
 way" into a credit, and set up for himself. By care- 
 fully saving all the pennies, he gradually accumulated a 
 capital, and by lucky investments in real estate, at ex- 
 ceedingly low figures, together with a good paying trade, 
 he grew to be a man of great wealth. As, however, he 
 had devoted his entire energies to money-getting, he was 
 utterly without taste for any pursuits of a more humaniz- 
 ing character. To talk to him of art, of the sciences, 
 of philosophy, or of a subject not immediately connected 
 with dollars and cents, was placing him at such a disad- 
 vantage as would mortify any person who might realize 
 the meanness of their ignorance. But Penniman realized 
 nothing of the kind. He was rich, paid heavy taxes ; 
 and this, with him, was a consideration paramount to 
 all others. 
 
 Such, in brief, were the Pennimans, and such is the 
 would-be somebodies of our " Modern Athens," the 
 snobs. Nelly, sweet little Nelly, deserved a better fate 
 than to be born to the care and training of these people. 
 In other and more virtuous hands much might be ex-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 33 
 
 pected of benevolence and genuine usefulness from her 
 womanhood. How justly has Cowper, in his Progress 
 of Error, written on this point : 
 
 " 'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, 
 Our most important are our earliest years ; 
 The mind, impressible and soft, with ease 
 Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, 
 And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew 
 That education gives her, false or true." 
 
 Having little to boast of on the score of ancestry, 
 Mrs. Penniman was most desirous to ally herself to the 
 McAlpines, through a marriage of her daughter Nelly 
 with young James McAlpine, then in College at Cam- 
 bridge. He was a good-looking, genteel student, but by 
 no means of more than average ability, and gave himself 
 rather to the pleasures of society than to his studies. 
 Still he was the son of Rolf McAlpine, MI C., and a law- 
 yer of high standing. This was quite enough for mama, 
 who instantly set her wits to work to devise a way to 
 bring about an acquaintance and intimacy of the fami- 
 lies. 
 
 Never at a loss for expedients to assist her own plans, 
 Mrs. Penniman determined that her husband should in 
 future give all his law business which, by the way, 
 was not inconsiderable to the Hon. Col. McAlpine, 
 instead of Peter Fletcher, who was a batchelor, and a 
 highly moral one besides, a fact though not uncommon, 
 is, nevertheless, we fear, none too common. In this way 
 she finally succeeded in establishing social relations with 
 the McAlpines ; for Penniman's business affairs being 
 very extensive, he had frequently to avail of counsel. 
 
 McAlpine found in the snob a good-natured and gen- 
 erous client, who never disputed the correctness of his 
 fees. This Mrs. Penniman had most positively enjoined. 
 So valuable a client the colonel was disposed to treat 
 with a good deal of consideration ; and perceiving from 
 the social chat he often had with Penniman that it would 
 be quite agreeable to his wife to visit Mrs. McAlpine, he 
 gave Penniman to understand that he should be happy 
 to have social relations to exist between the families. 
 2*
 
 34 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 He had now made his point. His wife no sooner 
 learned that she would be well received than she deter- 
 mined at once to call on Mrs. McAlpine, and thus open 
 the game she had in mind to play for the young man 
 whom she had selected for her daughter. 
 
 Nelly had conceived a strong attachment for "Willie 
 Andrews. They had often met on the Common, and 
 were fellow-playmates. He had delighted her for hours 
 with his wild, boyish glee. Especially was she pleased 
 with his trig little man-of-war, which she frequently as- 
 sisted him in sailing upon the pond. They played hoop 
 and rolled in the grass together. Sweet was the inno- 
 cence of their childhood. 
 
 Of this intimacy and affection, however, Mrs. Penni- 
 man was ignorant ; and Nelly, knowing as she did 
 her mother's contempt for the Andrews, the father 
 "being only a musician," was careful to conceal her 
 attachment, and "to leave her mother entirely in the 
 dark " as to the nature of their acquaintance and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 As time wore on, the Cambridge student, James Mc- 
 Alpine, through the adroit management of Mrs. Penni- 
 man, came often to see Nelly, and was indeed quite 
 charmed with her attractions. Nelly, under the in- 
 structions of her ambitious, unscrupulous parent, re- 
 ceived his attentions with an apparent satisfaction, 
 though she refused to love him, much to the chagrin 
 and rage of mama. But Mrs. Penniman had deter- 
 mined that her daughter should marry McAlpine whether 
 there was any love in the affair or not ; and as often 
 as James was repulsed in his addresses, the mother 
 would the more, encourage him to persevere. Willie 
 possessed Nelly's heart, and no one, she thought, could 
 please her so much as he. Never a day passed without 
 their meeting or seeing each other. If the weather was 
 too unpleasant to go into the street Willie would pass 
 and repass the Pennimans' house until Nelly appeared 
 at the window, from which she always slipped him a 
 billet-doux, when it could be done with safety. 
 
 This intimacy was managed with so much skill that 
 no one suspected the parties of any commerce whatever,
 
 THE TEITJMPH OF GENIUS. 35 
 
 after Mrs. Penniman had forbidden Nelly the acquaint- 
 ance of Willie, as a " vulgar boy, and altogether be- 
 neath the notice of gentle-folks, persons of quality." 
 
 The youth had inherited from his father a decided talent 
 for music, and from his mother, who was a woman of 
 excellent education, and an artist of no mean preten- 
 sions, a genius for poetry and painting. Nelly was de- 
 lighted with the boy's talent, and every chance that 
 offered she was at Willie's house, to hear him play upon 
 the piano-forte, and to see him paint. He often wrote 
 her poetry she was only too willing to receive. 
 
 All went well for a long time, until McAlpine hap- 
 pened one day to be passing by the residence of the 
 Andrews, at the same time that Nelly, in company with 
 Willie, had egressed from the house ; but as the lovers 
 were intent upon each other McAlpine escaped observa- 
 tion. He had heard of this Andrews family, through 
 Mrs. Peuniman, and by " putting this and that to- 
 gether " he at once concluded he had discovered the 
 reason why Nelly would not consent to betroth herself 
 to him. " She was in love with this fellow " in whose 
 company he had just seen her, and whom he rightly sup- 
 posed to be the boy whose acquaintance she had been 
 prohibited by her mother. 
 
 Here was a grand opportunity for an explosion. He 
 had only, perhaps, to inform the haughty Mrs. Penni- 
 man of what he had seen, to bring matters into such a 
 train as he would have them. Mrs. Penniman listened 
 with amazement to James' disclosures, and made such a 
 violent attack on Nelly's "shameful conduct," as she 
 termed it, that from that time her intimacy with Willie 
 ceased. It was a desperate struggle between love and 
 pride. Willie was very dear to Nelly ; but all her ac- 
 quaintances were constantly laughing at her for having 
 been the associate of "low people," and her parents 
 declared they would disown her " if she ever spoke or 
 looked at the vulgar boy again." 
 
 With no one to sustain her in her preference for 
 Willie, and a cold, distant manner on his part, when he 
 found she grew less willing to do as he wished, the girl, 
 pressed by the attentions of the handsome, dashing
 
 36 THE PENNIMAKS ', OR, 
 
 McAlpine, relaxed in her first love, and began to be taken 
 up with a second. 
 
 Willie was a proud-spirited boy ; and when he under- 
 stood from his father of the foolish notions of the Penni- 
 mans, and the contempt in which they held everybody 
 who were in humble circumstances, he instantaniously re- 
 solved, though he loved Nelly dearly, to associate with 
 her no longer, unless as an equal. This, however, could 
 not be, and hence the coolness and final discontinuance 
 of their friendship and love. Nelly had been corrupted 
 under the combined influence of pretension. She was 
 another creature, now that she had overcome her passion 
 for Willie. Her simplicity and genuine warm-hearted- 
 ness had given way to the flippancy and ostentation of 
 fashion. 
 
 McAlpine was a gay, proud college student, imbued 
 with all the absurd, false views of life, which are quite 
 inseparable from the early years of even the most ra- 
 tional soul. He, too, felt a degree of contempt for persons 
 whose means are insufficient for display. Nelly having 
 promised herself to him in marriage, he succeeded, with- 
 out much difficulty, in establishing in her mind all that 
 was false and puerile in his own. He would talk to her 
 of the combined wealth and influence of their respective 
 families, and the necessity they were under of support- 
 ing handsomely the advantage they derived from being 
 of the aristocracy. They must assume the dignity and 
 exclusiveness of the circle to which they belonged ; they 
 must exist not for any useful end, but simply for the 
 gratification of those ridiculous feelings, which are so 
 well pleased with the liberty of trifling away a life time 
 in fancied superiority over that absolute intellect, in ita 
 several degrees, which makes no pretensions, but toils 
 on, as the only means of happiness and the chief among 
 earthly duties. 
 
 Young McAlpine, after the completion of his college 
 course, had determined to study the law, little knowing 
 of, or indeed caring about, the labor involved in the 
 mastery of jurisprudence. It was necessary for a gen- 
 tleman to be of the " learned professions ;" so he chose 
 the law.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 37 
 
 It was an unfortunate ambition in him to desire the 
 membership of the Bar ; for he had neither the talent 
 nor industry to rise above the pettifogger ; and of this 
 class of mean lawyers Heaven knows we have full 
 enough throughout the country, " limbs of the law " 
 much better lopped off than retained on the noble, hale 
 old tree of jurisprudence. Law, to the most compre- 
 hensive and patient mind, is of most difficult grasp. 
 What, then, must it be to a brain incapable of acute 
 analysis and strict method. Such understandings never 
 can rise above the simple routine of practice ; and 
 doomed to live in the ever-present consciousness of 
 their want of intellectual power, they are too apt to be- 
 come the worst of citizens, and ready at all times to 
 foment disputes among their fellow-men. It is this class 
 of practitioners that led Jeremy Bentham to say of the 
 legal profession, in his second Letter to the Court of 
 Torento, "If there is a class of men whose personal 
 interests are in constant, necessary, and direct opposition 
 to the public interest, it is the class of lawyers. The 
 glorious uncertainty of the law; that is the source 
 whence they draw all the profits of their profession; 
 this is the treasury which supplies them with delays, 
 money, and reputation. The more difficult justice is to 
 be got the dearer it will sell. It appears, at the first glance, 
 that the necessary influence of the trade which these 
 men exercise is to inspire them with a profound indiffer- 
 ence as between justice and injustice, right and wrong, 
 since it is their business to hire themselves out to defend 
 one or the other by turns. But when we come to look 
 at the matter more closely, it is wrong which pays them 
 best, because the success of that depends more upon 
 their good offices than the successful right, and of course 
 the side of injustice is that which they prefer. The Nea- 
 politan assassin sells his arm and his dagger, receives 
 his pay, and risks his life. The advocate at the bar sells 
 his words, receives his money, and risks nothing. Nay, 
 more, a perverse and senseless multitude follow him 
 with shouts, as they would a conqueror, and applauses 
 shower on his head in proportion to the mischief that he 
 does. If there is a profession which trains its members
 
 38 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 to do evil and to avoid the punishment of it, it is this. 
 If there is a profession which by the habits of gain ac- 
 quired by sustaining indifferently truth and falsehood, 
 effaces from the soul all sincerity, all love of truth, it is 
 this! ! If there is a profession which teaches a man, by 
 the constant practice of his life, to sell his faculties to 
 the highest bidder to say anything and everything, 
 to accuse everybody and to defend everybody for hire, to 
 let himself out body and soul to "the employer who pays 
 best, and consequently to be always ready to sacrifice 
 for the slightest profit the interest of the greatest num- 
 ber, it is the trade of the lawyer." A. sad estimate of law 
 is this of Jeremy Bentham ; yet who will presume to gain- 
 say its correctness. Jurisprudence in the abstract, or 
 ideal, is one thing ; in the practice it becomes quite 
 another. The student feels this deeply, and, if he has 
 an honest mind, heartily laments that there is not a 
 better, more reliable medium between man and man, by 
 which his action shall be guided and governed. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman having secured JVIcAlpine, her next 
 step would be to hurry on the marriage, as no one knew 
 better than that shrewd, politic mother, the many slips 
 there have been between the cup and lip. The wedding 
 was to be a magnificent affair. Every one who had the 
 good fortune of Mrs. Penniman's acquaintance was to be 
 invited ; so, too, were all the literary lions and men of 
 genius with whom the McAlpines had a general inti- 
 macy. It was to be a very recherche" affair. There was 
 to be present none save persons of the highest quality. 
 The proud Mrs. Penniman despised most heartily the vil- 
 lainous canaille ; which included, to her mind, all with 
 whom she considered it would be beneath her dignity 
 to associate. The wedding was to be a grand affair. 
 Nelly longed to be a bride, and James thought it would 
 be such a pretty thing to marry ; to have a wife and 
 family ; to be a father ! and Nelly, too, was so arfxious 
 to be a mother ! If she could only have a little boy of 
 her own she should be so delighted. 
 
 This passion for babies is certainly very innocent, and 
 it is not to be wondered at the young and sanguine look 
 forward to a great deal of pleasure with these little
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GENIUS. 39 
 
 ones ; but we fear time brings, too often, a grief attend- 
 ant on the death or moral depravity of these creations 
 which calls up deep regret at such frail possessions 
 having been desired or obtained. We are not over cyn- 
 ical, but we would avoid all possible sorrow, and keep 
 the heart as cheerful as human wisdom will permit ; for 
 cheerfulness is the greatest of blessings ; it is meat, 
 and drink, and clothing. One can live upon it ; it is a 
 substitute for everything else. With it the possessor 
 has all that he wants ; and without it he is a miserable 
 beggar ; for he has nothing that he desires. It is 
 money in bank to a man ; for'though he has ever so little 
 money, he has all he wants, because he can do very well 
 without more. It is a thermometer by which the tem- 
 perature of the feelings is regulated. One is cold, the 
 other is hot, because one is cheerful, the other is not. 
 A cheerful temper has the great advantage of always 
 seeing the bright side of every object. It is a friend of 
 the virtues, and a sworn enemy to vice. David Hume 
 pronounced a cheerful temper to be worth a thousand 
 pounds a year. The easiest way to be rich, therefore, 
 is to have such a temper. Cheerfulness being so valu- 
 able a possession, it is indeed strange that so few 
 comparatively are in the enjoyment of its blessings, es- 
 pecially when it may be had on most reasonable terms. 
 The Pennimans, and by this expression we mean all 
 the daughters and sons in law, notwithstanding their 
 riches, were far from cheerful. They were too proud 
 and dignified to be ever in right good cheer. If one 
 would be light-hearted and happy he must not be im- 
 moderately selfish, or insufferably haughty. 
 
 Scarcely anything was talked of, now, by Nelly's fam- 
 ily and acquaintance, but the marriage and splendid 
 wedding party. Presents of the richest and most costly 
 character were expected, and all was to go merry as 
 the marriage bell.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, 
 Nor marry for nothing but only love." 
 
 WE will open this chapter with the query of " what is 
 love ? " 
 
 "Its richest, rarest fruits of bliss, 
 Are plucked on danger's precipice," 
 
 we are told, by a noble poet of Ireland. Rauch, in his 
 " Psychology and Anthropology," says, it is the devo- 
 tion of one person to another : the surrendering of the 
 independence of our existence, and desire to become 
 self-conscious, not in ourselves only, but especially in 
 the consciousness of another. In such we seek our- 
 selves ; we desire to be acknowledged and received 
 with it. The consciousness of such we desire to pene- 
 trate, to fill with our person all their will and knowl- 
 edge, all desires and wishes. Then they live in us, as 
 we live in them. Thus both are identical, and each lays 
 his whole soul into this identity. Love is therefore 
 ennobling ; for loving, we do not belong to ourselves, 
 but to those whom we love, as they belong to us. 
 Whatever cannot be drawn within this circle of our 
 love, leaves us indifferent. Especially in female charac- 
 ters is love most beautiful ; for with them this devotion, 
 this surrender, is the highest point, as they centre their 
 intellectual and real life upon this feeling of love, in it 
 find their only hold -on life ; and if misfortune touches it, 
 they disappear like a light which is extinguished by the 
 first rough breath. 
 
 This subjective tenderness of feeling is not found in 
 the classic art of Greece, where it appears only as a sub-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 41 
 
 ordinate element for representation, or only in reference 
 to sensual enjoyments. In Homer, either no great 
 weight is placed upon it, or love appears in its most 
 worthy form, as marriage in the domestic circle, ~as, 
 for instance, in the person of Penelope, or as the solici- 
 tude of a wife and mother in Andromache, or in other 
 moral relations. The tie, on the other hand, which 
 attaches Paris to Helen, is acknowledged as immoral, 
 and is the cause of the terrors and misfortunes of the 
 Trojan war ; while the love of Achilles to Briseis has 
 little depth of feeling ; for Brisies is a slave, and at the 
 disposal of his will. In the odes of Sappho the lan- 
 guage of love is raised to lyric inspiration ; yet it is 
 more the lingering, consuming fire of the blood that is 
 expressed, than the warmth of feeling and the emotions 
 of the heart. In another respect, love, as expressed in 
 the delightful little songs of Anacreon, is a cheerful, 
 general enjoyment, which, without suffering, without 
 struggles, and without the resignation of an oppressed 
 and longing heart, joyfully seizes the immediate pleas- 
 ure, not regarding it as necessary to possess this object 
 of affection, and no other. Neither does the noble 
 tragedy of the ancients know the inclination of love in 
 its romantic significance. Especially with JSchylus and 
 Sophocles, it does not claim any particular interest ; 
 for though Antigone is destined to be the wife of Hse- 
 mon, though Haemon defends her before his father, 
 and even kills himself because he cannot save her, he 
 speaks before Creon only of objective relations, and not 
 of the power of subjective passion, which in fact he did 
 not feel, in the sense of a modern, passional lover. 
 Euripides makes use of love as an essential pathos, in 
 his Phedra ; yet there it is represented as a criminal 
 aberration of blood, as a passion of sense, as in- 
 stigated by Venus, who desires the destruction of Hip- 
 polytus, because he will not bring sacrifices to her. So 
 we have, in the Venus de Medici, a beautiful image of 
 love ; and nothing can be said against its neatness and 
 plastic execution ; but the expression of internal warmth 
 and life, as modern art demands it, is wholly wanting. 
 The same is the case in the Roman poetry, when, after
 
 42 THE PENMMANS ', OR, 
 
 the dissolution of the Republic, and of the regidity of 
 moral life, love degenerated more or less into sexual en- 
 joyments. 
 
 Petrarch, on the other hand, though he wrote his son- 
 nets for amusement, gained his immortal reputation by 
 the fancies of his love, which, under the warm Italian 
 sky, connected itself, in the depths of his heart, with 
 religion. Dante's exaltation also proceeded from his 
 loye of Beatrice, which, rendered sublime in him, be- 
 came a religious love ; while his boldness and bravery 
 was transformed into a religious institution of art, in 
 which what no one else would venture he made 
 himself the judge of all men, and consigned them to hell, 
 to purgatory, and to heaven. As a contrast to this ex- 
 altation Bocaccio represents love partly in vehemence 
 as a passion, partly as stripped of all morality, making, 
 in his various novels, the morals of his age and country 
 pass in review before our eyes. In the German minne- 
 song, love is full of piety, tender, without richness of 
 imagination ; playful, melancholy, monotonous. With 
 the Spaniards it is full of imagination in its expression, 
 knightly, subtle in seeing and defending its rights and 
 duties, as a matter of honor, and fanatical in the time of 
 its highest splendor. With the French, especially in 
 latter times, it becomes gallant, inclining to vanity, a 
 forced feeling, created by sophistry, a kind of sensual 
 enjoyment, without passion, or passion without enjoy- 
 ment, a feeling and sentimentality full of reflections. 
 
 Sexual love is founded on a tendency of nature, which, 
 divided between two of different sexes, draws them 
 irresistibly yet mysteriously towards each other, and 
 makes each other feel that it cannot find its completion 
 in itself, and must seek for it in another. This love is 
 pure and noble when it is called forth by love. The 
 purest love is the effect of the most perfect external 
 beauty in its union with an equally perfect internal 
 beauty of the heart. It calls forth noble and delightful 
 feelings in ourselves, silences every desire, and renders 
 us happy by its presence. It is a perfect union of the 
 most beautiful in us with the most beautiful out of us. 
 Its removal leaves a void in the heart ; we are drawn
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 43 
 
 after it. This is the case with all lovers. Every one 
 considers his love the fairest, most beautiful, most vir- 
 tuous of all that ever lived. If personal beauty is 
 wanting, other charms will compensate for it, or make 
 the lover overlook the deficiency. Sexual love is the 
 bloom of our intellectual and bodily life ; and as the 
 flower reveals by its color and fragrance the life of the 
 plant, so love will render manifest the ideal of beauty 
 and lovliness, and the kind of life which a person con- 
 ceals within himself. Again, love is the intellectual 
 and physical development of youth ; for it is the joint 
 product of imagination and fancy, and of bodily vigor, 
 and freshnes of nerves and muscles, all of which have 
 arrived at the stage of maturity. If love induces us to 
 seek for all that is noble and beautiful, in order to adorn 
 with it the object of love ; if we desire to seek for honor 
 and every virtue, to lay it at the feet of the beloved 
 one ; if we long for nothing more than the entire union 
 of soul with soul, then our love is noble, and the being 
 of whom it is the blossom must be so likewise. Such 
 love excites us to virtuous and magnanimous actions ; 
 and many a youth of amiable qualities, but who was 
 exposed to dangers, has been rescued by love, and 
 raised by it into the sphere of beauty and nobleness, 
 from that of sensual enjoyments. In sexual love, now, 
 if it is to be pure, love must be the only object desired ; 
 not money, not mere external beauty. Such love will 
 desire its preservation, and this it can obtain only by a 
 permanent union, which is marriage. Marriage is the 
 external representation of the internal union produced 
 by love between man and woman, and sanctioned by the 
 usual ceremony. Husband and wife are truly one. 
 The interests and wishes of the one are also those of 
 the other. They enter so wholly and entirely into each 
 others feelings, views, and desires that they seem to 
 have but one thinking power. Genuine marriage can- 
 not, therefore, be produced by a mere ceremony, but 
 must have its possible existence in love. Yet what is 
 once joined together, let no man put asunder, and hence the 
 choice is short, and the regret is long. 
 
 It follows, therefore, that true love renders monogamy
 
 44 THE PENNIMANS ) OR, 
 
 indispensable, as that polyandry or polygamy are wholly 
 unnatural. We can exchange our self but once, and 
 receive but one se^in exchange for it. And here is the 
 point, too, on which it must appear possible that love 
 may become a passion. For as we cannot love every 
 one, but must naturally be limited in our choice, the 
 idea may take hold of our mind, after we think we have 
 found the person, that he or she, and no other in the 
 world, is the one whom we can love. Centering our 
 affections upon such, it seems wholly impossible to us 
 that we should be able to love any other. If, now, im- 
 pediments are thrown in our way, if we fear the loss 
 of one love, and know that no reparation can be made 
 to us, our love will be changed into a transient or 
 permanent passion. 
 
 These impediments in the way of love are either ex- 
 ternal, or they are contained in one of the lovers, and 
 may be termed internal. The external proceed from 
 the world around us, from its manners and views, 
 from the family spirit, its interests, from laws and 
 prejudices, and the prose of life. The lovers think of 
 nothing but their love ; they are satisfied with it. Yet 
 man is not to live to his feelings only ; he has duties to 
 perform, and to honor the many relations in which he 
 finds himself. Thus a collision between his love and his 
 duties may easily take place. Among these possible 
 collisions none is more frequent than that of honor. 
 This may demand the resignation of love, merely be- 
 cause the two are not of equal rank. This opposition 
 will only strengthen the power of love ; and instead of 
 yielding to the suggestions of honor, it becomes so irre- 
 sistable as rather to sacrifice life than to yield to any 
 obstacles. Again, the will of parents, family duties, 
 duties towards the country, or faithfulness to a vow, 
 may interfere with love ; and here again it will become 
 passion. Now, it may be that this passion overcomes 
 all difficulties, and effects its final union, or that the per- 
 son acknowledges the power of these objective rights 
 and duties, and struggles silently with himself and the 
 power of his own passions. On the latter passion the 
 play of the Maid of Orleans, by Schiller, rests. Very
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 45, 
 
 often, as said already, it is the prose of life, intrigue,, 
 prejudices, and the like, that oppose love, determined 
 to destroy the fairest prospects. In this case, also, love 
 becomes a passion, and we ask every sacrifice to -con- 
 quer difficulties. If the difficulties will not yield, if alL 
 daily grows darker, love may be driven to suicide, or 
 terminate in insanity. The internal impediments are al- 
 ways to be sought for in the lovers themselves. Here it 
 may be that love on the part of one has never fully de- 
 veloped itself. When, now, the other demands the ex- 
 clusive possession of the love of the first, and when he 
 feels that this is not fully given, that perhaps a 
 third receives as much attention as himself, he will 
 become passionate, and his passion will be jealousy.. 
 When love is pure on both sides, all fear is banished.. 
 It is often a feeling of weakness, a feeling that we do- 
 not deserve the possession of the love of the other, that 
 causes this fear. So Othello is certain of Desdemona's ; 
 love, he fears nothing. lago cannot succeed, at first,, 
 in filling his heart with suspicion, until he mentions his; 
 age, his dark color, &c. From that moment suspicion; 
 is ripe in Othello's breast. 
 
 Love may become a transient passion, when the great- 
 ness of the new feeling, the darkness of the relations 
 that are yet indistinct, the late youthful pride which is 
 now to surrender, to confess itself conquered, embar- 
 rassed. Love would not betray itself, and betrays itself 
 by this very wish for concealment. It desires to meet 
 the beloved, and trembles or flees when he or she ap- 
 proaches. It seeks solitude to give free course to its 
 tears, and keeps secret from others what moves the 
 heart. It does not venture to pronounce the name, but 
 it finds circuitous routs to hear from its beloved object. 
 So love may become a transient passion in a moment, 
 when, after we have secretly anticipated a kind reception 
 from the person in whom we are interested, we receive 
 a distinct and marked sign of it, one that can no longer 
 be misinterpreted. The passion of love is one of the- 
 most painful. The object appears to him who is under 
 its influence as the only possible one he could choose ; at 
 certain fatality, a necessity against which he strives iii
 
 46 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 vain, chains him to this one, which is in his eyes most 
 perfect. Without him or her the passionate lover does 
 not expect to enjoy life, or to become happy in any 
 way. Hence the most bitter feeling of an irreparable 
 loss constantly agitates the breast, and presents nothing 
 but misery. Love, as alluded to, may mitigate and even 
 expel other passions, but when once a passion, it cannot 
 itself be rendered less strong by any other inclination. 
 It is too certain of its loss ; it feels that no reparation 
 can be made, that it must carry its grief with it for- 
 ever. Dante writes, in the Inferno : 
 
 " The soul, which is created prone to love, 
 
 Awakened into action by delight, 
 To all that pleases doth obedient move. 
 
 Your apprehension from some object true 
 An image draws, unfolding it to sight, 
 
 So that the soul is tempted to pursue. 
 And if the mind thus wrought on is inclined, 
 
 That inclination is a natural love, 
 Newly produced by pleasure in your mind. 
 
 Thus e'en as fire spontaneous, mounts on high, 
 Created apt to raise itself above, 
 
 Aud reach again its store-house in the sky, 
 The soul so smitten, enters on desire, 
 
 A spiritual motion, resting never 
 Till the beloved object it acquire." 
 
 "It is to Laura," said the great Italian, Petrarch, "/ 
 owe what I am. Never should I have obtained my pres- 
 ent reputation and glory if the sentiments with which 
 she inspired me had not raised those seeds of virtue 
 which nature had planted in my soul. She drew me out 
 of those snares and precipices into which the ardor of 
 youth had plunged me. In fine, she pointed out my 
 road to heaven, and served me as a guide to pursue 
 it." 
 
 The influence of Laura over Petrarch, through the in- 
 strumentality of love, is among the noblest records of 
 the human heart. This truly delightful sentiment, when 
 properly considered, we mean the sentiment of love, 
 is more or less active with all mankind ; and what- 
 ever relates to it, in prose or verse, in truth or fiction, 
 hath a universal interest, more or less marked in indi-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEKIUS. 47 
 
 viduals as their experiences of life, habits of thought 
 and action, have tended either to refine and elevate 
 their moral faculties, or to sensualize and debase them. 
 
 Willie Andrews, like most youth of his warm, impulsive 
 nature, had no sooner parted with one sweetheart than 
 he availed of another. Nelly Penniman, whose heart he 
 once possessed, could never again interest him. She 
 had forsaken him for another ; she had, at the instiga- 
 tion of her friends and haughty lover, ceased to notice 
 him ; in a word, she had come to think the Andrews 
 family plebeians, and to regard all such people with con- 
 tempt. Acquaintances, to be acceptable to Miss Nelly, 
 must have a certain air, and live in marked style. They 
 must derive their incomes from rent-oppressed tenants, 
 or through the higher professions, such as preaching the 
 gospel to the rich, on a heavy salary ; vending law, on 
 fat retainers ; physic in the same ratio, and merchandiz- 
 ing on an extensive scale of profits, derived through 
 salesmen skilled in deception and falsehood. These 
 were the individuals, these the families with whom the 
 Pennimans might be willing to associate ; still, this was 
 not all which constituted complete eligibility to the 
 society of these people. There must be ancestry also, 
 family ; yes, reader, the Pennimans were republicans, 
 but in making acquaintances their respect was fully 
 challenged only where there was family. Yet, perhaps, 
 on the score of a truly honorable pedigree, there was 
 no name throughout the city, with any pretensions to 
 respect, that had less to do with heraldry. Yet the 
 Pennimans had their coat of arms, and talked much of 
 their genealogical tree, which through force of imagina- 
 tion had come to be regarded by them as an important 
 historical fact. Their genealogical tree was, from root 
 to branch, an ordinary species of vegitation, such as 
 might be looked for from the most rotten seed of the old 
 English villainage. As to their coat of arms, it was a 
 distinction which any one may assume whose name, or 
 similarity of name, is to be found in heraldry. 
 
 We have no objection to either of these honorable as- 
 sociations of the past being held in the highest regard, 
 by those who have a clear title to them. Indeed, repub-
 
 48 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 licanism, and no other ism, should be a barrier to family 
 pride based upon an illustrious ancestry, or one simply 
 honorable ; and if it is asked what is intended by simply 
 honorable, we reply respectability and skill in all indus- 
 trial professions, requiring more than an average amount 
 of mind for success. There is something truly enno- 
 bling in a rational attachment to the past, and a love 
 for the memory of those by whom we are connected 
 with it ; and a coat of arms when not mere pretence, a 
 genealogical tree when not a base fiction, should have a 
 value to those by whom they are represented above all 
 price ; because they are the insignia of character, which 
 is priceless. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman " had married off her daughters," as 
 the phrase is, "to please herself," to gratify her ambi- 
 tion ; she had given them to individuals whose only 
 recommendation was rich and honored fathers. Thrown 
 upon their own resources, without the adventitious aids 
 of wealth the fruit of others labors, they would have 
 found their level far below the condition of the hum- 
 blest orders of society, which, in their fancied superi- 
 ority, were looked upon with ineffable contempt. Yet 
 these were the individuals Mrs. Penniman had manoeu- 
 vered and worked lustily to secure for her fashionable, 
 proud, and not any too intelligent daughters ; these 
 were the "sprigs of aristocracy" to whom such noble 
 and manly natures as Willie Andrews were to give 
 way. 
 
 The ambition in every one to improve his or her con- 
 dition, either by intellectual training or the aids of mar- 
 riage alliances, is commendable ; and all honorable, 
 dignified means are justifiable to promote the end ; but 
 where we see unprincipled women, wedded to men for 
 no motive but ostentation, deeding away their children 
 to incompetent characters, from false notions of respect- 
 ability, we cannot but pity the weakness of such pa- 
 rents, and lament the fate of their children. A " highly 
 respectable family," whatever its wealth, whatever the 
 heroic deeds of its ancestry, can confer, simply by these 
 considerations, no merit upon a son or daughter, nor add 
 one particle to their influence in the social scale, if they
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 49 
 
 lack the virtues by which their family name was won, 
 namely, industry, talents, or genius, courage and perse- 
 verance. Persons whose importance rests almost en- 
 tirely on "style," and the parade of wealth generally, 
 not feeling at all satisfied with their genealogical tree, 
 seek to make up this deficiency, and thus to establish a 
 harmonious whole. Thus Mrs. Penniman came to en- 
 courage the attentions of young men to her daughters 
 who were, in her estimation, calculated to improve the 
 Penniman breed ; but before our tale shall be ended, we 
 shall see how false are such ideas, and ruinous to the 
 peace and happiness of those who are their victims. 
 
 With women of Mrs. Penniman's cast of mind, love is 
 a fable ; ambition and a desire of ostentation lay waste 
 their hearts ; there is nothing in life which interests them 
 but clap-trap, ceremony, humbug, and pretension. They 
 do not know what power a noble nature has to attach 
 to it its species, even the humblest of servants to its 
 interest. Devoid of all generous impulse themselves, 
 they think mankind without a heart, without a con- 
 science, and without a God !
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Without connubial Juno's aid they wed ; 
 Nor Hymen nor the Graces bless the bed. 
 
 ***** 
 But, ! revenge is sweet -- 
 Thus think the crowd, who eager to engage, 
 Take quickly fire, and kindle into rage." 
 
 THE Pennimans were preparing for a grand ball, to be 
 given in honor of their daughter's nuptials, previous to 
 her departure to Europe, in company with her liege lord, 
 McAlpine. They were about to be tied together at one 
 of the fashionable churches, where the pulpit is gagged 
 by the pride of wealth suspended over it in terrorem. 
 A person was stationed at the door to keep out all those 
 who were not of the ** F. F. V.," a hard visaged, 
 brawny hackman, who had been long employed to 
 wheel about these " sumptuous bodies." It was to be a 
 very exclusive, private, aristocratic affair, a tempest- 
 in-a-tea-pot sort of a doing, at which all sensible people 
 laughed, and the angels wept. 
 
 There were a number gathered about the church, 
 awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom, since having 
 been denied the privilege of entrance within, they were 
 determined to have a "good look" without. The two 
 popinjays who were stationed in the entry of the splendid 
 church, now and then pulled open the door, impatient 
 at the long delay of the lovely twain that were to be 
 made one flesh. Casting a contemptuous stare at the 
 persons in waiting without, they shut the door with an 
 angry air, that the mob, the canaille, should manifest any 
 interest whatever in their matters. After the patience 
 of nearly every body had been exhausted, not except- 
 ing the meek-looking, clean-shaved minister, a private
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 51 
 
 carriage was driven up to the church, freighted with the 
 anxiously expected couple. The crowd pressed around 
 it, only the more desirous to see what apparently was so 
 precious ; and when McAlpine and his lady alighted 
 there was quite a titter among some of the bystanders, 
 who were pretty keen witted, that a boy and a girj, with 
 nothing to boast of but gayly decked persons, should 
 draw together such an audience. McAlpine was a sap, 
 and his betrothed was only too well suited to his cali- 
 ber. 
 
 Willie Andrews had many friends and acquaintances, 
 all of whom were aware of the circumstance of his dis- 
 missal, and many of whom had come to the church, 
 through curiosity to see the " gay gallant," who had 
 found so much favor with this child and daughter of 
 mammon ; but neither Willie nor Ida were there. It 
 was an affair which had no interest to them, and there- 
 fore they gave it no thought. 
 
 As Nelly stepped from the carriage, supported by the 
 gloved hand of her lover, there was an evident embar- 
 rassment, and the lively red of her cheeks gave place to 
 a striking pallor. McAlpine was by no means as self- 
 possessed as the occasion required. It was evident they 
 were not prepared for such a demonstration of curiosity, 
 on the part of those " vile creatures," whom they were 
 only too well pleased -to term the rabble. 
 
 The dress of the bride was an expensive white satin, 
 over which was a skirt of superb thread-lace. In passing 
 from the carriage, the garment was caught by the door, 
 on observing which a fellow with hands soiled with lamp- 
 black, perhaps with a good motive, at once seized the 
 dress and disengaged it from the carriage, leaving the 
 imprint of his dirty member on the magnificent rig out, 
 much to the horror of the bride, whose emotions were 
 too intense for concealment. She looked at him with 
 the most ineffable disgust, in which she was joined by 
 the groom and the two popinjays to whom we have re- 
 ferred, who were acting in the capacity of grooms-men, 
 and had made their appearance from the church just a 
 moment too late to save the bride this unspeakable 
 mortification. But the scene was not yet quite finished ;
 
 52 THE PENKIMANS | OB, 
 
 for as she passed from the side-walk, resting on the arm 
 of her adored Apollo, a Mercury stood by, commissioned 
 from the gods, to whisper in her ear that in this mar- 
 riage she should be damned ! That Mercury was a 
 young man, with a dark, flashing eye, and an impetuous 
 spirit, a friend of Willie Andrews. He had no sooner 
 startled Nelly with her fate, than he darted from the 
 crowd, and was seen no more. The bride's heart had 
 been pierced with a poisoned arrow, and she walked to 
 the altar as though going to the Guillotine. 
 
 There are many such marriages in this sublunary 
 sphere, and will continue to be, we presume, to the end 
 of time, if such an event is supposable. We have a sin- 
 cere pity for all those poor unfortunates who are united 
 to each other in the holy bonds of wedlock, without a 
 right understanding of life, or the obligations of mar- 
 riage ; and we heartily wish there might exist among 
 parents, a better judgment than to make matches from 
 motives of pride, that must entail a train of evils upon 
 their offspring, to end either in insanity or suicide. It 
 is natural for those who are wealthy,to desire that their 
 children should be so disposed of as to make sure of 
 a continuance of their positions, which a handsome in- 
 come seems to command. But, however natural this 
 feeling may be, it unquestionably is fruitful of great and 
 irreparable error. But little can be known, with any 
 degree of certainty, however well educated and well- 
 born a young man may be, of his fitness for the dis- 
 charge of the duties of married life before he is twenty- 
 seven and thirty ; and most inperfect are a woman's 
 views of such responsibilities until she is twenty-two 
 and three ; yet how anxious very many mothers are, and 
 sensible ones too, to marry off their daughters, to see 
 them "nicely settled in life," before they are in any re- 
 spect able to form an intelligent opinion as to whether 
 it is for their happiness to marry or not 1 And how 
 eager are very many young men to engage the affections 
 of young ladies, without for a moment realizing the 
 never-ceasing responsibilities they assume, which, as 
 time passes, and those on whom they have depended 
 drop off into the grave, only increase in weight and ap-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 53 
 
 pall by their fully disclosed magnitude. Early marriages, 
 when not based on the most decided and unequivocal 
 merit, are much to be deplored. It was very well that 
 the Pennimans' pride and vanity should be gratified by 
 marrying their daughter into the McAlpine family ; but 
 much better would it be for that daughter if, instead of 
 this shallow-pated McAlpine, she had been encouraged 
 to unite with some one who had a reliable wit, even 
 though not of a " first family/' Nothing is more absurd, 
 reprehensible, and criminal, for which divine justice 
 always has a severe punishment, than those "marriages 
 in high life" which are brought about by a shameless, 
 heartless pride, with no other motive and for no other 
 reason than to sustain a certain luxurious mode of living, 
 which is deemed indispensable to haut ton, " first re- 
 spectability." These ideas are a sheer delusion, and 
 they who are duped by them in the morning of life, alas ! 
 weep through the noon and evening of their days to 
 little purpose. McAlpine and Nelly were joined to- 
 gether by the clergyman, and the twain that had been 
 made one flesh retraced their steps to the carriage. As 
 Nelly passed from the church, she was observed to be 
 in tears, and the dark imprint of the lamp-black hand 
 seemed darker than ever. So a day of promised joy 
 was turned into one of sorrow, and all, instead of going 
 merry as a marriage bell, went doleful as a funeral dirge. 
 Mrs.'Penniman "looked wrath itself," and as she passed 
 from the church, her head tossed high, through the crowd, 
 into her carriage, old Penniman trotting after, with his 
 meager, base-spirited phiz bent downward, there was in 
 the countenances of the persons around a marked satis- 
 faction, that snobbery was so much annoyed. When 
 persons go into public places, and carry with them their 
 absurdities, they must expect little favor from the matter 
 of fact and common sense characters of every day life ; 
 and especially when it is sought to apply the rule of 
 exclusiveness to a marriage in a place of public wor- 
 ship ! 
 
 We have said the Pennimans were preparing for 
 a ball, to be given in honor of the newly-married pair. 
 As is customary with those who can afford it, McAlpine
 
 54 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 and his bride had left the city for a brief journey, and 
 the ball was to take place immediately on their return. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman and her daughters, were seated to- 
 gether in the basement of their mansion, one rainy day, 
 talking over this grand affair, and were making up a list 
 of those " persons whom it would be proper to invite ;" 
 for it was a matter of great importance that the company 
 should not be at all "mixed." Mrs. Penniman had the 
 most profound disgust, and so too had her daughters, for 
 all individuals not quite up to their level. 
 
 The Pennimans, in common with all persons who 
 would appear to be more than what they really are, 
 had a library of well-assorted and handsomely bound 
 books, the contents of which, however, was imperfectly, 
 or not known at all to any of them. This is quite usual 
 among snobs. They do everything for effect. How ad- 
 mirably has Juvenal hit off this contemptible class of 
 pretenders : 
 
 " Devoid of knowledge, as of worth, they thrust, 
 In every nook, some philosophic bust ; 
 For he among them counts himself most wise 
 Who most old sages of the sculptor buys ; 
 Sets most true Zenos' or Cleanthes' heads, 
 To guard the volumes which he never reads," 
 
 These vain and foolish women continued discussing the 
 merits of their acquaintances, throwing out such as were 
 no longer desirable, until the list of the company was 
 completed. This was no easy task ; but by the united 
 energies of the Pennimans and a rainy day it was carried 
 through with no inconsiderable despatch. Then came 
 the writing of the invitations, or rather the filling out of 
 the blanks (for they were neatly printed), and addressing 
 the same to the various guests, which done, the invita- 
 tions were placed in a neat basket, and given to the ser- 
 vant-man to distribute. 
 
 " The Pennimans are to give a ball," was the salu- 
 tation of those idle women who were thought worthy 
 to be entered on the list, as they met each other in the 
 saloons of fashion, or upon the street," the following day. 
 A ball among this class is quite an item, and the specu-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 55 
 
 lations as to the manner in which it will be conducted, 
 and the good cheer and good fortune which may result 
 from it, are as wild as they are various and exciting. A 
 marriageable lady scarcely ever prepares for a select ball 
 or party without in a measure preparing for a husband ; 
 and she continues in society, with this object in view, 
 until crowded out by the fresher and superior charms of 
 the youthful maiden. Our streets are filled with these 
 hopeless creatures, who, through their prime entertained 
 such haughty and absurd notions of life,that men who 
 could at all endure celibacy were unwilling to take upon 
 themselves the care of worthless and inconsiderate wo- 
 men, bloated with pride, and crammed with a class of 
 notions which are as foreign to sterling common sense 
 as atheism is to Christianity ! 
 
 This world of ours is an exceedingly practical one, in 
 which a good sound education, with correct views of 
 life, is of the greatest possible advantage, and without 
 which there is little or no chance of encountering " the 
 ills which flesh is heir to " with any degree of fortitude 
 or endurance. Thus it is that women who have set their 
 hopes on securing a husband, aud have given their 
 lives to this one idea, failing to realize their expecta- 
 tions, become down-hearted, imbittered, and at war with 
 themselves and mankind. Thus it is that they become 
 those " detestable old maids " whom everybody avoids, 
 at all times, and in all places. 
 
 The Pennimans 7 ball I It was to be a grand affair, in 
 which snobbery, genuine worth, and eminent learning 
 were to be huddled together ; it was to be a hotch- 
 potch affair, after all, notwithstanding Madame Penniman 
 and her butterfly daughters were at the head of it They 
 did not intend to have a " mixed company," and yet it 
 would be impossible to conceive of a greater disparity of 
 intelligence than was gathered together. For instance, 
 there were the learned professors of Harvard, beside 
 the rag-dealers of Milk and Kilby Streets, with their 
 full-feathered wives and daughters, " dressed to kill," 
 and set off with an air of marked quality. Then, there 
 were dealers in hard-ware, with vulgar looking wives 
 in spectacles, boring the Hon. So-and-so, M. C., with his
 
 56 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 family, full of legal lore and classical attainments. And 
 there, also, were men on the wharves (who contract for 
 clipper craft), and their families, hedged in with poetical 
 genius, that regards such persons and their sordid pur- 
 suits with the most unspeakable disgust. Then, too, 
 there were lawyers, in close proximity to tradesmen 
 whom they had pleaded successfully against, for which 
 they were soundly hated. And doctors, too, were there, 
 who had lost patients through stupidity, as was be- 
 lieved by their relatives, near to whom " these ignorant 
 doctors " were now standing. Such a medley of discord- 
 ant elements of social life it would be impossible to 
 describe fully and graphically, without more pains and 
 labor than we are willing to invest in this chapter. 
 Suffice it to say that " Tom, Dick, and the Devil " were 
 there, and that fashion with rampant. This one's rep- 
 utation for learning was only subject for spleen and 
 spite, with those who lacked lore ; this one's youthful 
 bloom and beauty was only an unbearable reflection on 
 that one's musty maidenhood and faded cheek. These 
 contrasts were felt most keenly and bitterly ; the pas- 
 sions were let loose, and back-biting began in good 
 earnest. The wits, with his or her fund of good sense, 
 were not slow to detect the brainless upstarts who came 
 in their way, and in a quiet manner cracked their jokes 
 and laughed at snobbery, at the head of which were the 
 Pennimans. 
 
 It was an expensive affair, this ball, being in all re- 
 spects a model one. The dancing was continued until 
 twelve o'clock, when supper was announced, to which 
 the company marched in single file, to exquisite music. 
 All appeared blessed with excellent appetites, and soon 
 made way with a most sumptuous supper. Young la- 
 dies ate as though they had been fasting for a tweve- 
 _ month, and mothers and fathers "fairly shovelled into 
 their corporosities " the good things set before them." 
 Gluttony seemed to have seized on all, and the struggle 
 appeared to be which of the company could devour the 
 most food in a given time. With such an ambition an- 
 imating all of these fashionable cormorants, it is not a 
 matter of surprise that the table was in a short time
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 57 
 
 cleared of all edibles ; nor is it a matter of surprise either 
 that some of the company, who were more partial to 
 wine than a strict regard to decency would allow, got 
 into a condition which rendered a carriage and home 
 necessary.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " The more I honor thee the less I love." 
 
 WILLIE ANDREWS had loved, we have said, Nelly Pen- 
 niman ; .but it was not a perfect love ; for " here on 
 earth," says the German philosopher, Muller, brother 
 of the celebrated Greek scholar and archaeologist, " here 
 on earth love can never have an unchangeable home in 
 our hearts, but only sometimes come to us as a transient 
 visitor. These are only inspired moments, when our 
 soul is all devotion, and self-denial, and self-sacrifice ; 
 when we are ready to live for our neighbors, even if 
 they, with coldness and enmity, turn away from us. 
 Simple beams of heavenly light are they which fall into 
 the dusk of our earthly life, exulting, quickening, 
 strengthening. But we are still too weak, too earthly, 
 to hold them fast in their entire purity and clearness. 
 There is something ever within us that strives against 
 them ; and from without, the want of love, the injus- 
 tice and hatred of other men, ever anew awaken self- 
 ish impulses in our soul. Our love is not yet perfect ; 
 and so there ever remains in our heart the remnants of 
 selfish fear and sorrow." 
 
 Willie, perhaps, was too young to have conceived a 
 true passion for Miss Penniman ; but whatever the feel- 
 ing may have been, it was now changed for that of con- 
 tempt. She had abandoned him ; Willie's pride was 
 touched ; he would not overlook, forgive the insult. He 
 had many schemes of vengeance ; first, he resolved on 
 attacking McAlpine in the street, and inflicting corporal 
 punishment ; then he thought he would shoot him ; then, 
 that as the Pennimans were most to blame they ought 
 to be punished likewise. He would concoct a satire on
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 59 
 
 the family, and give it to the press. His head was full 
 of plans of revenge, and his heart was eager for their 
 execution. His father, however, was a man of great 
 gravity ; he had studied life with care, and learned many 
 lessons in wisdom. He advised his son to" prudence, and 
 succeeded finally in persuading him to let the insult pass 
 unnoticed, as coming from those whose pretensions were 
 disgusting, and whose respectability was mere assump- 
 tion. " Let your life, my noble boy," said his father, 
 let your life, your goodness, and virtue, be your re- 
 venge. Go on with a thorough intellectual training, 
 aspire to become a man of influence; and when you have 
 won for yourself a position, let the world see, and the 
 Pennimans in particular, that the insult offered to your 
 youth has been wiped away by the glory of your man- 
 hood. Make them to feel you were never their inferior, 
 and that the name of Andrews, as borne by you, hath a 
 respect paid it which neither the name nor the gold of 
 the whole race of Pennimans could confer. Be this the 
 object of your life ; struggle manfully to obtain it, and a 
 vengeance is yours more galling to these proud, God- 
 defying people, than aught you could possibly do by 
 street attack or satire." 
 
 The boy loved his father, and held in high respect 
 his counsels. He accepted his advice on this occasion ; 
 he resolved to leave to the future and the out-working 
 of his character, the measure of revenge. The place 
 which Nelly Penniman had filled in his bosom was now 
 occupied by the tender love of the sweet girl who was 
 with him at the death-bed of Throckmorton. She was, 
 as we have said in a previous chapter, the daughter of 
 a tradesman of considerable means and of liberal culture, 
 and was being well educated. She was a beautiful and 
 graceful girl, with a mind somewhat partial to knowledge, 
 and a most correct taste for art, which she had inherited 
 from her father. She had no genius, but simply taste. 
 Willie admired her as a critic, and she loved him as a 
 power. Her name was Ida Robertson. There were 
 no points of resemblance between Ida and Nelly Penni- 
 man, save in their beauty and grace ; yet the beauty and , 
 grace of each were of a different character. Nelly was a
 
 60 THE PEXNIMAN3 *, OB, 
 
 blond ; Ida was a brunette. Nelly's figure was full and 
 rounded ; Ida's was spare and sharp. Their tempera- 
 ments were quite opposite. Nelly was all impulse ; Ida 
 was all thought and deliberation. One was nervous 
 sanguine ; the other was bilious and phlegmatic. But 
 if Ida was an icicle by nature, as that nature appeared 
 to society, she was warm in the expression of her pas- 
 sion for young Andrews. Apparently they had realized 
 that strange, mysterious impression, one of the other, 
 which in early life too often hurries us on to responsi- 
 bilities and duties for which we are totally unfitted. 
 Love thus proves a delusion and a snare, instead of a 
 source of peace, of comfort, and of joy. 
 
 These two young and hopeful beings were at a period of 
 life when thoughts are bright and glowing when little can 
 be known of what the future may reveal of character. In 
 their dreams they seemed to be under the spell of a perfect 
 bliss, without a disturbing thought. Thus Willie and Ida 
 loved ; yet, as he was an earnest student, and a deep 
 thinker, his mind was far less embarrassed with the " dread 
 realities of life " than was his companion's. His fancy was 
 active, avid his reason sound. 
 
 Ida was still at school ; soon, however, to terminate 
 these irksome years. Willie was earning a salary of 
 five hundred dollars per year, as bookkeeper in a large 
 wholesale dry-goods establishment, employing all his 
 leisure time in the study of the fine arts. He was a 
 clever musician, painted well, wrote very taking poetry, 
 and was not without a skilful hand at sculpture. His 
 head was of classic form ; his eye of a deep, searching 
 blue ; his hair well off the forehead, which was prominent 
 and full ; his complexion was clear, and " sicklied o'er 
 with the pale cast of thought." There was an earnest- 
 ness in the play of his features, coupled with great nerv- 
 ous irritability, which distinguished him as one of an 
 eccentric nature. He rarely conversed with freedom ; 
 but when in the company of artists, or their patrons 
 who were disposed to be a little bending, his mind gave 
 out its thoughts, unchecked by any of that caution and 
 reserve which it practised in the society of those to
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 61 
 
 whom art was a blank, and artists persons of inconsid- 
 erable consequence. With Ida he was at times most so- 
 ciable, but often days passed without more than the com- 
 mon courtesies of life being exchanged. It was at such 
 tim.es that his soul was busy with its dreams of fame. 
 What they might be Ida could as yet only conjecture ; 
 for Willie never permitted himself, even to her, to speak 
 of the high hopes within him. He was ambitious, and 
 this he endeavored not to conceal ; but that which he 
 meditated in the future was a ^secret between his God 
 and himself. 
 
 It was evening. Ida and Willie sat alone in the 
 library of her father's house, which was located in the 
 neighborhood, as we have before said, of the Andrews. 
 The girl was embroidering a handkerchief; the youth 
 was seated at the table, by her side, playing with her 
 hair. 
 
 "A sad duty indeed it is to speak anything that 
 pains so sweet and gentle a friend," remarked Willie ; 
 "yet it is proper we should understand each other 
 perfectly ; and that there may be no misapprehension 
 of my meaning, I will be plain. I have said I can- 
 not love you as I ought. Now, a man's love for a 
 woman whom he may intend to make his wife should be 
 so potent as to seize upon his mind, and keep it in con- 
 tinual subjection to this passion. This is not so with my 
 love for you That is, I do not regard you and your so- 
 ciety as all-sufficient for my happiness. There is that 
 within me which I must develop, powers the bare pos- 
 session of which do make a volcano of my soul. Aly 
 mind centers on itself, and all without are but as means 
 to its advancement. You do not appear to feel with or 
 to comprehend me. I cannot say your love makes me 
 happy, because my happiness is in nature, and in the 
 unfolding of my faculties. You are sensual, and would 
 have me so too. You point to riches, and bid me waste 
 a precious life in growing rich. Now, money to me hath 
 no value beyond what it can purchase to satisfy reason- 
 able wants, no value whatever. I hate wealth wher- 
 ever I see it, when I reflect that it may have been 
 acquired by downright knavery.
 
 2 THE PENNIMAN3 J OR, 
 
 " You are always reflecting," rejoined Ida. " I never 
 saw such a peculiar being. And what pains me deeply is, 
 your reflections are not always just. You do not know how 
 sad I sometimes am, and this too when you think me happy. 
 Oh, my dear friend, why are you so strange so metaphy- 
 sical, so unkind, so forever different to what I would have 
 you. Do be more practical, more like other people. Your 
 mind seems wayward, indeed, to. me ; if you ever loved me, 
 you would love me still. A true and deep affection is not 
 so easily turned from its course. You certainly have made 
 many protestations of your attachment, and I have thought 
 you sincere. Ah, how foolish was I. You say I am sensual, 
 and would have you become so likewise, because I would 
 direct your ambition to mercantile pursuits. If to be 
 sensual is to desire the position wealth commands, to 
 desire that power which enables one to do so much good, 
 to dispense so many blessings among the poor, then 
 I confess I am obnoxious to the charge of sensuality, 
 not else. Money I never did esteem for vanity's sake, 
 for mere display. No, no, God knows my heart; he 
 knows I speak truly." 
 
 " She is cunning, very cunning," mentally said Wil- 
 lie. " She may love money for charity's sake, but she 
 loves it much better for her own. You don't understand, 
 you never will understand me," continued he aloud; "it 
 is not wealth I declaim against ; it is the getting of it, 
 the vile influences of the Exchange, upon which I make 
 war. Suppose I should act on your suggestion, and 
 apply myself to money-making, and successfully, let us 
 presume ; think you I could escape the moral degradation 
 of so base a pursuit ? Think you as a merchant I should 
 not sink into a trickster ? Would my energies once 
 fairly given over to traffic be checked in their operation 
 by any too tender a conscience ? Should I not degenerate 
 into the cold-blooded, heartless Jew, insisting on the 
 pound of flesh ? The noblest natures have fallen thus, 
 and why not I ? Think of the firm with whom I am act- 
 ing as confidential clerk. There is none in this city of 
 higher standing. Their credit is unlimited ; they are 
 believed to be high-minded, truthful men ; yet I, who
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 63 
 
 \ 
 
 know them better than the world, would not believe 
 them on oath, where their own interest was involved ; 
 no, not upon their oath. This seems to amaze you. 
 Astonishing as it may appear, I tell you none who com- 
 pose this generally respected firm, in the enjoyment of 
 great credit, are, strictly speaking, honest men ; and as 
 for their hearts, they have no feeling for anybody's 
 interest save their own." 
 
 " I am indeed surprised," rejoined Ida, looking in- 
 tently at Willie. 
 
 " That you may be," rejoined the young man, "and 
 with good reason. Honesty is rarely found among 
 trades-people, and when it is seldom riches. To get 
 rich is to become demoralized, devilish, as a rule, to 
 which the exceptions are too, too few. Is not the 
 Bible uncompromising in its condemnation of riches? " 
 
 " Indeed, Willie, you maintain your position with a 
 good deal of skill," returned Ida. " 1 had not sup- 
 posed the getting of a fortune was so opposed to virtue, 
 necessarily." 
 
 " You speak now as one informed," rejoined Willie ; 
 " as one who sees somewhat of the truth. Now, since 
 you understand that it is not the possession of wealth I 
 decry, but the mean practices of the Exchange in its ac- 
 quirement, you will better appreciate my love of study, 
 my passion for the beautiful and true, as embodied in 
 the fine arts." 
 
 " I do, I do," rejoined Ida ; " I begin to understand 
 you better ; I begin to see by a clearer light. Forgive 
 me, Willie, that 1 should so disturb you." 
 
 " Of course, of course. Would, oh, would that I 
 could feel you understood me fully ! " returned Andrews, 
 pausing. " In time, in time you may." 
 
 " In time, love, I shall," rejoined Ida, throwing much 
 tenderness into her voice, apparently intent upon her 
 sewing. " You shall be my study ; I will yet be worthy 
 of your confidence." 
 
 " Whoever you marry should be a man adapted to 
 your necessities. Am I that man ? I fear not." As 
 he concluded, he looked at her, with a somber brow. 
 
 " Explain, I beg of you," returned Ida. "Why may I
 
 64 THE PENNIMAtfS ', OR, 
 
 not be happy in your love ? Why are you not adapted 
 to my heart ? " 
 
 " Youfheart needs a heart all devotion ! " replied the 
 youth ; "it dallies with your mind. Mine, on the con- 
 trary, is absorbed by thought, fixing itself on the uni- 
 verse. I have ho time for these endearments ; indeed 
 no inclination which one of your nature would expect in 
 a husband. To you I should seem cold and neglectful, 
 because your existence would be absorbed in that of all 
 beauty and perfection. I should not be drawn to you 
 any more than I would to any other combination of 
 loveliness in nature. This might imbitter your life. You 
 would feel, perhaps, you had not that empire or ascend- 
 ency over my being which a fond wife claims. Now, be 
 candid ; would not this be as I have stated ?" 
 
 " In truth, sir, could I but know I am all you desire in 
 woman as a wife, I should never feel or complain of 
 neglect," returned Ida, tenderly ; " and what to others 
 might seem like indifference would be to me explained 
 by the all-engrossing habits of your mind." 
 
 " Well spoken, well spoken," rejoined Willie. " As 
 to my love for you, Ida, I cannot doubt of its durabil- 
 ity ; but that you are all I might desire in a wife is past 
 my power at present to determine. Let us, therefore, 
 wait the decision of time, living and loving each other 
 as friends." 
 
 Just at this moment Mr. Andrews entered the room. 
 He was, as we have already stated, a musician. He 
 played on several instruments, with equal and consum- 
 mate skill. His education was most thorough, having 
 been graduated at Oxford, England. There was a slight 
 resemblance to him in the personne of his son, who had 
 the same erect bearing and dauntless brow, the same 
 clear, full voice, the same keen, sparkling eye of his 
 father. Mr. Andrews was one of the merriest of men, 
 delighting in all manner of amusement. He was always 
 ready for a good joke and a hearty laugh. Of Ida he 
 made a great pet, and nothing pleased him more than 
 her amiable and instructive society. 
 
 After an interchange of some pleasantry, Mr. Andrews 
 took up his flute, and seating himself in a corner of the
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 65 
 
 room, began a favorite air, at her particular request. 
 Willie had arranged the chess-board, and, placing the 
 men in battle array, threw down the glove to Ida, which 
 she accepted, nothing daunted by the many defeats she 
 had sustained through the superior skill of her subtle an- 
 tagonist. 
 
 The game of chess is unquestionably the noblest of all 
 games, as it is the most ancient. " Its original," says 
 Franklin, "is beyond the memory of history, and it has, 
 for numberless ages, been the amusement of all the civ- 
 ilized nations of Asia, the Persians, the Indians, and the 
 Chinese. Europe has had it above a thousand years. 
 The Spaniards have spread it over their part of America, 
 and it begins to make its appearance in these States. 
 It is so interesting in itself as not to need the view of 
 gain to induce engaging in it; and thence it is never 
 played for money. Those, therefore, who have leisure 
 for such diversions cannot find one that is more inno- 
 cent. The game of chess is riot merely an idle amuse- 
 ment. Several very valuable qualities of the mind, 
 useful in the course of human life, are to be acquired or 
 strengthened by it, so as to become habits ready on all 
 occasions. For life is a kind of chess, in which we have 
 points to gain, and competitors or adversaries to con- 
 tend with, and in which there is a vast variety of good 
 and ill events that are in some degree the effects of pru- 
 dence, or the want of it." 
 
 Willie and Ida were intent upon their moves, and 
 could have felt no greater interest though the dis- 
 covery of a new world was involved in the issue, as 
 happened at the Court of Spain. The story runs in 
 this wise : Ferdinand, at play with an old Spanish 
 grandee, whose skill tested the powers of the monarch 
 severely, was accosted by Isabella on behalf of "poor 
 Columbus," whom the matter of fact and phlegmatic 
 king regarded as a mere adventurer and silly enthusiast. 
 The queen's interruption so distracted the king that he 
 lost his principle piece. Absorbed as he was in a hard- 
 fought game with the old noble, the application of his 
 consort in favor of an importunate sailor drew from him 
 a burst of indignation quite startling. The game seemed
 
 66 THE PEKKIMAXS ; OR, 
 
 to him lost. Isabella, however, was unmoved. The 
 king- looked at her for a moment, then said, "" Win this 
 game for me, and your portege shall be successful ;" 
 to accomplish which he deemed impossible. The queen 
 had no knowledge of the game, save what she had ac- 
 quired by watching her husband and the nobles ; but as 
 her sympathies were deeply engaged with the splendid 
 visions of Columbus, she bent all her great energies on 
 the board. The contest had been long, uncommonly so. 
 The courtiers gathered around the table, amused at the 
 excitement of the king, and the quiet satisfaction of his 
 antagonist. And so the game went on which was to 
 decide whether a new world should be sought for and 
 discovered, or remain veiled by the darkness of ignor- 
 ance, when Isabella, her eyes wild with the passions 
 of her soul, leaned forward and whispered to her hus- 
 band's ear, " You can check-mate him in four moves." 
 The king, astonished at his wife's declaration, looked 
 closely into his game, and achieved a victory where he 
 thought defeat was certain. Columbus and his mighty 
 cause, with the result of that game of chess, was trium- 
 phant. He was made " admiral of the fleets," and 
 sailed westward to glory 
 
 Willie and Ida were good friends, if not good lovers ; 
 and as they sat at chess, near to the amiable and accom- 
 plished father of the young man, they presented a pic- 
 ture worthy of a painter's eye.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " It has been said in praise of some men that they could talk whole hours together 
 upon anything ; but it must be owned, to the honor of the other sex, that there ara 
 many among them who can talk whole hours together upon nothing." ADDISOS. 
 
 " It is safer to affront some people than to oblige them ; for the better a man de- 
 eerves the worse they will speak of him." SKNBCA. 
 
 YOUNG Andrews, a riddle to himself and others, had 
 thought much and seriously of Ida, whose love, she had 
 declared, was for him alone. He, however, did not place 
 much confidence in Ida's heroism, the devotion of her 
 passion ! He had always found her an agreeable com- 
 panion, but his partiality was nothing more than a bit 
 of romance,. a pleasing fancy. He would not unite 
 himself to any one in the bonds of wedlock without be- 
 ing first assured that the happiness of both parties de- 
 pended on the' union, that a deep, intelligent, and mu- 
 tual love existed. Young Andrews' tastes and desires 
 were of a different cast from those of Ida's, and as he ad- 
 vanced in age and experience he began to distrust his 
 capacity to enjoy more than her friendship. Indeed, it 
 seemed to him as though the world did not contain a 
 being precisely suited to his needs, one answering 
 to his beau ideal ; or, if it did, that the pattern was 
 so rare the chance was exceedingly small of ever find- 
 ing it. 
 
 The young man's favorite poet was Byron, whose 
 works he had read and re-read, until the text was quite 
 familiar to him. One stanza in particular, from the 
 " Childe," having reference to astrology, appeared to de- 
 light him ; and often when alone and musing he would 
 give utterance to it. For beauty and delicacy of thought
 
 68 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 there is nothing in language to surpass it. Here it 
 is : 
 
 ' ' Ye stars ! which are the poetry of Heaven ! 
 
 If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
 
 Of men and empires, 't is to be forgiven, 
 
 That in our aspirations to be great, 
 
 Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
 
 And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
 
 A beauty and a mystery, and create 
 
 In us such love and reverence, from afar, 
 That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star." 
 
 , It is not at all surprising that Willie became enam- 
 ored of the genius of this gifted bard, for whom many lov- 
 ers of brilliant writing have entertained a like sentiment ; 
 but in our humble judgment Byron's works have been 
 and continue to be a moral scourge, effecting an incal- 
 culable amount of injury, where the mind of the reader 
 is at all predisposed to misanthrophy, egotism, lust, and 
 pride. 
 
 "It is related," says the American Messenger, "of 
 one of the most beautiful and fanciful of American poets, 
 who died recently, that though he was seldom seen in 
 the streets of the city where he lived, and no one gained 
 admission into the rooms he occupied, yet he was a poet, 
 chemist, musician, botanist, astronomer, linguist, and 
 geologist ; and so thoroughly accomplished in each of 
 these departments of knowledge that his acquirements 
 would have made most men eminent. But with powers 
 that fitted him for taking a front rank among the world's 
 benefactors, he withdrew himself from sympathy and 
 companionship with men, wrapping himself up in gloomy 
 and selfish misanthropy, and leading the morbid life 
 'of an indigent recluse.' Mr. S. G. Goodrich (Peter 
 Parley), in his ' Recollections of a Life Time/ charges 
 upon Byron's works the unhappy career of this man, 
 who was no less a personage than Perceval." 
 
 William Andrews' occupation, we have stated, was 
 that of a clerk. Catchpenny & Go. were his employers. 
 The Catchpennys had two comely-looking daughters, 
 one of whom, the youngest, had conceived quite an in- 
 terest in William Andrews ; but the mother was not
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEXIUS. 69 
 
 altogether pleased with the prospect of a match, as the 
 Andrews family did not at all suit her ; although without 
 any claims whatever to distinguished parentage, she 
 being the daughter of a tallowchandler, and Mr. Catch- 
 penny the son of a ropemaker ; yet it was not pleasant 
 for her to be associated with musicians, and it would be 
 " death to her pride " to have any marriage relations 
 with such "low people." She therefore cautioned her 
 daughter not to fall in love with Mr. Andrews, but to 
 treat him with more reserve, without appearing, too 
 cool ; as it was for the interest, that is, the business 
 interest of the family, to be on the most friendly terms 
 with this gentleman, so valuable a person was he to the 
 house of Catchpenny & Co. The young man perfectly 
 understood Mrs. Catchpenny and her daughters ; indeed 
 quite as well as he did Mr. Catchpenny, who was one 
 of the most illiterate and vulgar of men, dressing like 
 and assuming all the airs of a gentleman. He knew that 
 the Catchpennys were vain, and as the associates of 
 the Pennimans, could not be unlike them in their ideas 
 of respectability. He knew, of course, if he was objec- 
 tionable on the score of his family to the Pennimans, he 
 should also be objectionable to the Catchpennys. But 
 Andrews was a genius, and so far from experiencing any 
 displeasure, or being at all mortified at the estimation in 
 which his family were held by these " rag pickers," as 
 he termed them ; instead of being sorrowed or angered 
 by these vulgar people, he only laughed at them, and 
 their pretensions heartily. He thought it a capital joke 
 that because he was the son of a musician, who was 
 of the best blood of the grade esquire in England, that 
 he should be deemed the less worthy of marriage rela- 
 tions with families of the most doubtful genealogies, not- 
 withstanding they made 'a display of borrowed arms on 
 their carriages. This, however, is no uncommon prac- 
 tice, in this land of humbug and parvenues. 
 
 Andrews, we have said, was a genius, and like all of 
 this mental construction, could not be reached by any 
 small notions of small wits among whom he might be 
 thrown. He saw into and thoroughly comprehended 
 human life and the human heart. He had been an
 
 70 THE PENNIMANS ', OK, 
 
 earnest student of the Bible, and from that magnificent 
 fountain of wisdom and truth had drank of the living 
 waters of life, which had rendered his genius invulner- 
 able to the ills which, in some form or other, constantly 
 assail mankind. He was prepared for all the indignities 
 which the insolence of our " first families," and, in 
 fact, "Young America" in the aggregate, could heap upon 
 him . Conscious of being well born, and of having inher- 
 ited a virtuous soul from a virtuous ancestry, he required 
 no marriage relations with either the Pennimans, the 
 Catchpennys, or with the numerous other families who 
 have sprung into notice in the Pilgrim City, on the shoul- 
 ders of wealth, to make him any the more secure in these 
 possessions. No, no ; William Andrews was not to be 
 improved by any such connections, nor, in fact, did he 
 desire to marry into any family who fancied they con- 
 ferred a favor on him by the alliance. Mrs. Catchpenny 
 and her daughters were always delighted to have Mr. 
 Andrews either dine or sup with them, for he was an 
 exceedingly entertaining man and a well-bred gentleman. 
 Yes, they were most happy to be amused ; so that whilst 
 they entertained a supreme contempt for musicians and 
 artists, generally, they could not but admire the manners 
 and soul of their confidential clerk, who was from this 
 order of talent. Andrews poked a great deal of fun, in 
 a sly kind of way, at these people, as wits always do, 
 whenever associated with superficial dullness ; but the 
 Gatchpennys never suspected even his roguery, although 
 once in awhile something would strike them as a " little 
 odd," when they would exclaim, " Why, Mr. Andrews, 
 how droll you are ! " It was at such times that our genius 
 had flashed his wit a little heavier than was his wont ; 
 for though these thick-headed nobodies in feathers were 
 incapable of being made to understand that they were 
 ridiculous, in the manner of their lives, in the choice of 
 their ideas, and in the sum total of their hopes, yet they 
 could discover something " odd " in the society of genius 
 when amusing itself at their vulgarisms, 
 
 It was a very pleasant evening in June. Many of both 
 sexes were passing around the Common, in the mall and 
 on the sidewalk. Among the number were the Catch-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 71 
 
 pennys, and the " confidential clerk." As they came 
 up to each other, the young ladies, who appeared to be 
 in excellent spirits, suddenly stopped, and boldly con- 
 fronted the young man. " Ah, Mr. Andrews ! well, if 
 you don't look as sober as a judge I wouldn't say 
 so, "remarked Laura, the youngest of the sisters. 
 
 " Hush, Laura," exclaimed Fanny ; " people will think 
 you very bold." 
 
 " Well, I don't care if they do," returned Laura ; " it 's 
 a free country, and a pretty hard case if the best in it 
 can't do as they please. Besides, who has a better right 
 than our family to free speech. " 
 
 These young ladies were altogether of the modern 
 school of manners, and as their father was a wealthy mer- 
 chant, and their mother had "worked in" among what are 
 termed " the old aristocratic families," the daughters car- 
 ried themselves with an air of great composure and self- 
 complacency. Their regard for Andrews was mingled 
 somewhat with contempt, in consequence of his father's 
 being an artist ; for art and artists, in common with the 
 shallow-pated of their coterie, they had a supreme dis- 
 gust, of which young Andrews was not unobservant ; 
 though they were always careful, when in his company, 
 to conceal these sentiments as much as possible. But 
 our hero was a keen observer, and of a most searching, 
 penetrating wit ; the most indirect hint of character 
 would give him such an insight into it as was truly sur- 
 prising, and almost miraculous. He knew the Catch- 
 pennys thoroughly ; he knew that they were ambitious, 
 proud, and contemptuous of all those whom they re- 
 garded as beneath them. But he nevertheless humored 
 these people ; played with their weakness instead of re- 
 buking it. Indeed, it was perhaps policy for him to do 
 so, although so far as his situation with Mr. Catchpenny 
 was concerned, we are of opinion that he was quite as 
 necessary to that gentleman's interest as that gentleman 
 was necessary to his. Still, there might be, after all, 
 some policy in young Andrews being as gracious as pos- 
 sible towards the absurdities of Mrs. Catchpenny and 
 her girls. 
 
 " So you are bound to have free speech, Miss Laura,"
 
 72 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 said he. " Well, I hope you won't abuse the privilege, 
 as is too common now-a-days." 
 
 " Abuse it ; ha ! ha ! there 's no danger of that, Mr. 
 Andrews," replied Laura. " I should like to know what 
 can be said too abusive of anybody or anything." 
 
 " There, there you go," rejoined William, smoothing 
 down the dress of the young lady, which the wind had 
 well nigh lifted over her head, exposing full to view the 
 white and handsomely figured dimity. 
 
 " Bless me," exclaimed Fanny, " this wind is terrible. 
 I can hardly keep on my feet." 
 
 " Very modest, to be sure," replied Laura. "Come let's 
 go home, and get out of this thundering bluster. Hallo, 
 there's Mr. and Mrs. Blowhard just passed, feeling quite 
 well, as you can observe. They are very proud people, 
 very proud people. Their grandfather happened to do 
 a good deal in the way of charities ; so it sets them up. 
 Say, Andrews, what do you think of this family ? Come, 
 go home with us and take tea, and answer my question 
 as we go along. " 
 
 " Well, to be frank with you, " replied he, "I think the 
 Blowhards, as the world goes, are not so bad. The 
 truth is they are well-born people, and if they are with- 
 out any special intellectual gifts, why the fault is not 
 theirs. People, you know, having wealth and well-born, 
 will carry themselves pretty stiff, the world over." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Laura, "all persons have their weak 
 points, and some, methinks, have nothing else. Here 
 comes the Yello-wbodies. What an enormous woman 
 she is. How insignificant her husband appears beside 
 her." 
 
 " Mrs. Yellowbody " said Fanny, " is a pretty clever 
 sort of a woman, but mother, though on excellent terms 
 with her, thinks she 's dreadful coarse and vulgar in her 
 appearance. Indeed that family the sisters are just 
 BO. The fact is, they have an immense deal of assurance, 
 and this feeling, added to their naturally bold and an- 
 imal personne, renders them thus immodest and disgust- 
 ing." 
 
 "You are rather severe upon your friends, are you
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GENIUS. 73 
 
 not, Miss Fanny ? " interrogated young Andrews, with 
 an air of drollery. 
 
 " no, not at all," returned the girl. " It comes just 
 as natural to our family to speak of ihe failings, as well 
 as the virtues of our friends. Besides, what are friends, 
 after all ? " 
 
 " Everything, where they are true and reliable," re- 
 joined William. 
 
 " Where they are true and reliable," reiterated Fan- 
 ny ; " and I should like to know when they are relia- 
 ble ? " 
 
 " Not often ; but sometimes, Miss Fanny, it happens 
 so," replied young Andrews, observing the girl nar- 
 rowly, as he spoke. " It happens so, sometimes." 
 
 " I don't believe it I " exclaimed Laura ; " no, I don't 
 believe it. How many times I 've heard mother say she 
 placed no faith in any one ! " 
 
 " That is a safe rule," replied William ; " but I should 
 be most unhappy if I thought all to be false ; for to me 
 there is real delight in an honest friendship, and I am 
 convinced there are many such in our midst." 
 
 " There are very few ; I doubt if there are any sin- 
 cere attachments in our set;" rejoined Laura. " The 
 truth is, each one thinks too much of him or herself to 
 think much of anybody else." 
 
 " What is the use of one's being too friendly ? " re- 
 marked Fanny. " I know friendships are thought very 
 sweet and beautiful, where there is sentiment ; but then 
 't is so unfashionable, so countryfied, so simple- 
 hearted. Among persons of quality it's never tole- 
 rated." 
 
 " Well, Miss Fanny, I hope one of these days there 
 may be, among persons of quality, a change in this re- 
 spect," rejoined Andrews, evidently enjoying the re- 
 mark ; " and that they may find it for their interest, and 
 consequently happiness, to love their neighbor as them- 
 selves." 
 
 " Oh, this is utterly impossible, positively shocking, 
 sir," replied Laura. 
 
 "Yes, but it's scriptural," rejoined William; "and 
 what better authority can you desire than that ? " 
 4
 
 74 THE PENNIMANS J OB, 
 
 " Oh, now you are coming with your authorities," 
 returned Laura; "but fortunately we are at our door, 
 and may give your authorities the slip. But seriously, 
 you don't suppose it is possible for any of us to love our 
 neighbor as ourself ? " 
 
 " Some other time, Miss Laura, we will talk this mat- 
 ter over, and come to some conclusion," rejoined William, 
 "I think it is possible for Christians to love one another 
 as themselves, but of course only under the direct influ- 
 ence of the Holy Spirit, which must sanctify all friend- 
 ships, or they are ropes of sand. I will now leave you." 
 
 " Oh no, come in, do, and take tea with us," said 
 Fanny, at the same time catching hold of the young 
 man's coat. " Mother will be so disappointed not to see 
 you ! " 
 
 "Yes, now do come in, Mr. Andrews," earnestly spoke 
 Laura, taking him by the arm. " We will not excuse you. 
 Come in, and cheer up mother's spirits ; now do 1 " 
 
 Our hero was fairly in possession of the Misses Catch- 
 penny. One was on each side, and it was an utter im- 
 possibility for him to escape ; so after some little resist- 
 ance, the young man confessed himself a prisoner, and 
 was led into the fashionable residence of these exceed- 
 ingly fashionable ladies. But it was no new scene to 
 William. He had often been present at their tea-table, 
 and had as often been amused at the many gross ab- 
 surdities which characterized the mother and daughters. 
 It was an amusement to the confidential clerk to listen 
 to their conversation ; and though he seldom sought to 
 check them by any sallies of ridicule, still he could not 
 resist, at times, dropping a remark charged slightly 
 with reprobation. 
 
 In a short time tea was announced as ready, and the 
 company soon made their appearance, consisting of 
 Mrs. Catchpenny, her daughters, and Mrs. Touchmenot 
 and her daughter, Miss Julia, soon to be married to an 
 exquisite, born somewhere near the Northern Lakes. 
 He was considered one of the handsomest men in the 
 city, and at the same time one of the biggest fools. It 
 was generally thought a very foolish match. 
 
 With this set of petticoats, as shallow-pated and
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 75 
 
 ridiculous as an idle, luxurious life could make them, 
 our hero, William Andrews, was condemned to drink 
 tea, and to enter into all their absurd views of matters 
 in general. But Andrews was a gentleman, and al- 
 though he chafed under the infliction, he gave no sign 
 or token of his dissatisfaction, but bore patiently the 
 nonsense of these women with apparent delighf. 
 
 There is no self-control so difficult as that of appear- 
 ing pleased with fashionable twaddle, when at every 
 word our indignant sense of truth and harmony is strug- 
 gling for expression. Especially is this so where there 
 is genius, which is ever impetuous and authoritative. 
 But the young man listened with a marked degree of 
 composure and seeming interest to all that was said, 
 and made quite a favorable impression on Miss Julia, 
 whom he now met for the first time ; and she declared 
 were she unengaged, and if Mr. Andrews was only bet- 
 ter born, she should certainly set her cap for him ; but 
 of course she had good breeding enough to make this 
 remark in so low a tone as to be heard only by her 
 mamma, who sat with all the dignity of a dowager be- 
 tween her daughter and Mrs. Catchpenny. 
 
 We have been especially amused at the pretensions 
 of these Touchmenots, who are among the leading mem- 
 bers of the pseudo- Aristocracy of our city, and have 
 afforded the wits as much amusement, in times past and 
 present, as any two of the most ridiculous families to be 
 named. The reader will have an opportunity of an in- 
 troduction to these persons, who present such a con- 
 spicuous appearance at this tea-party. 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Catchpenny, your tea is very nice ! " 
 exclaimed Miss Julia; "but it's so hot! I abominate 
 anything so very hot." 
 
 " Patience, my dear child, patience," returned Mrs. 
 Catchpenny ; " it will soon cool." 
 
 " Yes, have patience, my dear," remarked Mrs. Touch- 
 menot ; " the world was n't made in a minute." 
 
 " I should n't think it was," spoke up Fanny ; " there 
 is so much in it of elaborate ornament." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean by that ? " interrogated 
 Laura, who sat by the side of Andrews.
 
 76 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 " No matter, no matter what she means ! " exclaimed 
 the hostess ; " she always requires to be explained." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha I" roared Julia; "that 
 puts me in mind of something. Why, Mr. Andrews, 
 how sober you are ! " 
 
 "Deference, deference, Miss Touchmenot," returned 
 the young man, almost unable to preserve a serious 
 countenance. "I listen, generally, when in so select a 
 company, with a good deal of gravity." 
 
 This remark was highly pleasing to Mrs. Touchmenot, 
 who threw back her shoulders, and seemed quite satis- 
 fied that he had confessed himself in the presence of 
 persons of quality ; for this lady never could be too often 
 reminded of her pretensions. 
 
 "Well, as I was going to say," continued Julia, "I 
 am reminded of something. Ha ! ha I ha ! what a queer 
 girl you are, Laura. Whenever I undertake to say any- 
 thing that 's good, and catch your eye, I am sure to 
 laugh ; you are so very quizical ! " 
 
 " Laugh ! you should never laugh, my dear, when you 
 are telling a story," spoke Mrs. Touchmenot, with an 
 air of imperative command. " Let others laugh, my 
 dear, if they choose, but never laugh yourself never I 
 You know, when we were at Newport, last summer, how 
 ridiculous it appeared in those people from the South ; 
 and we remarked it at the time, did we not ? " 
 
 " Those people from the South were fools," returned 
 the daughter, testily. 
 
 " You remember that family, do you not, Laura, who 
 were incessantly cracking jokes, and laughing at their 
 own absurdities ? " inquired Mrs. Touchmenot. 
 
 " That I do," returned Laura. " I was so mad with 
 the one who passed for a belle that I could have given 
 her a good shaking." 
 
 " Really, Miss Laura, you are more pugnacious than 
 I ever thought you," said William Andrews. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Andrews, she can be, when she has a 
 mind to, a perfect Zantiffede I " exclaimed Mrs. Catch- 
 penny, putting a slice of buttered toast on Mrs. Touch- 
 menot's plate, who was so ceremonious and dignified 
 that she would not help herself.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 77 
 
 " Why, mother ! " exclaimed Fanny, putting down 
 the cup of tea which she had raised to her mouth, 
 "there's no such person as ZantiSede." 
 
 " Hush, child," returned Mrs. Catchpenny, the blood 
 crimsoning her face; "there was such a person. It's 
 an historical character. You '11 have to review history 
 again, I see plainly." 
 
 " I tell you, mother, I am right," replied Fanny. 
 " There is, nor never was, such a person as Zantiflede ; 
 and I will leave it to Mrs. Touchmenot." 
 
 " Why, my dear child," returned that important per- 
 sonage, "your mother is of course right. It is some 
 time since I studied the classics, but I am quite sure 
 your mother is right. This Zantiffede was a sort of 
 amphibious creature, if I mistake not, that dwelt in and 
 about the shores of Greece, in its golden age." 
 
 " Yes, and was an object of dread to the sailors," 
 continued Julia, "who found, whenever they landed 
 near where this creature was, some of their number 
 were sure to go mad. This creature was neither a man 
 nor a woman, but an hermaphrodite. Ha ! ha ! ha ! just 
 think of such a creature " 
 
 " You are not right yet," exclaimed Fanny. " I 
 should like to know out of what history you got any 
 such account of the wife of Socrates." 
 
 " Wife of Socrates ! " vociferated Julia, swallowing a 
 sip of tea ; " that vulgar ancient never had a wife. No- 
 body would have him, and he died in consequence." 
 
 " I tell you it 's no such thing," replied Fanny. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny. 
 
 "Let us first know who is right, and who is wrong," 
 said Laura. " My opinion is that Fanny's correction is 
 history; but to put it beyond further question, I propose 
 that Mr. Andrews decide Will you all abide by Mr. 
 Andrews' decision ? n 
 
 " I'm quite willing," said Fanny. " Mr. Andrews is 
 well read ; that everybody knows." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Andrews, come, give us your opinion," 
 remarked Mrs. Catchpenny. " Are we not right ? " 
 
 " I am sorry, madam ; but if you would have me truth- 
 ful, I must confirm Miss Fanny's statement. It is Xan-
 
 78 
 
 THE PENNIMANS ', OR, 
 
 thippee, and not Zantiffede, who was the scolding wife 
 of Socrates." 
 
 " It can't be so, it can't be so, Mr. Andrews ! " ex- 
 claimed Julia, looking most seriously at him. " You 
 are mistaken ; oh, you are mistaken, sir ; but never 
 mind, never mind. Laura, who was that fine looking, 
 gentlemany fellow I saw gallanting you to-day ? He 
 looks so much like my brother, now in Italy. He could 
 not bear this country ; he thinks Americans are dread- 
 ful vulgar. Ha ! ha ! ha ! he 's a queer fellow ; but 
 really I think he 'B right about Americans." 
 
 " Well, I do think you are just one of the coolest per- 
 sons I ever knew," said Fanny, looking at Miss Touch- 
 menot with an air of astonishment. 
 
 " Hush, hush, hush, child ; that matter is all settled," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny. 
 
 " Fanny does remind me so much of Lucy Atlay," re- 
 marked Mrs. Touchmenot. " You know that family, 
 Mrs. Catchpenny ? " 
 
 " yes of them I know of them ; but we don't 
 visit," replied the hostess. "The truth is Mrs. Atlay 
 is not quite up to my mark." 
 
 " No, nor mine," returned Mrs. Touchmenot, with an 
 air of great disdain. "I don't consider her at all on 
 our level. Her set is quite common, quite so." 
 
 " Why, yes," rejoined Julia, " as common as common 
 can be. There are people in her set I 'm sure / should 
 not want to know, on any account. For instance, there 
 are those Bigbugs just mere nobodies mushrooms. 
 I heartily despise those people." 
 
 " Mrs. Bigbug was the daughter of a tavern-keeper," 
 ejaculated Mrs. Touchmenot, contemptuously ; " a tav- 
 ern-keeper I Really, it is amusing to observe what airs 
 such people give themselves, especially when accident- 
 ally or otherwise thrown among their superiors." 
 
 " The girls are truly laughable," remarked Laura, 
 with a giggle. " Whenever they appear on the street 
 they are always in full dress ; and with such manners ! 
 They are not at all sure of their position ; this is quite 
 evident ; so assume in their bearing what the best soci- 
 ety, being certain of, are always easy about, and have
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 79 
 
 no occasion to adopt the custom among ordinary people 
 of appearing ostentatious in order to induce the idea 
 that they are somebody." 
 
 " Very well expressed, my dear," said Mrs. Catch- 
 penny, who, in conjunction with Mrs. Touchmenot and 
 Mrs. Penniman, and the Yellowbodies, was the very ex- 
 treme of presumption and pretension ; " very well ex- 
 pressed indeed." . 
 
 " I believe, Mr. Andrews, you do not altogether sym- 
 pathize with us in our views," remarked Mrs. Touchme- 
 not, with excessive dignity ; " I believe you are a Dem- 
 ocrat." 
 
 "Fudge ! " exclaimed Laura, casting an eye of mirth 
 at the young man ; "he 's no more a Democrat than I 
 am." 
 
 " I hope not," remarked Fanny ; " for I do think 
 democracy the most vulgar of all ideas ever heard of." 
 
 " Whenever you want to find a vulgar person," said 
 Mrs. Catchpenny, giving her head a toss, "just look up 
 a Democrat, and you have one. I am disgusted with 
 this class of persons low-born and low-bred. When- 
 ever / am at Newport or Nahant, and observe an un- 
 couth family, upon inquiry as to their politics, I am sure 
 to learn that they are Democrats. Mr. Andrews, I 
 hope, I sincerely hope, you are no such person." 
 
 " Well, really, ladies, you hold in such contempt the 
 democracy," rejoined the young man, " that I am almost 
 disposed to belie myself, and join with you in denuncia- 
 tion of this party." 
 
 " But are you really a Democrat, Mr. Andrews ? " in- 
 terrogated Julia ; " that. is what I would like to know." 
 
 " Of course he is," remarked Fanny ; " he 's what his 
 father is ; it's very natural." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Fanny," responded William, " for 
 aiding me in my embarrassment. A man is certainly 
 not to blame for inheriting his father's politics." 
 
 "Then you are a Democrat, Mr. Andrews!" ex- 
 claimed Miss Touchmenot, with affected astonishment ; 
 for she well knew the young man's father was a leading 
 Democrat, and that in all probability the son was like 
 unto the father. Indeed, both she and her mother re-
 
 80 THE PENNIMANS ', OR, 
 
 garded the Andrews, family as quite plebeian, and her 
 inquiries as to William's politics were from a desire to 
 annoy him more than to inform herself. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Touchmenot, I am a Democrat out and 
 out," said William ; " which acknowledgment, since I 
 have Miss Fanny as my friend, I do not hesitate or fear 
 to make." 
 
 "0, but you've not me for your friend, Mr. An- 
 drews 1" exclaimed Fanny ; " for I think just as Julia 
 does, that the democracy is a vulgar rabble ; and I 
 am sorry, very sorry, Mr. Andrews, that you belong to 
 it." 
 
 " And so am I !" exclaimed Laura. 
 
 " So are we all," said Mrs. Catchpenny, passing the 
 cake to Mrs. Touchmenot ; " but it is very difficult for 
 one to rise above the notions of their family." 
 
 " 0, very, very indeed," returned Mrs. Touchme- 
 not. " I have seen this illustrated so many, many 
 times so many times 1 " 
 
 " But, Mr. Andrews, you don't really mean .to live 
 and die a Democrat, one of the caniellef" interro- 
 gated Julia. " I hope not, sir." 
 
 " I shall probably, Miss Touchmenot, live and die in 
 the political and religious faith of my fathers," returned 
 William, in a firm and earnest tone. " We are in a di- 
 rect line from the Regicides, who sent Charles I. to the 
 block Puritans and king-killers." 
 
 " Line ! have you a line, Mr. Andrews ?" interro- 
 gated Mrs. Touchmenot, with astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, madam, an unbroken one, as far back as the 
 reign of King John, in the twelfth century, whom the 
 Barons, at Runnymede, forced to sign the Magna Charta, 
 the first important step towards the limitation of mon- 
 archy, and the foundation of the liberties of the English 
 nation. My ancestor was an Esquire in the service of 
 William, Earl of Arundel, whose honored name is at- 
 tached to that most august and remarkable document." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Andrews, we had no idea your genea- 
 logical tree was so well defined," remarked the hostess, 
 evidently surprised at the statement. " We, too, feel a 
 deep interest in the past."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 81 
 
 " So do we," said Madam Touchmenot. " The past I 
 how delightful it is to revert to it, and run over the 
 heroic deeds of one's ancestry I " and as she said this, 
 there was an evident satisfaction in the idea. 
 
 " I presume there are no Democrats, madam, in your 
 line ? " remarked Andrews, with all the seriousness he 
 could command. 
 
 " None that we are aware of, sir. It is possible there 
 may be one here and there, in the line," returned Mrs. 
 Touchmenot with a most dignified movement of the 
 head ; " although we are not disposed to make the ad- 
 mission." 
 
 " Then your pedigree is not as clear and well under- 
 stood as you would be glad to have it ? " interrogated 
 the young man, laughing in his sleeve all the while ; for 
 he well knew these people were of humble extraction. 
 
 " Not so, not so, sir," returned Mrs. Touchmenot. 
 " We go back to William the Conqueror, and are per- 
 fectly well informed as to every link in the chain." 
 
 " Excuse me, madam, excuse me for any apparent 
 contrary impression," rejoined Andrews, scarcely able 
 to contain his jocular emotions. 
 
 " Have another cup of tea, Julia, won't you? now, 
 do," said the hostess, evidently desirous of changing the 
 subject ; for she well knew on the score of pedigree, she, 
 nor the Touchmenots, could present honestly any such 
 claims as had young Andrews, whom they regarded of 
 inferior extraction to themselves, because the son of a 
 musician I 
 
 " If this is not peculiar," thought young Andrews, 
 " what can possibly be ? " 
 
 " 0, Mr. Andrews," spoke up Fanny, " do tell us if 
 the report is true that you are engaged to Ida Robert- 
 son. Everybody says you are." 
 
 " Well, you know, Miss Fanny," replied William, 
 " that what everybody says is believed, as a rule, to be 
 true ; so were I to deny the report, I suppose (every- 
 body's assertion would still be credited." 
 
 " A very sensible response, very, sir," remarked Mrs. 
 Touchmenot. " In a country where the majority is 
 law, what everybody says certainly must be true." 
 4*
 
 82 THE PENNIMANS } OR, 
 
 " I don't believe it, though ! " exclaimed Fanny, cast- 
 ing an inquiring glance at the clerk. 
 
 " I 'm sure I don't," exclaimed Laura, helping herself 
 to a piece of pie. " I don't believe one word of it. 
 Such a strange man as you are, Mr. Andrews, will find 
 it very hartl to get married to a woman of any wit. 
 The fact is you are so difficult to understand." 
 
 " I certainly see nothing so incomprehensible," re- 
 marked Mrs. Touchmenot, energetically ; and at my 
 time of life I ought to know what's what." 
 
 " I 'm sure I see nothing mysterious in Mr. Andrews," 
 remarked Madam Catchpenny ; but girls now-a-days are 
 always in advance of their mothers." 
 
 " That's just as it should be," returned Fanny, smil- 
 ing. " Young America has and ought to have a uni- 
 versal application; the cart before the horse, always." 
 
 " So, Miss Laura, I 'm a riddle, am I ?" interrogated 
 William, in the utmost good nature. 
 
 " You are, indeed ; as complete and puzzling a riddle, 
 too, as ever walked on- two legs," returned Laura, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 "Legs, my dear, legs!" exclaimed Mrs. Catch- 
 penny. "For Heaven's sake be a little more refined! 
 Say limbs, my dear, limbs. What is the present gen- 
 eration of girls coming to?" 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" roared Julia; "I don't think, Mrs. 
 Catchpenny, your correction likely to be much re- 
 spected. Legs! why, bless your soul, legs are more 
 in use now than ever before, since both sexes have 
 taken to public bathing in the sea, and wear the 
 breeches. Nobody thinks of talking about limbs. It's 
 legs, my dear Mrs; Catchpenny, all the world over; and 
 some beautiful specimens there are on exhibition, dur- 
 ing the summer season, along the Atlantic shore, float- 
 ing on the wave. It is a delightful custom, this bathing 
 with the gentlemen, I do assure you." 
 
 "So it is, so it is," exclaimed Fanny. "Let me 
 read you the correspondence from Newport, in the 
 Transcript of this evening. The writer is a darling, 
 there 's no doubt of that.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 83 
 
 " * Surf-bathing, on the great beach at Newport, in the height of 
 the season, and for the first time in one's life, is a curious experience. 
 So I thought, when, one fine day, a short time ago, I found myself, 
 upon the payment of twenty-five cents, the temporary lessee of a bath- 
 ing-dress and one of the hundred and fifty little houses that are ranged 
 along the sands at high-water mark. The costume which is furnished 
 you on such an occasion is remarkable for its severe simplicity. It 
 consists of a woollen jacket or shirt, and a pair of flimsy cotton trous- 
 ers ; and you sally forth from your box with a noble disregard of ap- 
 pearances, your head without a covering, and your bare feet making 
 tracks in the sand, after the manner of Robinson Crusoe's man Fri- 
 day. As there is a crowd of spectators assembled, some waiting for 
 their turn as occupants of the little houses aforesaid, and some who 
 have taken the beach for their morning drive, whatever native mod- 
 esty is latent in one's composition, is sure to develop itself. The cus- 
 todion of the garments which are furnished at the beach seems to be 
 of a humorous turn of mind, and inclined to mild practical jokes in 
 the matter of his dispensations ; for to such as are portly he gives the 
 smallest dresses in his wardrobe, while gentlemen of moderate stature 
 find themselves arrayed in habiliments of most superfluous dimensions. 
 I made my debut in a ragged red shirt which afibrded thorough ven- 
 tilation, and a pair of untractable trousers which appeared to have 
 been made for the American Giant. 
 
 " ' But whatever may be the infelicities of your apparel, you put a 
 bold face on the matter, and march into the water as if you had done 
 it every day for a twelvemonth, Sundays not excepted. Despite your 
 embarrassing self-consciousness, you are startled at the aspect of cer- 
 tain of your fellow-creatures, who, having disported themselves suf- 
 ficiently in the salt sea waves, are returning to assume their usual 
 costume. And what a picture they present, as, with their scanty 
 garments dripping with brine and clinging close to their persons, 
 with some erratic style of dilapidated straw bound round their heads, 
 and with their hair enveloped in oil-cloth, these feminine curiosities 
 (for they are indeed of womankind) splash through the shallow water. 
 Are these the modern mermaids ? Is it in this guise that Beauty darea 
 array herself? As you pass them, you seem to recognize the party 
 that sat opposite you yesterday, at the hotel table. Can it be? You 
 almost stand aghast at this thorough metamorphosis. Yonder lank 
 figure, from which just now proceeded the sound of subdued laughter, 
 can it be she who, in all the glory of her splendid attire, met your 
 admiring gaze at dinner, yester-afternoon, and when the feast was 
 over, sailed so majestically from the hall? And her companions 
 the portly lady in black, the two elderly persons, and the pleasing 
 young lady in pink, whom you looked at in a brown study during 
 dessert can these indeed be thus transformed ? Yes ! it is even so. 
 A new light dawns upon you. You magnify the mission of the dress- 
 maker, and the othor artists who contribute toward the embellish- 
 ment of the feminine form ; you feel ashamed of the criticisms which 
 in times past you have bestowed upon bonnets both large and small ; 
 you repent of your weak sarcasms upon hoops, and you become sud-
 
 84 THE PENNIMANS J OB, 
 
 denly reconciled to all manner of feminine costumes, except the one 
 before you. "Take any shape but that," you exclaim to theses 
 generally. 
 
 " ' While you have been thus improving the shining moments, you 
 have got to where the surf is rolling in from the ocean, and breaking 
 over the forms of the bathers. You join one of the merry groups who 
 are meeting each foam-crested wave, and essay to rise like them when 
 the swell reaches you. But this time the surf is higher than usual, 
 and over you go, with your mouth full of salt water, and a fearful un- 
 certainty as to where you will finally turn up. Your footing is at 
 last regained ; and when, after much gasping and coughing, you are 
 able to look around you, you conclude that you have had surf enough 
 for to-day, and think you will go. But you try to believe, neverthe- 
 less, that it is excellent fun, besides being healthful and bracing. 
 
 " 'And now comes another embarrassing situation. The gauntlet 
 of curious spectators is yet to be run ; the formidable array of ladies 
 in their carriages, who gaze languidly at the bathers through their 
 eye-glasses, is to be passed before your dressing-room is reached. If 
 your covering seemed scanty and insufficient before entering the 
 water, it is still more so now that, wet as a sop, it clings to you with 
 more persistency than grace. You rather dread to encounter the 
 playful remarks of the fair critics in the carriages, and you stand for 
 a time in a dreadful state of indecision. Suddenly you find that you 
 have forgotten the number of your bathing house. You remember 
 looking at the sign on the door, as you came out, but whether it was 
 forty-six, or sixty-four, or fifty-eight, or eighty-five, you cannot for 
 the life of you tell. The number went out of your head when the salt 
 water came into it so suddenly, under the surf. You imagine all 
 sorts of possible adventures arising from your bursting into the wrong 
 hut, and surprising a lady or gentleman in a partial toilet. Perhaps 
 you will be taken for a thief ; perhaps for something worse. But 
 what is to be done ? To stay in the water all day is not entirely prac- 
 ticable, and growing desperate you rush for house number forty-six, 
 which fortunately proves to be the right one. Your progress up the 
 beach and past the carriages is extremely trying. But you endeavor 
 to appear as if you thought nobody was looking at you, and right 
 glad are you when all is over, and you are yourself again. 
 
 " ' This, Mr. Transcript, is the style in which people bathe during 
 the season, on the town beach, here in Newport, The gathering is, 
 on the whole, about as democratic a one in appearance as I have seen 
 this many a day. Old and young, men, women, and children, splash- 
 ing and capering about in their strange costume, form an amusing if 
 not an impressive picture. Certain dresses there are, here and there, 
 in the crowd, which faintly suggest the tasteful and becoming ; but 
 for the most part they are nearer the frightful in their appearance. 
 The angel of the dining-hall and the drawing-room is often trans- 
 formed into a scarecrow when she has made ready for the bath ; and 
 in this locality you cannot help being reminded of the fact that some 
 persons are fearfully and wonderfully made. 
 
 " ' I sat, after my bath was over, on the long bench at the end of
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 85 
 
 the beach. A red-haired man next me was facetious, sarcastic, and 
 communicative. " 'Taint no use," quoth he, "for them women to 
 think they can humbug people when they go in here a-bathing. They 
 have to leave their toggery behind 'em, and then we know wot's wot." 
 I listened in respectful silence. " But I can tell," continued he, with 
 a knowing air, " whether they '11 look well in the water, jest as soon 
 as I put my eye on "em." Just then a remarkably stout lady rolled 
 through the water like a porpoise, and walked as majestically as pos- 
 sible up the beach. " I declare ! " exclaimed my neighbor, " there 'a 
 a woman at our house who feels bad 'bout bathing here, because she 'a 
 BO fat. I '11 go home and tell her she need n't be afraid, after that 
 ere two hundred and fifty pounder has showed herself." And on this 
 benevolent errand the red-haired man departed.' 
 
 " Now, ' there 's a letter what is a letter,' " continued 
 Fanny ; " sea-bathing in full." 
 
 " Yes, I should think so," remarked Mrs. Catchpenny, 
 with an air of modesty which ill suited her character 
 and low-dressed bosom. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " rejoined Fanny ; " many a frolick I have 
 had with the beaux in bath, and I think I rather prefer 
 them at this time than any other." 
 
 " I do, I 'm sure," spoke up Laura ; "it is such glori- 
 ous fun to roll with them in the surf. One feels so safe 
 in the arms of a gallant swimmer." 
 
 " Why, aren't you ashamed of yourself, Laura," ex- 
 claimed her mother, "to run on in this sort of way? 
 Do be a little m'ore circumspect." 
 
 " Why, mother, where 's the harm ? " returned Laura. 
 " You know the French saying, ' honi soit que mal y 
 pense.'" 
 
 " I know all about your French sayings," replied Mrs. 
 Catchpenny, warmly ; " I tell you no good can come of 
 these salt water intimacies." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !" roared Julia ; " why, 
 bless you, Mrs. Catchpenny, it is so delightful ! Re- 
 member, you were young once, and full of hot blood." 
 
 " Well, I don't approve of such intimacies, I tell 
 you," returned the hostess, earnestly. 
 
 " I think such conduct highly indecorous," remarked 
 Mrs. Touchmenot, passionately and proudly ; " but my 
 daughter is so headstrong that she will have her own 
 way in all things."
 
 86 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 " And what is the use, I should like to know, in hav- 
 ing one's way," said Laura, " unless one can exercise 
 it?" 
 
 " That 's just what I should like to know," spoke up 
 Fanny. " No girls, now-a-days, who are at all fashion- 
 able, play the prude." 
 
 " I agree with you, ladies, entirely," said the young 
 man, smiling ; " prudish people are not at all fashion- 
 able ; but I think, perhaps, it would be well if they 
 were a little so, I do, most positively." 
 
 " Well, I don't," spoke Laura, rather sharply. "There, 
 I always said you were a strange man. Here you are 
 talking just contrary to what you said only a day or 
 two since." 
 
 " Why, you don't expect, I hope, anybody to be of 
 the same mind at all times," returned William ; " to re- 
 member all their small talk from day to day, and never 
 contradict themselves." 
 
 " Why, they ought to, I 'm sure," replied Laura, " if 
 they have any regard to the good opinion of their 
 friends." 
 
 " By the way, Mrs. Touchmenot," said Andrews, " I 
 have something I wish to say to you, which has been 
 long on my mind ; but an opportunity has never before 
 offered." 
 
 " What is it, sir ? I shall be pleased to hear you," 
 returned the lady, in a most dignified manner. 
 
 "Some time since," rejoined Andrews, "there was 
 sent to my house a piece of poetry subscribed with the 
 initials of my name, and addressed to you, Miss Julia. 
 The poetry had been read, evidently by you, as the 
 seal was broken ; and, bearing my initials, it was re- 
 turned to me, I presume, as the author. At the time, I 
 was not at home. It was received by the servant, and 
 placed behind the looking-glass, where it remained for 
 six months, before coming under my notice. I was on 
 the point of returning it to you, but deemed it too trifling 
 a matter to pursue, thinking perhaps I should some 
 time or other have an opportunity of explaining the mat- 
 ter to you in person."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 87 
 
 "Then you did not write it, Mr. Andrews?" interro- 
 gated Mrs. Touchmenot, with a look of surprise. 
 
 " Madam, whenever I write poetry to a lady," replied 
 the young man, with an air of unusual dignity, "I al- 
 ways, in the first place, assure myself it will be well re- 
 ceived and appreciated ; in the second place, I always 
 avoid doggerel ; in the third place, I faithfully observe 
 the rules of grammar. Now, this verse to which I al- 
 lude as returned to me, is deficient in all of these three 
 respects. Therefore I cannot, madam, be the author. 
 Indeed, your daughter, Mrs. Touchmenot, is the last per- 
 son in the world who would be likely to invoke my 
 muse." 
 
 This was a most unexpected announcement, and the 
 aristocratic lady was in quite a flutter. She scarcely 
 knew what to say. The blood mounted to her face, by 
 which a candle might almost have been lighted. Young 
 Andrews saw her embarrassment, yet made no attempt 
 whatever to relieve her from it, enjoying heartily the 
 snobs discomforture. Julia also was keenly sensible of 
 the clerk's intention in the remark he had made ; but she 
 discovered much less emotion than her conceited, ignor- 
 ant mamma. 
 
 Laura, who instantly perceived the mischief done, 
 cast a sly look at Andrews, and exclaimed, " Oh, your 
 muse, then, is no Democrat ; for according to your own 
 showing it won't respond to every beauty's charms. I 
 wonder if /could get a couplet from it." 
 
 " No, Miss Laura, you could not ; and I will tell you 
 why," responded Andrews. " With me, poetry is a sa- 
 cred thought, and should be written only where there is 
 the taste and disposition to cherish it ;" and as he pro- 
 nounced these words his countenance glowed with 
 great fervor. After a moment's pause he continued, 
 " The beautiful and true have but little interest to the 
 worldling, to those whose habits are in direct oppo- 
 sition to their own consciences and the laws of God." 
 
 " Rather severe, Mr. Andrews ; rather severe, sir, 
 are you not?" inquired Mrs. Catchpenny, quite morti- 
 fied and embarrassed at the turn conversation had 
 taken.
 
 88 THE PENN1MANS J OB, 
 
 " There, I knew I was right," said Laura, " when I 
 gave it as my opinion that Mr. Andrews is a riddle hard 
 to be understood." 
 
 "Really upon my word," remarked Julia, "I be- 
 gin to think you are right." 
 
 " Mr. Andrews, excuse me, sir, but is there not insan- 
 ity in your family ? " inquired Mrs. Touchmenot, burst- 
 ing with spleen. "Has there not been, somewhere 
 along your illustrious line, a crack-brain ? " 
 
 "Ay, madam, several," responded our hero, quite 
 cool, and apparently unconscious of the sarcasm ; ' ' but 
 they have always had wit enough to conceal their lu- 
 nacy, and to pass for honest, upright, influential men. 
 I suppose, madam, about three-fifths of human kind are 
 more or less unsound in the reasoning powers ; so you 
 may judge what your chance and your daughter's is of 
 exemption." 
 
 "Why, Mr. Andrews! I am I am surprised!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny, with great earnestness, 
 " that you should " 
 
 " Now, I beg of you, madam, don't turn a little badi- 
 nage into an affront to anybody," interrupted the young 
 man, quite self-possessed. " You know how impossible 
 it is to be talkative, with any degree of wit, without 
 being somewhat open to the charge of rudeness. You 
 understand, Mrs. Touchmenot, how this is, of course. 
 A lady who has been in so much excellent society " 
 
 " The first society 1 " interrupted the indignant lady, 
 " both in this country and in Europe, sir." 
 
 " Certainly, madam ; the first, of course," rejoined our 
 hero, not at all discomposed ; " that was the idea I in- 
 tended to convey by excellent." 
 
 The Touchmenots, highly incensed at what they re- 
 garded as plebeian insolence, rose instantly from the 
 table, and withdrew from the room, after stating as a 
 reason that it was so hot and uncomfortable they could 
 not remain longer. Mrs. Catchpenny urged them to be 
 seated again ; so, likewise, did Laura and Fanny ; but 
 all solicitation was in vain ; Mrs. Touchmenot and 
 daughter were in a high state of indignant fever, which 
 never would break so long as they continued in the
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GENIUS. 89 
 
 presence of young Andrews ; for they heartily despised 
 him, and he in return regarded them, as he did weakness 
 in general, as marks for ridicule, jest, and every mani- 
 festation of corrective wit. Julia seemed to him to be 
 an especial subject for the satirist ; as a more brainless, 
 and at the same time pretensious lady, was not to be 
 found in any of the mixed or unmixed sets of " Modern 
 Society." 
 
 As she and her mother left the tea-table, they cast on 
 the " audacious clerk " a look of what they deemed, 
 doubtless, withering scorn, but which to young An- 
 drews appeared more like the impotency of a shallow 
 wit. 
 
 No sooner had this mock dignity vanished from the 
 room, than Mrs. Catchpenny exclaimed, " Well, Mr. 
 Andrews, you have been most unfortunate, sir, most 
 unfortunate ! " and as she said this, she resumed her 
 seat at the table. 
 
 "And pray, madam, in what respect?" responded 
 the young man, affecting amazement. 
 
 " You have subjected us to the charge of entertaining 
 at our table persons of no breeding. This, this, sir, is 
 what the Touchmenots will say of us in society, which 
 is very embarrassing, very embarrassing indeed, sir." 
 
 " Then they are really offended ? " said our hero, seri- 
 ously. " Upon my word, how difficult to be entertain- 
 ing, and at the same time harmless." 
 
 " But you were rude, positively rude, Mr. Andrews," 
 replied the hostess. " I have never met with a person 
 claiming to be a gentleman that was more so. The 
 Touchmenots left the house in a great passion, and de- 
 clared they would never darken my doors again. Now, 
 here are people, whose acquaintance we were at no little 
 trouble to make, absolutely driven from the house by 
 your facetiousness." 
 
 " Well, upon my word, I am very sorry," rejoined 
 Andrews ; " and never will I be found again, so long as 
 I live, with persons of Mrs. Touchmenot's dignity. I 
 do assure you it is most painful to me to have given so 
 much offence." 
 
 "A little more discretion, Mr. Andrews, a little
 
 90 THE PENNIMANS ', OR, 
 
 more discretion," rejoined the hostess, "and you would 
 do very well ; but you do so lack judgment." 
 
 " I know that is a great weakness," returned he ; 
 "but of one thing you may be assured: this is much 
 more manifest to you than to your husband, who fre- 
 quently has complimented me for my "good, sound 
 common sense in all business matters." 
 
 " Business matters ! " reiterated Mrs. Catchpenny ; 
 " I should like to know what business matters have to 
 do with refined society." 
 
 " But, my dear madam, first tell me what refined so- 
 ciety is ; then it is possible I may be able to demonstrate 
 to you that true refinement and business habits and mat- 
 ters are more intimately connected than you are willing 
 to allow." 
 
 " God save us from democratic notions ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Catchpenny. " I wish I had been born anywhere 
 but in this disgusting country, where the rabble rule, 
 and no one is in their proper place, where all are 
 crowding and kicking one another, in their race for pop- 
 ularity and power." 
 
 " It is a rule with me to be satisfied with what I have 
 and am," rejoined young Andrews. "As to democracy, 
 I can see no objection to the principle, provided it is 
 not abused." 
 
 " I despise the doctrine of equality ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Catchpenny, " and hope to mercy there will be a revo- 
 lution, before a great while, to explode the idea. Where 
 everybody are equal, I should like to know what sort 
 of social harmony or order can be expected ; that 's what 
 /should like to know." 
 
 William, observing the irritated condition of Mrs. 
 Catchpenny's mind, deemed it most prudent, as he had 
 finished his supper, to bid the company good evening, 
 and withdraw. He perceived the mischief he had done 
 was a sore wound to Mrs. Catchpenny, and by no means 
 over relished by the daughters ; and he thought it was 
 altogether useless to remain with them longer, for the 
 purpose of counteracting the passions which had been 
 aroused ;"so, excusing himself as well as he could, the
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 91 
 
 confidential clerk left the tea-table, and made his way to 
 the street. 
 
 The Catchpennys were now alone. They did not re- 
 main long at the tea-table, after our hero had departed, 
 but withdrew to the parlors, which were superbly fur- 
 nished and brilliantly lighted. We will not undertake 
 to describe the arrangement of the dwelling, nor the el- 
 egance of the furniture. Suffice it to say, wealth had 
 been lavished with a liberal hand, to make acceptable to 
 this class in general, and to the Catchpennys in particu- 
 lar, their residence and its appointments. Nothing was 
 wanting in luxury or convenience ; it was a model fash- 
 ionable establishment, one of the head-quarters of 
 presumption. 
 
 Mrs. Catchpenny had thrown herself on the sofa, still 
 greatly disturbed by what had passed at the tea-table. 
 She was not a woman easily subdued, when once her 
 mind was thoroughly excited by either anger or disap- 
 pointment. Laura seated herself at the piano, and com- 
 menced a pretty air from Sonambula, whilst Fanny 
 amused herself with Longfellow's " Hiawatha," one of 
 the most beautifully descriptive poems in the English 
 language. 
 
 Presently the door-bell rung, and a young gentleman 
 was ushered into the parlor. He wore a moustache that 
 stretched itself out some distance from the lip, and gave 
 him more the appearance of a wildcat than a man. His 
 name was James Simpleton. His visits were more to 
 Miss Laura than to Fanny, although the latter was quite 
 a favorite. 
 
 "It's a fine evening, Laura," observed the youth, 
 after the usual greetings ; " a very fine evening. By the 
 way, have you been out to-day ah ? " 
 
 " Yes, Fanny and I were on Washington-street, this 
 afternoon, where we walked for some little time, then 
 went round the Common." 
 
 "Ah well, who did you see?" interrogated the 
 beau, twirling his moustache with his fingers. 
 
 " Oh, lots of fools," said Fanny, turning over a leaf 
 of Hiawatha. 
 
 "Be still, Fanny, be still," exclaimed Mrs. Catch-
 
 92 THE PEXXIMANS ! OR, 
 
 penny, " if you can't be a little more refined in your ex- 
 pressions." 
 
 " I '11 tell you who we saw," returned Laura ; " those 
 Inconceivables, who have struggled for so many years 
 to be somebodies." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " roared the youth ; " you are rather 
 severe on the Inconceivables, are you not ah ? " 
 
 "No she isn't, not a bit," exclaimed Mrs. Catch- 
 penny. " Those people have worked harder than any- 
 body I know of to get into our set." 
 
 " Well, they 've succeeded, have n't they ? " queried 
 Mr. Simpleton. " That's more than a good many others 
 have done ah." 
 
 " Yes, but you know how they are laughed at," said 
 Fanny; "old Mrs. Inconceivable in particular." 
 
 " Mechanics ! I must say I don't altogether like the 
 idea of associating with mechanics," spoke up Mrs. 
 Catchpenny, "however public spirited and virtuous 
 they may be ; and if I mistake not, Mr. Simpleton, this 
 is about your feeling, as it must be the feeling of all our 
 'best families.' ' 
 
 ""Ah well, Mrs. Catchpenny, to be frank with you, I 
 must say I was born and bred an aristocrat," replied 
 the youth ; " but nevertheless, I have no little respect 
 for and sympathy with hard-working people. As to 
 these Inconceivables, I am disposed to tolerate them, on 
 the principle that there is no such thing as keeping any 
 set or circle, in this country, truly select ; so I say if this 
 family and others want to rise, and struggle hard to do 
 so, why let them. We 've all, probably, been down, in 
 the persons of our ancestry, at some time or other. So 
 let us not be too hard on others ah." 
 
 "You are very just, indeed, Mr. Simpleton," ex- 
 claimed Laura; " and it seems to me that all who can 
 rise ought to ; only don't let them put on airs, that 's 
 all ; don't let them try to put down their betters, so 
 soon as they are permitted intercourse with them." 
 
 "Oh, I am very much amused," said Fanny, "at 
 many persons who are struggling to get into our set. 
 For instance, there are the Paddingtons ; they are about 
 on a par with the Inconceivables, and certainly have as
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GENIUS. 93 
 
 much claim to preferment ; but some how or other they 
 don't rise." 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell you how it is," exclaimed Mrs. Catch- 
 penny ; " that Mrs. Paddington is so proud she will not 
 take the usual steps of working in with us, but expects 
 us, I suppose, in admiration of her personal attractions 
 and stylish mode of living, to beg her to join ' our set ' ; 
 and this, too, when she is dying for the want of the 
 privilege. Was there ever such stupidity heard of. 
 Just as though we or any of ' our set ' are going to her! 
 No ! she must come to us ; and she '11 find this out, too, 
 in time, I '11 warrant you." 
 
 As Mrs. Catchpenny concluded, her voice assumed a 
 good deal of passion. She was evidently provoked at 
 the idea of any person's supposing she would put her- 
 self out to gain even the most pretending over to her 
 society. As she had stooped, and stooped very low, 
 too, to ingratiate herself into the " best society," she 
 was determined this should be the condition on which 
 all others should enter. Mrs. Catchpenny was a curi- 
 ous woman, but not unlike the majority of those who 
 composed her exclusive set. She was heartless and 
 worldly, and so were they all. 
 
 Laura and Fanny continued in conversation with the 
 young man, laughing at and ridiculing many, both in 
 and out of their set. Laura was an exceedingly envious 
 young lady, and delighted in back-biting. This was 
 her chief amusement. Fanny, evidently of this disposi- 
 tion, was not so much inclined to indulge it as her sis- 
 ter ; for she knew less of the world, and had met with 
 no disappointments. Mr. Simpleton was just such a 
 person as Laura was pleased to talk with, because he 
 appeared to enter into her feelings, and laughed at her 
 railery. 
 
 We will not detail the conversation which passed be- 
 tween the young man and the Catchpennys, but will 
 declare it, in general terms, to have been, on the part 
 of the ladies, full of envy, malice, and all uncharitable- 
 ness. Mrs. Catchpenny vowed vengeance on Andrews, 
 whom we are to meet again in the next chapter.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Intrust thy fortune to the powers above ; 
 Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant 
 What their unerring wisdom sees thee want." 
 
 PASSING from this abode of sensuality and impotent 
 pomposity, we will ask the reader to "follow us in pur- 
 suit of young Andrews, who, upon gaining the street, 
 directed his steps towards the Public Garden, into which 
 he entered, and passed on to the seats then located near 
 the Mill Dam. Upon one of these he threw himself, and 
 burst into immoderate laughter. " The Catchpennys," 
 he remarked to himself, so soon as he was able to give 
 expression to his thoughts, "have had enough of me for 
 this year, at least ; and I am quite sure the Touchme- 
 nots will not be anxious for my company the balance of 
 their lives. Tea, to be sure ! So I must be dragged 
 in to tea, only to be kicked out after. Poor creatures ! 
 how ignorant they are, in all their crinoline and splen- 
 dor! They ride in their carriage, and assume to be 
 .first, while their coachman could school them in good 
 sound sense and practical wisdom. Poor creatures I 
 what delusion marks their lives, and the lives, in fact, 
 of all who exist solely for the gratification of their 
 pride." 
 
 Andrews had but just concluded, when the moon 
 broke through a heavy cloud, which for some time had 
 shut it out from view ; and so struck was he with its 
 clearness, its soft, mellow brightness, that he stretched 
 himself on the bench, and fell into a profound revery. 
 The moon ! who has not come under its influence ? 
 who has not yielded to its magnetism, and lost them-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. x 95 
 
 selves in the contemplation of its fascinating power, in 
 conjunction with those lesser lights that twinkle in their 
 far distant spheres ? 
 
 " Where all sighs are deposited ; and now, 
 It happened luckily, the chaste orb shone 
 
 As clear as northern clime allows ; 
 The lover, poet, or astronomer, 
 
 Shepherd or swain, whoever may behold, 
 Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her." 
 
 Our hero lay motionless, gazing on these glorious 
 mysteries, when suddenly escaped his lips the following 
 quotation from Don Juan : 
 
 " ' Oh, good society ! 't is but a game, 
 
 The royal game of goose, as I may say, 
 Where everybody has some separate aim, 
 An end to answer, or a plan to lay, 
 The single ladies wishing to be double, 
 The married ones to save the virgins trouble.' 
 
 "Poor Mrs. Touchmenot and her daughter Julia!" con- 
 tinued he ; " would they could know how ridiculous they 
 and their set appear to sensible, thorough-bred people ! 
 would they could look upon this gorgeous sky, and 
 learn humility from its imposing grandeur ! But no, 
 their leaden thoughts do not rise above the fatest fash- 
 ion and the sayings and doings of itsvoteries. What to 
 them is nature, through which God speaks, to those who 
 seek him, with a visible, tangible presence, an ever- 
 living reality ! What to them is goodness, love ? Mere 
 airy nothings, without a local habitation or a name." 
 
 A footstep, coupled with a sigh, now startled him, 
 when, raising his head- from the bench, he beheld a female 
 form standing near, habited in black, and screened by a 
 dark, heavy veil. He gazed at her for a moment, then 
 politely invited her to be seated. She seemed reluctant 
 to rest herself, and moved off, with a slow step, towards 
 the Mill Dam, without having spoken a word. Her 
 bearing was that of a lady, and her figure of classic 
 mould. 
 
 The young man's first impulse was to follow her, but
 
 96 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 the sober, second thought prevailed, and he remained 
 on the bench, exceedingly curious to know something 
 of the personage that had just passed on. It was be- 
 tween eight and nine of the clock, and there appeared to 
 be no one in the garden save this woman and himself, 
 if we except an individual who was reclining under the 
 young trees at some distance. A mystery seemed to 
 attach itself to her, which young Andrews was very de- 
 sirous to solve ; and, indeed, her presence had so ex- 
 cited him, so filled him with a certain indiscribable 
 perturbation, that he rose from his seat, and followed 
 directly in her steps. 
 
 As he came up, she suddenly turned about, and, in a 
 resolute, clear voice, said, " What do you want, sir ? " 
 
 Our hero was somewhat startled at her manner, and 
 for a moment lost his self-possession ; on regaining 
 which he thus replied, " I am not surprised, good lady, 
 that you are so severe. I have approached you unre- 
 quested, and desire no better reception. But pardon 
 me if I ask what, at this hour of the evening, brings 
 you, unattended, to this lonely spot ? " 
 
 The woman turned away, and, uttering no word, 
 walked on, but not without having discovered something 
 of her features, which were dimly to be seen through the 
 veil, by the light of the moonbeams. They were well 
 formed, and appeared to him chaste and beautiful. 
 Now, more than ever, he was resolved to discover, if 
 possible, who this mysterious being might be, and again 
 put himself in pursuit. 
 
 As he approached, she slackened her pace, and when 
 he drew near, she boldly confronted him, saying, "Fol- 
 low me, sir, another step, and you are ' 
 
 " Oh, be not angry, lady," interrupted Andrews, not 
 at all embarrassed by the harsh manner of the female ; 
 " be not angry. Do you suppose there is any power on 
 earth can deter me from executing my firm resolve to 
 know who and what you are ? Follow you I will, and 
 fifty lives, had I them to give, would be freely offered 
 for some knowledge of so strange a being." 
 
 " Ah, you seek to know me," returned the woman, 
 warily ; " but wherefore ? I am not thy equal, per-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 97 
 
 chance. What wouldst thou with a knowledge of 
 me?" 
 
 " Your figure, your bearing, have aroused my imagi- 
 nation," replied the young man. " I must, I will know 
 you I " 
 
 "You call me a lady," returned the woman; "how 
 know you that ? " and as she spoke, she turned and 
 walked away. 
 
 The young man hesitated a moment, and was about 
 relinquishing his purpose, when there was an interior, 
 audible command, in these words, "Follow her." 
 Again he was in pursuit, and upon overtaking the wo- 
 man, she received him with less displeasure, of which 
 he was not slow to avail. 
 
 " So, you do not love the world," remarked the 
 woman, in a deep, sad tone. " Has it not used you 
 well ? " 
 
 "Yes, much better than I deserve, doubtless," re- 
 turned our hero. " I love it not, because it is so prone 
 to evil." 
 
 "Ah, that is it," rejoined the woman; "then you 
 would have men and things more perfect, you would 
 be, perhaps, a reformer. Well, God knows there is 
 need of reform in every department and phase of life." 
 
 "Yes, yes; but come," rejoined the young man, 
 " tell me something of yourself, won't you ? " 
 
 " Why need you care for me ? " replied the female, 
 carelessly. " We never met before ; we may never 
 meet again." 
 
 " But we shall meet again ! " exclaimed the young 
 man, in a resolute tone ; "and, if I mistake not, we have 
 met before." 
 
 " Where, oh, where ?" interrogated the woman, with 
 evident surprise. 
 
 " Did you ever hear or know of an old beggar man, 
 by the name of Throckmorton ? " inquired Andrews, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied the woman, nervously, "very 
 well. He had a pretty dog, called ' Bone,' who loved me 
 very much, and was often at my room." 
 5
 
 X 
 98 THE PENNIMANS ] OR, 
 
 "Then you resided in the neighborhood of this beg- 
 gar?" interrogated Andrews. 
 
 "Yes, with my mother, in a small house opposite," 
 returned the female. "There was a family by the name 
 of Andrews, who was very kind to old Throckmorton, 
 particularly the little boy, of whom mother used to say 
 he was the handsomest and most manly child she ever 
 saw." 
 
 "You lived opposite, you say?" interrogated young 
 Andrews. 
 
 "Yes, directly opposite," returned his companion. 
 
 "I remember you quite well," rejoined our hero; 
 "and what is still more strange, I dreamed last night, 
 I should see you. Know that I was that little boy, 
 the beggar's friend." 
 
 "What, you, are you Willie Andrews," interro- 
 gated the female, unable to conceal her surprise, "whom 
 we used to think of and speak of so often, whom, in- 
 deed, everybody in our neighborhood loved so well ? " 
 
 " And are you Agnes Farriday, who sang so sweetly 
 with the guitar, and lived in a small house just oppo- 
 site?" again inquired the young man. "You moved 
 away, a short time after the beggar's death, and I lost 
 all traces of you. But your face I remember well, for 
 it is the only face I ever truly loved! Unveil fully, 
 will you not?" 
 
 "Yes," returned the female, "to you, yes!" 
 
 She threw aside her veil, and by the mellow moon- 
 light he beheld the supremely beautiful lace of Agnes 
 Farriday. When he last looked upon it, as she sat by 
 the window of her humble home, playing the guitar, she 
 was but a girl. She is now a well-developed and hand- 
 some woman, with much of the youthful freshness and 
 feature still remaining to her mature years. A s Andrews 
 gazed upon her, he almost fancied she was yet the child 
 of his early remembrance. He had never forgotten that 
 sweet face, that graceful form ; for his eye was that of 
 an artist, which is retentive of all beautiful impressions. 
 It seemed to him like a dream to meet again, and under 
 such circumstances, the only being on earth who was 
 associated in his mind with all that was lovely and de-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 99 
 
 sirable in woman. He felt a rapture which words can- 
 not faithfully express, and much of his delight was trans- 
 mitted to his beautiful companion ; for she believed 
 herself an object of no common interest to this young 
 man, who had sought and made her acquaintance 
 through opposition, led on, as it were, by the spirit. 
 He had dreamed that he should meet her on that day, 
 to which he gave no heed until observing the mysteri- 
 ous figure in the garden, when his dream immediately 
 occurred to him, and he resolved to pursue her; and, 
 when about to relinquish his purpose, audible was the 
 whisper, or spiritual impression, to "follow her." He 
 obeyed, and ample he deemed his reward; for he had 
 found in this mysterious being a woman to love. 
 
 "Tell me, Mr. Andrews," said Agnes, "tell me what 
 has become of Bone. Is he dead, or alive?" 
 
 "Bone? why he is alive, and in finer spirits than 
 ever," returned our hero. 
 
 "I should like to own that noble dog," rejoined 
 Agnes, "very much, yes, very much; he has such a 
 musical ear." 
 
 "He is mine to give, and he shall be yours, if you 
 will accept him," tenderly rejoined Andrews; "but I 
 set a great deal by Bone, and must indeed honor her to 
 whom I would give him." 
 
 "You are married, are you not?" queried Agnes, 
 coyly. 
 
 "No," responded Andrews. "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I knew of a Miss Ida Robertson," rejoined Agnes, 
 " whom report said you were much attached to. I 
 thought perhaps this attachment might have continued." 
 
 "No, no," replied Andrews, earnestly; "she can 
 never be my wife. Wherever I place my affections, and 
 consequently stake my happiness, I should expect a true 
 heart, a just and noble character." 
 
 " That is well," replied Agnes, as she took his arm, 
 and walked towards the Common. " I am now going 
 to my humble home, which consists of a small house, in 
 the north part of the city. Will you accompany me ? " 
 
 "Certainly, with pleasure," replied Andrews, offering 
 her his arm, of which she readily availed.
 
 100 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 They walked together up Beacon-street. At some 
 distance behind them was a tall individual, muffled in a 
 dark cloak, dogging them, whom we noticed in the gar- 
 den, by the trees. But as they were close in conversa- 
 tion, and did not observe particularly even the passers 
 by, less likely would they be to discover a person afar 
 off in their rear. 
 
 Andrews was truly happy to have met again the being 
 he had never ceased to think of, the only being whose 
 sweet features had touched, and ineflfaceably, his emotion- 
 al soul. To unite her fate with his, was the future, and 
 one of the most cherished purposes of his life ! As they 
 walked on through Tremont, Court, and Hanover Streets, 
 so much engaged were they with the happy sentiments of 
 their sympathetic natures, that they were altogether un- 
 observant of the man in the dark cloak, who had the air 
 of a gentleman, and by whom they were, at some little 
 distance, watchfully pursued ! 
 
 D n him, d n him," muttered the stranger, " he 
 stands in my path, and out of it he must get, or, by my 
 soul, he dies ! and speedily. As he said this his eyes 
 flashed in the gas light, with the intensity of desperation.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Of strength pernicious to myself I boast, 
 The powers I have were givea me to my coat." 
 
 YOUNG ANDREWS, happy in a degree, never before ex- 
 perienced, at having again met Agnes Farriday, after so 
 long a period since he first beheld her charming face, accom- 
 panied her to the dwelling which she occupied at the north 
 part of the city, followed closely by the tall man in a dark 
 cloak, who passed and repassed them several times, and in 
 such close proximity, as to jostle the impetuous and high 
 spirited Andrews. She was the first to note that they were 
 pursued by this mysterious personage, who kept his face so 
 well concealed by his cloak as to defy detection. Of late 
 she had been very much annoyed, by a man who had 
 daily passed and repassed her house, and who had addressed 
 her the most passionate protestations of love, which she had 
 invariably returned to the source from whence they came. 
 His name was Rolston ; a lawyer of some standing, and of 
 " one of our first families." Agnes believed the personage 
 in the dark cloak to be him. She, therefore, cautioned An- 
 drews to be on his guard, as it was well known that Mr. 
 Rolston was a person of violent, indeed, desperate passions, 
 and that he had been much incenced at the failure of his 
 endeavors to win her friendship. Agnes did not doubt the 
 sincerity of his sentiments, but she could not respect his 
 habits, which were those of a fashionable man, fond of his 
 wine, the gaming table, and a good time, generally. He 
 wished to marry her, and he frankly told her, that it was 
 her beauty which he loved. If there was a being on earth 
 for whom Miss Farriday had a loathing, and whose society 
 she would carefully avoid, it was the sensualist, and though 
 Rolston combined many attractions for most any woman, 
 he lacked that one more essential than all the rest ia 
 the estimation of Agnes virtue ! And, for this reason, 
 and this alone, she denied him her acquaintance. This refu-
 
 102 THE PENNIJMANS J OR, 
 
 sal embittered his heart, and plunged him deeper into error 
 than ever. He gambled with greater recklessness, and 
 treated his business friends in such a loose, indifferent man- 
 ner, that his practice fell off to a degree, that only added 
 to his hate of the world, which he was in the habit of calling, 
 
 since his unreturned passion for Agnes, " a d n nest of 
 
 wasps ! " Rolston prided himself greatly on his family, 
 which he averred was descended from the peerage of Eng- 
 land ; and that he should be denied the acquaintance of an 
 obscure, though lovely woman, whom he was willing to mar- 
 ry, outraged his vanity and lascerated his heart! He 
 watched her narrowly ; and as we have seen, was in the 
 garden on the evening when she met Andrews, whither he 
 had, unobserved, pursued her. He had resolved to know as 
 much of her habits and friendships as a daring and vigilant 
 espionage would permit. In the heat of his passion he had 
 sworn, no .man should marry her but him ! Towards An- 
 drews, whom he well knew, he entertained a fierce and bitter 
 hatred ; into whose heart he could have plunged a dagger, 
 as he saw his lips pressed against those of Farriday's, on 
 parting with her at the door of her neat though humble 
 dwelling. 
 
 As the young man passed by the place where Rolston 
 had concealed himself, that he might, unobserved, note the 
 movements of both parties, he was joined by the lawyer, 
 who, in a subdued tone of passion enquired, " How long he 
 had known Miss Farriday ? " 
 
 " Who are you, sir, that I should be catechised thus ?" 
 interrogated Andrews, somewhat startled by the manner of 
 the lawyer. 
 
 " My name is William Andrews ; now, for yours," con- 
 tinued our hero. " I must know, my dear sir, who and what 
 you are." 
 
 Rolston drew closer about his face his dark cloak, and 
 pulling over his eyes more carefully than ever his felt hat, 
 said : 
 
 " I, sir, am a man, fully your peer, if not your superior ; 
 in the welfare of this woman I have a brother's, father's, ay, 
 lover's interest and care. I demand to be informed how 
 long you have known her, and what may be your inten- 
 tions."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 103 
 
 " If. sir," rejoined Andrews, " you are the man I suspect 
 you to be, and of whom she has warned me, I tell you now, 
 in the presence of yon bright moon, that I defy and despise 
 you. If your name is Rolston, you are a scoundrel for 
 pursuing one who forbids your addresses, and loathes your 
 character ; a fellow, sir, with whom I wish no commerce, 
 and for whom I have no respect." 
 
 " These, sir, are bold words," returned Rolston, " to one 
 too, of whose passions you know naught ; what if I should 
 slay you on the spot ? " 
 
 " You would but kill one who does not fear to die ; " 
 replied Andrews, proudly ; " and whom no words of yours, 
 or mortal man, can intimidate." 
 
 " I like your pluck, fellow," returned Rolston, " and I 
 would you stood not in my way." 
 
 " I, sir, am only too happy to be thus posted," replied An- 
 drews. " If you are Rolston, as I believe you to be, I would 
 be placed not otherwise, since you pursue a woman, who 
 never can, and never shall be yours I " 
 
 " Ay, my fine fellow, you are flippant ; did your mother 
 never whip you for your twaddle ? " sarcastically returned 
 Rolston. 
 
 " It matters not who, nor what I am ; whether Rolston, or 
 Pontius Pilate : I love Agnes, and hate all those who oppose 
 my passion. Beware, beware, young man, how you provoke 
 me ; for I am desperate iu this cause, and will die a thousand 
 deaths to defeat my foes. From the moment I first beheld 
 the divine face and form of Farriday, I was inspired to 
 attempt her conquest, and eternally damned be those who 
 aim to disappoint my hopes. Death, or Agnes, is my motto ; 
 death to her, to me, and all who intermeddle ! " 
 
 " Be it so, then, thou concealed braggart," replied An- 
 drews ;" who, ashamed of open converse, belch forth brave 
 sounds from beneath a mask impenetrable. " I tell you 
 here and now, that Agnes is mine ; nor can you, nor all hell 
 combined dispossess me of this treasure. It was my boy- 
 hood's first delight ; it is my manhood's glory ! " 
 
 " Ah, I am on fire with hate. This determined dog 
 must die ; die, and now ; ay, now," muttered Rolston, un- 
 heard. Then continued he, aloud, " Sir, I love brave men, 
 and by your speech I so esteem you ; and were it not that 
 you are my foe, I would embrace you as a brother ! "
 
 104 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 " I have freely given you my name, " returned Andrews ; 
 " and yet yours is still withheld. I can hold no further 
 conversation with one whom I do not know. Concealment 
 is no way of mine." 
 
 " He is indeed an adversary I well may dread, and by my 
 soul, he dies this night. He shall not escape me. My dagger, 
 my dagger," muttered Rolston, inaudibly. Then continued 
 he, aloud : " Mr. Andrews, your hand, before we part. You 
 are a worthy, brave fellow, and I honor you. The gem we 
 both do covet shall be thine, and thus I leave it with thee, 
 eternity ! " At these words he sheathed his dagger in 
 the bosom of our hero, and fled, while Andrews fell heavily 
 to the ground. 
 
 Agnes, apprehensive that a difficulty might occur, armed 
 herself with a revolver, and followed Andrews with the 
 intention of placing it in his possession. Observing him in 
 conversation with the man who had dogged them, and whom 
 she supposed to be Rolston, she concealed herself at some 
 little distance where she could observe their movements. 
 Impatient at their parley, she was about to return home, 
 when she saw Andrews fall, and Rolston fleeing directly 
 towards the point, at which she stood. The cries of An- 
 drews determined her to confront the assassin with her pis- 
 tol, and to destroy him unless he submitted to arrest. Her 
 bold, determined manner, brought Rolston to a stand. Her 
 loud cries of murder aroused the watch and the neighbor- 
 hood, who, surrounding the murderer, attempted his cap- 
 ture ; but he was a powerful man, and used his weapon so 
 skillfully, that no one dared arrest him. With a desperate 
 rush he broke through the crowd, but was soon again sur- 
 rounded and taken. Agnes Farriday had gone to the 
 assistance of Andrews. She found with him a physician, 
 who said his wound was mortal. She directed that he 
 should be borne to her house, that he might die beneath the 
 roof of one who loved him tenderly. Rolston, in a moment 
 . of desperation at learning that Andrews was dying, and in 
 fear of the testimony of Agnes, pltnged Ids dagger into his 
 own breast, exclaiming, " Thus do I anticipate the law ! " 
 He begged that Agnes might be brought to him, as there 
 was something he would say to her. The excited crowd 
 made way as Agnes approached, who, standing near the
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 105 
 
 prostrate form of Rolston, with his head supported by a 
 watchman, listened with a marble countenance to this des- 
 perado's words. 
 
 " Agnes Farriday," said he, in a voice clear, though 
 weak, " on thy head be my blood and that of Andrews. 
 My love despised, was an ever wakeful sorrow, which 
 now, hath end. I say not that I am guilty of his mur- 
 der, but I'm pleased that it is so. You will now 
 have learned the force of passion ; and when again some 
 ardent, reckless soul may love thy beauty, and desire thy 
 heart, thou wilt perhaps remember to avoid his wrath ; for 
 where one's love is deep, woman ! there look when love IB 
 outraged for a deeper hate ! " 
 
 " Kolston, much as you have wronged me in the murder 
 of one dearer to me than life itself, 1 can and do forgive 
 your crime," returned Agnes, in a voice of rare sweetness, 
 which moved the crowd to tears ; " and I pray," she con- 
 tinued, " that God may have mercy on your soul." " Thy 
 hand, sweet one," said he, in the faintest whisper, and as 
 he took the small delicate hand of Agnes in his own, he 
 breathed his last. 
 
 Agnes pushed from his noble massive brow, the dark 
 wavy hair, and looking full in his determined intellectual 
 face, said, " May God forgive you as I do, thou misguided 
 man ! " The crowd again made way, as Agnes passed on 
 to her dwelling, whither Andrews had been borne by the 
 physician. As they looked upon her majestic countenance 
 lit by a dark, deep, and courageous eye, many were the 
 suppressed exclamations, in laudation of her chaste beauty, 
 which were all unheeded by her, however, whose soul was 
 wrapped in the gloom of sorrow, such as she had never 
 before experienced. No sooner had she entered the room 
 where Andrews lay bleeding from his wound, than she 
 approached his couch, and bending tenderly over him, 
 kissed his cold, damp brow, passionately, while his full 
 deep blue eyes was riveted upon her. 
 
 " Agnes," said he, in a low tone, " when I am gone, do 
 not forget to take good care of ' Bone ; ' he was a beg- 
 gar's gift, 'tis true ; yet, this animal was an early love 
 I'd have thee cherish." 
 
 " Trust my fidelity to all thou ever loved," replied Ag- 
 nes : " I will live in thee" , , 
 
 o *
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 <l Frailty, thy name is woman." 
 
 IN the lives of most persons who are left unprotected 
 in the world, there is more or less of hardship and ro- 
 mance ; especially is this true of women ! In the metro- 
 polis of New England, instances of female suffering and 
 intrigue, are innumerable. Too proud to remain in their 
 country homes, dependent upon a father's or brother's sup- 
 port, they crowd into the city, with the hope, that some- 
 thing will offer whereby they can provide themselves with 
 the necessaries of life. But as very many of them are unskil- 
 led in such employment as they seek, and are of too great 
 pride to offer themselves as house women, they fall into 
 the hands of perveyors, and soon become known as " wo- 
 men of the town." In this way are our brothels filled to 
 repletion, and our principle streets made a parade ground 
 of licentiousness. All are to be pitied whose necessities 
 oblige them to a shameful means of support. We should, 
 however, be slow to admit, that one's necessities need 
 drive them to such means of relief as aiding, or practising 
 prostitution, if they will but make their condition known 
 and exert themselves to keep in the path of virtue. The 
 sons-in-law of the Penniman's we have said were fond of 
 fast women, and we are now about to introduce the reader 
 to the Mistress of Donothing, whom Agnes Farriday was 
 endeavoring to reform. 
 
 In a room in a neat small brick house on N . . . p 
 Street, (some three weeks previous to the meeting of 
 Agnes and Andrews,) sat a beautiful young woman, partly 
 reclining on the sofa ; she was fashionably dressed, and 
 had the appearance of a lady ; she was in tears :
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 107 
 
 Maiden ! once gay Pleasure knew thee, 
 
 Now thy cheeks are pale and deep, 
 Love has been a felon to thee, 
 Yet poor maiden do not weep. 
 There's rest for thee, 
 All under the tree, 
 There thou'll sleep most peacefully. 
 
 Thomas Decker, the friend and contemporary of Shak- 
 speare, has sketched the wanton in a masterly manner as 
 follows : 
 
 Oh, when the work of lust had earned my bread, 
 To taste it now I trembled, lest each bit, 
 Ere it went down should choak me chewing it. 
 My bed Beemed like a cabin hung in hell, 
 The bawd hell's porter, and the liquorish wine, 
 The pander fetched, was like an easy fine, 
 For which methought I leased away 013' soul, 
 And oftentimes, even in my quaffing howl, 
 Thus said I to myself ; I am a w . . e ! 
 
 When in the street, 
 
 A fair young modest damsel I did meet, 
 She seemed to all a Dove, when I passed by, 
 And I to all a Raven ! every eye 
 That followed her went with a bashful glance, 
 At me each bold and jeering countenance 
 Darted forth scorn ! To her, as if she had been 
 Some tower unvanquished would they veil ; 
 'Gainst me swoln rumor hoisted every sail ; 
 She crowned by reverend praises passed by them, 
 I though with face masked could not 'scape the " hem." 
 For as if Heaven had set strange mark on whores, 
 Because they should be pointing stocks to man, 
 Brest up in civilest shape a courtezan; 
 Let her walk saint-like, noteless and unknown. 
 Yet she's betrayed by some trick of her own! 
 
 Such is and such must ever be the shame of all women 
 who rank among this class. 
 
 As we have said, Irene Caruthers (for such was the 
 name of Donothing's mistress) was a most beautiful wo- 
 man, and deserved a better fate than that of a courtezan. 
 She was the daughter of a clergyman of New Hampshire, 
 of high standing in his profession ; her mother was a 
 superior woman. Irene, unhappy in her home, left in 
 company with a gentleman for New York, who had prom- 
 ised to marry her on their arrival there. A wild and
 
 108 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 romantic girl, such an adventure had many charms for 
 her. She thought it would be so " nice a triumph over 
 parental authority," which had heen so great a restraint 
 upon her foolish desires, that she had come to regard 
 these, her hest friends, with suspicion, and as her worse 
 and most cruel enemies ! Sad was her heart, when she 
 came to learn the true character of the man with whom 
 she had eloped. A desperate and unprincipled libertine, 
 he espoused the romantic and too trustful girl one month, 
 only to desert her the next ! This broke her parents' 
 hearts, who died partly in consequence of their daughter's 
 conduct, whom they had labored earnestly to direct in 
 the path of usefulness, happiness, and honor. She had 
 now no home to return to ; she was left destitute in the 
 world. 
 
 For a time she labored to support herself with the 
 needle ; but her health, which never was robust, failed 
 from close confinement to work, when she was forced to 
 accept the friendship of a man who had become interest- 
 ed in her. With him she lived until his death, which 
 was caused by an affection of the heart. She then came 
 to Boston, where chance directed her to Mrs. Penniman 
 for assistance. This worldly woman, proud and heartless, 
 told her to go to work at anything rather than beg ! It 
 was at this time that she first saw Donothing. He was 
 charmed with her beauty ; and determined to pursue her. 
 The Pennimans' money, therefore, supported her to whom 
 they had denied all charity. Could Mrs. Penniman have 
 known this fact, she would have expired, in all probabili- 
 ty, in a fit of rage ! and the much injured wife, too, her 
 haughty daughter, how she would have wept, to know 
 another unlawfully shared with her the love and purse of 
 Donothing. But this gay Lothario was a consummate 
 rogue, and so managed his amours, that none even sus- 
 pected his infidelity; his " loving, doating wife " was per- 
 haps the last person who would have insinuated even 
 aught against her " hubby." Donothing was generous 
 towards his mistress ; anything she might desire he pro- 
 cured ; presents of the most costly kind he lavished upon 
 her, yet he was at times exceedingly harsh, and abused 
 her as he oftentimes abused his wife. As she sat deject-
 
 THE TBIUMPH OF GENIUS. 109 
 
 ed on the sofa, Donothing entered the room just from a 
 dinner party ; he was somewhat over merry. The agita- 
 ted soul of Irene, so visible in her delicate and beautiful 
 features, which were wont to wear a gay and joyous ex- 
 pression, at once arrested his attention ; her eye was load- 
 ed with melancholy, and her face was as a beautiful, though 
 darkly shaded picture. The young man seated himself 
 beside her, placed his arm around her waste, and was 
 about kissing her, when she pushed him aside, repeating 
 this reproof as often as he attempted to caress her. 
 Wearied by his efforts to overcome her strange and un- 
 natural mood, being heated with wine, his patience soon 
 gave way, when he exclaimed : 
 
 " Since you are so sulky, I'll have nothing more to 
 say to you ! "Why do you not speak ; why not tell me 
 what's the matter ? " 
 
 " My sins, Oh, my sins weigh heavy on my soul ! " 
 replied the girl, sobbing aloud. 
 
 "A fit of righteousness!" rejoined the lover. "Oh, 
 that's it. Well, I am glad to know it's nothing worse. 
 Perhaps you are not aware of it, but I'm partially drunk, 
 and your melancholy is infernal annoying ; yes, infernal 
 annoying ! Why in the name of Caesar, when I most 
 need your best face are you so d n glum ? I came here 
 this evening expecting to find you ' in fine feather,' in- 
 stead of which, you are about as stupid as it is possible 
 to be. I'll quit you altogether, if this sort of work is to 
 go on. You'll get no more money from me, Chick, unless 
 you change your tactics." 
 
 " Money ! " ejaculated Irene, " and what do you sup- 
 pose I care about money ? If I can save my soul in 
 Christ, 'tis all I ask ; " and as she spoke, she drew a long 
 deep sigh. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, Irene," returned her lover ! with 
 a hiccough, " you're a fool, so all this fuss is about your 
 soul ; indeed, indeed ? Mark my advice ; look out for 
 your body ! and let the soul take care of itself : if you 
 had as good a dinner, and as much choice wine under 
 your ribs, as I have under mine, you 'd be as jolly as a 
 jack tar just in from a voyage round the world. Gods ! 
 how jolly I am; I only wish you felt half as well ; " and
 
 110 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 as he said this, he chucked the conscience-stricken girl 
 under the chin, and proceeded to put his arm about her 
 body in order to draw her into his lap, but she resisted 
 his advances with even more determination than before. 
 He was now in a furious passion ; his self-love, ardent 
 and unbounded, as is always the case with weak persons, 
 who pride themselves on family connections, was wound- 
 ed; he had been a warm friend of Irene's, having fur- 
 nished her with a good deal of money, and to find her 
 now so cold, touched his vanity, and disappointed his 
 heart. In " women of pleasure " he had no confidence 
 whatever, and he attributed Irene's conduct to the " tricks 
 of the wanton," and not to any desire to reform her course 
 of life. What her object could be in these tears these 
 feigned signs of sorrow he was at a loss to conjecture ; 
 though he was quite sure she was playing a deep, deep game. 
 Vesta hath claimed her for her fires ; the groves of 
 Daphne she hath forever fled ; she would be chaste ! 
 This in the estimation of Donothing was an idea too ab- 
 surd for a moment's regard ; he did not believe, nor did 
 he conceive it possible, for a courtezan to become a re- 
 spectable woman, any more than it is in the power of the 
 Ethiopian to change his skin, or the leopard his spots. 
 But Donothing was a licentious reprobate, to whom the 
 Bible was a fable, and Heaven a dream ! He knew not 
 of that inner life, which through love of God, and rever- 
 ence for holy things, is preserved to those who exhibit little 
 or no sign of piety in the manner of their living ; still, 
 " the voice of conscience " is not stifled, that inner life is 
 yet preserved, and with it the spirit of prayer ! which St. 
 Augustine says, is the evidence to every one that God's 
 mercy had not forsaken us. 
 
 Irene's sobs grew louder as she perceived Donothing to 
 be entirely ignorant of the great change which was work- 
 ing in her, through the power of the Holy Ghost ! She 
 grieved that he should be so hardened a sinner, and so 
 blind to the beauty of repentance. 
 
 " I don't want," said he, " anything to do with a 
 woman, who conducts herself in this manner." 
 
 " I sincerely wish you would leave me," rejoined 
 Irene, in heart broken tones ; sighing deeply. " You
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. Ill 
 
 will never again find me what I have been. I do not 
 want your money ; I do not want any man's money as 
 the wages of sin ! No, no, God knows my heart ; I 
 would be wholly his ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " ejaculated Donothing ; " who has been 
 stuffing so much piety into your head all at once ; ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! I 've heard women talk in this way before, but 
 it was only to get up a greater interest in their behalf. I 
 understand, oh, I understand, perfectly ; you can't fool 
 me ; I 've crossed the line ; I'm up to snuff, depend 
 on't." 
 
 Irene wept copiously, and appeared greatly convulsed 
 with grief, at this inhuman language. Donothing seemed 
 to her, in her contrition, like an incarnate fiend. And so 
 in truth he was, as far as any regard for her repentant 
 sorrow is to be considered. Doubting the sincerity of her 
 tears he cared little for the expression of her sufferings. 
 Gazing at her with an eye, intense with indignant scorn, 
 he muttered : 
 
 " Strumpet ! " he paused a moment, then continued : 
 " Oh, I can't stand this I'm off, you must look your- 
 self up some other friend." 
 
 Irene for the first time raised her head, and fixing her 
 large, grief-stricken eyes directly upon Donothing, said, 
 mournfully : 
 
 " Oh, sir, you know not how painful to me is your in- 
 considerate language ; yet it does not surprise me ; I 
 perhaps deserve it all. I am a woman, whose misconduct 
 justly attaches suspicion to my sincerity. I know you 
 will not believe, I am resolved on a pious future ; no 
 one, perhaps, will believe it, until time shall be witness 
 to my truth ! I do not ask any one to credit me ; I know 
 that I am fallen low ; and am despised by those who have 
 not been so unfortunate. Yet Christ, oh, Christ is with 
 me, whose all sufficient support I have. I do not ask 
 your friendship more in sin ; but if you will strive to un- 
 derstand the inner life which connects us with religion 
 and God, I shall then be only too happy to number you 
 among my friends." 
 
 " What a pow-wow, to be sure," exclaimed Donothing, 
 " about what no sensible people think of, until they get
 
 112 THE PENNIMA.KS; OH, 
 
 so far advanced in years as not to be able to think of any- 
 think else religion and an inner life ! Fudge, who has 
 been working you into this crack-brained state. Agnes 
 Farriday, I'll bet my life." 
 
 Irene made no reply, but with her face buried in her 
 'kerchief, motioned him away. 
 
 " Oh, you want me to go, do you ? " continued Do- 
 nothing with a hiccough. " Well, then, give me a kiss, and 
 I'll leave you to yourself, to work off this little bit of 
 lunacy ; you are evidently in a d n bad way ; that's all 
 I've got to say about it : with your inner life and reform- 
 atory doctrines. Havn't you got wit enough to know, 
 that it's no use for a woman ' on the town,' to try to sup- 
 port herself off of it. There is a brand of shame on you, 
 that the waters of the two hemispheres will never wipe out ; 
 the world will never forgive or forget your sins ; make up 
 your mind to that ; and don't make a bigger fool of yourself, 
 by trying to fight your way back again to decency ; you 
 can't do it ; and it's no use to try. You ought to know 
 by this time what delight those experience who are up in 
 the scale of virtue, in kicking and keeping others down." 
 
 Poor Irene wept as though her heart would break at 
 the rough and unfeeling discourse of Donothing, particu- 
 larly as she recognized in his remarks no little truth. 
 Still her faith in God's love was undiminished, and she 
 felt a confidence in the Scriptural plan of salvation, which 
 could not be shaken. She was resolved to respect the 
 voice of conscience, and seek peace of mind in virtue ; 
 which Plato says, " is not a thing to be taught, nor 
 derived from nature, but exists by a divine allotment to 
 those who possess it." We do not altogether agree with 
 that great philosopher, though we quote him with much 
 reverence. We think virtue may be taught, and it also 
 may be derived from nature ; that it is likewise of divine 
 allotment is most true. 
 
 "Since you are so out of sorts," remarked Donothing, 
 " so inconsolable, so ridiculous, I will betake myself to 
 the theatre to see the ' Road to Ruin.' Only just give me 
 a kiss, and I am off. I never, upon my word, found you 
 so stupid before. If this is what is called ' getting re- 
 ligion,' deliver me from it." As he concluded, he drew
 
 1HE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 113 
 
 Irene's hand from her face, and kissed her several times, 
 but she received his caresses in a perfectly passive, and 
 apparently abstracted manner ; without manifesting pleas- 
 ure at his familiarity. As he was about to leave the 
 room, she tenderly said : 
 
 " You have a wife, sir ; respect your vows to her. Do 
 not, oh, do not continue to deceive the lawful partner of 
 your bosom." 
 
 Donothing, irritated to find this unfortunate young 
 woman in such an unhappy state of mind, did not choose 
 to remain long in her company. He was an incorrigible 
 rake, and experienced no pleasure in the presence of 
 melancholy and 'tears. Of that school of philosophy which 
 places the chief good of life in low sensual enjoyment 
 the body and not the soul was his principal care. As he 
 opened the door and was passing into the entry, he turned 
 to Irene and said : 
 
 " What in the devil's name ails you, is more than I 
 know (hiccough) ; but d n me, unless you behave 
 better in future, you'll get no more money out of me." 
 And thereupon he closed the door with great violence and 
 left the house. 
 
 Irene was pleased at his departure, but could not re- 
 press the fresh flood of tears, his parting words had oc- 
 casioned ; he seemed so brutal ; yet he was the same that 
 he had always been ; the change was not in him, but in 
 her. She had entered into a spiritual sphere of contri- 
 tion, repentance, and trust in Jesus, which he did not nor 
 could not understand, and whither he was unable to fol- 
 low her. He was no longer a companion, therefore, for 
 Irene. She would, however, have been most happy to 
 have carried him with her into this new and Christian life, 
 if she had felt the least encouragement to make the attempt. 
 She knew Donothing too well, to have any present hope 
 of his reformation ; there did not appear to be the least 
 spark of godliness in his soul ; he was emphatically 
 " dead in sin." This hopeful relative of the Pennimans 
 had not been gone many minutes, when Agnes entered. 
 A low sad sob was all the greeting she received. 
 
 Agnes, touched at the doleful sight, advanced and seat- 
 ed herself on the sofa by the side of Irene, and kissed her 
 tenderly.
 
 114 THE PENKTIMANS J OB, 
 
 " Don't cry, Irene," said Agnes, " what has happened ? " 
 
 It was some moments before the grief-strickea girl could 
 reply ; at length she sighed : 
 
 " Oh, nothing nothing. I have been, Agnes, a very 
 wicked woman. It is the vivid consciousness of my guilt 
 that overpowers me." 
 
 " Then promise me you will sin no more," rejoined 
 Agnes. " You know how often I have begged you to fly 
 this life of debauchery, and be honest ; you know how I 
 have condemned this Mr. Donothing and his intimates. 
 If you will reform, all that is in my power to do for you 
 will be done cheerfully." 
 
 " Thank you, oh, thank you, Agnes," returned Irene ; 
 " you are too good, too good." And as she concluded, 
 she wept vehemently. 
 
 " Oh, do not weep, my friend. I do nothing in all this 
 but my bounden duty. Think how kind was Christ to 
 the woman of Samaria, whom he met at the well, far 
 deeper in sin than yourself. His words of love reformed 
 her, and love alone ! So would I strengthen you by my 
 affection." 
 
 " A thousand thanks ! Oh, I never thought there was 
 such kindness in my sex," said Irene, still weeping. " But 
 what to do I know not," continued she. 
 
 " Prepare yourself for a teacher of the young," earnest- 
 ly counselled Agnes. " Here is a most honorable field for 
 you." 
 
 " It is," returned Irene ; " but but, ah, think of what I 
 am. Can this shame which is upon me ever be effaced or 
 forgotten ? No, no ! " And with these words she moaned 
 most pitifully. 
 
 " Be calm and hopeful, Irene," replied Agnes, in a 
 sympathetic voice, " and respect yourself. If you are 
 determined to reform, you will have every encouragement 
 from the good, and will be welcomed back to places of 
 usefulness and honor. Have faith in Jesus ! His espe- 
 cial call was to sinners, and the broken hearted." 
 
 " So it was, so it was," returned Irene, lifting her 
 pale and agitated countenance from between her hands, 
 and looking lovingly, and hopefully, into the sympathetic 
 face of Farriday. " Oh, my friend," and as she said this
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 115 
 
 she took the hand of Agnes tremblingly in her own, " my 
 best and only friend, if I thought my blessed Lord and 
 Master, Jesus of Nazereth ! would over-look my past trans- 
 actions, I should be so happy, so happy. In this trust I 
 would not falter in an honorable cause, however meanly 
 society might regard my determination." 
 
 " Be that trust then thine ! " exclaimed Agnes, " for in 
 the Epistle general of John, it is written : ' If we confess 
 our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and 
 to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' No, my dear 
 Irene, if you are indeed repentant, and the Holy Ghost is 
 upon you, and you feel accepted of God, be assured your 
 sins are washed away ; ' for though they be as scarlet,' saith 
 the Lord in Isaiah, ' they shall be as white as snow, though 
 they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.' Re- 
 pentance and remission of sins makes us new creatures ; 
 we are born again ; and our past, however wicked, is as 
 though it had never belonged to us. We should not 
 therefore feel any reluctance in going forward to any hon- 
 orable post, which we can creditably fill because we have 
 been in the service of Satan ; seeing that ' there is more 
 joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over - 
 ninety and nine who need no repentance.' Besides, we 
 should reflect, that some of the most abandoned sinners 
 have been after repentance and remission of sins the most 
 valuable and successful servants of God." 
 
 Irene, still holding the hand of Agnes in her own, now 
 pressed it fervently, saying : 
 
 " Thanks, many thanks for your kind words ; they 
 nerve me greatly. I will learn to be a teacher. I will 
 make amends for my past unholy career ! " 
 
 " So do, so do," replied Agnes, tenderly pressing the 
 feverish hand of the girl, " and I will be your firm friend. 
 Until you are in a situation to make your duties of teacher 
 support you, I will supply your necessaries gladly, 
 gladly supply them." 
 
 Irene, inspired by the friendship of Miss Farriday, threw 
 herself about her neck and kissed her passionately. 
 
 " It is to you, Agnes," she said, " I owe this most hap- 
 py change in my desires. Your Christian counsel at 
 which I have sported in your presence, and appeared un-
 
 116 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 touched by has been with me in my hours of solitude 
 and reflection ; and has gradually brought me, by the aid 
 of that good book, the Bible, to the feet of Jesus, to the 
 realization and confession of my manifold sins and wick- 
 edness. I feel that a new life is opening to me, ' whose 
 ways are ways of pleasantness, and whose paths are paths 
 of peace.' You, you, dear Agnes, are my benefactress 
 accept my warmest love." She pressed Miss Farriday 
 earnestly to her bosom, and the tears rolled in continuous 
 streams down her pale sad cheeks. 
 
 They were united, these women, heart and soul ! Agnes 
 felt a keen and inexpressible joy, that the bread she had 
 cast upon the waters, after many days had returned to her 
 again. She had struggled hard to draw Irene from the 
 quagmire of prostitution, by every possible means her 
 fertile imagination could devise ; and, finally, success had 
 crowned her unyielding interest in a lovely and beautiful 
 woman, who had fallen through idleness and pride. How 
 her heart beat with rapture at her triumph ; for she knew 
 how well her Lord and Master loved to see return the 
 lost sheep of his fold. She remembered his forbearance 
 towards fallen woman, whose love for him was great, and 
 who washed his feet with her tears, and wiped them with the 
 hairs of her head ; she remembered, too, that in his 
 genealogy there was Thamar, who was by her father-in- 
 law debauched ; there was Rahab, a harlot ; Rutk, a hea- 
 then woman, despised by the Jews ; Bathsheba, the wife 
 of Uriah, an adulteress ! previous to her marriage with 
 David. Thus may we see, thought Miss Farriday, how 
 God has set forth, as it were, a looking-glass for sinners ; 
 that they may know that he would be born of the posteri- 
 ty of sinners ; that the chief of sinners might trust in 
 him, and flee to him for refuge. Alas ! how many are 
 there of this class of females, drifting about on life's dark 
 and pitiless tide, for whom there is no haven but the 
 cheerless grave, beyond which they have no hope all is 
 uncertainty, mystery and eight! How many such would 
 hail an Agnes Farriday as an angel of light to bless her 
 with their holy tears. We believe there is an art in love. 
 The only way of rightly influencing other minds, is to 
 put ourselves in sympathy with them. We must use
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GEXTUS. 117 
 
 means for this ; we must in some degree feel with them 
 as well as for them. Their perceived or imagined state 
 must act on our own emotions, so as to excite an appro- 
 priate expression in our features, our action, our 'utter- 
 ance. To withdraw them from unholy passion, or disas- 
 trous pursuit, we must enter into their feelings so far as 
 to show that we can sympathize with them in intensity of 
 purpose, while superior to them in the direction of our 
 wishes and the disposal of our means. We must fall into 
 the same key, but only to utter emotion and intelligence 
 of a higher order, guided by a will under spiritual con- 
 trol ; thus counteracting the evil influence, not by vehement 
 resistance, but as sunshine quenches fire, by the gentle 
 force of a purer warmth, and light unextinguishable, be- 
 cause it flows from Heaven. 
 
 Those who have never been instrumental in turning the 
 vicious from their evil ways, can but imperfectly under- 
 stand the gratification which Agnes experienced, when 
 pressed to the bosom of Irene, to be wet by her holy 
 tears. There is a sublime bliss in thus leading the reck- 
 less, the depraved, to a knowledge of that inner life, 
 which conducts them to the consciousness of their respon- 
 sibilities as a self-existent creature, having a free will, to 
 the Son and Father of all, for the manner in which His 
 gift of life shall have been used. Whoever saves a 
 soul is more of a hero than any temporal prince at whose 
 presence a nation bows. 
 
 The two young women remained some time together in 
 the intimacy of the most hallowed friendship. The clock 
 had struck nine before Agnes rose to depart. They bade 
 each other good night, and Irene again was alone. She 
 went to her chamber, threw herself in a rocking-chair, 
 and fell into a reverie profound. 
 
 " There was a soft and pensive grace, 
 A cast of thought upon her face, 
 That suited well the forehead high, 
 The eyelash dark and downcast eye ; 
 The mild expression spoke a mind, 
 In duty firm, composed, resigned."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Disaster always waits on early wit." 
 
 THE city was in great excitement on the day follow- 
 ing the eventful night of Rolston's attack on Andrews, 
 and suicide. Agnes Farriday was an obscure person, who 
 was known to be poor and proud, and to frequent the 
 houses where lived the women of the town ; and the ene- 
 mies, as well as many of the friends of Andrews, said, " he 
 had no business with such a woman," who was not of his 
 circle, and whom society of any pretensions knew nothing 
 about. It was true nothing could be charged against her 
 of a dishonest character ; still, she was known as an ex- 
 centric and unsocial person, and this in the opinion of 
 many should condemn her as " an unfit associate for a 
 young man like Andrews." The Catchpennys and the 
 Touchmenots were delighted at our hero's misadventure ; 
 and while the Touchmenots hoped he would not survive his 
 wounds, Mr. Catchpenny had determined to dismiss him 
 from his employ. Both his father and mother were over- 
 whelmed with grief, and Ida Robertson, who had professed 
 such a strong attachment, received the intelligence of his 
 turn of fortune with the heartless remark, " The fool, to 
 have had so little thought of me, thus to disgrace himself. 
 I must look me up some other love, for with all his genius 
 I could not wed him after such conduct. Agnes Farri- 
 day, indeed ! Some abandoned wretch, I doubt not." 
 Ida's love was not equal to the test which it had encoun- 
 tered. She never even went to his couch to offer him the 
 services of friendship, saying, he had no business at such 
 a woman's house as Agnes Farriday, of whom no one 
 knew any good, but suspected much evil. 
 
 Fortunately through the skill of the physician, and the 
 affectionate care of Agnes, the wound that threatened the
 
 THE TKITJMPH OF GENIUS. 119 
 
 death of Andrews did not prove mortal, which was a 
 grievous circumstance to his enemies, especially the Touch- 
 menots, who, to use their own words, " fairly loathed the 
 sight of him." He had been removed from the house of 
 Miss Farriday to that of his father, where he received 
 every attention which the love of doating parents could 
 bestow, coupled with the warm affection of Agnes, who 
 was ever by his side. Nothing annoyed him ; not even 
 the note from Catchpenny, who informed him that the 
 firm had no further need of his services. He knew he 
 had the love of Agnes ; and with that he felt confident he 
 should triumph over all his enemies, and beat down every 
 ill. 
 
 Ida was one of those women who constitute a very 
 large number in every community, whose love is most 
 tender where there is a prospect of being comfortably and 
 honorably settled in life, but who are without the least 
 ambition for martyrdom. Andrews was a dreamy, ideal- 
 istic man, who had no affinity whatever . for such gross- 
 ness ; but craved for a bosom companion and friend in 
 God, a soul fashioned like his own. He wanted a woman 
 who would live for him, not for the world ; who possessed 
 the courage and magnaminity to trust all to love and 
 Heaven. There was such a strange fascination in the 
 manner and mind of Agnes Farriday, that he experienced 
 a degree and kind of pleasure in contemplating her char- 
 acter, which never had been excited before. He felt the 
 deep, deep emotion of a deathless love. So sweet, invig- 
 oring, elevating, and sublime. It was the consciousness 
 that he had at length met with a being who could and 
 would understand him ; who would love and through all 
 trials fondly cherish him, that gave him the strength to 
 bear with perfect indifference the treatment of Messrs. 
 Catchpenny & Co. If he had lost his reputation he had 
 gained a higher life in God, through the mild exquisite 
 influence of a noble woman's genius and affection. What 
 cared he for the opinion of men since he was conscious of 
 no wrong, and had found a treasure, which has so often 
 baffled the eager search of wealth and fame, in every age 
 among every people. 
 
 Agnes Farriday was to William Andrews a beautiful
 
 120 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 reality, for which he had been looking since Nelly Penni- 
 man, the playmate of his boyhood, by her perfidy, had 
 taught him the value of a noble, sincere, and unselfish na- 
 ture. He had expected to meet with his mate, but when, 
 where, and how, he could not divine. It was noon ; the 
 rain was pouring down in torrents, and the wind blew 
 fearfully. William sat alone in his study which joined 
 his bed-room, writing in his journal. The entry was as 
 follows : " By the blessing of God I yet live to protect 
 my beloved Agnes ; she who has been so devoted to me, 
 and of whose tender love I am so unworthy. Rolston 
 has paid the penalty of his perfidy and ungoverned pas- 
 sion ; and Ida has been tested, and proved untrue. 
 Thank God for the revealment, so opportune." He 
 closed his journal, and putting it aside took up a portrait 
 of Ida which lay upon the table. He looked at it for a 
 moment, then muttering, " Out of my sight, wanton ! " 
 He threw it on the floor and broke it into pieces with his 
 boot-heel. "So perish!" he exclaimed, "the heartless 
 through the world ! Sweet, sweet Farriday," he con- 
 tinued, after a moment's pause, " thou art to this false 
 creature as the lily to the thistle ! How my soul exults 
 in thy perfections, scorned by those superficial worldlings 
 who cannot understand the depth of thy noble nature, 
 nor comprehend the grandeur of thy pure affections. But 
 unto me to me, oh, excellent, unselfish being, thou art 
 as sunlight ! The world has said," continued Andrews, 
 *' I am ambitious ; and so perhaps I am." 
 
 " But at best 'tis but a name ! 
 Praise when the ear has grown too dull to hear, 
 Gold when the senses it should please are dead ; 
 Wreaths when the hair they cover has grown grey; 
 Fame when the heart it should have thrill'd is numb. 
 All things but love, when love is all we want; 
 And close behind comes death, and ere we know, 
 That even these unavailing gifts we owe, 
 He sends us stripp'd and naked to the grave." 
 
 At this moment a tall portly lady entered the room 
 habited in a cloak, and apparently about forty-five years of 
 age, having a handsome, striking face, deeply marked with 
 sorrow. She advanced to Andrews and placing her hand on 
 his light curly hair, bent her stately form and kissed him :
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 121 
 
 " Oh, my son," said she, " how have you fallen ! Do 
 you realize it? " 
 
 " Sit down, good mother," replied the young man 
 tenderly, drawing a chair beside his own ; " do sit down ; 
 I wish to have a long talk with you. Do I realize my 
 misfortune ? Yes, indeed ; but I have only one regret 
 it is your sorrow, so plainly written on your counte- 
 nance." 
 
 " Yes, my dear boy, I feel keenly for you. You know 
 how great is my love. And should I not grieve when I 
 know the community in which you were once honored, 
 now contemn yoli as unworthy of trust. I know how 
 unjust this is, but others prefer to think you a knave." 
 
 " The slanderer ever loves a shining mark," responded 
 the son. " Be assured, good mother, I care not what the 
 world think of me, so long as I have a clear conscience, 
 and an equally clear head. The Touchmenots and the 
 Pennimans, 'tis they who have undone me. But I 
 should be as a man who understands the power of his own 
 soul, and is continually exerting that power for the pro- 
 motion of good ; who cherishes a deep and solemn sense 
 of the sacredness of duty, and never hesitates to discharge 
 that duty, be the consequences ever so injurious to his 
 interests ; who in matters of religion lends naught save a 
 deaf ear to the loud voice of sects, but scans the works 
 of nature, the revelations in Scripture, the deep reason- 
 ings of the human soul, who gives all truth a welcome, 
 how much soever it may conflict with his pride ; who re- 
 bukes all evil, whose sympathies are always with the down- 
 trod, injured, and depressed." 
 
 "How fortunate, my dear boy, had you never seen 
 Agnes," remarked Mrs. Andrews in tears. 
 
 "Yes, yes," rejoined the son ; "yet, I never was so 
 happy as now." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Andrews, much agitated ; 
 " Happy ! " 
 
 " Ay, good mother," replied the son ; " her love and 
 friendship is worth a world to me. Life without her 
 would be tame and tasteless. The Catchpennys, and all 
 other pennies may be hanged for aught I care, with 
 Agnes' bosom for my pillow." 
 6
 
 122 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 " How strange you talk," rejoined Mrs. Andrews ; " I 
 am amazed, provoked with you for thus trifling with my 
 feelings. You but jest." 
 
 " Indeed, I was never more in earnest in all my life," 
 returned the young man. " I love Agnes with a devotion, 
 such a soul can alone inspire, she is the very being I 
 have looked for in the ideal, never supposing I should 
 meet with the reality. I have been truly wretched, but 
 she, oh, she has made me so happy, so happy ! " 
 
 " You are certainly demented, mad, my dear son," 
 returned Mrs. Andrews, much agitated. " Agnes can never 
 purge herself of suspicion. Cease to think of her for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Not think of Agnes, my dearest mother ? " exclaimed 
 the son, bending forward in his chair. " Impossible ! 
 you might as well ask me to forget my God." 
 
 " You are lost entirely if you do not avoid that woman," 
 rejoined Mrs. Andrews, with tearful eyes. " Oh, my son, 
 how you have disappointed me." 
 
 " Don't weep, dear mother," returned he affectionately ; 
 " I beg of you do not weep, I'm so pained by your 
 tears. I did not seek Agnes, she came to me. And, oh, 
 if such a sweet creature can mislead man, then the world 
 has no loveliness and beauty that is not poison. Believe 
 me she is a good spirit, and Heaven has sent her to me 
 for a noble end." 
 
 " Why will you be so imaginative," rejoined Mrs. An- 
 drews ; " it is this force which seems to have obtained 
 such mastery over your reason, as really alarms me. One 
 may imagine anything, but how important to be rational." 
 
 " I see, I see," returned the son, nervously. " You 
 think I am too romantic. Ah, dear mother, would you 
 knew your son." 
 
 "And do I not?" interrogated Mrs. Andrews with 
 surprise. 
 
 " Of my inner life, my longings, my spirituality, I am 
 sure you know very little," replied the young man. 
 " You have never appeared thoroughly to understand my 
 desires my ambition." 
 
 " No ? then 'tis because you have never sought to ac- 
 quaint me ; " rejoined the mother, looking steadfastly at 
 her son.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 123 
 
 " I never seek to acquaint any one with my interior 
 life." returned our hero, in a low solemn tone. " Where I 
 perceive, however, the desire on the part of any congenial 
 mind to know me, I reveal myself. You think me strange, 
 but have never tried to understand why it is I am so." 
 
 " I have not aimed to pry into your thoughts, 'tis true," 
 replied Mrs. Andrews, " because I was unwilling to de- 
 sire what your love forme was not deep enough to offer." 
 
 " Ah, dear mother," returned the son, pressing her 
 hand, which he still retained in his, " you mistake my 
 love to doubt its strength. I know that I love you 
 truly, I know there is none upon this earth in whose 
 fidelity and sincerity I can place more implicit faith than 
 in yours. Still, you do not comprehend me. O, would 
 you did. A true artist, dear mother, whose soul is con- 
 stantly fixed on sublime themes, cannot be what material 
 men of active life term practical, which is what you would 
 have me to be." He paused for a moment, then conti- 
 nued. " True artists are God's especial ministers in the 
 interpretation of nature, and will ever appear strange to 
 those who do not comprehend them, and understand their 
 mission. My mind, dear mother, is a world of thought, 
 the least beauty of which is worth more to me than 
 ' golden opinions ' from all sorts of people." 
 
 " I am most unhappy to know you love so truly a 
 woman, who, after all, is but an adventuress ! She may or 
 may not be worthy of you," rejoined Mrs. Andrews. 
 
 " Is she not a lady ? " interrogated the son somewhat 
 sharply. " Have you not found her, in her intercourse 
 with you, during the time she was under your roof in 
 attendance on me, a woman of brilliant mind and power- 
 ful character ? Did you not feel her to be in every sense 
 your equal ? " 
 
 " My dear boy, I have no fault to find with Agnes more 
 than this," rejoined Mrs. Andrews ; " she is mysterious, 
 and may or may not be all she seems. But I'll say no more. 
 If she is the only woman you can love, do that which is for 
 your happiness." 
 
 Mrs. Andrews kissed her son's pale brow, and then 
 withdrew. 
 
 William sat for some time motionless in his chair, and
 
 124 THB PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 then suddenly starting up, muttered : " That voice again ! 
 Ah, it tells me ever to be true to Agnes, and so by my 
 soul, I will obey its just commands. "The young man be- 
 lieved in the power of spirits to impress his mind ; and 
 this voice he sc often heard, he thought to be his guardian 
 angel's. Undoubtedly spirits do communicate with mor- 
 tals, and have done so in every age of the world. The 
 Bible is full of spiritualism from beginning to end. Most 
 ancient history reveals the fact that angels came to the 
 inhabitants of this planet on errands of love and mercy. 
 Traditions existing in the Roman Catholic Church also 
 traditions of Indians, who received visions of their beau- 
 tiful spirit-land, with crystal streams meandering among 
 the hills and leaping o'er the crimson onyx stone ; tower 
 ing forests filled with warriors brave, and orators sublime 
 in their eloquence ; beautiful beasts, and birds with celes- 
 tial voices singing around bowers of love, these with 
 more modern facts, present a glimpse of that chain whose 
 links of Scriptural influences connects past generations to 
 the present, and elevate all in the great scale of progres- 
 sion. Numerous are the facts of past ages evincing the 
 influence of unseen spirits. No true poet ever wrote who 
 did not confess a high and holy inspiration poured into 
 his soul from an influence far above the material world. 
 Of what especial benefit, however, this present indis- 
 criminate consultation of the dead can be to humanity, is 
 to our comprehension not so clear. It is as much calcu- 
 lated to mislead as to direct aright ; and in very many 
 cases we should say, its evils may be incalculable. If 
 mankind are willing to submit themselves to the doctrines 
 of Christianity, to believe in the Scriptural plan of salva- 
 tion, to reverence and love Christ, that was the word with 
 God before the world was, we can see no reason why they 
 should seek or desire intercourse with the departed, whom 
 they cannot be certain are their friends, however conclu- 
 sive, apparently, may be the evidence ; for as to the means 
 of deception which these intelligences may make use of, 
 we are and must ever remain entirely ignorant. We 
 think when persons come calmly to consider of spiritual 
 intercouse, to reflect on the absurdity of giving themselves 
 up to the guidance of unknown powers, they will return
 
 THE TEITTMPH OF GENITTS. 125 
 
 to the quiet habits of mind, which an humble trust in the 
 divine promises of Jesus insure to the faithful. In this 
 life, while in this material and troublesome body, we are 
 shut off from the spirit world, and any attempt on our 
 part to commune with its intelligences, and to know of 
 the hereafter, more than we may learn by an earnest, close 
 study of the Scripture, is altogether idle and dangerous 
 to our peace of mind. It is enough for us to know, if we 
 perform our duties faithfully in this life, as sincere Chris- 
 tian men and women, that with the Father in Heaven, we 
 shall enjoy a condition which will be happiness. In seeking 
 communion with departed friends, there is an irresistible 
 impulse hard to overcome ; but, when it is remembered, 
 the gratification of this desire can result in no positive 
 assurance, that it is indeed with our friends that we have 
 held communion ; when' it is realized that the grossest 
 deceptions may be practised upon us, by those mysterious 
 agents ; when it is dispassionately considered that our 
 minds may be enfeebled and even deranged by such ex- 
 citing causes, we are of opinion that most of us, acting as 
 rational creatures, will refrain from seeking knowledge, 
 or consolation, or love, through such irresponsible and 
 unknown" sources. 
 
 It is true that in this life there is so much materiality, 
 so much in the practical concerns of society in direct 
 opposition to, and, we may say, at war with our better 
 natures, which the poetic sentiment embraces, so much to 
 disgust and dishearten us in the discharge of the gross 
 duties of the world, we feel it to be a great privilege to 
 be able to call up the spirits of friends whom we have 
 loved, to enjoy again their society. We fancy a purity 
 attaching itself to them which may be communicated to 
 us, and thus it is that very many turn to spiritualism as a 
 refuge from the grossness and moral deformity of earthly 
 cares, aims, and customs. But it is much better for us all 
 to stand our ground, and face sin with a bold front, bear- 
 ing up under its calamity as soldiers of the cross, seeking 
 spiritual aid and comfort from God above, whose tangible 
 form is in Jesus ! 
 
 There is all the spiritual support in the Bible which 
 any man or woman really needs. " Be thou faithful unto
 
 126 THE PEXNIMANS; OK, 
 
 the end, and I will give thee a crown of glory," are 
 words that should be written on the heart of every human 
 being who lacks firmness in his hopes of a hereafter. It 
 seems to us, that so long as we are in this world, 
 we should be engaged in the affairs of the world, sup- 
 pressing as much as possible our curiosity as to the next ; 
 we should endeavor to be faithful unto the end of this 
 life, knowing that we shall be glorified in the next. Now, 
 being faithful is to live in accordance with the divine will 
 as expressed in the Bible, which is to love our neighbors 
 as ourselves, and to do unto others as we would that they 
 should do unto us. We have only to obey this will, and 
 the necessity we feel for the spiritual aid from immortal 
 intelligences will not longer exist ; we shall find in our 
 fellow men a friendship and esteem, a love even, as sooth- 
 ing and sustaining as that is fotmd to be of " minister- 
 ing angels." Instead of striving while we are in the 
 body for communion with the unseen and unknown pow- 
 ers, let us do what we can through the doctrine and 
 spirit of Jesus, which is not unknown ! to improve the 
 minds and hearts of men by practising His virtues and 
 explaining his doctrine. 
 
 We have work enough to do, all of us, both old and 
 young, to evangelize the world. If departed spirits insist 
 on aiding us in this labor, it would be ungenerous and 
 selfish to disregard them ; but at the same time, we do 
 not hesitate to affirm, that the Bible is all powerful for 
 this object ; and mankind are fully competent under its 
 influence, of spiritualizing themselves without the assist- 
 ance of unseen forces, of whom we know nothing accurately. 
 
 William Andrews was one of those highly imaginative 
 and excitable beings, who delighted to feel himself in the 
 care of departed spirits ; he felt a peculiar charm in their so- 
 ciety, a pride in believing himself chosen by them in conse- 
 quence of the purity of his aspirations, which were those 
 of a refined genius. He was ambitious to do something 
 that would mark him as a man of thought and power ; but 
 what that something should be he had not yet determined. 
 At one time he concluded to go upon the stage ; then he 
 thought he would be a dramatic author ; he fancied he 
 was quite equal to writing the best plays, and that in this
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 127 
 
 way he might greatly benefit his fellow men, by combin- 
 ing in his productions, instructions as well as amusements. 
 Yes, he would certainly be an author ; but when he came 
 calmly to consider of the miseries of dramatic authorship, 
 when he remembered the peculiarties of actors, who most 
 always contrive to dodge, or embarrass new pieces they 
 are called to perform ; when he reflected upon the envy, 
 malice, the hatred which small critics, (who have never 
 been able to do anything praise-worthy for the stage.) 
 entertain towards successful authorship, he abandoned 
 the ambition at once, and laughed at himself for aspiring 
 to fame through the medium of the stage. It appeared 
 to him, in a cool dispassionate state of mind, supremely 
 absurd to look to such a thorny path for happiness. Yet 
 something he must be above the ordinary masses, as he 
 felt the power within him, and out it should come. He 
 would be a poet painter. He was sure in this field of 
 a triumph which would satisfy him. Sometimes the wish 
 was uppermost to return to mercantile life ; as, however, 
 he would come under such disadvantages in consequence 
 of his dismissal from Messrs. Catchpenny & Co.'s, he de- 
 cided not to re-enter that field. He would identify 
 himself with the domain of art ; with art and Agnes he 
 deemed he could be happy. Money was no particular 
 consideration with him, nor with Agnes. They did not 
 desire to live in style ; but simply comfortable. To be a 
 poet-painter, and to wear the laurels of an art hero, was 
 to be the future ambition of his life. 
 
 Having drawn himself close to the table whereon were 
 his books and writing materials, he dropped his head 
 upon his bosom, and sat in deep thought. Suddenly 
 starting up, he began to walk the room with his hands in 
 his pantaloon pockets, whilst tears trickled from his cheeks. 
 He paced the room many times, occasionally drawing a 
 long, deep sigh, followed by a convulsive movement of the 
 body. Now and then he would mutter : 
 
 " Oh, if she will be but true to me, what may I not 
 accomplish, with hope, patience, and perseverance ; but, 
 oh, if she should prove false let me not think on't. No, 
 no, I do but wrong her sweet, sweet creature ! " The 
 young man was greatly agitated ; he seemed convulsed
 
 128 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 in every limb. It was the working of a soul on fire in 
 contemplation of its destiny. He was overcharged as it 
 were, with thought of Agnes, the centre of his life, the 
 pillar of his strength, the sum total of his happiness. 
 Thus engaged we now leave him to advert to other 
 scenes.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' Not faster in the summer's ray 
 The spring's frail beauty fades away, 
 Than anguish and decay consume 
 The smiling virgin's rosy bloom." 
 
 THE Atlays was the only family to whom young An- 
 drews was personally known, who took any apparent 
 interest in his welfare. Both Charles Atlay and his father 
 were particularly kind, and offered to do anything in 
 their power to befriend him. Lucy, touched deeply by 
 the injustice of the Catchpennys, sent the aggrieved young 
 man the following lines from " Legends of the Isles : " 
 
 " If thou wouM'st win a lasting fame, 
 If thou the immortal wreath would claim, 
 And make the future bless thy name, 
 Begin thy perilous career ; 
 Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear, 
 And walk thy way without a fear. ' ' 
 
 These lines were very appropriate, and were most grate- 
 fully received. Lucy had always had a high regard for 
 young Andrews, and was suspected by her family of being 
 partially, if not deeply in love with him. So at all events 
 the Misses Catchpennys thought and even reported. These 
 people affected to regard the Atlays with contempt, whom 
 " they would not visit on any account." Our hero was 
 abused by all the Penniman set, as persistently as he was 
 praised by the Atlays. 
 
 He had a sad experience of the passion which prompts 
 calumny, but bore with the greatest patience the affliction 
 it had brought upon him. He had endeared himself to 
 Lucy by his gracious manners and his genial wit ; both 
 she and her family discredited entirely the charges against 
 him, and were confident he had been foully wronged. 
 One day as she sat alone in her chamber, her mother sud- 
 denly entered, and observing her daughter pale, dejected,
 
 130 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 and wiping a tear from her cheek, she affectionally pressed 
 her hand and inquired the cause of her sorrow. 
 
 " I am so sad to think," said Lucy, " that one so good, 
 so noble, so much above his fellows as William Andrews, 
 should meet with such injustice, such inhumanity from 
 those he so long and faithfully served." 
 
 " Well, my dear, what else can we expect from the 
 Catchpennys and their set ; " returned Mrs. Atlay. " You 
 know from such low people nothing high minded can be 
 expected." 
 
 " Very true," rejoined Lucy, " very true ; I am sur- 
 prised that he should have gone to service with them." 
 
 " Oh, but you don't understand, my dear, about this," 
 replied Mrs. Atlay, hurriedly. " When young men are 
 in want of situations, and can't afford to be particular, 
 they have to accept of such as may offer, without much 
 regard as to who and what their employers are, whether 
 Jew or Gentile, Infidel or Christian. So wags the world, 
 my dear so wags the world." 
 
 "A sad world it is," rejoined Lucy, drawing a low 
 sigh. 
 
 " Do not be so sad," returned the mother. " I fear 
 your thoughts are too much of Andrews. He is not a 
 man to marry a girl simply because she is interested in 
 him ; no, no." 
 
 " Not until of late have I found myself seriously en- 
 gaged with thoughts of him," returned Lucy ; " since all 
 the world seemed against him I have deeply pitied his lot, 
 and may add, loved the rare virtue of his manhood." 
 
 " You appear to think he is unloved, uncared for," 
 rejoined Mrs. Atlay. " Now, my dear Lucy, this is a 
 great mistake. Agnes Farriday, so report goes, is his 
 bosom friend, whom he loves devotedly, and intends to 
 marry." 
 
 " Marry ! " interrupted Lucy ; " no, no, that cannot 
 be ; he he, would not marry her ! The report cannot be 
 true ; I'll not believe one word of it." She spoke with 
 a good deal of warmth, and for the moment seemed alive 
 with indignation. 
 
 " The report originated with the Catchpennys," replied 
 Mrs. Atlay ; " they ought to know."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 131 
 
 " They ! " ejaculated Lucy. " The Catchpennys ? Why, 
 they are his bitter foes ; now, I am sure 'tis false." 
 
 " Don't be too certain ; we are all liable to mistakes," 
 rejoined Mrs. Atlay. 
 
 " We shall see," replied Lucy, distrustfully. " We shall 
 see. Time will reveal all things, and I predict in this 
 instance I shall be proved right." 
 
 The tea-bell at this moment rang sharply, when Lucy 
 and her mother, affectionately locked in each other's arms, 
 proceeded down stairs to join Mr. Atlay and Charles at 
 supper. 
 
 Lucy was at that period in the life of every true woman, 
 when moral and intellectual growth seems for the time to 
 cease 
 
 The vacant heart seeks for an occupant, a more inti- 
 mate companionship with the masculine mind, to start it 
 upon its second period of development. At this period 
 Lucy has arrived. She craved the society and love of one 
 in whom she could place entire confidence. In Andrews 
 she believed was such a man. She could not calmly bear 
 the reflection, that he might marry another. He had 
 often conversed with her ; he had often laughed and 
 walked with this lovely lady, whose soft blue eyes were 
 speaking pictures of innocent dreams, whose lips and 
 cheeks were redolent with beauty. 
 
 As she sat at the tea-table, with her father, mother and 
 brother Charles, she accidently brushed from the table a 
 china dish, which broke into many pieces. Stooping down 
 she picked up a fragment, and looking earnestly at her 
 father, said : 
 
 " Oh, father, you have indeed a careless daughter, who 
 fears, in time, even as this dish, she will be a fragment 
 only of herself." 
 
 " Nonsense, daughter, nonsense," returned Mr. Atlay. 
 " You've only to take in about a yard of those flowing 
 sleeves, and you'll last to a good old age. Let poetry 
 alone or you will go mad. I tell you, love, you read too 
 much of matter which has no practical bearing on 
 life ; and if you continue in this course you will bring 
 upon yourself much unhappiness, Do you not remember 
 how poor Chatterton, in the height of his misery, and on
 
 132 THE PENNTMANS; OB, 
 
 the eve of his sad death, wrote to a friend, in which letter 
 he ' damned the muses,' and declared them to be the nurse 
 of poverty and insanity. He certainly is good author- 
 ity.' 
 
 " That unfortunate youth," returned Lucy, " had ref- 
 ference to the writing of poetry, and not the reading or 
 study of it." 
 
 " It is all the same thing my love," exclaimed Mr. 
 Atlay. " It is deadly poison, and whether one is engaged 
 in its manufacture or use, their fate is the same. I ap- 
 peal to your mother and brother to sustain me." 
 
 " I have no hesitation in declaring it as my opinion that 
 no true poet, nor enthusiastic reader of poetry, is a sane 
 person," said Charles, as he passed his cup to be replen- 
 ished with tea. 
 
 " That is precisely what I think," remarked Mrs. At- 
 lay ; " and I have always regretted that Lucy passed so 
 much time with these imaginative authors." 
 
 "There, you see, Lucy, the majority is against you," 
 spoke Mr. Atlay, with the utmost good nature. 
 
 "Ay, sir," replied the daughter; "but you know 
 majorities are not always j'tts. I love the poets because 
 they carry me into the pure and exalted realms of fancy. 
 I know that while here, I am dead, as it were, to the 
 world of sense. Yet is it not, dear father, well, some- 
 times, to escape from earth and bask for a while in the 
 light of Heaven this light is true poetry ! " 
 
 " My dear girl," rejoined Mr. Atlay, "you are an en- 
 thusiast in this fascinating art you have been charmed 
 by it into a state of mind, against which I solemnly cau- 
 tion you. Fly these weird authors ; mix fully with cheer- 
 ful society ; and in time you will re-acquire a relish for 
 the dance, hot suppers, and all et ceteras, of what is 
 termed ' high life.' Don't continue to be a blue, I beg 
 of you. I should be so happy to see you once more as 
 you were just after leaving school sprightly and gay. 
 Now, dear, can you not gratify me ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear father, how unreasonable you are," 
 returned Lucy . " You might as well ask the leopard 
 to change his spots, as to ask me to re-enter the saloons 
 of fashion. I left them in disgust and forever ! Do not
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIT7S. 133 
 
 think I will consent to return ! Ask of me anything else, 
 and though it were to die for you, I would freely respond, 
 my dearest father 
 
 " ' All my life long 
 
 I have beheld with most respect, that woman, 
 Who knew herself, and knew the ways before her, 
 And from among them chose considerately 
 With a clear foresight, not a blind courage, 
 And having chosen with a steadfast mind, 
 Pursued her purposes.' " 
 
 This was an apt and very beautiful quotation, which at 
 once silenced Mr. Atlay. In all their disputations with 
 Lucy, she usually succeeded in maintaining her positions, 
 as she did on this present occasion. Never violent, she 
 was always firm and dignified, so that neither her parents, 
 nor brother, ever had cause to complain of a wound. 
 
 " By the way, my love, I saw your friend, Hamilton, 
 to-day," remarked Mr. Atlay, to his fair and accomplished 
 daughter ; " he and Andrews seem inseparable." 
 
 " I know not why it is, but of late Augustus has some- 
 what avoided me," rejoined Lucy. " Think how long it 
 is since his last visit. He is one of the most agreeable of 
 fellows, and writes the most exquisite sonnets. Petrarch's 
 are no better." 
 
 " Fudge," exclaimed Charles, "he's a mere lady's play- 
 thing a handsome beau. Such fellows are entirely in- 
 competent as husbands." 
 
 " Excellent ! my dear fellow," exclaimed Mr. Atlay ; 
 " You speak the truth. These milk-sops who are about 
 in society, with little or no real worth, elbowing their 
 betters, and with the most insufferable airs, should be put 
 in petticoats and made to do the work of house-maids, 
 being totally unfit for the employment of men ! " 
 
 " But Augustus Hamilton, my dear father, is no such 
 person," replied Lucy. 
 
 " Take my advice," spoke the brother, "' and give him 
 a wide birth,' as the sailors say. He writes poetry, and 
 that is enough to condemn any man ; for it is generally 
 believed that such fellows are never up to their work un- 
 less drunk inspiration comes only with their cups. As 
 for Andrews, he is about half deranged. I never saw a
 
 134 THE PENNIMANS; OK, * 
 
 person of such a changeable mood. At times I meet him 
 and he is full of good nature, quite communicative ; at 
 other times, taciturn and morose." 
 
 " Morose ! " exclaimed Lucy ; " William Andrews 
 morose ? No, no, it is not in his nature. . Would you 
 were .something of an artist, Charles. You would not 
 then call the melancholy of Andrews moroseness; he is 
 a thinker, a deep one, too ! " 
 
 " This deep thinking," said Mrs. Atlay, sarcastically, 
 "may account for his religious views and those of 
 Hamilton. You certainly cannot excuse their skepticism. 
 How often have we heard both of these young men defend 
 Theodore Parker's doctrine ; and while denouncing him 
 as an abolitionist, applauding him as a deist ! This Mr. 
 Parker I regard as one of the most dangerous teachers 
 we have ever had in our midst, because, while he rejects 
 the Bible as a standard of faith and the means of salva- 
 tion, he goes to its moral precepts to form the text and 
 the garnishing of his performances ; thereby stealing ' the 
 livery of Heaven to serve the devil in.' Nothing can be 
 more narrow and diabolical than his doctrine. ' Emanci- 
 pation from the Bible and the church,' is his battle cry ; 
 'down with the eclesiastical authority,' says he ; ' let men be 
 set loose from the old theological den.' Love of self is 
 his grand central point ; and as evidence of it, he 
 preaches not love in general, but only hatred of what is 
 not in conformity with his own notions of social and indi- 
 vidual requirement." 
 
 "You misunderstand this man;" returned Lucy, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " Why, my dear, I am astonished that you should de- 
 fend Mr. Parker. Nothing can be plainer than the state- 
 ment of his doctrine. He is an unqualified disbeliever in 
 all revealed religion. Nature and reason is his Bible 
 his only guide ! " replied Mrs. Atlay. 
 
 " I tell you again, Theodore Parker is not understood 
 fully," rejoined Lucy, with much earnestness. " That 
 he does not believe in the Scriptural plan of salvation, I 
 allow. He thinks this whole scheme the work of priest- 
 craft, and not the plan of God. He thinks, too, that man 
 may be his own Saviour, by the study and practice of vir-
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 135 
 
 tue. The doctrine he teaches is the doctrine he lives out ! 
 Both Andrews and Hamilton regard Mr. Parker as a man 
 of profound genius, and they are pleased to hear him 
 teach. They do not, however, sympathize with all hia 
 views, nor with his total rejection of the Bible as the re- 
 vealed word of God. They are eclectics, and believe good 
 may be gathered from all shades of religion. Both of 
 these young men I know to be honest Christians." 
 
 " Honest ! " reiterated Charles. " Well, it is refresh- 
 ing to hear any one speak of honest Christians ; it is, 
 indeed." 
 
 "Why, Charles!" exclaimed Mrs. Atlay. "Lucy, let 
 us not dispute this point any more we shall never agree, 
 I fear. Tell me why it is, Hamilton has so neglected you 
 of late. He has always been so regular in his visits." 
 
 " He is queer," responded the daughter ; " and pray, did 
 you ever see a man of parts who was otherwise ? The 
 truth is, where there are any intellectual endowments, there 
 is always a good deal of singularity. Think what a strange 
 being Shakspeare has made of Hamlet. This character 
 undoubtedly was the most profound creation of that won- 
 derful poet's teeming fancy." 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed Charles. " Macbeth, Macbeth ! " 
 
 " Why, brother ! " remarked Lucy, with astonishment. 
 " How coarse your taste ! " 
 
 " Why he should have failed as an actor, I cannot un- 
 derstand ;" spoke Mrs. Atlay, as she helped herself to a 
 piece of cake. 
 
 " 'Tis evident," said Charles, " he had no taste for the 
 sock and buskin, whereas he had a powerful genius for 
 authorship, but with all his genius, there were few plays 
 he wrote which exceed the scope of other men of his time." 
 
 " He was too great a poet for action," said Lucy. 
 " His strength was without the world of reality, and he 
 attained his lofty elevation only because he did not employ 
 his powers in bearing the burdens of earth." 
 
 " In what particular, my dear, do you conceive Shak- 
 speare to have surpassed other play- writers ? " interroga- 
 ted Mr. Atlay. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, by his power of the most accurate 
 observation," responded Lucy, " coupled with the pro-
 
 136 THE PENNIMANS ; OK, 
 
 foundest ability. Superior to all by his reason, he was 
 accessible to all by sympathy. Who has sketched human 
 nature as he ? Is it not strange that the drama, encour- 
 aged in its early rise in Greece, as it was, by the noblest 
 intellects, and in all subsequent time, numbering among 
 its supporters the most gifted of mankind, should meet 
 with so much opposition from the clergy, when this very 
 class of men in the Middle Ages, made use of the stage 
 for the mysteries and moralities, by which the people were 
 instructed in the leading facts of sacred history ? " 
 
 " If they could control it now, as then," said Charles, 
 " they would cry up, instead of crying down, dramatic 
 genius." 
 
 " They will never again, I apprehend, possess that 
 power, and they never should," returned Lucy. " The 
 drama is founded in mankind's love of the beautiful 
 and true ; it must riot be cramped by mere religionists 
 by fanatical priests ! It must be free ! It expresses 
 fully the ideal of man ! His wide sweeping love of the 
 beautiful and true, which is the very basis of all re- 
 ligion, and cannot be destroyed, for it is eternal ! Since, 
 then, the drama cannot be silenced, but with the destruc- 
 tion of the human soul, it should be made as ennobling as 
 possible, by receiving the support of the most cultivated 
 minds. Make the drama a purely classic power, and all 
 connected with it become elevated and noble ; but very 
 many people cannot comprehend the true mission of the 
 stage and art, in general. Talk of making art respectable, 
 and they smile incredulously ; denounce the proposition 
 an absurdity. They seem to entertain the idea that God 
 has created the poet, the painter, the sculptor, as tools for 
 the devil's use, rather than His own glory. When will 
 such absurd notions give place to more just conceptions 
 of the subject ? " 
 
 " Not until the love of art shall have gained a complete 
 hold of our people," said Mrs. Atlay. "Then will the 
 artist be loved and honored." 
 
 We do not deem it necessary to detain the reader longer 
 with the Atlays. It was a model family, of which there 
 are many in " Modern Athens." Blessed with a compe- 
 tence, and warm hearted, talented children, Mr. and Mrs.
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 137 
 
 Atlay were the personification of a " happy couple." 
 " Sure of their position," they envied not the position 
 of others, and while courteous to all, toadied to none. 
 Mrs. Atlay was a woman of fine presence, and had been 
 thoroughly educated. She treated with perfect indiffer- 
 ence the pretensions of the Pennimans, the Touchmenots, 
 the Catchpennys, and their pompous sets, which she term- 
 ed " Bostonians at large," as they were everywhere that 
 money could carry them ; now in Europe, then at home ; 
 then in the South, East, North and West, by turns. 
 Mrs. Atlay was facetious, but never vulgar ; there was 
 always the Attic salt to all her humor, even when pressed 
 by the most active passion. She had the greatest possible 
 aversion to busybodies, lying, gad-abouts, who, unqualified 
 for any useful pursuit, and quite incapable of attending to 
 their own affairs, undertake to arrange and to manage the 
 affairs of others. 
 
 The Atlays had been so beset by such plagues, that their 
 patience, fortitude, and forbearance had been sorely tried ; 
 but believing with Antisthenes the cynic, an adherent of 
 the doctrine of Socrates, that the greatest good was the 
 avoidance of evil, they kept out of the way of mischief- 
 makers as much as possible ; who are cowardly, reckless, 
 unscrupulous, and the embodiment of that active principle 
 of the human soul, vulgarly called the Devil ; carrying 
 strife and ruin wherever they go ; sundering friendships, 
 corrupting love, poisoning the spring of domestic happi- 
 ness ; rooting out all confidence between husband and 
 wife ; arraying children against their parents ; darkening 
 even the sun with the foul exhalations from their corrupt, 
 plutonian bodies ; confusing the good order of society ; 
 arraying man against his God ; bringing religion into con- 
 tempt ; plucking up the roses and planting thorns ; nurs- 
 ing hate wherever it may be hatched, with tenderest care 
 and solicitude ; exulting over the tribulation of the good ; 
 making merry where there is a heavy fall from influence 
 and power ; and, finally, doing all and everything but the 
 commandments of God. Such, my readers, you will find 
 as a rule the detestable character of the quid-nunc, or 
 busybody. Shun these wretches as you would the plague.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " My daughter oh, my daughter ! " 
 
 THE Pennimans had just received letters from their 
 daughter, Mrs McAlpm, who was at Rome. This young 
 couple had spent some time in England and France, en- 
 joying the hospitality of those to whom they had letters of 
 introduction. They were now in Italy, dear Italy, the land 
 of Poets, Painters, and Scholars, to which so many perform 
 a pilgrimage, who are familiar with the glorious past. 
 Young McAlpin, in a measure, was qualified to under- 
 stand and appreciate the classic renown of Italia ; he had 
 read the most approved authors, with more or less pleas- 
 ure ; but his mind was shallow, and consequently there 
 could be but little depth to his acquirements. He was 
 like many other young men who go abroad for travel, 
 much better off at home ; and for the reason, that travel, 
 instead of improving, spoils them, engendering a self- 
 conceit and self-sufficiency, rendering them extremely 
 ridiculous. Nelly's letters were very amusing ; Mrs. Pen- 
 niman thought them model ones, and read them to all her 
 friends. Mrs. Penniman said, that whatever pleased Aer, 
 must likewise be acceptable to all others ; she never stop- 
 ped to say, " by your leave," but took it for granted that 
 " the King can do no wrong." Here are the letters. 
 
 " Rome, Italy, Feb. , 18. 
 
 MY DEAR MAMMA : Well, here we are at last in the 
 eternal city ; both James and myself. My last was at 
 Venice, and the one before the last, was at Genoa. As 
 from you, I've nothing since I left, with dear James, la 
 belle France ! ! Oh, what a country France is ; my heav- 
 ens ! who would be an American, with a Europe on the
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 139 
 
 Globe. Paris, my goodness, what a city ! ! We had a 
 jolly time in Paris, I tell you ; but dear James troubled 
 me a good deal ; he will drink, notwithstanding all I say 
 to him ; and once or twice he has come home to our 
 pleasant apartments on the Rue Honore, very drunk, in- 
 deed ! ! ! I do the best I can for him ; bathe his head in 
 cold water, perfumed with violet, and give him an emetic; 
 in the moraing, ' hock and soda water,' which he likes, 
 because Byronic. I tell you what, Mamma, I have got 
 ' a mighty hard case,' for a husband, thanks to your 
 management ! ! ! I think, with all due deference to your 
 opinion, that this idea of marrying into ' blooded families,' 
 aint what it's cracked up to be ; and although I made a 
 lucky escape from Andrews, being now disgraced, hope- 
 lessly, as you write me, still, I am afraid I married in too 
 much of a hurry, and what is a great pity, I am ' in a 
 family way,' and expect to be confined in the Holy Land, 
 somewhere near Jerusalem. I hope, of course, for a boy, 
 and a prodigy. I pray that he may be a genius, for I do 
 want a genius so much. Is there not something charming 
 even in the word itself. But, you don't know how I fear 
 the child will inherit his father's love of rum his unfor- 
 tunate thirst, which God forbid ! We received a great 
 deal of attention whilst at Paris from the Fairlillies 
 and Dashmedowns of New Orleans, and the Bagpipes of 
 Boston. You know the family are mere upstarts ; but, as 
 they were kind to MS, you must do what you can for them, 
 at home advance them in society all they will bear. They 
 are very ambitious, and pushing ! Of the Greenbriars, I 
 must say a word. Mr. Greenbriar looks like a monkey. 
 You know his wife ; she is from Boston. It is amusing to 
 note their airs. They are laughed at a good deal, and 
 called ' Northern folks with Southern principles,' and 
 brilliant snobs ! Most everybody from the States gets 
 more or less fun poked at them, by the wits. These wits 
 are a nuisance. You never saw such a place for gossip. 
 People have nothing else to do but talk scandal, and go 
 about sight seeing, to eat frogs and ' get tight.' Just 
 think of it, dear mother, I ate frogs' legs for breakfast ! 
 and have imagined ever since, that they were trying to kick 
 my sides out ; but this is a notion, I am informed, peculiar
 
 140 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 to my delicate situation. Oh, mother, how I wish you 
 was with us ; how you would have enjoyed our passage 
 of the Alps ! and descent into the fertile plains of Lom- 
 bardy. James was so much ' carried away ' by a classic 
 furor at realizing himself to be on the ' battle ground of 
 centuries,' that for some time I was fearful he would have 
 fits ; for he had a bottle of champagne under his ribs, 
 which was fuel to the ' hot fire of his fancy.' It is with 
 the greatest difficulty that I manage to keep him ' out of 
 quarrels,' with those towards whom he conceives a dislike. 
 He is so pugnacious, and fearless he says, it's in his 
 family ; that his father and all his line ! were fighting 
 men ; but I sincerely hope he'll not ' get into any row,' 
 and make a widow of me ; although my chance would be 
 first-rate for another husband, almost anywhere in Eu- 
 rope. (This portion of the letter Mrs. Penniman, like a 
 prudent woman, was careful to skip.) 'Rome that sits 
 on her seven hills, and from her throne of beauty rules 
 the world,' is a great city, truly ; and St. Peter's ! Oh, 
 St. Peter's ! Angelo's master-work, which is the Pantheon 
 raised in Air ! just think of it ! what a genius he was ! It 
 is so grand ! that to see it alone, is worth a trip to Europe. 
 James has just stepped up to my elbow with Childe 
 Harold's Pilgrimage open at Canto 48th, and I cannot 
 resist the temptation to quote some lines on Italy, which 
 are so justly esteemed beautiful : 
 
 fair Italy ! 
 
 Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
 Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; 
 Even in thy desert what is like to thee ! 
 Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
 More rich than other climes' fertility; 
 Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
 With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced ! ' 
 
 Oh, you ought to see Santa Croce, where Angelo, Al- 
 fieri, and Galileo, who so alarmed the priestcraft with his 
 theory of the heavens, all lay entombed together, with 
 great Machiavelli, as he is called by the enthusiastic 
 Italians. Here is a squad of great men about as intimately 
 associated as persons ever get to be. You do not know 
 how perfectly furious husband was, to think that the re-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 141 
 
 mains of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio were not in 
 company with this most illustrious dust ! He raved like 
 a madman, and said the Italians were a set of scoundrels, 
 to tolerate this neglect. I am sorry to say, however, 
 James is always passionate over classic memories when 
 anything strikes him as wrong, particularly when he is 
 tight ! ' 
 
 At Argua we saw the tomb of Petrarch, whose love for 
 Laura is so much a matter of admiration, and deemed so 
 beautiful ; but to my mind Petrarch was not so much in 
 love, after all. The fact is, I don't believe such men, who 
 are forever with a pen in their hand, know anything about 
 real, genuine love. It is true, they write of it very well ; 
 but that's their business, in which they ought to be per- 
 fect. Ferrara ! My gracious, you ought to see Ferrara ; 
 it was here that Tasso was confined by that scapegrace 
 Alfonso. And Ravenna, too, this is a place worth seeing, 
 famous for the tomb of Dante. At Pansillipo we stood 
 by the tomb of Virgil. You never saw a fellow so carried 
 away as was James, whilst at this classic spot ; he swelled 
 with all the emotions of a scholar. It is a most romantic 
 place, and many are the laurel- wreaths that pilgrim hands, 
 from every clime, have strewed o'er the hallowed shrine 
 of Mantua's bard. Some worthless people have despoiled 
 the urn of its ashes. It rests in a rude building sheltered 
 by a rough rock, covered with mosses. 
 
 At Venice we stood upon the Bridge of Sighs, with the 
 ducal palace at one end, and dungeons at the other. Many 
 a poor creature has passed from one to the other, forsaken 
 and broken-hearted, to death. This Bridge of Sighs is a 
 covered gallery, some distance above the water. The pris- 
 oners were kept in places called " pozzi," wells sunk in 
 the thick walls of the palace, from whence they were 
 taken, and led across the gallery to the other side, and 
 strangled ! ! Just think of that, dear mother, what bru- 
 tality ! But it's just what one might expect from Italians ; 
 they look, one and all, like a set of cut-throats. 
 
 All through Italy each district has its hero. As to 
 cascades, my gracious ! what can equal the " Cascarta del 
 Marmoro," of Term. Switzerland, with all its torrents, 
 is nothing to this. The Carpo de Bove ! I wish you
 
 142 THE PENNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 could see the Carpo de Bove ; 'tis in the Appian Way, 
 and is the tomb of Cecilia Metella, the wife of one of the 
 wealthiest of Romans 'tis magnificent ! there is nothing 
 like it at home. Trajan's Column, one of the best of 
 Roman princes, is a noble shaft ; 'tis surmounted by St. 
 Peter ; the column to Aurelius, by St. Paul. The Pan- 
 theon is a fine structure ; we spent some time here think- 
 ing over its renown. The Latian Jupiter, on Alban Hill, 
 has been succeeded by a Convent ! ! James says, this is 
 shameful. The view from the top is grand, embracing 
 the Mediterranean. We spent a very pleasant hour here. 
 
 We have had a fine time in Italy, especially in Rome. 
 I am, however, disgusted with the Italians, degenerate 
 Romans, are they, indeed, else would they throw off the 
 bondage of foreign rule. So James declares, who swears 
 if he was an Italian, he would give the country no rest 
 until it was either free, or hopelessly enslaved. There 
 are some few Bostonians here ; nobody, however, that we 
 care to be intimate with; they are not persons of our 
 rank. There are many New Yorkers here, and some 
 Southerners, whom we much prefer to these " Boston 
 nobodies." 
 
 I am making this a very long letter, but the truth is, 
 I have a great deal to say. I will write soon again ; 
 adieu. James sends his love. You don't know how 
 sorry I am that he takes so much to brandy ; but one 
 thing is to his praise, he will drink nothing but the best. 
 He sends his love. We are rather short of funds, and 
 hope in a day or so to receive remittances. 
 
 Affectionately, 
 
 NELLY." 
 
 We will not detain the reader by giving any more of 
 the correspondence of Mrs. McAlpin. Mrs* Penniman 
 had received several letters from her daughter, since her 
 departure, one from London, and two or three from 
 France ; but none of them, as a whole, were more worthy 
 to be laid before the reader, than this one from Rome, 
 which we have presented. They were all, however, read 
 by Mrs. Penniman to her friends, with an equal degree 
 of satisfaction. Indeed, she thought them quite worthy
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 143 
 
 to be classed with the Correspondence of Lady Montagu ; 
 the letter from Rome she said was " the highest point 
 of excellence." " Her daughter," was ever on her lips ; 
 she was so beautiful, so accomplished, so well formed, 
 had such a pretty foot, such a sparkling eye, such a lofty 
 spirit, so sweet a voice, so happy a wit, so charming a 
 smile, and such a genteel laugh in fact was so perfect at 
 all points, that the modest and virtuous mother would 
 often say to herself, " well, I declare, I never thought Mr. 
 Penniman equal to all this." Of course such an idea, 
 " so shocking," as she would say to hear it spoken, never 
 passed her lips ; nor did many other beautiful samples of 
 her lucubrations ever find their way to the light of day. 
 She was a person who thought not only twice, but four 
 times twice, before she spoke, and whenever she did 
 speak, she gave mankind to understand 'twas Mrs. 
 Penniman. 
 
 " She had a certain way with her," which she declared 
 was expressive of her quality ; and whenever she was 
 thrown into the company of those, who did not appear to 
 endorse her pretensions, she would say " how uncomfort- 
 able to be among those whose inferiority is so palpable. 
 It is my misfortune once in a while, as it is all people of 
 rank to fall among dirt and ignorance, and so, too, it is 
 their especial happiness to get away from it as soon as 
 possible." There were many capital stories told of this 
 extensive lady, none of which are more humorous than 
 this to follow. She was out shopping one pleasant day 
 with her daughters, and among the numerous places, 
 where her expensive carriage was to be seen standing, 
 while her ladyship was absent in the store, was the shop 
 of a Jeweller a very clever, though sometimes testy 
 foreigner, who had frequently been honored with the 
 presence of Mrs. Penniman, and though never a dollar had 
 she dropped into his till, yet she had consumed much 
 of his time and put him to great inconvenience. 
 
 On this occasion she had fancied a handsome clock, but 
 she did not exactly know how it would appear on her 
 mantlepiece, and wished the Jeweller to send it at once 
 to her residence, on trial. The shopman looked at her 
 somewhat attentively, and then remarked :
 
 144 THE PENNIMANS ; OK, 
 
 " Marm, I should tink you could see, now, here, how 
 dis splended clock would look on vone mantlepiece ; it 
 must of course looks veil." 
 
 " I want at once this clock sent to my house, sir, and 
 if I like it I will keep it ; " returned the lady. 
 
 " Veil, how long vill you keep it widout pay. I vant 
 my pay ven I let my tings go from store." 
 
 " Sir, I am Mrs. Penniman, and pay for all I pur- 
 chase ; " responded the lady, in a very dignified manner. 
 
 " Yes, you pay for vat you purchase ; " returned the 
 Jeweller, " dat is veil. But if you take my clock and 
 keep it vone month, and no buy, dat I should not like ; 
 because oters might like to buy in all dat time, vile you 
 are looking at it on your vantelpiece." 
 
 " Sir," said the lady, indignantly, " I wish you to re- 
 member I am Mrs. Penniman of Penniman Square, and 
 will not be insulted in this manner. Everybody who 
 knows me, sir, is glad of my patronage, and want it 
 on any terms." 
 
 " Veil," said the shopman, his face crimsoned with pas- 
 sion, "I I dont vant it at all. I don't care vone 
 damn, if you are Mrs. Venniman ; or Mrs. Tennyman, or 
 vat de devil you are, you no cannot have my clock for 
 your vantelpiece over vone day." 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed Mrs. Penniman in a rage, " you are 
 a brute ! " and with this " she and her girls " walked out 
 of the store, as the Jeweller remarked : " I don't care 
 vone damn you can go to h 11, Mrs. Venniman. You 
 come to my store many times ; you no spend vone cent. 
 I no care vone damn, Mrs. Venniman!" 
 
 At these words the enraged trader ran his fingers 
 through his uncombed hair, and muttering to himself 
 some horrid oaths resumed his seat at the marble slab 
 where he was at work. Mrs. Penniman had often been 
 snubbed, but she had never received before so wholesome 
 a check, as this of the Jeweller's. With whomsoever, 
 and whatsoever she came in contact she wished to master ; 
 she desired all things and everybody to yield to her views ; 
 if they did not they were denounced and despised. 
 
 Many who were knowing to her weakness as respects 
 the estimation in which she held her children, especially
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 145 
 
 Nelly, whom she so much preferred, because she had won 
 the affections of the son of so popular a man as the Hon. 
 Mr. McAlpin, ' because, too, she had administered to her 
 highest ambition, which was to ally herself with " one of 
 the oldest and best blooded families of genius in the city." 
 
 Nelly had realized all this for her mamma, .and her 
 mamma thought her a perfect treasure. Of the many 
 letters which she had written to her daughter, since her 
 absence, we can in no better way entertain the reader 
 fur a few moments, than to give the one in answer to 
 that from Nelly, which has been presented. 
 
 Boston, , 18 . 
 
 My much loved, preferred accomplished and darling 
 
 daughter. 
 
 Your letters come to me like rain from heaven to dusty 
 streets. I am ever thursty, dry, in thought of you, dear. 
 (The reader will note the grammar in particular.) And 
 to think that you are to be cunfined, and I away from you, 
 'tis a pity and a shame, mind and keep up your spirits, 
 and dont for God sake, get cold when the child is born. 
 Keep warm wrap up in flannels or your after pains, 
 will be pains indeed, they will be killing pains. I don't 
 want to frighten you, but as it is your first child, you 
 must be careful. I had a terrible time with my first, 
 which as I have often told you did not live, and could 
 not live it had so much to incounter. Now, be you 
 cortious, and do just as your doctor tells you, provided he 
 does not tell you to do anything immodest, Some of 
 these wretches are exceedingly, out fat, (I believe that is 
 the french of what I would say,) that is, they are clever 
 at suggesting much to be done, of which there is not the 
 least necessity. You know how it often times is with 
 some dentists ; mind, I say some only, who when they 
 get a pritty woman in ether, they do just what they please. 
 But I think there are very few in Boston who are not safe. 
 
 If you should happen to have a boy, how glad I shall 
 be girls are not so desirable. You can do with a boy, 
 what you can't with a girl and girls, too, you know are 
 always liable to misgoes to get in love when they ought 
 not to, and often times to get into a peck of trouble out 
 of, as well as in, wedlock. If you have a boy, I shall 
 7
 
 146 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 deem it a God-send and the day of his birth will be 
 the happiest of my life it will, indeed. And if he 
 proves a genius worthy of our blood, and that of the 
 McAlpins, I shall fairly leap with joy. But, my dear, be 
 careful, be careful, and keep your bed, until ' all is well 
 over ' for if you get a cold, I shall never expect to set 
 eyes on you again. Everybody is enquiring about you ; 
 and want to know when you will return, but I tell them 
 what I please. They think you write equal to Lady 
 Montagu, and Look for a book of your travels. Do my 
 dear have letters prepared for the press. Your father, I 
 shall command, to furnish you with whatever money you 
 want ' to go through the press ; ' or through anything 
 else, that will make you famous. I am determined your 
 parts shall shine. What is the use in a woman's having 
 parts, unless she makes them known. The letters which 
 have of late been published are mere trash. The foolish 
 women who have edited them, I don't believe ever saw 
 Europe ; and compared to your genius, they are as dirt to 
 calf-foot jelly. I made this semmeli the other day to Mrs. 
 Touchmenot, and with her usual ridiculous air of pride, 
 she said ' beautiful, it is really fine.' 
 
 " You don't know how I despise all these people ; still, 
 they have position, my darling, and I must appear to re- 
 spect them. I don't know any one whom I love better 
 than myself, unless it is you. All the persons whom you 
 mention in your letter are mere upstarts ; they have con- 
 trived to get position by their money, but good Heavens ! 
 what is money without education, and refinement by na- 
 ture ! If nature don't make people gentle, what I wish 
 to learn, can. 
 
 " Andrews, and his lady love as they call her, (one 
 Agnes Farriday, a common thing ; they say a night- 
 walker,) is just now the ' town talk.' She is thought to 
 be as bad as any of the jvomen she pretends to reform. 
 Its all humbug the idea of such a creature reforming 
 any one. Andrews is lost, and hopelessly. What a 
 lucky escape you made ; thank Heaven for all such favors. 
 My dear you must say your prayers once in a while. I 
 know the gay life in which you are, does not dispose to 
 this ; but you must never forget your God, no, never : 
 He is my chief support : since I put no confidence in any
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. . 147 
 
 one but your father's pocket ; and if God forsakes us here, 
 we are forsaken, indeed. My dear, I find every day of my 
 life, money to be more, and more of an itim ; and to tell 
 you the truth, I don't think there is anything under the 
 sun, so great a specific for diseases in general as plenty to 
 eat and drink and attentions from those, who are one's 
 equals and superiors. 
 
 " People are buzzing about me, making my acquaint- 
 ance, and actually truckling to me in every way, for 
 favors ; they know we have wealth, you see ; and I know, 
 they will not get one cent of it further than I can get two 
 out of them. That is the way to do it, my dear. It is 
 well enough to be pleasant with those whose acquaintance 
 is desirable, but take care, they don't as your father says, 
 ' get a snap judgment ' on you, or, in no manner, ahead of 
 you. You see, as dollars constitute real sound respeta- 
 bility, we must be careful to make them all tell. And 
 whenever we find any one trying to spunge us, no matter 
 how well connected, or pretentious they are, that instant 
 we must mark them for inspection and inquiry. This is 
 the only way for one to keep up in Zi/e,-and so we have 
 had to manage all along. 
 
 " I'll give you all my experience in time, so that you 
 shall flourish upon it I trust with God's good grace, 
 forever ! I have no time to write you a longer letter ; 
 besides my finger my pen finger I mean, is so sore, I 
 could not if I had the time even write any more. Take 
 good care of James, and keep him from drink, for Hea- 
 ven's sake ! why, this is disgraceful. I wish I was with 
 you, I'd break every bottle I got hold of, or put into them 
 tartar emetic, or some other kind of compound that should 
 straighten him out or up, one or the other. I suppose if 
 he should die, you could easily get married as well. I 
 don't for a moment doubt this ; because you have to go 
 upon, the prastige of the McAlpin name ! and that is tre- 
 mendous ! much is in a name ! I don't care what to the 
 contrary the devilish poets say ; among whom is that 
 wretch of a Hamilton, the fact totum of Andrews, who 
 insulted you by predicting damnation for you at your wed- 
 ding. I think if the wretch was a woman, he'd have no 
 objection to as much of such damnation as yours, as he 
 could procure.
 
 148 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 " But these plebeians have I not had enough of them. 
 I am heartily sick of all such cattle. They envy what 
 they cannot attain poor devils, indeed. Love to An- 
 drews. Take good care of your baby, and don't take cold. 
 Let me know at once, what sort of luck you have a 
 boy, a boy, my kingdom for a boy ! Good bye. You 
 shall have remittances at once. J guide the purse. From 
 your dear, prayerful, devoted, MA.MA." 
 
 Such was Madam Penniman, and such was " her style," 
 and reader is it not a charming style, and is she not a 
 charming creature, " standing as she does at the head of 
 society." What a head, to be sure ; what a bosom, heart, 
 and soul ; who does not envy all this loveliness, and who, 
 O, who would not be a Penniman ! To be bowed obse- 
 quiously to, to be flattered, and feasted, courted and in 
 every manner to be informed, that one stands first ! Ay, 
 first ! at the very top of the ladder of good things ; plen- 
 ty to eat, and plenty to drink, and plenty to dare with, 
 even to the very point of shamelessnees ; yet, your position 
 is safe. You have money, you have impudence, you have 
 a certain qualtity of brain, which enables you to think 
 yourself of the highest consequence, whether you are so 
 or not. You can eat three good meals a day, you can 
 enjoy fully all physical delights, and some mental ones, 
 which are twins to the physique ; you can talk loud and 
 large ; you can backbite with a relish ; you can misapply 
 good actions, and scandalize worthy merit ; you can eat 
 hot pies, without suffering any ill effects ; you can be all 
 things unto all men ; piously Scriptural in this, if nothing 
 else ; you can be witty with a laugh loud and long, at 
 your own felicity ; you can go to the theatre, and be in- 
 structed and amused by incomparable genius, the especial 
 ministers of God ! you can then go home, and abuse the 
 stage, and denounce all connected with it as " cattle ; " a 
 most elegant, and natural expression in the mouths of the 
 Pennimans. You can " cut an acquaintance " in misfor- 
 tune ; and you can do a thousand other as meritorious 
 acts, at your august will and pleasure, and yet no one will 
 especially complain, since you are " certain of your posi- 
 tion," and in good credit with the Bar.
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENItTS. 149 
 
 
 
 This is life, the best of life, " the only life worth hav- 
 ing." Who would be just, who would be truly virtuous, 
 who would worship God as a verity ; who would be 
 natural; perfectly sincere; appearing just as they are; 
 doing not for effect, but every thing from a sense of actual 
 duty who would lead such a measly life as this ; " such 
 an existence is not worth having," who would be in 
 harmony with nature, and the daily companion of God ! 
 "Who would when they take the hand of a fellow being, 
 feel that it is indeed the hand of friendship that there 
 is between man and man a tie of sympathy, which must 
 last for aye, however disregarded and forgotten it may 
 be ? Not the " Penniman set," nor any other set, who 
 arrogate to themselves any special grace, because that they 
 are rich because that they can have peas when they first 
 come to market, and " fruit of the highest cost," be- 
 cause that they can control the banks and shave the notes 
 of needy men, with money from these banks unfairly 
 gained because they can wear kid gloves, French boots, 
 and pay for "an enormous wash" because that they 
 can insult the law, and employ able counsel to do the 
 amende honorable because they can make game of " in- 
 dustrious habits," and scoff at the sturdy arm of toil 
 because that they can cry up their own stupidity, and pass 
 it among themselves as current coin : Grace, indeed, is 
 theirs, because they can do all this, and much more, too 
 tedious to mention because they are incompetent to be 
 either truly men or women, but only the counterfeit of 
 them monstrosities of nature ! who daily falsify humani- 
 ty, and mock at those moral laws of Deity, which He has 
 written in every heart, and upon every window of the 
 soul : thus, it can look and perceive in no direction 
 without these holy lessons of love and truth, to guide 
 them on to happiness and perfect harmony, with that re- 
 splendent sun of the spiritual world, in the midst of which 
 the Creator dwells, and from which is dispersed His in- 
 fluence and his laws !
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " ANGELS do not always appear under a visible or sensible form, nor in 
 a figure uniformly the same, but they give proof of their presence by an 
 infinity of different ways by inspirations, by voices, by prodigies, by 
 miraculous effects, by predictions of the future, and other things hidden 
 and impenetrable to the human mind. The angel who might have killed 
 Balaam's ass was not at first perceived by the prophet. Daniel was the only 
 one who beheld the angel Gabriel. When the evils to fall on the family 
 of the high Priest Eli were told to Samuel, the young prophet saw no vis- 
 ible form; he only heard a voice." 
 
 ME. ANDKEWS had doted on his son, and had high ex- 
 pectations of his prospects in life, since he went into the 
 service of Messrs. Catchpenny & Co. It was with no 
 little difficulty that he succeeded in securing for him a 
 situation with this firm, as there was a number of appli- 
 cants, all of whom were young men of good ability and 
 prepossessing appearance. 
 
 Mr. Andrews had not been unobservant of the great 
 power of wealth, and the especial regard which was paid 
 to the representatives of it in " New England." He had 
 counselled his son by all honorable means to acquire it, 
 and when he placed him with Catchpenny, he believed 
 that he had put him on the road to fortune ; he was happy 
 in the thought ; for Mr. Andrews was a very " high spir- 
 ited man," and would have his son possessed of that 
 power, the want of which he had been so much in need 
 of himself, to command the consideration of our best 
 society. The loss of his situation with Catchpenny was 
 a great disappointment to the father, whose health, for 
 some time declining, now began rapidly to fail. 
 
 It was on a day about six weeks after young Andrews' 
 encounter with Rolston, in a room of the second story of 
 his father's dwelling, lay bolstered up in bed a man with 
 stern, though handsome features, and emaciated form, 
 whose breathing was exceedingly short and difficult, and 
 whose eye was dark and brilliant with soul. His hair 
 was partially grey ; his beard and moustache almost wholly 
 so.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 151 
 
 Beside him sat a young man and woman, in whose 
 countenances were the deep marks of sorrow, and with 
 whom the old gentleman was in conversation. It was 
 midnight, and a terrible storm raged without ; the light- 
 ning was never more vivid, nor the thunder more terrible ; 
 it shook the house from " turret to foundation stone." 
 The group of three whom we have mentioned were Agnes 
 Farriday, young Andrews, and his father. Mrs. Andrews, 
 exhausted by the care of her husband, had retired to bed 
 in a room adjoining. It was at the request of Mr. 
 Andrews that Agnes Farriday was present. The old 
 gentleman was dying ! and would not probably survive 
 the night ; but neither the son nor Agnes suspected his 
 end to be so near. After remaining some time silent, he 
 took the hand of William, and pressing it warmly in his 
 own, thus spoke : 
 
 " My noble boy, in you I have had many hopes." At 
 these words he motioned his son to draw near the bed- 
 side. He now placed his hand upon his head, and twin- 
 ing around his fore-finger a lock of the young man's light 
 glossy hair, he thus continued : 
 
 " They were, however, all of this world selfish and un- 
 christian ; I was ambitious that you should be in the material 
 world, a giant ; that you should be a rich man, ay, Willie, 
 rich ! and live in as much style as those heartless capital- 
 ists who make style their God ; but now that I know in this 
 my last sickness, from a vivid perception and realization 
 of spiritual truth, the utter worthlessness of worldly pos- 
 sessions, and the danger there is to the soul if oppressed 
 with too many material cares, I would say to you let love 
 be the governing principle of your life ; and seek rather 
 to be good than to be great. Be true to Agnes, as she 
 will be most true to you. She is one of the noblest of 
 women." 
 
 " Ah, sir, I have long been sensible of the worth of 
 sweet Agnes," rejoined the son ; " and she knows it too." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that I do," returned Agnes. 
 
 " Methinks, I see Throckmorton ;" said the father. "Yes, 
 here he is, beside my bed ; he smiles and shines with a 
 most peculiar light ; he takes my hand, and now he kisses 
 me ; tells me of his happiness, and says I soon shall be 
 able to go with him."
 
 152 THE PEXXIMANS; OR, 
 
 " Your sight must be most clear, sir, to see the poor 
 old beggar," remarked the young man, not a little sur- 
 prised at his father's speech. 
 
 " My sight is wondrous clear," rejoined the old gen- 
 tleman. " I can see through an immensity of space ; 
 there are many spirits in the distance ; but Throckmor- 
 ton alone is by me. He says, tell Willie, I love him as 
 myself, and that the poor old beggar whom he watched on 
 earth, does not forget him in his spirit sphere. Tell him, 
 too, that in Agnes he has found a treasure, in comparison 
 to which Nelly Penniman and Ida Robertson have little 
 or no value. Tell him, too, that he has genius, and one 
 to love him, capable of appreciating it. Tell him, I am 
 happy, and so will he be, when he shall see Christ, and 
 awake to the reality of his power." 
 
 " Oh, sir, this is indeed a great privilege, to see so 
 clear," said William. " I have always entertained the 
 hope of attaining to this." 
 
 "You will, my son," rejoined Mr. Andrews, "as your 
 mind more and more develops. Throckmorton thinks so 
 too." 
 
 " You know," said Agnes, " I have always thought you 
 would come to this state." 
 
 As she concluded, she remarked a strange appearance 
 in the face of Mr. Andrews, whom she thought dead. 
 She seized his hand ; it was icy cold. 
 
 The son raised his father's head, who, perceiving their 
 agitation, thus spoke : 
 
 " I am very weak, my children, and cannot long re- 
 main connected with the body. I shall leave you on 
 my way to a country where sorrow is not, nor unsatisfied 
 desires, where all is harmony ! " 
 
 ** Would we, too, might travel with you," rejoined the 
 son, in a soft, sweet tone. 
 
 " Be content to go when your appointed time arrives," 
 replied Mr. Andrews ; " be not impatient" 
 
 " What is death, sir, can you explain the process?" 
 interrogated Agnes. 
 
 " Yes, my love, oh, yes," replied the dying man. 
 " The philosophy of death is the philosophy of change ; 
 not of change in the constitution or personality of the
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 153 
 
 individual, but a change in the situation of the human 
 spiritual principle ; which, instead of being situated in an 
 earthly body, is placed in a spiritual organization ; and, 
 instead of living among the objects and personalities of 
 the planet upon which the individual spirit was born, its 
 situation is so altered as to fit it to live amidst more 
 beauteous forms, and in higher societies. Death causes 
 no more alteration in the condition of the individual, 
 than the bursting of a rose bud causes in the situation 
 and condition of the flower. 
 
 " Every thing is being incessantly ' born again,' or 
 changed from one state of being to another ; and this 
 change is accompanied, accomplished, and confirmed, by 
 transitional movements, or processes, which mankind term 
 death. In the last moments of outer life, the spiritual per- 
 ceptions are greatly expanded and illuminated, and the 
 spirit is thus rendered competent to behold the immense 
 possession of its second habitation." 
 
 Here the old gentleman suddenly stopped, and seemed 
 quite exhausted; he locked his hands in each other, and 
 placed them on his bosom, as if in prayer. William felt of 
 his pulse, and found an alarming degree of weakness. He 
 spoke to his father, but received no answer ; again and 
 again he spoke ; no answer. He saw there was yet life 
 in his parent, so slight, however, he scarcely expected 
 him to continue more than an hour. 
 
 " Had you not better wake your mother ? " inter- 
 rogated Agnes. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Mr. Andrews, " by no means, let her 
 sleep ; she needs it, and besides I know her to be per- 
 fectly reconciled to my departure. I wish to be silent a 
 few moments, when I will resume my discourse on death." 
 
 Some ten minutes elapsed, when, in a voice almost in- 
 audible, he continued his converse, during which time 
 Agnes and her lover were motionless, gazing with sad 
 countenances into the pallid and expressive face of Mr. 
 Andrews, who spoke as follows : 
 
 " The process of death is in this wise : First the 
 
 head of the body becomes suddenly enveloped in a fine, 
 
 soft, mellow, luminous atmosphere ; and, as instantly the 
 
 cerebrum and the cerebellum expand their most interior 
 
 7*
 
 154 THE PENNIMAXS ; OB, 
 
 portions ; they discontinue their appropriate galvanic func- 
 tions ; and then they become highly charged with the 
 vital electricity, and vital magnetism, which permeate 
 subordinate systems and structures; that is to say, the 
 brain, as a Avhole, suddenly declared itself to be tenfold 
 more positive over the lesser portions of the body than 
 it ever was during the period of health. This phenom- 
 enon invariably precedes physical dissolution. Now, the 
 process of dying, or of the spirit's departure from the 
 body, fully commences. The brain begins to attract the 
 elements of electricity, of magnetism, of motion, of life, 
 and of sensation, into its various and numerous depart- 
 ments. The head becomes intensely brilliant ; and just 
 in the same proportions the extremities of the organism 
 grow dark and cold, the brain appears light and ghw- 
 ing! Then, in the mellow spiritual atmosphere, which 
 emanates from and encircles the head, the indistinct out- 
 lines of the formation of another head may be seen ! 
 These super-sensuous processes are not visible to any one 
 except the spiritual perceptions be unfolded ; for material 
 eyes can .only behold material things, and spiritual eyes 
 can only behold spiritual things. This new head unfolds 
 more and more distinctly, and so indescribably compact, 
 and intensely brilliant does it become, that it is neither 
 to be seen through, nor gazed on, steadily, as one might 
 desire ; while this spiritual head is being eliminated and 
 organized from out of and above the material head, the 
 surrounding aromal atmosphere, emanating from the ma- 
 terial head, is in great commotion ; but as the new head 
 becomes more distinct and perfect, this brilliant atmos- 
 phere gradually disappears. This teaches us that those 
 aromal elements, which were in the beginning of the 
 metamorphoses attracted from the system into the brain, 
 and thence liminated in the form of an atmosphere, 
 were indissolubly united in accordance with the divine 
 principle of affinity in the universe, which pervades and 
 destinates every particle of matter, and develops the spir- 
 itual head of which I have spoken. In the identical 
 manner in which the spiritual head was unchangeably 
 organized, is unfolded, in their natural progressive order, 
 the harmonious development of the neck, the shoulders,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 155 
 
 the breast, and the entire spiritual organization. Whilst 
 this spiritual formation goes on visible to the spiritual 
 perceptions, alone, the material body manifests often 
 times to the outer visions of observers, many symptoms 
 of uneasiness and pain ; but these indications are totally 
 deceptive ; they are wholly caused by the departure of 
 the vital, or spiritual forces, from the extremities and 
 viscera, into the brain, and thence into the ascending 
 organism. 
 
 " The spirit arises at right angels over the head, or brain 
 of the deserted body. But immediately previous to the 
 final dissolution of the relationship which subsists be- 
 tween the spiritual and material bodies, there is playing 
 energetically between the feet of the elevated spiritual 
 body, and the head of the prostrate physical body, a bright 
 stream or current of vital electricity. 
 
 " The birth of a child into this world, and the birth of 
 the spirit from the material body, into a higher world, is 
 absolute and complete! even to the umbilical cord! 
 which is represented by the thread of vital electricity, 
 which for a few minutes subsists between and connects 
 the two organisms together. It sometimes happens that 
 immediately subsequent to the separation of the umbilical 
 thread, a portion of the vital electrical element passes 
 back into the earthly organism, and diffusing itself 
 through the entire structure, thus prevents immediate 
 decomposition. It is not proper, therefore, that a body 
 be deposited in the earth, until after decomposition has 
 positively commenced ; for, should there be no positive 
 evidences of such structural change, even though life 
 seems surely to have departed, it is not right to consign 
 the body to the grave. 
 
 " The umbilical life cord is sometimes not severed ; but 
 is drawn out into the finest possible medium of sym- 
 pathetic connection between the body and spirit. This 
 is invariably the case when individuals apparently die, 
 and, after being absent a few days, or hours, return as 
 from a peaceful journey, to relate their spiritual expe- 
 riences ; such phenomena are modernly termed, trances, 
 catalepsy, somnambulism and spiritual ecstases. There 
 are many different stages, or divisions of these states.
 
 156 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 But when the spirit is arrested in its flight from the body, 
 and when it is held in a transitional, or mediatorial state, 
 for only a few hours, or minutes, then the mind seldom 
 retains a recollection of its experience this state of 
 forgetfulness seems to a superficial observer, like anni- 
 hilation ; and this occasional suspension of consciousness, 
 or memory, is frequently made the foundation of many an 
 argument against the soul's immortal existence. 
 
 " It is when the spirit entirely leaves the body only 
 retaining proprietorship over it through the medium of 
 the unsevered umbilical thread, or electric wire, as it 
 might be called - that the soul is enabled to abandon 
 its earthly tenement and interests, for many hours or days, 
 and afterward to return to the earth, ladened with bright 
 and happy memories ! 
 
 " As soon as the spirit is wholly disengaged from the 
 tenacious physical body, it begins to breathe the most 
 interior, or spiritual portions of the surrounding terres- 
 trial atmosphere, and is perfectly identical in every pos- 
 sible particular improved and beautified with those 
 proportions which characterized its earthly organization. 
 That is to say, it possesses a heart, a stomach, a liver, 
 lungs, &c., &c., just as the natural body did, previous to 
 its death. This, my dear children, should be to you a 
 wondrous and consoling truth ! " 
 
 " It is, my dear father, I assure you," returned the son ; 
 " I have never heard anything more pleasing from mortal 
 lips." 
 
 " I shall always be near you. Farewell. Be true to 
 Agnes, and she will be a great joy to you." 
 
 Mr. Andrews never spoke again ; but after a few mo- 
 ments of struggle for breath, left the body, and joining 
 Throckmorton, passed on to his spirit home. 
 
 Agnes and William instinctively turned to each other 
 and embraced, with mingled affection and sorrow ; both 
 felt they had met with an irreparable loss, and could not 
 control their feelings. 
 
 Mr. Andrews was one of the best natured and most 
 gentlemanly of men, and although ' only an artist," was 
 a prince in all that pertains to manhood. 
 
 His death was sincerely and deeply mourned, not only
 
 THE TKIT7MPH OF GENIUS. 157 
 
 by his family, but by all who in any manner had experi- 
 enced the warmth of his sympathies, and the just senti- 
 ments he entertained towards all men. As his son gazed 
 upon his calm features, forever cast in the shade of physi- 
 cal death, he drew a deep sigh, and after a moment of 
 silence, placing his arm about the waist of Agnes, said, 
 in most tender tones : 
 
 " Agnes, you see before you the lifeless body of one, 
 who loved me tenderly ; who taught me truth as he had 
 reaped it from the Bible, constructed according to his own 
 apprehensions of the character of God, assisted by the 
 precious works of Swedenborg. Now that his lips are 
 sealed in death, I feel more than I can express, of vener- 
 ation for the beauty of his life. Agnes, it was so pure, 
 that e'en the running brook, wherein the pebbles at its 
 bed are seen, as though no water covered them, might 
 wish to be as free from stain. I here often asked myself 
 how could this be ; and once I said to him, ' Dear father, 
 I envy you' And why my son ? ' said he. ' Ah, sir,' I 
 replied. ' Because I see in you, a resignation to the will 
 of God to the natural laws, I may not hope to ever 
 make my own.' 
 
 " He, thereupon, turned to me, and taking me warmly by 
 the hand, remarked : * My dear son, I have come to the 
 possession of this temper after many years of struggle 
 fearful struggle with my will, to which was subjected my 
 understanding ; and this struggle began long ere you was 
 born, and ended not until you had grown far into boy- 
 hood. I ever thought of God, and wished to love him, 
 and know his laws, but could not, no Willie, I could not 
 until, ah, bless Him for that hour, I studied faithfully the 
 writings of Swedenborg. Here, oh, here I found my peace. 
 I found all that you so much envy. When you go to 
 him, your soul will be as mine, resigned to God and to 
 his just and beautiful laws.' " Now, that he has gone, and 
 has died in the full belief of all that he has spoken of 
 death, I am awake ^o the truth ; and, henceforth, I will 
 enter into those studies, which have made him so happy." 
 As he concluded, a tear rolled from his eye and turning 
 he met the gaze of his beautiful Agnes. Her countenance 
 beamed with the intellectuality of her brain. She pressed
 
 158 THE PENNIMAXS ; OK, 
 
 the young man to her bosom, and placing her head some- 
 what downward, and gazing steadfastly at him, said mild- 
 ly, " My love, to-day you have found God ! and that tear 
 which I note upon your cheek, should be one of joy, not 
 of sadness. Who could witness such a death as this, and 
 doubt of Heaven. Ah, my best and noblest friend well 
 mayst thou be proud of such a father. Even as he, I 
 found no peace, until I came to that fountain of lucid 
 teaching, which gleams resplendent in every page of 
 Swedenborg. How sublime is his interpretations of God's 
 love, and who, oh who, can realize the grandeur of his 
 mission, without tears, ay, copious, gushing tears, of 
 thankfulness for this refutation of error error, that for 
 ages had filled the world with darkness, savageness and 
 woe." 
 
 " Yes, my sweet one, clearly have I seen this error, and 
 .profoundly have I felt its degradation, its bitterness, and 
 hates," rejoined Andrews, " and I have wondered why all 
 this should be ; why there was not a spiritual Christianity, 
 that should unite all hearts, and in the eternal principle 
 of love, make mankind as one." 
 
 "In Swedenborg this Christianity is given," rejoined 
 Agnes ; " and any one who will earnestly strive to know 
 his doctrines will be made one with God, and be perfectly 
 happy. He makes Christ such a reality to man, and 
 proves him to be very God, of very God, indeed so conclu- 
 sively from the Scriptures, that he compels our love to 
 Him, and puts us in perfect concord with all his works." 
 
 Young Andrews affectionately kissed Agnes and thanked 
 her for her sentiments ; they were, he said, in unison with 
 his own ; then stooping down he kissed his father's blood- 
 less lips, saying, " Well done, thou good and faithful 
 servant, enter thou into the joys of thy Lord." Mrs. 
 Andrews, now entered the room, and beholding the corpse 
 of her husband, she raised her hands in prayer, and in a 
 low tone said : " Lord, not mine, but thy will be done." 
 
 Agnes at once went to her, and related the manner of 
 the old gentleman's death, so full of hope and peace. 
 Mrs. Andrews expressed herself as entirely resigned, and 
 hoped in the providence of God, she might soon follow 
 one with whom she had lived for so many years, in un-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 159 
 
 interrupted happiness. In due time Mr. Andrews was 
 buried, after the forms of the " new church," and laid to 
 rest among his kindred. On the marble slab which bore 
 his name and age and date of death, his son had caused 
 to be placed the following sentiment : 
 
 "None knew thee but to love thee, 
 None named thee but to praise."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Oh, for sweet nature's face ! " 
 
 MRS. Andrews had but a small property, and for econ- 
 omy's sake she determined to move into the country, now, 
 that she was deprived of Mr. Andrew's support, espe- 
 cially, too, as she was passionately fond of nature, and 
 loved its study ; besides, her son needed all she could 
 save for him. She rented a small house in Lexington, and 
 with no more delay than was absolutely necessary she took 
 possession, together with her son and Agnes, whom she 
 had become quite attached to, and time and time again 
 had said how much " she regretted ever having entertained 
 the least doubt of her honor and purposes." The cottage 
 which they occupied was surrounded by very pretty 
 grounds, and near and about the premises were fine 
 trees, and a well ordered garden. Agnes was familiar 
 with Bacon's instructions on gardening, and as she hon- 
 ored to a degree of uncommon respect the great philoso- 
 pher, who revolutionized the ancient systems of Aristotle, 
 and gave to science that objectivity, from which has 
 sprung in a very great measure our present advanced civ- 
 ilization, she determined to persuade Mrs. Andrews to let 
 her Baconize the entire estate, which the good lady was 
 only too ready to do, since she thought " her Agnes one 
 of the most fascinating women in the world," and often 
 would say to her son " Willie, if you had not have 
 clung to Agnes, I would have boxed your ears, and that 
 too, soundly, had I ever come to a knowledge of her, as 
 I now have." " Yes, I knew that very well," the son 
 would reply, and therefore I determined to please you. 
 I was assured that when Agnes and you came to be well 
 acquainted, there would be no two persons in life more 
 inseparable." And so in truth, it was. Mrs. Andrews
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEIflUS. 161 
 
 could not bear to have Agnes spend even one day away 
 from her, but wherever Agnes went, she, too, must fol- 
 low : happily the young woman was always pleased to 
 humor the mother, for she dearly loved the son, and for 
 his sake, if not from any other consideration, she de- 
 lighted to gratify in all matters the one who had borne in 
 her body, a soul so noble as his, with whom her fate was 
 to be forever cast. Passionately fond of flowers, she cul- 
 tivated them with great care. Her taste and skill in the 
 art of gardening was proverbial ; the neighbors all about 
 were ever more pleased to have a bouquet from Agnes' 
 garden than from any other ; and many were the persons 
 residing in the city who were furnished with these cheer- 
 ful offsprings of nature, from her teeming flower beds, 
 and by her own small soft hand. 
 
 While her lover was all absorbed in the study of Law, 
 she was (besides interesting herself in his pursuits and 
 materially assisting him thereby) equally engaged with 
 the mysteries of gardening and agriculture. Both of them 
 were poetical, and were ardent worshippers at the shrine of 
 art ; but she did all she could to restrain our hero in this 
 attachment ; for, she would say, " if, my dear friend, your 
 ambition is to achieve power, your entire energies should 
 be bent on politics and Jurisprudence you should let 
 art alone, as a study, or a practice ; for you know, how 
 impossible it is for a man of genius to turn his attention 
 to art, and not weaken his powers for active employment. 
 And then, too, what are artists ? ' God's own, you will 
 say.' " Yes, I admit it, but those who would escape the 
 impositions of mere sensual life, will never make art a 
 profession ; nor will they incur the risk of this, by a 
 too close and exclusive study of it." Thus would Agnes 
 spur her lover on in the path to fame which he had chosen. 
 
 As he was seated one afternoon in the month of leafy 
 June, with Agnes by his side, in a room which looked 
 towards the west, where slowly declined the genial sun, 
 soon to disappear behind the distant hills, Agnes, placing 
 her arms about his neck, kissed him tenderly, saying : 
 
 " Shut up your book, love, you have studied enough 
 to-day. Here is Juvenal, the prince of Satirists and 
 good-fellows; read now a little of him."
 
 162 THE PENNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 " Pardon me, my sweet one," replied Andrews ; " let 
 us talk a while." 
 
 " Oh, yes," returned Miss Farriday ; " your will is 
 mine. You know we sometimes agree ; " and as she said 
 this, she looked affectionately at the young man and 
 smiled ; then continued, " Would you could afford to be 
 as bold as Juvenal" 
 
 " Ah, love, I would I could ! " exclaimed Andrews. 
 " But I must be politic ; I must make friends. I have 
 little or nothing to depend on but the profession I am 
 preparing to enter, with you aud mother to support. I 
 must make friends ; but when I have made my mark, 
 and am independent in a measure of policy, I will hurl 
 at- meanness and hypocrisy a thunderbolt that shall dash 
 them to pieces ! " He paused a moment, then continued, 
 " That is really a beautiful letter you have received from 
 Irene Caruthers to-day, who, through your influence, was 
 induced to abandon a life of crime for one of purity ; do 
 read it to me again." 
 
 " Certainly," rejoined Agnes, as she laid down her work, 
 and thrusting her hand into the reticule, pulled forth the 
 letter, which read as follows : 
 
 * Burlington, June , 18 . 
 
 MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND : It is some time since I had 
 the pleasure of a friendly word from you ; but I am sure 
 you have not forgotten me, and this will be proof positive 
 that I have not forgotten you. Oh, how could I forget 
 so pure and sweet a being. Ah, my dear friend, how 
 little the world knows of the beauty of your character ; 
 but / know of it, and so does God ! who has a reward 
 laid up for you in Heaven. I am a successful teacher 
 now, and all my scholars love me very much ; and what 
 you will be surprised to hear, I am going to be married to 
 a talented lawyer, with whom I am sure I shall be most 
 happy ; and for this happiness I am indebted to you, 
 dearest and best of friends. May God bless and prosper 
 you. I am glad that your plague, Mr. Rolston, is dead. 
 Mr. Andrews and yourself may now live in peace. I have 
 been successful in reforming several girls, who had aban- 
 doned themselves, even as I abandoned myself, to crime,
 
 THE TKIUilPH OF GENIUS. 163 
 
 for the means of a support ; they are now happy in well- 
 doing, and love me for my kindness to them, even as I 
 love you, dearest Agnes, for your goodness to me. When 
 I think how much wretchedness there is in Boston, in 
 consequence of prostitution ; of the generous-hearted and 
 well-informed women who are hurried into it, from neces- 
 sity, as they deem, my heart aches and my blood freezes, 
 that it should be so ; and I am almost resolved to devote 
 myself to their service. This I would do willingly, if 
 there was suitable homes for them in, or near Boston, to 
 to which I could influence them to go, and where they 
 could be rendered comfortable, and be provided with the 
 means of honest support. I am sure such institutions 
 would be most effectual in redeeming many a poor, for- 
 saken, and suffering soul from a life of unspeakable irysery. 
 It is a very easy matter to say to the courtezan, come out 
 of your evil habits ; but they who indeed desire their 
 reformation, will place the means fully in their power. 
 Give them homes ! homes ! where they will find a com- 
 fortable bed, wholesome food, and friendly counsel. Cer- 
 tainly this is not expecting too much of our humanity, 
 when it is borne in mind how much our blessed Saviour 
 sacrificed of personal dignity, in dying upon the cross to 
 symbolize his love for mankind. When, ph when, shall 
 we come to believe that in doing good, we serve directly 
 our Lord. I am sure, if persons who claim to be Chris- 
 tians, were in reality such, they would do all in their 
 power to aid the women who are leading a life of prosti- 
 tution,, to purge themselves of their sins, and return to a 
 godly existence. How many, ah, how many, long for 
 some friendly hand to grasp, that by it they may be drawn 
 out of the pollution, into which a hard struggle with the 
 world has forced them. I know, my dear, dear Agnes, 
 you will do all in your power for this unfortunate class 
 of beings, and so will dear Mr. Andrews. I know he 
 has a noble soul, and needs but the opportunity to do, to 
 accomplish much, in behalf of the poor and fallen. I, oh 
 I, who have been raised up from degradation by your 
 sweet mind, and generous heart, feel, and oh, how deeply ! 
 the greatness of the blessing conferred ; and this makes 
 me only the more desirous that others, who would be
 
 164 THE PENNIMANS; OE, 
 
 glad to live honestly, may have the opportunity offered 
 them. Think, oh think, how many of God's children are 
 waiting for human aid to reform, and live as Christians in 
 a Christian land. I have often thought with what heart- 
 felt understanding the poor harlot, weary of her ways, 
 might repeat that touching stanza of Goldsmith's, which 
 runs as follows : 
 
 ' And what is friendship but a name, 
 
 A charm that lulls to sleep 
 A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
 But leaves the wretch to weep.' 
 
 Let us, dear Agnes, do all within our power to aid and 
 cheer those unfortunate women, who sincerely desire to 
 be at peace with their God. 
 
 Though life be dark with grief and crime, 
 
 Though virtue wait and suffer long, 
 Yet e'er the end, the lapse of time, 
 
 Confirms the right, confounds the wrong. 
 
 Truth must prevail. Meanwhile, endure, 
 Of worldly peace let worldlings boast ; 
 
 Amid the storms of life, be sure, 
 The loftiest spirits suffer most.' 
 
 I cannot express to you the joy I experience, in having 
 found a kindred soul for a husband. I have acquainted 
 him with my past life, and your kindness towards me in 
 particular ; and notwithstanding what I have been, he 
 says, I am dear to his heart, and he could not be happy 
 without me. He says, too, he shall not be contented 
 until he has seen you, and, to use his own words, ' kissed 
 and thanked you heartily, for saving from utter depravity 
 the only woman he ever desired to love.' Oh, my dear 
 Agnes, you do not know how much Mr. Frazar prizes 
 you. I am to be married soon, when we shall go to Bqs- 
 ton, and perhaps as far as Philadelphia. How glad I 
 shall be once again to press your hand, and hear your 
 sweet, kind voice. Adieu. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 IKENE CAEUTHEES." 
 
 "A worthy woman," said Andrews, as Agnes concluded 
 the letter.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 165 
 
 " Was there ever a more grateful creature than Irene," 
 returned Agnes ; " it is an unspeakable pleasure, I do 
 assure you, this letter. Indeed they all love me very 
 much, whom 1 befriended, and persuaded from a vicious 
 life. I have experienced no ingratitude from them, what- 
 ever." 
 
 " You will be encouraged then to do further for this 
 class of wretched women?" rejoined the lover. 
 
 " Indeed, I shall," replied Agnes ; " for I know of no 
 greater happiness than being instrumental, under God, 
 of redeeming the fallen ; and woman, too ! whose lot is 
 so hard. 
 
 'Loving again, to be again undone.' 
 
 This, my dear friend, is the fate of more women, than 
 those who pay little or no attention to the well-being of 
 society have the least idea of. The ranks of prostitution 
 are filled with many a Julia, who loved not wisely, but 
 too well." 
 
 " 1 doubt it not," returned Andrews, earnestly. " If 
 God spares my life, and I obtain among men any influ- 
 ence, it shall be used in defence of these poor forsaken 
 creatures, who meet with so little sympathy from the 
 world in general. I will not rest satisfied until I have 
 secured for them a home, based upon true and generous 
 principles, where they may find friendly counsel, and the 
 means of being virtuous and comparatively happy. If I 
 can effect this much good for them, I shall feel that my 
 life has not been altogether an idle one." 
 
 " I pray heartily for your success," rejoined Agnes. 
 
 At this moment the lovers were interrupted by the 
 entrance of Mrs. McAlpin, who had just returned from 
 Europe in company with her husband, whose dissipated 
 habits had grown upon him to a fearful extent.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " HAVE you ever observed," said Lord Byron to Lady Blessington, " the 
 extreme dread that parvenus have, of saying aught that approaches the 
 vulgar. In manners, letters, conversations, nay even in literature, they 
 are always superfine ; and a man of birth would use unconsciously a thou- 
 sand dubious phrases sooner thau a parvenu would risk the probability of 
 being suspected of one." 
 
 YOUNG Andrews for an instant lost his self-possession, 
 but recovering himself almost immediately, he received 
 his former playmate, Nelly Penniman, with the dignity 
 which became him under the circumstances. Nelly saw 
 at once he had not forgotten her conduct, which she had 
 many times regretted, since her marriage to McAlpin ; 
 but she was a woman of the world, and therefore was not 
 at all embarrassed at his distant manner. She was seated 
 near to Agnes, to Whom she had just been introduced, 
 and soon fell into conversation with her, in the course of 
 which she related many pleasant incidents of her travels, 
 and rather prepossessed Miss Farriday in her favor. Wil- 
 liam listened, but said very little ; no more than he was 
 obliged to, in common courtesy. 
 
 " I really believe," said Nelly, twisting herself in her. 
 chair. " I really believe I have annoyed you both nearly 
 to death with my chit-chat ; but you know when one has 
 been all over Europe, and seen and heard so much, it is 
 quite impossible to resist the temptation to talk, even 
 though it amounts to nothing, in a business point of view, 
 as Mr. Andrews might think, perhaps." 
 
 *' Never mind me, my ladyship," returned Andrews. 
 " You know I was never anybody." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Andrews, you have not forgotten, I see, the 
 art of saying smart things," rejoined Mrs. McAlpin. 
 " You should travel in Europe, if you would be polished in 
 this particular." 
 
 " Indeed," returned William, " that being the case, 
 I wish I had some of the wealth in the name of some of
 
 THE TUITTMPH OF GENIUS. 167 
 
 our city nobs. Faith, I believe for the sake of a little 
 European lustre, I would turn sycophant, and toady 
 awhile, if I thought this would enable me to carry my 
 point." 
 
 " Toady ! " reiterated the lady, evidently chagrined. 
 " Why, do gentlemen toady ? " 
 
 " Ay !" replied Andrews, firmly. "-Were I to count 
 up the number of toadies in what is termed ' fashionable 
 life,' to each ' live head,' there would be at least ten 
 ' dead heads.' " 
 
 " What am I to understand by dead head ? " interro- 
 gated Mrs. McAlpin, with considerable dignity. 
 
 " Why, ' dead heads ' are persons who assume to be 
 somebodies, when in fact they are nobodies," replied An- 
 drews, his eye fixed on Nelly ; " but pass in society and 
 the world in general, on others merit. Your husband, for 
 instance, is a ' dead head,' " 
 
 " What, Mr. Andrews ! " exclaimed Nelly, quite ex- 
 cited. " I thought you a gentleman, sir. I find I am 
 mistaken. You would not dare say this to Mr. McAlpin's 
 face." 
 
 " You scarcely can conceive what I dare do, Madam," 
 rejoined Andrews. " If I am not a gentleman, it is be- 
 cause I have been foully wronged. Perhaps you may 
 guess my meaning." 
 
 " Guess ! " reiterated Mrs. McAlpin. " That is a Yan- 
 keeism I have ceased to know anything about, sir ; and 
 'tis a pity you are not more refined. Mother always said 
 ' you were of a vulgar cast.' " 
 
 " And pray what else did your mother say ? " rejoined 
 the young man, petulantly. " I always believed her to 
 be an oracle, and have ever been most interested in her 
 sayings." 
 
 " Well, sir, she told me not to go near you," exclaimed 
 Nelly. " And I am only sorry I did not observe her ad- 
 vice." 
 
 " Oh, do not get excited ; the day is warm, you had 
 much better keep cool as possible," returned Andrews. 
 
 " She told me not to go near you," continued Mrs. 
 McAlpin. " But I was so sorry to know you were in a 
 distressed condition, that I could not refrain from calling to
 
 168 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 see yon, for the purpose of doing the offices of friendship. 
 I am satisfied, however, you are all unworthy any such 
 attention." 
 
 " You have heen quick to ascertain so much," rejoined 
 the young man. " Are you not mistaken, though. Come 
 now, be just ; do you not owe me every in thing chanty ? 
 You have not treated me well. I came out to see you in 
 kindness. You have received me spitefully." 
 
 Nelly paused for a moment, then resumed : " You do 
 not appear to have forgiven a girlish folly." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have. I forgive all those who play the 
 fool, even though I am thereby a heavy loser," rejoined 
 Andrews. " Certainly, I forgive you, Mrs. McAlpin ; but 
 I must confess you have brought with you from Europe, 
 a certain enlargement of self-esteem, which I do not at all 
 relish. For we are plain people in this cottage. My 
 mother, Miss Farriday, and myself, like to be impressed 
 by the manner of all who visit us, with the idea that we 
 are at least their equals. The fact is, Mrs. McAlpin, we 
 do not owe a dollar in the world ; we are not so poor as 
 you think us. We can take care of ourselves ; and, though 
 it was very kind in you to call upon us in the spirit of 
 charity, with alms ready to bestow, yet, be assured we 
 should not, under any circumstances, place ourselves 
 under obligations to any one whom we could not love, 
 and feel a pleasure in acknowledging their friendship." 
 
 " Ah, well, this is just what one gets for being offici- 
 ously kind," rejoined Nelly. "As to my manners, sir, 
 they will continue the same, and I shall he very careful in 
 future, not to put myself in the way of people whom they 
 offend, e'en though for charity's sake." 
 
 " "Tis best, madam, that you should not," said Agnes, 
 who had patiently listened to what was passing. " Much 
 better, as the circle which you adorn hath but little in 
 common with the great interests of humanity, and when- 
 ever it attempts to be generous, only appears ridiculous. 
 Now I say this to you in all friendship, because humble 
 as I am, I may yet give even to as elegant a lady as your- 
 self some useful hints." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," rejoined Mrs. McAlpin, apparently 
 not perceiving the force of Agnes's words. " Yet you have
 
 THE THIUMPH OF GENIUS. 169 
 
 no idea how much one picks up of sensible things in a 
 tour through Europe. I wish you could afford to go." 
 
 " It must be expensive, then, I should judge," returned 
 Agnes, laughing the while in her sleeve. 
 
 " Oh, very," replied Mrs. McAlpin. " You have no 
 idea of the expense. Why, it has cost us no less than 
 between six and seven thousand dollars just for the time 
 we were absent." 
 
 " That sum would have clothed and fed a great many 
 poor," rejoined Agnes. 
 
 " Yes, that is true," returned Mrs. McAlpin. " But 
 if one is ever to be thinking of the poor, whom it seems 
 to me are ' unnecessarily numerous,' there would be little 
 real enjoyment for those who have the industry to make 
 money. It would be give, give, give the whole time, 
 indeed, there would be ' no end of giving.' But I have 
 no more time to spend with you. I came here for a good 
 object, and instead of being treated with the deference 
 my position deserves, I have been used most shamefully. 
 But Mr. McAlpin shall learn of it, be assured of that, 
 Mr. Andrews." 
 
 As she concluded, she rose from her seat, and in the 
 most dignified manner walked out of the house. At 
 the door was a splendid carriage, in which a lady was 
 seated, dressed in black. Nelly entered the carriage, and 
 ordered the coachman to drive away. 
 
 She had no sooner left the house, than Andrews burst 
 into a hearty laugh, in which Agnes joined. 
 
 " What an absurd specimen of a travelled lady," re- 
 marked he. " Upon my word, I never saw so much 
 flummery packed in and on a person in all my life. Who 
 do you suppose the lady to be, who remained in the car- 
 riage ? " 
 
 " I am sure I can't imagine ; some late arrival, no 
 doubt ; " returned Agues. 
 
 " I'll tell you," rejoined Mr. Andrews. " That was 
 Miss Touchmenot, who is soon to marry a man-monkey 
 by the name of Sampson, which she insists is such a vul- 
 gar name, that it shall be Frenchified, and pronounced 
 Sampsone." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " exclaimed Agnes, as she laughed most 
 heartily. " What a perfect fool." 
 8
 
 170 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 " Of course, love ; but then she came honestly by her 
 nonsense," rejoined Andrews. " Her mother is one of 
 the most absurd of women, and as to the father, he cannot 
 write the English language, nor any other language with 
 propriety." 
 
 " And yet they set themselves up for somebodies," re- 
 turned Agnes. " Style themselves the elite, do they 
 not?" 
 
 " Well, they are the elite of nonsense," rejoined the 
 lover. " This is generally conceded. You do not know 
 how much pleasure it would give me, when I commence 
 the practice of law, to bring an action against these Touch- 
 menots, Pennimans, or any of their set. I would give 
 the books such a sifting as they never had before to 
 strengthen my action, be sure of that." 
 
 " So, your old flame called to offer you alms," returned 
 Agnes, playfully. 
 
 " Yes, and a capital joke it is," rejoined the lover. " I 
 hardly think she will come on such a mission again." 
 
 " No, never ; you may rely upon it," returned Agnes. 
 " You have schooled her well." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor thing," replied William, throwing 
 his head back on his chair. " How much there is still for 
 her to learn." 
 
 " What think you, would become of her, if old Penniman 
 and the McAlpins should happen to fail some day, as the 
 most prudent often do? " interrogated Agnes thoughtfully. 
 
 " Become of her ? " responded William. " Why, she 
 might find herself in the situation that Irene Caruthers 
 was once in ; and instead of offering charity, she might 
 be glad of a bit from us. These things have been, my 
 dear ; ay, have been and may be again. I don't think 
 she would incline to do much honest work. It would be 
 too hard for the pay, even if she knew how." 
 
 " No doubt she would scheme to live as easy as possible, 
 and they who do this slide readily into prostitution," re- 
 joined Agnes. " I have seen it in so many instances, that 
 it is a rule almost without an exception." 
 
 " I should be sorry, very sorry to see her thus," re- 
 turned Andrews. " Though it would please me well to 
 have her lose a little of that absurd pride which makes
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 171 
 
 her so offensive. Agnes, I have still to see that heartless 
 woman humbled before me, in a manner as will surpass 
 all fiction. She does not see her fate ; but in my mis- 
 sion's glory, I see it all. Yet, oh yet, will that deluded 
 woman supplicate my friendship. Then will my hours 
 of triumph come. But I do not, shall not rejoice, only 
 as truth and justice shall be vindicated ! " 
 
 " These are noble sentiments," responded Agnes. 
 " They are my own. Ah, dear, when your talents 
 shall have been acknowledged and rewarded, then shall 
 I be happy indeed." 
 
 At this moment the sun sank below the distant hills, 
 tinging the surrounding clouds with deepest crimson. Ag- 
 nes, taking the hand of the young man in her own, pressed 
 it passionately to her bosom. 
 
 " If your sun, my noble hearted, did not rise as reful- 
 gent as that just declined, I have faith in your hopes, 
 and know that you will ere long entwine your name with 
 the triumphs of genius ! I feel it here, here ; " and as 
 she said this, she placed her hand alternately on her breast 
 and head. " My bosom and brain, both assure me they 
 have never, never deceived" 
 
 Andrews, with a tear glistening in his eye, drew Miss 
 Farriday closely to his side, and kissed her warm im- 
 passioned lips, beautifully expressive of firmness and a 
 chaste, chivalrous pride. At this moment a sweet little 
 bird, which had been skipping from limb to limb, of a 
 tree which shaded the window, flew into the room and 
 alighted upon the shoulder of Agnes. She gently took 
 it in her hand, and holding it near her lover's view, said : 
 
 " This little bird, my dear friend, has learned to love 
 me, and has cast away all fear. I can remember when it 
 would not come within several yards of the window, to 
 eat the crumbs I furnished it ; now. it takes them from 
 my hand. Would you know of what this is typical ? " 
 
 " Yes, my sweet one," replied Andrews. 
 
 " Of confidence ! " responded Agnes. " Of that holy 
 trust and love which I have in you ! " 
 
 " Heaven is my witness, that I prize it as an influence 
 second only to my religion," replied Andrews. " And 
 my ambition shall ever be to prove by the results of my
 
 172 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 labors, the marked power which a true woman's love and 
 friendship has to sustain the hopes of man, and to crown 
 his efforts with success ! " 
 
 And here we will, for the present leave them ; happy 
 in a sympathy and perfect understanding of each other's 
 character and aspirations, which only a fervent and unsel- 
 fish devotion can insure.
 
 CHAPTER XVI I. 
 
 " The tinsel glitter, and the specious mien 
 Delude the most ; few pry behind the scene." 
 
 THE arrival from Europe of Mr. and Mrs. James 
 McAlpin, was quite an event among the " more ex- 
 clusive sets." Everybody of this class was bent on 
 calling to see " the travelled pair," who had taken 
 expensive apartments at the Tremont House. They had 
 been to Rome and kissed the Pope's toe, to the holy 
 land and stood upon the Mount of Olives, that overlooks 
 Jerusalem. They had seen most everything of interest 
 in Europe, and now were at home, to astonish their 
 friends with the extent of their information. Nelly was 
 quite animated in her discourses, concerning the attention 
 she had received from the most illustrious persons, in all 
 the countries she had visited ; and her pride and self-im- 
 portance was evidently a good deal strengthened by such 
 high consideration. Her manners were regally dignified, 
 and her conversation somewhat affected. She was in 
 mourning for her child a daughter, born at Athens, 
 and buried at Smyrna. 
 
 The weather was excessively warm, it being August, 
 when all persons who can conveniently leave the city for 
 the sea shore, or inland, avail themselves of the privilege. 
 Mr. and Mrs. McAlpin were making ready for a famous 
 watering place, where, for many years, it has been the 
 habit of city folks, who can afford the luxury, to pass the 
 summer season. And many also from the South have 
 located here for a few weeks, at the hotel, which is sit- 
 uated at the extreme point of a peninsular, and close to 
 the storm-beaten rocks, that look towards the broad and 
 heaving ocean
 
 174 THE PENNIMANS J OK, 
 
 " Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay 
 But what they please ; and if that things be dear, 
 'Tis only that they love to throw away 
 Their cash, to show how much they have a year." 
 
 This was just the place for Mrs. McAlpin, and her 
 circle ; who looked upon the villagers with contempt. 
 Indeed, unless persons could afford to be gay and ex- 
 pensive, neither she, nor her mother, could " tolerate 
 them;" they were "decidedly vulgar." At the hotel, 
 Mrs. McAlpin attracted a great deal of attention, and 
 made, as the phrase is, "a great dash." She was the 
 observed of all observers ; and being a beautiful and well 
 formed woman, drew around her many beaux. Miss 
 Julia Touchmenot was her confidential friend ; and two 
 more ridiculous women never were yoked together in 
 amity. Julia would laugh at Nelly's nonsense, and Nelly 
 would laugh and take part in Miss Touchmenot's folly. 
 The boarders generally were disgusted with them ; but 
 were all smiles and pleasantry when in intercourse. There 
 were a number of what are termed " handsome men" at the 
 hotel ; there for the purpose of getting up their health, 
 (although looking far from sickly,) and securing rich wives. 
 These men were particularly attracted by Nelly, and with 
 rather more than a respectful zeal, they paid court to her. 
 She, however, encouraged their attentions, notwithstand- 
 ing the earnest remonstrance of Mr. McAlpin, who, 
 though " generally tight " pretty much all the time, was 
 at moments sober enough to perceive the improprieties 
 of his wife, and to check them. Julia was so pursued by 
 Mr. Sampsone, to whom she was engaged, that it was im- 
 possible for her to partake of that exciting species of 
 enjoyment, into which Mrs. McAlpin entered so heartily. 
 Sampsone was a perfect petit-maitre, but by no means a 
 fool. He knew full well if he permitted Julia free in- 
 tercourse with the agreeable gentlemen boarders at the 
 hotel, that he might find himself supplanted in her af- 
 fections, and " cut out " of a fortune, the anticipation of 
 spending which was most cheering to him, for he was 
 without money and short of friends. We think we have 
 never seen a man walk so gingerly, so mincingly ; it really 
 appeared as though he trod on something he feared.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 175 
 
 But Sampsone, although a sap, was a pretty clever sap, 
 and certainly he was a very handsome one ; with whom 
 all sappy women were in love ; in which number was no 
 less an illustrious personage, than Nelly McAlpin ; but 
 their kissing and hugging had been so quietly done and 
 with such caution, that Julia had not the least suspicion. 
 Indeed, this young woman was none too quick-witted ; 
 although from the fact of her being a Touchmenot, she 
 considered herself the equal of any ; indeed, vnthout a 
 superior. 
 
 It may surprise some of our readers to learn that " so 
 fine a lady as Mrs. McAlpin," would permit even so ex- 
 quisite a gentleman as Mr. Sampsone, with his curly dark 
 hair, and pretty black eyes, to pull her into his lap, and 
 press her to his bosom ; but these astonished individuals 
 are unsophisticated and untravelled, generally speaking; 
 quite ignorant, at all events, of the sly doings of fash- 
 ionable life, at watering places ! Nelly, so far from 
 objecting to this familiarity, in common with other taking 
 and well made ladies, was highly pleased at these un- 
 mistakable marks of appreciation, and made it convenient 
 to be with " handsome and spirited beaux," at all times 
 of the day, particularly in the evening, among the rocks, 
 or some secluded spot, 
 
 " When the lady eye'd him o'er and o'er 
 
 
 Her form had all the softness of her sex, 
 
 The sun himself was scarce more free from specks, 
 Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil. 
 
 Something imperial, or imperious threw 
 
 A chain o'er all she did, that is a chain 
 Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of you, 
 
 And rapture of self would seem almost a pain 
 With aught which looks like despotism in view ; 
 
 Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain 
 We would against them make the flesh obey ; 
 
 The spirit in the end will have its way. 
 
 Her very smile was haughty, tho' so sweet; 
 
 Her very nod was not an inclination, 
 There was a self-will even in her small feet, 
 
 As though they were quite conscious of her station 
 They trod as upon necks ;...,,
 
 176 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 Shakspeare talks of the " herald mercury 
 
 New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; " 
 And some such visions cross'd her majesty, 
 
 While her young herald knelt before her still. 
 'Tis very true the hill seemed rather high 
 
 For a " gentle love " to climb up; but skill 
 Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and, by God's blessing, 
 With youth and health kisses are " heaven kissing." 
 
 Her majesty look'd down, the youth looked up 
 And so they fell in love, she with his face, 
 
 His grace, his God-know's-what ; for Cupid's cup, 
 With the first draught intoxicates apace, 
 
 A quintessential laudanum, or " black drop," 
 , Which makes one drunk at once, without the base 
 
 Expedient of full bumpers ; for the eye 
 
 In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) dry. 
 
 Her sweet smile, and her then majestic figure, 
 
 Her plumpness, her imperial condescension, 
 Her preference of a boy to men much bigger 
 
 (Fellows whom Messalina's self would pension), 
 Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigor, 
 
 With other extras which we need not mention 
 All these, or any one of these, explain 
 Enough to make a stripling very vain. 
 
 The noblest kind of love is love Platonical, 
 
 To end or to begin with ; the next grand 
 la that which may be christen'd love canonical, 
 
 Because the clergy take the thing in hand ; 
 The third sort to be noted in our chronicle, 
 
 As flourishing in every Christian land, 
 Is when chaste matrons to their other ties, 
 Add what may be called marriage in disguise. 
 
 Well, we wont analyze our story must 
 
 Tell for itself; the sovereign was smitten ; 
 " Sappy " much flattered by her love or lust; 
 
 I cannot stop to alter words once written, 
 And the two are so mixed with human dust, 
 
 That he who names one, both perchance may hit on; 
 But in such matters fashion's Russia's empress 
 Behaved no better than a common sempstress. 
 
 Mrs. McAlpin was not only fond of sitting in the laps 
 of handsome cavaliers, in lonely retired places, but she 
 delighted in playing with their hairy lips, and smacking 
 them heartily, now and then ; more than all, she enjoyed 
 the sea bath with a beau who was a good swimmer and 
 affectionate withal ; " she loved warm hearted gentlemen,
 
 THE IKIUMPH OF GENIUS. 177 
 
 excessively." This in fact was the case with all the young 
 ladies at the hotel ; and it was a matter of no little mor- 
 tification to some of them, who were not remarkably 
 prepossessing, that the beaux were exceedingly shy of 
 their company ; whilst they were anxious for that of Mrs. 
 McAlpin. It followed, naturally, that Mrs. McAlpin soon 
 came under the animadversion of these " neglected board- 
 ers," who said many bitter things concerning her freedom 
 with the beaux, and caused a good deal of commotion in 
 the hotel. But Nelly was not " to be talked out of her 
 fun," neither were the other ladies, who were fond of 
 sitting in gentlemen's laps and playing with their well 
 combed and perfumed whiskers. So the more the en- 
 vious and disappointed females clamored, the more the 
 successful ones carried on their " game of goose and 
 gander." Mr. McAlpin frequently had serious conver- 
 sations with his wife, in which he begged of her to be 
 more discreet and guarded ; told her of the reports in 
 circulation, and pointed out to her the unpleasant position 
 in which it placed him. Nelly listened attentively to all 
 he had to say, and appeared willing to moderate her gay- 
 ety, but she had been in Europe and had seen so much 
 of this kind of free and easy life, she had lost all relish 
 for any other. Then, too, she was well aware her hus- 
 band was far from immaculate, and only required the 
 excitement of wine to put him in the best possible hu- 
 mour for pleasing the ladies. Mr. McAlpin was not slow 
 at the business of gallantry, and could handle a lady with 
 the greatest delicacy, and at the same time familiarity an 
 art by no means easy of acquisition. Among the beaux 
 at the hotel was a Mr. Gaseous, a vain and pompous 
 man, a pushing and brazen-faced character, with bluff 
 sailor manners, and as " brim full of self-conceit " as pos- 
 sible. He fancied, as most saps do, that the ladies were 
 all in love with him ; but when he came to test the mat- 
 ter he found himself mistaken, for no one whom he con- 
 sidered any match for him would smile upon his suit. It 
 was his habit to walk before a glass and adjust his figure 
 in a certain manner, adapting his gait thereto, at the 
 same time admiring himself as the "handsomest man in 
 town." He was quite an imtimate friend of the Touch- 
 8*
 
 178 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 menots, and for some time it was thought Julia would 
 decide to Gaseous the Touchmenots blood ; and doubtless 
 this would have happened, if the elegant " fop and fool," 
 Mr. Sampsone, had not suddenly made his appearance, 
 and won the adorable Julia " at first sight." She had 
 always said she would love, if at all, at first sight, and 
 sure enough she was true to her word. Gaseous was one 
 of those men, whom to judge of from personal appear- 
 ance, would lead one to conclude to be a courageous 
 individual who would cuff anybody's ears, who should 
 come between him and his expectations ; but he was, 
 however, a mere " bag of wind," and could pocket a dis- 
 appointment or an insult in the coolest and pleasantest 
 manner conceivable. A mere beau, like beaux in gen- 
 eral, he was highly pleased with himself, and thought it 
 very bad taste in others not to be pleased with him also. 
 He was a pleasant talker of mere common places, had a 
 good deal of anecdote, and a pretty fair knowledge of 
 human nature ; upon this capital, notwithstanding the 
 drawback of his birth, he managed to push himself into 
 " the most desirable company." But he was far from 
 being a gentleman, which we thus define. 
 
 Such a one is not merely a person acquainted with 
 certain forms, and conventionalities of life, easy and self- 
 possessed in society, able to speak and act, and move in 
 the world without awkwardness, and free from habits 
 vulgar and in bad taste a gentleman is something much 
 beyond this. At the base of all his ease and refinement, 
 and tact and power of pleasing, is the same spirit which 
 lies at the root of every Christian virtue. It is the 
 thoughtful desire of doing in every instance to others as 
 he would that others should do unto him. He is con- 
 stantly thinking not indeed how he may give pleasure to 
 others, for the mere sense of pleasing, but how he can 
 show them respect, how he may avoid hurting their feel- 
 ings. When he is in society, he scrupulously ascertains 
 the position of every one with whom he is brought into 
 contact, that he may give to each his due honor. He 
 etudies how he may avoid touching upon any subject 
 which may needlessly hurt their feelings ; how he may 
 abstain from any allusion which may call up a disagree-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENITTS. 179 
 
 able or offensive association. A gentleman never alludes 
 to, never appears conscious of any personal defect, bodily 
 deformity, inferiority of talent, of rank, of reputation, in 
 the persons in whose society he is placed. He never as- 
 sumes any superiority, never ridicules, never boasts, never 
 makes a display of his own powers, or rank, or advan- 
 tages ; never indulges in habits which may be offensive to 
 others. We think, not only Gaseous would be more 
 acceptable to society in general, if he would model his 
 manners after the above pattern, but a large number of 
 others, also, who figure in what are termed " fashionable 
 circles." 
 
 We are not disposed to particularize the beaux who 
 were in the habit of frequenting the sea- shore in the sum- 
 mer season, and playing " Kiss me quick," with the ladies. 
 Nor- are we inclined to enter into an analysis of their 
 characters, and descant on the various parts, and their 
 defects. We will content ourselves by including them 
 under a general term, which is that of snob-fortune hunt- 
 ers, men of large pretensions, but of empty heads. 
 Many of them were the friends of Gaseous, and were about 
 on a par with him ; birds of a feather always flocking 
 together. McAlpin, although associating with those sweet- 
 scented individuals, drinking, gambling, fishing, and play- 
 ing billiards with them, secretly despised the entire com- 
 pany ; particularly a young Southerner, who had been 
 quite marked in his attentions to Mrs. McAlpin, and was 
 reported as having been altogether too intimate with her. 
 Mr. McAlpin, although of an excellent temper, of the 
 best humor possible, when in his cups ! was quite the 
 contrary when out of them. In these moments the foul 
 and slanderous reports respecting his wife, nettled him 
 exceedingly. He had every confidence in Nelly ; and 
 would not believe her capable of infidelity, though all the 
 world should condemn her. Towards the young South- 
 erner, he felt a degree of hostility which tempted him, at 
 times, to desperate violence. He contented himself, how- 
 ever, for the present, with warning the gentleman not to 
 pursue his wife any further ; that, if he disregarded his 
 wishes, he would do so at his peril. Nelly laughed at 
 the bravado, as she deemed it, of her husband, when the
 
 180 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 young Southerner informed her what had passed ; and this 
 encouraged him the more to proceed with his gallantry. 
 One pleasant, moonlit evening, the twain were discov- 
 ered at a late hour, by McAlpin, on the off-side of the 
 hilliard room, seated cooingly together, on the grass : 
 
 " She as he gaz'd with grateful wonder, press'd 
 Her shelter'd love to her impassion'd breast; 
 And suited to her soft caresses, told 
 An olden tale of love, for love is old, 
 Old as eternity, but not outworn 
 With each new being born, or to be born. 
 
 He sigh'd; the next resource is the full-moon, 
 Where all sighs are deposited ; and now, 
 
 It happen 'd luckily, the chaste orb shone 
 As clear as such a climate will allow; 
 
 And Sappy's mind was in the proper tone 
 To hail her with the apostrophe ' Oh thou ! ' 
 
 Of amatory egotism the tuism, 
 
 Which further to explain would be a truism. 
 
 By nature soft, his whole address held off 
 Suspicion ; though not timid, his regard 
 
 Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof, 
 To shield himself, then put you on your guard ; 
 
 Perhaps 'twas hardly quite assur'd enough, 
 But modesty 's at times its own reward, 
 
 Like virtue; and the absence of pretension 
 
 Will go much further than there's need to mention. 
 
 I know not why, but in that home to-night, 
 Even as they gaz'd a sudden tremor came, 
 
 And swept as 'twere across their heart's delight, 
 Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame 
 
 When one is shook in sound, and one in sight; 
 And thus some boding flash'd thro' either frame, 
 
 And call'd from Sappy's breast a faint low sigh, 
 
 While one new tear arose in Nelly's eye. 
 
 That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate 
 
 And follow far the disappearing sun, 
 As if their last day of a happy date, 
 
 With this broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone ; 
 Sappy gaz'd on her as to ask his fate 
 
 He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, 
 His glance enquired of her's for some excuse, 
 For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. 
 
 She turn'd to him and smiled, but in that sort 
 Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside;
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 181 
 
 Whatever feelings shook her, it seem'd short, 
 And master'd by her wisdom, or her pride; 
 
 When Sappy spoke, too it might be in sport 
 Of this their mutual feeling, she replied 
 
 ' If it should be so, but it cannot be 
 
 Or I at least shall not survive to see.' 
 
 Sappy would question further, but she press'd 
 His lips to hers, and silenced him with this, 
 
 And then dismlss'd the omen from his breast, 
 Defying augury with that fond kiss; 
 
 And no doubt of all methods 'tis the best; 
 Some people prefer wine 'tis not amiss; 
 
 I have tried both ; so those who would a part take, 
 
 May choose between the head-ache and the heart-ache. 
 
 Sappy and Nelly gaz'd upon each other, 
 
 With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, 
 
 Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother, 
 All that the best can mingle and express 
 
 When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another, 
 And -love too much, and yet cannot love less; 
 
 But almost sanctify the sweet excess, 
 
 By the immortal wish and power to bless. 
 
 Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart, 
 
 Why did they not then die? they had liv'd too long, 
 
 Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart 
 Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong, 
 
 The world was not for them, nor the world's art 
 For beings passionate as Sappho's song; 
 
 Love was with them, in them, so intense, 
 
 It was their very spirit not a sense. 
 
 They should have liv'd together deep in woods, 
 Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were 
 
 Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes 
 
 Call'd social, where ail vice and hatred are; 
 
 How lonely every freeborn creature broods ! 
 The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; 
 
 The eagle soars alone ; the gull and crow 
 
 Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do. 
 
 They looked up to the sky, whose floating glow, 
 Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright; 
 
 They gaz'd upon the glittering sea below, 
 
 Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight. 
 
 They heard the waves splash, and the wind so low, 
 And saw each other's dark eyes darting light 
 
 Into each other and, beholding this, 
 
 Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss.
 
 182 THE PENNIMA.NS; OB, 
 
 They were alone, yet not alone as they 
 
 Who, shut in chambers, think it loneliness; 
 The silent ocean and the moon-lit bay, 
 The voiceless sands and dropping caves, that lay 
 Around them, made them to each other press, 
 As if there were no life beneath the sky 
 Save theirs, and that their life could never die. 
 
 They look'd upon each other, and their eyes 
 
 Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm clasps 
 
 Round the Southron's head, and his round her's lies 
 Half buried in the tresses which it grasps; 
 
 She sits upon his knee and drinks his sighs, 
 He her's, until they end in broken gasps; 
 
 And thus they form a group that's quite antique, 
 
 Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek. 
 
 Oh, love ! of whom great Cassar was the suitor, 
 Titus the master, Antony the slave, 
 
 Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor, 
 Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave 
 
 All those may leap who rather would be neuter 
 (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave) 
 
 6h, love ! thou art the very God of evil, 
 
 For after all we cannot call thee devil. 
 
 Thou makest the chaste connubial state precarious, 
 And jestest with the brows of mightiest men : 
 
 Csesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Balisarius, 
 
 Have much employ 'd the muse of history's pen; 
 
 Their lives and fortunes were extremely various, 
 Such worthies time will never see again : 
 
 Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds, 
 
 They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds. 
 
 I know not if the fault be men's or theirs; 
 
 But one thing's pretty sure ; a woman planted 
 Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers, 
 
 After a decent time must be gallanted; 
 Although no doubt her first of love affairs 
 
 Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; 
 Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, 
 But those who have, ne'er end with only one. 
 
 'Tis melancholy, and a fearful sign 
 Of human frailty, folly, also crime, 
 
 That love and marriage rarely can combine, 
 Although they both are born in the same clime. 
 
 Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine 
 A sad, sour, sober beverage by time
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 183 
 
 Is sharpened from its high celestial flavor, 
 Down to a very homely household savor. 
 
 The only two that in my recollection 
 
 Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are 
 
 Dante and Milton, and of both the affection 
 Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar 
 
 Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection 
 (Such things in fact it don't ask much to mar) ; 
 
 But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve 
 
 "Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. 
 
 Some persons say, that Dante meant theology 
 
 By Beatrice, and not a mistress I, 
 Although my opinion may require apology, 
 
 Deem this a commentator's phantasy, 
 Unless, indeed, it was from his own knowledge he 
 
 Decided thus, and show'd good reason why; 
 I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics 
 Meant to personify the mathematics ! 
 
 The Turks do well to shut at least, sometimes 
 The women up because in sad reality, 
 
 Their chastity in these unhappy climes, 
 Is not a thing of that astringent quality, 
 
 Which in the North prevent precocious crimes, 
 And makes our snow less pure than our morality; 
 
 The sun which yearly melts the polar ice, 
 
 Has quite the contrary effect on vice. ' ' 
 
 As the lips of Nelly and the chivalrous Southron in the 
 delicate language of the poet, " drew near and clung into 
 a kiss," the "injured husband " happened to be near and 
 a witness to the comedy. He did not laugh as some men 
 might have done, but quietly " pocketing the fun," walked 
 towards the hotel, where he procured a cow-hide ; then 
 seated himself on the piazza in company with Gaseous, and 
 two or three other personages, well known in fashionable 
 life. 
 
 Soon, Mrs. Nelly McAlpin and her gay Lothario came 
 skipping along, laughing and apparently the happiest of 
 the happy. The clock struck eleven just as the twain 
 walked on to the balcony, where Mr. McAlpin bursting 
 with rage and quite " in his cups," awaited impatiently 
 their coming. As Mr. Artot, the Southerner, approached 
 him he seized him by the collar, and then vigorously ap- 
 plied the cow-hide, exclaiming, " I'll teach you, sir, to
 
 184 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 let married women alone." Nelly alarmed at the rage of 
 her husband, retreated into the hotel. Artot, having 
 escaped from the grasp of the excited husband, drew the 
 sword from his cane, and was on the point of running 
 McAlpin through the body, when his arm was seized by 
 the by-standers, and the weapon wrested from his hold. 
 Being surrounded by his friends he was led away to his 
 apartments, whilst McAlpin remained on the balcony in 
 conversation with the adorable Gaseous ! who thought 
 " the d n Southerner got just what he deserved." More 
 than any one else he sustained McAlpin boldly, which 
 was not a little strange to those who knew his chaiacter, 
 thoroughly ; it being a well-established fact, that he never 
 permitted any opportunity to go unimproved for a love 
 affair with taking and voluptuous married ladies. He 
 was always " bobbing around." As may be supposed, 
 this " assault and battery" on the gallant Southron 
 caused a great excitement. Each had their respective 
 friends, who were disposed to discuss the matter warmly. 
 Gaseous talked so loud and seemed so valliant, that, a 
 witty Scotchman determined to " take him down." He 
 knew perfectly well " his man," having studied him nar- 
 rowly for some time being by profession an author, 
 whose especial business it is to be posted on every phase 
 of character. The " adorable " had not escaped him in 
 any particulars. Turning to Gaseous with a very stern 
 countenance, and much solemnity of manner, he said : 
 
 " Sir, you are so loud in the cause of Mr. McAlpin, 
 that I presume you intend to take a part in the duel. 
 Mr. McAlpin, or some one else, sir, acting for him, will 
 be called upon to meet Mr. Artot in the field, in satis- 
 faction of his honor.'' 
 
 "Fight fight No!" replied Gaseous, brustling 
 himself. " Who said anything about fight. No, sir, I'm 
 not a fighting man. Good God ! can't a man speak for a 
 friend, without being expected to fight for him, I should 
 like to know." 
 
 " Well, sir, let me tell you," returned the Scotchman, 
 sternly, " Mr. Artot is a fighting man, and will look for 
 you on the field, either as principal, or second ; " then 
 strode away.
 
 THE TKIUMFH OF GENIUS. 185 
 
 Gaseous fell to zero, and gave others a chance to raise 
 their voices in defence of an " injured husband." 
 
 The Southerner was a hot-headed fellow, and wanted to 
 shoot somebody very much upon a duel he was resolved. 
 His friends, however, finding that his cause was a weak 
 one, persuaded him to let the matter drop, and withdraw 
 quietly from the hotel, which excellent advice, he concluded 
 to accept. Mr. and Mrs. McAlpin also left immediately 
 and proceeded to a quiet retreat in the interior of New 
 York. At first they purposed to visit Virginia Springs ; 
 but as McAlpin had cow-hided a Southern man, he 
 thought it more prudent to keep this side of Mason's 
 and Dixon's line. We think he decided wisely. We have 
 rarely heard an affair so generally and passionately dis- 
 cussed, as this attack of Mr. McAlpin upon Mr. Artot. 
 
 Julia Touchmenot declared herself to be quite disgusted 
 with Mr. McAlpin's conduct ; and could not understand 
 why a married lady had not a right to flirt with any gen- 
 tleman who might give her the opportunity. So thought 
 the Yellowbodies, and a number of others, who were at 
 the hotel, belonging to that " set," for which so much is 
 claimed on the score of decency, refinement, superior in- 
 telligence ! 
 
 The Blowhards were loud in their support of Julia, 
 and so were the Catchpennys ; and indeed, pretty much 
 all that clique. Mr. Sampsone, however, thought such 
 familiarity with married ladies, as Mr. Artot was known 
 to take with Mrs. McAlpin, positively shocking, most dis- 
 graceful. As he was to be married soon, he deemed it 
 wise to enter this earnest protest against flirting, so that 
 his wife might not put him to the necessity of limbering a 
 cow-hide over some insinuating gallant's back, which he 
 declared he " felt sure he should do, if he discovered any 
 man hugging and kissing his lady privately or publicly." 
 Sampsone was not a very muscular person, apparently, 
 though having a determined, brigand appearance : and 
 we feel quite sure, if not able to use the cow-hide ener- 
 getically himself, he would have drawn on his father-in- 
 law, who was to be, for an amount sufficient to meet the 
 expense of employing a drayman to do the work. We 
 hardly think Mr. Sampsone had energy enough to whip any
 
 186 THE PENNIMANS ; OE, 
 
 body, soundly ; and that he regarded his day's work done, 
 when he had shaved, eaten breakfast, visited the club, 
 read the papers, dined, taken a siesta, a drive into the 
 country, and conversed upon polite learning ; then fol- 
 lowed bed reluctantly and " balmy sleep," with an occa- 
 sional loud snore, which much annoyed his next door 
 neighbor. 
 
 Sampsone was what is understood by " a pretty man " 
 a fellow who " enjoys himself" at anybody's expense, 
 save his own. Old Touchmenot was by no means pleased 
 at the prospect of his having to support such a burden, 
 as " a handsome shiftless dandy," who had the coolness 
 to tell him one morning, that " he never should want for 
 a dollar, while he had a cent in his pocket." 
 
 ' Sir," said old Touchmenot, with his hard and leather- 
 looking countenance, partially concealed by the downward 
 posture of his uncombed head, " Sir, do you use cop- 
 pers 1 
 
 " Not when I can get gold ; " returned the exquisite. 
 
 And so it was with this individual always. " He did 
 the best he could." He engaged himself to this old 
 man's daughter for a comfortable home and income ; and 
 because the girl was much loved by her father, he was most 
 forbearing towards " her choice," against which he had 
 strenuously contended. When the affair which had cre- 
 ated so much excitement, in which the McAlpins and Mr. 
 Artqt were particularly concerned, was related to him, he 
 raised his right foot, and then violently placed it on the 
 floor, saying : 
 
 " Fashionable schools and fashionable watering places 
 are hells upon earth; there is nothing but fashionable 
 prostitution in both. And I swear if these things don't 
 mend a little, I'll lobby for a law that shall make them 
 mend ! Such doings by Heavens 1 'tis disgraceful." 
 
 This seemed to be the opinion among the " old fogies," 
 pretty generally those out of whom the " sap of lively 
 youth had gone ! " but they were only laughed at for their 
 conservatism, and ridiculed for their want of good taste, 
 and the power of enjoying a flirtation! "Young Ameri- 
 ca," it seems, is irrepressible ; and however indiscreet it may 
 be, (even to lewdness !) yet it flourishes in all the fulness
 
 THE TEITJMPH OF GEXITJS. 187 
 
 of triumph ! Morals are nothing, common sense is noth- 
 ing, but energy, snap, is all in all ! do only something smart, 
 O, Young America ! and you shall be applauded to the 
 echo, no matter how many virgins weep, or orphans are 
 defrauded. Be smart, indeed inventive, incomprehensible ; 
 justice call a joke, and Heaven a dream ; religion an ex- 
 periment which does not and cannot succeed, and you 
 shall, if successful in your abandon, your pleasing reck- 
 lessness, be considered " the salt of the earth," and shall 
 be praised exceedingly !
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ' They met, and face to face ; she scornful looked 
 At those she thought her foes, then sweeping by 
 She seemed with deadly hate to charge her eye." 
 
 THE McAlpins and Pennimans were in a high state 
 of perturbation. Mrs. Penniman would not believe one 
 word of the infermous reports, as she termed them, about 
 her daughter. She thought it was most scandalous to say 
 such vile things of Nelly, and only wished she could fix 
 these slanders upon somebody. She was quite sure those 
 " envious and abominable Atlays," were the instigators of 
 the abuse of her daughter ; but to her great discomfiture 
 she Avas totally without proof. The Atlays boarded in 
 the village, and were in the habit of visiting their friends 
 at the hotel, and attending the hops. Between the Pen- 
 nimans and this family, there was no intercourse whatever, 
 although Mrs. Penniman and Mrs. Atlay had been school 
 mates, and often played together. . But as Mrs. Penniman 
 did not deem Mrs. Atlay to be her equal, she slighted her 
 acquaintance by " noticing her only when convenient." 
 Mrs. Atlay on perceiving the estimation in which she was 
 held by the Pennimans, dropped their acquaintance alto- 
 gether, although without the least ill-will, or disposition 
 in any manner, to injure them. For Mrs. Atlay was a 
 high-toned lady, born and bred, who would not stoop to 
 a meanness of any kind, however great the provocation. 
 She was a woman not unlike Madam Parisan in the vigor, 
 independence, and moral tone of her mind ; and while 
 conscious of her own respectability and position, was not 
 at all affected by the pretensions and airs of others. She 
 courted no one's society, but was affable and entertaining 
 to all those who were of her acquaintances. She made
 
 THE TEITJMPH OF GENIUS. 189 
 
 no dash ; she was a perfect lady, and a companion for the 
 noblest of earth. Madam Parisan was her friend, and so 
 likewise were many of the most solid, substantial women 
 of the city. Yet, Mrs. Atlay was deemed no fit person 
 for the circle of the Pennimans ; and indeed she was not, 
 for she was a woman of too much good sense to find any 
 pleasure in pretension, or the follies of foppish conven- 
 tionalisms. She loved sincerity, and she delighted in vis- 
 iting, and entertaining in return kind hearts and generous 
 minds ; in common with Mrs. Parisan, she had a great 
 respect for genius ; and did all in her power to aid per- 
 sons who were ambitious of fame. She and her daughter, 
 as we before said, were the particular friends of Andrews, 
 and did much to sustain him under his severe trials. 
 Mrs. Parisan sympathized likewise with him ; she was of 
 the number of his most cherished friends. 
 
 The Pennimans, now that they suspected the Atlays of 
 this spiteful treatment, these slanderous reports, were fu- 
 rious against them, and denounced them in most bitter 
 terms. Mr. Atlay was highly indignant at this denun- 
 ciation, and decided that he would bring an action against 
 them for defamation of character ; but he was dissuaded 
 from this by his family, who declared the Pennimans " be- 
 neath their notice." 
 
 Some days subsequent to the late affair of gallantry, 
 Mrs. Atlay with her daughter, was seated in a confection- 
 ary store on Washington Street, when the Pennimans 
 entered. They cast a look of contempt towards the At- 
 lays, and with an air of great dignity, seated themselves 
 in an opposite part of the saloon. The Atlays, perfectly 
 self-possessed, appeared not to be aware of their manner, 
 nor the insult intended, but ate their ice cream, cake and 
 jelly, in perfect good nature. This non-chalance was any 
 thing but satisfactory to Mrs. Penniman, who fired with 
 spite, and the suspicion of wrong, was as a tigress ! Had 
 she dared, she would have assailed Mrs. Atlay on the 
 spot, and would have soundly beaten her with her tongue 
 and fists. She had never hated a woman as she hated 
 this Mrs. Atlay, and vengeance she would have, sooner or 
 later. Indeed, so excited was she, that it was impossible 
 for her to remain in the room long enough to eat the ice
 
 190 THE PEXNIMANS; OK, 
 
 cream and cake, which had been ordered. She arose 
 abruptly, followed by her daughter, Mrs. Donothing, and 
 walked defiantly out of the apartment, her face energetic 
 with hate ! Something she muttered to herself, which 
 Mrs. Atlay thought to be, an oath of vengeance. 
 
 This was really the first mortification that the Penni- 
 mans had experienced this cow-hiding affair, and it had 
 nearly distracted them ; in such a manner, too, that it was 
 feared by the family physician, Mrs. Penniman would have 
 to be removed to the asylum for the insane. But Mrs. Pen- 
 nirnan, and in fact all the Pennimans, had so much self- 
 esteem, assurance, and such a decided contempt for persons 
 in general, that before many days they had reasoned them- 
 selves out of their mortification ; and only wondered that 
 they could possibly have fallen into that state of " vulgar 
 and plebeian dejection." 
 
 As they passed from the store on to the street, they meet 
 in full dress, and smiling as ever, the gay and dashing 
 Julia Touchmenot, in whose company they continued walk- 
 ing towards the Common, which they crossed in the direc- 
 tion of the Mill-dam, talking quite earnestly and loud as 
 they went along, with their elegant dresses sweeping the 
 ground ! Julia had just returned from Newport, to make 
 some expensive purchases for the grand fancy ball, soon 
 to take place. She was sure it would be the most suc- 
 cessful of any which had as yet been announced ; and she 
 intended, she said, to do her full share towards " its com- 
 plete triumph." She thought fancy balls were " such 
 nice things," that all who could contribute to their SUQ- 
 cess, ought to do so, as much, and even more, than to the 
 cause of Christianity ! for Christianity, she declared, was 
 oftentimes misused, but balls, never ! And she was so 
 fond of dancing, too. She so delighted to feel herself affec- 
 tionately pressed by her partner in the " imperial waltz." 
 
 " Muse of the many twinkling feet ! whose charms 
 Are now extended up from legs to arms! " 
 
 Yes, Julia was fond of balls, of being twirled about, 
 and tightly hugged ; so, indeed, were all the young wo- 
 men of" her set; " they loved exercise ; not that they cared 
 anything about the beaux ; oh, no, but only the excite-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 191 
 
 ment of the motions the " healthy exercise " obtained, 
 in the kindly arms of " dear darling beaux." 
 
 None of these ever missed a ball ; they had rather miss 
 their prayers a thousand times than Newport once, in its 
 gayest season. For here, and then, they " put on their 
 best," and here, and then, they sometimes made their mar- 
 ket, sold themselves to some " good-looking gentleman," 
 who could afford to keep them well dressed and well 
 stuffed, and who would pay their bills. They danced to 
 some purpose, when they happened to dance into the 
 keeping of men, who, for their taking forms, and full 
 round bosoms, and well-filled purses oftentimes, engaged 
 to attend to all their wants, eternally ! A courageous 
 promise, which too many but imperfectly fulfill. Yet, 
 they are in demand, and that maiden whose charms are on 
 such bestowed, is of all others deemed most fortunate. 
 How envious are they, who cannot match at Newport, or 
 some other market, where trade is brisk. 
 
 Reader, do you talk of prostitution among the low ? 
 behold it in all its sad criminality among the high ! 
 Watch that young woman ; see her arts ; see how she 
 baits her hook ; how she contrives ; and say, oh, say, if 
 this is not the precise management of the courtezan ! Is 
 she not debauched in mind, and does she not traffick in 
 her charms ? Why is that bosom dressed so low : why 
 is that form made up so sensually ? why that neck so 
 bare ? why those arms so much exposed ? why those eyes 
 so fascinatingly contrived, and why those cheeks so trained 
 to blush, those lips so ready to express their hopes ? And 
 why, alas ! that tongue so musical with passion, poetry, 
 and all the clap- trap of seduction O, why ? for a hus- 
 band, of course a keeper a friend a somebody to 
 love. Ah, yes ! to love, indeed ! would it were so ; for 
 then there would be some palliation for all this harlotry ; 
 but these do not marry to love, but to live, and frequent- 
 ly more loosely than ever ! Oh, ye, who have not the 
 advantage of these market-places by the sea, wherein to 
 sell yourselves for better or worse to some letcherous, well- 
 dressed, soft-spoken man, who never thinks of woman, 
 other than his toy, be not envious, be not sorrowful, be 
 not discontent, for your hearts, your hopes, your happi-
 
 192 THE PENNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 ness, not being thus imperilled, you have much to console 
 you, and much at which to rejoice. The entire system is 
 one of immorality, and whoever lays up their hopes in it, 
 may look for disappointment and despair. 
 
 As Mrs. Penniman walked by the side of Julia, she 
 asked her concerning the company at Newport, whether 
 it was quite select, or otherwise, to which Miss Touchme- 
 not replied : 
 
 " Oh, quite distinguished ! Though there are some 
 vulgar people there, as always will happen. People with 
 money, you know, go any where ; and the less they are 
 noticed, the more obtrusive, I really believe, they become. 
 Some of the New Yorkers are mere trash ; and some from 
 the West are hoggish enough, I do declare." 
 
 " Well, what else can you expect, my dear girl, of peo- 
 ple who are bred among swine," rejoined Mrs. Penni- 
 man. " If one associates with, and gets their living 
 through and by cattle and hogs, how can they be refined ? 
 One never knows much about characters from New York, 
 the South or West ! There is nothing like our New 
 England stock this we know is good." 
 
 " You may say what you please against New York and 
 the West," returned Julia; "but you shall not speak 
 unkindly of Southerners. I like them so much ; / do, 
 indeed! They are such capital fellows to flirt with, such 
 perfect ladies' men." 
 
 " They are well enough," returned Mrs. Penniman, 
 " when one knows who they are. For my part I like to 
 know all about people who, and what they are. It is 
 not safe, you will find, to make the acquaintance of indi- 
 viduals simply because they are agreeable. The devil 
 himself is one of the most agreeable persons ; yet I am 
 sure you would not knowingly be of his company." 
 
 " I might if he was pretty and could say pretty things, 
 in a ' taking way,' " replied Julia. " Then, if he could 
 dance well, sing well and swim well, I am sure I should 
 cultivate his acquaintance." 
 
 " Oh, you do but jest," returned Mrs. Penniman. 
 " Who are these persons coming up the street ? " 
 
 " There ? why they are the Catchpennys," replied 
 Julia. " How those girls do want to get engaged."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 193 
 
 " Yes, and how their mother manceuvers for them," ro- 
 plied Mrs. Penniman. " Deliver me form manoeuvring 
 mothers, above all things. The gentleman with them, I 
 think, is Dr. Ricado poor Dr. it's a pitty he can't 
 get some one to have him. He is a real standing dish, 
 and so too is Dr. Whiskers." 
 
 " Do you know that I detest that Dr. Whiskers," re- 
 joined Julia. " I heartily despise him." 
 
 " Do you, really ! well, I am surprised at that," returned 
 Mrs. Penniman. 
 
 " I am sick of men who call themselves doctors, and 
 whom I would not trust to take care of a sick .toe ; " re- 
 joined Miss Touchmenot. 
 
 " Yes, but then they are very pleasant beaux," returned 
 Mrs. Penniman, " and in cases where they are well con- 
 nected, and have the means to support themselves hand- 
 somely, I cannot see the objection to them. 
 
 " Well, I don't know as there is really any objection to 
 them," returned Julia, " but then this Dr. Whiskers is 
 such a queer fellow ; why, he seems to me more like a 
 saint than a man. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 " He does, upon my word, and that he may be for aught 
 I know," returned Mrs. Penniman, smiling at the idea ; 
 . " there are a great many persons styling themselves men, 
 who ought to be saints or in petticoats 'tis bearly possi- 
 ble he may be one. Ha, ha, ha." 
 
 'Tis shameful for women to wear the breeches, but, as 
 you say, they will sometimes," returned Miss Touchme- 
 not. 
 
 " A fine show shop this world," rejoined Mrs. Penni- 
 man ; "at least I should think so, by the extravagance of 
 the Catchpenny's dresses ; but then toys must be pretty, 
 to command a sale." 
 
 " And you know," rejoined Miss Julia, " it does not 
 matter much who the purchasers are, so that they have 
 plenty of money ; they are in that case accounted great 
 cards, and the girls like to play them, if they are a little 
 soiled. No sensible girl expects to get a man of any sort 
 of attractions, with his virtue in any other condition than 
 a most ragged one." 
 
 " A lamentable state of affairs to be sure," rejoined 
 Mrs. Penniman.
 
 194 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 " Did you notice where the Catchpennys went ?" inter- 
 rogated Miss Touchmenot. 
 
 " There they go across the common," replied Mrs. Pen- 
 niman ; " seeing us they appeared to go in that direction 
 for the express purpose of avoidance." 
 
 " Do you really think so? " returned Julia. " I've really 
 thought the Catchpennys very much attached to us." 
 
 " That may be," rejoined Mrs. Penniman ; " but there's 
 little or no sympathy between us, and she knows it, and 
 that makes her shy." 
 
 " Who was that couple just past, wasn't that young 
 Andrews ? " interrupted Julia. 
 
 " Yes," returned Mrs. Penniman, " young Andrews and 
 his lady Agnes Farriday." 
 
 " You don't say," rejoined Miss Touchmenot ; " what 
 a splendid couple. She is one of the handsomest women 
 I ever saw, and he is the very handsomest man. What 
 eyes they both have. My gracious ! they are full of fire 
 and pride." 
 
 "She you know what she is? " rejoined Mrs. Pen- 
 niman. 
 
 * A common creature, I have understood," replied 
 Julia, " but I don't believe a word of it. The fact is, 
 every woman is common, in the opinion of some people, 
 who may have independence enough to do as she pleases." 
 
 " But I tell you, she is not chaste," replied Mrs. Pen- 
 niman. " My sons know all about her. Oh, here are 
 those hateful Atlay's. Come, let's go in." 
 
 Both Mrs. Penniman, her daughter, and Julia, who 
 were by the door-steps of the latter's residence, disap- 
 peared into the house at once in order to avoid the Atlays, 
 whom they detested. They were to leave in a few days 
 for Newport, to be at the grand fancy ball.
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 11 Onward his step his triumphs now begin." 
 
 WHEN William Andrews was forsaken by Nelly Pen- 
 niman and McAlpin taken in his stead, he was deeply 
 moved and bent on some means of revenge ; but his 
 father, who was a cool, collected man, stayed his passion 
 and said : 
 
 " Let your life, my noble boy your goodness and 
 virtue be your revenge. Go on with a thorough intel- 
 lectual training, aspire to become a man of influence, and 
 when you have won for yourself a position, let the world 
 see, and the Pennimans in particular, that the insult of- 
 fered to your youth has been wiped away by the glory of 
 your manhood." These words were indelibly impressed 
 on the mind, the memory of young Andrews ; and he de- 
 termined to accept this as the purpose of his life, and to 
 triumph over those who had so grossly ill-treated him. 
 He had secured the love of a noble woman and was now 
 a practising and promising lawyer. 
 
 Strange to relate, among his first cases was a suit against 
 Mr. Penniman, brought in favor of a master-mechanic for 
 extra work done on some building belonging to Penniman. 
 To the great joy of Andrews he obtained his case, and 
 thus took his step on the first round of that ladder, which 
 was to raise him in triumph over those who had insulted 
 and spurned him. 
 
 Penniman, as we have said, was a close-fisted rascal ; 
 and to have been beaten in this matter by a young man, 
 whom he had deemed so inferior to himself, was a circum- 
 stance, from the effect of which he did not soon recover. 
 It threw him into a violent fever, and enraged his wife, 
 also, to an alarming degree ; she, however, was always 
 ready for an excitement whenever the family interest was 
 directly or indirectly assailed.
 
 196 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 Andrews for the first time in his life had made himself 
 felt by these people, whilst McAlpin was amusing himself 
 with cow-hiding his friend for too great an intimacy with 
 his wife, and drinking himself merry, daily. Certainly 
 the contrast was marked ; and now, that young Andrews 
 was pronounced one of the most talented and promising 
 members of the bar, everybody exclaimed, " How much the 
 superior of McAlpin ! " It had taken them some time to 
 find this out ; but they were quite sure they had made no 
 mistake. He had met and vanquished the Pennimans in 
 court, and this, too, in a most masterly manner ; nothing 
 could have delighted him more, or put him in better 
 humour with himself. He was in the course of a week 
 to be married to Agnes Farriday ; many persons from the 
 city intended to be present at the ceremony, which was to 
 take place at Lexington. 
 
 Agnes had her wedding-dress all in readiness, and was 
 one of the happiest women in the anticipation of being so 
 - soon united to the man whom she so dearly loved. Ida 
 Robertson, whom the reader will remember, as the lady 
 who succeeded Nelly in the regard of Mr. Andrews, was 
 quite affected at the news, that he was indeed to be mar- 
 ried to such an " abandoned woman." Because, she had 
 always hoped he would marry her, eventually ; notwith- 
 standing, she was x constantly striving " to catch " every de- 
 sirable man, with whom she became acquainted, and had 
 treated him neglectfully in his troubles. She thought he 
 would not be likely to meet with just such a woman as 
 he hoped for ; and that in case she failed to make her 
 market elsewhere, she should have him " to fall back 
 upon." Andrews, however, understood her perfectly, and 
 had determined to remain single all his life, rather than to 
 be wedded to Ida. " Modern Athens " is overrun with 
 just such young women as she ; and the task would not 
 be an easy one to write out all their characters with the 
 peculiarities belonging to each. Were we willing to incur 
 this labor, they would be easily recognized by those fa- 
 miliar with " good society " in this growing metropolis. 
 We have been amused, greatly so, at the game for a hus- 
 band, that is played among the more cultivated grades of 
 society, as well as the lower strata. The pen of the
 
 THE TKIUMPH OF GENIUS. 197 
 
 satirist has been earnestly employed in every age, to reg- 
 ulate the manners of this class of genteel idlers ; but, it 
 is useless to attempt to redicule, or to shame them into 
 decency. Akenside writes : 
 
 " Meek honor, female shame, 
 
 O ! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, 
 From Albion dost thou fly ; 
 
 Of Albion's daughters once the favorite fame; 
 beauty's only friend, 
 
 Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire; 
 Who selfish bold desire 
 
 Dost to esteem a:;d dear affection turn ; 
 Alas ! of thee forlorn 
 
 What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend. 
 
 Behold ; our youths in vain 
 Concerning nuptial happiness inquire; 
 
 Our maids no more aspire 
 The arts of bashful Hymen to attain; 
 
 But with triumphant eyes 
 And cheeks impassive as they move along, 
 
 Ask homage of the throng; 
 The lover swears that in a harlot's arms 
 
 Are found the self-same charms, 
 And worthless and deserted lives and dies. 
 
 Behold; unbless'd at home, 
 The father of the cheerless household mourns; 
 
 The night in vain returns, 
 For love and glad content at distance roam; 
 
 While she, in whom his mind 
 Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares. 
 
 To meet him she prepares, 
 Thro' noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, 
 
 A listless, harass'd heart, 
 Where not one tender heart can welcome find." 
 
 We are not among those who expect of women impos- 
 sibilities; we know they are human, and are subject to all 
 the evil passions of humanity. Boccaccio in his " De- 
 cameron " has told us of what they were capable of doing 
 in his day, and we fear they are not much more reliable in 
 our own. It is only by -knowing what society has been, 
 that we may be put on our guard against what it may be- 
 come again. Indeed, the Julias, the Mrs. McAlpins, and 
 the Catchpennys of life, are always to be feared ; and if
 
 198 THE PENXTMANS. 
 
 we would learn their real characters, and proclivities, we 
 have only to turn to the Decameron of Boccaccio and kin- 
 dred works. It was women of this stamp who attracted 
 the genius of that writer, and whom he has so neatly and 
 masterly branded with the mark of shame.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 u Disastrous words can best disaster shoTr, 
 In angry phrase the angry passions glow." 
 
 THE Summer had passed, and all those who had resort- 
 ed to the sea-shore, or to the country for pleasure, had 
 returned. It was a Sunday ; the wind was cold and hois- 
 terous, but the sky was clear, and the beams of the sun 
 most grateful. Ida Robertson sat alone in her chamber, a 
 pleasant room in the third story of a house located in 
 T . . . . e Street. She had of late lost her father and 
 mother, and was at present residing with a widow aunt, to 
 whom she was much attached from girlhood. 
 
 She was a very beautiful woman, with a countenance 
 open, and much the more interesting, by the tinge of sorrow 
 with which it was sweetly marked. She had loved Andrews, 
 as she believed ; but she never realized the depth of that 
 sentiment, until she had mingled much with society, and 
 had learned the superior worth of his character over all 
 others with whom she became acquainted. She had been 
 successively addressed by a number of fast young gentle- 
 men, worthless for all practical pursuits. They had flat- 
 tered her exceedingly, and endeavored to win her affec- 
 tions, or rather her money. Her father was known to be 
 a man well off, but it appeared at his death that he had 
 been considerably overrated ; still, Ida was left a hand- 
 some property, which she shared liberally with the worthy 
 poor, who were in the habit of relying on her for assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Through the Christian kindness of this lady, some 
 dozen families were handsomely aided and protected 
 from want ; indeed, she never refused aid to any beggars, 
 who inspired her with a belief in their distress ; so much 
 in contrast with that act of brutality which old Throck- 
 morton experienced at the door of a wealthy man, which
 
 200 THE PENNI.MAXS; OR, 
 
 we detailed in an early chapter. Ida, though generous- 
 hearted, was calculating and shrewd, and although she 
 had been pressed by many fascinating men to marriage 
 she had escaped them all, in hopes to win her first and 
 only love, William Andrews. Since his intimacy with 
 Agnes Farriday had become public, and it was understood 
 generally that he was to marry her, Ida had fallen into a 
 state of misery, not easily described. 
 
 She had uniformly refused to see anybody, and rarely 
 went upon the street, unless in the evening, when she 
 could walk unobserved. She had repeatedly endeavored 
 to have an interview with Mr. Andrews at her room, since 
 his acquaintance with Agnes, but he had always studious- 
 ly avoided a meeting, and for the reason, he knew it would 
 be a painful one ; it could not be otherwise. He had 
 written in reply to her letters, 'invariably with courtesy 
 and kindness, but always with firmness in the resistance 
 of her claims to his affection. She wished him to cast off 
 Miss Farriday, and take her to his bosom. This was not 
 >n his power to do, as Agnes had bound him to her by a 
 spell of sympathy, he could not, if he would, remove. 
 
 When Ida fairly realized that Andrews was fully lost to 
 her, and forever, that all the long cherished hopes which 
 she had entertained of being joined to him in the holy 
 bonds of wedlock were a delusion, she was nearly frantic 
 from disappointment and despair. But Ida was not so 
 weak of mind as to destroy herself at once, though self- 
 destruction was often present 'to her soul; and at times 
 there was a peculiar delight in meditating the step ; for 
 beyond this world she thought there might be happiness, 
 and she had given up all expectation of joy, or e'en peace 
 of mind in this. Yet, until young Andrews should marry, 
 which would unalterably fix her fate, she felt it would be 
 the extreme of rashness to take her own life ; but now 
 that Agnes had been lawfully taken to his bed and board, 
 she was resolved to leave a world which was all sin and 
 darkness to her. 
 
 She had written a touching note to Andrews, begging 
 him to call at her rooms, which he replied to, granting 
 her request ; and she was now momentarily expecting 
 him. As she sat beside a table reading, the door slowly 
 opened, and young Andrews gravely entered.
 
 THE TKITTMPH OF GENITTS. 201 
 
 On beholding him Ida fainted : he advanced towards 
 her with a tumbler of iced water and dashed it in her face, 
 at the same time unloosening her dress, and applying fric- 
 tion to her body. He finally succeeded in restoring entire 
 consciousness, when, perceiving the state of her mind, he 
 imprinted an affectionate kiss on her pale lips and im- 
 plored her to be cheerful and happy, at the same time 
 seating himself in a chair beside her. 
 
 " Happy ! ah, sir ; Agnes Farriday has made that im- 
 possible. How could you have wronged me so ? " 
 
 " Ida, look me in the eye," returned the young man, in 
 a soft, but firm tone, " and say, if I have not been all to 
 you I ever promised." 
 
 " Promised ! " reiterated Ida, ' her eyes pleading ' softly 
 for her. " You have never promised anything, but you 
 have known how much I loved you, and how entirely my 
 happiness depended on being wedded to you." 
 
 " Yes, this is true," rejoined Andrews, solemnly, 
 " but I warned you against this state of feeling, which 
 I have never encouraged either by word or deed, the 
 fault is entirely yours if my love for Agnes Farriday gives 
 you pain." 
 
 " I could not control my feelings," rejoined Ida, weep- 
 ing ; " God knows I could not. I have endeavored in 
 every possible way to do so, by various means ; by en- 
 deavoring to become interested in others ; by mixing in 
 the gayeties of life, and even in its most childish follies ; 
 but all that I have done, all that I can do, will never, 
 never displace from my mind your virtues, I so much 
 adore." 
 
 " Oh, how wrong, how very wrong, Ida, to permit your- 
 self to love an earthly object so passionately, to whom 
 you are entirely unsuited, and who is now wedded to 
 another. Be rational do be rational," replied he. 
 
 " I know I do very wrong in thus loving you, sir, but 
 I cannot help it, no, I cannot, indeed. You are so virtu- 
 ous and so noble ! " responded Ida, in tears. 
 
 " Perhaps more so in your imagination than in reality," 
 returned William. " Be assured the world contains many 
 a better man than I, and you have only to seek them out 
 to find them." 
 
 9*
 
 202 THE PENKIMANS; OK, 
 
 " Well, it may be so," rejoined Ida, " yet I cannot go 
 back to youth again and form the interest in any one, I 
 take in you ; this is impossible. I love you devotedly ; 
 other men, however meritorious they may be, I can but 
 respect." 
 
 " I am sorry to be the cause of so much pain to you, 
 I am, indeed," rejoined Andrews. " The bitterest cup I 
 have yet had in life to drain, is this ill-starred affection 
 you entertain for me. Why, oh, why was I born to make 
 you thus miserable." As he concluded, the tears ran 
 copiously down his cheeks. 
 
 " Do not weep, sir ; " replied Ida, tenderly. " I will 
 try and overcome my misery ; for your sake, yes, love, for 
 your dear sake ; " and as she said this, she placed her 
 arms about the young man's neck and kissed him fer- 
 vently. 
 
 " You know, Ida, how wrong it would have been for 
 me, not finding in you the being my soul craved, to have 
 taken you to wife ; " returned Andrews, fixing his most 
 expressive eyes on the lady. " What could have com- 
 pensated for this want of harmony, to be transmitted to 
 our children ! ! Who can calculate the infelicity attend- 
 ing the want of perfect adaptation of one to the other in 
 connubial love. Think, oh think of it, Ida, and be satis- 
 fied with matters as they now stand." 
 
 " I am sure time would have assimilated us complete- 
 ly;'' rejoined Ida. "My love was and is capable of 
 moulding me into any form pleasurable to you." 
 
 " I doubt it not ; " returned Andrews, " but your love 
 could not have supplied what was entirely foreign to your 
 scope; now do you understand me." 
 
 " I think I do ; " returned Ida, wo fully dejected ; " I 
 think I do ; but, I cannot understand what more is within 
 the scope of Miss Farriday, than there is in mine.'" 
 
 " She has a hardier nature than yours, and is much bet- 
 ter fitted for the stern life I have marked out for myself 
 than you are ; " here, he paused for a moment, and ob- 
 serving Ida considering his words thoughtfully, thus pro- 
 ceeded ; " Agnes is thoroughly adapted to my requirements 
 my necessities. You should marry a man whose path 
 in life is not a stormy one, because such a man you could 

 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEXIUS. 203 
 
 sustain, and with such a man you would be happy ; but 
 with me you would never be happy. You would feel 
 yourself a burden to me, not a support ; and you certainly 
 would not be able to find joy where you were aware of 
 incompetence. This, Ida, is a too, too practical life ; we 
 must not trifle with its necessities. Those only should 
 marry who are thoroughly qualified to assist each other to 
 the best advantage." 
 
 " I admit you speak sensibly," returned Ida ; " you 
 never speak else ; but I cannot forgive Agnes for thus 
 cutting short my hopes." 
 
 "Blame her not," returned he earnestly; "many times 
 has she said, * I am so sorry for Ida. Willingly would I 
 give place to her, with your permission : ' no, no, blame 
 not Agnes blame me me." 
 
 For some moments both were silent ; Ida's head reclin- 
 ing on William's shoulder ; the eyes of both were tearful, 
 and each sighed deeply. 
 
 " 'Tis hard to think, I shall never in this life share 
 your confidence, as Agnes does; " remarked Ida, mourn- 
 fully ; " yes, very hard. She does not, she cannot love 
 you more than /." 
 
 "I question not your affection," returned Andrews, 
 " no, no ; I know you believe yourself devotedly attached 
 to me, aud I will reward you to the extent of the most 
 sincere and spiritual friendship ; beyond that, however, I 
 am not at liberty to go." 
 
 "Oh, that Agnes Farridaj ! " exclaimed Ida, rising from 
 her chair, and with a wild look confronting Andrews. 
 " I feel my brain on fire ! What to do I know not, for 
 relief. I feel 'tis threatened madness madness mad- 
 ness ; oh, God, what a heat oppresses my poor brain !" 
 
 As she concluded she fell heavily into a chair and bur- 
 ied her head in her hands, weeping pitifully. Our hero 
 was much disturbed, as he plainly saw the mind of the 
 lady was much unsettled, clearly indicated by the fiery 
 and dilated eye. He went to her and bending over her 
 body, pushed the ringlets from her cheeks, and kissing 
 her fervently, said : 
 
 " Do not sorrow thus ; you know so long as you shall 
 live, my friendship will endure, and that you will never
 
 204 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 be in want of a kind, sincere protector, whilst I shall 
 live." 
 
 ** That cursed woman ! " exclaimed Ida, " God will j udge 
 her. Away, away, sir ; you are hers not mine.'' 
 
 As she spoke these words she rose from the chair, and 
 pushing Andrews violently from her walked towards the 
 door, which she locked and put the key in her pocket. 
 Then turning towards the young man, she cried with an 
 air of triumph, and with a maniac gaze, "Oh, I have 
 you at last ; would I had that Farriday here, that I might 
 despatch you both at once." 
 
 The young man was greatly alarmed at the lady's man- 
 ner, and feared she in reality meditated some violence to 
 his person, for it was evident she was quite irresponsible. 
 He, therefore, watched her closely, and whenever he could 
 do so to advantage, he caressed her with kisses. She 
 abused him, however, shamefully ; she slapped and also 
 spit in his face, several times. 
 
 ** You are a wretch ! " she exclaimed ; " you have grossly 
 deceived me ; and as for Agnes Farriday, God will yet 
 punish her in the manner she deserves." 
 
 " Do not talk so loud, Ida, for Heaven's sake," coun- 
 selled the young man, " or persons on the street will collect 
 about the house, suspicious of some one being murdered." 
 
 " And let them collect ; " shouted Ida, her countenance 
 indicating a mind greatly disturbed, " I will speak, who- 
 ever hears me. You are a villain, sir a most hateful 
 villain, to prefer a wanton to me ; such treatment has 
 driven me mad mad mad ! " 
 
 At these wild words, she opened the door and dashed 
 out of the room. 
 
 " Oh, God ! exclaimed young Andrews, " how incom- 
 prehensible thy decrees. Restore, I beseech thee, this 
 unfortunate woman to peace and happiness again for 
 my sake, for her sake, and for the sake of thy dear Son, 
 Christ, our Lord and Master, who died that we thy way- 
 ward creatures might have eternal life ! " 
 
 As he concluded this supplication to Heaven, his whole 
 body trembled with grief, and with an eye of profound 
 sorrow and a cheek blanched with emotion, he strode 
 slowly from the room, muttering 
 
 " What a pang is pride when humbled."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 , " The old man winced and walked away." 
 
 ANDREWS rapidly rose at the bar, and Agnes was of 
 great assistance to him, even in the severe, trying duties 
 of his profession. She was a woman of uncommon men- 
 tal power, with an intellect remarkably subtle and keen, 
 which she delighted to exercise in the vagaries and thin 
 distinctions of law. Her husband had just made another 
 triumph, in a most important civil action, which involved 
 the sum of 8100,000. Agnes was overjoyed at his suc- 
 cess, as she had aided him in preparing the case. 
 
 Our hero, though greatly pleased to have won, was 
 altogether unmoved by his success. Indeed, he was never 
 elated at any time ; but always calm and of a subdued 
 manner. His remarkable powers as an orator and shrewd 
 lawyer were now generally admitted, and his acquaintance 
 was sought by the first men of the city. He had become 
 a marked man, and was pointed at by those who knew 
 him, as a triumphant genius. 
 
 One day he chanced to be standing on the corner of 
 a great thoroughfare, where he was engaged in talking 
 with Mr. McAlpin senior, on some law business. Old Pen- 
 niman happened at that time to pass by, and not observing 
 Mr. Andrews, stopped to shake hands with Mr. McAlpin. 
 The moment his eye caught that of Andrews, his counte- 
 nance turned pale, and his frame seemed to tremble with 
 passion. The young man met his emotions with a smile, 
 and remarked pleasantly, 
 
 " You scarcely ever believed Mr. Penniman, that the 
 musician's son would beat you thus in law, the son of 
 a fiddler ! did you, sir ? Oh, no." 
 
 "I I I I am not /'returned Penniman, choking
 
 206 THE PEHNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 with rage. " I have money enough, sir, to buy up a dozen 
 such fellows as you." 
 
 " No, sir, you are mistaken ; you have not money enough 
 to buy a finger of me," responded Andrews. " The business 
 of my lite, sir, is, not to be bought by, but to serve when- 
 ever an opportunity offers, against you. You have felt 
 me once you may feel me again. You have yet to learn, 
 sir, that there is something in this world, even above 
 wealth." 
 
 His keen, penetrating, brilliant large eyes, were fixed 
 on old Penniman, as he spoke in his slow marked manner. 
 The old man was quite uneasy, under their glance, and 
 looked in every direction, but into the young man's face. 
 He growled something to the effect, that he did not care 
 a d n, and passed on towards State Street. But he did 
 care much more than he was willing to concede, for he 
 felt in Andrews he had a foe, whom any man might fear ; 
 and he knew, too, that he was a foe who would give him 
 no quarter, since he had treated him in a manner calcu- 
 lated to embitter his feelings, and to excite the most de- 
 termined spirit of revenge. 
 
 Here was a parvenu of the first water trembling before 
 the genius of a soul he had presumed to cast aside, as too 
 plebeian for his daughter ; whilst McAlpin, whom he was 
 only too well pleased to receive as a son-in-law, was a 
 sot, a libertine, and from whom his wife had threatened to 
 separate. Successful genius on- the one hand, calm and 
 confident in its own powers ; arrogant worthlessness on the 
 other, with habits formed to the requirements of wine and 
 women. 
 
 These Pennimans had married, as they thought, their 
 daughter well, because the McAlpins were a truly aristo- 
 cratic family, whilst the Andrews were only mere artists ; 
 as though the soul of an artist may not be in every re- 
 spect as respectable, and as near and dear to the Father 
 of all, as that of a lawyer or a merchant. But there are 
 those ever making such mistakes, forgetting that " though 
 many are in high places, and of renown, yet mysteries are 
 revealed unto the meek." And again, " extol not thyself 
 in the counsel of thine own heart ; that thy soul be not 
 torn in pieces, as a bull straying alone. Thou shalt eat
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 207 
 
 up thy leaves, and lose thy fruit, and leave thyself as a 
 dry tree." 
 
 Agnes, whom the Pennimans had so much abused, had 
 been received into the society of some of the very best 
 and oldest families, and had been justly admired for her 
 brilliant wit, her gorgeous beauty, and the romance of her 
 life. She was beloved as well as admired. The reports 
 which had been circulated to her disparagement were no 
 longer credited by those whose privilege it was to meet 
 her in society, and to enjoy her fascinating conversation. 
 Her noble presence her sweet face in particular in 
 themselves were a refutation of the base calumnies cur- 
 rent. She needed no other defenders. It was a question 
 often asked, to what family Agnes Farriday, now Mrs. 
 Andrews, belonged ; by no means an uncommon curiosity 
 when one comes prominently before the public. 
 
 Agnes, as we have said, resided with her mother in a 
 small house opposite to that wherein lodged the beggar, 
 Throckmorton ; and it was here that Andrews first saw 
 her ; nor did he ever forget that intelligent and lovely 
 face. Agnes was the daughter of a Captain Farriday, of 
 Calcutta, and of a Mrs. Jane E. Bowman, of London. 
 The captain had been wealthy, and was one of the most 
 prominent and respectable families in Calcutta, his 
 father having filled a high post in the English army. Mrs. 
 Bowman was highly connected in London, and had the 
 best blood of England in her veins. Her maiden name 
 was Jane Howard ; she married a Mr. Bowman, a wealthy 
 merchant of Calcutta, who died from grief and mortifica- 
 tion in consequence of bankruptcy. By him she had three 
 children. Captain Farriday, in the employ of Bowman, 
 fell in love with the widow, and Agnes was the issue 
 of their marriage. After the death of Captain Farri- 
 day, his widow with Agnes left Calcutta for London, and 
 was wrecked off the Cape of Good Hope. After several 
 days of suffering, they were picked up floating on a plank, 
 by an American vessel bound for Boston, where they were 
 landed in safety, and in consequence of small means were 
 obliged to live in an humble manner. 
 
 Agnes, at the age of seventeen lost her mother, just as 
 she was about to go to England. Since when, the daughter
 
 208 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 iad been actively engaged up to the period of her ac- 
 quaintance with Andrews, in administering to the wants 
 f the worthy poor, and in befriending those unfortunate 
 women who had fallen into the vice of prostitution, and 
 lought deliverance from their wretchedness. She labored 
 earnestly in the name of Christ, and her work had been 
 blessed. Many and many a one had reason to love Agnes 
 for the kindness she had" shown them. This is in brief the 
 history of the wife of William Andrews, in comparison 
 to which a Nelly Penniman, Julia Touchmenot, (now Mrs. 
 Sampsone, travelling in Europe,) and all such pretensions 
 sink into utter insignificance. 
 
 On one or two occasions Mr. and Mrs. Andrews had 
 met in society Mrs. Nelly McAlpin, but no recognition 
 passed. The Pennimans were always shy of Andrews at 
 all times, and in all places, and they shrunk from a com- 
 parison of that splendid couple, with the sot McAlpin 
 and his haggard wife. Nelly, although she did not per- 
 mit Mr. Andrews to catch her eye, frequently looked at 
 him most tenderly, for she loved him dearly, and ever had 
 an affection for him, she felt not for any other man. 
 
 Agnes with her quick eye and penetrating intellect, de- 
 tected this interest on the part of Mrs. McAlpin for her hus- 
 band ; but she was not jealous; the feeling was rather one 
 of pity than of jealousy. Nelly hated Agnes as she loved 
 her noble husband, with whom every one was charmed, for 
 his manners were so frank, and his smile so soft and sweet, 
 he conquered even the malignity of his enemies. Even 
 Mrs. Penniman was compelled to admit the elegance of 
 his address ; so too were all others who had been his tra- 
 ducers. He stood a monarch among them, and compelled 
 respect ; he had at last o'ertopp'd snobbery, and borne it 
 down like a reed, having literally fulfilled the charge of 
 his father, " to let his virtues be his revenge."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " But wrapt in error is the human mind, 
 
 And human bliss is ever insecure, 
 Know we what fortune yet remains behind? 
 
 Know we how long the present shall endure ? " 
 
 THE Pennimans, who for a long time had held their 
 heads excessively, and we may add, insufferably high, 
 were moderating their proud and offensive spirit most 
 materially ; and certainly if a family ever had cause to 
 feel abashed, it was the Pennimans, with their worthless 
 sons-in-law, whom they had been to a great deal of pains 
 to secure, three of whom were bar-room sots, and horse 
 jockeys, without the least influence among reputable citi- 
 zens. Such were the sons-in-law of Mrs. Penniman, who 
 had been to so much trouble to marry her daughters into 
 the first families none but the very first young men would 
 satisfy her ambition. Whereas, William Andrews, with 
 his fine prospects for fame, and his already enviable repu- 
 tation as a lawyer, together with the attention he received 
 on all sides, was a pattern of virtue ! All his relations 
 with life were honorable and successful. Nothing so ill- 
 affected Mrs. Penniman as this. And to see, too, " a 
 common woman," as she termed Agnes, rise into favor, so 
 far beyond any consideration her daughters had enjoyed, 
 was an additional sorrow which so preyed upon her mind, 
 that the hairs of her head were fast turning gray, and her 
 features hard and hateful. It was customary for Mrs. 
 Penniman to put on a great many airs, and when in com- 
 pany to assume a peculiarity of manner which is intended 
 to convey the idea of aristocracy ; but Mrs. Penniman 
 had strangely altered in this regard, and her mind seemed 
 occupied with something else less pleasing than one's con- 
 sequence something that was most bitter, and dashed 
 her spirits. She felt she had not attaiaed what she had 
 struggled with all her energies to acquire, viz., high posi-
 
 210 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 tion for her children. She had married them, it is true, to 
 the "Jirst young men," but it unfortunately turned out 
 that they were first in the opinion of no person whose 
 opinion was worth having ; and now alas ! she had been 
 made sensible of this when too late to remedy the error, 
 and the evil. 
 
 It was evening ; the drawing-room of the Pennimans 
 was brilliantly lighted. Mrs. McAlpin sat at the piano, 
 playing that exquisite piece, " The heart bowed down by 
 weight of woe," when Mrs. Donpthing entered, looking 
 very much disconcerted and extremely pale. She imme- 
 diately burst into tears. 
 
 "Why, Susy, what is the matter; what is the matter 
 with you !" exclaimed Nelly. " Another nervous attack ? 
 One would think you had lost all your friends." 
 
 " And so I have," bawled Mrs. Donothing. " I don't 
 think I've one true friend in the world." 
 
 " Why, how foolish," returned Nelly, " you certainly 
 have a friend in your husband, if in no one else." 
 
 " He a friend," exclaimed Mrs. Donothing, "a 
 pretty friend, to be sure; I've just been obliged to 
 leave the house in consequence of his abuse. He is 
 most all the time under the excitement of wine, and I 
 get from him more ill-nature than I can stand." 
 
 " Oh, you are green ; I see where the trouble is," re- 
 sponded Nelly. " He is no worse a case than McAlpin, 
 yet I manage to get along with him in peace, though I 
 must say he is a great trial at times it is just about as 
 much as I can do to keep the track. My rule is never to 
 reprove him when he is ' out of sorts,' but to put it on 
 early in the morning, when he first awakes ; that's the 
 time for a wife to make herself felt to be of any in- 
 fluence over a gay and headstrong husband. Mark me, 
 Susy, I tell you I am right." 
 
 " Well, I suppose you are," rejoined Mrs. Donothing, 
 weeping pitifully ; " but I am so nervous and completely 
 broken down by that man's dissipation, I dont know half 
 the time what I am about. I shall never be a healthy 
 woman again. 
 
 *' Never mind, Sue, never mind, make the best of it," 
 rejoined Nelly. " You don't have a much harder time
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENITTS. 211 
 
 with Jerry than I do with Jim. The fact is, high life is 
 in the McAlpin family ; his uncle died of too much li- 
 quor. James has worn me down to a mere shadow ; my 
 dresses once too small for me are now too loose ; this you 
 see is evidence that I have lost flesh." 
 
 " Who would not lose flesh with two such trials," said 
 Mrs. Donothing. " If / have not suffered enough in this 
 workl, I should like to know who has. And yet people 
 envy us." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there are plenty of girls who would be per- 
 fectly willing to take our hard husbands with our houses," 
 replied Nelly, bitterly. " I tell you we are thought to be 
 most favored by fortune, tough as we may think our lot." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know who there can be so base as 
 to envy us, knowing what we have to endure from our 
 husbands," replied Mrs. Donothing. 
 
 " Oh, but you see, they don't exactly know," rejoined 
 Nelly, "and if they did, I am not sure it would make any 
 difference with them ; they think so much of style, the 
 fools ! How different everything has turned out from 
 what we expected. There's Andrews, how he has come 
 up ; and Agnes Farriday, only think of such a woman, 
 receiving the attention that she does from our very best 
 families. Persons who would never have thought of 
 noticing them two years ago, now can't do half enough 
 for them. There are the Yellowbodies, for instance, and 
 the Inconceivables, the Blowhards, and numbers of others, 
 both of and not of our set, who think there is nobody so 
 charming as Mr. Andrews, and Agnes his wife." 
 
 " It is the way the world goes, I find," replied Mrs. Do- 
 nothing, u which I suppose we must go along with whether 
 we will or no." 
 
 " For my part," returned Nelly, " I'll be hanged if I 
 don't keep up with the times. James is in a consump- 
 tion, and can't live a great while longer ; if ever I get 
 caught by a fast young man again, I will give you and all 
 others leave to laugh at me as much as you please." 
 
 " The probability is you will be laughed at without 
 leave," rejoined Mrs. Donothing, " but there is husband 
 at home, tight as he can be, and what to do I know not. 
 The servants won't do a thing for him ; and he is so mad 
 with me, I am afraid to go near him."
 
 212 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 ft 
 
 " Come, I will go with you," returned Mrs. McAlpin ; 
 " I was waiting here for mother, who is calling on one of 
 the neighbors. 1 want to see her very much ; but I will 
 go home with you and then return, or, if it should be too 
 late, I can come around to-morrow. 
 
 " Do come with me, Nelly ; I am so nervous, I dare not 
 return alone. You don't know how nervous I am, my 
 brain is tremulous, and my ideas are in a state of con- 
 fusion." 
 
 " Certainly I will go with you. I think both of us can 
 manage him. Oh ! headstrong husbands, what a per- 
 fect bore they are." 
 
 Nelly put on her bonnet and shawl and hastened 
 with her sister, Mrs. Donothing, to her home. They 
 had been gone only a" few minutes when Mr. and Mrs. 
 Penniman came into the house. They had changed 
 materially in their appearance since we first presented 
 them to the reader. Old Penniman had grown thinner 
 and his face was even more repulsive than formerly ; it 
 was as hard as a stone, and sour as vinegar. There was 
 not a ray of humanity in it ; and Mrs. Penniman likewise 
 had a visage, which gave the impression of a soul desti- 
 tute of all the nobler sentiments. Penniman had lost a 
 great deal of money lately in various ways, and this, to- 
 gether with the conduct of his sons-in-law, who spent 
 large sums of money without earning a dollar, kept his 
 mind in a state of constant worriment. And then, too, he 
 could not divest it of the notion that he would die poor. 
 This was ever present to him, when he awoke and when 
 he laid down to sleep. His wife did all she could to dis- 
 possess him of such an idea, but in vain ; he harped the 
 more on it, the more she endeavored to calm his mind. 
 
 The truth is, this old Shylock as well as his wife and 
 children, had been living without God in the world, and 
 they were, therefore, without the consolation the Bible 
 affords those who believe in and make it a rule of action. 
 " That peace of mind which passe th all understanding," 
 they knew nothing of; indeed, they had no conception of 
 such happiness. 
 
 " Well, dear," said Mrs. Penniman, who had seated her- 
 Belf in a rocking chair, " I can't help it, if you will keep
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP GENIUS. 213 
 
 up this incessant talk about our coming to poverty, to 
 poverty I suppose we must go ; but really, it is a disease, 
 my dear, you ought to strive to overcome it. Only think 
 how you would be laughed at by all our friends, if they 
 knew of your talk." 
 
 "Friends? eh! we've got no friends," muttered old 
 Penniman, from between his teeth ; no no friends ! 
 And as to our sons-in-law, whom you were so anxious to 
 secure for our girls, why, they are our worst enemies ! 
 d n them ! they've disgraced themselves and us. Think 
 only think, what a match Nelly and Andrews would 
 have been ; why that young man will go to Congress yet ; 
 he will be one of the first statesmen in the country." 
 
 " Well, my dear, it was impossible for me to have fore- 
 seen what he would come to," rejoined Mrs. Penniman ; 
 " who ever thought of his being a successful lawyer 
 whoever thought of such a thing ; you know how plebeian 
 his family, in comparison to McAlpin's." 
 
 " D n all such notions ! 1 am getting tired of them," 
 exclaimed Mr. Penniman. " It is my opinion that a smart 
 young man is always of the highest respectability. You 
 knew very well that Andrews was unusually smart, for I 
 have heard you say so." 
 
 " That is all very true," replied Mrs. Penniman ; " I 
 can't, however, endure plebeains, no matter how smart they 
 may be. I want none but the best born people connected 
 with me." 
 
 " Well, I have only to say such are devilish expensive 
 people," replied the husband; "and much more fond of 
 squandering away time, than being honestly and pfofit- 
 ably employed." 
 
 " And how long since you found that out, pray ? " in- 
 terrogated Mrs. Penniman sarcastically. 
 
 " You have come down a good deal in your tone of 
 late. It will be well for us, if we have a house over our 
 heads in six months," rejoined the husband, sharply. 
 
 " Nonsense ! what a fool you are," returned the wife, 
 evidently disturbed at the remark. " You are the greatest 
 fool I know of. If we had all the wealth of the Roths- 
 childs, you would forever be talking about coming to 
 want. Don't don't, for Godsake, be so blue, continually ;
 
 214 THE PENNIMANSJ OB, 
 
 I shall get to be as bad as yourself, if you persist in this 
 gloomy mood. Come, get up, and go off to the club. 
 Here, take your hat, and go either there, or to the 
 theatre go somewhere for a laugh, if it's at a dance- 
 house on the hill. Do, when you come home, bring with 
 you a smile." 
 
 Old Penniman took his hat, and giving the vinegar 
 visage of his wife a brush with his hand playfully, passed 
 out into the street, and thence made his way to the club- 
 room, where he seated himself at whist with a party who 
 were as wealthy and miserable as himself. Mrs. Penni- 
 man was about to retire to her bed-chamber, when the 
 door-bell rang, and a party consisting of Mrs. Catchpenny, 
 Mrs. Touchmenot, and the Blowhards, entered the house. 
 The Catchpennys and Touchmenots, though for a time 
 estranged by young Andrews' wit, had come again to 
 terms of amity. Mrs. Penniman was not a little vexed 
 at their visit, as she was in no very pleasant frame of mind. 
 
 "Really, Mrs. Penniman, I was charmed last night at 
 the opera," said Mrs. Touchmenot, with a toss of the 
 head ; " quite charmed ; wasn't you, Mrs. Penniman ? " 
 
 " No, I can't say that I was ; " replied Mrs. Penniman; 
 " for my head felt the whole time as though it would 
 burst." 
 
 " Oh, I regret that exceedingly, my dear Mrs. Penni- 
 man," said Mrs. Catchpenny. " You do not this evening 
 appear at all well. I suppose the losses of your husband 
 distresses you." 
 
 " The losses of my husband ! " reiterated Mrs. Penni- 
 man. " Why what do you mean ? " 
 
 " We met Mr. Gaseous as we came along, and he in- 
 formed us that some one informed him that your husband 
 had lost heavily, and that his credit would suffer seriously 
 at the Banks, and in fact, everywhere" 
 
 " Well,'.' replied Mrs. Penniman, " I am quite recon- 
 ciled to God's will in all things at least I try to be. 
 But of this I know nothing at all our vile enemies are 
 at work it is all lies lies lies and who is not 
 lied about of any pretensions whatever above the rab- 
 ble, the dirty rabble ! " 
 
 "That's just my feeling, precisely," said Mrs. Touch-
 
 THE THIUMPH OF GENIUS. 215 
 
 menot ; " I've no wish to leave this world, none what- 
 ever." 
 
 Mrs. Touchmenot was a coarse, vulgar woman, whose 
 daughter Julia, as we have already related, was in Europe 
 with her husband, having a " delightful time," as she in- 
 formed her mother in her letters. Mrs. Touchmenot had 
 now in Europe three children, of whom she was constant- 
 ly talking. These children had gone abroad under the 
 impression that they were uncommon characters, and so, 
 indeed, they were of uncommon weakness. Unfortu- 
 nately for the reputation of the U. S., there are altogether 
 too many of these characters in Europe, on money they 
 do not know the value of, and could not earn, however 
 great their opportunities ! 
 
 " Hav.e you heard lately from your daughter, Mrs. 
 Touchmenot ? " inquired Mrs. Penniman. 
 
 " Oh, yes why yes," responded Mrs. Touchmenot. 
 " Why bless your soul, we get letters quite often. Julia 
 writes in 'fine spirits ; she says her husband is called the 
 handsomest American in Italy. Some celebrated painter 
 at Rome has requested him to sit for his portrait for 
 half the price he would charge all others. We think this 
 a great compliment, a very great honor, indeed, Mrs. Pen- 
 niman ; for you must know, at Rome, a great artist does 
 a great thing, when he works for half price. Sampsone 
 is to be painted in full, in his dressing gown and slippers, 
 with his neck bare, that the head may appear to the best 
 advantage. I have a place already selected in my house 
 to put it." 
 
 " 1 hope when it is sent home," remarked Miss Fanny 
 Catchpenny, " some one will pack it who knows his 
 business, so that it may not arrive in the plight of Mr. 
 Quiddle's statuary entirely ruined ! in consequence of 
 his having thought it not worth while to be at the ex- 
 pense of a pack-man." 
 
 " Mr. Quiddle is one of your penny wise and pound 
 foolish gentlemen," retuined Mrs. Touchmenot, with a 
 good deal of affected dignity, " after whom my son will 
 not pattern ; you may be assured of that. My son, Miss 
 Fanny, is a thorough going business man, and knows what 
 is what, if he does lay abed late in the morning."
 
 216 THE PENNIMANS J OB, 
 
 " Oh, we know that, Mrs. Touchmenot," replied Mrs. 
 Catchpenny, " We know that perfectly well. Mr. 
 Sampsone could not possibly make any such mistake as 
 Mr. Quiddle committed. Did you ever hear any one say 
 that Mr. Andrews resembled your son ? " 
 
 " What, that brute resemble my son ? " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Touchmenot, her eyes dilating and her whole appearance 
 indicating great indignation. " I'd burn him alive if I 
 thought so. I have not forgotten his infamous conduct 
 the brute." 
 
 " Don't, I beg of you, take offence Mrs. Touchmenot," 
 said Mrs. Catchpenny, " at my words. I assure you Mr. 
 Andrews is thought a splendid looking man by everybody. 
 And you know how much attention he receives from our 
 first people how much admired his wife is who speaks 
 three languages, and is one of the most fascinating women 
 in society that we have had for many a day." 
 
 " Well, all this don't raise them in my estimation a 
 peg," returned Mrs. Touchmenot. "They are the same 
 dirt to me now, as ever." 
 
 " So they are to me," said Mrs. Penniman, with evident 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Both Mrs. Touchmenot and Mrs. Penniman were a good 
 deal excited, which Mrs. Catchpenny observing, endea- 
 vored to turn the conversation ; and after some good man- 
 agement succeeded in restoring a quiet state of temper. 
 From one subject they passed to another, abusing soundly 
 the Atlays, and a number of others not of their set. In 
 particular did the Atlays receive from the Catchpennys a 
 severe broadside, in consequence of Lucy's success in 
 fascinating Augustus Hamilton, for whom Miss Fanny 
 Catchpenny, in common with a number of other young 
 ladies, had " set their caps." 
 
 Lucy Atlay was bitterly envied by the Catchpennys, 
 and, indeed, by, very many others, who had predicted her 
 destiny to be that of old maidenhood ; she would never 
 get a husband, they thought "a conceited blue-stock- 
 ing ! " The Inconceivables disliked her particularly be- 
 cause she spoke French ; and thought any man who would 
 marry her, a fool ! The Catchpennys were quite mistaken, 
 as numerous others of their character have been mistaken,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIITS. 217 
 
 in their calculations, as to the chances of marriage of 
 those women, who, instead of putting themselves in the 
 way of beaux, rather shrink from such boldness, never for- 
 getting that true men men who are worth being wedded 
 to, prefer to be at some trouble to find a modest and un- 
 presuming lady, than to have ready at hand a forward and 
 wanton one. 
 
 Miss Laura Catchpenny had a great deal to say about 
 Mr. James McAlpin, " handsome Jimmy." She went even 
 so far as to declare that he was a great favorite of hers, 
 and had offered himself to her previous to proposing to 
 Miss Penniman. This was a cutting statement to the ears 
 of Mrs. Penniman, nor would she allow herself to believe 
 one word of it ; indeed, her pride was so much shocked, 
 at her daughter taking up with a fellow whom the Catch- 
 pennys had declined, that she said to Miss Catchpenny, 
 evidently much excited, that her story could not be true ; 
 that there must be some mistake. Miss Catchpenny de- 
 clared that there was no mistake, and was surprised at Mrs. 
 Penniman's incivility. Mrs. Catchpenny likewise, said, 
 that she had never in all her life before received such 
 treatment ; as she considered any insult offered her daughter 
 as personal to herself. Words, and hot words flew fast from 
 one to the other, until things came to such a pass, that the 
 Catchpennys left the house in a violent passion, declaring 
 their acquaintance with the Pennimans, whom they always 
 regarded as vulgar people, was now and forever at an 
 end. 
 
 As the Catchpennys were no particular favorites of the 
 company who remained, they now readily sympathized 
 with Mrs. Penniman, and gave it as their opinion that 
 Nelly was James' first and only love. This tended great- 
 ly to soothe the feelings of Mrs. Penniman, who had not 
 for a great length of time been so much disturbed, as on 
 this present occasion. There were few terms she could 
 think of strong enough to express her contempt for these 
 " vulgar Catchpennys," whom, she said, were envious of 
 everybody who appeared to enjoy life more than them- 
 selves. Indeed, she ran on at a rapid and fearful rate 
 against this family, whose acquaintance she said she always 
 regretted having made, because she knew them to be of 
 10
 
 218 THE PEXNIMANS; OK, 
 
 " bad breed." The company joined her in all she said ; 
 indeed, Mrs. Blowhard was unsparing of her condemna- 
 tion. 
 
 While matters were in this state of fusion, in walked 
 Gaseous, very much like a dancing-master, and quite as 
 though he trod on hot irons. At the sight of this " ador- 
 able " sweet sir, the company seemed well pleased, for 
 he was somewhat of a favorite, having continued to make 
 himself agreeable with his sailor yarns, and his any quan- 
 tity of gas. He was unquestionably one of the most 
 gaseous upstarts of the city, and perhaps no man walked 
 the streets with an air so impudent, and a head so cram- 
 med with self-esteem. The truth is, he had been spoiled 
 by a class of persons who took him up by force of his assur- 
 ance, and feasted him until he fairly grew weary of at- 
 tention, and wondered what these " fools wanted of 
 him." 
 
 He was not slow to join Mrs. Penniman against the 
 Catchpennys, whom he denounced as excessively coarse 
 people. He had of late heard it rumored, that Mr. Pen- 
 niman had met with great losses in railroad stock, bank 
 stock, and in merchandise ; but the general opinion seemed 
 to be, that he was solvent, though by no means a wealthy 
 man. Mrs. Penniman had been informed of none of these 
 rumors, and although she knew her husband had made 
 heavy losses, she considered herself quite able to keep, 
 and to ride in her carriage ; and this privilege she intend- 
 ed to enjoy as long as possible. Gaseous was one of those 
 men who talk at random, and consequently, much of the 
 time, talked ridiculously ; but " his set," generally speak- 
 ing, were pleased with his gabble, and thought him an 
 exceedingly entertaining person. In fact this fellow be- 
 lieved himself to be an Apollo ! and availed of all that 
 art could do to make him acceptable to the fair sex. Much, 
 however, as he was admired, a great deal of fun was 
 poksd at him in a sly way, of which he was not aware. 
 There were sensible and witty women now and then with 
 whom he would come in contact, who, seeing at once into 
 his absurdities, laughed heartily in their sleeves. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman and her friends having exhausted all 
 they had to say uncomplimentary of the Catchpennys,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 219 
 
 and of several other families, whom they believed had 
 little or no respect for them, partook of some cake and 
 wine, when Mrs. Touchmenot was informed her carriage 
 was at the door. She had had rather an exciting evening, 
 and the blood had so freely flowed to the head, that her 
 face was red as a coal. Gaseous waited upon the ladies to 
 the carriage, and having played the footman to perfection, 
 returned to the drawing room of Mrs. Penniman, whom 
 he found reclining on the sofa, complaining of a severe 
 headache. He bound her head with a napkin wet with 
 ice water, and putting his arm about her waist pressed 
 her tenderly, with a sigh for her beating temples. We 
 do not think she had had such a pressure for a long time. 
 By his gracious manner he came into great favor with all 
 classes of women, and was thought to be an exceedingly 
 clever man. On the evening of which we write, he had 
 Mrs. Penniman most tenderly by the hand, and appeared 
 to be fondling her very much in the manner of a husband. 
 The drawing room doors were shut, the curtains were 
 down, and the opportunity for a love scrape was exceed- 
 ingly fine. Mrs. Penniman, notwithstanding her indis- 
 position, notwithstanding her quarrel with Mrs. Catch- 
 penny, was in prime condition for anything that might 
 happen. She kissed Gaseous with a degree of fer- 
 vor, hardly equalled by youth's hot blood, and seemed 
 to enjoy his presence exceedingly, as much, if not more 
 than she ever did her husband's. Whilst, however, they 
 were in this most interesting situation, who should pop 
 his head into the room, but old Penniman. He had en- 
 tered the house in his usual soft manner, and going up 
 stairs with his light tread, had made the most surprising 
 discovery of his long life his wife with her lips close 
 pressed to those of Gaseous ! 
 
 Old Penniman had been for some time in a most un- 
 happy state of mind in consequence of his losses, and the 
 worthless character of his sons-in-law; and now that he 
 had detected his wife in such familiarity with a libertine, 
 (for Gaseous was generally regarded as such,) he was 
 overwhelmed with sadness, and at once passed down 
 stairs and out of the house, determined never to live 
 with his wife again, muttering :
 
 220 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 *' Frailty, thy name is woman. Go to the theatre, eh, 
 anywhere for a laugh come home with a smile; oh, tho 
 wretch ! " 
 
 Mrs. Penniman and Gaseous stood amazed their 
 hands trembling as they clasped each other.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " The power of soothing words, and soothing sounds, appease 
 The raging pain, and lessen the disease." 
 
 IDA. ROBEKTSON, with, whom Andrews was closeted, and 
 who rushed wildly from his presence, he found, as he 
 passed into the entry below, reclining on a sofa, ap- 
 parently unconscious. He fell upon his knee beside her, 
 and removing from her tear-washed cheeks the hair which 
 veiled them, he drew from his pocket a snowy white 
 handkerchief, and wiped her face. He then spoke softly 
 to her, and kissed her firmly set lips. In a few moments 
 she turned, took his hand and pressed it closely to her 
 wan lips, at the same time making an effort to speak ; 
 after some little delay she said, in the most inaudible 
 manner : 
 
 " Oh, sir, would I could ever hold your hand in mine 
 it is so warm, and firm." 
 
 Overpowered by this declaration, coupled with the 
 stricken form of Miss Robertson, which never appeared 
 to him so lovely as now, as it lay stretched upon the 
 sofa, the young man lamented that he had ever been 
 born. He laid his head upon her bosom and wept ve- 
 hemently. 
 
 " Oh, God ! " he exclaimed, after recovering somewhat 
 from his sorrow, " how mysterious are thy ways. Thus 
 to suffer as I do, is worse than a thousand deaths, but 
 thanks, oh thanks, kind father, gracious God, that it is 
 written, ' despise not the chastening of the Lord, neither 
 faint when thou art rebuked of him ; for whom the Lord 
 loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he 
 receiveth ; for our light afflictions, which are but for a 
 moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal 
 weight of glory.' Ida Ida this is the saddest hour of 
 my life."
 
 222 THE PEXNIMANS; OB, 
 
 He gazed at her ; she spoke not a word ; but the tears 
 ran down her cheeks, and told of a heart stricken by the 
 power of disappointed pride, and wounded vanity. Our 
 hero, although entirely unconscious of any blame which 
 could possibly attach to him in the matter of Ida's 
 unfortunate situation, nevertheless grieved as much as 
 though he were the sole cause of all her sufferings, 
 the lamentable condition to which she was now reduced. 
 It was a pitiful picture, that of Ida stretched upon the 
 sofa, with the hand of death upon her, and the manly 
 form of Andrews bent over her faintly beating bosom, 
 whose hopes in him were so much greater than he had 
 ever supposed, or encouraged it to cherish. On the con- 
 trary, he had persistently discouraged all expectation of 
 his heart and hand, and early explained to the lady the 
 precise state of his feelings. He supposed then that there 
 was an end to all hope, especially after her neglect conse- 
 quent on his dismissal from the firm of Catchpenny & Co. 
 and indeed there was. She appeared to regard the matter 
 in this light ; and always met him as she would any other 
 particular and valued friend. She mingled constantly in 
 society, and was quite attractive, receiving a good deal 
 of attention from the gentlemen : she was twice engaged, 
 but dismissed her suitors, when she saw the genius of 
 Andrews developing so strikingly. Her thoughts began now 
 to be of him, more than of all other men. No one could 
 understand her conduct ; as she was far too proud to let 
 the world know how well she loved a man who could 
 not become interested in her. From Andrews in partic- 
 ular, she took especial pains to conceal her intense desires, 
 and was so successful, that he never for a moment thought 
 she had more than a sisterly regard for him. But no 
 sooner had he promised marriage to another, than this 
 pent up passion she had nursed so long, with its hopes 
 and fears, burst its imprisonment, and beset young An- 
 drews with all the fury of despair. He could not, nor he 
 would not yield to it ; for he had found a woman adapted 
 to his plans and character, whom to discard would be to 
 tear himself apart ; and blast a future in which he had 
 many hopes laid up, not the least of which was his 
 triumph over assumption. With Ida he might not be
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEXIUS. 223 
 
 able to advance, with Agnes he would carry all before 
 him. Which of the two to choose it was not difficult for 
 him to determine ; and although it sorrowed his heart to 
 disappoint Ida, still it seemed to be an imperative duty 
 he owed himself, to work out his own destiny in the most 
 direct manner, and by the most approved and certain 
 means. He appreciated Ida's feelings ; but he had re- 
 solved adverse to her love it could not support him ; 
 besides it was sensual ! and in marked contrast with the 
 pure spirituality of Agnes. There are very many who 
 cannot distinguish between a sensual and spiritual love ; 
 and laugh immoderately at " those fools " who make a 
 distinction. To love with many is merely to feel a desire 
 to cohabit with each other, to share in each other's joys 
 and sorrows, and to be true until death them does part ; 
 but there is a grossness to this sentiment from which a 
 purely spiritual love is free. It was not so much the 
 desire to cohabit together on the part of Andrews and 
 Agnes, as it was the wish to interlock their minds, and to 
 be of one spirit, strong in mutuality of interest, of aims, 
 and hopes, and developing their faculties to the utmost 
 bounds of their stretch, in view of eternal progression. 
 
 The young man, as we have said, bent over the bosom 
 of Ida, oppressed with a grief he had never until now ex- 
 perienced ; the grief of beholding one prostrate from an 
 excess of passion by him excited, and which she could 
 not control. His hand was clasped in hers, and his head 
 yet rested on Ida's bosom, which was broad and full. 
 
 " Ah, sir, you little know the pangs here, here," and 
 thereupon she raised her disengaged hand to place it at 
 her breast, but only partially succeeded. " My life," she 
 continued, " has been most sad and dreary ; with many 
 bright and cheerful hopes, I may say that I have not 
 realized one. When I think of those happy days of our 
 youth, when we conversed so freely together, and be- 
 lieved we yet might wed, I am overwhelmed with grief." 
 
 " Then do not think of the past," -rejoined Andrews, 
 pitifully. " Blot it from your memory ; think only of the 
 future, and yet hope to be happy." 
 
 " Of the future yes," responded Ida. " 'Tis much I 
 think of it of that home beyond the grave, where soon 
 I shall be installed."
 
 224 IHE PENNIMANSJ OK, 
 
 " Oh, do not be so hopeless of life," rejoined Andrews. 
 " You will recover from this attack, and many years of 
 enviable felicity may yet be yours." 
 
 " Enviable ! " reiterated Ida, as she raised her eyes to 
 those of Andrews. " Enviable ; ah, sir," and with these 
 words the tears rolled copiously down her cheeks. " Who 
 envies me, in aught I may have of joy on this earth, with 
 you wedded to another, must be indeed bankrupt of every 
 pleasure. No, I do not wish to live ; I feel I cannot ; and 
 I am content to die. When I am beneath the sod, some- 
 times you may think of me ; and sometimes you may 
 remember, although I had my faults, I ever wished you 
 well." 
 
 She seemed at this moment to be greatly exhausted ; 
 her eyes were loosely closed, and her breathing short and 
 difficult. 
 
 " Air, air," she faintly whispered. " I am dying air 
 
 air." 
 
 The young man threw up the window, and unloosed 
 about her 'bosom and waist the dress she had arranged 
 upon her person with so much taste. Relief was at once 
 afforded, and she revived so as to resume conversation. 
 
 " Ah, sir, why could you not have overlooked in me a 
 girlish folly ; why could you not have forgiven a slight ? " 
 
 " I forgave it all willingly, freely forgave," replied 
 Andrews. " But I did not, could Tiotforget.'" 1 
 
 " Why, oh, why did you, of all women on earth, make 
 choice of such a creature as Agnes Farriday ? " returned 
 Ida. " A woman about whom so many prejudicial reports 
 are rife. Forget, ah, who will ever forget such taste as 
 yours. If you cannot forget my faults, neither can I for- 
 get your infatuation ! " 
 
 "Ah," replied the young man. "You decieve yourself 
 
 you know not what you say she whom you despise, 
 was sent to me by Heaven." 
 
 " Infatuated man ! " rejoined Ida. " Time may yet 
 cure you of your folly. I shall not live to see it, but that 
 hour may come when you will wish to undo much that 
 you have done. I would it were possible for me to live, 
 to witness these scales fall from your eyes, and your de- 
 livery from this fatal delusion accomplished. I would it
 
 THE TKITJMPH OF GENIUS. 225 
 
 might be my mission to rescue you from this condition ; 
 then you would, perhaps, think better of me, and forget 
 as well as forgive my errors. That I am faulty I know ; 
 and what woman is not ? Who of all their number in any 
 of their rank, can say, towards man they are always, at all 
 times, and under all circumstances, perfectly candid and 
 sincere ? Not one ! if she has wit and contrivance, if she 
 plays the game of life to win, as it is taught by the sophis- 
 ticated and refined." 
 
 " I cannot dispute the correctness of your remarks, in 
 general, but in some particulars I know you are wrOng," 
 rejoined Andrews, as he gazed tenderly at the pallid fea- 
 tures of Ida. 
 
 " You would except Agnes, of course," responded Ida. 
 " 0, how I wish you could see her as / do." 
 
 " If I saw her as you do, I am sure she would not seem 
 lovely," returned the young man. " For with eyes that 
 see deformity in all they may not, or do not wish to cher- 
 ish, but little oftentimes is pleasing." 
 
 " Infatuated man ! farewell," responded Ida. " If Ag- 
 nes Farriday is indeed your idol, your sole and only love, 
 I pray you may be happy with her ; and when I am dead, 
 as soon I shall be, think of me as one who would have 
 you enjoy all the world can bestow of peace and pleasure. 
 Ah, who knows my heart, but God ! Oh, oh, I am so 
 faint, so weak so ah. I think this must be death, 
 yes, yes ; it is it is ; hold fast my hand, and now that I 
 press it to my bosom know that I am poisoned ; that I 
 die, alone for you. When in my laughing girlhood, care- 
 less and happy as then I was, I secretly vowed never to 
 outlive your wedding day, if it made MS not one true to 
 that vow, I have taken that within, which no drug can 
 antidote. Andrews, I must die and you, ah you 
 you you the cause ! Oh ah it works so slow 
 but sure sure. Agnes Farri here away 
 away woman. Ah, sweet sir, she is your love yes 
 yes your love not mine, no, no, not mine, not mine." 
 Her frame was much convulsed, as she continued : " Oh, 
 think of me sometimes, sweet sir, and bury me near 
 where you you shall lie." 
 
 With these words the death rattle followed, and she 
 ceased to breathe. 
 
 10*
 
 226 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 " Dead," murmured Andrews. " And I I the cause. 
 Oh God oh God ! But no, I'll not give way to sorrow, 
 for all is well. Thy decrees, kind Heaven, I will believe, 
 are just ! " 
 
 He kissed the cold brow and bloodless lips of Ida, and 
 then folding his hands in prayer, addressed himself to God 
 in these words : " Father, thy will be done. It is not for 
 man to say what that will shall be, but to accept it thank- 
 fully, and submissively, taking to his bosom thy mysteri- 
 ous providences as blessings in disguise. Wilt thou re- 
 ceive into thy charge this woman, who has fallen a victim 
 to the ungoverned passions of her nature, and who has 
 laid violent hands on her own life. O forgive me, the 
 innocent cause of her sad end ! Thou knowest, oh Father, 
 all hearts, judge Thou mine." 
 
 He remained for a few moments spell-bound by the 
 side of Ida, gazing at her pulseless brow, and apparently 
 in deep abstraction repeatedly saying in tones nearly 
 inaudible. "I the cause poison poison." Ida was, 
 as we have said, generally known in society, and there 
 were many who entertained for her a sincere respect. She 
 was connected with a number of charities, and many has 
 been the time when her purse has furnished the worthy 
 beggar with raiment, food, and fire. The news of her 
 death was received with pain, and at her burial two days 
 subsequent to her demise, many persons of mark were in 
 attendance. Young Andrews, faithful to her request, had 
 her body deposited in the grounds where he would be 
 entombed, and a neat marble monument was placed to her 
 memory, thus inscribed : 
 
 IDA ROBEKTSON, 
 
 DIED, AGED 
 
 25. 
 
 " With fairest flowers 
 
 While summer last, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack, 
 The flower that's like thy face pale primrose."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Her letter is a (fern indeed it sparkles." 
 
 OUB hero had never been touched before, so harshly, 
 by the hand of sorrow, as he was by the death of Ida ; 
 for he could not but know it was her mortification and 
 disappointment which his ardent love for Agnes Farriday 
 had occasioned, which induced her to take her own life. 
 He did not believe she destroyed herself, because of her 
 " unrequited love," for Ida was not a woman to love so 
 deeply, but her vanity was in the extreme. She had 
 schooled herself to think, notwithstanding the young 
 man's cautious intercourse with her, that she was indis- 
 pensable to his happiness, and that eventually they would 
 be joined together in the holy bonds of wedlock, provided 
 she continued to regard such a consummation as desirable. 
 When, therefore, Agnes Farriday interposed to dash all 
 this bright and cherished future away, she was agitated 
 in a degree never before experienced. " A courtezan," 
 she would constantly mutter to herself, " a vile, shame- 
 less woman, thus to be preferred to me ! / who have 
 knowp him from boyhood, who have so often kissed him, 
 and mended his garments when torn *o desert me, at 
 a time of life, too, when marriage is so much more a mat- 
 ter of interest than in our earlier years Oh, it is shame- 
 ful !" And this was the burden of her thoughts, from 
 the young man's engagement, to the moment of her 
 death. 
 
 The Catchpennys alone, of all the Penniman set, 
 indeed, of all the circle in which Ida was known, were 
 pleased to say of this misguided woman, that if she had 
 had more brains, she would have had more self-control : 
 to kill herself for such an upstart as this William An- 
 drews, was certainly one of her weakest points. They 
 laughed and joked over the circumstance as though but
 
 228 THE PENNIMANS J OB, 
 
 \ 
 
 an incident of a play, and they thought she might have 
 made her death much more tragic, by using a dagger 
 instead of poison. But the Catchpenneys had failed ; 
 they were mortified and reckless. They had been " drop- 
 ped " by nearly all of those with whom they had been 
 on terms of intimacy, when reputed " to be persons of 
 wealth." Mrs. Touchmenot was particularly cool towards 
 them, for she had never forgotten that it was " at the tea- 
 table of these mushroons, "That she had witnessed the 
 greatest exhibition of vulgarity she had ever seen either 
 on or off of the stage." She abused them at every oppor- 
 tunity which offered, declaring, that whoever was either 
 directly or indirectly concerned, whether intentionally or 
 not, in her discomforture, she hated and despised. 
 
 Her daughter Julia was equally hostile to the Catch- 
 pennys, and only wondered how she ever came to find 
 any pleasure, whatever, in the society of such people. She 
 thought the metaphysicians had yet much to explain, to 
 make clear why it is, persons who are really worthless, 
 should at any time, and under any circumstances, appear 
 otherwise, passing themselves off for metal which has the 
 real ring, when they are nothing but pewter. And there 
 was much else she could not understand, but she was 
 exceedingly careful to say nothing about it. She had 
 married, not for love, but for pleasure and convenience, 
 Mr. Sampsone, not plain Anglo-Saxon Sampson, because 
 such a pronunciation of that word would be in common 
 usage, and as the Touchmenots would be thought per- 
 sons of thorough quality, they deemed it indispensable 
 that they should give a foreign air both to the name and 
 manners of their " exquisitely formed son-in-law." So 
 they sent him to Europe with his " dashing wife," with 
 not a cent in his pocket which he had ever earned, or 
 could earn. He travelled on his whiskers, his splendid 
 form, his unblushing impudence, and the purse of old 
 Touchmenot, whose face was as hard, as the hoofs of his 
 elegant pair of horses, which dragged around the city, 
 and through the adjacent country, the incomparable flesh 
 of his bloated and high-tempered, illiterate, savage-coun- 
 tenanced spouse who waddled up and down her high 
 tone steps, as though the effort was too much for her.
 
 THE TBIUMPH OF GENIUS. 229 
 
 The letters came thick and fast from Mrs. Sampsone, 
 unto her " dear darling mother," who " quite lost her 
 usually good spirits, when Julia omitted to write her 
 from every point of Europe which she visited." She 
 watched the progress of her children from city to city, 
 from town to town, from lake to lake, and declared to her 
 acquaintances she had never in all her life before, taken 
 so closely to the darling map of Europe she thought 
 Europe was " perfectly splendid," and only wondered 
 why the " fair haired Germans, did not at a much earlier 
 period, cut their way to its Southern, delightfully sunny 
 shores." This was a quotation from one of the letters 
 she had lately received from Julia, who was at its date 
 at Salamanca, in Spain ; but Mrs. Touchmenot used the 
 language and ideas as her own ; for she considered, she 
 had done so much for her children, that they could never 
 do too much for her. As a specimen of Mrs., or rather 
 Madame Sampsone' s style of letter writing, we present 
 the following, which was picked up on one of the thor- 
 oughfares of the city, it having dropped, as is supposed, 
 from old Penniman's pocket, as he was constantly jerk- 
 ing from it a dirty bandana handkerchief, with which he 
 wiped his ungainly looking, though active nose. Of all 
 the men in the metropolis, for a rich one, he was, with- 
 out exception, the most contemptible, vulgar looking 
 individual, to be at any time observed on the streets. 
 He walked with the air of a miser, and his head and 
 neck, which were always pitched forward, projected quite 
 noticeably from the line of his stomach, that never, at 
 any time, appeared to be any too well supplied with the 
 necessaries of life. It was said he was always talking to 
 his wife about the shameful and enormous appetites of 
 those composing his household. Towards the cook, espe- 
 cially, he bore a strong aversion ; for, as he declared, 
 " he never passed through the kitchen when that glutton- 
 ous thing was not feeding herself and the butler and 
 maids with dainties." He had frequently given Mrs. 
 Touchmenot orders " to dismiss the wretch," but she 
 respectfully declined, saying, " that if Bessy, who had 
 lived with them so long, and whose cooking they liked 
 so well, and who was so neat and clean, was sent away,
 
 230 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 she would likewise leave the house." This was always 
 a " dead shot " at Mr. Touchmenot ; for whenever his 
 wife threatened to leave the house, he became instantly 
 docile and resigned to whatever evils he had raised his 
 harsh discordant voice against. The old man had lived so 
 many years with his wife, that though their matrimonial 
 life begun not from the well-spring of the purest affec- 
 tion, they having married from policy, still, he had grown 
 to be very dependent upon her for his domestic happiness, 
 and on no account would he consent to live apart from 
 her ; and so, too, she towards him entertained a like senti- 
 ment of attachment and dependence ; but her cunning was 
 such, that she concealed her true feelings, and contrived to 
 give to her husband the impression, that at any moment, for 
 cause, she was ready and willing to desert him. This im- 
 pression held him in fear, and by this fear she exercised over 
 him a government, of which he was at times most impa- 
 tient, yet he submitted, lest something more unendurable 
 should come upon him. 
 
 The Catchpennys, we have said, had failed ! From 
 pride and plenty, they had slipped to humility and scarc- 
 ity ; but they still carried on their game of presumption, 
 as far as circumstances would allow. They talked as 
 loud, and as consequential, in some particulars, as ever. 
 They declared that the wisest and best of mankind had 
 been, and still were poor ; that poverty was no disgrace, 
 though exceedingly inconvenient on market days ; that 
 Socrates and most of the ancient philosophers were un- 
 blessed with money, and lived in tubs ; and that so envi- 
 able their lot was deemed to be, that the greatest 
 potentate of the age, Alexander, declared that if he 
 were not a prince, he would be a philosopher, and con- 
 tent himself with a tub ; and, finally, they would cite 
 the history of the Saviour, who had not where to lay his 
 head, and then triumphantly ask, what disgrace can 
 there possibly be in poverty 'tis inconvenient, that is 
 all, and so are many other matters inconvenient, particu- 
 larly toady friends, who are always the accompaniments 
 of riches. Thus the Catchpennys consoled themselves 
 in their misfortunes, and amused themselves by laughing 
 at and ridiculing those who had dropped their acquaint-
 
 THE TBIUMPH OF GENIUS. 231 
 
 ance, because they were now no longer in silks and a 
 fine house, on a fashionable street. They particularly 
 enjoyed all the ludicrous statements which were made, of 
 the peculiarities of the Touchmenot family, whom every 
 one admired, for the fund of amusement which their im- 
 becility and airs afforded to society at large ; and so 
 heartily never did they laugh, not even in their palmiest 
 days, when their spirits were most buoyant, as at these 
 people, now especially since the letter to which we have 
 referred exposed them to public view in a most lament- 
 able plight of the humorous. But lest we should omit 
 this choice bit of correspondence, and thereby deprive 
 the reader of a " good thing," which we should deep- 
 ly regret, since towards you, whether one of the set to 
 which we have the honor and felicity to belong, or one of 
 the opposite, for whom we entertain no sentiment not 
 Christian for you, we have not any other wish than that 
 you should be " highly entertained," and why should you 
 not be, who give your time, your attention, and your 
 money, to our tale. Here is the letter ; if you have the 
 blues, they will not, I am sure, survive this hour. The 
 grammer in particular you will admire. 
 
 "SPAIN, OH SPAIN. 
 Jan'y 18. 
 
 Well, mamma, what do you think of me ? Aint I on a 
 high hoarse here in Spain ? The way ' hubby and I,' 
 with his small hands and feet and smashing whiskers, 
 have put things through, is a caution to young cubs. 
 Money makes the mare go, and so we go it like the 
 very devil. 
 
 1 am constantly meeting folks from home, but I can't 
 take any pleasure in their society disgusting creatures 
 they look and act as though they had just barely pen- 
 nies enough to take them out and home, at the cheapest 
 rate and besides, too, what do you think ! the devilish 
 mongrels eat with their knives whenever I see a knife 
 being shoved into their mouths freighted with stuff enough 
 at one pop, to feed a dozen young ones, I always wish 
 the food might choke them, and the knife cut their vulgar 
 throats. Such people going abroad ! do you wonder that
 
 232 THE PENKIMANS ; OB, 
 
 most all Europeans think the Yankee nation a pack of 
 trafficking hogs and that they say all manner of uncom- 
 plimentary things of us. Sampsone and myself they take 
 to be anything but Yankees, and if ' I and hubby ' could 
 only speak the French well, we might pass for Parisennes, 
 which is my highest ambition next to that of maternity, 
 which I shall, with hubby's consent, realize by and by, 
 but he is so dreadful tender footed and tender hearted on 
 this subject that I sometimes am quite discouraged. 
 There's no go ahead to him at all. 
 
 He says he married me for his convenience, isn't this 
 cool enough and shameful enough, and ought he not be 
 made to suffer for such conduct ; but he is such a dear 
 handsome fellow, and has such splendid eyes, dark as 
 night, and such soft sensual spiritual whiskers, of which 
 I dearly love to feel, that I can for his sweet sake forgive 
 him most anything. Marry me for his convenience ! well, 
 that is a hard pill for me to swallow, but I have down 
 with it, and doesn't hurt me one bit it nauseates a little, 
 that is all. And what more do you think he says why, 
 that he has no idea of being overrun by a pack of brats 
 through any instrumentality of his. Well, there now, 
 I do think, that is too bad one of my chief hopes of pleas- 
 ure smashed, through his political economy, or whatever you 
 please to call it. I call it, to give it its right name, infernal 
 ingratitude and stubbornness with plenty of money, and 
 everything else to go ahead upon, and yet the stupid 
 holds back. When I tell him to have back-bone ; that 
 we have got money enough in fact are made up of it, and 
 to do his duty, he says : ' No man knoweth what a day may 
 bring forth.' Your daddy may die, and I am no money 
 scrub as he is ; when he goes, the stream is dried up 
 which supplies our pond, and if a hard time should come 
 in the course of affairs we might find our pond, no pond 
 at all. So, say nothing more to me about raising a family, 
 for I foresee, as soon as I begin this unprofitable game, I 
 shall be a heavy loser and thereby raise the devil. No, 
 no, leave me to prudence, you torment, to toast and eggs 
 for breakfast, the best for dinner, and ease all the way 
 through life. Plenty of wine, good soup, pretty women, 
 mountain scenery, and picturesque landscapes, and I am
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 233 
 
 all right O. K., with nothing shall I find fault, but say 
 in all sincerity that God spoke truly when he said all that 
 he had made was good this, under circumstances of my 
 own selection, I should endorse without the least hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 Now, this is the way this fellow talks and yet people 
 like him you have no idea how many friends he has, 
 and women too, are always casting longing eyes at him. 
 Don't you think one Spanish wench was so complaisant 
 with him, that I was obliged to tell her to desist that 
 I could not allow any woman ' to tread upon my toes ' 
 and that if she didn't mind what she was about, dot her 
 i's and cross her t's, I would report her to such parties 
 in law as would bind her over to keep the peace. 
 
 Spunk, oh, spunk, mama, is a great thing. You never 
 saw a creature so essentially cowed so used up. She 
 left the house at once, and went, I hope to the devil for 
 I think it is there she is ' native and to the manner born' 
 Shakspeare, I believe, a very respectable authority among 
 poets and noodles, but of no account whatever in business 
 circles. All that this genius ! as they call him ever said, 
 or for aught I' know to the contrary, ever did, could not 
 buy one such a dress as I would wish to wear. 
 
 Poets genius good Heavens a pack of lazy curses, 
 who, whenever they marry, always contrive to make their 
 wives as miserable as miserable can be. All the drudgery 
 thrown on to the wives, a plaguy set of fools, I say, for 
 putting up with the nonsense of these pumkin heads, 
 who can do nothing under the sun, but talk about inspi- 
 ration, and write the most infernal trash, that persons who 
 read their stuff may become as incompetent and shame- 
 less as themselves. 
 
 A Spaniard of Cadiz, who had been in Boston, and 
 took considerable interest in us on that account, (and who 
 by the way was a very learned somebody, and so eccen- 
 tric ! nothing about him was like anything I had ever 
 seen before. I took him at first to be a madman, or a 
 fool, so singular his appearance). Well, this fellow un- 
 dertook to tell us all concerning the literary genius of 
 Spain, about Calderron, De Vega, Cervantes, and I don't 
 remember who else ; but he ran on as though mad par-
 
 231 THE PENNIMAXS. 
 
 ticularly when discousring of the genius of De Vega 
 whom he said was by all odds the greatest of dramatists, the 
 world had ever known. Shakspeare he thought a dwarf 
 to him. I stood up for Shakspeare, and so did ' hubby.' 
 I told him Hamlet and Macbeth, and King Lear, and 
 Richard 3d, Othello, and Julius Caesar, no man could 
 transcend, and I said it in such a way too, as was evident 
 I meant it. 
 
 When this Spanish chap saw that I could talk as well as 
 ' hubby,' though hubby is rather tame on emergencies, 
 he gave way, and began to ' haul in his horns,' and 
 finally, he became quite calm, and appeared once more 
 like a rational human being. Oh, these scholars, these 
 fellows who know so much, one has only to spunk up to 
 them to appear to know something as well as they, to 
 talk confidently, and they flatten out at once cave, as 
 Gaseous used to say, when he would be felicitous. I 
 want you to write me all about this fellow. Did you ever 
 in all your life know such a fool a fellow with so much 
 impudence and so little to brag of. Just think of a man, 
 with so little real worth to recommend him, dashing around 
 among the * best circles ' with all the bombast and blush- 
 ing insolence of a Mogul. Ought he not to be stuffed 
 like an alegator when he dies, and be put in the museum, 
 as a rare biped for he is amphibious you know, now on 
 land, then at sea. I have been surprised at the patience 
 with which most persons in society have borne his pre- 
 sumption and undue familiarities. He may be a ' clever 
 man,' but I swear he is the most self-complacent one I 
 ever knew, and swings himself about like the jib boom 
 or spanker of a vessel in light airs and a rolling sea. But 
 enough of him. Like all the rest of us, he must sooner 
 or later die, and when he stinks in the ground he will 
 need more than at present, his lavender. (Mrs. Touch- 
 menot was sorry to find such a bitter allusion to Gaseous, 
 because she rather liked this man, as she had in early life 
 been intimate with his father, who was of a good family, 
 and somewhat attached to her.) 
 
 With all that I have seen I may say that I am quite 
 pleased. I like things in general very well. I have an 
 eye for nature, at times, but I am no artist I suppose, for
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 235 
 
 these people have their eye on nature the whole time and 
 on nothing else, except patrons. They have a clear vision, 
 and wonderful scent for pap, and it matters not who 
 spoons it out to them so that they get it. They are the 
 most ridiculous set of beings, as a rule with whom we 
 meet. I can tell one of these fools as far as I can see 
 they always have a peculiar way with them a certain 
 something plainly tells one ' I am an artist ; unless 
 you feel for and can appreciate genius, and will spoon me 
 some pap, don't you presume on my time or attention 
 for I am at home only to those, who admire genius, and 
 can afford to patronize it.' Such a pack of impracti- 
 cable asses as are these, ought to be ridden on rails, and 
 dumped into the horse ponds of the several countries, 
 which they inhabit, for they are of no account in any mat- 
 ters of first-rate importance. They are never contented 
 or in any measure happy, but growling, grumbling the 
 whole time, and abusing not only each other personally, 
 but their works. I don't think I ever heard one artist 
 say of another, in the same line of business, that his 
 brother's works were well executed, without adding such 
 qualifications as made faint praise go but little ways. 
 And this is called genius ! these are the favored children 
 of God ! If they are, they ought to be whipped and sent 
 to bed, for their treatment not only of each other, but of 
 those not of their brotherhood, to whom they always are 
 willing to toady, when there is anything to be gained. I 
 know these fellows, toeZ/, and the reason why I have never 
 received any particular attention from them is, because I 
 have always made merry over the idea of genius, and the ab- 
 surd claims set up for it, among what is termed ' the learned 
 world ' learned boobies why, I have seen some of this 
 class, whom it took so long to collect their thoughts on any 
 given subject, that one might make a tolerable long jour- 
 ney, and then still find time to spare, before our scholar 
 fairly got his mouth open ; but, I must confess, when it 
 is opened, it sometimes requires a long period before it 
 can again be shut. I dread the opening I assure you ; 
 and as a rule I avoid people, who are what is called ' well 
 stored with information,' for every one in two proves 
 to be an unendurable bore. They always want to con-
 
 236 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 vince one of something, about which they have formed 
 very comfortable and satisfactory opinions, and don't care 
 to be disturbed in them. 
 
 They are progressives they are a pack of noisy 
 hounds, who are ever scenting out what they call error, 
 and barking at it reform I These apostles of reform, 
 ' hubby ' says, (and I think his judgment is pretty good 
 upon such matters,) are the most dangerous of mankind 
 and he thinks such characters at home that is through- 
 out the Northern States, will before many years destroy 
 the Union and he furthermore thinks, they will plunge 
 the entire country in fratricidal war. 
 
 I never heard ' hubby ' so eloquent before, save when 
 he told me how he loved me, and how he should die of a 
 broken heart, if I did not marry him. But he lied there 
 there is not the least doubt of that, for I am satisfied 
 he is brittle in no part but his stomach a disappoint- 
 ment there might result fatally, but as to his heart, why 
 it is as tough as an old piece of leather, or a bull's horn, 
 you have no idea how tough it is. But I'll mellow him 
 and it in time if I don't, then I shall certainly become 
 pious, go into a nunnery and veil my charms and spit 
 at all breeches ever after. Well, isn't this a thundering 
 long letter You know when I set out to do anything I 
 do it. I set out to tire you * right good,' as the 
 Southerners say, whom I have met, (and they are fellows 
 I like, I must say,) although there is considerable oats to 
 them that is, they feel pretty well ; that is, they are 
 sensible of their oats a horse phrase, but a natural one, 
 nevertheless ; those who are fond of nature cannot in con- 
 science object. Well, I meant to tire you, and I guess I 
 have succeeded. I felt a sort of spite when I commenced 
 this letter, and as there was no one at hand on whom I 
 could vent it, I just set down to open the phial on you. 
 If you cant take liberties with your parents and friends, 
 who can you be free with ; that's the question. ' Hub- 
 by ' strokes his elegant black beard, which falls in a'rtistic 
 grace down upon his full projecting bosom, and says to 
 me, I do perfectly right no one is more fitting than a 
 parent to receive back their own. Now, just think of 
 such an idea as that, encouraging me in such ways ; but
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 237 
 
 he is a darling, and I overlook in him much that I could 
 not in a booby. More in my next of ' Americans abroad.' 
 
 There are some rich specimens of gentility from Boston 
 persons who not merely eat with their knives, but blow 
 their noses on the napkins, presuming that they are put 
 by their plate for that purpose. Beside this dirty trick, 
 they squirt tobacco juice around, so that one is in great 
 danger at times and in certain places of being thoroughly 
 steeped in the weed. I wish the devilish men would, if 
 they call themselves civilized give some proof of it, at 
 least. Can you imagine anything more barbarous than 
 fche chewing of tobacco, I certainly cannot. Hubby 
 says it is with reluctance that he smokes but this is 
 another of his lies for I am satisfied he could not do 
 without his cigar, any more than he could do without me ; 
 but he is a dear good fellow, (and notwithstanding he lies 
 when he pleases, and who don't ?) I love him dearly, and 
 I shall always love him, provided he keeps his health and 
 his darling whiskers which I do so admire, and am so well 
 pleased to play with in the morning when I awake ; and 
 I do so love to comb them, too ; for then is is that ' hub- 
 by ' takes me o Frenchy in his lap, and kisses me so 
 sweetly you have no idea what an art he makes of all 
 this, and the delightful sensation produced. I do declare 
 there is something after all in a gentleman's ways one 
 thoroughly so to the back-bone, which is irresistible ; and 
 it is no use to think of enjoying love with any other 
 for love is a myth, if not professed by one who has a fine 
 taste, and is alive to all its delicate shades. One who has 
 never experienced it, has no conception of the many ex- 
 quisite sensations a skilful lover may excite in a woman, 
 in every twenty-four hours. I tell you such a man is 
 worth the getting at any rate a half a dozen fortunes is 
 none too large a price for him. I consider that I have 
 made a great haul next to that I made in the * North- 
 ern Light ' a yacht which for so long time was the gem 
 of the waters of Boston Bay, if I except the saucy dashing 
 little Raven, whose wonderful speed has so often aston- 
 ished me, when I have been sailing off Nahant. 
 
 I once said to a friend who sat at my side at the table 
 d'hote of one of the most agreeable houses for travellers
 
 238 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 in the city of Madrid, and whom I had met at Newport 
 and Nahant, and who was perfectly familiar with all the 
 boats and their commanders at both places * Sir,' said I, 
 ' why is it the Raven is such a superior craft ? she beats 
 everything of her size, and much over." ' Oh,' said he, 
 smiling, ' there is no mystery here ; the gentleman who 
 built that boat, I know very well ; I have known him 
 from a boy ; his love of boat-sailing was a very early one 
 and ' speed ' has always been his motto. He is one 
 of the sort who booms ahead ; he gets things right, first, 
 then he goes in and wins, upon such a principle as this, he 
 modelled the Raven she has never failed to do all she 
 was expected to do ; ahe's a trump card, and whenever 
 played she takes a trick. Like her owner, she thinks 
 quick, talks quick, and moves quick ; in a word she is a 
 beauty ! " 
 
 ' She is,' I replied at once * I endorse all you have 
 said.' Now, mama, have I not run on at a great rate, 
 about boats and artists, and vicious women and vicious 
 men, and I don't know what, so numerous are the 
 themes. I wish you would tell me all the news you 
 are so short always. I shall begin to believe you are get- 
 ting old and ugly, if you do not pay me more attention, 
 I shall, indeed. I wish I knew Latin enough to wind up 
 with so much for being only half educated. You have 
 no idea how meanly I have felt, (although I have allowed 
 no one to perceive it,) when thrown into the society of 
 learned people, because I could not comprehend much of 
 the conversation, so interlarded was it with Latin quota- 
 tions. I at first thought this was all affectation, but I am 
 satisfied that those who are perfectly conversant with the 
 Latin language, make these quotations from habits, per- 
 fectly natural to them ; and so I wish to God I had been 
 thoroughly educated, but its too late now to cry over spilt 
 milk, and I am not one to be a fool, on all occasions 
 and at every chance. I know what society thinks of me, 
 but by and by I'll show them who and what I am. Some 
 of them in laughing at me, may laugh too long. 
 
 Adieu, old lady, and believe me yours with a sigh, 
 
 JULIA."
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 239 
 
 We trust, dear reader, that you are not uncomfortably 
 fatigued, by this long-winded effort of Mrs. Sampsone, 
 late Miss Julia Touchraenot. We could have condensed 
 it ; but we thought it would be more satisfactory to you 
 to have the whole, and so we yielded to what we believed 
 your good will and pleasure. 
 
 The Misses Catchpennys, as we have said, made consid- 
 erable sport over this production which they happened to 
 hear read by persons who were privy to its contents. It 
 was another severe mortification that Mrs. Touchmenot 
 had experienced, " that her letters from her daughter should 
 meet the vulgar eye ; " and when Julia learned of the mis- 
 hap, she wrote to her father a letter full of wrath. Old 
 Touchmenot had never in the whole course of his exist- 
 ence received such a " dressing down," to use Mrs. 
 Sampsone's words, as she gave him for being so careless 
 with her correspondence. It was to speak in her father's 
 phraseology, " savage and unnatural." He had had a 
 number of hard kicks within his family circle, but the 
 hardest one he had yet received was that of being called 
 " a childish old fool a superannuated nightmare."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " Mine enemies 1 will forgive." 
 
 THE Catchpennys, we have said, had failed, and a bad 
 failure it was. The girls had given up all hope of being mar- 
 ried to their mind, and so they would not marry at all ; they 
 despised men as a vain set of coxcombs, who were " bob- 
 bing around" in society as beasts of prey ! they gave to 
 such no quarter. They had worked hard for husbands, 
 and had merely their labor for their pains. The fish they 
 thought secure, slipped through their too open nets. The 
 prospect of old maidenship was before them ; they were 
 utterly discouraged with all their newly acquired philoso- 
 phy. Mrs. Catchpenny could not but perceive the "awful 
 change" in the world towards them those who had 
 been most forward and seemed the most friendly were 
 those who particularly avoided her, now that she was poor. 
 She took her experience near to heart, and hugged it close- 
 ly there. It was hard to accept, and harder still to cher- 
 ish and to make her bed fellow, yet she gradually warmed 
 towards it, and since she knew it to be truth, she made 
 it forever her own. Her hair which until recently was 
 sprinkled only slightly with gray, was now completely 
 blanched ; about which her daughters would now and then 
 speak jestingly. They had no respect for their mother, 
 still less of love ; and rarely gave her a kind or even re- 
 spectful word. They said their mother had brought them 
 up in indolent habits, and now as they had nothing to be 
 grateful for, she must accept from them such usage as her 
 training might inspire. Mr. Catchpenny was very much 
 broken in health, and he never expected again to be able 
 to recover his position. He had lost a large property, 
 and his mind was shattered by the catastrophe. There 
 was none to pity him ; he had made no real true friends ; 
 this was not in his nature. All his transactions had been
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIFS. 241 
 
 based upon the closest rules of business, from which he 
 never swerved to accommodate any one; and he was 
 now being paid in his own coin ; he was left to the oper- 
 ation of those close rules of business to which he always 
 with so much pertinacity adhered. Yet there was one 
 being in the world, and one alone, who looked upon his 
 situation with compassion, and who had determined to be 
 his friend. This was William Andrews, whom he had 
 dismissed from his employ, and to whom he nad not 
 spoken from that day to the present time. The chagrin 
 of Old Penniman, the disappearance of McAlpin to parts 
 unknown, the death of Ida Robertson, together with the 
 failure of the Catchpennys, had caused no slight commo- 
 tion in fashionable circles, wherein is discussed the excit- 
 ing, exhilarating topics of the day, and where persons not 
 unfrequently draw upon their imagination for facts at 
 pleasure. Many were the conjectures as to the where- 
 abouts of Mr. James McAlpin, but nobody could throw 
 any light upon the subject all was mystery and night ! 
 
 Nelly thought he had gone to Texas, Mrs. Penniman 
 was sure he had not left the State. Mrs. Donothing felt 
 quite confident he had gone t Canada ; her husband 
 would bet the best bottle of brandy to be had in the 
 city, that he had left for the Rocky Mountains, where he 
 intended to adopt the life of the savage. Mrs. Touchme- 
 not thought he had gone to Europe ; " her mind was so 
 much upon the continent " just at that time, she thought 
 everybody's else must be also, and whenever she heard of 
 a person's disappearance, she invariably concluded they 
 must have gone to Europe. 
 
 " McAlpin's game," for such it was called, was a nine 
 day's wonder, and then nothing more was said out of the 
 family, and but little in. They were in fact glad to get 
 rid of him ; and "as to that Donothing," they would be glad 
 of his absence at any time ; since he had grown to be an 
 incorrigible sot, drinking and squandering away his time 
 to no purpose, worthy of a Christian or a man. In bil- 
 liard saloons, at race courses, at bar rooms and houses of 
 ill-fame, he was well known, and an especial favorite. The 
 women flattered him for his money, and the company of 
 billiard and bar saloons, for his companionship, which was 
 well suited to their quality. 
 11
 
 242 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 The " Albion," then in charge of Major Barton, one of 
 the most affable and forbearing of men, was noted for its 
 excellent liquors, which Donothing and his friends fre- 
 quently imbibed, both morning, noon, and night ; few of 
 the major's customers of that day are still in the places 
 which knew them then. They are scattered far and far. 
 A jollier crowd than met together at times around those 
 marble slabs, whereon mint juleps, cock- tails, stone- walls, 
 and brandy-smashers were arranged, is rarely to be seen : 
 and a more unaffected and gracious smile, which ever 
 played about the handsome features of mine host, the 
 landlord, good Major Barton, is equally as rare so mild, 
 attentive, obliging, and self-possessed ; so truly the gen- 
 tleman in all things who can remember but with regret 
 that those slabs, those nice drinks, and all those associa- 
 tions, alas, have passed away ; but not the major, still he 
 lives, as cheerful, as cordial, as kind as ever ; and long 
 may he live, as a hale old tree, with a heart unseared, and 
 a spirit free.
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 " Would you raise the fallen ? love them I" 
 
 OUE hero, William Andrews, having devoted his entire 
 energies to his professional pursuits, succeeded in procur- 
 ing a most lucrative practice ; and as envy and maliee 
 and all uncharitableness follow in the path of success and 
 honor, he had them, of course^ barking at his heels. Some 
 thought him very unscrupulous and mean ; others thought 
 him arrogant, too confident, and uncompromising ; others 
 did not think him flexible enough ; and others again con- 
 demned his scholarship. " He might know a great deal 
 about the dodges of law its fictions and its follies, but 
 it was very evident he was deficient in very much of that 
 reading which, as Bacon says, makes a full man." He was 
 full of legal quibbles, they were ready to admit ; could 
 make a very clever special plea, and do all the work of 
 the Bar, creditably and even with more than usual skill ; 
 yet he was no such remarkable man as his friends and 
 admirers claimed he was an expert lawyer, but noth- 
 ing more. 
 
 Andrews was perfectly well acquainted with the va- 
 rious opinions current as to his merits as a lawyer, citizen, 
 and scholar. He was well satisfied to have persons esti- 
 mate him according to their own rules. So long as he 
 commanded the best business at the Bar, and enjoyed the 
 confidence and esteem of its most honored members, and 
 also the respect of the best men of all professions, he had 
 no cause of dissatisfaction or complaint. He was content, 
 and in Agnes' sweet love he was most happy. She had 
 deeply interested herself in her husband's pursuits, and 
 she understood perfectly the principles of the current 
 Law. She had attentively read Blackstone and Coke 
 she had closely studied the civil in connection with the
 
 244 THE PEXNIMANS; OK, 
 
 common law, and this vast subject of Jurisprudence, if not 
 in its details, certainly in its generalities, was distinctly 
 marked in her enquiring mind. She passionately loved 
 her husband she also loved everything with which his 
 fame and fortune was intertwined. To him and to his 
 ambition she gave herself up wholly, and lived in those 
 hopes which inspired him in his labors. Towards the 
 Catchpenuys in their distress she entertained the commis- 
 eration of a true Christian, and it was by her influence 
 that her husband was enabled to wipe from his mind the 
 remembrance of the wrongs he had suffered at their hands 
 to forgive and forget their unkindness. He had risen 
 to a position, " in the good Providence of God," in which 
 he could afford to be magnanimous his brilliant ad- 
 vance into favor with the public and the wealth he was 
 rapidly accumulating, was in the vision of the Pennimans 
 a hateful sight they could not endure to look upon his 
 prosperity. Now, far above all those who had been his 
 traducers, he looked about him with the calm conscious- 
 ness of power, and with intense scorn surveyed the im- 
 potence of his enemies. He had illustrated to society in 
 general, and to the Pennimans in particular, that he though 
 the son of a musician was ever a King, and at all times, 
 immeasurably the superior of those who had sneered at 
 his origin. 
 
 From Lexington they had moved into the city, and 
 occupied a spacious mansion which Mr. Andrews had pur- 
 chased at a great bargain. It was well located upon a 
 pleasant and fashionable street, and at their door might 
 daily be seen standing the private carriages of those per- 
 sons who honor wealth and genius. With Agnes Farri- 
 day they were charmed ; her natural manner, her warm 
 impulses ; her fine conversational powers, her bjamy, elo- 
 quent, deep, dark eyes, all combined, threw around her 
 an indescribable fascination which must be experienced 
 to be truly known. The poor came to her without fear 
 or trembling, for they knew in " dear Mrs. Andrews they 
 would always find a sympathizing and active friend ; " they 
 worshipped her virtues, with unfeigned gratitude and af- 
 fection. She was so kind, always having a smile for them, 
 and a word of sweet encouragement.
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 245 
 
 Never went unfriended from her door, 
 
 The honest, simple, truly Christian poor; 
 
 She gave with cheerful heart and willing hand, 
 
 For God her Saviour, Christ ! thus men command ! 
 
 If in their face the lines of deep despair she saw, 
 
 Her loving conscience lingered there the more. 
 
 Her efforts in behalf of the prostitute were unceasing, 
 and many a noble-hearted and intelligent woman, owed to 
 her magnanimity and sense of Christian duty the happi- 
 ness of being reformed from the arts of the wanton, to 
 the ennobling habits of honorable service, in the smiling 
 and fragrant fields of virtue. She went to them as she 
 had gone to Irene Caruthers, not with censure, not with 
 an overbearing consciousness of superior worth, but with 
 the earnestness of humility, and with the sincerity of truth 
 nor did she make this labor of love a pastime, but a 
 solemn duty enjoined by the life and teachings of Jesus. 
 She spoke in the sweet and winning tones, of charity and of 
 unfeigned sympathy, and those who heard her voice, cap- 
 able of appreciating her nature, could not resist the as- 
 surance which it gave them that good deeds, and worthy 
 thoughts and emotions, were a blessing to all those who 
 practised them. And thus she affected the reform of 
 many a misdirected sister, who needed but the right 
 method of friendship exerted in their behalf, to become 
 united once more to a happy and honorable career. In 
 the reformation of this particular quality of vice, there is 
 required the exercise of no little art. Each individual 
 case not unfrequently requires an especial treatment, in 
 the same manner as disease of the body ; for vice is but 
 a distemper of the moral nature ; and those whom we 
 would cure or relieve, we must patiently attend and study. 
 Something more is needed than to pack them together in 
 koines. They require to feel that there are those who love 
 them truly, and whose happiness depend upon the full and 
 permanent reform of their habits, and complete restitution 
 to thi esteem of such society, as they are mentally quali- 
 fied to enjoy. Inspire them with the consciousness that 
 they are loved, as are the most virtuous of the fair chil- 
 dren of God ! and if they are not utterly lost in crime, 
 they will respond to the true unmistakable sympathies
 
 246 THE PEXNIMANS; OK, 
 
 of the Christian heart and mind. We know in this city, 
 ay, in every city of our favored land, there are hundreds 
 and thousands of capable minds, appreciative of noble 
 qualities in mankind, who are engaged in the walks of 
 prostitution, because they have no confidence whatever in 
 the human heart ; they believe, life in all its departments, 
 is one of crime, and they think it is impossible for them 
 to get their living unassisted by falsehood. They are 
 women of keen perceptions, and see matters as they really 
 are. Would you go to such persons with the invitation 
 of reform, and invite them to leave comfortable lodgings 
 and cheerful company, for the daily toil of the needle or 
 the wash-tub, so seldom fairly paid, and so still more 
 rarely remunerated ? They would not heed you, they 
 would laugh you to scorn, and in a moment of indigna- 
 tion might thurst you from their door, for in all this they 
 see but the sentiment of piety, which they can entertain as 
 well as you, and many of them do from the force of that 
 sentiment, when the " regular unexceptionably moral 
 church-goerj prayful citizen," merely whines and prates 
 of misery. They do good deeds, with ill-gotten gains, it 
 is true ; but in the sight of Heaven their offering must be 
 more prized, certainly as much so, as that which virtue 
 gives ofttimes so grudgingly. Would you reform these 
 women, reform yourselves ! Let them see that there is 
 indeed more happiness, more justice, more peace, more 
 honor, more love, more enduring sympathy, in your hearts 
 and minds, than in theirs, and you may be assured they 
 will speedily fly to habits which offer so superior advan- 
 tages. But don't ask them to go from ease, from pleasant 
 friendships, though irregular, to fret themselves in homes 
 where the pride of domineering self-sufficient virtue is 
 disgusting and pitiful to behold. Because they will not 
 heed you, nor would it be human nature, nor Christ's na- 
 ture, if they should. He scorned the self-righteous Phari- 
 see, and so do all smart women of the town those charities, 
 which, in their operation humiliates, instead of ennobling 
 and strengthening them in a confidence of the human 
 heart's sincerity, and impartial love. 
 
 In Agnes, they believed ; they saw she professed no 
 more interest in their happiness than she was ready and
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 247 
 
 willing to demonstrate : they saw when she asked a wo- 
 man to lead a moral life, she took the precaution to ascer- 
 tain Jirst, that that life could be made more attractive than 
 the one to which " the fallen " was addicted. She in- 
 spired such with self-respect, and placed them amid asso- 
 ciations agreeable to their feelings ; and few were the 
 women whom she fascinated into honorable pursuits, who 
 did not devotedly adhere to them for " her dear sake." 
 And this, and this alone, is the spirit which must be 
 aroused in those we would reform, if we would make the 
 change permanent for another's sake, and not so much for 
 'their own, must they live and adhere to the habits, staid 
 as they are, of chastity and reform. In this sympathy 
 they are safe and strong ; without it they are ever in peril.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 11 He who can forgive an injury, 
 May be trusted as a friend.'" 
 
 WE have said, Mrs. Andrews, towards the dejected and 
 hopelessly broken down Catchpennys, bore a kindly feel- 
 ing, and urged the same upon her husband. 
 
 One afternoon towards the close of a pleasant autumn 
 day, when the trees had fully assumed their dress of many 
 golden and purple hues, and when the ground was 
 covered by the fallen leaves, approaching a low, dingy 
 looking house on the road to one of the neighboring thriv- 
 ing towns, was seen a handsome carriage and a lively span 
 of horses, driven by our hero William Andrews, with 
 Agnes by his side. The house was the residence of the 
 Catchpennys, whose present poverty was in marked con- 
 trast with the elegance in which they lived, when Andrews 
 was discharged from their service. As they drove up to 
 the door, Mr. Catchpenny came out to meet them, and 
 with a degree of condescension he could not have sub- 
 mitted to in years gone by, took charge of Mr. Andrews' 
 horses, and thereupon made the most obsequious compli- 
 ments. He had lost his haughty manners, and in the 
 place of a severe imperious frown, all now was smiles, and 
 compromise. Misfortune had been of service to him ; it 
 had improved his way of thinking, essentially, and there 
 were those in whom he could recognize, now, the essen- 
 tials of manhood as well as in himself. His head was not 
 tossed on high, as in former days, but modestly hung 
 about his shoulders. He felt assured he was not the only 
 one worthy of pantheonic honors. He bowed to persons 
 graciously, and even went out of his way to speak to 
 those, who, in the past, he deemed as carrion. " Mrs. 
 Catchpenny and her girls," were equally well instructed 
 in very different and more agreeable manners than those
 
 THE THIUMPH OF GENIUS. 249 
 
 they had been in the habit of while of " our very best 
 society." They " found it hard " to be on terms of asso- 
 ciation " with those to whose society alone they at this time 
 had access, yet they had determined " to make the best of 
 the world of whoever and whatever they meet with in it. 
 As Agnes and her husband entered the house, they 
 were met at the door by " Mrs. Catchpenny and her girls," 
 as they were called by the Penniman set ; and such a 
 hospitable welcome, as they received, was a happy com- 
 ment upon the prestige of success and power. Mr. Catch- 
 penny, with all the aptitude of a lackey, had driven the 
 horses into the town not far distant, that he might procure 
 the services of a blacksmith, to replace a shoe which had 
 been knocked from the fore-hoof of one of the animals. 
 This shoe had been preserved by Mr. Andrews, who had 
 been at an extra expense to have his horses shod in the 
 best possible manner. He told Catchpenny to be sure 
 and have the shoe replaced, as no other would suit him ; 
 and thereupon he placed a check for $10,000 in his hand 
 with this note : 
 
 " MY DEAB SIR : The tables are turned you are 
 down, I am up. You have not used me well in times 
 past ; but, sir, knowing the weaknesses of all flesh as I 
 very well do, I thank God I can forgive affronts. All I 
 ask of you in return for this favor, is, that you will use it 
 prudently go off West, re-establish yourself in business, 
 and support again your family and be ever a man, not a 
 fashionable fool, looking to style alone for happiness and 
 respectability, but a good solid citizen, and a sincere 
 Christian. If you are all this, you will be grateful for 
 my patronage, and in time of need you will think of and 
 will do for me and mine. Remember if you succeed with 
 this capital I now loan you, I will add thereto more, and 
 you shall again rise to the position of a first class mer- 
 chant. I am your friend don't abuse the trust. 
 
 Yours, ANDREWS." 
 
 . Mrs. Catchpenny, although she had abused the " con- 
 fidential clerk," admired in an inexpressible degree the 
 handsome and talented lawyer. She took both his and Ag- 
 11*
 
 250 THE TENXIMANS; OR, 
 
 nes' hand, and warmly pressed them to her bosom. Agnes 
 had of late made her several visits ; but her husband had 
 never been in her society, since the memorable evening of 
 Mrs. Touchmenot's discomfiture, although he had often 
 met her on the street, and likewise her daughters. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Andrews, the wheel of fortune makes sad 
 work sometimes," remarked Mrs. Catchpenny. " If I 
 haven't had my full taste of the dirt of poverty, then 
 never a woman had ; and these girls of mine are perfect 
 nettles in my sides." 
 
 " You shouldn't have any sides," exclaimed Fanny, as 
 she sat at the window with her needle making a dress for 
 Laura, her sister. " What business have people, I should 
 like to know, with sides, who have got no bottom. You 
 know what they say of a horse, if he's got no bottom, knock 
 him on the head. Just so the world, (which is no more nor 
 less than a heartless slave-driver, both North and South,) 
 thinks and too often says of women. She's not only expect- 
 ed to bear children, actually institute society and keep it 
 alive, but in addition, she is called upon to provide for all 
 its wants. I don't really see in the majority of instances 
 what men were sent into the world for unless to loaf, marry, 
 and ' talk big.' They are always talking ' big things,' 
 but doing nothing, save filling silly women's heads full of 
 nonsense, and getting them into trouble." 
 
 " Well, they never got you into any trouble, did they ? " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny. " You are always running 
 the men. It's a pity they hadn't put you in a good humor 
 by just making the attempt." 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Andrews, you can see just what from day 
 to day I have to endure," ejaculated Fanny ; " if any 
 other person had said that much to me, I would have 
 knocked the creature down ; but a parent is privileged / 
 God save me from ever being a parent." 
 
 " Bah ! " muttered Mrs. Catchpenny, her eye darting 
 fire. 
 
 " Why, why, Miss Fanny," caid Mr. Andrews, "you 
 are not near as good-natured as you used to be. You 
 ought not to let a little trouble set so ill at ease upon 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, you 've gone up ! " exclaimed Fanny. " It's
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 251 
 
 very well for you to talk. I've talked once myself, and I 
 know what a luxury it is." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Laura, "and so do I to be able to 
 tell people how they ought to be resigned to calicoes and 
 baked beans, while one feasts on the best the market 
 affords and plenty of it, and splurges around in silks and 
 satins, and their ' private carriage.' Oh, ah it's all 
 very fine to advise under such circumstances. I've 
 done the very same thing myself, and I know how pleas- 
 ant it is but all I've to do now is to listen, and to be 
 appreciative of all the good advice and sympathy which 
 drops along the current of meddlesome and officious hu- 
 manity." 
 
 " Well, now, my dear, you must stop such conversa- 
 sion," vociferated Mrs. Catchpenny. " What will Mr. 
 and Mrs. Andrews think of us ; they certainly will con- 
 clude, we have become perfectly uncivilized through mis- 
 fortune. Mrs. Andrews, I beg you will excuse anything 
 which may appear odd in my daughters they are old 
 enough to know better, and do know better, but I am 
 sorry to say a change of fortune has made them bitter and 
 reckless : " and as she said this she wiped a tear from her 
 eye. 
 
 " Bitter and reckless : " muttered both Laura and Fanny. 
 " Mrs. Andrews don't you believe a word of it," con- 
 tinued Fanny. " Mother is always misrepresenting us 
 finding fault fault fault the whole time." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Laura. " There are few 
 daughters who would not have been driven from her pres- 
 ence long ago." 
 
 " Well, go ! " exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny. " You un- 
 grateful cieatures, go go ! get out of my sight. I am 
 sure I want no one by me who wishes to be elsewhere." 
 
 "There there, that's just the way it is Mrs. An- 
 drews '"we never can speak our mind, without she flies 
 nto a passion ; " and as. Fanny concluded she looked at 
 ler mother frowningly. 
 
 " Don't you dare don't you dare browbeat me," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny, " or faith, you shall go ! 
 .'11 be as earnest as you. After all the trouble I have 
 iiad in bringing you into the. world in educating you "
 
 252 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 " There there, there," interrupted Laura. " Do hold 
 on do hold on, I pray you." 
 
 " Then behave yourselves ! " exclaimed Mrs. Catch- 
 penny. " I'll have you to know I am your mother still, 
 and by my soul, you shall respect me ; or I'll drive you 
 from my presence." 
 
 " She's under high pressure just now," whispered Fan- 
 ny to Laura ; " let her alone let her alone, or she'll 
 burst." 
 
 " Such girls such doings such talk is abominable," 
 continued Mrs. Catchpenny ; " and 1 I do hope Mr. and 
 Mrs. Andrews, that you will not report us to your friends ; 
 for they will indeed think us degraded to the very lowest 
 round of fortune's ladder." 
 
 " Oh, be not concerned about this," replied our hero. 
 
 " No, no," said Agnes. " Our visit to you is one of 
 mercy and love ; we are no news-mongers no inform- 
 ers ; we know life, my dear madam, quite well, we know 
 the inconvenience of poverty, its deprivations, the sorrow 
 of a fall from rank." 
 
 " Yes, ladies all, we feel for, we sympathize with your 
 hardships," remarked our hero. " And we profess to be, 
 and shall prove to be, your firm devoted friends. Think 
 not that I cherish one unkind memory of the past ; all is 
 wiped away. We profess to believe in the life of Christ 
 we mean to do, as near as we may, by all our fellow 
 creatures, as his doctrines enjoin. Believe us then have 
 confidence in us and hope through us, for better days." 
 
 "Isn't that Andrews to a dot?" whispered Fanny to 
 Laura. " He's noble, there's no doubt of that whoever 
 calls him poor stock, lies ! " 
 
 Mrs. Catchpenny, who had nearly recovered from her 
 angry mood, expressed herself most grateful for the kind 
 professions of her visitors, nor did she doubt of their sin- 
 cerity ; but secretly she felt deeply grieved that her situa- 
 tion was such as to oblige her to accept of the good offices 
 of William Andrews and his lady. She could not, how- 
 ever, afford to decline the friendly aid of any one, least 
 of all that of those who had risen so rapidly into fame 
 and power. Fanny and Laura did not so much regard 
 the means of relief, so that they procured again some sort
 
 IHE TBIUMPH OF GENIUS. 253 
 
 of assistance, which would place them in society they 
 could once more enjoy. They felt as outcasts, now, from 
 those whose respect they most desired, and which in their 
 palmy days, they uninterruptedly seemed to command. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Andrews," said Laura, " we never thought 
 to need your sympathies, under just such circumstances." 
 
 " No, indeed,'' muttered Fanny. 
 
 " But we are most thankful for them ; " remarked the 
 mother with a strong emphasis ; " we are always grateful 
 even for the smallest favors." 
 
 " Just hear her run on," whispered Fanny to Laura ; 
 " she knows perfectly well it goes against her grain 
 mightily to accept of any favors from them."" 
 
 " Well, no matter," returned Laura in a whisper ; " if 
 she can use them, I hope to mercy she will do so for 
 we do want assistance, Heaven knows, bad enough and 
 assistance we must have soon, or to the poor-house we 
 must march, in double quick." 
 
 " Well Fanny," said Agnes, " what are you plotting, 
 with your head so close to Laura ?" nothing against the 
 liberties of your country I hope, or " 
 
 " Oh, no," interrupted Fanny, " against no one's rights 
 would I conspire. I want my own that's all." 
 
 " Well, those you should have," responded Agnes ; 
 " and as I am a pretty good lawyer, I promise you, you 
 shall have them." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," returned Fanny ; " how well 
 she feels to be sure," continued she iu a whisper to 
 Laura ; " she's got a smart husband, and so she thinks 
 she can caracol ; she'll break her precious neck, if she 
 doesn't mind, and then " 
 
 " She'll prance no more," interrupted Laura. 
 
 " And I should be glad," returned Fanny, " for then I'd 
 have another chance at him; and he should not escape 
 me, I promise you." 
 
 *' What are your heads so much together for," remarked 
 Mrs. Catchpenny ; " I should think women as old as you 
 are would pay more respect to conventional rules." 
 
 " I don't object, Mrs. Catchpenny, to a suspension of 
 these rules," remarked Mr. Andrews ; " on the contrary, 
 I always am pleased to have persons perfectly natural ; it
 
 254 THE PENNIMANSJ OB, 
 
 seems to me this, among friends, is the only true law of 
 society." 
 
 " I certainly think so," said Mrs. Andrews. 
 
 "There," whispered Fanny to Laura, "you see she 
 thinks just as he does, of course." Then turning to Mr. 
 Andrews, she continued, " Mr. Andrews, what a pity it 
 is, we cannot foresee events ; I never should have let you 
 slipped through my fingers into Agnes' bosom if I had 
 only suspected even, you promised so well." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Fanny," said Agnes ; " you are not the 
 first woman who has slighted her opportunities ; who has 
 not seen the gold amid the sand." 
 
 " No, I believe you," returned Fanny. 
 
 " Well, Fanny," remarked our hero, " you are what 
 we should call in court, a very embarrassing witness ; you 
 speak so freely your mind." 
 
 " Where, oh, where's the use of a mind, unless one 
 can make it speak ? answer me that question, if you 
 please," rejoined Fanny, sharply. 
 
 " Well, you know," returned the lawyer, " some of us 
 don't deem it always best to say precisely what we think, 
 at all times and in all places ; because it happens often 
 that much is said by imprudent lips which would gladly 
 be recalled." 
 
 ** You've got it now, Fanny, plump in the eye," whis- 
 pered Laura ; " you had better not tackle the lawyers, but 
 keep shady." 
 
 " Oh," remarked Agnes, " we women must have our 
 say, and all must peaceably submit to that right." 
 
 " You see," whispered Fanny to Laura, " she is talking 
 now for kindness' sake ; she doesn't believe one word of it. 
 She would not have any woman to say ' bo, bo, bo,' but 
 herself, if she could prevent it ; and as to Andrews, he may 
 say what he pleases, but any one can see from his face that 
 he is an out and out aristocrat. Just look at that eye, 
 will you, and then tell me, he doesn't feel well, if you can 
 he is just as oaty as he can be." 
 
 " That's so," returned Laura. 
 
 " Whispering again ! " exclaimed Mrs. Catchpenny ; 
 " if you don't stop that work, I'll withdraw Mr. and Mrs. 
 Andrews from the room. I have brought you up both to
 
 THE TKIUMPH OF GENIUS. 255 
 
 know that it is most impolite when equals and superiors 
 are present, to whisper or to giggle, and I am determined 
 to have no more of it. Now stop such doings at once. 
 I don't care if you are of age, you shall respect the edu- 
 cation I have given you, so long as we continue under 
 one roof. If you go elsewhere I've nothing to say, but 
 if you stay with me, you must and shall be ladies." 
 
 " Well, that is smart," whispered Laura. . 
 
 " Yes," returned Fanny, " she's full of steam to-day, 
 and blow it off she will." 
 
 " Why, mother," exclaimed Fanny, " you are so violent 
 you fairly shake my nerves ; and I am sure both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Andrews are suffering from spasms. Do be a little 
 more passive." 
 
 " You are enough, both of you, to wear away the pa- 
 tience of the most gentle. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews I hope 
 you will excuse us all ; we are in misfortune's train, and 
 cannot seem otherwise than objects to be pitied," replied 
 the mother'; and at these words she burst into tears. 
 
 " Such daughters ! oh, such daughters ! " she exclaimed, 
 " and such an inactive, fear-stricken husband, no woman 
 ever yet had to endure." 
 
 " Ah, madam," replied our hero, " calm your excited 
 mind ; your husband has labored under great embarrass- 
 ments, with no friends ; can you wonder he is impassive 
 and timid who would not be, knowing the world, as he 
 knows it, as / know it, as you must know it remember 
 when the wind is fair^ and the sea smooth, and the sky 
 unclouded, our bark of life glides lightly o'er the wave, 
 and all delight to bid, God-speed ; but when amid the 
 breakers, oh, then, how changed the scene ! Have charity 
 for your husband ; he will yet support you well. / have 
 willed it ! " 
 
 " Ay, sir ! " exclaimed Mr. Catchpenny, as he walked 
 into the room, a tear in his eye and a smile on his lip ; " you 
 have commanded, and I will obey cheerfully. Ah, my 
 dear, dear Andrews, give me your hand, and come here 
 close to my heart. Till now, I have not believed in human 
 nature, nor had any trust in God. I have seen but policy 
 and self-interest distrust in all. I have looked upon ex- 
 istence as an accident upon the grave, as the end of ends !
 
 256 THE PENNIMANS ; OK, 
 
 But with this day's experience I awake to a new life, for 
 in your bounty I recognize in man that only which can 
 come from God ! forgiveness of insult, injustice, abuse of 
 power ! ay, and even friendship for him, who meted out evil 
 to you. Wife, children, behold in these two beings the ap- 
 pointed of heaven to conduct us to prosperity and self- 
 respect again from hell they have taken us, and opened 
 to us fairer realms. I hold within my hand a check for 
 $10,000, the property of Mr. Andrews, loaned to me for 
 business purposes, with the promise of as much more as I 
 may profitably use. Thus, through his success in life, 
 which we would have denied him, I am a man again ! 
 Is not the hand of God in this ? From no other human 
 being could I hope for such confidence and esteem and lib- 
 erality ; bless him all of you, for he is your saviour ! your 
 dearest friend ! " 
 
 Mrs. Catchpenny had swooned in her chair from excess 
 of rapture, and Fanny and Laura, exhilarated with the 
 hope of once again shining in society, rushed at Mr. and 
 Mrs. Andrews, and overwhelmed them with caresses. 
 
 Mr. Catchpenny gave his personal attention to his wife, 
 who soon recovered her normal condition. Rising from 
 her chair she passed to where Mr. and Mrs. Andrews were 
 standing, and affectionately taking their hands, said, in 
 tones of deep feeling, " My dear friends, I thank you, 
 may God bless you for this noble, unselfish deed. May 
 your lives flow on in happiness, and your deaths be as the 
 dropping of the leaves." 
 
 " Why, did you ever hear mother so musical before ? " 
 whispered Fanny to Laura, " this is true poetry, and you 
 know how she has always hated it." 
 
 " Yes," returned Laura; " but such a character as that 
 of Andrews is enough to fill all life with song. Suppose 
 every one was like him, would not this earth be heaven ? 
 who would, or could suffer." 
 
 " Oh, sir," continued Mrs. Catchpenny, " let never the 
 past intrude upon our friendship of the future ; let us have 
 true faith in each other, and firm trust in God." 
 
 " It is, my dear Mrs. Catchpenny," remarked Agnes, 
 " my wish to have all as you desire." 
 
 " And so, too, 'tis mine," said Andrews ; " I would have
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 257 
 
 the future of us all, a lesson worthy of ourselves ; I would 
 have truth our guiding star, and death no sting." 
 
 " It shall be so," remarked Mr. Catchpenny. " You 
 will behold in us all the practice of those noble virtues, 
 you have taught us is the heritage of man. Shall it not 
 be so, my children wife speak." 
 
 "For myself, I most emphatically answer, yes," re- 
 sponded Fanny. 
 
 " And I the same," replied Laura. 
 
 " No words can speak my gratitude and joy,'' re- 
 sponded Mrs. Catchpenny ; " you may safely depend on 
 me." 
 
 Laura, then casting an enquiring eye at the lawyer, ex- 
 claimed, " Well, I always told you, you never sounded 
 Mr. Andrew's depths, and I don't think you have reached 
 bottom yet." 
 
 Fanny, then taking him by the arm, and still laughing 
 at Laura's no soundings, exclaimed, " Turn around to the 
 light where I can see you, and find out whether you are 
 in right good earnest or not ; you know an old belle may 
 take liberties with an old beau ; " and as she concluded 
 these words, she kissed him, looking slyly at Agnes. 
 
 "Oh, I don't object," remarked Mrs. Andrews, " not 
 in the least. In serving you as friends, we would have 
 you frank and free." 
 
 This was a happy day and still happier hour for the 
 Catchpennys ; they went from freezing point to summer 
 heat, and acquired speedily the blithesomeness of larks. 
 Mr. Catchpenny had already got his head up in its former 
 position, and Mrs. Catchpenny's hair seemed turning black 
 again. Their admiration for our hero and his lady was 
 unbounded, and their caresses were warm and sincere. 
 As they left the house for the city, the blessing of God 
 was freely invoked by all the family. 
 
 Andrews turning to Fanny and Laura, who were stand- 
 ing close to the carriage step laughing at the felicitious wit 
 of Agnes, patted both of them under the chin, saying jo- 
 cosely, "Don't you ever dare to turn up your noses at me 
 again." With this he cracked the whip and away dashed 
 the handsome couple, as the dust rolled up from beneath 
 the square tread of the highly-metaled span. Whenever
 
 258 THE PENNIMA.NS. 
 
 the eye of any one passing on the road met those of 
 Agnes and her husband, instinctively they stopped, and 
 gazed in admiration and surprise. " What a splendid 
 couple," was the exclamation of all.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " Insulting chance n'er called with louder voice, 
 On swelling mortals to be proud no more." 
 
 " Old enemies who have become new friends, 
 Should so continue 'tis a point of honor." 
 
 THE Catchpennys had learned by experience ; and Mrs. 
 Catchpenny said, " Pride must have a fall ; we must be 
 proud no more ; only of character of noble deeds ; " to 
 which all the others said " Amen." They were quite 
 willing to leave the " city of notions " they had had 
 enough of east winds, and heartless conventionalisms 
 they were unanimously of the opinion that of all places 
 on the face of the earth, Boston was the last for persons 
 to build up any hopes in, of recovering their position when 
 once it had been lost. The more worthy of encourage- 
 ment they might be, the more they would be neglected 
 and despised. So thought the Catchpennys they 
 could not bear the sight of those in whose " sets " 
 they had once been " so much esteemed and petted.'' 
 They heartily wished themselves out of the State of Mas- 
 sachusetts and Yankee land, generally : " they did think of 
 all the mean, stinking trash, (in the eastern hemisphere, 
 at least,) Yankees and Bostonians par excellence, outstrip- 
 ped any and everything they had ever heard or seen." 
 
 " Any place," said Laura, " where its city government 
 will take advantage of a legal quibble to avoid the pay- 
 ment of a just debt, to a worthy officer for capturing at 
 the peril of his life, a great criminal for whose apprehen- 
 sion and delivery into the custody of this city govern- 
 ment, a handsome reward was offered any man or 
 corporation who will be guilty of such indefensible mean- 
 ness, niggerism as this I want to escape from as soon 
 as possible. So, father, let us pack up our effects and go 
 West or South anywhere out of puritanical Yankeedom ! 
 Did not Andrews say well in advising this ? He's got
 
 260 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 a long head, and knows all I have just said is true to the 
 letter. Think, only think of those Yellowbodies, Incou- 
 ceiveables those haughty, insufferable haughty, coine-oi- 
 nothing Pennimans ! " whose father and grandfather swept 
 the dung from stables and those Touchmenots, whose 
 progenitors it is believed were convicts, and those Cheek- 
 ersprings, who are absolutely mere dirt, but whom a clever, 
 hard-working, and truly noble man, has by his genius given 
 the means on which they now so heartlessly splurge in 
 hoops, in feathers, and bright buttons toadying to for- 
 eigners, and kissing the posteriors of nobility such trash 
 oh, that such trash should have it in their power to 
 tread on us as they have done, since father's failure." 
 
 " Oh, never mind," replied Mrs. Andrews, " never mind 
 my dear, the cat will mew, and the dog will have his 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, and a long day they are having of it," returned 
 Fanny. " Never mind ! yes, but I will mind, though 
 to be cut and hammered as I have been by these wretches 
 since I came out in calicoes, is something to mind, me- 
 thinks ; and now that we've got Andrews for a backer, 
 they shall feel me, I warrant you. When in my silks 
 again, I'll let them see they can't slight Fanny. No, no, 
 I'll let them see my blood ! They'll want to be sociable 
 again, but they shall feel my scorn." 
 
 Laura applauded the sentiments of her sister, and said, 
 " Just so soon as her father got agoing again, and could 
 furnish her with the means to play the lady, she, too, 
 would let these Boston upstarts, wherever she might meet 
 them, know that they could not become her associates 
 again she would let them know a thing or two, that she 
 would." 
 
 Mrs. Catchpenny entertained towards Boston and its 
 fashion very much the same spirit as her children ; but 
 she was too profoundly impressed with their good fortune 
 to make it immediately the subject of hope of thus being 
 the instrument of their passions and Mr. Catchpenny, 
 though he in a tenfold manner felt all the indignities 
 which his misfortune had subjected himself and family to, 
 yet he appeared perfectly unmoved by them ; but simply 
 said, he would endeavor to make them all comfortable
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GEXIUS. 261 
 
 again, and to place within their use the means to sustain 
 themselves in such circles as they moved in formerly, and 
 from which they had so unexpectedly fallen. He was 
 bent on making a large fortune, and with this end in view 
 he determined to settle in St. Louis, and establish him- 
 self in a Produce and Commission business, with a branch 
 of his house at New Orleans, Cincinnati, and New York. 
 His plan was an extensive one, and he was confident he 
 could carry it out, as he intended to associate with him 
 one of the smartest young men in the country, who was 
 familiar with all points of business in the South and West, 
 and fully posted in the fluctuations of its markets. Se- 
 cretly he proposed to marry him to one of his daughters, 
 because he was persuaded the blood of the Catchpennys, 
 mingled with that of such an energetic and knowing man, 
 must yield a staple of bone, flesh, and intellect, of which 
 he could not be otherwise than proud. He wished to live 
 his life over again in his grand-children as he had done 
 in his children, and above all, he wanted to improve the 
 breed by every possible calculation. He was a man of 
 figures and of facts ; and in the whole course of his busy 
 life had never read attentively through the works of even 
 one poet. He denounced the art, and declared no man 
 safe who was in search of fame through any such an ab- 
 surd medium. He said if all poets were hung, as from 
 time to time they made their appearance, there would be 
 a better state of morals, and a healthier condition of 
 mind. As to Longfellow's beauties, they were no beauties 
 at all ; and none but silly women, incompetent men, and 
 romantic girls and boys, would waste their time in reading 
 his poetical effusions. In the judgment of Mr. Catch- 
 penny, who regarded the laws of Political Economy as 
 the most important to society, this " charming master of 
 song, 1 ' was esteemed as an egotistical, self-admiring, pol- 
 ished literary sot, who could do nothing but teach, and 
 write sentimental nonsense, perfume, and talk in signs 
 which few sensible people had time to qualify themselves 
 to understand. 
 
 Polmesly, the great and immortal Polmesly ! the multum 
 in par DO of all scientific data, the man of men the Na- 
 poleon of wit, and what shall we say of song ! the
 
 262 THE PENNIMA.NS ; OR, 
 
 good fellow the handsome fellow, the fellow who lias 
 always something to say first in all things, and last in 
 nothing, except at tea the undaunted ! the genius that 
 knows no law, he may not be able to expound the ex- 
 planation of explanations ! the man who does not believe 
 in phrenology, as we are informed, because phrenology 
 doesn't believe in him the pet of the petticoats, who 
 gives his songs and his sons to his admiring and wounded 
 country ! the literary contriver, who is so well pleased 
 with his reputation as a person " of decided parts," that 
 he consents to follow in the track of his illustrious tribe 
 of quill-men, and thus comes to the illustration of him- 
 self in vignet, in those books of which his inexhaustible 
 genius has been felicitously and without pains, delivered 
 handsome fellow, charming fellow, the Adonis of prose 
 as well as poetry the Hector of success ; that mean 
 word that domineering, sneering, uneasy, breezy, easy, 
 cheesy, acrimonious, euphonious, ominous, delightful, 
 spiteful, agglutinous, pious, outrageous, captious, truck- 
 ling, piddling, apprehensive, extensive, (and so on through 
 the entire dictionary), word that idea of ideas! to 
 which all men bow, who bow at all for in success, 
 where ever it may chance to happen, and it often happens 
 in strange places, and frequently from still stranger work- 
 ings of small things to big ends wherever this hero 
 success is found whether on two legs or four, whether 
 clean or unclean, whether fat and oily, or dry and spare, 
 whether honest or dishonest, whether lovely or unlovely, 
 gentle or severe, or whatever its condition, it is a thing of 
 substance it may be chewed, it may be nibbled it may 
 sometimes be fleeced, it is sweet to smell of, still more de- 
 licious to avail of, and so be it Painter, Poet, Trader or 
 Scavenger, it has always the best of friends, and the most 
 persistent of toadies now, reader, for such an august 
 personage having power, having really a genuine wit 
 and humor, about which there is no mistake, for so de- 
 clare the " mutual admirers," whose head is at Cam- 
 bridge, and whose tail has never yet been found, as 
 hidden as the outlets of the north pole, which has 
 been Kaned severely enough, heaven knows, to di- 
 gorge its secrets, yet still is dumb, that such a being,
 
 THE THITJMPH OF GENIUS. 263 
 
 who, in anceint days ! would have been crowned with 
 bays, and set upon a high hill, as an extraordinary pro- 
 jection of nature that he, the privileged! the inimita- 
 ble Athenian, humorist, poet, and sage ! who gives the 
 cue to mirth, and is an indispensable adjunct to all gath- 
 erings of wisdom, common sense and taste the one 
 whose laws of beauty and et ceteras, should regulate one's 
 laughter and attemper one's wits that he should be 
 called, even by so commercial and practical a money-mon- 
 ger as Mr. Catchpenny, _" a facetious cow-boy," is lament- 
 able to record. 
 
 No greater abuse of " free speech," no more infamous 
 abrogation of civilized modes of thought and judgment, 
 was ever before even dreamed of, in the imagination of the 
 most crazy-headed romancer of ancient, middle, or modern 
 ages. Yet, such was Mr. Catchpenny's opinion, such was 
 the opinion of his wife an^d daughters. They had met this 
 "famous character" in society "they could not bear 
 his presence." It always appeared to them " as though 
 he was taking notes of human life, and smelt a bad smell ; 
 nothing ever appeared to give to his countenance the fresh 
 tinge of fragrance or beamy rays of love," and as Laura 
 would view his portrait in vignet, she used always to say, 
 " If this man only knew himself, he'd keep more shady." 
 Miss Fanny had a tart saying for most every one, particu- 
 larly those who set themselves up as geniuses! in which 
 she did not much believe not being able to understand 
 how it could be, that " all being deceitful and desperately 
 wicked," as the Bible declared, in which she did, at times, 
 believe how if this be so, genius was entitled to any 
 more " cake and tea " than anybody else, was what she 
 could not, and would not comprehend. In fact, she re- 
 garded all " unusually gifted persons," as unusually dis- 
 gusting ones, and often would declare, rather than to be 
 married to a pair of breeches, made up of a love of self 
 and fame, she would much prefer to live an old maid, and 
 husband her virginity in comparative peace and neglect ; 
 for she thought after all, since she had a taste, of it, that to 
 be neglected was not so harsh a pill, when taken with a 
 little philosophy. She could stand it very well she thought 
 " much better far, than she could endure any man,
 
 264 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 who could have the heart to place an ungrateful, backbit- 
 ing, captious, frivolous, grudgingly approving, hypercriti- 
 cal, fretful, intriguing public, in his affections before her ! 
 She must be served and honored first, and the public after' 
 wards, or she would never consent to live with any sort 
 of a genius to be played with and upon as his second 
 fiddle ! Not she." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Catchpenny, quite well pleased " with her 
 spunk," sincerely hoped she would " adhere to her prin- 
 ciples, so high-spirited and delightful ; " they wanted 
 neither poets, nor dreamers of any sort about them, but 
 men in every sense of the term, who could do busi- 
 ness and make money rapidly who could get families 
 and attend to, and take care of them who were 
 practical enough to know, that eating, good eating and 
 drinking as well, are absolute necessities, and that life is 
 dependent thereon. Men who sing only when they've 
 nothing better to do, and who never talk love, for talk's 
 sake men, who go to bed late and get up early, with a 
 clear head, and a tolerably clear conscience who let 
 other men's wives alone, and never seek by force of win- 
 ning ways, and pleasing fancy, to overcome unlawfully 
 any of the fair sex married or unmarried, fascinating or 
 unfascinating, fair or foul, in health or out of health, wil- 
 ling or unwilling, " but inspired with an awful sense of 
 virtue, ' stick close' to wife and children, and home." 
 
 These were men in which Mr. and Mrs. Catchpenny 
 believed, and were hopeful of for their much loved, though 
 abusive, and oftentimes rebellious daughters. In the 
 course of a couple of weeks they expected to emigrate, 
 " and when that happy day shall arrive," exclaimed both 
 Fanny and Laura, " I shall have taken another lease of 
 life, and purer and happier will be my hopes than ever ! 
 Yes, to me there is something criminal and infectious in 
 this very air of Boston and its vicinity, breathed by those 
 venomous Pennimans and Touchmenots, Yellowbodies 
 and Inconceivables, which is destructive to my morals and 
 cankering to my mind. Haste, oh, haste daddy, and waft 
 us away to fairer climes, more genial humanity." And 
 with these words she slapped her smiling father on the 
 back, then putting her arms around his neck, kissed him :
 
 THE TBITJMPH OF GENIT7S. 265 
 
 a manifestation of interest and tenderness she had for some 
 time previous omitted altogether. 
 
 " Do I owe this," inquired he pleasantly, " to my worth, 
 or that of Andrews ? " 
 
 " Daddy," replied Fanny smiling, " you must not 
 he too inquisitive. You know inquiring too closely 
 into the mysteries of the kitchen, is apt to paralyze 
 the appetite. So mind what you are about. If An- 
 drews has given you health, wealth, and spirits, think 
 me a darling, and / am so. There's nothing either good 
 or bad but thinking makes it so, you know. So go ahead 
 and get as soon as possible out of Yankeedom and 
 bears. Pork and molasses, and small beer, I have had 
 more than enough of so move, whenever you please, to 
 St. Louis, or the devil, and I will go along contentedly 
 with you anywhere but here within the smell of Bos- 
 ton." 
 
 And as she concluded, she chucked her father under 
 the chin, then seizing hold of her sister, twirled her around 
 to the step of the polka, she had many times taken with 
 Andrews. The Misses Catchpenny danced well, and 
 when they were of the elite, the arm of many a beaux, 
 " particular as to their partners," had known the measure 
 of their waists, and lovers' cheeks had felt the beating of 
 these full and rounded bosoms, which mortification, neglect, 
 and grief, had somewhat modified, in these days of their 
 sojourn in the wilderness. But with Andrews' professions 
 and doings, they were fast recovering their former light- 
 heartedness, and soon would become as talkative, saucy, 
 and plump as ever. 
 
 " Oh, Andrews, Andrews," exclaimed Fanny; "what a 
 delightful Andrews ! I feel you in every limb, in every 
 fibre of my grief-ridden body you are enshrined in my 
 heart, and so will ever be, throughout all eternity. Yes, 
 my dear fellow, I am yours, and if it should ever happen, 
 that I am made a mother of, through love or something 
 like it, my first, oh, my first ! shall be christened, William 
 Andrews Catchpenny, and in him shall I have all the 
 hopes which Agnes has in you. If he proves not a genius 
 under the inspiration of your fair name, I am certain he 
 won't prove either a knave or a fool. You, oh you, Sir 
 12
 
 266 THE PEXNIMA.NS. 
 
 Andrews, are the aegis of our family, of our honor, of our 
 everything; you oh, you are a perfect brick this let 
 none dare gainsay." 
 
 As she said this she ceased her motions, and fell into 
 the lap of her mother, who slapping her on the back, ex- 
 claimed, " get off of me ; I have borne you long enough, 
 now bear yourself." 
 
 " That's clever," ejaculated Fanny, rising to her feet, 
 and looking playfully at her parent ; " very clever. 
 Whenever you get your wit in play, I know your 
 spirits are coming up well, let them come we have 
 had small beer enough. Hurrah for the musician's son ! 
 one of the plebs ! What would I not give to be the 
 owner of just such a jewel as that? worlds, worlds, ay, 
 worlds ! Mud, eh ! it is that kind of mud of which men 
 are made and spare me any other." 
 
 So Fanny run on, and Laura after her, with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Catchpenny in the background, catching from their 
 children the warming fires of hope, fancy, and resolution 
 for the girls had determined to make their mark yet, 
 though fully up to that age when virginity begins to wilt 
 and look bilious, yet there was paint and there was chalk, 
 and soaps of many kinds ; and by the handmaid art of 
 humbug, they intended yet to fascinate " worthy men." 
 And with these hopes, buoyant as balloons with these 
 fancies plumed for a far distant flight, to conquer and 
 secure what all desire, but few can command respect, 
 competence, a clear conscience, ease and honor with 
 these golden dreams, and the still more golden memories 
 of their true friend and benefactor, Andrews, we now 
 leave them to pursue their journey West to new homes 
 and new associates where the air of Boston goes not 
 only in small quantities, and where the ever-moving, swift- 
 ly gliding currents of human life purge society of much 
 of its stiffness, censoriousness, and hauteur.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ' She who spurned me once, now sues ! " 
 
 OUR hero, William Andrews, with every succeeding 
 day grew more popular both as a citizen and a lawyer, 
 and his services had been solicited repeatedly by commit- 
 tees as lecturer on Laws and other subjects of vital inter- 
 est to the community. He had been offered a seat in the 
 Senate, but as his practice of Law was so extensive, he 
 declined the public honors which had been so freely and 
 pressingly tendered him. He did not as yet ardently 
 aspire to the duties of a statesman, but he reserved for 
 future years the realization of these hopes ; the burthen 
 of these severe responsibilities. It was towards the mid- 
 dle of a day in December, one of those " still cold days " 
 when men gather about their ears the collars of their 
 coats, and keep their hands well clad with heavy gloves, 
 when the snow glistens in crystal particles, and creaks at 
 the tread of man, or the passage of runners heavily 
 freighted with merchandise ; when noses grow numb, 
 and a hot punch may be taken as a medicine, when 
 anything that has heat is coveted with an especial af- 
 fection for its superior advantages ; on such a day, in an 
 office near the court-house located in a building appropri- 
 ated to the Knights of the Bar, was seated in an easy 
 chair beside a table covered with a handsome green cloth, 
 on which lay loosely arranged a number of books and 
 papers, a man of a marked and massive countenance, and 
 an eye so blue and piercing, the stoutest nerves were 
 tremulous under its activity and power. His wavy hair 
 lay about his prominent brow which was deeply indented 
 with the lines of profound thought and study. He was 
 alone. From the walls of his office hung several por- 
 traits of famous jurists, among which were Webster, Clay, 
 Choate,*Calhoun, and Benton. As he raised his head from
 
 268 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 its downward, thoughtful position, his eye rested upon 
 Webster, now in the meridian of his fame, and raising 
 his hand to his brow, as though to recover some chain 
 of thought, he said in a slow, solemn tone, " had I his 
 brain, I would attain to his glory. Truly is he a man to 
 command ; reminding one of those ancient demi-gods and 
 heroes, whom men delighted to obey. An ardent patriot, 
 a warm friend, an acute lawyer, a dignified and rational 
 orator, both his mind and heart were tempered by an un- 
 wavering faith in Christianity, and a perfect trust in God. 
 Webster, thy merits will never be fully rewarded by man, 
 but thy duties will ever be faithfully performed ! And 
 Choate, the Erskine of our Bar, how worthy to be the 
 friend of so pure a statist, so conscientious a scholar ; thy 
 genius points to that career which will be glorious; but 
 since thou wilt not stoop to flatter the people, and those 
 who more immediately control them, thou wilt fail of that 
 complete success, which a less unbending integrity would 
 secure. And Clay, how my heart beats with pleasure in 
 contemplating thy manhood thy gallant soul. Too true 
 to thy convictions of justice and truth, the honors which 
 thy labors and transcendent moral and intellectual worth 
 should insure, will fall to meaner men ; but yet will the 
 best and purest hearts ever linger around thy grave, to 
 catch the inspirations of thy kingly truth ! And Calhoun, 
 much as I respect thy power, I fear thy metaphysics ; I 
 fear that subtle logic which would prove this, the noble 
 charter of our liberties, but a rope of sand ! if thou hadst 
 but Webster's unbiassed and practical judgment, thou 
 would never peril the existence of this Constitution, by 
 doctrines which, however plausible in the abstract, are in- 
 expedient and dangerous as Law. The seed which thou 
 art so busily scattering on the political soil of your coun- 
 try, may yet fructify into such error as to deluge the land 
 in blood ! and when you are in your grave it shall be said 
 by the pilgrim who wanders there, as a tear rolls down 
 his cheek, " here lies the mighty soul whose eccentricities 
 of logic, and illusory metaphysics, caused the ruin of his 
 country ! Alas, Calhoun, that thou, so gifted and sincere, 
 should have thought so unfairly of the law, it was thy 
 duty rightly and rationally to construe. When thy God
 
 THE XKIUMPH OF GENIUS. 209 
 
 shall ask thee for the fruits of those splendid talents he 
 reposed in thy keeping, how blackened and bloody they 
 will be. Thus will after ages speak thy name. But not 
 so Benton, Here is a mind deep as is the well of Artois, 
 casting forth from its clear and bubbling springs, life, 
 new life, to the Republic. His noble form, his wonderful 
 energy, his indomitable perseverance, his fearless spirit, 
 has earned for him, and justly too, the admiration of his 
 countrymen ; he is indeed ' Old Bullion ' sound and 
 solid." With these words he for a moment ceased, and 
 passing his hand repeatedly over his brow, at the same 
 time pushing the light, wavy, and glossy hair from his face, 
 he continued with an abstracted air to express in low, 
 though audible tones, his thoughts. "These were men of 
 genius all, who loved Justice and devoted their lives to 
 ceaseless toil to compass its administration. They worked 
 for power, from a sense of duty to mankind, and to them- 
 selves that their outward lives might be in harmony 
 with their interior forms ; they acquired fame, but none 
 reached the goal to which their labors and their hopes 
 were pointed. Ah ! what is Justice, Law, and what, oh, 
 what is Fame ! Justice is love of God ! whoever loves his 
 Maker, loves to be in all things just for this and this 
 alone is happiness ! Law, though from the spring of Jus- 
 tice drawn, is changed by art to policy and men will 
 argue, but for rights which it is expedient and profitable 
 to acquire. And thus the lawyer, honest though he be, 
 will fall far short of justice, however large the fee. For 
 Justice is the handmaid of the Law, and not its master, 
 and often lays abed from fear of insult, and oft from lack 
 of strength to rise ; she grieves continually, and thus her 
 health from sadness and unceasing watchfulness comes to 
 be impaired. When first I thought in solemn earnestness 
 of power ! I flew to Law. 'Twas then my heart beat 
 high, for said I to myself, I will so store my mind with 
 principles as shall make judgment easy, and thus the 
 right and thus the wrong I'D have at all my fingers ends, 
 to guide my fellow man. Well, well, it was a folly this ; 
 I know it now, but I did not suspect it then. Unused to 
 sophistry, I little realized its sway. I little dreamed how 
 art could cozen nature, and from the noblest soul sworn
 
 270 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 to be most just and true^ unwittingly extort a judgment 
 false if not extort, obtain and for this piece of 
 ingenuity, wit brings even virtue, the least untouched by 
 human indiscretions, and easy humor, to bend the knee 
 to it to beg its likeness, or its hair, or anything by 
 which, when it no more its brilliant parts may spread, it 
 shall be yet identified, though in the ground its graceful 
 form may mingle with the earth of which 'twas fashioned. 
 "Tis not justice, nor the law, which pleases, but the advo- 
 cate alone ! and if he has received an intellect which has 
 scope to grasp the infinite threads of argument which 
 make for and against all points of controversy, impatient 
 of restraint, he straightway strangles or drives with fearful 
 fright mild justice off, while he pulls lustily for policy and 
 fame. It matters not who comes to him for succour, if 
 his case is with one single feature of precedent, and seas- 
 oned with a handsome fee, it shall appear that right and 
 justice make for it, though tears and broken hearts go 
 howling from her temple, and the scales are seen by un- 
 professional eyes to kick the beam from lightness of hu- 
 manity to those who ask for truth in vain ! and why ? 
 because of all things in this world, least had by merest 
 asking, is that which God through conscience declareth 
 free to all. For Law and Justice men must pay, and 
 dearly too, since on these elements of human life, have been 
 entailed so large a load of learning, that to understand 
 the crooked ways through which it forces study, the no- 
 blest minds which can endure unceasing toil must set 
 themselves apart, and that, too, early, while yet the soul 
 may be inured to reticence, and in her secret chambers 
 turn o'er and o'er their accumulated stores without fa- 
 tigue, proving the task a pleasure. Such and such alone 
 should seek to know the mysteries of that web of nicest 
 spinning, termed the ' meshes of the law ' for weaker 
 minds can never hope to comprehend the structure, but 
 lost in varied indistinctivenesses, fall to a painful void, in 
 which the soul seems so meaningless, that the veriest thing 
 that moves upon the earth seems more endowed with 
 sense and God ! No rules there are without exceptions 
 so airy and impalpable, that in grasping these one oft is 
 apt to lose the rule, and thus from all this reasoning,
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 271 
 
 comes a sickening blank ; and so throughout the common 
 law, prevails this common indistinctness. So varied are 
 the circumstances which are involved in all disputes, that 
 seldom one case, can determine others an ingenious 
 mind will split a hair, and do away with all that has been 
 done. And this, though strange as it may seem, to say, is 
 from that source of perfect right which makes the com- 
 mon law so dear 'tis termed its flexibility from 
 whence sweet Justice gets her mellowest fruit and in 
 abundance most from whence come those delays which 
 laymen swear so hard about, and all that trying labor 
 which a lawyer oft sends early to his grave, or so per- 
 plexes with uncertainty, as to shake his nerves with fears, 
 No single mind can know this precious law, the boast of 
 merry England ; but why she should take pride in that, 
 so much obscured so difficult to unravel and which 
 compel, whoever may venture at the skein, to live as her- 
 mits, and as horses work, is passed my wit to fathom 
 for nature tells me, and did ever so inform, that truth is 
 Justice, and that no system can be true to man, which 
 contradicts what all men feel the same, that God is love 
 and Law is God ! Now, if I do perceive a wrong on 
 earth it is in Governments since they exist to please 
 and pamper pride, and cunning, and foster fell suspicion. 
 Those in its palings the favored few, lifted to the seats of 
 poicer, forget how much they owe of courtesy and kindest 
 will to those upon whose lacks they ride, and in their self- 
 conceit and self-sufficiency they make the law, (so it but 
 carry them in ease along,) of painful interest to those not 
 of their clan. This is as I behold this boasted arm of 
 right ; and yet so frail and lacking much in wisdom are 
 near all mankind, I should not dare to promise any better 
 way of regulating power. But yet methinks it might be 
 done if men could only realize how little justice they ob- 
 tain, when largely they are taxed, so that right may be had 
 at any time when wanted. All courts are so perplexed 
 with learning that they do not comprehend what justice 
 is, and though " most honorable," are most uninformed of 
 what mankind are most in need which is some little cer- 
 tainty to Law. If this, from ignorance / nor from learning 
 can be had, why what a farce is life ! and who may not
 
 272 THE PENNIMANS; OK, 
 
 be pardoned, when in the bitterness of despair he doubts 
 of God ! When after years of toil at the bench and bar, 
 the jurist with his soul tattered by the conflict of opinion, 
 and his face as a sunless sea rocked by the winds of sor- 
 row, tearfully exclaims, ' What, oh, what is truth, for 
 in my studies, and long, long life, I've found it not.' 
 
 At this instant the door opened and a young man en- 
 tered from an adjoining room, he was a student at Law 
 in the office of Mr. Andrews, and the room from which 
 he had emerged, was set apart for study and the students. 
 He appeared considerably perplexed ; and his countenance 
 indicated the most marked disgust. His eyes were forti- 
 fied by a pair of steal bow-spring spectacles, which snugly 
 fitted to the base of the nose ; his hair was a dingy brown 
 color, and had the appearance of utter neglect. We do 
 not think a comb had entered its parts for many a day ; 
 it was said the young man sought to look as much like 
 Choate as possible ; and for this reason he received the 
 soubrequet from many of the younger members of the Bar, 
 of " rather Choaty" It vexed him exceedingly to be 
 thus characterised, although he was at a good deal of 
 pains to invite the derision for derision it was, and 
 nothing else. He was a youth that was passionately fired 
 with a zeal to know the right and the wrong he was 
 willing to work if he could only see any end to his jour- 
 ney. The more he studied, the farther off he appeared 
 from the object of his ambition which was to know the 
 law. 
 
 " Mr. Andrews," he said, as he held a digest of the law 
 of real property in his hand, " I'm going to give it up 
 it's no use the more I read the more puzzled I am. 
 There doesn't appear to me a case in this digest, not open 
 to uncertainty, and how to advise a person on any points 
 herein discussed, I dont know, and damn me I cannot find 
 out." 
 
 " Well, your position is not at all peculiar, my young 
 friend," replied Mr. Andrews ; " and if you expect to get 
 at much, so clear, as to be able to go into courts with it, un- 
 apprehensive of disappointment and defeat, you had bet- 
 ter at once understand your expectations never will be 
 realised ; and if you are not contented to buffit with all
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 273 
 
 sorts of fiction, and every possible ingenuity of argu- 
 ment, however sophistical and irrational it may appear, 
 take my advice, and quit legal pursuits this very hour ! 
 ay, this very minute, whilst you can do so without morti- 
 jication and embarrassment" 
 
 " Your advise I shall follow," rejoined the young man. 
 " I have seen enough in law books to satisfy me that a 
 more inharmonious gathering of odds and ends have not 
 an existence out of hell. Excuse me, Mr. Andrews, I 
 mean no offense to you you are a man in every sense of 
 that word I love and honor you but as for the com- 
 mon law, I am heartily sick of it. What no man can un- 
 derstand, however gifted, is a poor machine, and 7 want 
 nothing to do with it, sir ; I shall go at something else this 
 very day." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Templeton, what do you propose ? " 
 
 " I know not," he replied, " but something that's plain 
 sailing and honest withall." 
 
 The door again opened, and in walked a tall snaky 
 looking fellow with green spectacles, and clipper-built 
 face, deep dark eyes, and long black hair. Casting a 
 peculiar squint at Templeton, he said, 
 
 "Mr. Andrews, I've got that brief in order when 
 shall you want to use it ? " 
 
 " Can I trust you to make the pleadings ? " inquired 
 Andrews " sharply eying the young man, who had just 
 been admitted to practice in all the courts of the Common- 
 wealth. 
 
 " I think you can, sir," replied the new fledged lawyer. 
 " You have had me under your eye some time as a student 
 you ought to know of what I am capable." 
 
 " So I had so I had," returned Andrews, hurriedly. 
 " Well, I'll put you on the case, and we'll see what you'll 
 do with it." 
 
 " He'll do with it," muttered Templeton, aside. " What 
 that chap can't get through his pate, won't pass anywhere. 
 I've seen him work, and I know he's got things so packed 
 in his head, that's its just as easy for him to say one thing 
 as another. Damn such fellows it is they who disgrace 
 the profession, and burthen the practice of Jurisprudence 
 with infinite uncertainty and disgust. " 
 12*
 
 274 THE PENNIMA.NS J OK, 
 
 " Templeten," remarked the snaky looking fellow, 
 " what's the matter with you you don't appear well to- 
 day ? " 
 
 " No, I'm not," curtly responded the student. 
 
 " I'm sick of darkening counsel." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " returned the new-fledged lawyer. 
 " You should not investigate. You know, my dear fellow, 
 there isn't more than one in a thousand who have" any 
 business to learn, or to see beyond their nose ! it always 
 makes them unhappy and morose to think." 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that," returned Templeton. 
 " But I do know this that it is better to be ignorant, 
 than so legalized as never to apprehend the truth, only as 
 it may pay. I've had enough of Law I'm done with 
 it but you, you will succeed, sir. A man who can look 
 a dozen ways at once, and twist his reason in every imagin- 
 able form, with a face so impassive that it appears a blank 
 must succeed." 
 
 At these words he took, from the table of Mr. Andrews, 
 a pile of papers and disappeared into the room from which 
 he had emerged, muttering : 
 
 " That fellow is just unscrupulous enough to draw prac- 
 tice and I predict he'll have enough of it more 
 scoundrels knocking at his office door than he'll have time 
 to attend to." 
 
 At this moment a female entered, in whose countenance 
 was the traces of grief. The snaky looking individual 
 observing at once that she was on business, slipped out of 
 the room, mentally saying, 
 
 " A case of divorce, or seduction by hell ! I'll have 
 a hand in this woman's pocket, too." 
 
 " Well, Madam," remarked Andrews, as the man in 
 green spectacles left the office. 
 
 " There's nothing well about it, sir. Oh, Mr. Andrews, 
 protect me if you can from a brute of a husband. He is 
 so mean and so abusive, and so suspicious, that I cannot 
 any longer live with him," exclaimed the female, who was 
 no less a person than Mrs. Inconceivable. "And what is 
 more I won't live with him ! " 
 
 " We'll see about that, madam," replied Mr. Andrews, 
 mildly. " We'll see about that. He provides you with the
 
 THE TEITJMPH OF GENIUS. 275 
 
 necessaries of life, and all things suitable to your rank 
 does he not ? " 
 
 " Yes," responded the lady, " I suppose he does in one 
 sense comply with the requirements of the law but," 
 
 " That is enough, madam, if he complies with the re- 
 quirements of the law, in any sense, you must do the 
 same I cannot divorce you you must continue to live 
 with and to bear with him." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Andrews, I am shocked at your cruelty ! " 
 vociferated Mrs. Inconceivable. " And is this the evi- 
 dence of your great genius your 'cute method to 
 meet a woman in distress with such counsel as this I Not 
 one cent do I intend to pay for it not one cent." 
 
 Andrews looked at the woman without the least emo- 
 tion, and smilingly said, 
 
 " I have no charge to make, my good lady, more than 
 this keep your temper, and make the best of him whom 
 you have sworn to honor, love, and obey ! " 
 
 " Out upon such insolence ! " exclaimed Mrs. Incon- 
 ceivable, rising imperiously from her chair. " Y^ou would- 
 have society believe you have a conscience. Bah ! You 
 see I know better genius, indeed ! " 
 
 With these words she strode to the door, and as she 
 passed through to the entry, muttered in somewhat audible 
 tones, 
 
 " Parvenu ! Bah ! " 
 
 Andrews was altogether unmoved, and was just upon 
 the point of taking up some evidence to examine, with the 
 remark, " a fascinating creature," when the door again 
 opened, and Mrs. Yellowbody, flushed with excitement, 
 walked deliberately in, and taking a seat near the lawyer, 
 said, 
 
 " Sir, I come to you, as a leading member of the bar, 
 for justice ; Mrs. Touchmenot and Mrs. Blowhard, and 
 Mrs. Penniman, all three, have uttered falsehoods about 
 me, sir, and I want them at once indicted, ay, sir, at 
 once ! " 
 
 " Well, madam, what have they said, and what can 
 you prove ? " interrogated the lawyer, in his usually 
 bland manner. 
 
 "Prove!" reiterated the lady. "I don't know as I
 
 276 THE PENNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 can prove anything, but I know very well what they have 
 said." 
 
 *' Well, what have they said? " interrogated the man 
 of law, sharply. 
 
 " Just read these anonymous letters," replied Mrs. 
 Yellowbody. " They contain the whole story." 
 
 " Ah, madam, excuse me," returned Mr. Andrews, 
 " but this is no evidence." 
 
 " No evidence ! " reiterated Mrs. Yellowbody. " No 
 evidence, sir ; then what in heaven's name, and the name 
 of law and common sense, is evidence. These women 
 have abused me and here is the written documentary 
 statement of the fact for God's sake, sir, what more do 
 you want." 
 
 Mrs. Yellowbody at this point rose from her chair, and 
 looking boldly at the lawyer , continued, 
 
 " I must go to some one who will comprehend my case 
 a little better than this who can enter into my feelings, 
 and who will earnestly take my part." 
 
 " Well, madam, I certainly cannot object," responded 
 Andrews. " I can only say I cannot institute any action 
 for slander, upon any such evidence as this. 1 ' 
 
 " Well, sir, then I cannot be of any service to you" re- 
 joined the female, (for a lady in truth, she was not ;; " You 
 are a timid man that is plain to be seen. You've got a 
 reputation, and you are not willing to take any risk of 
 impairing it, even in the service of an old acquaintance and 
 friend." 
 
 ** Well, madam, allow me to say that I was not aware 
 you had ever been at any time truly a friend to me" re- 
 sponded our hero ; " for I know who all my friends are, 
 but as such, I regret to say I do not know you. You re- 
 member some years since, when you gave a brilliant party, 
 and my name was proposed for acceptance, you indignant- 
 ly exclaimed, I want no fellow in my house who has not 
 the entre at the residences of all ourjirst people ! " 
 
 "Well, suppose I did" rejoined the female pettishly. 
 " You know very well you were of little or no account at 
 that time, whereas of late, you have done something for 
 yourself; but if you can't make this case of mine out, 
 pure clear slander, I begin to be distrustful of you I
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 277 
 
 begin to think you've climbed up much higher than you 
 have any right to be and it would not surprise me, to 
 see you settle down, to about where you belong. I must 
 see other counsel, for these slanderous women, I am re- 
 solved to bring to justice that I am, sir ! " 
 
 She now bade the lawyer good-day, and brushed out of 
 his office, as he, eying her with an air of abstraction, mut- 
 tered, 
 
 " Justice, indeed ! Dash my wig, but of all the bores 
 1 have known these twelve months, these two insolent 
 women are the most preeminent. If a man's reputation 
 as counsel was dependent on them, he'd soon go to seed." 
 
 Again the door opened, and in stepped Mrs. McAlpin, 
 formerly Nelly Penniman. She was pale and haggard, 
 and nervous to a degree almost of disease. Her eye was 
 indicative of a very excited state of mind, and her pulse 
 beat high, as she took the hand of Andrews, who rose 
 from his chair and cordially bade her welcome. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you will excuse, I hope, all that I or my fami- 
 ly have ever done or said, prejudicial to your interest or 
 dishonorable to your name," remarked Nelly, with an 
 air of painful earnestness, and in tones of touching sor- 
 row. 
 
 " Be seated, madam," rejoined the lawyer^ with a glance, 
 comprehending the condition of her mind. " Calm your- 
 self, and remember the office of wisdom is to be happy." 
 
 " Happy ! " reiterated Mrs. McAlpin. " Ah, sir, do 
 not mock me you know what my trials have been and 
 are and yet you counsel me to be happy I had been 
 so, if I had followed the suggestions of my girlhood's first 
 delights, and not a heartless mother's pride ! " And at 
 these words she wept bitterly. 
 
 " You are so pale," rejoined Andrews, tenderly, " and 
 you tremble you cannot be well. Let me send for a 
 carriage, and have you removed from my office to your 
 home." 
 
 " Home ! " reiterated Nelly. " I have no home. I 
 am friendless and forsaken ! " Her sobs were frequent, 
 and the lawyer's sensibilities were moved in a manner he 
 had not experienced since the death of Ida. 
 
 *' No home," responded he. * Do you not reside with, 
 your mother ? "
 
 278 THE PENNIMANS; OB, 
 
 " No, no, no," replied the grief- stricken female. " We 
 have parted, and forever ! She wearied of my complaints 
 and because that I spoke the anguish of my heart, she 
 struck and cursed me ! and my sister, Mrs. Donothing 
 she has been treated in the same manner ; she, too, has left 
 her, and forever. Ma is not at all resigned to her ob- 
 scure life, and admits no one to the house but Mr. Gaseous, 
 whose intimacy with her is shameful and I have told her 
 so. My father takes no notice of any of us, but lives like a 
 hermit in hatred of all mankind. His oaths are most 
 fearful against you. He says you were the cause of his 
 ruin, employing the meanest expedients and rascalities of 
 the law to rob him of his property. Oh, Mr. Andrews, 
 can this be so ? " 
 
 " Madam, I was employed against your father, it is 
 true," responded the lawyer ; " but I first gave him the 
 opportunity of retaining me, of which he did not see jit to 
 avail. If he lost his property to such an amount as to 
 fail him through my professional skill, he has himself and 
 no one else to blame." 
 
 " He has, he has ! " exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. " Not 
 only has his contempt of you impoverished us all, but / 
 have doubly suffered. With you, oh, with you, how hap- 
 py I should have been ! " 
 
 " Dwell not upon your errors, madam," returned the 
 lawyer. " They have done their painful work they 
 cannot be recalled. Had our early love been permitted 
 an uninterrupted growth, you would not, perhaps, be now 
 in tears, but Nelly (for such I still will call you), give 
 not way to them. You are a woman you have much 
 that is noble in your nature resolve to give it play. 
 You have many years before you make them useful to 
 mankind." 
 
 " Useful useful to mankind 1 " sobbed Nelly. 
 " How can the broken-hearted fulfil such a happy mission. 
 Think of me how sad my fate ! abandoned by my hus- 
 band, who has gone no one knows where, cursed by my 
 mother, and unnoticed by my father neglected by the 
 McAlpins, and all with whom I have been on terms of 
 friendship how can I breast an experience like this ! *' . 
 
 " Through trust in God ! " exclaimed Andrews. " He
 
 THE TEITJMPH OF GENIUS. 279 
 
 has delivered me from beneath the feet of my foes, he will 
 raise you yet to influence and honor, if to Him you turn 
 a broken and a contrite heart, O Lord ! thou wilt not 
 despise." 
 
 The features of Andrews seemed for the moment in- 
 spired with the very soul of Deity, and as Mrs. McAlpin 
 raised her eyes to them, she appeared to forget all her 
 grief, and with a hopeful smile she said, taking the hand 
 of Andrews, 
 
 " Willie (for such I still must call you), you have 
 shamed me back to womanhood ! Who should give way 
 to sorrow, who remembers God is just. Oh, my dear 
 friend, how you have triumphed over me. Had it been 
 said when I last met you at your home in Lexington, 
 flushed as I was with pride, of the many attentions I 
 had received from heartless flatterers in Europe, that I 
 should at any future time bow thus to you, I should have 
 repelled the prediction with scorn ! but as it is, I exult in 
 your friendship, and I revere those splendid talents which 
 have so nobly vindicated your pretensions to gentle 
 blood. One hair of your head has more of manhood, 
 and of true respectability, than the entire bodies of a 
 dozen James McAlpins I" 
 
 " Ah, Nelly," rejoined our hero. " Your " 
 
 " No, I'm not too lavish of my praise," interrupted 
 Mrs. McAlpin, her whole countenance being animated by 
 the presence and charming manners of her early love. " I 
 have lived with him, and know him thoroughly. Experi- 
 ence may be trusted." 
 
 ** It may," returned Andrews. " It is the lamp by 
 which all should ever be guided. You must get up your 
 health you do not look at all well. 1 ' 
 
 " Sorrow and a hopeless future, have nearly destroyed 
 me. What think you I had resolved to do ? '' 
 
 " I cannot divine," replied the lawyer. " Reckless 
 women sometimes do desperate deeds." 
 
 *' In hatred of all things, myself and sister had deter- 
 mined to enter a convent and to take the veil," rejoined 
 Nelly, with an air of marked determination. 
 
 " Monstrous ! " exclaimed our hero, " Monstrous ! the 
 saddest hour of your life would have been your passage 
 to such a tomb a living death, indeed."
 
 280 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 " Ay ! " exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. " I see it now, I see it 
 now. No, I will not like a craven sneak away from the 
 battle-field of life, into such a romantic den of tame and 
 impassive excellence, but struggling for new vigor, I will 
 die with harness on, and court the opposition of mankind. 
 Andrews, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Go among the heathen and carry to them the religion 
 of Christ ! " replied Andrews, as his eye gleamed with 
 emotion. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, at length, my mission has been 
 named ! " exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. " A thousand thanks 
 for opening the way to me, of usefulness and joy," and as 
 she uttered these worde she grasped convulsively his hand 
 and pressed it closely to her bosom. " My sister and my- 
 self will to this work at once, and those who have here- 
 tofore known us only as * flippant fools,' shall hereafter 
 honor us as the heroines of truth as earnest, contrite 
 faithful women, and followers of that cross which inspirited 
 the apostles to superhuman labors, and an Ignatius Loy- 
 ola, to achieve a name in history, that is among the most 
 wonderful in activity of genius." 
 
 " In whatever way I may promote the object of your 
 life this noble charity ! I shall be only too happy to 
 serve," rejoined our hero. " May God bless your labors. 
 To all who have not the knowledge of the Gospel, no 
 more lovely and necessary toil can be endured than carry- 
 ing it to them ; for the degradations of superstitions are 
 fearful to behold." 
 
 " To this cause shall our lives exclusively be devoted," 
 returned Mrs. McAlpin her eyes sparkling with hope. 
 " The future lies before me as an extensive field, richly 
 packed with its waving golden grain, all ready for the 
 reapers and soon we shall have our places; and if in 
 parting with you, my noble friend, we never meet again, 
 even as you were first in my early love, so shall you be 
 last among the memories of my dying hour." 
 
 A tear filled the eyes both of Nelly and Mr. Andrews, 
 who, moved by the singularly marked change in her char- 
 acter, drew her by the hand to his side, and kissed her 
 pallid brow. 
 
 " Thus," said he do I affix the seal of love to our re-
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 281 
 
 newed bond of friendship and confidence ; and so long as 
 I shall live, in whatever quarter of the world you are, 
 know that I shall ever bear within this beating bosom 
 a brother's interest in your welfare, and shall ever be ready 
 to perform a brother's obligations." 
 
 Nelly was so much agitated by the happiness of this 
 hour, that she could not speak, but grasping the hand of 
 our hero, she placed it to her quivering lips, and as the 
 tears ran freely from her eyes, she covered it with kisses. 
 Recovering somewhat from her excitement, she raised her 
 deep, blue, penetrating, large, serious eyes, to the placid, 
 handsome, spiritually severe, countenance of our hero, and 
 said, 
 
 " No one but God can know the hope and joy that's 
 here," and as she spoke, she placed her small and graceful 
 hand upon her bosom. " The prospect which I now have, 
 so new to me, of redeeming years of folly, by serving 
 justice, humanity, and love, fills me with rapture, which 
 makes musical my soul. It seems as though I could fly 
 on the wings of that ecstasy that regulates and ennobles 
 my thoughts, and guides my understanding." 
 
 At this moment a burly, red-faced man, about forty years 
 of age, cautiously entered the office, and respectfully bow- 
 ing to Mr. Andrews, seated himself on a chair by the 
 window, with his keen gray eyes riveted on the slender, 
 graceful form of Mrs. McAlpin, who at once moved to- 
 wards the door followed by our hero : as he parted 
 with her in the entry, he said, 
 
 " Swerve not from thy purpose ; forgive thy mother, 
 and peace will be forever the anchor of thy soul ! " 
 
 Goodness was the mainspring of all the lawyer's actions 
 and he was, perhaps, as much admired for his consci- 
 entiousness as for his wit. Retaking his position by the 
 table, he turned to the person by the window, and fixing 
 his eye pointedly on him, said pleasantly, 
 
 " Can I serve you, sir ? " 
 
 " I don't know but you can," responded the keen, gray- 
 eyed man. " I've got into hot water, " 
 
 " You want some one to pull you out, of course," in- 
 terrupted the lawyer. 
 
 " Well, I do, right bad," rejoined the visitor. " I want
 
 282 THE PENNIMANS; OR, 
 
 to be carried clean through this scrape as though nothing 
 had happened. I can pay for this privilege, and I've been 
 told, you are just the man to serve me." 
 
 " Well, sir, I mustjirst know something about the facts 
 or circumstances of your case, before I can hint even an 
 opinion," rejoined Andrews, in measured speech, and with 
 a serious air. " You speak of a scrape now, sir, this is 
 not exactly my line of practice to get men out of scrapes, 
 unless the evidence they may furnish of their innocence, 
 is conclusive ! and free from all suspicion of being manu- 
 factured for the case. I will not lend my mind or my 
 voice to any such proceedings. I am a minister of Justice 
 a sworn officer of our courts. I am ready to serve you, 
 if you are innocent of any and all crime, and can arm me 
 with witnesses and testimony to prove the fact, but I will 
 not undertake to wrest you from the penalty of the law, 
 if you have wittingly incurred it." 
 
 The burly red-haired man scratched his head, and look- 
 ing at the lawyer with amazement, exclaimed, 
 
 " My dear sir, I don't want to run through anything 
 which is unusual. I have some evidence, which, properly 
 managed, will do me good service, and I am willing to 
 pay, and that too, devilish well, any man who will treat 
 my case in a lawyer-like manner. I don't say that I have 
 not wittingly run against the law, but I do say that I have 
 offended in no manner more criminal than hundreds and 
 hundreds do daily, who are passed harmlessly through the 
 courts ! " 
 
 " Let me be the judge of that, sir, at least, if you 
 please," returned Andrews, sharply. " I am quite con- 
 versant with the business of the courts, and I cannot con- 
 sent to accept of such a statement as true until I know' 
 the fact. State your case, and then I shall be able to 
 form some view of it, some opinion." 
 
 *' It's no use, sir, I see you are no criminal lawyer," re- 
 turned the man near the window. " You_ have no nerve 
 for such evidence as I shall have to offer. Why, sir, if 
 all the bar should accept of none but the best business, 
 to which you appear to aspire they'd soon be in ' tight 
 places,' and would be employing each other to work up a 
 fiction for them, a damn sight more atrocious than any I
 
 THE TBITTMPH OF GENIUS. 283 
 
 should require of you. You've got a reputation, haven't 
 you, for honesty, and you want to keep it don't you ? 
 Good boy you can go up in your class, for nobody wants 
 the place." 
 
 As the burly man said this, he -was standing by the 
 entry door, with the deep flashing eye of the acute, and 
 conscientious lawyer full upon him he felt and feared 
 its power ! 
 
 " D n the law ! " he muttered, as he now passed from 
 the office, with a scowl upon his face, and fearful passion 
 in his eye and lips. 
 
 " Poor fellow," remarked Andrews, as his visitor left 
 his presence. " Poor fellow ! I feel for him. I know he 
 has a hard case, or he would not treat me in this manner. 
 But I cannot, will not, engage to defend those, who have 
 not such evidence as I can conscientiously present to a 
 court and jury. I will not knowingly cheat the law of its 
 just demands. If men, get into scrapes by criminal acts 
 / shall never interpose to shield them from the conse- 
 quences of their own deliberate determinations they 
 must be punished the law must be a verity it is my 
 mission to see that it is ; and by the Olympean Jupiter ! 
 I will not be recreant to my duty which first to 
 God I owe, and next to man ! There is no happi- 
 ness in labor which demoralizes alike those who perform 
 it, and those who are recipients of its benefits. The 
 indiscriminate defence of right and wrong is doing vio- 
 lence to nature ! and she will not be outraged persist- 
 ently, without terrible judgments upon those who dare 
 this ceaseless abuse. There is a right, there is a wrong 
 to every question! and however confused these grand 
 departments of thought may be by authorities they 
 are ever well defined, and are ever earnest in their ope- 
 rations in the hearts of all mankind who believe in a 
 God, in virtue, and a happy hereafter. 
 
 " Years, ah, sad and laborious years ! have I devotedly 
 studied the wisdom of men in the various walks of medi- 
 tation, which have for so many ages been open to the 
 studious and profound. But in them all I find no thought 
 so beautiful as conscience ! and no study so sublime ! 
 and this I know, that it, and it alone, can perfect laws, and
 
 284 THE PENNIMANS J OB, 
 
 merge this life in that of Heaven ! Learning, however pleas- 
 ant to man's pride, is, when accumulated in too vast a 
 store, unfriendly to his happiness and the full operation of 
 that delicate sense of justice which is so curtly and yet so 
 acceptably expressed as the corner-stone of Christian ethics 
 ' Do unto others as you would be done by ! ' Upon 
 this simple, though God-given principle, properly are based, 
 the stupendous fabric of that thought, which governs, 
 through human tribunals, the intercourse of mankind. 
 Perish, O perish, those base natures, who, from such a 
 pure and sparkling spring of right, would artificially con- 
 struct those dark and damning streams of injustice and 
 wrong ! whose bitter waters no inhabitant of earth is not 
 sooner or later in the course of life's toilsome pilgrimage, 
 compelled to taste. 
 
 " Law is not necessarily a bottomless pit a dark and 
 insoluble problem ; but only as it is made so by the vanity 
 and infamous caprice of man ! The sun shines ever the 
 same its genial warmth, its friendly rays, will uplift the 
 heart depressed by care and sorrow, from its dark depths of 
 seriousness and despair ; so might law diffuse universal 
 hope and joy, would men who engage in its practice 
 recognize some system of mental philosophy as just and 
 true ! until which happy time neither laws, nor morals, nor 
 natural religion can rest upon a scientific foundation ! and 
 give thereby to education, political economy, and legis- 
 lation, both stability and precision! No one who has 
 peered into the lower stratas of human thought, and so 
 upward made his way, has failed to be impressed with the 
 uncertainty of all knowledge, and the profound mystery 
 which hangs over the essences of things from whence 
 proceeds the fearful confusion of which injustice is born ! 
 In the vast objects of nature, we may perceive most won- 
 derful phenomena, and the relations subsisting between 
 them, but as a matter of direct perception, here, alas ! our 
 vision ends. 
 
 " And in the moral world, when we ignore the life and 
 ethics of Jesus, we see nothing but contradictions, weak- 
 ness, and woe ! " 
 
 At this moment the door again opened, and a man with 
 a sallow, dark, and intelligent countenance, said hurri- 
 edly,
 
 THE TBIT7MPH OF GENITTS. 285 
 
 " The court is waiting for you, sir ; they are ready for 
 your argument." 
 
 Andrews, taking his hat in his hand, and putting a file 
 of papers in his coat pocket, walked, unaffected by the 
 haste of his junior, from his office to the court-house, 
 where he made one of the most brilliant arguments in a 
 case that had long been on trial, where a mother had sued 
 for the custody of an only child. His eloquence was 
 irresistible, and there was not a tearless eye in that room, 
 crowded with an interested and excited audience, as he 
 sketched a mother's love for, and hopes in, that which had 
 been nurtured into life by her blood, and had lain in her 
 bosom. Here, surrounded by the ablest jurists in the 
 State, and in the full expression of his genius, which all ac- 
 knowledged and respected, we leave our hero for the study 
 of those who have no friends to lift them to honors, 
 but their own virtues and unconquerable will. Do as he 
 has done, and proudly, though respectfully, wear the 
 wreath of Fame.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " Two minds with but a single thought, 
 Two hearts that beat as one ! " 
 
 THUS far in his career William Andrews had nad but 
 one bosom friend among his fellow men and he was 
 Hamilton, whom the Pennimans so much despised for the 
 part which he had played at the famous wedding. But 
 Andrews loved him and of this assured, Hamilton 
 cared not who disliked his character. Lucy Atlay had 
 always been a friend of more than ordinary interest to our 
 hero, and as his engagement and marriage to Agnes had 
 fixed his matrimonial state for years, perhaps, to come, he 
 was anxious that so noble a heart and accomplished an in- 
 tellect as Lucy's should be united to a man capable of ap- 
 preciating them, and altogether worthy of her confidence. 
 To Hamilton, therefore, he assigned the happiness of her 
 love, and that he might succeed in winning it, our hero 
 used all the powers of his rhetoric to inspire her with a 
 trust in, and preference for, his friend nor did he en- 
 deavor in vain, as she had some time since engaged herself 
 to Hamilton, with the consent of her parents, who now 
 loved and honored him as much as they had once feared 
 and suspected him. He had studied medicine and sur- 
 gery under the fascinating spell of Lucy's affection and 
 care, and had succeeded in establishing himself in a lu- 
 crative practice in one of the neighboring towns. He 
 was soon to marry her, and they were to live here in a 
 beautiful house, not large, but elegant in all its arrange- 
 ments, presented to them by the lady's father. 
 
 Agnes and Lucy were the best of friends, and equalled in 
 their admiration for and attachment to each other, the loves 
 and fidelity of Hamilton and Andrews. Lucy would freely 
 express those preferences which she had entertained for 
 Andrews, and did not hesitate to tell Agnes, " she thought
 
 THE TEIUMPH OF GENIUS. 287 
 
 she had the most perfect man for a husband in the wide, 
 wide world; " and she would add, " if I were not a Chris- 
 tian, I should give you no peace, from my envy and jeal- 
 ousy of your great good fortune." 
 
 Agnes would laugh heartily at her friend, and say in a 
 sprightly manner, 
 
 " If you had only my charms, my eyes, my every- 
 thing, you might have been in my shoes, but do you 
 think you would have worn them without pain. Ah, 
 no, no, love ; to be the confident and companion (as 
 has been decreed to me) of such a nature as is my 
 husband's, is no unbroken joy, for there are times when 
 one's suspicions of their incompetency, comes rolling in 
 fearful surges on the soul, and a sense of weariness op- 
 presses. The intimacy of love of " two hearts which 
 beat as one " has indeed its perils, and she who mates 
 with genius, trembles ofttimes in the vivid reality of what 
 perchance may come, how she shall bear herself from 
 day to day so mingle with his mind, and blunt the 
 sharpness of his cares, as yet to please, and never to dis- 
 tract, annoy. To do this and do it well is no slight 
 duty ; and were it not that I so much admire and truly 
 love /our sympathetic nature, I might in punishment of 
 your envious state, consign you for a twelvemonth to my 
 station ; and, though o'ermuch your love for him whose 
 talents could place you here, your heart at times would 
 feel unrest, impatient of its burthen for love, say what 
 you will, is burthensome, and where most we women feel 
 our loves to be, therefrom we draw much pain. Ah, this 
 is life, and this it is we seek so ardently." Thus would 
 these beauties talk, for they were beauties, not formed by 
 art, but moulded by the hand of nature ! 
 
 The Pennimans, the Blowhards and the Yellowbodies, 
 and many others, who, " for various reasons, disliked the 
 Atlays," were unceasing in their ill-natured remarks upon 
 her engagement, to so handsome and promising a young 
 man as Hamilton, whose family was one of the most fav- 
 orably known in the country for genius and renown ! 
 The Catchpennys had been unsparing of abuse ; but since 
 the favors, which had been so liberally bestowed upon them 
 by our hero, they had repented of their misdoings and mis-
 
 288 THE PENNIMANS ; OB, 
 
 sayings, and had lavished upon the Atlays, as the esteemed 
 friends of Mr. Andrews, every conceivable praise ; and that 
 they might appear the more deeply to regret having spoken 
 at any time unkindly of this family, they sent them a note 
 expressive of their humiliation at having given way to 
 mean passions, and for having under their dictation used 
 most unfair and shameful language, as respects their char- 
 acters and position. This was quite satisfactory to the 
 Atlays, who willingly bore no ill-will towards any of the 
 great brotJierhood of man. They even assured the Catch- 
 pennys of their sincere sorrow, that there should have 
 been at any time a variance, or an unkind feeling between 
 them ; and that in future they should esteem them as 
 worthy friends. 
 
 Now, that it was generally known that " some noble 
 spirit " had placed in the hands of Mr. Catchpenny the 
 means of reestablishing himself in business, the Atlays 
 seized at once upon the occasion to express their deep 
 sense of pleasure at their charming fortune, and sincerely 
 hoped that they would not be again put to the inconven- 
 iences of poverty ! Who this noble spirit was, nobody 
 appeared to know, since Andrews had exacted from the 
 Catchpennys the solemn promise never to mention his name 
 in connection with their renewed prosperity and faith- 
 ful to their pledge of secrecy, they kept all to themselves. 
 
 Lucy Atlay in a few days was to be married, and she 
 was busily engaged in getting ready for that solemn and 
 fascinating undertaking ; for marriage is an undertaking, 
 say what those who make light of it, may. It is a tie, a 
 gordian knot, which is most difficult to be cut its be- 
 ginning, though easily found, (and in this, unlike that 
 of Gordius,) yet its ending is not so easy to be known. 
 Still, it has its charms, and there will ever be those, who, 
 for the sake of enjoying the sweet bondage of matrimony, 
 will court its golden chains. We say, God speed them ! 
 they take a risk, but it is a lawful risk, it is an exciting 
 risk, a daring risk if you will, and surely if disaster come 
 therefrom, who are more worthy of martyrdom than those 
 inviting peril. We believe in marriage we heartily re- 
 commend it to all those who have the nerve for it who 
 have the taste for it the sense, the skill, the adaptation,
 
 THE TBIUMPH OF GENIUS. 289 
 
 the patience, and that host of other requisites so indispen- 
 sable in the safe conduct of such a life-long partnership 
 such an engrossing fact ! It is an institution founded 
 upon the noblest confidence of the human breast ; it is a 
 theory of surpassing beauty and captivating romance ; 
 nor would it ever fail of the benevolent ends which called 
 it into being, if only those should come within its charge, 
 whom God and nature (not a sordid, brutal, worldly 
 policy) had prompted to combine. Ah, here is a truth 
 more precious than all truth save that of Revelation, yet 
 'tis hissed and scorned and throttled by even those who 
 seek most earnestly, and pay most liberally for the gem of 
 happiness. 
 
 And who will say that man is not at least in this a fool, 
 when he wilfully builds with falsehood, though truth lies 
 ready at his hand ! The brute led by instinct only, makes 
 no vice of love, while men endowed with apprehension 
 so like a God ! confound it with things unreal ; and of 
 that sentiment so holy, and so freighted with the destinies 
 of life, make endless wretchedness, irreligion, wrong. 
 When love on earth shall do its office, uncontrolled by 
 avarice, pride, hypocrisy, and cunning, then will marriage 
 be a covenant of peace, improvement, real and lasting 
 pleasure ! and then will children honor and obey, and then 
 will Justice rise from out the filth of policy, and purified, 
 regain its throne. Haste, oh haste, ye coming days 
 and remove this foul social leprosy whose hateful spots 
 so painfully disfigure virtue and truth, even in the womb ! 
 
 As we have intimated, Lucy Atlay was preparing for 
 the trials and the joys of married life. She loved and 
 was beloved ; she felt, with Hamilton, she should be more 
 happy than alone. And now as she walks by his side, 
 (her arm in his, her head slightly bent towards his shoul- 
 der) up the broad aisle of the church, at whose baptismal 
 font she was christened, and at whose altar she had been 
 confirmed, and had first partaken of that bread of life, 
 which is so beautifully typified in the commemoration of 
 the Lord's Supper, she seemed conscious of no fear, and 
 apprehensive of no sorrow. 
 
 Within her light brown hair was placed a rose, as white 
 
 as the gorgeous vail which dropped from the back of her 
 13
 
 290 THE PENNIMANS J OR, 
 
 head over her shoulders, mingling with the folds of a 
 white laced dress, beneath which was a costly satin. Upon 
 her bosom, that heaved with the hopes and delights of her 
 mind was spread the most delicate silk gauze. Her eye 
 was clear and brilliant and musical with power, which, as 
 she passed along through the church, crowded with the 
 most reputable of citizens, was modestly cast downward 
 to avoid the general gaze. Many were the expressions of 
 admiration, and many the envious jest that escaped the 
 lips of those persons whose vision was dazzled by a sight 
 so artistic and yet at all points so true to nature. The 
 marriage consummated, the clergyman shook cordially by 
 the hand the bride and the bridegroom, and after a few 
 words of friendly greeting, withdrew from the altar, while 
 Hamilton and Lucy repast the aisle, and disappeared from 
 the gaze of the crowd which had assembled to witness the 
 ceremony. There were many of that number who gladly, 
 if they could, would put " asunder what God had joined 
 together ; " and whilst they could not suppress their belief 
 that " a finer looking couple had never been united at that 
 altar," they would seize the first opportunity of dashing 
 from their lips the cup of happiness which this day's act 
 had placed there," attended with none of the exclusiveness 
 of McAlpin's wedding, nor none of its mortification ; no 
 lamp-black hand was there, no tongue, ominously to whis- 
 per " damnation to come." Both Hamilton and Lucy 
 thought, if Christ could go among the money-changers of 
 the temple, and into the high- ways and by-ways they 
 need have no dread of the strong breath of the multitude 
 but should meet them face to face at the altar of the 
 Father and God of all. 
 
 They recognized no especial virtue in rank as rank, but 
 believed the noble impulse and the heaven aspiring spirit 
 dwelt indiscriminately in all. They would not carry into 
 the house of God that disgusting foppery which thanks 
 Him " it is not as other men," and affects displeasure 
 at the near proximity of ignorance and physical toil 
 they would not, because it was in their power, taboo that 
 sacred temple to which all are invited to come, and which 
 in apostolic times was the fountain head of confidence, 
 magnanimity and love ! The families of Hamilton and
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GEXIUS. 291 
 
 Andrews continued in the closest intimacy, and rarely a 
 day passed without the meeting of Agnes and Lucy. The 
 utmost trust and the fairest courtesy characterized all 
 their intercourse -r- they were true to their professions, 
 and their friendship consequently endured.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " Father, 1 have done thy will." 
 
 OUR hero, William Andrews, had been true to him- 
 self, and he had triumphed in his purposes. The position 
 which he now held in the estimation of the community, 
 was far above that of the Pennimans at the height of their 
 prosperity and pride, which was at the date of their al- 
 liance with the McAlpins. That connection had been for 
 some time broken and there was now no intercourse 
 between the families. The last that was heard of Nelly's 
 husband, were merely vague reports of his having taken 
 up his abode with the Indians of the "West, assuming 
 their habits and costume ; his wife and her sister, Mrs. 
 Donothing, had embarked for the Sandwich Islands on 
 their mission to the heathen, and from thence intended to 
 pass to China and India. Mr. Donothing, broken down 
 by dissipation, had become enfeebled in mind, and was 
 placed in the charge of an Insane Asylum. 
 
 Mrs. Penniman, disgusted with society, was living with 
 Gaseous in a near neighboring village, whom she had as a 
 boarder. Persons generally laughed at the idea, and 
 whispered strange things about this connection they 
 said it was scandalous and what they did not say, de- 
 rogatory to the character of Mrs. Penniman, whom nobody 
 respected, or appeared to respect, since her downfall, was 
 of no value on the score of detraction, She was of all 
 women, most heartily despised. Her husband lived the 
 life of a hermit, never having noticed her since he discov- 
 ered her in the embrace of Gaseous. Recently he had 
 taken to strange humors, and so peculiar was his manner 
 at times, that persons competent to judge, thought him 
 partially demented. 
 
 One dark and stormy night, when the rain poured in 
 torrents from the low hanging clouds, and the wind blew
 
 THE TBITJMPH OF GENIUS. 293 
 
 fearfully, old Penniman wandered away from his room, 
 and passing along the wharves, slipped into the water and 
 was drowned. So terminated the miserable life of a piti- 
 ful wretch, who once rode in his carriage and damned his 
 cook for eating dainties who sneered at genius because 
 it was poor, and gave his daughter to " a young man of 
 the first respectability," who left her for the habits and 
 manners of savages, who can weep for him who does 
 not tremble at the thought of his hereafter. Artemas 
 Bottlefly, and Edward Roundhead, who, it will be remem- 
 bered, married into the Penniman family, were such " nice 
 fellows," that they w,ere completely hen-pecked, and hav- 
 ing little or no capacity for business, they occupied their 
 time with the fine arts, and in the duties of the nursery. 
 Since the failure of old Penniman, they had moved into 
 the country, where they lived together in a small house, 
 and provided themselves with the necessaries of life 
 through a small income, which Bottlefly derived from an 
 estate in fee left him by his mother, his father having been 
 a gay man, who ran through a large fortune. The Incon- 
 ceivables, the Blowhards, and the Touchmenots, still con- 
 tinued in fashionable life, passing their cutting remarks on 
 all those with whom they happened not to agree. Mrs. 
 Inconceivable had become reconciled to her husband. Of 
 Mrs. Penniman they said much that was excessively 
 severe, and Gaseous they treated as " a dangerous man." 
 The life to which Nelly and her sister, Mrs. Donnthing, 
 had devoted themselves, they declared only fit for broken 
 down respectability, and thought a residence among the 
 heathen just the place for them. " Bone," was still the 
 pet of Agnes, who had taught him to be very useful in 
 various ways and she rarely rode into the country with- 
 out taking him along with her. 
 
 Mrs. Andrews continued in excellent health and spirits, 
 and was " as happy as happy could be," under the roof 
 and in the love of her children ; and of her grand- son, 
 Arthur Hamilton Andrews, a handsome sprightly boy of 
 promise, she was most proud. He was the image of his 
 father, a high spirited, obedient, affectionate child. Ag- 
 nes cherished his virtues with all the fondness such an 
 ardent soul as hers was capable of; and she looked for-
 
 294 THE PENNIMANS ; OR, 
 
 ward confidently to the period when he would take his 
 position among men, and speedily make his mark. 
 
 With patience, perseverance, self-reliance, and courage, 
 Agnes and Andrews had lived down their enemies, and 
 had made them their warmest friends. All who had once 
 abused them, delighted now to honor, except the Touch- 
 menots, who " would have nothing to say to the Parve- 
 nues." Mr. Catchpenny had profited hy his experience, 
 and in the good Providence of God, had succeeded in 
 establishing a very paying business in St. Louis, where 
 his daughters had married, and were mothers of several 
 little Catchpennys, who were " spoiled and petted to 
 death." They entertained a " supreme contempt for every 
 thing Bostonfied," and " loved nothing with any Yan- 
 kee to it, but Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, and that belonging 
 to them." 
 
 Irene Caruthers, who had been reclaimed by Agnes, 
 was now the mother of two fine boys, and the wife of a 
 man highly honored in the business circles of Philadel- 
 phia, she had never ceased her efforts in behalf of pros- 
 titution, and through her acts many a noble-hearted, mis- 
 directed woman, had been rescued from that degree in 
 vice, from whence so few are reclaimed. She frequently 
 wrote Agnes ; who had made her several visits, and who 
 was truly loved by her, in whose behalf she had labored 
 so faithfully. Even as Agnes received from year to year 
 many a reclaimed harlot's blessing, so they would bless 
 Irene, and putting their arms about her neck, kiss her 
 affectionately, thanking God, that in some women he had 
 planted souls, to taste of whose fruits is to hope, to 
 smile, to live again ! 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Sampsone still continued in Europe, and 
 the genius she expected to furnish the world proved but a 
 sorry specimen of humanity having but two fingers on 
 each hand, a hair-lip, a cross-eye, and a scrofulous humor, 
 apparent throughout his body. Hamilton and his wife 
 continued most happy in their love and were ever true 
 to Andrews. And so the world Wigged, in the times of 
 these personages and events. 
 
 As Andrews surveyed the past, and saw how, step by 
 step, he had ascended the steep of fame, where the highest
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 295 
 
 honors to which an American citizen can aspire, had been 
 tendered him, he would often recur to the memory of his 
 beloved father, and to his noble charge, when he sought 
 his counsel, at a time when his youthful haughty 
 spirit had been bruised by the rough treatment of the 
 Pennimans, on whom he had determined to be avenged. 
 " Let your life, my noble boy," said he, " your goodness 
 and virtue, be your revenge ! Go on with a thorough intel- 
 lectual training, aspire to become a man of influence, and 
 when you have won for yourself a position, let the world 
 see, and the Pennimans in particular, that the insult offered 
 to your youth, has been wiped away by the glory of your 
 manhood ! Make them to feel you were never their in- 
 ferior, and that the name of Andrews, as borne by you, 
 hath a respect paid it, which neither the name nor the 
 gold of the whole race of Pennimans could confer. Be 
 this the object of your life ; struggle manfully to attain 
 it, and a vengeance is yours, more galling to these proud 
 God-defying people, than aught you could possibly do, 
 by street attack or satire." v 
 
 He often thought of these words of his honored parent, 
 and great was his satisfaction to know, that he had fully 
 realized his command. It was the purpose of his life to 
 achieve such honors as should at once humilitate his ene- 
 mies and vindicate his name from the charge of mediocri- 
 ty. By day and by night he nursed this noble ambition 
 this firm, unconquerable resolve : and many a time 
 had he, starting from his sleep, exclaimed, " I have them 
 beneath my feet they the wretches, who spurned me 
 as plebeian ! They shall feel and fear my power, they shall 
 know true worth when trod upon, can will and can dare 
 success and win a lasting^ame." 
 
 Here, was indeed a triumph, of marked merit over 
 imbecility and pretension. Would that such a triumph 
 could be recorded daily, that those who " put on 
 airs," and set themselves up as " patterns of propri- 
 ety, models of good taste," and " gentle blood," (look- 
 ing with scorn at all those with whom they do not 
 happen to associate), might have this lesson deeply im- 
 pressed on their minds, viz., that there are many Willie 
 Andrews and Agnes Farridays in the world, who will
 
 296 THE PENNIMANS. 
 
 rise under any and every pressure of sneering foppery ! 
 and that to be honored in "modern Athens," is not ne- 
 cessarily to be inhuman, exclusive, and highly polished 
 with that impudence which delights in pushing its way 
 to positions, where its follies are so much the more glar- 
 ing, and its meannesses are so much the more base ! 
 
 " Go little book, from this my solitude ! 
 
 I cast thee on the waters, go thy ways ! 
 And if as I believe thy vein be good, 
 The world will find thee after many days.'* 
 
 FINIS.
 
 A STRANGE STORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR E. BULWER LYTTON, BART. 
 
 IN TWO EDITIONS. 
 
 lllnstrateb toitl) 4Tonr Steel (Engramngs. 
 
 12mo. 396 pp. Complete in one volume. 
 
 Bound in Paper, Twenty-five Cents, Muslin, One Dollar. 
 
 The only complete and unabridged edition of this fairy tale is published 
 this day by 
 
 GARDNER A. FULLER, BOSTON. 
 
 This is the best edition of Bulwer ever issued in this country. It con- 
 tains four vignette steel engravings, by F. O. Freeman, from original 
 designs. As a proof of its unparalleled popularity, 8,000 copies were sold 
 on the day of its issue. 
 
 " The interest excited by Dickens' ' Great Expectations ' has induced the pub- 
 lisher to reproduce Bulwer's ' Strange Story ' in uniform style with that work, both 
 in the library and pamphlet editions. This tale is designed to illustrate the inaccu- 
 racy of conversation by which a fact stated by one person is made to wholly con- 
 tradict the same fact stated by another, so that when a statement is transmitted 
 through several persons truth is often changed to absolute falsehood. The story is 
 full of mystery, and is told with the wonderful pathos and power which distin- 
 guish Bulwer's works. It is illustrated with four steel engravings, which are also 
 contained in the cheap edition." Boston Journal. 
 
 The trade are respectfully invited to examine this book, its attractive 
 style, and the liberal discount offered by the publisher. 
 
 GARDNER A. FULLER.
 
 NO NAME,, . 
 
 BY W ILK IE COLLINS. 
 
 Till; MODERN AGE, 
 
 Conducted by G. A. Fuller. 
 
 Ix this popular magazine, next week, will be commenced, to be issued 
 monthly, 
 
 A NEW WORK, ENTITLED NO NAME. 
 
 . The genius of Mr. Collins needs no eulogium to commend him to the 
 American public. The success of his last work, " The Woman in White," 
 is a sufficient guarantee of his ability as a writer who already ranks 
 among the best of living Novelists. 
 
 The first chapter of No Name opens with absorbing interest, and must 
 excite universal attention among the literary world not only in England, 
 but in America, where some of the principal scenes in future chapters are 
 laid. 
 
 It will be continued from month to month in the Modern Age revised 
 and corrected by the Author until completed, after which new works 
 by the best of authors will follow in successive numbers. 
 
 The pages of this magazine will be got up in elegant style, from a new 
 font of Long Primer type, bought expressly for this Monthly. Each num- 
 ber will contain 100 pages, illustrated with a Steel Engraving, and com- 
 prising an exquisite volume, at the low price of twenty-Jive cents, and form- 
 ing, when completed, the best combination for binding in the country. 
 Subscription price of 
 
 The Modern Age. 
 
 One copy one year, post paid, .... $3.00 
 
 " " six months, " " ... 1.50 
 
 Single copies, " " 25 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers. 
 
 GARDNER A, FULLER, Publisher,
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS 
 
 GARDNER A. FULLER. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Pennimans. (IN PRESS.) 
 
 A new Novel by a new Author. Illustrated with Steel Engravings. 
 
 II. 
 
 Levanche. (I PRESS.) 
 
 A Historical Poem and Tale of the American Civil War. 
 
 III. 
 
 Tricks Of Trade. (PREPARING FOR PRESS.) 
 A truly wonderful book ; so says the editor of The Journal, after read- 
 ing a few proof-sheets. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Great Expectations. (NEW EDITION.) 
 
 By CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 Complete in one volume. 12mo. 312 pp. containing four steel engrav- 
 ings. Paper, 25 cents. Muslin, 50 cents. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Civil War in America. (JUST PUBLISHED.) 
 
 By WM. H. RUSSELL, LL. D. 
 12mo. 192pp. Paper, 25 cents. Muslin, 50 cents. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Learned World. 
 A Poem. By ANICETUS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Powhatan. (!N PRESS.) 
 
 By E. CATHARINE PEARSON.
 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, UNITED STATES OF ASIERICA 
 
 Thursday, nineteenth December, 18G1, 
 DEAR SIB, 
 
 I send you to-day, by Canard steamer, a copy of Great 
 Expectations. Its unparalleled popularity continues unabated, al- 
 though I am now printing the twenty-fifth thousand. 
 
 Can I negotiate with you for the exclusive publication of a new 
 work of about the same number of pages ? 
 
 If a suitable arrangement were made, I would illustrate the pro- 
 posed book with Steel Engravings. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 GARDNER A. FULLER 
 CHABLES DICKENS, ESQ. 
 
 GADS HILL PLACE, HINGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT. 
 
 Thursday, sixteenth January, 1862. 
 DEAB SIB, 
 
 In reply to your letter, I must excuse myself from nam- 
 ing any price for such a work as you propose, because I really think 
 it would be far too high for your purpose. But if you should be 
 disposed to make me any offer of your own originating, it shall re- 
 ceive my prompt attention and reply. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 GABDNEB A. FITLLEB, ESQ.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 032 400 4