THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MADELINE LESLIE. 
 
 FOURTH THOUSAND. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 SHEPARD, CLARK & CO. 
 
 NEW YORK: W. P. FETRIDGE & CO. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA; H. COWPERTHWAIT & CO. 
 
 CLEVELAND, OHIO : JEWETT, PROCTOR & WORTHINGTON. 
 
 1856.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 C. STONE & CO. 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 '. F. DRAPER, ANDOVE1
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
 TO MY BELOVED HUSBAND, 
 
 ON THE TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY 
 OF OUR MARRIAGE. 
 
 2054197
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE object of this volume is indicated by its title. 
 It is to exhibit "The courtesies of wedded life." It 
 treats of courtship and marriage, of the relation of 
 husband and wife, of their responsibilities and privileges, 
 and of their trials and rewards. It aims to assist them 
 in their reciprocal duties, and in the attainment of the 
 pure and blissful ends of wedlock. It shows how piety 
 enables them to bear with each others' infirmities, how 
 it smoothes asperities of temper, assimilates dispositions 
 and tastes, conforms character to the noblest standard, 
 and adorns them with graces surpassing those of the 
 muses. 
 
 These subjects have often been treated in a didactic 
 style with distinguished ability. Many of them have 
 found a place in the representations of the stage, and in 
 the numbers of the poet. The author, deeply impressed 
 with their grave importance, lying as they do at the 
 foundation of society, has attempted to present them in 
 a series of life-like pictures drawn from personal observa- 
 
 1* (5)
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 tion. Imagination has furnished the drapery of these 
 scenes, but their " propriae personae" are living charac- 
 ters. If any readers should see their own likeness in the 
 picture, and should find their own history in the inci- 
 dents, their silence may prevent others from recognizing 
 them and from discovering their failings, while their own 
 reflection may assist them to overcome the same, and to 
 obey more perfectly the precepts, " Wives, reverence 
 your husbands," and " Husbands, love your wives and 
 be not bitter against them." 
 
 The original design of this work embraced several 
 collateral topics, here treated with brevity, and in some 
 instances entirely omitted, lest the volume should in- 
 crease beyond the prescribed" limits. For all its omissions 
 and defects we invoke the charity of a candid public to 
 whom we now send it on its mission of love. If it shall 
 produce a more just appreciation of the marriage institu- 
 tion, multiply the cordialities and amenities of wedded 
 companions, and increase the happiness of home, the 
 labor of its preparation will be abundantly rewarded.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAOE. 
 
 I. THE FAMILIES OF THE MINISTER AND LAW- 
 YER 9 
 
 II. THE NUPTIALS AT THE FARM-HOUSE ... 16 
 
 III. THE YOUNG SOPHOMORE 23 
 
 IV. THE THEOLOGICAL STUDENT 41 
 
 V. THOMAS AND HIS CLASSMATES 52 
 
 VI. SICKNESS AT THE PARSONAGE 64 
 
 VII. THE MIS-DIRECTED LETTER, AND OTHER IN- 
 CIDENTS 76 
 
 VIII. THE TWO SUITORS 94 
 
 IX. THE FIRST MARRIAGE 109 
 
 X. WEDDED LOVE RESTORED AT THE SEA-SIDE 
 
 HOME 121 
 
 XL THE THREE WEDDINGS 137 
 
 XII. THE GOOD HUSBAND 153 
 
 XIII. THE TWINS, FAITHFUL MOSELLE, AND THE 
 
 WELCOME LETTER 164 
 
 XIV. THE WHIPPED WIFE 170 
 
 XV. THE FIRST HUSBAND'S FAMILY AND PARISH. 179 
 
 XVI. DEATH AT THE PARSONAGE 184 
 
 (7)
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XVII. THE HEIRESS 194 
 
 XVIII. THE YOUNG BRIDE 210 
 
 XIX. THE TOURIST 227 
 
 XX. THE YOUNG WIDOW 244 
 
 XXI. THE WINNING WIFE 261 
 
 XXII. THE SECOND MARRIAGE 278 
 
 XXIII. THE STEP-FATHER 283 
 
 XXIV. THE CITY PARISHIONERS 290 
 
 XXV. THE LOST HEIR 298 
 
 XXVI. THE DISCOVERY 308 
 
 XXVII. THE BRIDE OF THE MILLIONNAIRE . . . 318 
 
 XXVIII. THE SEPARATION 334 
 
 XXIX. THE RE-UNION 348 
 
 XXX. TABLE TALK AND ENTERTAINMENT . . . 371 
 
 XXXI. MELVILLE AND UNCLE GORDON .... 388 
 
 XXXII. HOME AMUSEMENTS 404 
 
 XXXIII. " MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE " . 416
 
 THE FIEST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FAMILIES OF THE MINISTER AND LAWYER. 
 
 NOT far from the year eighteen hundred and ten, two 
 
 gentlemen fixed upon the quiet village of C as a 
 
 desirable residence. One was Thomas Warren, a cler- 
 gyman, the other, Cyrus "Wells, a lawyer. These gen- 
 tlemen had, for many years, been on terms of the closest 
 intimacy, having formed an acquaintance at an acad- 
 emy, where they were fitting for college, and having 
 continued together until the present time, studying their 
 different professions in the same town. Learning that 
 there was a favorable opening for an attorney in the 
 
 village of C , Mr. Wells reluctantly left his friend 
 
 and proceeded thither. But on his arrival at the place, 
 he found they were destitute of a pastor as well as of 
 an attorney, and he earnestly recommended the young 
 licentiate. 
 
 In two months from this time, Mr. Warren became 
 his pastor, and though his friend was now elevated from 
 the seat on which, for so many years they used to sit 
 together in college, ranged in alphabetical order, yet he 
 was the more happy to hear the gospel from his lips, on 
 account of their long-tried friendship. 
 
 O)
 
 10 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES , 
 
 Soon after their settlement in C , Mr. Wells, or 
 
 Squire Wells as he was now called, bought a fine house 
 and thirty acres of land, and then returned to his native 
 place for its mistress. As the parsonage was not in 
 readiness, Mr. Warren boarded with his friend until the 
 spring, when he also found a mate, and commenced 
 housekeeping on his own account. 
 
 Years passed by, and though the world in general 
 never heard of the distinguished Mr. Warren, who was 
 advertised to preach in the city, nor of the celebrated ad- 
 vocate, Mr. Wells, who would plead in this or that diffi- 
 cult case, yet they were perhaps none the less useful and 
 happy. Reverend Mr. Warren was a zealous, faithful, 
 affectionate shepherd over a united, happy flock, and 
 Squire Wells had that peculiar and crowning excellence 
 of his profession, the art of keeping his fellow-citizens out 
 of the law, and settling their difficulties for them in a 
 most peaceful and happy manner. In this way the vil- 
 lage of C acquired an enviable reputation, and 
 
 though the good Squire lost many a case because he 
 thought it unlawful, and would not run the risk of the 
 injury to his conscience by undertaking it, yet he often 
 remarked that he had enough of worldly treasure, and 
 was happy in the thought that no one was made poorer 
 by his means. 
 
 Upon his marriage, his father, who was a gentleman 
 of large property, advanced the sum necessary to pur- 
 chase his farm. 'Upon the decease of Mr. Wells, senior, 
 his son inherited the whole of his property, with the ex- 
 ception of twenty thousand dollars, left to his grandson, 
 who bore his name, to be devoted to his education an^ 
 settlement in life.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 11 
 
 Beside this son, Squire Wells had a daughter Eleanor, 
 of seven years of age, and a son George, two years younger. 
 Two infant children had been translated to their heav- 
 enly home. 
 
 The pastor had four children ; a son named for his 
 father, one year younger than Henry Wells, a daughter 
 Susan Hammond, named for his only sister, of the same 
 age as Eleanor, a second daughter Bessie, of five, and a 
 son Edward of three. 
 
 Through the interest of his friend, the salary of the 
 good clergyman had been increased from time to time, 
 as his family multiplied, and no one could have convinced 
 Mr. Warren that a minister ever had a more attentive 
 and affectionate people, or a more happy home. 
 
 When Henry had completed his preparation for col- 
 lege, under the careful instruction of his pastor, Squire 
 Wells proposed to bear Thomas's expenses, if he would 
 go with him, but Thomas was not yet prepared, and his 
 father preferred to keep him at home during the first 
 year, and have him enter Sophomore. About this time 
 Mr. Hammond died, and Mrs. Hammond sent for her 
 niece to visit her for one year, and to attend school. 
 Susan was a great favorite with her aunt, who would 
 have been glad to adopt the young girl, and as she was 
 left in independent circumstances, and had no children 
 of her own, Mr. and Mrs. Warren were sometimes 
 tempted to yield to her proposition, especially as the lady 
 was an eminent Christian, and every way qualified to be 
 a true mother to their daughter. 
 
 Susan was a frank, enthusiastic girl, with very strong 
 preferences and aversions, one who under the parental
 
 12 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 roof had been in the habit of speaking just what she 
 thought, sometimes where silence would have been more 
 discreet. She had a fair open countenance, upon which 
 it was very easy to read her thoughts, and if addressed 
 suddenly, even by the members of her own family, her 
 cheek would mantle with roses, and her eyes be cast 
 down, like those of a timid fawn. 
 
 Possessed of great buoyancy of spirits, she was yet 
 very even in her temperament, for the sudden bursts of 
 tears which were sometimes caused by a reproof from 
 her parents, or by sympathy with the distressed, were 
 transient as an April shower. 
 
 She had a sweet voice both in speech and in song, and 
 when about her work made the parsonage ring with her 
 cheerful notes. 
 
 When Susan returned from M , after being absent 
 
 one year, and was informed that her aunt had re- 
 newed her proposal to adopt her, she begged permission 
 to answer the letter herself. 
 
 Observing a meaning smile about her mouth, her 
 father readily consented, with the condition that the 
 letter should be subject to their revision. 
 
 The following day she presented her father with a 
 neatly written letter, which was as follows : 
 
 " Very dear aunt Susan : 
 
 I reached home in time to see brother Thomas 
 before he left for college. He went off in good spirits, 
 and thinks he shall not be home-sick, because he shall 
 see so much of Henry Wells. Squire Wells told 
 his son to engage a place for brother at Mrs. Holmes's,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 13 
 
 where he has always boarded, and insists that he shall 
 be allowed the privilege of paying the bills incurred for 
 board and tuition, for father will find it costs something 
 in these days to keep college boys in clothes and spend- 
 ing money. When Thomas and I walked over the last 
 evening to bid the family good bye, the kind man as he 
 shook hands, managed to leave with brother a fifty dol- 
 lar bill. I do not know what we should do if we had 
 not such kind friends. Henry walked over here the next 
 morning to start with Thomas, and to tell father that he 
 would look after him. Henry is now a senior. 
 
 " I found Gracie had grown much during my absence. 
 She is just learning to walk, and is a precious darling. 
 I received a joyful welcome not only from Thomas 
 and my parents, but from Bessie and Edward. 
 
 " Yesterday, mother read me your very kind letter about 
 adopting me to be your child. Dear aunt, I could not 
 love you better if you were my own mother, for you 
 have been like a mother to me ever since I can remember, 
 and dear uncle Hammond used to take me on his knee 
 and call me his own little Susy. But at present I feel 
 it to be my duty to remain at home, and do all I can to 
 assist my mother in her care of the family. I am now 
 in my seventeenth year, and ought to be learning to be 
 of use. Certainly I can be with regard to Gracey. I can 
 see my parents miss Thomas very much, and yesterday 
 I heard father say to mother, * I don't know but we ought 
 to comply with sister's kind proposition to adopt Susan, 
 but now Thomas has gone, I fear you would sink with- 
 out her cheerful company.' So, dear aunt, I made up 
 my mind at once to stay at home, and asked leave to 
 2
 
 14 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 write the reply to you. I did not tell them what I should 
 write, but shall show them rny letter and obtain their 
 approval before I send it. 
 
 With many thanks for all your kindness, 
 your loving niece, 
 
 SUSAN H. WARREN." 
 
 Mr. Warren read the letter aloud to his wife, and 
 though he said nothing of it, yet Susan knew that it met 
 his approval, for he kissed her tenderly, and called her 
 his dutiful daughter. Her mother, too, took pains to 
 show her that they were much pleased with her conduct. 
 
 Thus it was that the question, which in the course of 
 a few years had been often agitated, was settled, for a 
 time at least, by the conscientious desire of Susan to be 
 an assistance to her parents. 
 
 As Mr. Warren was far from thinking because his 
 daughter had graduated with honor from an academy, 
 that she had therefore finished her education, he was 
 anxious to have her pursue her studies at home. He 
 laid out for her a course of reading, and proposed that 
 she should keep a diary of daily events, for the sake of 
 ease in her style of writing. 
 
 In addition to this, her mother allowed her to take 
 much of the care of her little sister, of whom she had 
 become very fond, and also of certain parts of the family 
 work, so that the young girl was not likely to be troubled 
 with that worst of complaints, ennui, for want of enough 
 to occupy her time and attention. 
 
 Eleanor Wells, the companion of Susan, had been 
 absent from home nearly two years, when the latter re-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 15 
 
 turned from M ; but had since come home, in her 
 
 own opinion an accomplished young lady. Both her 
 father and mother regretted many traits in their daugh- 
 ter's character, of which they had not been aware while 
 she remained under the parental roof, but they trusted that 
 home influences would do much toward removing them, 
 and render her a blessing to them, as they gladly 
 acknowledged Susan Warren was to her parents. 
 
 Such was the situation of the families, when the 
 heroine of our simple story commenced her diary.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NUPTIALS AT THE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 Two days since a man called upon father to request 
 him to go to a house about three miles distant, and 
 marry a couple. As the afternoon was pleasant he per- 
 mitted me to accompany him. The wedding was ap- 
 pointed at three o'clock, and it wanted but five minutes 
 to the hour when we drove up to the door. As no one 
 appeared ready to take the horse, father told me to sit in 
 the buggy and hold the reins, while he ascertained if we 
 were at the right place. There were no signs of life 
 about the premises, but' he walked through the gate and 
 knocked at the door with the end of his whip. A young 
 girl soon appeared in a loose dress and curl-papers in her 
 hair. When she saw who it was, the color flew into her 
 face, and she appeared almost ready to cry ; but father 
 asked, " is there to be a wedding here this afternoon ? " 
 " I believe there is," she answered in great confusion. 
 " I thought this must be the house," said father ; " is 
 there any one here to take my horse ? " 
 
 " No, sir, there's no one at home. They've all gone 
 into the field to get in a load of hay, 'cause they thought 
 there'd be a shower. But I expect them home every 
 minute," and she looked anxiously up the road. " If you 
 could drive the horse round to the shed, they'll take care 
 of him." 
 
 (16)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 17 
 
 The girl disappeared as I put my head out to see what 
 detained father, and he came, assisted me from the 
 buggy, showed me into a room where by the number of 
 chairs placed in order against the wall, he supposed the 
 service was to be performed, and then drove the horse, 
 round to the shed which the girl had pointed out. 
 
 I have been to a great many weddings with father, as 
 mother is feeble, and it is considered a token of respect 
 for some of the family to accompany him ; but this was 
 so different a reception from any I ever received, that I 
 began to feel very much like laughing, and was right 
 glad that brother Thomas did not accompany us, for one 
 glance into his mischief-loving eyes would have com- 
 pletely upset my dignity. 
 
 Father soon joined me, and taking a paper from his 
 nat, made himself very comfortable in its perusal. I 
 glanced around the room hoping to find something in 
 the form of a book ; but no, a small solar lamp on the 
 table, and two high candlesticks on the mantel com- 
 pleted the survey. I was not left long, however, without 
 employment, for a loud whispering commenced in a 
 room opening from the one in which we were seated, 
 and my attention was soon wholly absorbed in listening. 
 From what I could learn, the bride was making her 
 toilet, some part of which appeared to be of a particu- 
 larly disagreeable nature, for she uttered several short 
 screams, saying, " oh, dear, you will kill me ; I wish Sarah 
 Maria had kept her old tongs at home." 
 
 " Never mind," said another voice, " it will look beau- 
 tiful when it's done ; I dare say, even better than Sarah 
 Maria's," 
 
 2*
 
 18 THE FIRST- AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 I hope so, but do be careful or you'll pull every spear 
 of hair out of my head." 
 
 I guess I'd better heat the tongs again, and you can 
 be putting on your stockings. Strange the folks don't 
 come home. Seth has got to wash and dress. It's a 
 dreadful pity the parson was so punctual. Like as not 
 he'll charge extra pay." 
 
 I glanced at father, and saw a quiet smile playing 
 about his mouth, which convinced me he was not so ab- 
 sorbed in his paper that he had not heard what was 
 passing. 
 
 All was still for a few moments in the bedroom, but 
 in the kitchen I heard some one at work upon the fire in 
 the stove. At length it ceased, and I heard the same 
 voice saying, " here, be quick, they're nice and hot now. 
 Let me do the front ones, and then you can slip on your 
 dress, for I thought I saw the wagon coming over the 
 hill." 
 
 In one moment a shrill shriek was heard, followed by 
 a voice in distress, saying, " you ugly, mean thing, you've 
 taken the whole curl right off, and burned me awfully," 
 and she began to cry. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm dreadful sorry," replied the hair dresser. " I 
 didn't know 'twas so hot; but I declare if I was to die, I 
 couldn't help laughing, it does look so queer to see that 
 short hair sticking out." 
 
 " I guess you wouldn't laugh if 'twas your own head," 
 retorted the other angrily. I'm as good a mind as ever 
 I had to eat, to say I won't be married." 
 
 " Well," said the first, Seth won't care, 'twas your 
 own choice having it to-day. You know he said of the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 19 
 
 two, he'd rather put it off till after haying and harvest- 
 ing-" 
 
 This reply seemed to bring the bride to terms, and she 
 reluctantly consented to submit to the remaining opera- 
 tion, during which my attention was called off by a loud 
 " geeing and hawing " in the yard. Before the farmers 
 reached the barn, a woman ran out, and spoke to them 
 in a low but earnest tone, telling them I suppose that 
 the minister had come. I was looking through the blind, 
 and I saw a young man (very red and sun-burnt) reluc- 
 tantly leave the load of hay, and approach the house. 
 
 " I'd no kind o' idear 'twas so late," said he as they 
 came near, " but 'taint no use to drive me, I can't do 
 nothing when I'm driv." 
 
 " Only think," said the woman, " Esther was a curling 
 her hair with the curling tongs Sarah Maria lent her, and 
 she burned the whole front one off, paper and all, close 
 to her head." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the young man, "It'll bring 
 down her pride some, I reckon. She was a lotting so on 
 cutting a dash with them are curls." 
 
 " Don't let her know I told you," said the woman, " she's 
 awful angry with me, now." 
 
 After what seemed a very long time, but which father 
 said was only half an hour, the woman I had seen talk- 
 ing with the young man, entered courtesying and took a 
 seat. It was now four o'clock, and father asked her if 
 the young people \yould soon be ready. 
 
 " They'll be right in," she answered, " they got to work 
 out in the field, and forgot how time was passing."
 
 20 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 While she was speaking, there was a whispering in 
 the entry, " You go in first" 
 
 " I wont ; you go." 
 
 The door opened, and a man entered, the same who 
 came for father, and said frankly, " how de do Parson ? 
 I guess you've had to wait a spell. If I had known you 
 was so prompt, I'd 'a said four o'clock in the room of 
 three ; but I'd an idear that ministers were forgetful, and 
 as 'twas a busy time, I thought I'd say three, and then 
 you would be here in season." 
 
 ' In the mean time the groom and bride had slipped into 
 the room, and seated themselves on the first chairs they 
 came to, near the door. 
 
 Father smiled, and said, " if you are ready, I will pro- 
 ceed at once to the ceremony, as it is a busy time with 
 me, too." 
 
 I had to press my handkerchief to my mouth to 
 keep from laughing aloud. There sat the bride with 
 showers of pipe stem curls falling down the sides of her 
 face ; and there true enough was the front one burned off 
 within half an inch of her head, leaving a large red place 
 on her forehead. She looked not only crest fallen, but 
 rather sulky, as she turned her back partly to her future 
 lord and master. 
 
 Father, after waiting a moment for them to take their 
 places, had to request them to do so, pointing to two 
 chairs placed together as a convenient place for them to 
 occupy. The farmer and his wife as they proved to be, 
 then took their places on either side of them. During 
 the first prayer they all remained seated, when father re- 
 quested them to rise and join hands. Both the young
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 21 
 
 man and the girl turned very red as they obeyed and lis- 
 tened with open mouths for what was to follow. When 
 the short ceremony was concluded, the groom sighed so 
 it could be heard all over the room ; I suppose from a 
 sense of relief that it was over. Father had hardly con- 
 cluded the benediction, when the young man stepped for- 
 ward with his hand thrust into the pocket of his panta- 
 loons, exclaiming, " How much is the damage, Parson?" 
 
 " I can hardly say at present," replied father, evidently 
 making quite an effort to retain his gravity. " If you 
 mean what is the fee, the groom generally gives me what 
 he can afford." 
 
 A loud whispering now commenced between him and 
 the man by his side ; the bride standing in profound in- 
 difference, as if she would not deign to attend to such 
 matters. 
 
 " I gin two dollars," said the farmer, and accordingly 
 a two dollar bill was extracted from the pocket-book, and 
 passed to father, after which, wishing them great happi- 
 ness in their married life, and bidding them good after- 
 noon, we took our departure, I accompanying father to 
 the shed, without having had one word addressed to me 
 by any member of the family. 
 
 As we rode home, father remarked that probably 
 neither the groom nor the bride had ever attended a wed- 
 ding, or they could scarcely have been so ignorant of the 
 form of the service, and then he asked me if I noticed 
 anything particular in the appearance of the company. 
 I told him what struck me as different from anything I 
 ever had seen, was the want of a proper affection between 
 the husband and wife ; and I repeated to him the remark
 
 22 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 of the woman, that the young man wished her to postpone 
 the marriage, and also what he had said about 1 
 down her pride. 
 
 Yes, my daughter," replied father, " and you 
 ways observe that even among the poorest class, and 
 those who would naturally be considered the most igno- 
 rant of the rules of etiquette, true religion renders them 
 polite, and attentive to all the civilities of every day life, 
 such little courtesies as render the relations of husband 
 and wife, of parents and children, just what God in- 
 tended them to be when he established the family consti- 
 tution. 
 
 " Among the rich and the learned, as well as the poor 
 and ignorant, the want of these civilities, of that defer- 
 ence to each other's wishes, and desire to promote each 
 other's happiness which is inculcated by the word of God, 
 will make any family wretched." 
 
 I never had a heartier laugh than when I related my 
 afternoon adventures to brother Thomas, and Henry 
 Wells, who are passing their vacation at home. Henry 
 said he would not have valued ten dollars to have been 
 present. I know father thought it was a strange affair, 
 for I overheard him saying as much to mother.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE YOUNG SOPHOMORE. 
 
 FOR the first time in his life, poor Thomas failed to 
 receive a cordial welcome on coming home. I wag 
 standing by the gate bidding Eleanor Wells, good by ; 
 (she had passed the afternoon with me,) when I heard 
 the stage coach drive up to the tavern. As I was very 
 busy talking, I thought no more of it, until Eleanor 
 started and said, "why, Susan, there's your brother 
 Thomas," and so it was. The College term had only 
 been in session three weeks, and I could not imagine 
 what had brought him home. After he had kissed me, 
 he shook hands with Eleanor, and then asked, " Susan, 
 where's mother ? " 
 
 " In her chamber," I replied, and he instantly turned 
 into the little path leading to the south door, and ran up 
 there. I don't know what he told mother, but when she 
 came down to prayers, her eyes were red and swollen, 
 while the poor fellow looked as solemn as a church. 
 When father began to read in the Bible, his voice trem- 
 bled so much that Bessie asked me in a whisper, what 
 was the matter with all of us, for seeing the rest sad, 
 and fearing some trouble, I had unconsciously a very 
 gloomy face. I did not wish her to know that I was 
 ignorant of Thomas's affairs, and so I only shook my 
 head. Poor father could hardly get through his prayer. 
 
 (23)
 
 24 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES, 
 
 If brother had not been before us bodily, I should have 
 supposed news had arrived of his death, 
 could not help weeping. I am sure I heard Thomas sob 
 two or three times. Just as soon as he could, he slipped 
 from the room, and I heard him run up to his chamb( 
 and lock the door. I sat down, hoping father or moth 
 would explain what had occurred, but mother only said, 
 Susan and Bessie, you had better retire," and she spoke 
 so sadly I had not courage to ask a single question. 
 
 Early this morning I heard Thomas go out of the front 
 door, and he did not come in until we had eaten break- 
 fast, and were just going to attend prayers. Mother 
 seemed grieved, but said, " I am sorry you were not 
 here in season, my son." 
 
 " I don't wish any breakfast," he answered, and father 
 commenced reading. 
 
 In the course of the forenoon, mother and brother re- 
 mained in the study, and then father assisted him to 
 carry a table and bookcase into his chamber. After all 
 was arranged he came to me, and asked me to walk with 
 him, which I was glad enough to do, as I had not yet 
 the least idea what all this could mean. 
 
 We walked along together until we reached a retired 
 grove, and though I was exceedingly impatient to hear 
 why Thomas came home so unexpectedly, yet after one 
 glance into his sober face, so unlike his usually merry 
 one, I could not articulate one word. We stepped over 
 the low wall, and soon were out of sight of the road. 
 There was a clump of trees together and a pleasant 
 green mound at the foot of them. Thomas sat down 
 and motioned me to sit by his side. It seemed to me a
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 25 
 
 long, long time before he spoke, but at length he burst 
 out, " Susy, do you know I am disgraced and ruined 
 forever?" 
 
 I sobbed aloud, " Oh ! what have you done ? " I asked 
 when I could speak. 
 
 The poor fellow put his handkerchief to his eyes and 
 cried so violently that he shook all over. 
 
 " Dear, dear Tommy," I said, " no matter what you 
 have done, I will always love you just as much as ever," 
 and I put my arms around his neck and drew him up 
 where he could lay his head upon my shoulder. It was 
 my blessed privilege now to be the comforter ; for oh ! how 
 many, many times has he soothed me and sympathized 
 in my childish griefs. Dear brother held my hand tightly, 
 and at last he grew calmer, and told me all his troubles ; 
 and I don't think he has been at all to blame ; I would 
 have done just as he did. The facts are these. Last 
 term some of the fellows used to meet late at night and 
 have oyster suppers ; and often they procured wine, and 
 became very boisterous. Thomas's chum carried dishes 
 and wine glasses in his trunk to college, and one night he 
 insisted that brother should be present. He said so much 
 that at length he prevailed, and, as Thomas expressed it, 
 they had a high time. About midnight they became so 
 noisy that they awoke the tutor, who slept in the same 
 building, and he suddenly appeared among them. 
 Brother had taken two glasses of wine, and he confessed 
 that he felt pretty lively, so he stepped up to tutor Brown, 
 whom the class had nicknamed on account of the ex- 
 treme length of his nose, and with a glass of wine in his 
 hand invited him to drink, saying, " I assure you, Profes- 
 3
 
 26 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 sor Longnose, you will find it both palatable and refresh- 
 ing." The tutor was very indignant, and Thomas says 
 he had just sense enough to know he had said some- 
 thing very silly, and was glad to sneak off to bed. The 
 next morning he was summoned to the President's study, 
 and was there admonished for his conduct. The Presi- 
 dent treated him with the tenderness of a child ; and at 
 length brother told him it was the first time he had 
 accepted an invitation to a midnight supper, and it should 
 
 be the last. President said it gave him great 
 
 pleasure to hear him make such a pledge, and in consid- 
 eration of it he should not inform his parents of what 
 had passed, as he knew how anxious they were that he 
 should make a good use of his time in the improvement 
 of the talents God had given him." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied brother, " but I could not 
 sleep until I had told my mother." 
 
 I remember well when that letter came, and I remem- 
 ber too that a day or two after came a letter from Presi- 
 dent , and he spoke in terms of unqualified praise 
 
 of brother's conduct, and also of his standing in his class. 
 In the vacation Henry Wells told me that brother was 
 a universal favorite ; that he was such good company, 
 and always so full of fun, and yet at the same time such a 
 fine scholar, that the fellows couldn't say enough in his 
 praise. 
 
 When Thomas went back to , three weeks ago, 
 
 father cautioned him about associating so much with 
 John Hawes, and so brother changed his chum, and 
 roomed this term with a very steady young man, by the 
 ,name of Henry Stanwood. It so happened that one
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 27 
 
 afternoon he stepped for a 'moment into Hawes's room, 
 on his way from recitation, and saw that preparations 
 were being made for a great spree. When he went in, 
 after a slight knock, Hawes kicked a pan under the bed, 
 but not so quickly but that Thomas saw that it contained 
 a goose already to spit, which they roast by driving a 
 nail into the mantle-piece and suspending it by a string, 
 having a pan underneath to catch the gravy a piece 
 of cord is tied to one of the legs, and by pulling that and 
 tying it to the round of a chair, they turn it until every 
 side is browned alike. 
 
 Supposing he suspected something was going on, 
 Hawes invited him to be present, and said, " we are go 
 ing to have a glorious time, and no fear of Longnosr 
 either, for he's going off to L , courting to-night. 
 
 Thomas immediately rose to go, and decidedly de 
 clined, saying, " I have pledged my word to President 
 
 Hawes then hinted something, in which brother caught 
 the word " blab," which so enraged him that he flew at 
 Hawes, and said he could have knocked him down with 
 one blow, he felt so strong ; but all at once he thought 
 he heard mother's soft voice whispering " my son," and 
 he turned quickly around almost expecting to see her 
 standing behind him. He went directly to Jiis room, and 
 after a short time forgot all about what had passed, but 
 on returning from one of the literary societies in the eve- 
 ning, he heard such a noise in Hawes's room, which was 
 directly under his own, he presumed that they were al- 
 ready engaged in the discussion of their goose. 
 
 He took off his clothes and went to bed, but the noise
 
 28 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 below constantly increased, and he concluded to get up, 
 as he could not sleep, and prepare for the morning reci- 
 tation. An hour later he heard a great crash, as if a 
 table had tipped over, followed by a scream of distress, 
 and being dressed he rushed down and burst into the 
 room. The sight was awful. They had air been drinking 
 freely, and one of them had thrown a tumbler at llawes, 
 which struck him in the cheek and made a great gash 
 from which the blood was streaming profusely. The 
 dishes lay in broken pieces all over the floor, and one 
 fellow, the craziest of all, was just aiming a bottle at the 
 looking-glass. Thomas sprang forward to snatch it from 
 him, when the drunken fellow eluded his grasp, and 
 threw it with all his force right into the face and eyes 
 of the tutor, who had just then entered the door. The 
 blow made the good man furious, and he flew at brother, 
 supposing it was he, and began to abuse him most un- 
 mercifully, calling him all manner of mean names, and 
 saying that he would have him dismissed from college 
 the very next morning. Finding he could do nothing to 
 appease him, Thomas retired to his own room, but he 
 could not sleep, so he spent the night in writing a letter to 
 the President. But after a dozen efforts to exculpate him- 
 self without exposing his classmates, he gave it up, and 
 determined to allow matters to take their course. The 
 next morning as they were going out from College 
 prayers, the President said, very gravely, Thomas War- 
 ren is requested to call at my study at eight o'clock. 
 
 At the appointed time he knocked at the study door, 
 and though conscious he had done nothing wrong, yet 
 his knees trembled so that he could hardly stand.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 29 
 
 "Walk in," said the President, merely glancing up 
 from a letter he was writing, and motioning that Thomas 
 was to be seated. He then went on with his writing, but 
 with a heavy frown upon his forehead. A cough from 
 the back part of the room made Thomas start, and there 
 sat tutor Brown with his nose increased to the size of 
 two, and a handkerchief tied around one eye. Thomas 
 sprang from his chair to ask him how he was, for he al- 
 ways liked the man, but remembering himself, sank back 
 into his seat. The movement did not escape the notice 
 of the President, who looked still more stern than be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Warren," he said, holding out a letter he had folded 
 and directed, " You are dismissed from college for six 
 months. I regret this on your own account, but much 
 more on account of the grief it will cause your worthy 
 parents. I regret also that my confidence in your integ- 
 rity should have been misplaced." He still held out the 
 letter, but poor Thomas said he grew so faint, all this 
 was so sudden, that he staggered back into his seat. 
 He expected, confidently, that questions would have been 
 asked, and somehow that he could explain everything. 
 
 President hemmed and coughed, and Thomas 
 
 is sure he saw a tear drop from his eye. He waited a 
 moment for brother to recover himself, and then said, " I am 
 deeply grieved that this should have occurred," with a 
 glance at the disfigured face of the poor tutor. " But a 
 young man who so far forgets himself as to violate the 
 rules of decency had better remain under the parental 
 roof," and he held out the letter again. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said Thomas respectfully, " but J 
 3*
 
 30 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 cannot carry that letter home to my parents It would 
 kill my mother," and he says if all the world had been 
 there, he could not have helped it ; he began to cry. 
 had been awake all night, and had grown very nervous, 
 and the idea of mother weeping over that ] 
 unnerved him. 
 
 I am glad to see" said the President, that you 
 not entirely lost, at least to your duty as a child. But I 
 regret the love you manifest for your mother, did not re- 
 strain you last evening." 
 
 Will you permit me to read that letter, sir?" asked 
 Thomas, starting to his feet. 
 
 That is rather a strange request; but I will comply 
 
 with it." 
 
 Brother tore it open, and after glancing down the first 
 page, deliberately folded it, and returned it to him, saying, 
 I cannot take it, sir. It accuses me of crimes I never 
 committed." 
 
 Tutor Brown started forward angrily, but the Presi- 
 dent waved him back, and without another word, 
 motioned Thomas to the door. He walked out back of 
 the colleges, until the hour when his chum would be 
 gone to recitation, then he locked himself in his room, 
 packed everything into his trunk and bag, went to the 
 tavern and sent a man for them, and took the stage- 
 coach home, without seeing one of the students. 
 
 Poor Thomas ! It was nearly an hour before lie had 
 finished relating his sad adventure ; but all the time he 
 had been growing in my estimation, until I began to re- 
 gard him in the light of a martyr to his own goodness. 
 I said everything comforting, I could think of. I told
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 31 
 
 him it would all come out right ; such things always did ; 
 that I loved him a thousand times better than ever. But 
 though he kissed me, and called me his darling sister ; yet 
 he still looked very sad. 
 
 " Susy," said he, " I can't bear it. It's hard enough to 
 be disgraced before the President and the whole faculty, 
 setting aside your own class, but seeing father and 
 mother take it so to heart, kills me ; and when I was try- 
 ing to do my very best," and the poor fellow broke down 
 again. 
 
 " They don't, they can't believe you did it," I exclaimed 
 eagerly. 
 
 " No," he answered sadly, " I don't think they doubt 
 my word ; but they looked so grieved and sorry, it cuts 
 me to the heart. If it had not been for mother, instead 
 of coming home, I should have gone off on a whaling 
 voyage, and I don't know but I shall now. As for stay- 
 ing here to be pointed at as a \varning to all bad boys, 
 I can't do it. Then what will Squire Wells think of 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, Thomas ! " I said, putting my arms around his 
 neck, " You wouldn't be so wicked. That would show 
 that you felt you had done wrong. That would be the 
 very worst way. in the world. I am sure you won't do 
 that." In my warmth, I grew very indignant against 
 the good President, and even wished a dreadful wish 
 about tutor Brown's nose, and I said that Hawes and 
 all his company were a mean set, if they didn't confess 
 to the President, and send for Thomas to come right 
 back, and that I didn't care if the President did feel
 
 32 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 badly when he found out he had been in the wrong, for 
 he ought not to have been in such a hurry to blame him 
 without any evidence. But Thomas stopped rne and 
 said that he had not a better friend in College, than the 
 President, and that he acquitted him of all blame, and if 
 he ever did find out the truth, no one would more regret 
 the course he had pursued. We walked slowly home, 
 and I secretly determined to talk with mother, and beg 
 her to try to look cheerful for poor Tommy's sake. Bat 
 as soon as we entered the house, father came forward 
 and shook hands with brother so cordially, that I expected 
 
 without doubt, President had sent for him to return. 
 
 Thomas thought so too, and the color flashed to his 
 face." 
 
 " I have had a letter, my son," said father. 
 
 " And has he restored me to my place ? " asked Thomas 
 eagerly. 
 
 " No, he has sent me the letter he wrote to send by 
 you, but with a postscript, which I will show you at 
 some future day." 
 
 In vain Thomas plead to see it now ; father smiled and 
 said " no." But I can see that they are much more 
 cheerful since receiving it When brother had left the 
 room, I begged mother to let me see the letter, but she 
 said, "not at present" She however told me the sub- 
 stance, which was that the President had been much 
 affected by the love Thomas had exhibited for his par- 
 ents, especially the veneration in which he held his 
 mother, and he comforted father with the hope that the 
 temporary absence from his class, together with the mor-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 33 
 
 lincation he would experience, might be the means of 
 entirely breaking up the habit of drinking, which so un- 
 fitted Thomas for usefulness. 
 
 This morning I was returning from the village where 
 I had been on an errand for mother, when our little pet 
 Gracie came running out to meet me. I caught her in 
 my arms, and went dancing into the parlor, singing, 
 
 " Kock a bye baby upon the tree top." 
 
 when my song was brought to a sudden termination by 
 seeing a very serious looking gentleman sitting there in 
 grave consultation with my father. I presume I was rosy 
 enough, for it seemed as if all the blood in my body flew 
 into my cheeks, but I had only time to notice that the 
 gentleman had a pair of extremely large, sharp eyes, and 
 a very grave mouth, before father said, " my daughter, 
 sir," and I hastened from the room. I ran. to relate my 
 adventure to Thomas, but was hardly able to bring a 
 smile to his face. Dear brother ! He takes his disgrace 
 sadly to heart. I never could have believed anything 
 would change him so much. I sat down by him to cheer 
 him if possible by a more hopeful view of his case. 
 Gracie lay quietly in my arms with her favorite finger in 
 her mouth. Thomas laid his head on my shoulder, a lib- 
 erty he* often craved, but was seldom indulged in, unless 
 when in trouble. " Susy," he said, " sing me a tune." 
 I struck at once the tune set to the words ; 
 
 " I had a hobby horse : "
 
 34 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 No, Susy," he exclaimed, putting his hand to my 
 mouth, not that, something more serious." 
 
 I immediately commenced the beautiful lines : 
 
 " How sweet to be allowed to pray, 
 
 To God the holy One ; 
 With filial heart and lips to say, 
 O God, thy will be done !" 
 
 This was a favorite hymn of mother's, and while 1 
 sang it, poor Thomas seemed soothed and comforted. 
 "Sister," he said, when I had finished, "I must do 
 something different from what I am doing. I find it im- 
 possible to fix my mind on my studies, and then I am 
 sure father cannot sustain the additional care of hearing 
 me recite." 
 
 Indeed, brother," I answered, " he said it was a pleas- 
 ure to him, -because your recitations were thoroughly pre- 
 pared." 
 
 Thomas smiled a sad smile. I leaned my head against 
 his, to keep him from seeing how much I was affected, 
 when the moving of a shadow started me, and I saw 
 father and the gentleman right before us. It was too, 
 too bad ; I could have cried from sheer vexation. There 
 he stood with his great eyes fixed right upon us, as in- 
 tently as if he were sitting for his daguerreotype. Father 
 had on one of his roguish smiles when he saw my em- 
 barrassment, while Gracie sucked her finger as if hothing 
 in the world had happened. The gentleman never moved 
 a muscle of his face. He is the most disagreeable person 
 I ever met 
 
 " Mr. Gordon, this is Thomas, my son," said father,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 35 
 
 introducing them. " My daughter I believe you saw be- 
 low." 
 
 Mr. Gordon and Thomas shook hands, while I sat as 
 awkwardly holding Gracie, as if I had not power to 
 move, until father added, " This is the room, sir. It has 
 a fine view from the front windows." 
 
 When they turned back to the room, they found they 
 had lost one view, and that was of a great girl with her 
 hair dishevelled, holding a sleepy babe, for I had quietly 
 slipped from the room. 
 
 After I had put Gracie into bed, for her morning nap, 
 I ran to the kitchen, where I assisted mother until dinner. 
 She told me that Mr. Gordon had applied to father to 
 take him as a student in theology, (father had for several 
 7 ears been in the habit of teaching young men who are 
 eparing for the ministry,) that he wished to board here, 
 and father had proposed to him to teach Thomas, to pay 
 for his own tuition. 
 
 " Oh ! I hope he won't board here," I exclaimed. 
 
 "Why? my child." 
 
 " I dislike him so much, I never could do anything but 
 his great eyes would be right before me." 
 
 " His letters of recommendation which your father 
 showed me, spoke very highly of him, both as a gentle- 
 man and a scholar, replied mother. 
 
 As Mr. Gordon was to take dinner with us, 1 was 
 obliged to run to my room, after setting the table, and to 
 make my toilet for the day, which was soon done, and I 
 returned to call the gentleman from the study. Thomas 
 was with them, and really appeared something like him- 
 self.
 
 36 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 I can't say but he is sensible enough, but certainly Mr. 
 Gordon is my aversion. I don't believe he has any soul 
 I never saw a man with such a fixed expression, no mat- 
 ter whether the conversation is grave or gay, he never 
 lights up. Once or twice at dinner he said very witty 
 thin-s, and while the rest laughed heartily, he looked 
 solemn and unmoved as a deacon. I believe before 
 left, he saw that I regarded him as a curiosity, for when- 
 ever he spoke, his eyes turned upon me. I do not re- 
 member that I ever conducted myself with so much de- 
 corum, as during the hour and a half that he stopped 
 after dinner. 
 
 Having assisted Nancy to clear the table, I sat down 
 to my sewing, and hardly raised my eyes from my work, 
 until he rose to go, when I gave such a joyful start that 
 if he had a thought about such an insignificant being, he 
 must have seen I was glad that he went. 
 
 It is decided that he is to return next week. I told 
 father I was going to sing all the time until then, for 
 after that my voice must be mute. 
 
 " If that is to be the case," said father, patting my 
 head, " I shall regret having consented to his very earnest 
 wish to board here. He did not say much about it at 
 first, but after he had seen the room, he said it would be 
 much more convenient to be in the same house on ac- 
 count of his own recitations, and those of Thomas." 
 
 Yesterday morning I was seated by the front window 
 in my pleasant room, Gracie was in her little chair by 
 my side, playing quietly with her doll, and I was reading 
 until the first bell for church service, when my attention
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 37 
 
 ivas drawn from my book by a very unusual sound in 
 our quiet village. A wagon came rattling down the hill, 
 and to my great amazement seated in it was aunt John, 
 wife of good old Mister Clark, one of the best deacons, 
 and the meekest men that ever lived. As she drew 
 nearer, I saw she had a large tin boiler in the back of 
 the open wagon, and as she drove with speed, it rattled 
 back and forth like a great drum. Aunt John, as she is 
 universally called, from the fact of there being so many 
 by the name of Clark, drove straight to the shop of the 
 tinman, and seemed surprised to find it closed. After 
 sundry loud knocks for admittance, which, however, 
 proved of no effect, she proceeded to the house adjoining, 
 where the owner of the shop lives. After one minute I 
 saw her raise her hands in profound astonishment, then 
 climb into the wagon, and whip her horse almost into a 
 run, as she started for home. I was not a little curious 
 to know the meaning of this unusual movement on the 
 part of aunt John, and my curiosity was soon gratified, 
 for in the afternoon about ten minutes before the last 
 bell rang, the same horse and wagon drove slowly up to 
 our door. Deacon Clark got out, his long white hair 
 streaming in the wind, tied his horse, and then demurely 
 assisted aunt John into the house. I ran to open the 
 door, when he inquired for father. I waited upon them 
 into the study, and commenced dusting father's coat as 
 an excuse for staying in the room. After they had all 
 shaken hands, the good deacon said, " my wife wished to 
 see you before she went to church," and he nodded to 
 her to commence. 
 
 The poor woman seemed on the point of crying, and 
 4
 
 38 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 could hardly speak, but at length said that she and her 
 husband had " somehow missed a day in their reckon- 
 ing," and thought yesterday was the Sabbath. "Mr. 
 Clark and I," she added, " concluded not to come down 
 to church, as it rained so hard, and we had no covered 
 wagon, and we staid in the house all day, and read the 
 Bible. Before the shower came up in the morning, Mr. 
 Clark said he wished he had had time the day before to 
 finish a few chores, for his wood was ah 1 out, and he could 
 have got it under cover with the men's help in an hour ; 
 but it was the Sabbath, and he never calculated to cheat 
 his Maker by taking his day to work in. So never a 
 stick was carried in, but we sat and read as I told you. 
 This morning, Monday, as I took it to be, I got up early, 
 and went to my washing, but when I put the clothes into 
 the biler, I found it leaked so I couldn't do nothing with 
 it. After Mr. Clark had tried to bung up the hole, I 
 found I must carry it to be mended, so I started off as 
 fast as I could go, for the village, with all my washing 
 duds on, just as I left the tub. I was surprised to find 
 the shop shut, and then I remembered I had not met a 
 single soul all the three miles I'd come. But I went to 
 the house to see if Mr. Sanger was sick. No," said he, 
 " We're all well." 
 
 I want you then, says I," to come right away as quick 
 as ever you can, and sodder my biler, for I've got a great 
 washing to do to-day." 
 
 " Miss Clark," says he, it's never been my custom to 
 sodder on the Sabbath." 
 
 " Sabbath!" Says I, "it's Monday, Mr. Sanger."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 39 
 
 " I rather think," says he, " If you wait a few minutes 
 you'll hear the bell ring for meeting." 
 
 " Goodness' sake ! " says I, " and here I am with my 
 tin biler ; oh dear ! I must go home and stop the men ; 
 they are going out in the piece to cut wood. I drove 
 home as fast as I could make the old mare go ; and true 
 enough the men had gone, so I had to drive half a mile 
 arter 'em and tell 'em 'twas Sunday." 
 
 Good Deacon Clark gazed into father's face as eagerly 
 as if his fate had been written there. 
 
 " Yes," said he, heaving a heavy sigh. " It's a dreadful 
 disappintment to us, and I don't see how we could 
 have lost our reckoning. We've broken the Sabby day, 
 no mistake about that, and I'm afeard we've brought a 
 disgrace upon our profession. We couldn't either on us 
 feel to go into the sanctuary till we'd laid our sins, as it 
 were, before you, and we're ready to do what's right 
 about it." 
 
 " Yes," added aunt John, wiping her eye with her 
 glove, " but I'd rather have gin our best colt than to have 
 had it happen." 
 
 " My good friends," responded father, taking the aged 
 deacon by the hand, (aunt John is his third wife, and 
 his junior by about thirty years,) " I respect your feelings of 
 sorrow that you have unconsciously violated the Sab- 
 bath, but your character for godliness is too well known 
 for this to affect you, or to need explanation. Before this 
 time, I have no doubt, your mistake is known through- 
 out the parish, and your appearance at church this after- 
 noon will serve to convince them that you yourself re- 
 gret it more than any one."
 
 40 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 " Then you don't think it is necessary to bring the mat- 
 ter before the church ? " said the meek man, his face 
 brightening, as he rose suddenly from his chair. 
 
 " By no means," replied father, taking from my hands 
 the well brushed coat. " There is no occasion for it 
 whatever. If more agreeable to you, you can leave your 
 horse tied to my gate, and walk over to church with us." 
 
 " Yes," said aunt John eagerly, to her husband, " It'll 
 look respectabler," and so I waited upon the conscien- 
 tious pair to church, and took great pains to show them 
 marked attention, of which the good lady, at least, 
 showed a proper appreciation by inviting me, in a low 
 voice, to come soon and spend a sociable afternoon with 
 her, " and be sure to stop to tea."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE THEOLOGICAL STUDENT. 
 
 MR. Gordon has been here a week, but I am no more 
 acquainted with him than on the first day of his arrival. 
 In his presence I always have the feeling that he knows 
 just what I'm thinking of, and considers me a very silly 
 girl. I am often vexed at myself for entertaining any 
 solicitude about him or his thoughts ; but whenever (which 
 to be sure is seldom) I forget for a moment that he is 
 near, and speak in my natural \vay, or hum a tune, 
 his eyes are fixed so seriously upon me that they actu- 
 ally oppress me, and when I turn away, as if uncon- 
 scious, he only stares the more. Two or three times I 
 have had to hurry from the room to hide my tears, for 
 his eyes said as plainly as eyes could speak, " you foolish 
 girl, why cannot you spend your time more profitably ; 
 and if you speak, why cannot you utter sense ? " He is 
 so very good and very precise, that he seems to have no 
 sympathy with common humanity. I despise such peo- 
 ple ; they seem to be saying, " look at me, see how ex- 
 actly my conduct conforms to the rules of right ; look, 
 and imitate my example." 
 
 But I cannot wholly despise him while he makes such 
 prayers. Praying seems to be his element He lifts me 
 above myself, and I think I have had more realizing views 
 of life as a state of probation, and of the vanity of my 
 
 4* (41)
 
 42 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 own course, while hearing him pray, than ever before. 
 Two or three times I have observed that Thomas was 
 also much affected. He is delighted with his tutor, and 
 is more cheerful, though scarcely more hopeful that his 
 innocence will be proved. I heard him telling father yes- 
 terday that he never wished to return to , he should 
 
 prefer to graduate at some other college ; but father said 
 he must go back and live down this false report. 
 
 One thing I dislike in this new arrangement, I have 
 so much more to do. I take the whole care of setting 
 the table, and then wash the silver and glass after each 
 meal. Bessie goes to school, and has no time except 
 for out-door exercise. Mother says this greatly relieves 
 her. Then I am learning to cook, and to-day made a 
 batch of bread. First I made the yeast, then mixed it, 
 and attended to the baking. Father, mother and 
 Thomas declared they never ate better bread ; but Mr. 
 Gordon spoke not one word, though I am sure he ate 
 enough. I do not believe he knows what he is eating. 
 He is always discussing original sin, the fall of man, or 
 the divine decrees. I mean to ask father to leave such 
 dry subjects in the study. I really wonder what father, 
 mother, and even brother find to like so much in Mr. 
 Gordon ; but I must leave my writing and read an hour 
 to old Dame Streeter, and I will take Gracie with me. 
 
 'Oh, dear! how frightened I was at breakfast. We 
 had scarcely commenced eating, when Mr. Gordon asked 
 father whether he considered free will 
 
 " That subject is interdicted," said father, interrupting 
 him.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 43 
 
 The gentleman looked aghast. 
 
 " My daughter Susy complains that we do not have 
 at all as good times at table as formerly ; that we are al- 
 ways discussing the catechism. Isn't that it, Susy?" 
 and father laughed. 
 
 My lip quivered, but I could not speak. It was too 
 bad in father to say / said so ; but after a moment of 
 painful embarrassment to me, Mr. Gordon almost smiled 
 as he remarked, " I really owe Miss Susan an apology. 
 I understand and appreciate the propriety of the sugges- 
 tion, sir," he added, addressing father, as I did not raise 
 my eyes, " I think it is very promotive of health to have 
 cheerful conversation during our repasts." To do him 
 justice, while he continued at table he rendered him- 
 self very agreeable. I do believe, if I were blind, I should 
 like him extremely, he has so melodious a voice, and he 
 modulates it so well. He read one of the hymns for 
 father, at an evening meeting, and I scarcely ever heard 
 it read with more feeling, and all the time his face was 
 cold as an icicle. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I sat for a few moments talking 
 with Dame Streeter, after I had finished the book I have 
 been reading, when I was surprised to hear it rain. I 
 started in alarm, as I was a quarter of a mile from home, 
 and I feared Gracie would get wet. But I had scarcely 
 put on my bonnet and shawl before Mr. Gordon knocked 
 at the door, with two umbrellas. I really was glad to 
 see him that time, and he insisted upon carrying Gracie 
 and held the umbrella so that she did not get at all damp. 
 If I had dared I would have asked him how he knew I 
 was there ; but he scarcely spoke after he had coaxed
 
 44 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Gracie from me. I suppose he was deep in total de- 
 pravity, which, I believe, is one of his favorite doctrines. 
 When we reached home I could not help thanking him, 
 but he said, " I am abundantly paid," and kissed Gra- 
 de's little fat hand. 
 
 Yesterday I asked Thomas if he did not think Mr. 
 Gordon's eyes were very disagreeable. 
 " How ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why, they always look right into one so." 
 " I never noticed anything peculiar about his eye, ex- 
 cept that it is very large," he replied. 
 
 But to-day he told me that he had watched him since 
 I spoke, and he did stare, but, said he, with a little of his 
 old look, " it is always at you." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " and I won't bear it any longer ; I try 
 to behave just as well as I can," and I burst out crying. 
 
 "Why, Susy," said brother, "what is the matter 
 now?" 
 
 " I don't see what I've done," I answered sobbing, 
 " that he should single me out for reproof. Bessie, or 
 Edward have not received a single glance." 
 
 " Oh well," said he, " I wouldn't take it to heart, he'll 
 get over it in a day or two." But my mind is made up, 
 and I'll make Bessie change places with rne, and then he 
 can't see me at all. And I won't tell father the reason 
 either, or he would be sure to tell him, as he did about 
 the theological discussions at table. 
 
 Two days ago Eleanor Wells visited me again, and I 
 invited her to stop to tea. She has been here very often 
 since Thomas came home, and does not seem pleased
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 45 
 
 that he is so sober and takes so little notice of her. The 
 family were all seated in the room, after supper, and I 
 stood at the table washing the cups, when she exclaimed, 
 " Oh, Susy, I forgot to give you a message from brother. 
 He says you are greatly in his debt, about writing, and 
 wants you to commence at once ; at any rate to put in a 
 postscript to my letter." 
 
 I don't think it was kind of Eleanor to speak so pub- 
 licly about it, when she knows that I never wrote him 
 more than a dozen lines, in a letter of hers, and that was 
 to deny something she had told him which would have 
 given him a wrclffg impression. I told her so, as soon 
 as we were alone ; but she only replied, " I am sure 
 I meant no harm, and was sorry as soon as I saw how it 
 made you blusfF' 
 
 " No wonder I blushed," I answered, " for father, 
 mother, and Mr. Gordon, fixed their eyes upon me with 
 astonishment, and I had to choke back my tears. I al- 
 ways liked Henry ; but I shouldn't think of writing to 
 him, and you may teh 1 him so." 
 
 Thomas and Mr. Gordon took their customary walk 
 after tea, and Eleanor suddenly took her leave. I accom- 
 panied her part of the way home. 
 
 " I should think it would be a real bore," she said, " to 
 have that Mr. Gordon at your house. I never saw per- 
 sons so much changed as you and your brother are, since 
 he came." 
 
 " It isn't Mr. Gordon who has changed us ; you know 
 we all feel sad on account of poor Thomas's trouble ; and 
 then as Bessie is going away, I have a great deal to do." 
 
 We have lately received a letter from aunt Susan, in-
 
 46 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 viting sister to come there for six months and attend the 
 academy. Mother is much gratified, as the oner was 
 wholly unexpected. I was there a year, but aunt had 
 always promised to assist me on account of my name. 
 Bessie goes next week, and the preparation keeps us busy 
 enough. Yesterday was my regular time to go to Dame 
 Streeter's to read to her ; mother and I were sewing in 
 the parlor, and Mr. Gordon was reading the review, by the 
 window, when I told her I could hardly spare the time 
 to go, and that I would get Edward to run down there 
 and tell her that I would read two hours next week. 
 
 " I am afraid the old lady will be" disappointed," re- 
 plied mother, anxiously glancing at the pile of unfinished 
 work before us. 
 
 " Will you allow me to take your pla^for once, Miss 
 Susan," inquired Mr. Gordon, without taking his eyes 
 from the paper. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, she would be delighted," I replied eagerly ; 
 " but I am afraid she would not be so well satisfied with 
 me afterwards." 
 
 The gentleman gave me a quick glance of inquiry, and 
 I thought he seemed pleased, but as usual I colored up 
 to my ears, and indeed I was almost frightened at what 
 I had said, so the subject dropped, and I do not even 
 know whether he went. He was away from the house 
 nearly two hours, but he volunteered no information on 
 his return, and I certainly did not ask for any. 
 
 The very first opportunity I had, after what Thomas 
 said about his staring at me, I took Bessie's seat and 
 made her take mine, so that I sat on the same side of the 
 table with Mr. Gordon, while James was between us. But
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 47 
 
 I soon found I had punished myself. Now that I have 
 become accustomed to his precise manner, I do not no- 
 tice it half as much, and it adds greatly to our pleasure 
 to be able to see the one who talks with us. He is the 
 oddest man I ever met. He takes the plates from father 
 and passes them around the table without at all inter- 
 rupting the conversation, and he seems to know just when 
 every one is ready to be helped again. Though mother's 
 plate is nearly hidden by the tray, he always sees that she 
 is supplied with everything she needs and without mak- 
 ing the least effort, but as a matter of course, and almost 
 with mechanical precision. Yet he relates an anec- 
 dote much better than any person I ever knew, and if he 
 would only allow the muscles of his mouth to play, as 
 he does the tones of his voice, I think he would be almost 
 handsome. 
 
 Bessie has gone. Poor girl ! she cried bitterly at part- 
 ing ; but she will soon be reconciled to the change ; aunt 
 Susan is very kind, and will be a real mother to her. At 
 dinner Mr. Gordon very deliberately took her seat, say- 
 ing to mother, " Grace will be pleased to resume her 
 place by her sister ; " so he and Thomas sat one side, 
 and James and I the other, with Gracie between us. 
 
 Mother seemed distressed and began to apologize, that 
 he had not the seat which belonged to him, at father's 
 right hand, but he merely bowed, " excuse me, Madame, 
 I prefer this," and no more was said. When the bless- 
 ing had been asked, father referred to the subject which 
 they had been discussing before they left the study, 
 namely the power of conscience.
 
 48 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 I remember," said Mr. Gordon, "a singular case in 
 my native town, illustrating that truth. A young man 
 long known as an idle, dissipated fellow, was one Sab- 
 bath morning strolling through the streets, seeking for 
 amusement, when he passed a farm-house where the 
 good dame had long strings of sausages hung out upon 
 poles. Watching a favorable opportunity, John, whose 
 perceptive faculties were not very acute, and who had 
 long ago forgotten the distinctions between mine and 
 thine, seized the string, and quickly taking from it a sup- 
 ply for his dinner, thrust them into his bosom, and con- 
 tinued his walk. Just as he reached the Main Street, 
 the bells were ringing for morning service, and the poor 
 fellow followed the multitude until they led him to the 
 church door. Here he stopped and sat down upon the 
 step, watching people as they passed in. Soon the organ 
 sent forth its solemn notes, and as one strain after an- 
 other fell on his ear, John, who was enthusiastically fond 
 of music, sauntered into the porch, and with a half mut- 
 tered expression ' it's as good as muster,' found his way 
 up the broad aisle, advancing two thirds of the distance 
 to the pulpit, that he might have a full view of the per- 
 formers, as he called them. 
 
 " Now John was not in the habit, as may well be sup- 
 posed, of frequenting the house of God, and after the vol- 
 untary had ceased, he listened with open mouthed won- 
 der to what was to follow. When the choir rose to 
 sing, his appreciation of the correctness of their time was 
 shown by^ sundry nods, as he swayed his body back and 
 forth, causing not a few smiles among the younger part 
 of the audience. At length the good pastor commenced
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 49 
 
 his sermon, which was from the words, < Thou hast set 
 our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of 
 thy countenance.' 
 
 " After expatiating at some length upon the nature of 
 secret sins, he remarked, ' but there is no form of iniquity 
 so offensive to God as the bosom sin,' bringing his hand 
 upon his breast. < Our outward life may be moral and 
 upright; in the eyes of our fellow citizens and the world 
 we may be models of propriety and virtue, but we are 
 never safe so long as we hug the bosom sin.' After 
 much more upon the same point, he added, ' See to it, 
 then, that while you conform outwardly to the law of 
 God, by attendance upon the means of grace and the 
 performance of active duties, you do not neglect the bo- 
 som sin. Get rid of it, cast it out, throw it away, or you 
 will be forever lost.' 
 
 " Poor John! During the latter part of the discourse 
 he had become extremely uneasy, and found it impossi- 
 ble to keep his seat. Once or twice he caught up his 
 tattered hat as if to leave the house, and then concluded 
 to remain ; but when it came to the closing sentence, he 
 could bear it no longer. How the parson found him out, 
 he could not imagine ; but to the amazement of the con- 
 gregation, just as the minister was about to close the 
 Bible, John sprang up, tore open his coat and shirt, pulled 
 out the sausages and threw them into the aisle. ' There, 
 parson,' he exclaimed indignantly, 'you do make the 
 greatest fuss about a few sausages,' and before any one 
 could stop him, he was out of the house." 
 
 This afternoon I resumed my reading at Dame Street- 
 er's. She was loud in her praise of Mr. Gordon. The 
 5
 
 50 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 old lady is a cripple from chronic rheumatism, and can- 
 not rise from her chair, to save her life. She says that 
 before he commenced reading, he remarked it was his 
 custom to pray for a blessing to attend him in whatever 
 he undertook, and if she were willing, he would unite 
 with her in prayer. " 'Twas a real feast to my soul," she 
 added, a tear dropping upon her withered hand. I wiped 
 it away, and asked what he read. 
 
 " Oh," she answered, " he read from the beautifulest 
 book, Imitation of Christ,' there 'tis on the table, and he 
 said if Miss Susan wouldn't consider him interfering, 
 he'd be pleased to come in occasionally, and repeat his 
 call. I said I knew you wouldn't mind, only if you 
 didn't come together, and then I told him how many 
 years you'd read to me, ever since you was a very little 
 thing, and on Wednesday afternoon too, when that was 
 your holiday. Oh ! don't you think I ever forget it ; and 
 I showed him the tumbler with them tree lamplighters 
 as I call 'em, and told him you made 'em when you was 
 eight years old, and what a sight I set by 'em, and I'd 
 kept 'em choice ever since." 
 
 "Oh, Dame," I exclaimed, "how could you! What 
 did he say?" 
 
 " Never a word," she replied, but he took the cracked 
 tumbler and blowed out the dust, and looked as pleased 
 as ever you see." 
 
 It is my birth day. I am seventeen years old. I am 
 very happy, and yet at the same time I am sad to think 
 I have lived so long to so little purpose. I do wonder 
 how old Mr. Gordon is," Eleanor asked me last night
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 51 
 
 had never thought of it before ; but I told her about as 
 old as father. She laughed heartily at me when she 
 found I really thought so, and said she thought him 
 about thirty. I mean to ask Thomas to find out. 
 
 This morning father called me into his study, and 
 talked with me for a long time, or rather to me, for I was 
 so much affected by his kind tone and earnest manner, 
 that I could not help shedding tears. He says he wants 
 me to begin the new year, by giving myself to the 
 Saviour ; that I cannot begin too soon to love and serve 
 him who died for me ; that God has given me talents, 
 and every day during these long years, he has asked me 
 to use them for him, and he inquired of me if I had com- 
 plied with these oft repeated commands. I sobbed so 
 much I could only shake my head in reply. Then he 
 prayed for me so tenderly, and represented my whole 
 case so exactly, that I longed to be a Christian. When 
 we arose, he presented me with an elegant Bible, with 
 neat silver clasps, just such an one as I always have 
 wanted, to carry to Sabbath school, and wished me to 
 read in it every morning and night, if it was only one 
 verse, which I readily promised. He showed me places 
 that he had marked ; one of them, the fifty-first psalm, I 
 have just read. It has made me feel very solemn, and I 
 mean to try to be better than I have been. I wish I 
 were prepared to die. It makes me shudder to think that 
 what father said may be true, and this may be my last 
 birth-day. Before the year expires, my body may be 
 resting in the grave. Where would my soul be then ? I 
 wish I were as good as Dame Streeter. And I mean to 
 pray to God to make me so.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THOMAS AND HIS CLASSMATES. 
 
 OH how very happy I am ! I never had so good a 
 birth-day, as yesterday. As I was writing in the morn- 
 ing, mother came to my door with Gracie. She looked 
 very smiling, and said she had brought me a birth-day 
 present, and then she held up sister to give me seventeen 
 kisses. After that, I placed the rocking chair for her, as 
 she said she wished to have some talk with me ; then she 
 gave me permission to take Gracie, and have all the care 
 of her clothes. I am to have her bureau moved into my 
 room, and she is to sleep with me. Little darling ! how I 
 have longed for this time to come, how sweetly I slept 
 last night with her in my arms. I lay a long time 
 resolving to be very kind and gentle with her. But I 
 have not yet told half my happiness. The mail comes 
 in at eleven o'clock, and Thomas generally goes to the 
 office just before dinner. We were all in the sitting- 
 room, waiting for dinner, which Nancy was bringing 
 upon the table, when I happened to look from the win- 
 dow and saw Thomas coming very rapidly toward the 
 house. As soon as he perceived me, he held up two let- 
 ters, and with one bound jumped over the gate into the 
 yard, which was a favorite habit with him formerly, but 
 which he has not done once since he returned. He 
 sprang into the room, his eyes sparkling, and his whole
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 53 
 
 countenance flushed with pleasure, walked quickly up to 
 father, put one of the letters into his hand, and said witb 
 great emotion, " There, Sir ! It has turned out just as 
 you said it would." 
 
 Father put on his glasses, and began to read, but some 
 how he couldn't see after the first few lines, and putting 
 it into mother's hands, he went quickly back to the study. 
 I know he went there to tell God how thankful he was 
 that his son's character for truth and soberness, had been 
 brought to light. Mother was so much affected, that she 
 sat down in the rocking-chair while she read, and the 
 tears streamed down her cheeks. Dear Thomas put his 
 arm around me, just as he used to, and let me read his 
 letter, which was from his class. I was so glad that I 
 put my arms around his neck, and kissed him ever so 
 many times, and told him I was rejoiced it had happened 
 on my birth-day. It was the very best celebration I 
 could have. Soon father returned to the room, and Mr. 
 Gordon caught his hand, and began to say something, 
 but I couldn't hear what, his voice was so low, and I 
 saw that his eyes were moist. Then he shook hands 
 with mother and brother, and congratulated them on the 
 happy termination of this sad affair. He even kissed 
 Gracie, but he only looked at me. 
 
 " But," said father^ " How was this found out. Did 
 tutor Brown discover his mistake ? " 
 
 " Poor Mr. Brown," repeated brother, " is tutor no 
 longer ! A piece of glass it is supposed went into his 
 eye, and he has almost lost the use of it. He resigned 
 his situation last week. I have a letter from my chum, 
 written by request of the class, and signed not only by 
 5*
 
 54 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 them, but by a number of Juniors, and your friend, Henry 
 Wells, Susy, among the Seniors. If you like, I will read 
 it to you, while you are eating dinner, for my appetite 
 has entirely gone." 
 
 As we all signified our desire to hear it, brother com- 
 menced reading, though he said, "Henry Stanwood 
 would cashier me, if he knew it." 
 
 " To Thomas Warren, Esquire, Sophomore. 
 Dear chum. 
 
 " I am appointed by the class, a committee to commu- 
 nicate to you a statement made to the whole College at 
 prayers assembled this twenty-eighth day of June, Anno 
 Domini, 18 . 
 
 " If I am not mistaken, you will dance the last cotillon, 
 when you read it, and make the old parsonage resound 
 with three cheers for your alma mater. Well, old fellow, 
 you'll not be alone with your cheers, for just as soon as 
 we were out of prayers, we sent up as hearty three times 
 three, three more, for " Thomas Warren, Soph., restored 
 to life and liberty," as ever made the welkin ring. 
 
 " Hawes (who by the way has acted nobly,) says he 
 stood near the President, and he can swear to it, that the 
 good man joined in it, as he stood with his hat off, on 
 the steps of the chapel. 
 
 " The course he has pursued, has rendered him a greater 
 favorite with the students than ever. But I forget that 
 you don't know any of the circumstances of your vindi- 
 cation, and I can assure you, there is not much else talked 
 of, in College, at the present time. Well, to commence ; 
 you remember Stiles, that little fellow who stammers so.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 55 
 
 It happened extremely well for you, that the day you 
 made so unfortunate a call upon Hawes, he was " spit- 
 ting the goose," and had only time to retreat with his 
 booty under the bed, when you entered. He heard 
 Hawes invite you, and he also distinctly heard you 
 decline, saying, " you had pledged your word to the Pres- 
 ident, and you wouldn't break it, for your right hand." 
 Ever since you left, the poor fellow has looked as puny 
 as a whipped dog. At last he wanted to go home, and 
 said he was sick, but on the third day, which was day 
 before yesterday, he came posting back, and requested an 
 audience with the President. I can't help laughing to 
 think how the little fellow must have quaked in his 
 shoes ; but he went through it like a martyr ; and he told 
 the President what he heard you say. Just as soon as 
 your name was mentioned, the good man started for- 
 ward, and listened intently, and then asked, " will you 
 repeat that remark?" Stiles did repeat it, when the 
 good man heaved a great sigh, that Stiles says, would 
 have filled the sails of a small schooner. Stiles also told 
 him that he was present in the night, when you rushed 
 into the room, and saw you try to get the bottle from 
 Holmes, who was just drunk enough to want to fight, 
 and that he heard tutor Brown call you a rascally 
 drunken brute. Stiles said you started forward as if you 
 were going to fight him, and then your arms dropped to 
 your side, and you stood and heard all his abuse, and 
 never spoke a word ; but as soon as he had done, left the 
 room. He told the President that the smell of wine al- 
 ways made him sick, and that he was the only one in 
 the room who was not intoxicated, or the others would
 
 56 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 never have been willing to have you suffer for their dis- 
 grace. The President turned very pale, and when he 
 had done, told him he thanked him for the confession, 
 and that he should wish to have some further conversa- 
 tion with him hereafter, for he entertained a high opinion 
 of a young man who had courage to make such a state- 
 ment, and then he requested him to say nothing to any 
 one, for the present, but to tell Hawes to call on him 
 directly. 
 
 " He asked Hawes if it were true, that Warren declined 
 his invitation, and Hawes said it was, and repeated your 
 very words. President dismissed him without another 
 word, and in half an hour, was on his way to see tutor 
 Brown, who resigned his place last week, and is staying 
 , with a physician, about three miles distant. (By the way 
 the fellows have found out that the reason of his being 
 so cross that night, or of his being at home at all, was 
 because he'd got the mitten.) Poor Brown couldn't be 
 convinced but what you threw the bottle, and so to-day 
 the President took Stiles and went again, when some 
 how between them, they managed to convince him, that 
 he must have been mistaken ; and tutor Brown even 
 acknowledged that he had seen you rush down the stairs 
 into the room, and that he probably had been too hasty. 
 Stiles says the President did not blame him, but only 
 said, " It will be a lesson to me," (which I think was the 
 most cutting remark he could have made,) and after par- 
 ticular inquiries about his eye, which they fear has glass 
 in it, left him, and this morning, as I told you, we had 
 the result of said conference after prayers. 
 
 " Now, chum, don't be impatient, for I haven't told you
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 57 
 
 half. Our class got together to plan a reception for you. 
 In the midst of our confab, Wells came in and told us 
 that you were a townsman of his, (and 1 ' guess,' from 
 what he didn't say, that he aspires to being nearer re- 
 lated) and that you was a favorite with the whole col- 
 lege, and that if we would get leave of the Faculty, that 
 they would make up a purse to have you escorted into 
 town in due style. The long and short of it was, that 
 they appointed your humble servant to wait upon the 
 venerable body and ask permission. If I do say it, I did 
 the thing up handsomely, and spoke two words for you 
 and one for myself. I told them what was the wish of 
 the class, and of others out of the class, taking care to 
 mention some prominent ones among the Seniors ; ' but, 
 gentlemen,' said I, ' IVIr. Warren is a very orderly young 
 man r and he would not enjoy any such parade unless 
 informed that it met with your approbation. Neither,' 
 added I modestly, ' should I wish to be engaged in it.' 
 I touched the right chord then, you may be sure (and 
 I've pretty much concluded since then to be a lawyer, 1 
 think that was so 'cute). 
 
 " The President said at once, ' I presume I represent 
 your views, gentlemen, when I say that such an expres- 
 sion of feeling will not only be consistent with our wishes, 
 but that we expected that some measures would be 
 taken to show the young man that our confidence in him 
 is entirely restored.' 
 
 " They all bowed. ' What is proposed ? ' asked Pro- 
 fessor L . 
 
 " ' We have decided upon nothing definite,' I answered ;
 
 58 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 'the class are waiting for me to return. Wells sug- 
 gested illuminating.' 
 
 < Very good,' replied the President sinning, 'only k 
 it be seen that it is done out of respect for a young man 
 who is orderly^ he added pleasantly, as I retired 
 their august presence. 
 
 But it is high time for me to conclude my k 
 epistle, if I wish to send it by to-day's mail. So I will 
 merely add, that we wish you to drop us a line saying 
 that you will be in town at the - - Hotel, which is . 
 mile from CoUege, on Friday evening at six o'clock, and 
 we'll arrange to have you escorted in triumph through 
 the town. When we get opposite the President's, we're 
 going to stop and give him three times three, a cheering 
 in which, I have no doubt, you're longing to join. So 
 good-bye till I see you, and don't be too proud when you 
 are mounted in a six horse chariot, to bestow a smile 
 and nod on your humble chum and servant, 
 
 HENRY STAN WOOD." 
 
 "That's just like Stanwood," exclaimed Thomas, 
 he's a real good fellow ;" and we had a hearty laugh 
 at his "cuteness" with the Faculty, as he called it 
 Father spoke in the highest terms of President - , 
 who was a classmate of his, and Thomas found it diffi- 
 cult to eat a mouthful of dinner, his heart was so full of 
 happiness. After dinner he not only danced a cotillon 
 by himself under the shade of the trees in the front yard, 
 but he made me spin around until I begged for mercy, 
 for I couldn't see, and then he ran up to mother's room 
 to consult about his clothes. I followed him, and it was
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 59 
 
 decided, as the term is so soon to close, (for Commence- 
 ment is in four weeks) that he should only take his bag, 
 with clothes to last until then. He was ready for an 
 early start this morning, when the bell rang for prayers. 
 Father read, and then asked Mr. Gordon to lead the 
 devotions. I never heard a more solemn prayer. He 
 particularly remembered Thomas, and thanked God for 
 bringing the truth to light, and prayed that it might be 
 the means of making brother trust in the Lord for all 
 future time ; and then he prayed for me that I might 
 begin this new year with a heart set apart to the service 
 of my Maker. If he had known all my resolutions, and all 
 my fears, he could not have expressed them more exactly. 
 I was wholly overcome and sobbed aloud. I hope the 
 impression may be a lasting one, but I'm afraid I shall 
 soon forget it; for only yesterday morning I was so 
 desirous to be sober and to do right, and then the sur- 
 prise about Thomas drove all my serious thoughts away. 
 
 Dear brother ! In what good spirits did he leave us 
 after breakfast. But he did one thing this morning ; no, 
 two things, for which he deserved to be whipped. We 
 were all standing on the piazza waiting for the stage 
 coach, when he turned to me and asked, " well, Susy, what 
 shall I say to Henry, from you ? " 
 
 " Nothing," I answered impatiently. " I have no mes- 
 sage to send." 
 
 Mother saw Mr. Gordon glance at me very gravely, 
 and she said, " Don't tease your sister, Thomas." 
 
 " Oh, no," said brother, who has entirely recovered his 
 old teazing ways, " not for the world. Mr. Gordon," he 
 continued, addressing him with the utmost seriousness,
 
 60 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 " it is a question of grave importance with a certain fair 
 damsel, daughter of the house of Levi," glancing at me, 
 " how many times the seasons have succeeded each other 
 in their course, since your entrance into this wilderness 
 world." 
 
 I snatched my hand from Thomas and tried to ran 
 away. I was really provoked. But he held me fast, while 
 Mr. Gordon, with a very precise bow, answered, in some- 
 thing of the same tone, " I would reply to the fair damsel, 
 that when a question of solemn import comes before me, 
 it has been my habit to sleep over it, before I answer." 
 
 The gentleman had hardly concluded his speech, when 
 the stage coach was seen coming over the hill, and soon 
 reached the gate. " Write to-morrow," called out father, 
 as brother got into the coach, " and give us all the particu- 
 lars of your reception." Father and mother turned to go 
 into the house and I was following them, when Mr. 
 Gordon detained me. " Miss Susan," he remarked, taking 
 my hand as if he were very much afraid of it, and mak- 
 ing a formal bow, " I shall feel honored to answer any 
 questions you may wish to ask, but may I beg of you to 
 put them directly to me ? My age is twenty-eight years." 
 
 Oh, how strongly tempted I was to tell an untruth, 
 and say I was not the one who wished to know ! But as 
 I dared not do that, I was kept silent by mortification 
 and chagrin, but his tone was so kind and yet res- 
 pectful, that I could not be vexed with him. As soon as 
 he released my hand I hastened into the house without 
 once daring to raise my eyes to his face. 
 
 We have received a long letter from Thomas, which I 
 shall transcribe.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 61 
 
 " Rumford Hall, July 1st, Past midnight. 
 " To my dear father and mother, and the inmates of 
 
 the parsonage generally : 
 
 " I cannot retire to rest until I have given you an 
 account of the glorious reception I have met with, not 
 only from my class, but from every member of the col- 
 lege, including even the Faculty with the noble President 
 at their head. 
 
 " As I approached Hotel, my heart began to beat 
 
 very fast as I saw an open photon, (where on earth the 
 feUows picked it up I can't divine,) with six cream col- 
 ored horses attached to it, standing before the door. One 
 of the passengers exclaimed, ' there's a turn-out worth 
 having. See, there's something going on here. I guess 
 it's the Governor. Yes, there are his aids ! ' 
 
 " I made no reply ; indeed, I had no time, for I had 
 been seen, and half a dozen fellows rode up to the door 
 of the coach. Stanwood made a motion to those behind 
 him, and three heartier cheers never rent the air than 
 were then sent up to heaven. I was literally carried to 
 the chariot, but immediately got out of it, and calling 
 Stanwood, retreated into the hotel, where I endeavored, 
 by brushing and washing, to render myself a little more 
 fit to be the hero of the day. 
 
 " At ten minutes before six I was seated in the photon 
 with Stanwood, who was the Chief Marshall, by my 
 side, preceded by a large cavalcade extending a quarter 
 of a mile, and succeeded by a long procession of men 
 -and boys from the town. In accordance with the usage 
 of distinguished men on such occasions, I rode bare- 
 headed, and as we approached the colleges my handker- 
 6
 
 62 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 chief was in constant requisition to respond to the wav- 
 ing salutation from every window. When we entered 
 the college yard we found the green literally covered with 
 students from the upper classes ; and here I was cheered 
 by name until my ears fairly ached, I, standing in the 
 carriage making my best bows, first on one side and 
 then on the other. We then proceeded to the President's, 
 where the good man, with his whole family, were stand- 
 ing upon the piazza, and when we approached waved 
 their friendly salute. When opposite the door the phae- 
 ton stopped, and Stanwood called out, ' three times three 
 for our glorious President,' and to this prolonged cheer I 
 added the full power of my lungs, after which the 
 procession passed around the common, and at length 
 landed me safely at the door of Rumford Hall. In the 
 midst of all my fatigue and excitement, I couldn't help 
 being amused to see how the fellows pressed up to shake 
 hands. One little freshman exclaimed, ' I have shaken 
 hands with him twice,' in a tone as if the fact were 
 worthy of being recorded on his tomb-stone. 
 
 I was right glad to be once more in my old study 
 chair, but Stanwood and Stiles, who were present, said 
 I mustn't think of resting yet. There was to be a sup- 
 per, and then I was expected to make a speech on the 
 green. I find that the President told Wells the circum- 
 stances of my last interview with him, and it has spread 
 all over the college, and I am regarded by the students 
 somewhat in the light dear Susy regarded me, as being 
 a martyr to my sense of honor, in not betraying the guilty 
 ones. There is nothing in college which calls forth such 
 enthusiasm as this trait, though I am sure in my case I
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 63 
 
 have done nothing to merit such warm encomiums. 
 About eight o'clock a dozen class-mates presented them- 
 selves to conduct me to supper, and when I went back 
 from it, which I did as soon as I could get away, the 
 front windows of the colleges were brilliantly illuminated. 
 But what touched my feelings more than all else, was 
 to see that the President's study had a light in every 
 pane of glass. This delicate mode of expressing sympa- 
 thy with the general feeling, called forth the loudest 
 acclamations on the part of the students, to whom it was 
 wholly unexpected. After a number of speeches directed 
 to me, to which I responded, though I cannot now 
 remember one word I said, but which appeared to give 
 universal satisfaction, I at length retired to the front 
 room in the third story, where I speedily divested myself 
 of the character of a hero, and subsided into common 
 humanity. To-morrow morning I shall carry your let- 
 ter, dear father, to the President, after which I intend to 
 devote myself to preparation for examination. Susy, I 
 hope, will take a lesson in meekness from her dear 
 brother, and not allow her heart to be puffed up with 
 pride on account of the honors conferred upon him. By 
 the way, why wouldn't Mr. Gordon take her for a pupil 
 in my place ? It would be a fine arrangement. 
 
 " But I must close this long epistle by subscribing my- 
 self your very affectionate son and brother, 
 
 THOMAS WARREN, JR."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SICKNESS AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 THIS morning Eleanor came with an invitation from 
 her mother for me to go with them to , to Com- 
 mencement, which is next week. They are to go in 
 their own carryall, and as there will be a spare seat, they 
 thought it might be pleasant for me to go with them. 
 Mother could not decide at once, but thanked Eleanor 
 for their kindness, and is to let them know to-morrow. 
 Henry has an oration, at which his parents are much 
 pleased. Mother mentioned the proposal to father at 
 the dinner table. 
 
 " Well, Susy," said he, " do you wish very much to 
 hear Henry's oration ? or will you stay with your mother 
 while I am absent ? " 
 
 " Where are you going, sir ? " I asked in surprise. 
 
 " It is the time for the meeting of our association, and I 
 shall be obliged to be away from home two nights. You 
 will accompany me, I suppose, Mr. Gordon," said father, 
 addressing him. 
 
 " I cannot yet decide, sir," replied the gentleman, with 
 uncommon seriousness. 
 
 " What do you say, my daughter ?" repeated father. 
 
 I say, as Mr. Gordon did, that I cannot yet decide. 
 If you and he are both away from home, I should not, 
 of course, leave mother; otherwise, I should have 
 
 (64)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 65 
 
 enjoyed it very much, as I never have attended Com- 
 mencement." 
 
 " And you would like to hear our youthful orator ? " 
 suggested he, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered, looking into my plate, " foi 
 Eleanor's sake I should like to hear him, and to have him 
 succeed well." 
 
 " If my staying from the association will give you 
 pleasure by enabling you to accompany your friend, I 
 will do so," remarked Mr. Gordon, with a bow to me. I 
 was actually startled as he said this, to observe an ex- 
 pression of pain passing over his countenance. What 
 could have caused it ? 
 
 It is nearly five months since I have written in my 
 journal. How much has occurred during that time ! I 
 was writing about Commencement. Thomas wrote a 
 letter to mother urging her to let me go, and she con- 
 sented. On Monday afternoon father left for Cheswell, 
 where the association met. I was to go on Tuesday 
 morning, and my clothes were all packed in Eleanor's 
 trunk, as we were to remain together. When I went to 
 bed on Monday night, dear little Gracie seemed very 
 restless. I called mother, who was really alarmed at the 
 quickness of her pulse and the shortness of her breath- 
 ing. I carried her to mother's bed, and in a few mo- 
 ments she vomited freely. This we thought would re- 
 lieve her ; but on the contrary she grew rapidly worse, 
 and though I said nothing about it, I immediately gave 
 up all thought of leaving home. It was nearly eleven, 
 when at mother's request I reluctantly knocked at Mr. 
 fi*
 
 66 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Gordon's door, to ask him to go for the Doctor. He 
 had not retired, and immediately answered my summons. 
 When I told him Grace was sick, he instantly t< 
 hat, saying, and your mother wishes a physician ? ' 
 Yes, sir," I answered, and he left the house. 
 Poor Grade was delirious all night, and mother never 
 smiled after the physician told her it was the scarlet 
 fever. I can't imagine what we could have done witl 
 out Mr. Gordon. More than half the day Tuesday 
 he carried the dear little creature in his arms, as that 
 seemed to soothe her more than anything else, and what 
 was very strange to me, he tried to make me promise not 
 to be over her, or take her breath. 
 
 "Why," I asked! " Mother and you do not hesitate 
 to be near her." 
 
 Neither your mother nor myself are half as likely to 
 take it as you are," he answered with emotion. " You 
 are young and full of vigor." 
 
 But I cannot be so selfish as to think of myself when 
 my sweet little Grade is suffering," and I could not 
 help shedding tears as I realized that she might never be 
 better. 
 
 " The sweet child shall not want for any attention 
 that I can render," he answered impressively ; and we 
 soon found that he was invaluable in the sick room. I 
 never thought then of his stiffness. Indeed it seemed 
 to have wholly disappeared. Nothing could exceed the 
 tenderness with which he soothed the little sufferer, wet- 
 ting her mouth or washing out her throat as the Doctor 
 had ordered, and then he held her so tenderly as he 
 walked back and forth through the two large rooms
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 67 
 
 opened for her use, singing in a low voice the sweetest 
 of lullaby's, that mother was relieved of all but the dread- 
 ful load of anxiety, which pressed so heavily upon her. 
 Mr. Gordon took it upon himself to say that Edward 
 must not enter the part of the house where Gracie was 
 sick, and upon one pretext or another, he kept me from 
 the room as much as possible. 
 
 Father came home on Wednesday noon, and by that 
 time, there was little hope that our precious baby would 
 ever be better, though at the time I little dreamed of this. 
 Dear father was overcome with grief, at this sudden an- 
 nouncement, and was at first unable to take any share in 
 the onerous duties Mr. Gordon had assumed. But when 
 he saw mother, though pale and bowed down with anx- 
 ious care, strive to keep up for the sake of her child, he 
 roused himself to exertion. I remember well Mr. Gor- 
 don's prayer that night. " Spare the life of the child if 
 in thine infinite wisdom thou seest it would be for her 
 good, and for the spiritual benefit of this beloved family. 
 Above all prepare them in whatever events may be before 
 them, to say, ' thy will, not mine be done.' " 
 
 I recollect as if it were but yesterday, how his voice 
 trembled, and how unwilling I was to repeat in my heart 
 the language of his prayer. From her first attack, I had 
 cried, " oh, God, spare her life ! But I had no faith in 
 my own prayers. I depended upon his and mother's ; 
 now it seemed to me, that he was giving her up, and I 
 hastened from the room, and flew to the side of her bed, 
 .to see if she were indeed so very ill. I have had little 
 experience in sickness, and to me as she lay quietly with 
 her eyes partly closed, she seemed much better. My
 
 68 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 tears however fell thick and fast, as I gazed upon her 
 emaciated face, and heard mother's low sobs, as she sat 
 holding the little feverish hand. The physician soon en- 
 tered with father, and something in his serious, sympa- 
 thizing expression, appeared to me to say there was cause 
 for great alarm. I could bear the suspense no longer ; 
 but with a burst of tears, I ran from the room, caught 
 my sun-bonnet from the rack, and fled from the house. 
 I don't know where I wanted to go, I only wished to be 
 alone, and to give vent to my grief. By request of 
 father, Mr. Gordon followed me ; but he did not let me 
 perceive his approach, until I had exhausted myself with 
 my violent weeping. I was sitting on the ground, and 
 had thrown my arms upon the little mound, where on a 
 former occasion, poor Thomas told me his trouble. My 
 sobs had been so violent, that I began to feel very faint, 
 when I heard a low voice close to my side, saying, " Miss 
 Susan, you will make yourself sick, if you give way to 
 your grief. Let me conduct you home ; you ate no sup- 
 per, and after losing your sleep for two nights, I fear 
 you " 
 
 I glanced up into his face as he spoke, and the words 
 seemed less and less distinct, until I entirely lost the 
 sound. I had fainted. 
 
 The next I knew, I was lying upon the sofa in our par- 
 lor, and the Doctor was holding some ammonia to my 
 nostrils, while Mr. Gordon bathed my hands. 
 
 I started in surprise, and for a moment could not think 
 where I was ; but then the whole truth burst upon me, 
 and I asked eagerly, Gracie ! How is Gracie ? " 
 
 " She is no worse." said the physician quickly, but I
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 69 
 
 sprang up, and insisted upon going to her. Mr. Gordon 
 however would not allow it, until I had taken something 
 to eat, and he went himself to the closet, and brought 
 me some bread and butter. 
 
 " You cannot leave the sofa, Miss Susan," said he 
 firmly, " until you have eaten all that I have brought 
 you." 
 
 I complied ; I dared not do otherwise. There was a 
 look in his eye that said plainly that he was accustomed 
 to be obeyed. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon," I said at length as I suddenly noticed 
 how very pallid he was, " you too, ought to take some- 
 thing, you look sick." 
 
 " I will do so," he answered, and he went to the closet 
 and took a tumbler of milk. 
 
 " Now, may I go ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied gravely, " you can be of no use there, 
 and you will of course only remain a few moments. But 
 if you will try to sleep, I will promise to send to you, if 
 there is any change for the worse." 
 
 Without a word, I returned to the chamber, where I 
 found the physician, who had consented to remain 
 through the night. He too insisted that I should go to 
 bed, and after one long, long" look at my darling sister, I 
 went softly down stairs, and threw myself upon the sofa. 
 I must have fallen asleep very soon, for some one came 
 in and threw a shawl over my shoulders without arous- 
 ing me ; and I did not awake, until the clock in the room 
 was striking five. Then I sprang up, and was going to 
 run to inquire for Gracie. The house was so still that I 
 was struck with awe as the thought stole over me, " per-
 
 70 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 haps she is not living," and I sat down again for one 
 minute, to collect my strength. The door opened gently, 
 and Mr. Gordon entered. I started to my feet and stood 
 before him, but I could not utter a word. He took my 
 hand tenderly, as he said, " compose yourself," that I had 
 no longer any doubt, and finding my strength failing, I 
 tried to resume my seat. He caught hold of my arm, 
 and placed me on the sofa, and then sat down by my 
 side. 
 
 " Gracie is quietly sleeping now," he said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 I leaned forward to gaze into his face. I was almost 
 suffocated with emotion, as I understood him to mean, 
 in death. 
 
 " No," he added with deep feeling, as he saw what I 
 feared, " the crisis has passed, and she is now in a natural 
 slumber." 
 
 The transition was so very sudden, that I was wholly 
 unprepared for it, and sobbed aloud. He drew nearer to 
 me, and, gently as a father, laid my head upon his shoul- 
 der, where he whispered a low prayer of thanksgiving for 
 me. I soon became composed, and went to the sick 
 room, where I found it was indeed as he had said. 
 
 Mother had just gone to lie down, and Doctor L 
 
 was leaving the chamber. I heard Mr. Gordon go out of 
 his room, which he had just entered, and follow him 
 down stairs. I asked father in a whisper to lie down 
 upon the couch, while I seated myself by the bed, with a 
 fan to keep off the flies from the little sufferer. She slept 
 for half an hour, and father slept too, so that I had time 
 to lift up my heart in gratitude to God, for sparing the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 71 
 
 life of my sister. Yes, I had time, and I tried to do so ; 
 but I knew she had not been spared in answer to my 
 prayers ; and it seemed wickegl for me to pray. I had a 
 great many thoughts of death while I sat there ; as what 
 if I had been the sick one, how differently my parents 
 would have felt, because they know I am not prepared 
 to. die. When Gracie awoke, her first sound aroused 
 father, and he started to her side and gave her the medi- 
 cine the Doctor ordered. I was almost beside myself 
 with joy, to find that she recognized us, and tried to 
 speak our names. After that, she very slowly gained for 
 a few days, and then more rapidly. 
 
 Thomas arrived on Thursday, and was greatly affected 
 at the change which had taken place in his favorite. But 
 on the very night of his arrival the Doctor was again 
 hastily summoned, and this time for Mr. Gordon. He 
 had reluctantly confessed the day previous that he was not 
 well, and added that he had taken the liberty to ask 
 Nancy to make him a bowl of gruel for his dinner; but 
 after he and brother had retired to rest, he was violently 
 seized with pleurisy in his side, which soon became so 
 severe, that every breath was a groan. Brother called 
 father, and ran in haste for the physician, and by the ap- 
 plication of a blister, before morning he was considerably 
 relieved. 
 
 The poor man expressed great regret that he was de- 
 priving father and mother of the rest they so much 
 needed, and begged to be left with Thomas. I was very 
 sorry at the time, and wished to do something for his 
 relief; but I should have felt worse had I known what I 
 did afterwards, that his disease was brought on by
 
 72 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 a strain he received, in bringing me from the grove. Mr. 
 Gordon was greatly displeased that the Doctor should 
 have told father of it, as he said it was nothing perma- 
 nent. For nearly a week he kept his room, during which 
 time I hardly saw him, indeed not at all except as I 
 passed his door to sister's room ; but I prepared all his 
 meals, and arranged everything on a waiter, as nicely as 
 possible, for Thomas to carry to him. Brother said he 
 told him one day that it would be a favor to me, if he 
 would ask for some kind of food, for that it took all my 
 time to contrive something that he could relish. Mr. 
 Gordon, he said, was very much pleased, and asked if I 
 were the one who prepared so many dainty dishes. He 
 sent me word that if I wished him to get well quickly, I 
 must not tempt his appetite so much. So the next day, 
 as Thomas said he had a bad headache, I only sent up 
 two toasted crackers and a cup of tea, with the message 
 that he could have no more. I was passing the door, 
 and heard him say, " very wise, I shall strictly follow her 
 directions." 
 
 And now I must write something very disagreeable, 
 though I have been dreading to come to it. Gracie was 
 gaining fast, and Thomas had carried her in his arms for 
 two or three visits to her kind friend, when the Doctor 
 gave him permission to leave his room. It was about 
 ten o'clock in the morning. Henry Wells had only come 
 home the previous night, and was sitting by me on the 
 sofa in the parlor. I have always known Henry, and I 
 love him very much, but some how that morning I 
 thought him inclined to take too much for granted. He 
 said, Dear Susy, I shall soon study my profession, and
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 73 
 
 then we must have a home of our own." He had taken 
 my hand, and I was just going to tell him that I was a 
 great deal too young to think of such things, when I 
 looked up and saw Mr. Gordon at the door. I never 
 knew a man more changed by a week's sickness, and he 
 actually staggered, as he tried to get into the sitting- 
 room. I left Henry in the parlor, and followed him, and 
 would not go back, until Mr. Gordon said, I have over- 
 rated my strength," and requested me to ask Thomas to 
 assist him up stairs. 
 
 That night I cried myself to sleep because I couldn't 
 tell whether I loved Henry or not, and the next morning 
 I was sick with a headache, which proved to be the first 
 symptom of the scarlet fever. For nearly a week I was 
 delirious most of the time, though I did not have it half 
 as severely as sister. Nurse Hall came to take care of 
 me, as mother was quite exhausted. Thomas says every 
 time he left my room, he had to give an exact account 
 of my present state and symptoms to his chum, as he 
 called Mr. Gordon, who was keeping a list of them and 
 the prescriptions of the physician, for his future benefit. 
 
 But I hardly think he could have been very anxious 
 
 about me, for just as soon as I recovered, he went away, 
 
 and after being absent a month, he returned, but so 
 
 altered that I could scarce believe he was the same man. 
 
 During Gracie's sickness, my fear of him had wholly 
 
 subsided, and I had learned to love him as a brother; 
 
 but now he was so distant and reserved, that it required 
 
 r more courage than I possessed, to talk with him. And 
 
 so it has gone on ever since ; sometimes he appears like 
 
 7
 
 74 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 himself for a day, and then he again throws around him- 
 self this dreadful reserve. To dear little Gracie, how- 
 ever, he is always gentle and kind. I am sometimes 
 almost jealous of her affection for him. She goes to him 
 as naturally as to father, when he takes her in his arms, 
 and whispers little stories to her. Then if she is tired, he 
 turns back his coat, and rests her little head against his 
 satin vest, and while he reads, she sucks her finger, and 
 looks as contented as heart could desire. 
 
 To-day father said something to Mr. Gordon about 
 taking me for a pupil, when he virtually declined the 
 honor of being my tutor. What could be the reason ? 
 If he had done so when he first came, I should not won- 
 der, for then I was wild enough, but now he cannot com- 
 plain of me, neither does he by word or look, for he 
 scarcely deigns the least notice of me, and it has come 
 to be the fashion for me to pass my plate to him, and for 
 him to pass it back without one word. When I think 
 that he brought me in his arms from the grove, and that 
 I laid my head upon his shoulder, and wept during that 
 night of sorrow, it almost takes away my breath ; but 
 those days have long past. 
 
 Bessie has come home, or the house would be really 
 dull. She is very much improved, and is not at all 
 afraid to converse. She sits down by Mr. Gordon and 
 talks with him about her school, just as freely as she 
 would with Thomas. It sometimes calls a smile to his 
 face, to hear her descriptions of character. Now that she 
 has come back, we have resumed our habit of singing at
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 75 
 
 prayers, which was broken up when we were all sick. 
 Bessie sings a very good alto, while I sing treble. Father 
 takes the bass, and Mr. Gordon tenor, so that we have 
 quite a choir.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MISDIRECTED LETTER, AND OTHER INCIDENTS. 
 
 POOR Thomas has made a mistake which I fear will 
 affect his happiness more than his rustication from col- 
 lege certainly for a longer period. When he was at 
 home for a week at Thanksgiving, he had a great deal 
 to say about Miss Allen, and since he returned, he has 
 written me two or three letters containing descriptions 
 of her loveliness of person and character ; but I had no 
 idea that he was serious in his intentions. Two days 
 ago, Edward brought from the Post Office, two letters 
 from him, one directed to father and the other to me. 
 Father opened his as usual at the dinner table, and was 
 just commencing to read it aloud, when with a sudden 
 flush, he stopped, perused it silently to* the end, then 
 folded it, and deliberately put it in his pocket, with a 
 look half roguish, half troubled. 
 
 "What is the news?" asked mother, "is Thomas 
 well?" 
 
 " He is afflicted at present with a sudden malady," re- 
 plied father, with a smile. " From the violence of the 
 attack, however, I presume it will not be very lasting." 
 
 " Has he got the small pox ?" asked Edward, in alarm. 
 (He had been much excited by hearing that there had 
 been cases in the town.) 
 
 Mr. Gordon really^ laughed aloud, and so did father. 
 
 (76)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 77 
 
 " No, my son," he answered, " he has a complaint of 
 much more common recurrence than the small pox ; but 
 I do not think him dangerously ill." 
 
 After dinner, when Bessie and Edward had left the 
 room, father explained himself by saying that though the 
 letter was superscribed to him, yet it was addressed to 
 Miss Allen, and contained a most extravagant expression 
 of his affection for her, with an offer of his hand. " I 
 presume," said father, that the crazy boy made a mis- 
 take in the direction, and while he sent mine to her, he 
 sent hers to me." 
 
 Mother laughed until the tears run down her cheeks ; 
 and they all seemed to consider it a good joke. But I 
 was grieved for poor Tommy, and knew it would be a 
 dreadful mortification to him. But I did not realize how 
 great, until I had read his letter to father, which came to- 
 day, together with quite a packet of little notes he had 
 
 sent Miss Allen while she was visiting in , . The 
 
 letter was as follows. 
 
 " Dear father and mother : 
 
 " Perhaps you remember when I was at home I 
 mentioned a Miss Allen to you. I had met her at her 
 sister's. Since my return I have been more frequently 
 in her society, and am more and more pleased with 
 her. But I had no idea of going farther, at present, 
 knowing as I do your opinion concerning young men 
 being engaged while in college ; but from some remarks 
 of her sister, while making a call there after she had left 
 for home, I find that she considers the matter to have gone 
 farther than it really has, and supposed that I had actu-
 
 78 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 ally committed myself. I came to my room and passed 
 a sleepless night in my conflict between my inclination 
 and a sense of honor. I called to mind all I had ever 
 heard you say, dear mother, and at length a remark 
 which you made nearly a year ago, decided me that 
 there was no honorable course for me to pursue, but to 
 make, her an offer of my hand. 
 
 " The remark was this : ' A gentleman has no right, 
 my son, to show a lady particular attentions which may 
 call out feelings of interest on her part, unless he means 
 something serious by these attentions.' Therefore this 
 morning I have written her a formal proposal. 
 
 " In haste, your affectionate son, 
 
 THOMAS WARREN." 
 
 At the bottom was written in a very fine hand, " Miss 
 Allen declines the honor proposed by Mr. Warren, and 
 requests the return of any of her writing he may have in 
 his possession." 
 
 My letter from Thomas was upon the same subject, 
 asking me to use my influence with father and mother 
 to induce them to consent to this engagement. Father 
 folded the packet of notes with the two letters, and sent 
 them to Thomas, with merely the remark, that when he 
 wrote letters upon important subjects, he ought always to 
 be sure they were directed aright 
 
 I took the matter so much to heart and plead for poor 
 Thomas so earnestly, that father said he feared I had 
 been afflicted with the same malady, which charge I 
 indignantly repelled. He then appealed to Mr. Gordon 
 whether he could advise any better course than to send
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 79 
 
 the letters to Thomas : but he declined any advice in 
 matters of the heart, as out of his line. He appeared 
 much more cheerful, however, and in the afternoon pro- 
 posed a walk with me down to Dame Streeter's. Edward 
 accompanied us, and drew Gracie on the sled. 
 
 It is again summer, and I am once more sitting iti my 
 pleasant room in my own dear home, never before half 
 so dear. Now that I sit here I can scarcely realize that I 
 have been so far away. Yet when I remember how many 
 places I have visited, and what an entire change has 
 taken place in my religious feelings, it appears hardly 
 possible that it can be in so short a time as six months. 
 Though when I left home I considered it a great trial to 
 do so, yet I shall never regret it. Oh, no ! neither in 
 time nor eternity. I look out of my window and see 
 the graceful elms ; the beautiful carpet of green which 
 covers the earth ; the azure sky, and the many tinted 
 flowers. But how different they seem now that I can 
 say 
 
 " My father made them all. 
 
 jj 
 
 Then J look beyond the church, whose lofty spire is ever 
 reminding passers by that there is a God above them, 
 and I see the sepulchres of the dead. There is no gloom 
 about it now. Once I dreaded to pass that retired spot, 
 and if my eye rested for one moment upon the monuments 
 of the dead, I would turn my thoughts away. But now 
 I remember that when my body lies there, my spirit will 
 be with my Saviour. Yes, I hope that he has graciously 
 pardoned all my sins and has commenced a good work
 
 80 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 in my soul. Oh, what a blessed thought! What a 
 glorious hope ! How easy now to bear all the trials we 
 may meet with, when we realize that it will be but a 
 short time, at the longest, before we shall be at home. 
 Yes, in our Father's house above. A mansion furnished 
 and made ready for us by the self-sacrificing love of our 
 elder brother. I long to have my dear brothers and sis- 
 ters partakers with me of the peace and joy which fill 
 my heart. Let me strive so to live that I may win them 
 to Christ. 
 
 I had not time yesterday to commence, writing about 
 my journey. The last week in January aunt Susan sent 
 for me to go and stay with her for a few months. As 
 she was unwell, and requested my company as a favor 
 to herself, neither of my parents thought it right to 
 refuse, though it cost me quite an effort to consent. 
 
 Soon after I arrived in M I was one evening sitting 
 
 by aunt Susan, giving her an account of the sickness in 
 our family, especially that of poor Gracie, when she very 
 kindly led me on to speak of my own feelings at the 
 time. I remarked that during that dreadful night when 
 we had given up hope of her recovery, I would willingly 
 have died to save her young life. 
 
 " Then, my child," said aunt, as ahe held my hand, 
 " you felt that you were ready to die ? This has long 
 been a subject of my prayer." 
 
 Oh, how that question pierced my heart ! It proved 
 an arrow from God's quiver, which rankled and festered 
 until the great Physician applied his healing balm. 
 
 For days I could scarcely eat or sleep ; but at length
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 81 
 
 found peace in believing in Jesus. I immediately wrote 
 to my parents, and from time to time received letters 
 from them full of encouragement and instruction. It 
 was a great comfort to me that I was not forgotten in 
 their prayers, but that morning and evening I was car- 
 ried in the arms of faith to the family altar. 
 
 The first week in April I accompanied aunt to the 
 West. Her health had much improved. We proceeded 
 as far as Michigan and the valley of the Mississippi, 
 where uncle Hammond's brother is residing, and after a 
 delightful visit there, returned home, having seen either on 
 our outward or homeward course most of the places of 
 general interest. The falls of Niagara and Mammoth cave 
 made the most vivid impression upon my mind. Aunt 
 very kindly stopped several days in Washington, Balti- 
 more, Philadelphia and New York, that I might have an 
 opportunity to examine the principal objects. Mother 
 suggested to me the importance of writing a description 
 of some of the public institutions my visit to the Capitol 
 and President's House, at Washington, and many other 
 places. It helped me much to retain my recollection of 
 them. But I washed to write them in another book that 
 I might read them to my brothers and sisters. 
 
 I was surprised, on reaching home, to find Mr. Gor- 
 don still here, as he expected to have been licensed in 
 the spring ; but it seems he left soon after I did, to visit 
 his brother in New Jersey, and has only returned and 
 been licensed a few weeks. He has made an en- 
 gagement to supply the pulpit in B , for the 
 
 summer, and as it is but three miles distant, he continues
 
 82 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 to board here. He says the distance is of little import- 
 ance as he has always been in the habit of walking, while 
 the instruction he receives from father is invaluable. 
 Father and mother seem to regard him like a dear 
 brother, and indeed in every respect he makes himself 
 one of the family. Bessie goes to him with her sums, 
 and Edward with his childish joys and sorrows, as freely 
 as to father or mother. But Gracie always has been and 
 always will be his favorite. He has almost entirely cured 
 her of sucking her finger. If she ever puts it in her 
 mouth, one glance from him will cause her to snatch it 
 away and cast down her eyes from shame. Next Sab- 
 bath father is going to exchange with him, and we shall 
 have an opportunity to hear him preach. 
 
 Yesterday I was quite unwell with a sore throat, and 
 really was hardly able to go out to church, but was so 
 desirous to hear Mr. Gordon that I determined to make 
 the effort ; and I was well rewarded for it. The sermon 
 was just what I expected, simple and chaste in style, 
 earnest and fervent in spirit, and though the delivery was 
 at first a little stiff and precise, yet it was natural. The 
 speaker evidently forgot himself in his subject. In the 
 afternoon I was putting on my bonnet to go again, when 
 he came into the sitting room. I was there for the mo- 
 ment alone with Gracie, and he advanced quickly to me 
 and said, " surely you will not go out again to-day ?" 
 
 Yes," I answered frankly, I want to hear my brother. 
 I was much interested, and I hope profited, this morn- 
 ing."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 83 
 
 " If you will stay at home," he replied earnestly, " I 
 will give you my sermon to read." 
 
 " But I want to hear the prayers too." I didn't mean 
 to offend him, but he must have misunderstood me, or 
 thought me indulging in some wrong feeling, for he had 
 taken my hand, and when I made the last remark, he 
 dropped it almost rudely, and turned to the window. 
 Perhaps he thought I wished to flatter him, or considered 
 it altogether wrong to speak upon such a subject. I 
 must say, I was a little worried at his abrupt manner. 
 When mother came into the room ready for church, I put 
 on my cape and accompanied them. Father told her 
 
 when he returned from B , that they were so much 
 
 pleased with Mr. Gordon's preaching, that they were de- 
 termined to give him a call to settle among them. 
 
 On Tuesday, Eleanor Wells called, and wished to see 
 me alone on business. I wondered a little what it could 
 be, and my face burned, as I feared it was some message 
 from Henry, whom I have not seen for several months. 
 I arose, however, and followed her from the room. The 
 subject of business was entirely different from what I had 
 conjectured, though she did read me a note from her 
 brother, who had just learned that I had returned, and 
 wrote that he should be at home in a few weeks. But 
 since hearing Mr. Gordon on the Sabbath, she has " made 
 a beautiful plan," she says, to get up a class in intellec- 
 tual and moral philosophy, and to invite him to be the 
 teacher. I suggested several objections, such as want of 
 time on his part, and my fear that she would soon be 
 tired of the study, and abandon it. Beside, I could not
 
 84 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGESJ 
 
 think of any others who would be likely to join such a 
 class. 
 
 "Oh!" she answered, "you and I are enough, I do 
 not want a great many." And finding her ready to an- 
 swer all my objections, I at length confessed, that the 
 plan, if properly arranged, would be agreeable to me. I, 
 however, did not wish to tell her that the gentleman had 
 once declined being my tutor ; but I entirely refused to 
 have anything to do with suggesting it to him, or even 
 to sign my name to a letter she proposed to write. We 
 then returned to the parlor, where she stopped for the re- 
 mainder of the evening, and Mr. Gordon accompanied 
 her home. Father inquired for her brother, and she re- 
 peated his message to me. He is studying law at Cam- 
 bridge, and is very enthusiastic in his love of his profes- 
 sion. Father remarked, " Henry will distinguish himself 
 at the bar," and I, foolish girl, must needs blush at that 
 Oh, dear! how hard it is to know what to do, or what 
 one wishes to do. I have tried and tried to examine my- 
 self, and find out the exact nature of my affection for 
 Henry. Certainly I like him better than any one else ; 
 but do I like him enough, to be united to him for life ? 
 Should I feel badly if I were to hear that he were at- 
 tached to another? I think I should. And then the 
 whole family consider it settled. Sometimes I deter- 
 mine not to worry at all about it, but to wait until I am 
 called to decide. But would that be right ? Henry is 
 soon coming home. If I cannot return his affection, I 
 ought not to subject him to the pain and mortification 
 of an absolute refusal. I wonder if Mr. Gordon ever 
 thinks of marriage. It is very probable that he is en-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 85 
 
 gaged to some worthy lady, whom he considers suited 
 for the wife of a clergyman. That he will make an ex- 
 cellent husband, I know from the care and tenderness he 
 exhibited during our sickness. I have sometimes of late 
 had the thought occur to me, that he liked Eleanor. 
 Certainly her feelings toward him, have wonderfully 
 changed. She no longer considers him a bore. She 
 says if she could get any one to accompany her, she 
 
 would go over next Sabbath, to B , to hear him 
 
 preach again. 
 
 This morning I have been engaged in writing a love- 
 letter, and as it is my first effort, I intend to transcribe it 
 as a curiosity. 
 
 "Dear Roland: 
 
 " I am well, and hope you are the same. I have made 
 all the arrangements for our marriage, and now appoint 
 the twenty-third of August, as the happy day. We are 
 to be married at the parsonage, and Miss Susan has pro- 
 mised to make a loaf of wedding cake. 
 
 " Hoping to see you soon, I am yours till death. 
 
 MARYANNE SANDFORD." 
 
 Mrs. Sandford is a very smart, enterprising young 
 woman, who was left a widow about three years since, 
 but who by her untiring diligence and perseverance, has 
 not only earned a comfortable subsistence for herself, and 
 four children, but almost entirely supports her aged 
 mother. She is, I should judge, about thirty-two or 
 three years of age, and though she weighs somewhere 
 8
 
 86 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 near two hundred pounds, has a very bright, good humor- 
 ed, and therefore pretty face. 
 
 She earns her living entirely by washing, aYid when I 
 first came home, imparted to me in strict confidence, the 
 fact that she was engaged to be married to a young man 
 twenty-one years of age ; but as she said, " a very likely 
 lad." Though wondering a little, both at her choice and 
 his, yet I comforted myself with the thought, that if they 
 were suited, that was all that was necessary, and cer- 
 tainly she was old enough to choose for herself. The 
 fact that " he never took a drop of liquor," seemed in her 
 mind, to be a cloak large enough to cover all other defi- 
 ciencies, whether of age or energy. At any rate, I kept 
 her confidence strictly, until this morning, when with 
 sundry blushes and hidings of her face behind her apron 
 she asked me to write the above letter for her, saying 
 " he left it all with me, and wanted me to let him know, 
 when I was ready." After ascertaining from me, that she 
 could be married here, and promising to do what I could 
 to make the occasion a pleasant one, I carried my port- 
 folio to the kitchen, and wrote according to her dictation. 
 She stopped for a moment from the vigorous rubbing of 
 her clothes, while I read it to her, when she " concluded 
 between us, we've made out a pretty 'cute letter." Then 
 with a smiling, blushing face, she returned with new 
 zeal to her work, " guessing that Roland's ears were burn- 
 ing." 
 
 I was so much elated with my success, that I carried 
 the precious epistle to the sitting-room, where father and 
 mother were seated, and was just telling them about it, 
 when Mr. Gordon came in. I made a motion to put it
 
 OK, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 87 
 
 away, but father said pleasantly, " no, child, go on ; Mr. 
 Gordon is one of us, and has been too much interested 
 in our family, for us to conceal from him so important 
 an event, as the marriage of one of its members." 
 The gentleman started and said, " ah, Thomas ! " 
 " No," said father, mysteriously, " a female member." 
 " Oh ! indeed ! I was not aware," he answered quickly, 
 and taking a seat by the window. 
 
 " Come, Susy," said father, " read your letter." 
 I saw that Mr. Gordon was laboring under a mistake, 
 and I felt just roguish enough to puzzle him still farther, 
 therefore I omitted the name at the commencement, and 
 substituted " Dearest of friends." As I went on, substi- 
 tuting here and there a word, I am sure my looks were 
 conscious enough to lead him to suppose I meant to ap- 
 point the time for my own nuptials. I glanced at him 
 once, to see what he thought of my letter as a specimen 
 of epistolary correspondence ; but he was gazing at some- 
 thing in the street. 
 
 " Well done, Susy," said father, " That will do very 
 well for a beginning." 
 
 " It certainly has one advantage," I replied, " I have 
 left opportunity for an increase of warmth, as the ac- 
 quaintance progresses. I consider it quite an achieve- 
 ment." I went around behind father's chair, and asked 
 him in a low voice, if Mr. Gordon "were not authorized 
 to marry, as it would be a good opportunity for him to 
 begin. 
 
 " I could not perform the ceremony until after my or- 
 dination," he replied, gravely, to my astonishment having
 
 88 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 overheard me, " and beside that, I shall probably be ab- 
 sent from town." 
 
 Father thought the joke had been carried far enough, 
 and he said, " then Mrs. Sandford will have to be satis- 
 fied with me." He then repeated the story I had been 
 telling them when Mr. Gordon came into the room, while 
 I ran to my chamber. 
 
 Eleanor came over again last evening, and I saw her 
 give him the letter. Though I declined signing it, yet 
 I thought she would show it to me, before she delivered 
 it. He immediately left the room, and though Eleanor 
 waited nearly an hour, he did not return. She whis- 
 pered to me as I accompanied her a few steps, that she 
 presumed he would answer it in writing. But she waa 
 mistaken, for I was standing on the piazza a moment 
 before I went in, when he joined me, and taking her note 
 in his hand, said, " Miss Susan, is this your wish as well 
 as Miss Eleanor's?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; no, sir," I replied, stammering in my con- 
 fusion, as I remembered and feared a repetition of the 
 former occasion. " I did not think you would have time 
 to hear me anymore than before; but but she was 
 very anxious that I should join her. I hope you will not 
 think me " 
 
 He waited patiently to give me time to finish my 
 sentence ; but I was too much confused to add another 
 word. 
 
 " Do not fear to use your accustomed, frankness," he 
 said, at length, " you once honored me by calling me 
 brother, and brothers are accustomed to be treated with 
 great freedom. What do you hope I shah 1 not think you ? "
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 89 
 
 " Too forward," I answered, in a low voice. 
 
 " No," said he decidedly, " I shall never think that," and 
 he put my hand in his arm, and began to walk up and 
 down the piazza. " On the contrary, I have thought, 
 shall I tell you what ? " he added, stooping toward me. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I should be very grateful if you would point 
 out my faults." 
 
 " Well, then, rather too reserved with your elder 
 brother. I can never forget that you once allowed me to 
 soothe your grief, and am pained at the restraint which 
 has grown up between us." 
 
 I wanted to say, " It has not been my fault that our 
 friendly intercourse has not continued; " but my lips re- 
 fused to articulate, and after walking back and forth a 
 few moments, he paused, and with a sigh said, " well, 
 then, do I understand you that you would prefer not join- 
 ing such a class ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! I should be much pleased, if you can 
 conveniently attend to it." 
 
 " Then you may tell Miss Wells that I will comply 
 with her request, and that I will arrange as to time of 
 recitation and books to-morrow evening. As to the for- 
 mer occasion to which you referred," he added, speaking 
 I thought with some embarrassment, " want of time was 
 not my reason for declining." 
 
 " But want of inclination," I said, before I thought. I 
 was frightened the moment I had spoken, and he stop- 
 ped short, and gazed into my face, so earnestly in the 
 moonlight, that I was glad to drop my eyes. " I cannot 
 at present explain," he said, seriously, " perhaps never ; 
 but believe me, it was neither for want of time nor incli- 
 8*
 
 90 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 nation." There was something in the manner more than 
 the words, that made me tremble, and I quickly drew 
 my hand from his arm, and hurried to my own room. 
 
 The times for recitation are Tuesday, Thursday, and 
 Saturday at three o'clock, P. M. We have recited two 
 weeks. Eleanor will not allow that she is weary of the 
 exercise ; but I can see that her interest in it is much less 
 than when we commenced. She says Mr. Gordon is so 
 very serious that it takes away all her pleasure. And he 
 is so. This afternoon we were all invited to Squire 
 Wells's to tea. I hardly think I should have gone, if I 
 had known Henry was coming ; but his return was unex- 
 pected to them as well as to us. He seemed in high 
 spirits to see us there, and as we walked home, told me 
 how anxious he had been when I was sick, and how dis- 
 appointed when last at home, on account of my absence. 
 I tried to turn the conversation from such subjects, but 
 only succeeded, when I spoke of his studies. 
 
 "How early may I come over?" he asked as we 
 parted. 
 
 " Any time after dinner," I replied. 
 
 Good bye till then, dear Susy," he said, drawing me 
 back from the door, as he held my hand tightly in his. 
 
 I started from him, and passed into the house. 
 
 I hung up my bonnet, and went into the room where 
 the family were sitting in the moonlight. 
 
 Mother sat in her usual place, and near her a gentle- 
 man who, I supposed, was father, while Mr. Gordon, as 
 I thought, occupied his usual seat near the window. I 
 vent in softly with a very heavy heart, and sat down by
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 91 
 
 the one I thought was father, and laying my head upon 
 his shoulder, whispered, " I wish you would tell me what 
 to do, I am very unhappy." A sound almost like a sob 
 was the only reply, and I sprang up, " oh, father ! what 
 is the matter ? " In my anxiety for him, for the moment, 
 I had forgotten my own sorrow. 
 
 " Why, my child, where did you come from ? " asked 
 father from the window. 
 
 I had mistaken them, and was confused enough when 
 I thought what I had said, but I was determined to know 
 what affected Mr. Gordon, and I went out for a light. 
 When I returned, however, his face was shaded with his 
 hand, and immediately after prayers he retired to his 
 room. After half an hour I heard him speaking to 
 Nancy in the kitchen, and fearing he was sick, I went 
 down to see if he wished anything. Nancy was just 
 giving him some saleratus ; but I recommended soda, 
 and mixed it for him. " I knew you were not well," I 
 said. 
 
 " I confess that I have some pain in my head," he re- 
 plied, stirring the spoon around in the water, " but " 
 and he glanced at the kitchen door to see if Nancy were 
 within hearing, " you said you were unhappy. Can I be 
 of any service ? " 
 
 " Oh no, sir ! " I answered quickly, and I sank upon 
 the sofa and hid my face in my hands. 
 
 He placed the tumbler upon the table and sat down 
 by me. " If I were indeed a brother, couldn't you ? " he 
 asked softly. 
 
 " Yes, sir."
 
 92 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES, 
 
 Then why not now ? I am as truly anxious for your 
 happiness as a brother could be." 
 
 All at once I thought I would tell him all my heart, 
 and ask him what I ought to do. Even now I do not 
 see how I dared ; but when he is present, I can neither 
 resist nor oppose what he wishes. " If I tell you," 1 
 asked, " will you advise me what to do ? " 
 
 " Surely," and he arose and set the lamp on the entry 
 table, leaving the door open. 
 
 I do not remember how I began, but I told him all, 
 and he did not interrupt me by a word. " I feel," said 1 
 at the close, " that I could not be happy with Henry un- 
 less he sympathized with me in my religious feelings, 
 and I do not know whether he is a-Christian. If I find 
 he is, I suppose I shall" I stopped short almost 
 frightened at a quick gasp of my companion, and sprang 
 up to go for the lamp ; but he took my hand and mo- 
 tioned me to resume my seat. 
 
 " Go on," said he in a husky voice. 
 " I cannot go on," I exclaimed earnestly, " indeed, I 
 should be an unkind sister if I were to talk to you of my 
 own troubles, when you are so ill. I must call father or 
 mother." 
 
 " It is not necessary," he replied. 
 
 " I have done," I said, " I have told you more than I 
 ever told even my own brother, and when you are better, 
 I shall claim your promise." 
 
 " Susan," for the first time calling me so, " I never had 
 the happiness to have a sister ; but you are " and he 
 suddenly took my hand, but let it go again immediately. 
 Excuse me, I cannot fulfil my promise, I cannot advise
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 93 
 
 you in such a case," and I could see that he trembled 
 excessively. " But you must not think it is any want of 
 interest, or of affection to you, or because I do not prize 
 highly the confidence you have reposed in me." 
 
 After waiting a moment and finding he was not going 
 to say any more, I brought the lamp and gave it to him, 
 and without one word we separated for the night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE TWO SUITORS. 
 
 THIS has been a very important day to me, as well as 
 a very long one, for I awoke when the church clock was 
 striking twelve, and did not again close my eyes. I now 
 fully understood all my reluctance to talk with Henry, 
 and all my indecision with regard to him, for I had found 
 out that with my whole heart I was attached to Mr. 
 Gordon, while I could not recall one circumstance to 
 convince myself that he had any other affection for me, 
 than one might entertain for a sister. 
 
 I was almost frightened, as I dressed myself, to see 
 how pale and haggard I looked, but hurried down hop- 
 ing it would escape notice. I can hardly tell how I got 
 through the morning. I was conscious of possessing a 
 secret, and feared some one would discover it. Just "be- 
 fore dinner Mr. Gordon came in, and Gracie ran to him 
 to take her in his lap. My little darling," he said ten- 
 derly, I shall miss you very much." I was obliged to 
 go into the entry and hold my hand to my heart, I had 
 such a sudden pang at the thought of his going away ; 
 and when I returned I was so dizzy that I could scarcely 
 finish setting the table. 
 
 " Susan," said he, addressing me, " you must go to 
 your chamber and lie down. You are not well enough 
 
 (94)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 95 
 
 to be about;" and he put Oracle from him and led me to 
 the door. 
 
 I thought of nothing but complying. I had hardly 
 taken off my dress before Nancy brought me a bowl of 
 tea. 
 
 " Who sent it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon," was the reply, " and your mother said 
 you were to take a long nap." 
 
 " Nancy," I said, " I will go to sleep if you will prom- 
 ise to call me when Mr. Wells comes." 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 Being really much in need of rest, I slept soundly until 
 awakened by a ring of the door bell. Nancy went and 
 waited upon some one into the study, and after a few 
 minutes came to call me. 
 
 " Mr. Wells is with your father," she said, upon see- 
 ing me awake, " and you told me to call you when he 
 came." I arose slowly and dressed myself. I knew too 
 well what Henry was asking father, from what his 
 mother said to me last evening, and I knew too what I 
 must answer him. But oh the pain it gave me to tell 
 him I could not return his affection ! Before I was 
 dressed mother came up and told me Henry was wait- 
 ing to see me in the parlor. I begged her to go with me, 
 but she only smiled and said it w r ould be embarrassing to 
 all of us. So I went alone. 
 
 Henry came forward, led me to the sofa, and seemed 
 very anxious, to see me looking so ill. But he soon for- 
 got that, in his earnest pleading of his cause. I cannot 
 relate all that was said. I cannot bear to think of poor 
 Henry's disappointment. He promised every thing if
 
 96 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 I would allow him to hope ; that he would wait years if I 
 thought myself too young, and alas, that if his not being 
 a Christian were an objection, he would endeavor to 
 become one. I could only weep and shake my head, 
 until at last, when he urged for my reason, I told him 
 with a burst of tears that my heart was not my own, 
 and that it was only within a few hours that I had 
 made the discovery. 
 
 He covered his face with his hands and said, " then 
 my case is hopeless." 
 
 " Henry," I answered, trying to suppress my tears, " if 
 I did not feel so true a friendship for you, I would con- 
 sent to your wishes, for my love is not reciprocated ; " and 
 my cheeks burned with shame as I made the confession. 
 " But you deserve a whole heart and a warm one, in 
 return for your generous affection." 
 
 " No, Susy, I would not consent to your making such 
 a sacrifice. You will be happy. It is impossible for 
 any one to be insensible to your love," and he rose to go. 
 "Dear Susy," he said, taking my hand, " I had fondly 
 hoped for a different answer. Your father consented to 
 my addressing you ; but I acquit you of all blame, and 
 believe me, dearest, you have my sincerest wishes for 
 your happiness. Do not think it strange if I avoid see- 
 ing you, for, oh, how hard it is to realize that all my 
 happy dreams are over!" and making a slight bow he 
 left the room. 
 
 I sat where he left me and cried for hours. Twenty 
 times I was on the point of calling him back, and I am 
 sure yesterday I should have done so; but when I 
 thought of another, I could not. At last mother passed
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 97 
 
 the door, and was surprised to find Henry gone. I laid 
 my head on her lap and told her all ; no, not all ; there 
 was one confession I had made to him my lips refused 
 to utter. Mother was surprised, and I thought disap- 
 pointed. " Are you sure, my child," she asked, " that 
 you have not deceived yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, mother. But I could not bear to give him 
 pain." 
 
 She advised me to go to my room, and said she would 
 excuse me from tea ; so I have been trying to compose 
 myself by writing. 
 
 I must endeavor to calm myself, or I cannot direct my 
 pen. I fear it is not right for me to be so happy when 
 poor Henry is so sad. 
 
 This morning, at breakfast, I forced myself to go 
 down. Just as soon as I entered the door Mr. Gordon 
 gave me a piercing look as if to ask what I had decided, 
 and whether I was happy, and then he came forward 
 and led me to the table. " Dear Susan," he w r hispered, 
 " I see you are not yet well." Edward came in late, and 
 exclaimed, " oh, Susy ! did you know Henry Wells has 
 gone off again, and he will not come back for a great 
 many years ? George told me so. He is going to 
 Europe." 
 
 Mother answered for me, and father gave a new turn 
 to the conversation ; but I was so faint that I could not 
 swallow, and after the mere form of eating, I rose from 
 the table ; and after prayers returned to my room. There 
 upon my knees, I prayed for strength to endure all that 
 my heavenly Father thought fit to inflict, and I prayed, 
 9
 
 98 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 too, for help to subdue the strong affection which had 
 sprung up in my heart. 
 
 About half past ten o'clock mother came to my door 
 and said father wanted to see me in the study. I went 
 immediately, supposing he wished to see me with ref- 
 erence to Henry ; but he called me to him, and when I 
 was seated near him, he told me that he had been hav- 
 ing some conversation, with reference to me, with Mr. 
 Gordon, who desired to see me in the parlor. I hid my 
 face, but father put his hand under my chin and lifted it 
 up where he could see me. " Strange," he said, " that 
 this never occurred to me. I had not thought of my lit- 
 tle Susy for such a man as Mr. Gordon." 
 
 " And does he think of me ? " was on my b'ps, but I 
 had not courage to ask, and soon father led me to the 
 parlor. " Here is my little girl," said he, as Mr. Gordon, 
 who was impatiently walking the room, advanced to 
 meet me, " but I believe she has lost the use of her 
 tongue." 
 
 I cannot remember much that followed, only that I 
 trembled excessively, and twisted the chain of my locket 
 into every variety of shapes, and that one little word of 
 three letters was all that I could force my lips to speak, 
 in answer to the rapid and passionate pleading of half 
 an hour. But my kind friend was very considerate, and 
 seemed to be well satisfied with that; so well that he 
 assured me he should devote his whole life to showing 
 me how grateful he was. When the bell rang for din- 
 ner I started with surprise that it was noon, and when 
 he led me out he whispered, " my own darling," so ten- 
 derly, that I was almost too happy. He conducted me
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 99 
 
 up to father and mother, and said with great emotion, 
 " Susy allows me to hope that some time I may claim 
 her hand." 
 
 They kissed me tenderly, but Gracie seemed to be 
 surprised that she received no more attention. If I could 
 only hear that Henry is happy, I should be so glad. I 
 wonder \vhat Eleanor will say ! 
 
 After tea Mr. Gordon asked me to walk with him, 
 and with mother's approbation I did so. We went to 
 the little grove, and there, seated upon the mound, with 
 my head resting upon his shoulder, he told me all the 
 long story of his love, his struggles with himself; first, 
 because he did not think it right for a clergyman to 
 marry one who was not professedly a Christian, and 
 then on account of Henry. This was the reason he de- 
 clined teaching me. He really feared his own strength 
 to resist the temptation of telling me his love, if placed 
 so often in my society. This, too, was the reason that 
 he could not advise me with reference to Henry. " You 
 little knew," said he, " what a tumult your confession 
 caused in my heart, or you would have pitied me too. But 
 sometime you shall know all. There is not a thought 
 of my heart, dear one, that I do not long to share with 
 you. Oh, how earnestly I have prayed for this time ! " 
 
 I drank in his words with the eagerness the parched 
 earth does the pure springs from Heaven. I was too 
 happy to reply, until he urged me to say how long since 
 I first regarded him with interest. 
 
 " Always," I replied, in a whisper. " Only I did not 
 understand my own feelings. It was not till last night 
 that I knew why I could not love Henry."
 
 100 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 I shall not tell even you, my dear journal, how he 
 thanked me. How could I ever think he had no soul ? 
 He is all soul. Oh, he is a great deal too good for me ! 
 How safe I shall feel with such a friend to direct me ! I 
 told him I wished to have the engagement kept secret 
 for a while, on Henry's account. He replied that he dis- 
 approved of any secrecy in such matters. He had seen 
 much evil arising from it, and that now he knew what 
 happiness was, he could not keep from showing it in my 
 presence, though he said softly, " I have too much regard 
 for your blushes, my Susy, to embarrass you by any pub- 
 lic attention. However, as I still wished to avoid giv- 
 ing Squire Wells's family unnecessary pain," he said, if 
 I would reward him in private, he would try not to tell 
 too plainly how rich and happy he felt. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Sandford came to her washing to-day with 
 a very sad face. The change was so great, from her 
 usually good humored one, that I immediately perceived 
 it, and asked her what was the trouble. She caught up 
 the corner of her apron and sobbed out, " Oh, Miss Susan, 
 widow Hill's been and told Roland that I'd got a family 
 o' children, and he's gone off and left me." 
 
 " Why should he go off on that account ? " I asked, in 
 surprise, " of course he knew it before." 
 
 I'd allus put 'em to bed afore he came," she answered 
 with a fresh burst of grief. 
 
 I was so astonished at the idea of hiding so important 
 a fact from a man whom she was going to many, that I 
 was dumb, and Mrs. Sandford finding that I had no words 
 to comfort her, wiped her eyes and returned to her wash-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 101 
 
 ing. From what mother ascertained afterwards, of a 
 gentleman who called, she has only lost the privilege of 
 maintaining one more by her arduous efforts, for Roland, 
 though certainly temperate, was by no means industrious, 
 and had revelled in the thought of a smart, active wife, 
 who by her diligence would prevent the necessity of any 
 labor on his part. 
 
 But the forsaken widow could not at once be brought 
 to feel that she ought to be thankful instead of sad. Her 
 youthful lover had twined himself closely around her af- 
 fections,, and she had fondly hoped that he would prove 
 a kind husband to her, and after he had once got over 
 the surprise of finding himself the father of four children, 
 that he would be an indulgent parent to them. 
 
 This was the afternoon for Eleanor and I to recite. 
 Though I found it almost impossible for me to fix my 
 attention upon the lesson, on dreams in Abercrombie ; 
 yet I at length succeeded in mastering it ; but Eleanor 
 did not come, and when I went into the parlor and pre- 
 sented my book, Mr. Gordon very deliberately shut it up 
 and said, " I cannot talk about other people's dreams, I 
 have a dream of my own," he added, trying to make me 
 give up the deportment of a scholar, for that of a friend. 
 " It is so absorbing that I fear I shall not do much until 
 it is realized. So, Susy, as you have your hand in ap- 
 pointing the ' happy day,' I wish you would be good 
 enough to appoint mine." 
 
 " Well," said I, raising my eyes for just one glance into 
 his beaming face, " in a little more than three years I 
 shall be of age, then if you invite me to your wedding, 
 and father and mother are willing, I will attend it." 
 9*
 
 102 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Susy," he exclaimed, "you would not condemn me 
 
 to such a " , he began to say, but then he stopped, 
 
 and with a very roguish expression, added, " Susan, will 
 you promise me that you will be married then?" 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " When you are of age." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, though somewhat surprised, at 
 his manner. 
 
 " Well, then," he said, turning away to conceal a tri- 
 umphant expression, " I will try to be satisfied with that 
 But remember, you are not to retract your promise. 
 Come, my love, repeat it after me. " I solemnly promise, 
 if my life is spared, and my parents consent, to be mar- 
 ried to Charles Gordon, on the day I am of age, provided 
 he still wishes it." 
 
 Though wondering much at his eagerness, and yet de- 
 sire to postpone it so long, I repeated the form of promise 
 as he wished. 
 
 "Oh, Susy!" said he, "you are a darling, innocent 
 little girl, and I feel almost wicked at taking advantage 
 of you, but the temptation is too strong. After tea, Mr. 
 Gordon asked father if he had a copy of the revised stat- 
 utes, and begged the use of it for a few moments. He 
 is full as lively as Thomas now, and sprang up stairs to 
 the study, two steps at a time, found the book and 
 brought it down. I was washing the cups, when he 
 turned to a passage, and brought it to me. 
 
 " There, Susy," he said, with a very arch look. " You 
 must be in a hurry if you have any preparation to make ; 
 you have only a fortnight, and I must look out for the 
 publishment at once. See, and he pointed with his fin-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 103 
 
 ger to the passage, stating that a woman reached her 
 majority at eighteen. 
 
 I dropped the spoon I held in my hand, and my heart 
 actually stood still, as I tried to grasp the book. 
 
 " What is it, Susan ? " inquired father, seeing my sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Mr. Gordon answered for me, " I was convincing her 
 by the laws of Massachusetts," he said, gayly, " that her 
 wedding day was in a fortnight." 
 
 " Laws or no laws," exclaimed mother, " I shall have a 
 word to say on that point." 
 
 " I should like to read the chapter and verse, rejoined 
 father, approaching to take the book. It would require 
 a pretty strong law to take my child from me, on so short 
 notice." 
 
 " Oh, Susan ! " whispered Mr. Gordon, " when they 
 are both against me, you will not leave me to stand my 
 ground alone ! " 
 
 He had such a comic look of distress, that I burst into 
 a hearty laugh, when he explained to father and mother 
 the ground of his argument. 
 
 " But where do you intend to carry her then ? " asked 
 mother, " you have no home." 
 
 " They are only waiting my consent, in B ," Mr. 
 
 Gordon replied, " to give me a call. They have already 
 ascertained the wishes of the people, and are prepared to 
 give me the use of the parsonage, and a comfortable sup- 
 port. In order to answer their call affirmatively, I have 
 only been waiting to obtain Susy's. I have a few thou- 
 sands laid by to furnish our house ; so you see we have 
 only to get into it as soon as possible."
 
 104 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 " I acknowledge, my dear sir," responded father. " that 
 your plans are laid with your accustomed prudence ; but 
 you forget how young Susy is, and that her mother and 
 I, cannot spare her at present Indeed I do not see how 
 we can at all," and father's face grew very serious. " I 
 only consented to Henry's wishes on the promise that he 
 would not ask her to be married until he had studied his 
 profession, and established himself." 
 
 " I will also promise that," said Mr. Gordon, more se- 
 riously. " I grant that I am asking a great favor, but 
 would it be any less trying to part with her at some future 
 day ? I know she is young ; but I should not wish her 
 one day older. She will adapt herself far more readily 
 to the people with whom she lives, and it shall be my 
 care," he added, advancing to me, and standing by my 
 side, " to relieve her as much as possible from trials." 
 
 Mother wiped her eyes, and said there would be time 
 enough to decide upon these subjects hereafter ; but Mr. 
 Gordon insisted there was no time like the present, and 
 after a long conversation, which lasted most of the even- 
 ing, during which I was absent from the room, father and 
 mother consented to part with me at Thanksgiving. Of 
 this, I was duly informed by the gentleman, after pray- 
 ers. So I must lay aside my pen, and go to work with 
 my needle. 
 
 Next Sabbath was the time when Mr. Gordon was 
 
 expecting to give an answer to his call from B , but 
 
 he received a letter from the committee of a church in 
 the city, earnestly inviting him to preach as a candidate 
 for settlement. He put the letter at once into my hand,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 105 
 
 and asked me what he should do, but I would give no 
 opinion. Father, however, advised him to go, and he 
 has written that he will do so. Aunt Susan wrote me a 
 very kind letter, congratulating me on my prospects, and 
 saying that as mother would not, she supposed, be equal 
 to taking such a journey, she would meet me in the city, 
 and assist me to buy furniture for the parsonage. This 
 was before the other place was thought of. She sent me 
 fifty dollars to purchase linen, etc., for bedding. At the 
 bottom, she added a postscript to father, saying it has 
 always been her intention to provide for me, and that 
 funds to furnish a house, have been placed with her 
 banker in the city, and could be called for at any time. 
 How very kind in her, for though father will delight to 
 do all he can, yet his salary is only sufficient to meet his 
 wants from year to year, and the small sum he had laid 
 by, has been much decreased by Thomas's expenses at 
 CoUege. 
 
 To-day Mr. Gordon walked with me to Dame Street- 
 er's, where I have been to read to her for the last time, 
 and have installed Bessie in my place. After leaving me 
 there for an hour, he returned for me, and we pro- 
 longed our -walk, as he had some subjects upon which he 
 wished to talk with me. He has been for three Sabbaths 
 to preach in the city, and on many accounts he is pleased 
 with the society. The church have already given him a 
 call, and the parish are to meet for that purpose next 
 week. The salary they offer is nearly double what they 
 
 can give in B , but there is the expense of a house, 
 
 which he has ascertained will be five or six hundred dol-
 
 106 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 lars, while the parsonage, a very neat two story dwelling 
 with green blinds, together with a barn and two acres of 
 
 ground, go with the salary at B . But the salary is 
 
 not the chief consideration with Mr. Gordon, though he 
 says a minister in settling, ought to be sure that he can 
 live upon such a support as the people offer, and this 
 there is no doubt but we could do at either place ; but 
 the question is, where can he do the most good ? " In 
 the present case," he said, " after a careful examination 
 of the subject, I am unable to decide between the two. 
 My prepossessions I own are in favor of one of them, but 
 now I have a right to your opinion." 
 
 " And if it does not conform to yours, you will tell 
 me." 
 
 Yes 
 
 " Then I choose B ." 
 
 " I shall write at once to the city, and arrest the pro- 
 ceeding? of the parish." 
 
 I was frightened that the subject was to be so summa- 
 rily disposed of by my choice, and said, " what if I had 
 chosen to, go to the city?" 
 
 "Then we should probably have gone there. The 
 committee assured me the desire for me to stay, was very 
 strong." 
 
 " But you said you had a choice." 
 
 " Your choice was mine." 
 
 " I must be very careful what I do and say, if it is to 
 have such an influence with you." 
 
 Indeed you must, Susy," he answered, seriously, It 
 has now become my duty as well as my delightful privi- 
 lege, to endeavor by all the means in my power, to make
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 107 
 
 you happy, and I am glad to know that you have natur- 
 ally not only a warm heart, but a cheerful, even temper- 
 ament. Your ardent affection for your parents, and es- 
 pecially for your brothers and sisters, confirmed the admi- 
 ration which your sweet voice, as you came dancing into 
 the room with Gracie, and your warm blushes had won. 
 Do you remember when I went up to look at the room 
 with your father ? Oh, what a beautiful picture that 
 was ! and you were the prominent character in it, as you 
 sat soothing your brother, with Gracie in your lap. I 
 have never had a home, Susy, since I was ten years old, 
 when my mother died, and the family were broken up ; 
 and when I was admitted into such a family scene, I 
 could not willingly leave it. I have had day dreams ever 
 since that hour. Often my books which you thought so 
 absorbing, were filled with them, and when I turned over 
 the leaves and tried to fix my attention upon the subject 
 of which it treated, I could only see a rosy, smiling face, 
 with eyes glancing up to me for one moment, and then 
 drooped again. Did you think I should be willing to sit 
 at table where I could not see those eyes ? But when 
 you were sick with the scarlet fever, I understood fully 
 my own heart, and found that I must fly. I went away 
 and staid as long as I could, and then returned promis- 
 ing myself that I would give way to such feelings no 
 longer. Sometimes you looked in my face with wonder 
 that I had grown so cold, and it required all my power 
 over myself to refrain from catching you to my heart and 
 telling you how dear you were to me. But if I could, I 
 would not have you understand the agony I experienced 
 when after my prayers for your conversion had been an-
 
 108 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 swered, you came to me so unconsciously and told me 
 you were unhappy. 
 
 After prayers that night, I went to my room, and once 
 I was wild enough to imagine that you did love me, and 
 was rendered unhappy by not knowing that your love 
 was returned. But when you so frankly confessed the 
 cause of your sorrow, I would have sacrificed all my 
 own hope of happiness in your love, rather than to act 
 so dishonorable a part as to strive to win you from 
 Henry. But now that you know my whole heart, I 
 want you to promise that if ever we differ in sentiment, 
 and my views of duty will not allow me to comply with 
 your wishes, that you will bear in mind that it is no want 
 of the affection which I now feel, that prompts me to 
 such a course. 
 
 The parish at B have been very uneasy, but will 
 
 now be relieved by receiving their answer next Sabbath.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FIRST MARRIAGE. 
 
 I AM to be married to-morrow morning, and after a 
 
 short journey to M , to visit aunt Susy, we are to go 
 
 directly to the parsonage, which by the kindness of dear 
 aunt, seems to me, at least, like a little paradise. Every- 
 thing is in order there, even to the clothes in the drawers 
 and closets. Mr. Gordon has a delightful room for a 
 study, and a very good collection of books for a licen- 
 tiate. Then my small library fills the book-case in the sit- 
 ting-room. For the last week, Thomas has been unwea- 
 ried in his efforts to get everything in readiness for this 
 great event. Dear Eleanor too has been full of zeal. It 
 was a source of great pain to me, after Henry left, that 
 Eleanor wholly avoided me, and when I met her, was 
 very reserved; but partly owing to the influence of 
 Thomas, and partly to the representation of her brother, 
 she soon became reconciled, and proved herself the dear 
 friend she always has been. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Wells ! Though she expressed keen disap- 
 pointment at the result of Henry's proposal, yet she did 
 not allow it to influence her feelings toward me. 
 
 As soon as she knew, that I was getting ready to be 
 married, she sent me a generous supply of silver-table, 
 dessert, and tea spoons, two butter knives and a cake 
 basket. Eleanor gave me a variety of small ornamental 
 
 10 (109)
 
 110 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 articles which I could not buy. Dear Henry acted no- 
 bly in representing my conduct to them so as entirely to 
 shield me from blame. I am glad to hear of his good 
 health, and returning spirits. 
 
 Mother has made me very happy to-day by promising 
 to let Gracie pass a month with me when I return from 
 
 my journey. As the parish in B is large, Mr. 
 
 Gordon has purchased a horse, and the people pre- 
 sented him with a chaise, so that I can ride home, he 
 says, whenever I am homesick. ' But I intend to be 
 contented, and to make a good wife. 
 
 To-day is Christmas. I have been a wife four weeks, 
 and in my own pleasant home almost three weeks. 1 
 have a very neat, active young girl as a servant, and 
 consider myself very fortunate in having been able to 
 procure one, who being a Protestant will attend our 
 church, and join us at family prayers. 
 
 My husband, (how curiously that name looks in my 
 diary!) says that I am a dear little housekeeper. He 
 loves to hear me sing as I go about the room sweeping or 
 dusting, and says he can write better when he hears my 
 cheerful voice, because he knows my heart is at rest. I 
 could hardly be otherwise than good, with one who is so 
 easily satisfied. No matter with what I spread my 
 table, he is always pleased, and finds something about it 
 to praise. The house was put in thorough repair, every 
 part of it being papered and painted before my furniture 
 was brought from the city, and every article being new, 
 Nora and I have no excuse for untidiness. I have 
 already made a number of calls upon our people, though
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEUDED LIFE. Ill 
 
 entirely among the very poor or sick. Our other parish- 
 ioners have most of them called upon us, and appear 
 very friendly. I cannot but love them when they speak 
 in such terms of affection of my dear husband. I find 
 that my having always lived in a minister's family is a 
 great help to me here. It makes it much easier for me 
 to interest myself in so many who are, as yet, utter 
 strangers. 
 
 On the Sabbath I went into the Sabbath school, and 
 was immediately invited to take a class. I consented to 
 do so for the day, and told the superintendent that if Mi. 
 Gordon thought it best, I would keep it permanently. 
 After service I related what had occurred, and asked him 
 if I might keep the class. 
 
 He smiled at the question, and replied pleasantly, 
 " have you forgotten, my dear, that you are of age ? " 
 
 " And married, too," I added, " so that I can do just as 
 I please ; but I would like your advice." 
 
 " That I will give with pleasure. As the Sabbath 
 school meets at noon, I can foresee many inconvenien- 
 ces to you in going at that hour. For instance, when 
 I exchange and you have the clergyman to entertain ; 
 but I find you are quite ingenious in overcoming such 
 difficulties, so if your health will endure the additional 
 fatigue, I advise you to take the class." 
 
 " I am glad you feel so, and, as I am perfectly well, I 
 shall inform Mr. Hall of my intention to be a teacher." 
 
 I thought I would not tell my husband ; but when 
 I asked his consent, I really did forget that I was of age. 
 I presume that Mr. Hall thought me a very dutiful wife ; 
 and I can now understand the meaning of a quiet smile
 
 112 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 which played for a moment about his mouth, as I an- 
 swered him. I have been so long accustomed to going 
 to my father and mother for their consent to my wishes, 
 that it would seem very odd for me to take any impor- 
 tant step alone. 
 
 Yesterday began a new year. Father, mother and all 
 the family passed the day with me, and left dear Oracle 
 to make her promised visit. I was very ambitious to 
 have everything pass off pleasantly, and by arising early 
 I was able to make most of my preparations for dinner 
 and supper, so that I was with them until half an hour 
 before the time for meals, when I went out to arrange 
 the tables, and Gracie followed me everywhere. Mother 
 asked me, in a whisper, if I wished assistance from her ; 
 but I told her all was prepared. Before she went home 
 she told Mr. Gordon that she thought he had a very 
 excellent cook. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, glancing at me with a smile, " but 
 her skill in that department is only a small part of her 
 qualifications for a good wife." 
 
 I acknowledge that a feeling of pride arose in my 
 heart at this unexpected and undeserved praise ; but I 
 hope it will serve as an inducement to me to do better. 
 Since my return from M , I have only been home 
 twice, though I thought I should go twice in a week ; 
 but I find my time so occupied, and with such delightful 
 duties, that I have not thought of homesickness. Every 
 day I become more interested in our people. They are 
 warm-hearted and very sincere ; and so far I have not 
 for a moment regretted the choice I made. A few eve-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 113 
 
 nings since, when some of our people were visiting us, 
 Mr. Gordon told them they must thank me for his being 
 their minister ; and since that time quite a number have 
 personally expressed their gratitude to me, and have 
 said that it was a great trial to them when they feared 
 he would accept the call to the city. 
 
 I find it impossible to be as regular in my writing as 
 before I was married. Since new year's day I have not 
 been able to find time, and now that I have an hour 
 while my husband has gone to the weekly lecture, I have 
 little inclination. It is a stormy evening, and I fear will 
 be a dreadful night at sea, though it is seldom that a 
 ship is wrecked on our coast. I presume there will be 
 very few at the lecture room, but I washed to go, and 
 think myself as well able as my husband. When I pro- 
 posed it, however, he was very decided in refusing his 
 consent, and as I pretended that I thought myself old 
 enough to judge, and really intended to go out, he actu- 
 ally forbade it. And here I am, after passing nearly 
 half my time since he went, in crying and feeling very, 
 very much ashamed of myself. I will write do\vn all 
 my grievances and see how they look upon paper. 
 
 This afternoon, as my husband was much occupied in 
 preparing his sermon for the evening, I pleased myself 
 with the thought of surprising him with something par- 
 ticularly nice for his supper. At length all was ready, 
 and I rang the tea bell, -which as usual he promptly an- 
 swered, and took his place at the table. I was already 
 seated at the tray, while before his plate, in my best 
 covered dish, was a pile of smoking hot waffles, buttered, 
 10*
 
 114 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 sugared, and flavored, as I thought, to his taste. I was 
 very happy, and not a little proud of my cakes, which 
 were my first attempt, and I expected no little praise ; 
 but what was my disappointment when, after having 
 invoked a blessing, Mr. Gordon lifted the cover, deliber- 
 ately helped me, then himself, and began to eat without 
 saying one word. I might have spared myself so much 
 trouble, and such a red face, for he ate one plateful after 
 another, without even appearing conscious that he was 
 eating at all; or if eating, nothing more than plain bread 
 and butter. I poured the tea and passed his cup ; but my 
 lip 'quivered, and I could not keep back my tears. It was 
 with difficulty, indeed, that I could eat at all, and nearly 
 hqlf the waffles, upon which I had expended so much 
 time and pains, remained in the dish. As we arose from 
 table he noticed my flushed countenance, and moistened 
 eyes, and quickly asked the cause ; but I was ashamed 
 to tell him, and abruptly turned away. After following 
 me to the closet, and trying in vain to find out the reason 
 of my grave looks, he returned to the study. When I 
 rang the bell for prayers, he merely came and said it 
 would much oblige him if I would defer the service till 
 after the lecture. I did not see him again until the 
 church bell rang for the lecture. 
 
 Evening before last, while I was writing, my hus- 
 band returned. I was quite ashamed of myself, that such 
 a trifle should put me out of humor, and when he came 
 in, I made an attempt to appear as usual. I arose and 
 busied myself with putting away his coat and overshoes, 
 taking care to keep my face turned from the light. I
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 115 
 
 then took the bell in my hand to ring for Nora to come 
 to prayers, when he called me to him, and wished me to 
 sit on his knee, but upon the plea that he must be tired, 
 I sat down by his side. 
 
 " I cannot attend prayers," he said, gravely, " until I 
 know the "cause of that heavy shadow upon your brow." 
 
 I sprang forward to put up a brand which I thought in 
 danger of falling, and he quietly -waited for me to reply. 
 At length I said, " shall I ring ? It is nothing I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, if you please." 
 
 Even after I had the bell in my hand, I hesitated and 
 thought I would confess all my foolish disappoint- 
 ment ; but pride said " no," and I rang. Nora came in, 
 and I passed him the Bible and Hymn Book ; but he 
 only read a Psalm, and made a short prayer. If it was 
 short, I was sure he meant it all for me, and my heart 
 sank within me. It really seemed dreadful, to have this 
 slight coolness between us. 
 
 " Susan," he said, when Nora had retired, " is it true 
 that there is nothing in your heart causing you grief 
 which you can tell me ? " 
 
 Oh, how I wished I had something that I could tell ! 
 But the more I thought of my folly, the more ashamed I 
 was of it, and reluctant to confess it. After waiting a 
 moment, I replied, " I have nothing to tell." 
 
 He turned a shade paler, and taking the lamp, gazed 
 sadly in my face for a moment, and returned to his study, 
 when I went to bed, and cried myself to sleep. In the 
 morning when I awoke my heart was so heavy, that I 
 thought something must have happened ; and soon the
 
 116 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 recollection of what passed last evening flashed across 
 my mind. I determined at once to confess all to my hus- 
 band, and ask him to forgive me, but found he had al- 
 ready arisen and left the room. At breakfast he was as 
 usual, exceedingly polite ; but as he made no farther at- 
 tempt to win my confidence, I could not bring myself 
 to introduce the subject. Soon after prayers, he came 
 from the study, and found me in tears ; but I instantly 
 wiped them away. 
 
 " Susan," he said, very mildly, though seriously, " I am 
 going to the farther end of the parish to see a sick man. 
 Though the sleighing is not very smooth, yet I think 
 this bracing air will do you good. Will you accompany 
 me?" 
 
 I shook my head, but before he left the room, which he 
 did at once, without another word, I would gladly have 
 accepted his proposal. I had no sooner seen him drive 
 from the yard, than I retired to the study, that I might 
 be free from interruption, and made a business of cherish- 
 ing my grief until (foolish girl that I was !) I considered 
 myself a most unhappy wife. I even meditated going 
 home to make a visit ; but as I should be obliged to wade 
 through three miles of deep snow, I gave that up as im- 
 possible. For the first time since our marriage, he re- 
 mained away from home all day ; and toward night I 
 became very nervous, and thought some accident must 
 have occurred to detain him. As night approached, I 
 worried so much that I became really sick with nervous 
 headache. The slightest sound would make my heart 
 beat wildly, and every moment I expected a messenger 
 to summon me to my sick or dying husband. Oh ! what
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 117 
 
 would I not have given to have been assured of his safe- 
 ty ! And yet I no sooner saw him driving as usual into 
 the yard, unharness and feed his horse, than all my anxi- 
 ety turned into indignation, and I really was pleased to 
 think I had now something to complain of. But this 
 thought did not relieve my head, and I was obliged 
 though with great reluctance to resort to my pillow on 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Susan, are you ill, my dear," he asked, quickly ap- 
 proaching me as he entered. I only replied by putting 
 my hand to my head. 
 
 " Too much heat," he added, in a low voice ; and 
 pressing his fingers upon my pulse, " how long have you 
 been so ill, my love ? " 
 
 Though my heart was swelling with mingled emotions, 
 I could articulate only indistinctly, " for several hours ! " 
 He immediately left me, and I heard him talking with 
 Nora in the kitchen. I was really vexed, as I heard her 
 tell him that it was entirely in consequence of my worry 
 for fear something had happened to him, and that I had 
 done little but watch from the window for his approach, 
 until obliged by the pain to lie down. Nora immediately 
 followed him into the room with the tea, which had been 
 waiting nearly an hour. I requested her to remain and 
 pour a cup for Mr. Gordon, as I was not able to rise ; but 
 he told her he would not detain her, as he could easily 
 wait upon himself. He then poured a cup of tea for me, 
 and in the midst of my pain I could not help smiling, as 
 I saw how carefully he sweetened it to my taste, then 
 toasting a cracker before the fire, he brought them to me. 
 I tried to eat a piece ; but the very smell of the tea made
 
 118 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 me sick, and I could not swallow. He seemed really 
 distressed ; but I told him I had no doubt a good night's 
 sleep would restore me. 
 
 After waiting a long time for the bell, Nora came un- 
 called to take the tray, when Mr. Gordon who had been 
 holding my head tightly between his hands, said softly, 
 " If you will wait a few moments, Nora, I will eat some 
 supper, as I have had no dinner." 
 
 The good girl was loud in her exclamations, and of- 
 fered to cook him a piece of meat ; but he declined any- 
 thing except what was on the table. After making a 
 slight repast, during which my heart reproached me, as I 
 saw how pale he was, he went to the kitchen for a mo- 
 ment, and then after replenishing the fire, gently lifted 
 my head from the pillow and laid it upon his breast, as 
 he sat upon the end of the sofa. Here he held my throb- 
 bing temples so firmly that I found great relief. In a 
 few moments Nora came in and brought me a cup of 
 sage tea, which he had directed her to make, and which 
 really did me good. I thanked him for his kindness in 
 ordering it, and said I was so much relieved, I would sit 
 up ; but he begged me to lie quietly a short time longer. 
 " My dear wife," he whispered after a moment's pause, 
 " my heart is very sad at the thought that you do not 
 realize all your expectations of happiness with me ; or I 
 may, unintentionally, have said something which has 
 wounded your sensitive heart. If so, dearest, will you 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 I burst into a passionate fit of weeping, so violent that 
 it brought back my pain ; but as soon as I could speak, 
 I told him my trouble from beginning to end. I did not*
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 119 
 
 spare myself, but confessed my pride and my hard 
 thoughts of him. He soothed and comforted me, took 
 all the blame to himself, and promised never to leave 
 me for so long a time if he could possibly avoid it. He 
 did not think it was foolish for me to be disappointed 
 about the waffles, and wondered how he could have 
 been so absent minded. He said he could only account 
 for it by the fact that the subject of his sermon had ab- 
 sorbed him. He begged me to remember this for the future, 
 and whenever I saw him abstracted and reserved, to 
 speak of it at onpe, and thus assist him to correct the 
 habit. After we had talked of this a long time, he gave 
 me an account of his visit, which was to an aged man 
 by the name of Rand. When I found that while I had 
 been indulging hard thoughts toward my dear husband, 
 he had been administering consolation to a sick and 
 apparently dying man, I experienced the keenest remorse, 
 and made many resolutions that with the help of God, I 
 would never again give way to such feelings. We both 
 were so engrossed with our conversation that we took 
 no heed to the time, until the clock on the mantel piece 
 struck eleven. But even then I could not retire until I 
 had asked forgiveness of my heavenly Father. I had 
 already obtained it of my husband, and as he started 
 from the sofa where my head still lay against his breast, 
 I whispered a request that he would ask pardon of God 
 for me. He complied ; but in such a tender manner did 
 he represent my wants, and so fervently did he implore 
 strength to be an affectionate husband, that my tears 
 flowed afresh. One remark, which he made as we left 
 tne room, deepened my resolutions to strive against the
 
 120 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 recurrence of such scenes: Oh, Susan," he said, with 
 deep feeling, " you can hardly realize what a load is 
 lifted from my heart. Last night when I retired I bent 
 over you, and saw the traces of tears upon your cheeks, 
 and listened to the deep sobs which ever and anon burst 
 from your lips. I feared that you had mistaken your 
 affection for me, and that I had done wrong in asking 
 you to share my lot. I could not- rest with such fears, 
 and arose, as soon as it was light, from a sleepless 
 couch. Nora's remark, when I came home, that you 
 had been anxious concerning me, sent a thrill of joy 
 through my breast ; and now, dearest, you assure me 
 that you do not regret leaving your pleasant home to 
 live with me." 
 
 " I only regret," I replied, my childishness and pride, 
 which caused you so much pain."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WEDDED LOVE RESTORED AT THE SEA-SIDE HOME. 
 
 AT the distance of a mile from the parsonage in B , 
 in a little ingle or nook, formed by a cessation of the 
 bold bluffs, rising abruptly from the sea, is snugly nes- 
 tled a small cottage, if such it may be called, where 
 irom morn till eve, and from eve till morn, may be heard 
 the voice of God saying to the great waters, " Thus far 
 but no farther." In this quiet retreat lived little Jamie Mc- 
 Donald, with his mother and sister ; and though at a 
 distance from any other habitation, yet they were not 
 afraid. When the storm raged and the ocean roared, 
 they only kept the closer within their neat and cheerful 
 abode. They felt safe under the protecting care of Him 
 who giveth " to the sea his decree that the waters should 
 not pass his commandment." When the long days of 
 summer came, then would Jamie lead his little sister 
 carefully down the low bluff upon which their home 
 was built, and, gently lifting her from stone to stone, 
 would soon reach the smooth, hard beach, which lay for 
 a mile in extent before the cottage door. Here these 
 merry children were never tired of playing : sometimes 
 collecting a quantity of clean shells, and carrying them 
 to a rock out of the reach of the common tides, and using 
 them for plates, with which they could set out their 
 11 (121)
 
 122 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 noonday repast ; sometimes building houses of the fine, 
 clean sand, which covered the beach. 
 
 Jamie and Lottie had never known another home; 
 and they loved the bright waves which ever kept rolling 
 and breaking in white surf upon the shore. They could 
 hardly have known how to sing and shout, as they did 
 from morning till night, without the accompaniment of 
 the breaking billows. They grew to be as experienced as 
 mariners in calculating the ebb and flow of the tide, and 
 the length of time before the waves would rise to their 
 landmarks. 
 
 But let us leave Jamie and his sister, standing with 
 bare feet just out of the reach, as they think, of the next 
 wave, running backward and shouting with great glee, 
 as it laves then* tiny toes, and return to the cottage, 
 where Mrs. McDonald is busy with her work. 
 
 A year or two before Jamie was born, Jane McDonald 
 with her young husband, left their native land, in the 
 north of Scotland, and came to find a home in this free 
 country. She was a worthy member of the Presbyterian 
 church in Scotland, and, according to its usage, brought 
 with her a letter of commendation to any American 
 church where she might locate. It was true that neither 
 of them had any distinct idea in what the freedom they 
 were seeking consisted; but wondrous reports had 
 reached them from kindred and friends who had come to 
 find their fortune in America, and their ties to their father- 
 land being one by one cut off, as father, mother, and 
 sister were taken to a heavenly country, then it was that 
 they determined to seek a new home in this western 
 world.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 123 
 
 Immediately upon landing, they were cordially met 
 by a near relative, and received into a neat, comfortable 
 abode, which, in its many conveniences, formed such a 
 contrast to their transatlantic home, that they looked 
 about them with wondering and admiring eyes. After 
 they retired for the night they held a long converse upon 
 the probability or even possibility of their ever being 
 equally well situated. When they arose in the morning, 
 refreshed and invigorated for new duties, hope quickened 
 each step and lighted each eye. 
 
 For a time everything went on smoothly. James Mc- 
 Donald was active and strong, and soon entered into an 
 engagement with a farmer, who found in his new work- 
 man a trusty and faithful hand. Jane remained with 
 her cousin, and proved herself of great assistance in the 
 business by which the worthy Mrs. Dane increased the 
 wages of her husband. The clothes were never so thor- 
 oughly washed nor so neatly pressed as when Jane 
 " was to the fore." Thus they continued until autumn, 
 when James was thrown out of employment for the win- 
 ter ; and from this time poor Jane aated the beginning 
 of her troubles. I cannot stop to relate all the trials 
 made by James to obtain permanent employment, that 
 he might have a settled home, which he could call his 
 own ; no, nor the reserve and sourness, which gradually 
 changed his once bright and happy countenance. 
 
 My story is more of little Jamie than of his parents. 
 But I will just say, that though this good wife did not 
 fail to sympathize deeply with her husband in every fresh 
 disappointment, yet she always endeavored to lead him 
 to feel that they were in the hands of One who knew all
 
 124 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 their wants, and who would guide their little bark at last 
 into a safe port. Though James McDonald dearly loved 
 his wife, yet on one point they widely differed. Jane 
 had been blessed with a pious mother, who had early 
 taught her, not only to fear the Lord, but to trust him in 
 all her ways. The good old lady used to say, " It's nae 
 gude to trust him when all's fair and sky clear, and then 
 turn to aither help when storms betide ; but trust liim 
 alway, and mind your auld mither's words, He'll ne'er 
 forsake you." 
 
 Jane used to repeat this to her husband, and try to in- 
 spire him with new hope : but he gradually gave up 
 more and more, until almost their entire support depended 
 upon her exertions. This was so gradual, however, that 
 Jane had removed to the little cottage where we found 
 her, and which was given to her for a merely nominal 
 rent, and her sweet Jamie had come, a rich boon to the 
 warm-hearted mother, before the father wholly despaired 
 of becoming rich, and shipped as a sailor on board a 
 merchant vessel, going out from a neighboring port. 
 The young wife felt very sad when she found her hus- 
 band was really intending to leave her alone in a strange 
 land, especially as, somewhat affected by the thought of 
 the separation, James had renewed his former kindness 
 and affection toward her, and she had begun to look for- 
 ward to brighter days. 
 
 He went, however ; and until the opening of our story 
 he had returned but twice. Each time he returned com- 
 pletely tired of a seafaring life, and determined to pursue 
 it no farther. But each time, also, after remaining at 
 home a few months, he grew weary of the monotony of
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 125 
 
 his cottage life, for he sought no employment ; declared 
 that even the life of a sailor "was better than this, and 
 took the first opportunity to leave. 
 
 In the mean time Jamie had been delighted to wel- 
 come a little sister to their sea-side home. Mrs. McDon- 
 ald was well known and esteemed by all in her neighbor- 
 hood, and had been able, during the watering season, 
 when fashionable visitors from the city resorted to the 
 place, to obtain a good support by taking in nice wash- 
 ing. Besides the regular pay for her work, so prompt 
 and faithful was she to her employers, that they became 
 her fast friends, and for many of the comforts her cottage 
 contained, she was indebted to their kind benefactions. 
 Her neat cottage, with its bright flowers before the door, 
 became increasingly a favorite resort for the lovers of the 
 sea, and generally, on a pleasant afternoon, some invalid 
 who had resorted to the salt water for the benefit of 
 health, might be seen' sitting beneath her humble roof, 
 looking out upon the mighty expanse of water, and 
 counting the white sails in the distance. 
 
 In this way summer and winter had passed. Busied 
 in her work and contented in the society and affection 
 of her children, Mrs. McDonald had long since ceased to 
 mourn at the absence of her husband, though she never 
 retired to rest nor commenced the duties of a new day 
 without kneeling beside her little ones, imploring God's 
 blessing upon the wanderer, and asking her heavenly 
 Father to preserve him from the dangers of the deep, and 
 above all, from the temptations of his own unrenewed 
 heart. This daily prayer was so connected in the mind 
 of little Jamie with his father, that he often called Lottie, 
 11*
 
 126 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES *, 
 
 and said, " Come, sissy, now mama's going to ask God 
 about papa." 
 
 Mr. McDonald had already been absent for more than 
 two years : and during that period, his wife had never 
 heard from him. He had not previously been absent so 
 long at a time ; and Jane used to awake during a storm, 
 and hear the thundering of the billows, and fancy that, 
 above the roar of the sea, she could hear her own James 
 calling for help ; and then she would draw her children 
 close to her breast, and pray that God Almighty would 
 be the protector of her absent husband, and would bring 
 him safely to his home. 
 
 One day when Jamie and his sister, tired of play, re- 
 turned to the cottage, they were surprised to see a man 
 in the small sitting-room, holding their mother upon his 
 knee. Jamie did not remember his father ; and Lottie 
 had not seen him since she was a baby ; so the children 
 stood in the doorway unperceived, yet wondering at the 
 sight of their mother's joy, when she discovered them and 
 said, " Jamie, my boy, don't you remember your own 
 father ? " Jamie hung down his head and walked bash- 
 fully forward to take the extended hand, while his mother, 
 catching up Lottie, exclaimed, " See, James, hasn't the 
 baby grown to a fine size ?" The father expressed great 
 pleasure at the growth and improvement of the children. 
 
 When supper was prepared, Jamie gave up to his 
 father the seat, at the head of the table, which he had 
 occupied ever since he could remember, and waited for 
 him to say grace. But when he saw his father help him- 
 self, and about to commence eating, his little face turned 
 very red, and he looked at his mother in great distress.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 127 
 
 " Papa," said he, in a solemn tone, " won't you ask 
 God to please bless this supper ? " 
 
 Mr. McDonald laughed, and said to his wife, " What 
 a little Methodist you've made of the boy ! " 
 
 " Papa," continued the child earnestly, " won't you 
 please to pray ? " 
 
 " Why," said Mr. McDonald, " who prays when I'm 
 gone?" 
 
 I do." 
 
 " Well, then, pray now, only be very quick about it ; 
 I'm desperate hungry." 
 
 In a serious manner, Jamie folded his hands, and asked 
 God to bless the food, and make them all good, and 
 make papa good. Afterwards they ate their simple re- 
 past. Many a month had passed since James had heard 
 the voice of prayer ; and he seemed impressed by the se- 
 riousness and earnestness of the child ; and as Jane made 
 no remark, the supper was rather a silent meal. 
 
 When the time came for their evening prayer, James 
 had wandered from the house ; and Jane took her little 
 ones into the inner room, and there knelt with them, and 
 thanked God for preserving her husband, and bringing 
 him to his home in safety. Then she poured out her 
 whole heart in prayer for his soul, that he might become 
 a child of God and an heir of immortal glory. Jamie 
 looked very wistfully at his mother as she arose and 
 wiped the tears from her eyes with her apron. But she 
 kissed him and his sister, and having heard their prayers 
 and hymns, laid them in their bed. 
 
 Not many days passed before the inmates of the cot- 
 tage had entirely changed. Mrs. McDonald was not
 
 128 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 long in discovering that her dear husband, for whose 
 return she had so earnestly prayed, had become a drunk- 
 ard ; and that when intoxicated he was shockingly 
 profane. When sober, a kind of respect for his wife's 
 feelings had hitherto prevented him from swearing in 
 her presence. But poor Jane wept bitter tears as she 
 thought of her husband's wickedness, and also of the 
 dreadful influence he would have upon her beloved chil- 
 dren. In her troubles she resorted to Rev. Mr. Gordon, 
 her pastor, who had recently been settled in the parish, 
 and received gratefully his sympathy and counsel. 
 
 At first, Jamie appeared completely stunned by the 
 volley of oaths which his father poured out ; but recover- 
 ing himself, he began to tell him it was very, very wicked 
 to talk so, and that God wouldn't let him live if he did. 
 James was beside himself with rage ; and catching up 
 a chair threw it at the child, telling him he'd teach him 
 to stop his impudence. 
 
 But the frightened mother had snatched him away ; 
 and, withdrawing with her children into the small bed- 
 room, she wept as if her heart would break. She looked 
 back one week, and thought of the happy peaceful life 
 she then led, with her children by her side, and her dear 
 Jamie learning so fast to read, that she was looking 
 forward to the time when he would be able to read a 
 chapter in the large Bible, which had been her mother's, 
 and which had been so carefully preserved. But Jane 
 wept still more bitterly as she thought of that blessed 
 mother's advice to her, not to marry a man who did not 
 fear God ; and she felt that her punishment, though long 
 delayed, had now come ; for though she had not married
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 129 
 
 in positive disobedience of her mother's commands ; yet, 
 she knew that she had done so, contrary to her often 
 expressed advice and warning. The very wretchedness 
 her mother feared, had now fallen to her lot. Poor Jane 
 knelt and prayed anew for wisdom and strength to bear 
 the affliction which her own wilfulness had brought 
 upon her. Truly, she had need of strength ; for now 
 that his family had witnessed his degradation, James 
 seldom came home sober ; and when intoxicated, his 
 wife and children soon learned that their only safety was 
 in flight. Sometimes, however, they could not escape 
 him, and the children would scream with fright as their 
 father cruelly beat their dear mother, or threw her heavily 
 to the side of the room. 
 
 Once Jamie started from his hiding place under the 
 table, and stood directly before his angry father, and said 
 " Papa, you mustn't beat my mamma so, I can't let you, 
 it's very wicked ! " 
 
 It was a strange sight to see the angry man with a 
 chair or stool raised over his head to strike, and then ar- 
 rested by the voice of his child pleading for his mother. 
 Sometimes, the plea succeeded ; and he muttered 
 angrily to himself, and slunk away to bed. But at 
 other times, he seized the boy by his arm or leg, and 
 threw him to the other side of the room. At such 
 seasons Mrs. McDonald suffered far more on account of 
 her children than herself. She began to consider what 
 she ought to do, for the security of their lives and per- 
 sons. Some of the neighbors, hearing of the trouble of 
 then* esteemed friend, came to advise her to complain to 
 the public authorities, and to have him taken up.
 
 130 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 But it so happened that the day on which the kind 
 neighbor visited her, James had returned home from the 
 village sober. He had obtained a job of work, and had 
 brought to the cottage some food for his family. Jane 
 now thought her prayers, and those of her pastor, were 
 answered ; and her heart was buoyed up with hope of 
 brighter days. " Oh ! " said she, " It's not now that I 
 could have the heart to complain of him, and he so kind 
 the day." She related to her sympathizing neighbors 
 the unusual kindness of her husband. For a day or two, 
 until the job was finished, James continued quite sober ; 
 but then, intending to make up for lost time, he came 
 home so furious that Mrs. McDonald, catching her chil- 
 dren in her arms, fled down the cliff toward the sea, and 
 there, hiding with them behind a sheltering rock, she 
 gave way to the most passionate grief. 
 
 All her bright hopes were again dashed to the ground. 
 Unconscious of the lateness of the hour, she still sat 
 until she found herself in a great chill. She instantly 
 arose, and stealing like a criminal beneath her own roof, 
 she found her husband as she had expected, lying un- 
 conscious on the bed. She took in the children, and 
 giving them their supper, she heard them say their 
 prayers, put them into bed and laid down beside them. 
 Jamie seemed unusually wakeful, and tried to comfort 
 his mother. 
 
 " Mamma," he asked, " don't I grow some every 
 day ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 Well, soon I shall be a man, and I '11 take you 
 away where papa can't come, and then we'll be happy
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 131 
 
 again just as we were before he came home ; only 
 mamma, I wish we could live here. It's so pleasant to 
 hear the loud sea. What makes papa be so wicked and 
 beat us so ? " 
 
 " It's rum, Jamie ; it's rum does it all. Before he 
 drank rum he was very kind to us." 
 
 Jamie crept closer to his mother, and said in a husky 
 voice, " Mamma, you won't drink any, will you ? What 
 could sissy and I do without you ? " 
 
 Poor Jane comforted her boy with the promise that 
 she would never taste of it ; and then she told him as 
 she often had done before of that bright world where 
 there is no drunkenness, no sorrow nor crying ; but 
 where all tears will be wiped from every eye. Jamie 
 asked God to please to take them all to heaven. Oh ! 
 how often did the heart-broken mother think of that 
 earnest prayer. 
 
 After some time the poor weary wife lost the remem- 
 brance of her sorrow in sleep. But not long. She was 
 suddenly awakened by a shrill cough ; and she started 
 at once to her feet. She well knew the sound, and 
 sprang to relieve her sick child. She administered to 
 him such remedies as she had at hand, but to no effect. 
 She then tried to rouse her senseless husband. " Jamie 
 is dying ! Jamie is dying ! " she cried in his ears. But 
 she was obliged to leave him repeatedly to go to her 
 suffocating boy, when he would instantly fall back into 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 One remedy after another she tried, and wrung her 
 hands to see how ineffectual ft was for his relief. At 
 length, rendered desperate by despair, she succeeded in 

 
 132 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 awakening James, and she implored him to lose no time 
 in bringing the Doctor. James was really frightened at 
 the distress of his child, and willingly started off on his 
 errand. 
 
 When the Doctor arrived, the poor little fellow was 
 somewhat relieved ; but was still dangerously ill. The 
 physician remained with him until morning, when he 
 left his patient asleep. 
 
 But to the croup succeeded an attack of lung fever ; 
 and the Doctor was, before many days, obliged to ac- 
 knowledge to the heart-broken mother, that her Jamie, 
 her first-born, must soon leave her. The sweet boy him- 
 self was aware of this, and calling his molher to the 
 bed-side, he held out his burning hand and said : " Ma- 
 ma, I'm going to die ; and I'm not sorry except for you. 
 But who will take care of you when I am gone ? If 
 papa comes home angry, who will tell him it's wicked ? " 
 
 Poor Jane could answer only with tears. James soon 
 came in, and the little finger beckoned him to a seat at 
 the bed-side. 
 
 " Papa," said he, in a feeble voice, " you know I am 
 going to God ; I can't stay here any longer, because He 
 calls me to go ; but I want you to be good when I'm 
 gone, so that mamma will have somebody to take care 
 of her." 
 
 James could not resist the pleading of his dying boy , 
 he began to weep, drawing his coarse sleeve across his 
 eyes. 
 
 Seeing his father weep, the dear child continued: 
 " Dear Papa, won't you be good, and not beat mamma 
 any more ? Every -body's father don't beat e very-body's 
 mother."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 133 
 
 James cried aloud. 
 
 " Don't, Papa," said Jamie, " please don't cry so, be- 
 cause I have a great deal to say to you." But the poor 
 child began to cough so violently that he could say no 
 more at that time. Mrs. McDonald took him in her 
 arms and rocked him gently, after having administered 
 his medicine. He soon fell asleep, while James went 
 out before the door, and sitting upon the step, wept 
 long and bitterly because he was about to lose his boy. 
 Thoughts of other days came crowding into his mind, 
 and he struck his head with his hard hand, wishing he 
 had never left his fatherland. Here he sat, alternately 
 weeping and thinking, until his wife called him to 
 supper. 
 
 After tea, he took a seat near the bed, and sat looking 
 with great tenderness upon his suffering boy. He 
 was not wholly hardened by years of profaneness and 
 crime. 
 
 Jamie slowly opened his eyes to see his father gaze 
 tearfully upon him. 
 
 " Dear Papa," said the little fellow, " I would not have 
 slept if I had known you were here. Will you please 
 to take me up ; I want to talk, and it don't hur|fme so 
 much when I am up." 
 
 James, with unwonted tenderness, put the comforter 
 around the sick boy, as he had seen his mother do, and 
 sat down with the child in his arms. Poor Jamie 
 missed the tender arms of his gentle mother, but he said 
 nothing. His little heart was bent on doing his father 
 good, and bringing happiness back to the home he was 
 10 soon to leave. 
 
 12
 
 134 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 " Papa," said he, laying his head back on his father's 
 arm so that he could look him in the face, " Mamma 
 says you were kind to her, and loved her very much, 
 and when you came home she used to ran out to meet 
 you, instead of hiding away. She says it is only rum, 
 naughty wicked rum, that makes you beat us all, and say 
 such awful words. Now, papa, I am going away from 
 here, and you won't have any little Jamie ; and Mamma 
 wont have any body to take care of her. Dear Papa," 
 continued the child, putting up his hand to brush away 
 the tears that were pouring like rain down his father's 
 cheeks, " won't you please to be good to her as you used 
 to be, and never drink any more rum ? Then when you 
 die you can go to heaven, and see me there, and I'll 
 show you where Jesus is, because I shall be there a 
 great while perhaps before you go. Will you, dear 
 Papa ? " The last word could hardly be distinguished. 
 The pale sufferer lay with closed eyes and throbbing 
 breast, entirely exhausted. 
 
 He looked so much like death that James in affright 
 called out, " Jane, come quick ! Jamie 's going ! " 
 
 His mother was instantly at his side. Indeed, she had 
 not htpn far away. She had fallen into a seat back of 
 the rocking chair ; and there she sat, eagerly listening to 
 every word, her swelling heart echoing a fervent amen 
 for every wish of her darling child, while she tried to 
 smother her sobs in her apron. 
 
 Without removing him from his father's arms, Jane 
 held camphor to the nostrils of her dying boy ; and, 
 when he slowly opened his eyes, wet his parched lips 
 with drink which the Doctor had left him.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 135 
 
 In his earnest desires for his father, the boy had ex- 
 hausted his remaining strength, and lay panting for 
 breath. Just at this time the physician entered; and 
 taking his sweet little patient from his father, whose 
 strong frame was so agitated and shaken with the vio- 
 lence of his feelings, as to prevent his proper care of the 
 dear boy, laid him gently in the bed, propping him up 
 with pillows. 
 
 Mr. McDonald rose to leave the room ; but Jamie cried 
 feebly, " Papa," and putting out his hand motioned for 
 his father to sit by his side. Though not able to speak, 
 he looked at him with the utmost tenderness as the 
 bowed head of his father was buried in the pillows, while 
 his broad breast heaved and fell with the violence of his 
 emotions. 
 
 After taking some medicine from the Doctor, he was 
 relieved ; and again turning to his father, said, " Did you 
 say you would, papa ?" 
 
 The Doctor looked inquiringly. He saw that a scene 
 of uncommon interest had taken place ; and he deter- 
 mined to await the result. 
 
 Poor James ! The fountain of his feelings was bro- 
 ken up. The hard shell which drunkenness, and jpofan- 
 ity, and other crimes had formed around his soul was 
 fractured, and an arrow from the divine quiver had pene- 
 trated it, though directed by the feeble hand of his infant 
 child. As the words, " Did you say you would, papa," 
 fell on his ear, a new purpose was formed within him. 
 
 He arose from his seat ; with a great effort he stifled 
 his sobs, and falling on his knees, said, " Jamie, my own 
 dear boy, I will promise. May God help me to keep the
 
 136 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 fr 
 
 vow I now make to my dying child, that I never, never 
 more will taste of rum ! " 
 
 A fervent amen burst involuntarily from the Doctor, 
 while Jane fell upon her knees to thank God for the un- 
 expected answer to her prayers. 
 
 A heavenly smile played on the sweet countenance of 
 the sufferer, while he calmly folded his little hands on his 
 breast as if in prayer. His work was done. He was 
 now ready to be offered. A gasp, a sigh, drew them all 
 quickly around the bed. The dying eyes passed lovingly 
 from father to mother who stood holding his beloved sis- 
 ter in her arms, and then resting for a moment upon his 
 kind physician, they were slowly closed, never to be 
 opened until the morning of the resurrection. 
 
 James McDonald arose from the bed-side of his Jamie 
 a new man, with hopes and resolutions filling his soul, to 
 which he had hitherto been a stranger. It was the bles- 
 sed privilege of the good pastor to lead this wanderer 
 back to the fold, and to commend him to the care of the 
 great and good Shepherd. The mourning mother had 
 indeed lost her son, but had gained her husband. 
 
 In a quiet little knoll, but a hundred yards above high 
 water park, lies the body of the little subject of this sim- 
 ple sketch, where the rolling waves which he so much 
 loved, are ever swelling a requiem to the memory of the 
 departed.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE THREE WEDDINGS. 
 
 THE day has been very warm for the season, and my 
 husband called me to the window to show me that the 
 buds have begun to swell. I presume, however, as it is 
 only the middle of March, that we shall have more cold 
 weather. Mr. Gordon is quite anxious to get to work 
 upon the garden, and amuses me by the eagerness with 
 which he seeks advice of his agricultural parishioners. 
 
 This afternoon I accompanied him to Rand farm, as it 
 is called, which is more than two miles distant. This is 
 the residence of the aged man whom my husband went 
 to visit in the winter, and who was suffering from paral- 
 ysis. He is considerably better than at that time, but 
 entirely helpless. The family consists of Mr. Rand and 
 his wife, with their daughter who is married, and two 
 children. Mr. Choate, the son-in-law, I did not see ; but 
 from the account of my husband who has met him sev- 
 eral times, as well as from the words of the old gentle- 
 man, who wished to talk of him to the exclusion of every 
 other topic, I am quite impressed in his favor. 
 
 I am more and more pleased with Nora. She is very 
 conscientious with regard to the Sabbath, and extremely 
 affectionate in her disposition. She is never more pleased 
 than when I allow her to comb my hair, or to bathe my 
 temples, when I am afflicted with the headache, which 
 
 12* (137)
 
 138 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 has been .the case more frequently since the warm 
 weather came on. 
 
 A fortnight since we had a wedding at our house, 
 which is the second Mr. Gordon has attended. The 
 bride and groom appeared very youthful. Indeed, the 
 young man seemed little more than a boy. Upon read- 
 ing his certificate, however, my husband found that he 
 was of age ; and she, nineteen. I called Nora into the 
 room, both because I thought it would please her to be 
 present, and because we wanted her for a witness. When 
 the simple ceremony was nearly concluded, and the words 
 " I pronounce you man and wife," had been repeated, 
 the new husband clasped his wife in his arms and im- 
 printed the first kiss upon her lips. Poor Nora sprang 
 forward in alarm, supposing the bride about to faint, 
 which was the reason of his putting his arms about her. 
 She was very much confused when I put my hand on 
 her arm ; and she saw by my smile that she had made a 
 mistake. 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am," she apologized, after they left, 
 "and I thought the lady would fall, but I saw she 
 looked the one way all the time," meaning that she did 
 not grow pale. " And is that the fashion in this country ? " 
 she asked me the next morning. " I never saw the 
 like of it before." 
 
 After the wedding party had left, I told Mr. Gordon 
 an anecdote which I had heard my father relate. A 
 friend of his was called to a small house in the suburbs 
 of a city, to marry a black couple. It was the custom of 
 the place for the clergyman to approach the bride, when 
 the ceremony was concluded, and, after wishing her joy
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 139 
 
 in her new relation, to give her a fatherly kiss. The 
 gentleman in question in due time pronounced the twain 
 one, and after the benediction called upon the ebony 
 groom to salute his bride. But with great respect for 
 the office and privilege of a clergyman, the modest man 
 could not think of aspiring to the first kiss, and humbly 
 replied, " after you, mass'r." 
 
 I have always been curious to know how the good 
 man extricated himself from this dilemma, without 
 wounding the feelings of the bride. But true Christian 
 courtesy is seldom at a loss for expedients. 
 
 I have to-day returned from a visit of a fortnight at 
 my old home. Though reluctant to part with me, Mr. 
 Gordon urged my going, as he thought the change would 
 be beneficial, and as I wished the advice of my mother 
 about many things. Thomas was at home most of the 
 time, as it is his vacation. Eleanor also passed three days 
 with me, and assisted me with my sewing. Every one 
 in the family endeavored to make my visit agreeable. 
 Mr. Gordon came over every day or two, and reported 
 the news from home. He carried me one day to see 
 Dame Streeter, who is very near her end. But she is 
 not only calm in the prospect of death, but looks forward 
 with a glorious hope to her inheritance beyond the skies. 
 She welcomed me most cordially, and at parting, after 
 Mr. Gordon had prayed with her, she committed me 
 most tenderly to his care. 
 
 I was much pleased to observe the improvement in 
 Bessie. She has grown really pretty, and has much 
 decision of character for a girl of her age. Nora says
 
 140 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 a great many have called upon me in my absence, and 
 expressed a wish to be of service. On inquiring what 
 she had for dinner, she appeared tery mysterious, and 
 said she could pick up something ; but upon going to 
 the table I found a nice leg of lamb, which our kind 
 neighbor, Mrs. Hall, sent in, with asparagus and spin- 
 nage. Nora had cooked it nicely, and I made an excel- 
 lent meal. Mr. Gordon said it really did him good to 
 see me opposite him again, and able to eat heartily. He 
 says the house has been as still as a tomb ; that Nora, 
 fearful of disturbing him, has moved about as noiselessly 
 as a ghost ; but the silence was so unusual that he could 
 not write ; and missing my voice and step about the 
 house, he took the opportunity to exchange both Sab- 
 baths while I was away. I am equally delighted to be 
 once more at home. 
 
 This morning I received a call from Mrs. Jason, the 
 wife of our lawyer, who is one of our nearest neighbors 
 on the hill opposite. In the course of the conversation 
 I told her I was much pleased with the people as I be- 
 came acquainted with them. She asked if I had ever 
 seen Mr. Choate, son-in-law of Mr. Rand. I replied that 
 I had not, though I had been twice to the house. 
 
 He is in very humble life," she added, and with 
 but few opportunities of self-improvement, yet I have 
 a greater respect for that young man, than for almost 
 any other in town." She was so enthusiastic in his 
 "praise, which accorded exactly with what my husband 
 had said of him, that I begged her to give me his history,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 141 
 
 which so much interested me that I have determined to 
 write it. 
 
 He is the only son of Mr. Choate, a farmer who lives 
 about half a mile beyond Mr. Rand. His sister is a 
 prominent singer in our choir, and is soon to be married/ 
 to the gentleman who has for four successive winters 
 taught our public school. For many years James Choate 
 and Elizabeth Rand were attached to each other ; but 
 after the death of her only sister Mary, Mrs. Rand fell 
 into a melancholy state, and could not readily be induced 
 to part with her only remaining daughter. 
 
 One evening, early in the month of August, James 
 presented himself at Rand farm to accompany Elizabeth 
 to an evening lecture at the village. Before he went he 
 resolved to make one more effort to induce the parents 
 of his friend to consent to their marriage. This determi- 
 nation he made known to her, and in consequence she 
 undertook to lay the subject before her parents. Just as 
 they were leaving the house she turned back from the 
 door, and approaching her mother, with slight embarrass- 
 ment, whispered, " please talk with father this evening, 
 about what I asked you, and coax him to consent, and 
 let me tell James when we return, it will make him so 
 happy." 
 
 The rather sad expression upon her mother's face gave 
 way to a smile, as she looked at the blushing girl, and 
 glanced from her to a young man near, who, conscious 
 that something had been said which would greatly affect 
 his " weal or woe," stood tracing, with the toe of his 
 wide boot, the bright color which was ingeniously 
 braided into the hearth rug.
 
 142 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 In another minute the door was shut, and the aged 
 couple were alone. For a short time they sat in silence, 
 the face of the mother again wore the pensive expression 
 which had become almost habitual, and her husband, 
 not feeling particularly cheerful himself, did not like to 
 interrupt her meditations. At length, however, he said, 
 come, wife, don't look so sad ; if Mary could speak to 
 us, she'd tell us she was far better off than when she was 
 in this wicked world, for she is in the presence of her 
 Saviour, and beholds his glory. It won't be long, eithefy 
 before you and I shall follow her. We've got most 
 through, wife, and we ought to be thankful that we have 
 the promise of a mansion above. We shall see all 
 our little ones when we reach that better land." 
 
 Tears flowed fast down the furrowed cheeks of Mrs* 
 Rand, as her husband thus spoke ; but they soothed her 
 excited feelings, and she replied, " Yes, husband, we've 
 almost lived out our allotted time, and I look forward 
 with trust in my Saviour, to the end of my journey ; but 
 our dear Mary was not the subject of my thoughts when 
 you spoke. I was thinking of Elizabeth." 
 
 " Of Elizabeth ! why then look so sorrowful ? The 
 very thought of her makes my old heart glad. Why, 
 when I'm out in the field mowing or ploughing, if my 
 bones ache, or I'm very weary, I just sit down on the 
 stump of a tree, and think of our Elizabeth ; and the 
 vision of her bright, happy face, her merry laugh, and, 
 more than aU, of her love for her poor old father and 
 mother, rests me a sight ; it's better than meat and drink 
 to me."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 143 
 
 " What shall you do, then, when she's gone ? " asked 
 the mother mournfully. 
 
 " Well," answered the father, swallowing a sob which 
 struggled up from his full heart, "we must make the 
 best of it. James is a right clever fellow, and he loves 
 our girl. Now that he's calculated upon having her for 
 so many years, I couldn't make up my mind to tell him 
 he must give her up." 
 
 " But, husband, wouldn't it be better for them to wait 
 a little longer ? What can we do without her ? " 
 
 " Do you remember what neighbor Gray's wife told 
 your mother the evening we had that famous quilting in 
 the old red house ? " l It's the way of the world,' says 
 she, ' and Scripter sanctions it. A man shall leave father 
 and mother and cleave to his wife, and if it's right for 
 him, it's right for her.' When I get clear down, about 
 Elizabeth's leaving us, I think o' that, and remember 
 that we shouldn't a thought 'twas right for any body to 
 have kept putting us off from year to year. But, wife, 
 I've been thinking this ere subject over and over nights, 
 for more'n a fortnight, and I've about come to the con- 
 clusion to set off half my farm and give James a clean 
 deed of it, providing he'll agree to fix up them north 
 rooms and live here." 
 
 " Oh, husband ! " almost screamed Mrs. Rand, her 
 face radiant with joy. 
 
 " Yes," continued the good old man, "we are growing 
 old and shall soon need somebody to take care of us, and 
 I've pretty nigh made up my mind to do it." 
 
 An hour after, when Elizabeth returned from singing- 
 school, and James loitered near the door, while she ra
 
 144 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 in to ascertain if there were any good news for him, 
 Mr. Rand called out from the bed-room, " Elizabeth, tell 
 James, as soon as he 's milked in the morning, to take 
 a walk over here, 'cause I want to see him on business ; 
 and tell him not to be frightened, 'cause it's nothing 
 alarmin'." 
 
 I cannot stop to tell of the whispering at the door, 
 nor how the young man's heart beat, as he walked 
 'home, cheered by the words of her he loved : " I know 
 'twas something pleasant, by the way father spoke." 
 Nor will I relate his thoughts during that long, sleepless 
 night. Suffice it to say, Brindle, and her associates, 
 were treated the next morning to a very early breakfast, 
 and, after being milked, were sent forth to enjoy the 
 beauties of a glorious sunrise, so that the young man 
 reached Rand Farm about half an hour before the owner 
 had left his bed. But Elizabeth considered this a most 
 fortunate occurrence, for, by means of his assistance, she 
 too soon finished her morning labors, and returned to 
 the house in season to hear what her father had to 
 say. 
 
 The young people were overjoyed at the plan, and 
 after consultation with the father and mother of James, 
 the carpenter and mason were called in to make some 
 slight alterations in the part of the house which was 
 to be given up to them. The north parlor was to be 
 newly painted and papered; and a door cut from the 
 entry into a large cheese-room, which was now to be 
 converted into a kitchen ; and such other improvements 
 made as the young people might suggest. All this was 
 in the month of August, and the wedding was appointed
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 145 
 
 for Thanksgiving-day. In answer to James's look of 
 dismay, when she mentioned so distant a time, Elizabeth 
 blushingly replied that she could n't get ready a mo- 
 ment sooner; and one who had witnessed the bustle 
 that commenced at the quiet farm-house, would have 
 supposed that three months, at least, would have been 
 requisite to restore order. 
 
 When the carpenters were fairly at work, and Eliza- 
 beth had fully expressed her wishes to them, she started 
 for the city, to be absent three days, for the purchase of 
 articles, too numerous to mention. She went directly to 
 the house of her aunt, and carried on her purchases 
 under her direction. James was awaiting her at the 
 tavern, at the time appointed for her return, with her 
 father's covered wagon, to take her home, a distance of 
 nearly two miles. He was rather shy of her at first, for 
 her three days in the city, on such important business as 
 the spending of fifty dollars, had given her an air of con- 
 fidence and smartness, which quite awed him. But as 
 soon as they were out of sight of the crowd around the 
 stage-coach, he said : " There, Elizabeth, these three days 
 were the longest that I ever see. Nothing goes well 
 when you 're away. It did n't seem right, somehow, to 
 have the sun shining, and the birds singing, when I was 
 so dull without you." 
 
 Oh, Elizabeth, how could you answer so coolly when 
 the thought that you were so dear to the large, warm, 
 honest heart, beating by your side, quickened every 
 pulse in your body, and sent the tell-tale blood to your 
 cheeks ! 
 
 " You'll soon be used to it," she answered, with as- 
 13
 
 146 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 sumed indifference, " for I must go again, and aunt says 
 'twill take me all of a week to get my things, for I 
 haven't bought a dollar's worth of my furniture, and aunt 
 has given me a silk dress on condition I'll come there and 
 have it made up in Boston style." 
 
 James sighed, as he wondered what the city aunt 
 would think of so awkward, ungainly a fellow as he 
 thought himself to be. 
 
 Wqpks and months flew by, amid the hurry of prepar- 
 ation for so great an event as the marriage and settle- 
 ment of then- only child. Mr. Rand had been to Squire 
 Jason on the hill, and the legal instruments were all pre- 
 pared, conveying to James Choate the farm bounded 
 thus and so, together with half the farm-house thereupon. 
 The neat parlor with its gay carpet, a present also from 
 the city aunt, and its row of nice cane-seated chairs ; the 
 closets with the shining dishes, the clothes-press where 
 the new silk hung side by side with a very suspicious 
 looking garment, in the form of a coat, all were in readi- 
 ness for their new master and mistress. James came and 
 went, smiling and coloring up to his ears, but somehow 
 not feeling so much at home in the new parlor, as in the 
 spacious kitchen where the familiar settle held out its 
 arms as to an old Mend. He was impatient for the time 
 when he could have Elizabeth all to himself, for now 
 there was so much to be done, and so many neighbors at 
 the farm helping to quilt, or to knot one more comforter, 
 that for a fortnight he had hardly found time to tell her 
 how grateful he was to his Father in heaven who had 
 given him so dear a friend, and the prospect of so pleas- 
 ant a home ; or how humble and ashamed he often felt,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 147 
 
 that he was no more worthy of her, knowing as he did, 
 that both Seth Hazen at the great store by the tavern 
 and the winter schoolmaster had been refused her hand. 
 On the evening in question, he had come to make some 
 final arrangements for the wedding, for it now wanted 
 but one week to Thanksgiving. 
 
 " In the first place," said Elizabeth, " you must call 
 and invite parson Green, or he may engage to go out of 
 town." $ 
 
 Poor James ! the bare idea of asking the minister to 
 come and marry him, made the perspiration start from 
 every pore in his body. Ever since the wedding-day had 
 been appointed, the poor bashful youth had trembled as 
 he thought of the dread ceremonies through which he 
 was to pass before he could claim Elizabeth as his own ; 
 but the idea had never occurred to him, that he must in- 
 vite the parson. 
 
 Little suspecting the cause of the silence of her lover, 
 Elizabeth went on to mention a variety of matters which 
 came under her own department, such as making a loaf 
 of bride-cake, putting up curtains, etc. 
 
 " And I," said James, " have a couple of loads of wood 
 to haul, and a new hen coop to make ; but Elizabeth," 
 he added, in a distressed voice, " couldn't I get somebody 
 to do the job with parson Green ? I'd rather plough the 
 toughest piece I ever see." 
 
 "Why?" said she, laughing merrily, "I hope you're 
 not ashamed of me." 
 
 Dread of the formidable business of the evening, en- 
 tirely took away the appetite of the young man through 
 the next day ; but with the courage of a martyr, at sun-
 
 148 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 down he donned his Sunday suit and proceeded to the 
 parsonage. "It will take but a minute," he thought, 
 " and then I can go down to the farm, easy in mind." 
 
 The clergyman was in his study, where his young son 
 ushered the visitor, and left him to his fate. At the end 
 of an hour, the good man began to manifest a little curi- 
 osity to know the business which had brought his young 
 parishioner to make him so long a call. The whole 
 subjdfcof crops and weather had been thoroughly dis- 
 cussed. Then the new singing school was brought for- 
 ward, and James agreed with his pastor that the appoint- 
 ment of Seth Hazen for a chorister was judicious. At 
 length the devoted clergyman feared his friend had met 
 with some discouragements in his spiritual progress, and 
 now he imagined, " I am right," for James, who had been 
 growing more and more reserved, entered with interest 
 into conversation of a religious nature. But when after 
 receiving gratefully much kind advice, he made no mo- 
 tion to depart, but only seemed the more embarrassed, 
 Mr. Green was at a greater loss than before. 
 
 In the mean time poor James sai twirling Ids hat, 
 which he refused to lay down on his entrance, upon th 
 plea of being " in something of a hurry." He grew very 
 red in the face, sometimes making up his mind to go 
 home and write to the parson, and then thinking 
 " 'twould take me all of a week to prepare such an epis- 
 tle," sometimes calling himself a fool to be so afraid, and 
 then wishing he were a thousand miles off, until in his 
 desperation he started up from his chair, saying, " I guess 
 I must go, I didn't calculate on staying so long ; but I
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 149 
 
 was afraid you might be out of town, and I've brought 
 you an invitation for Thanksgiving evening." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Mr. Green, quietly. 
 
 " And Elizabeth told me to invite your wife and all 
 the family," added the young man, while the blood seemed 
 actually ready to start out of his face. 
 
 Mr. Green now began to have an inkling of the truth. 
 " Ah ! " said he, " there's to be a wedding, is there ? I 
 suppose then I'm to go to Mr. Rand's. I und^fctood 
 you, it was your mother who was to have the com- 
 pany." 
 
 " I suppose so," answered James, " and they calculate 
 on seeing you all there." 
 
 Thanksgiving day dawned clear and bright. The 
 ground was covered with a light fall of snow, which 
 upon the foundation of well frozen earth, promised fine 
 sleighing. Mr. James Choate arose early, and after an 
 introduction of his successor to the office he had filled in 
 his father's stable and farm yard, gathered together and 
 packed into his chest what few articles belonging to him 
 remained about the house, a new trunk well filled with 
 shirts, flannels and- stockings from his mother, together 
 with four new linen bosoms stitched and ironed by the 
 skilful hands of his sister Kate, had been already con- 
 veyed to his new abode, and were laid neatly in the 
 chest of drawers appropriated to their use. Then the 
 young man waited rather impatiently for breakfast to be 
 placed upon the table. 
 
 " Come, James," said his mother, " this is your last 
 meal at home. I hope you don't begrudge us the time 
 to make it ready." 
 
 13*
 
 150 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 " No, mother," he replied, springing to her side, here, 
 let me pare these potatoes for you ; I reckon you'll miss 
 me some, and if ever you or father need a helping hand, 
 I shall be ready. You know 'tisn't my way to say 
 much ; but I an't the boy to forget ah 1 you've done for 
 me." After a moment he added, " Elizabeth told me 
 last night that her father said, 'twas everything for her to 
 marry into such a steady family. He said he'd rather 
 haveafer connected with the son of godly parents, who 
 had brought up their child to fear the Lord, than to have 
 a king for a son-in-law." 
 
 Mrs. Choate turned hastily away, to wipe a tear from 
 her eye with the corner of her apron, and answered, 
 " there, did he say that ? 'Twas kind of him anyhow. 
 Well, I hope, my boy, you'll be a good son to them, and 
 a kind husband to Elizabeth. It's a great thing for you 
 to get such a wife, and have such a setting out. There 
 an't a young man in town but would be glad to stand in 
 your place to-night." 
 
 "I know it, mother," and the young bridegroom's 
 breast heaved from the intensity of his emotions. After 
 laying down the knife and wiping the perspiration from 
 his forehead, he added, If God gives me strength and 
 grace to do it, I mean to show her, and her parents too, 
 that I'm not ungrateful." 
 
 Having breakfasted and joined with the family in their 
 morning devotions, during which the dear son, about to 
 leave the parental roof, was earnestly commended to the 
 care of a covenant keeping God, James harnessed the 
 horse into the sleigh, and having kissed his mother and 
 sister, and again reminded them to " come early, very
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 151 
 
 early," (for Kate was to be bridemaid,) he carried his 
 chest to the door, and with the help of the young man 
 who was to accompany him and drive back the horse, 
 lifted it in and drove away to his new home. 
 
 In the newly furnished north room, the wedding guests 
 were all assembled. There stood Mr. Choate the groom, 
 and his really pretty bride, decked in the Boston silk 
 with its new fashioned boddice and straight sleeves. By 
 their side was Katy, and the school-master, who ^found 
 much more favor in her eyes, than in those of her new 
 sister. Opposite them stood their beloved pastor, whom 
 old and young regarded with great respect, while the 
 sides of the room were lined with chairs brought from 
 every part of the house, and occupied by relatives and 
 friends. 
 
 This hour has been contemplated with dread by the 
 bashful James; but in the all-engrossing interest and 
 solemnity of the occasion, he has forgotten everything 
 save that he is now about to ratify in public, the vows 
 he has heretofore made, to love and cherish through all 
 the checkered scenes of this mortal life, the dear one 
 standing by his side. Unnoticing, or wholly indifferent 
 to the earnest gaze from the many eyes fixed upon him, 
 the young man, with a countenance expressive of high 
 and noble resolves, dedicates himself renewedly, first to 
 his Maker, and then to the promotion of her welfare and 
 happiness, who has so lovingly given him the best affec- 
 tions of her young heart. As the reverend pastor pro- 
 nounced them, " man and wife," the idea that he was 
 henceforth to be her protector as well as friend, caused 
 the tears to start to his eyes, and a gush of tenderness to 

 
 152 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 thrill his whole being, as with a respectful pressure of 
 her hand, which she was about to withdraw from his, he 
 placed it on his arm. The benediction was pronounced, 
 and the aged father and mother of Elizabeth came up 
 to salute and bless her who alone, of all their dear ones, 
 has been left to them. 
 
 Then followed the parents of the groom. " You did 
 well, my boy," whispered his mother, with an approving 
 nod, "and made your old mother's heart glad/' 
 
 After the young people had followed the example of 
 their elders, and sundry smiles and jokes had passed 
 between them, the door leading to the spacious kitchen 
 was thrown open and a long table was discovered, load- 
 ed with the most tempting viands, in the midst of which 
 was a large, beautifully frosted and decorated bride- 
 cake. 
 
 Of these good things, both young and old appeared 
 nothing loath to partake ; and, with the assistance of the 
 young men, the chairs were brought from the parlor, and 
 all were soon seated at the table. 
 
 Poor James ! Now he became fully alive to the 
 awkwardness of his situation. Seated, with his bride, 
 in a conspicuous place, near the head of the table, and 
 being made the incessant subject of jokes and remarks, 
 during the discussion of the ample repast, he became 
 more and more confused, was constantly obliged to 
 resort to his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration, 
 which stood in drops upon his forehead, and heartily 
 wished his friends would take some more private 
 opportunity to express their congratulations and kind 
 wishes.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE GOOD HUSBAND. 
 
 Two years have passed since the scenes related in the 
 foregoing chapter. It is now August. The afternoon is 
 intensely hot, while scarcely a breath of air is stirring. 
 Mrs. Rand is seated in her neat kitchen, and presents 
 the very picture of rural comfort. Let us enter, and 
 renew our acquaintance with her. The sun, which is so 
 cheerful a visitor to the aged people during the early 
 part of the day, has gone on in his daily march, and now 
 shines upon the opposite side of the house ; the blinds 
 are closed, the yellow painted floor swept so carefully 
 that not one speck of dust can be seen ; the chimney is 
 concealed by a huge pitcher filled with asparagus and 
 flox ; the small stand, on which for years has laid the 
 sacred law of the household, is in its place in the corner, 
 and near it, seated in a low rocking-chair, whose musical 
 creaking has soothed many a babe to sleep, sits the good 
 old lady whom we have come to visit. Her neatly 
 frilled cap, with its broad band of black ribbon, her 
 short, white, loose gown over a black skirt show that, in 
 her dress, she studies comfort rather than fashion. With 
 her foot upon the rocker of a cradle, and her steel-bowed 
 glasses upon the end of her *nose, the aged dame alter- 
 nately reads a few lines from her favorite paper or 
 imitates the example of Master Jimmy, in the cradle, 
 
 (153) 

 
 154 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 and the large tabby, lying asleep on the rug at her 
 side. 
 
 In the meantime, the young mother has taken an um- 
 brella to shield her from the scorching rays of the sun, 
 and gone out into the orchard, behind the house, to 
 gather a bowl of blackberries for tea. At the end of the 
 orchard is a meadow, and there her husband and father 
 are at work pitching into the wagon their last load of 
 hay. 
 
 Having filled her bowl, Elizabeth turned, for a mo- 
 ment, toward the green meadow, to ascertain how soon 
 they would finish, when she was surprised to see the 
 hired boy, who was raking after the cart, leave his work 
 and come running toward the house. She was too far 
 off to distinguish objects distinctly, but supposing that he 
 had been sent by her husband for a fresh supply of sweet- 
 ened water, she walked slowly toward him. As soon as 
 he saw her, he made signs for her to approach quickly, 
 and called out, when near enough for her to hear, " Oh, 
 Miss Choate, your father's in a fit, and your husband 
 and Mr. Sanders are bringing him home." 
 
 Elizabeth grew very pale, and had a faint feeling at 
 her heart, but the necessity for immediate action con- 
 quered this, and only stopping for one earnest glance 
 toward the figures of two men who were bearing the 
 insensible body toward her, she darted forward to the 
 house. Mrs. Rand had sunk into a profound sleep, but 
 Elizabeth quickly roused her, saying, " Mother, father is 
 not well, and James is assisting him home." 
 
 So suddenly awakened, the poor old lady started up as 
 if she supposed herself under the influence of some fright-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 155 
 
 ful dream, while her daughter fled to the bedroom, and 
 saw that everything was prepared for him to be placed 
 upon the bed. She then begged her mother to be calm, 
 and ran out to meet her husband. 
 
 The countenance of the good patriarch indeed resem- 
 bled death, as his dutiful son bore him gently across 
 the neat kitchen and placed him upon his lowly 
 couch. As he lay wholly insensible, Mrs. Rand threw 
 herself upon the bed beside him, with passionate excla- 
 mations of grief, and necessity alone prevented her 
 daughter from following her example, the noise having 
 awaked the baby, and the young mother being obliged 
 to restrain her manifestations of sorrow, and attend to 
 his wants ; so that upon James devolved the duty, first 
 of sending the boy on horseback for the Doctor, and 
 then of doing all that could be done for the poor sufferer. 
 With the tenderness of a woman he bathed the cold, 
 damp brow, untied his neckerchief, and chafed his 
 hands, and ever and anon bent down his ear to listen 
 to his feeble breathing. 
 
 Fortunately the messenger met the physician, and 
 sooner than they had any reason to expect, he entered 
 the room. Mrs. Rand arose from her humble posture at 
 his entrance, and with tears unconsciously flowing down 
 her cheeks, caught his hand, led him to the bed, and 
 whispered, " Oh, Doctor, do save him. I can't be left 
 alone." 
 
 Doctor Bond soon ascertained that his patient was 
 suffering from an attack of paralysis, and resorted to the 
 most rigorous treatment, which soon resulted in his 
 being restored to partial consciousness. In the course
 
 156 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 of a few hours he recognized each one of the anxious 
 faces bent so lovingly over him, and smiled, but could 
 not speak. 
 
 The following day he evidently considered himself 
 dying, and it was really affecting to witness his efforts to 
 articulate some parting words. At length they under- 
 stood that he wished to hear a few verses from his favor- 
 ite psalm, and James read aloud, beginning, " The Lord 
 is my shepherd, I shall not want." The good old man 
 listening as if his very soul were drinking in the consol- 
 ing truths. 
 
 During the second night he lay in such a deep stupor, 
 breathing very heavily, that the physician was hastily 
 summoned, as his friends feared he was dying. But by 
 the application of powerful draughts to his feet, and a 
 blister to the back of his neck, he again revived, and was 
 able to take a few teaspoonfuls of nourishment. 
 
 The next day, as his afflicted wife and children were 
 by his side, he opened his eyes, and looking with the ut- 
 most tenderness upon her, who for forty-two years ha<? 
 shared with him life's joys and sorrows, he feebly mur- 
 mured, in broken accents, " I'm going home. Jesus 
 will bring you safely there. Don't mourn for me," he 
 added later, " My Saviour will be with me through the 
 dark valley. I'm full of peace and joy here," laying his 
 right hand upon his breast. 
 
 At night, finding himself alone for one moment with 
 his dutiful son-in-law, he said, " James, you have been 
 a good son to me. I leave her to your care. Be gentle 
 with her, for she will be lonely, and so will Elizabeth
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 157 
 
 too. She's a good girl, and I've often thanked God for 
 giving her so kind a husband." 
 
 Poor James ! Through the long days and nights since 
 his good father-in-law fell fainting over his rake in the 
 field, he had scarcely left his side. It was he who so 
 gently raised him in his bed, smoothed his pillows, ad- 
 ministered his medicine, and fed him with what simple 
 drink he was able to swallow. Above all, it was James 
 who, while his own heart was swelling with grief, spoke 
 words of comfort to the invalid, pointing him to the bles- 
 sed land he appeared about to enter. It was James, also, 
 who soothed the hopeless sorrow of the aged wife, and 
 by cheerful tones, sought to allay the almost frantic grief 
 of the weeping daughter. He seemed all at once en- 
 dowed with qualities they never knew he possessed, so 
 calm, so self-relying, so gentle and efficient had he be- 
 come in the performance of the new duties which had 
 devolved upon him. 
 
 But in that midnight hour, when he bent over the aged 
 man who had been to him so loving a father, and re- 
 ceived what he supposed might be his last charge and his 
 last benediction, he was wholly overcome. He covered 
 his face with his hands, while his whole frame shook 
 with emotion. He realized what a friend was about to 
 be taken from them, and at the same time he resolved by 
 the grace of God to fulfil the solemn trust reposed in 
 him : to be a dutiful son, and an affectionate husband to 
 the afflicted wife and daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Rand, as we have seen at the commencement of 
 
 our story, was rather of a melancholy temperament. 
 
 Having been deprived by death of one after another of 
 
 14
 
 158 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 her children, until only Elizabeth remained, she was apt 
 to indulge in feelings of gloom and despondence from 
 which it required all her husband's native cheerfulness to 
 arouse her. Her daughter inherited this tendency, and 
 during her fathers sickness, even after the physician be- 
 gan to express a hope that he might partially recover, 
 could never be induced to share her husband's hopeful 
 trust, that ah 1 things would be ordered for their good. 
 
 I have to-day received a call from Mrs. Wells and 
 Henry. He is just on the point of embarking for Europe 
 on a tour, which he postponed since last summer, because 
 he intends to remain in Germany for several years. I 
 was at first painfully embarrassed at the meeting, espe- 
 cially as my husband was from home ; but Mrs. Wells, 
 by conversing upon indifferent topics, soon put me at 
 ease. But even now my heart aches as I think of poor 
 Henry. He is extremely thin, and scarcely smiled during 
 the call. I cannot but think he regretted the interview, 
 though when he went out, he said it would be a satisfac- 
 tion to him to have seen me once more. After His 
 mother got into the carriage, he returned to the door 
 where I stood, and taking my hand, led me back a step 
 into the entry. " Susan," he said, in a broken voice, and 
 apparently with great effort, " I trust you will not be dis- 
 pleased at my coming to bid you farewell. Something 
 tells me that I shall never return, that this will be our last 
 meeting, and ." 
 
 " Oh, Henry!" I exclaimed, interrupting him, " Don't 
 give way to such despondency. I hope to see you many, 
 many times, and before long I hope to hear that you are
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 159 
 
 happily settled. " I tried to speak cheerfully ; but my 
 voice failed me, and my eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 He shook his head sadly, and then asked suddenly, 
 " are you happy, Susan ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, softly, " I am very happy, except when 
 I remember that I have caused you pain," and I could not 
 keep back my tears. 
 
 " Bless you for those tears," he said, quickly, " but in- 
 deed I must go ; I am only giving you pain. If you 
 could realize how I shall live upon these last words ; how 
 I shall treasure up every kind expression of interest, you 
 would give me at least the poor consolation of bidding 
 you farewell." 
 
 " Henry," I said, as I held out my hand, " you are dear 
 as an own brother to me. I never, never shall forget you, 
 nor cease to wish for your happiness, and," I added, in a 
 lower voice, " every night I pray that you may become a 
 follower of Jesus." With a sudden thought, I stepped 
 back to the parlor, and took from the table a small Bible 
 with clasps, the same my father gave me on my birth-day. 
 This I put into his hand as I said, " Dear Henry, will you 
 read this daily for my sake ? " 
 
 " I will," he answered, firmly, then with a warm pres- 
 sure of my hand, he darted from the house. I watched 
 the chaise until it turned into another street, and then 
 hastened to my chamber. When my husband returned 
 an hour later, I had cried myself almost into hysterics. 
 He was really alarmed, and proposed going at once for 
 the physician ; but I declined, and by the aid of his qui- 
 eting voice, and soothing attentions, I was soon able to 
 control myself, and to give him an account of what had 

 
 160 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 passed. I loved him better than ever, when I found how 
 truly he sympathized with me in my sorrow for Henry, 
 and how earnestly he approved all that I had said and 
 done. But as I became composed, I noticed that he 
 grew more serious, until at tea he scarcely spoke. Di- 
 rectly after prayers he asked me to go with him to the 
 study, where he placed me by his side, and with the ut- 
 most tenderness, said, " Susan, do you remember the 
 night when you came home from Squire Wells's after 
 Henry's return ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, wondering what was to follow. 
 " You then said you had always loved Henry as a friend ; 
 but you were not sure whether you loved him as a suitor, 
 and that if he were a Christian, you probably should 
 marry him." 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " Is there no feeling in your heart, my own wife, of 
 sorrow or regret at the answer you gave him the next 
 day?" 
 
 I will not say what I replied, but judging from his 
 brightening face, and his earnest thanks, I presume he 
 was satisfied. 
 
 Yesterday was the fourth of July. I was just hesitat- 
 ing on account of the heat, whether to accept an invita- 
 tion from my husband, to go home for a few hours, when 
 a chaise stopped at the gate, and Thomas with Eleanor 
 made their appearance. They stayed to tea and rode 
 home by moonlight, but their errand was to bring me a 
 beautiful silky spaniel, which belonged to Henry. It 
 was given to him when it was a puppy, four years ago,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 161 
 
 and has been his constant companion ever since. He 
 taught the little creature to eat from my hand, and to 
 obey my call, and as I caressed her she soon followed me 
 almost as readily as her master. Eleanor told me her 
 brother sailed last week, and that he sent Moselle home 
 by a friend who saw him on board the vessel. 
 
 " Read her the message in the letter," exclaimed 
 Thomas, and after Mr. Gordon had repeated the wish, 
 she took the letter from her pocket and read the post- 
 script. " Will you deliver Moselle to Susan, with the 
 following message : ' To the dearest friend of my child- 
 hood and youth, I commit my faithful companion, with 
 the hope that she may sometimes call to mind the wan- 
 derer from country and home.' " 
 
 I begged Eleanor to leave the whole letter which con- 
 tained his plans, for me to peruse, and she did so. 
 
 This afternoon I accompanied my husband to Rand 
 farm, to pay my last respects to the dead. The aged suf- 
 ferer was attacked on Monday with another shock of 
 paralysis, and died the next morning, without reviving 
 from the stupor. Mr. Gordon called the same evening, 
 and found the family in great affliction. Mrs. Rand \vas 
 wholly overcome, and her daughter, Mrs. Choate, seemed 
 incapable of soothing her. Upon her husband there came 
 all the care, both of his own family and the preparations 
 for the funeral ; and Mr. Gordon says he nobly discharged 
 these duties. At the funeral I had an opportunity of 
 seeing something of the manner in which he relieves his 
 wife from care. The eldest child is, I should think, about 
 two years old. He sat during the exercises very quietly 
 in his father's lap, until Mr. pordon arose for prayer, 
 14*
 
 162 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ' 
 
 when a loud cry from the kitchen called the weeping 
 father from the room, taking the child with him. The 
 baby had awaked from its nap, and was afraid of the 
 kind neighbor who had offered to take care of it. I 
 heard the father's voice, from my seat near the door, and 
 his tones of affection, as he walked softly across the floor, 
 soon produced quiet. Before the prayer was concluded 
 he had again laid the child to sleep in the cradle, and 
 softly opened the door to listen to the devotions. All 
 this would have been perfectly natural with a mother, 
 but in the case of this young farmer, I confess it really 
 affected me. I stepped forward, as the mourners were 
 called to take their last look at their dead, and took my seat 
 by the cradle, motioning him to go to his wife. With a 
 very expressive " thank you," he left me, and giving his 
 arm to his weeping mother, led her to the entry where 
 the coffin was placed upon a table. He then returned 
 and accompanied his wife, after which the names were 
 called out for the relatives to proceed to the grave. Mr. 
 Choate returned to the kitchen for his hat, and to see if 
 the neighbor would remain. " I will take care of the 
 baby," I said, as he glanced anxiously around the room. 
 " I will remain until you return." Mr. Gordon came to 
 find me ; but I begged him to accompany Mrs. Rand, 
 and give her his arm for support. When all were gone 
 except the boy who works upon the farm, I laid aside my 
 bonnet and shawl, and made preparation for the awak- 
 ing of the little miss. But by constant rocking she slept 
 until a few minutes before their return, and then she 
 awoke so good natured that it was easy to cultivate her 
 acquaintance. When my husband entered with the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 163 
 
 widowed mourner, I was holding the young lady before 
 the small mirror, and introducing her to her own image, 
 with which she was so much pleased that she cooed with 
 delight. Mr. Choate came forward, and the child sprang 
 almost out of my arms in her joy at seeing him. After 
 a few words of sympathy to Mrs. Rand and her daugh- 
 ter, we took our leave.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TWINS, FAITHFUL MOSELLE, AND THE WELCOME LETTER. 
 
 THIS morning I happened to go to my desk, and there 
 saw my long-neglected journal, and the perusal of its 
 pages has carried me back so vividly to old times, and 
 given me so much pleasure that I have determined to 
 continue it as opportunity may occur. It was in July, 
 I think, that I last wrote, and now it is January. How 
 much has occurred during these few months which have 
 intervened ! In September my dear husband was at- 
 tacked with a return of pleurisy in his side. His suf- 
 ferings were dreadful; I could hardly endure the 
 sight ; and yet nothing could induce me to leave him. 
 No, not even his own request, for he was very unwilling 
 to have me with him ; and in the midst of his agony 
 would try to repress his groans lest they might add to 
 my distress. How quickly he assured me he was re- 
 lieved, the moment the pain began to abate! How 
 anxious he was, lest in my desire to administer to 
 him I should injure myself! But I was graciously sup- 
 ported through it, and found abundant reason for grati- 
 tude in the abounding kindness of our people. Mrs. 
 Hall was truly a mother to me, both at that time, and 
 also when, a month later, my hour of maternity drew 
 near. On the sixth day of October a precious gift from 
 heaven was sent us. Two sweet cherubs came to en- 
 
 '164) 
 
 '
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 165 
 
 liven our home. Oh, may it be our constant endeavor 
 to prepare them to return to their home in the skies ! In 
 his tenderness and love toward our little ones, I find 
 fresh reason to be thankful for such a companion. His 
 whole character is softened and subdued by it, and his 
 soul seems to go out in prayer to God, that their lives 
 may be spared, and that they may be fitted for usefulness 
 here, and happiness hereafter. I remember well the first 
 time I was able to ride out, and reluctantly left my babes 
 for an hour. We approached a house where a woman was 
 holding an infant in the doorway. Mr. Gordon rode up 
 and asked how old it was, and when he found it was 
 near the age of our twin babes, he requested leave to take 
 it and pass it to me. With what delight we viewed the 
 little hands and feet, and compared them with the tiny 
 rounded limbs we left at home ! The young woman, 
 who was an aunt of the child, was evidently much grati- 
 fied at the attention, a feeling I can well understand, for 
 it would be very easy to win my love through fondness 
 to my babes. In addition to Nora, I have now a young 
 girl of nineteen, who so far proves to be a excellent cook. 
 Nora is advanced to the situation of nurse, and faithfully 
 do she and Moselle fulfil the trust reposed in them. My 
 husband and I have often bee/i amused at the steadiness 
 and sobriety of demeanor manifested by Moselle, since 
 she has taken the crib in charge. Before this she was 
 very frolicsome, after she found she was among friends, 
 and would run jumping upon us, if we were going out, 
 begging to accompany us ; and whenever she heard my 
 husband's voice, would start from sleep, and run joyfully 
 to meet him. But now, though she often springs from the 

 
 166 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 mat, raises her silky ears, and listens intently, yet she 
 immediately turns back to the crib, as if she would say, 
 " I should be glad to welcome you, but I have more im- 
 portant duties to discharge." While I am nursing and 
 tending my sweet little treasures, Moselle and I often 
 have very long talks about her former master. It would 
 be difficult to convince me that she does not understand 
 what I say. At the name Henry, or Wells, she is all 
 attention, and at first used to look wistfully at the door 
 as if she would try to find him ; but now she comes to 
 stand by my side, and when I say, " poor Moselle, Henry 
 all gone," she gazes mournfully into my face ; but if I 
 change my tone and repeat, " Henry will come back 
 some time," she commences the most violent demonstra- 
 tions of joy. About a month since Mrs. Wells, with 
 George, drove over to see me. Moselle was almost be- 
 side herself with delight, and kept running back and 
 forth, as if expecting Henry. Mrs. Wells was really 
 affected when I talked to the little creature, and George 
 urged me to give the dog to him, when Mr. Gordon, 
 seeing my unwillingness to part with her, playfully an- 
 swered for me, that she had become so important a part 
 of our family we could not think of parting with her ; 
 and he called her caressingly to him, as he added, " even 
 if for the sake of the giver we did not value her so 
 highly." When they left, however, George tried many 
 experiments to coax Moselle away with him, and the 
 poor creature seemed almost distracted with conflicting 
 emotions ; with a desire to go in the hope of finding Henry, 
 and a wish to stay with the babes. At last, however, 
 a sense of duty prevailed, and with a most demure look
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 167 
 
 of regret, she returned firmly to the nursery, and lay 
 down by my side. I placed the small velvety hand on 
 her head, and called her " my good Moselle, my faithful 
 Moselle!" 
 
 We have to-day had quite a pleasant excursion to the 
 shore, with a party of friends. I carried bathing clothes 
 for the little girls, and took them with us into the water. 
 As they have been daily in the habit of taking a cold 
 bath, they were not much frightened, but caught their 
 breath when their father plunged them one by one into 
 the surf. After wandering for some time on the pearly 
 beach, and picking up shells and bright stones, we joined 
 the rest of our party, who were seated behind a great 
 rock, and nearly ready for the discussion of the chowder 
 which they had prepared. 
 
 On my return I was surprised to see Nora standing at 
 the gate watching for us. She followed me up into the 
 nursery and put a letter into my hand. Before I proceed 
 to tell what it contained, I must relate what had occurred 
 a few months previous. Upon going to the nursery one 
 day, after having been out making calls upon our peo- 
 ple, I found Nora in tears. For some time she sobbed 
 so violently that I could obtain no satisfactory account 
 of the cause of her grief; but at length she took a letter 
 from her pocket and gave it to me to read. The letter 
 was from a relative " at home," as she always calls her 
 native Erin, and contained the intelligence of the death 
 of her only brother. The poor girl was very much 
 affected, but at length was composed enough to tell me 
 about the family he had left, which consisted of a wife
 
 168 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 and three children. The good girl, with that warm 
 hearted generosity which so distinguishes the inhabi- 
 tants of that green sunny isle, immediately began to lay 
 plans whereby she could contribute to their support. A 
 new bonnet neatly trimmed with delicate purple ribbon, 
 which hung in the window of the milliner's shop, had long 
 been the object of her especial desire, and on the week 
 preceding the reception of the letter, she had inquired the 
 price and partly engaged it. This bonnet she at once 
 concluded to relinquish and send the amount, it would 
 have cost, to her deceased brother's wife, adding with an 
 affecting tone as I began gently to expostulate, " Indeed 
 ma'am, and I couldn't have the heart to be wearing that 
 pretty hat, and my only brother lying in the cold grave." 
 
 I advised her to wait until I could 'write to her sister- 
 in-law, asking for particulars of her brother's death, and 
 a statement of their circumstances. This I did without 
 delay, and the answer she had just received. As the let- 
 ter was directed to my care, and she could by the utmost 
 attention, barely spell it out, she had preferred to wait 
 for me to read it to her. 
 
 Helen was climbing into my lap, I took her upon my 
 knee, and broke open the seal, when my eye fell upon 
 the name at the bottom of the page. 
 
 From your affectionate brother, 
 
 "JOHN ROBERTS." 
 
 "With my heart beating quickly in sympathy with the 
 joy which was in store for her, I asked as calmly as I 
 could, What was your brother's name, Nora?" 
 
 " John, ma'am, John Roberts."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 169 
 
 I pointed to the name at the close of the letter. 
 
 She gazed earnestly at it for a moment, before she 
 could comprehend the joyful fact, then burst into tears, 
 as she exclaimed, my brother is alive ! Oh, I thank 
 God!" Her face grew pale with the intensity of her 
 emotions, and her lip quivered as I read the affectionate 
 epistle from her brother, in answer to the one I wrote. 
 It was the death of his son by the same name, which had 
 caused the mistake of the relative who wrote her, and of 
 which he gave a particular account. He also informed 
 her that he was in good business and able to provide 
 well for his family, and enclosed her a curl of hair from 
 the head of his baby, which he had named for their de- 
 ceased mother. 
 
 Poor Nora sat on the very edge of the chair, with 
 parted lips, gazing into my face until I had finished, 
 when she took the little curl, pressed it passionately to 
 her lips, and heaved a deep sigh of relief. No little inci- 
 dent has affected me so much for a long time. The kind 
 and sisterly feelings she has manifested, have greatly in- 
 creased my respect for her. 
 
 15
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WHIPPED WIFE. 
 
 FOR a few weeks my husband has been much tried by 
 a case which has come before the church, of a member 
 who has ill-used his wife, who indeed does not hesitate 
 to say that he has wipped her, and who claims a right 
 to do so. She is naturally a woman of violent temper ; 
 but if ever so amiable, I think the treatment she has re- 
 ceived, would be enough to rouse her. The name of tho 
 man is Philip Winn, and from the examination of the 
 case, by a committee of the church, to whom it was re- 
 ferred, it seems that her father was a wealthy farmer, 
 who employed him to work upon the farm. The young 
 people became attached, but when young Winn applied 
 to his master for liberty to marry his daughter, the old 
 man was excessively angry, and forbade him the house. 
 This course, however, only served to strengthen the af- 
 fection existing between them. Dorothy, whose wishes 
 had never been crossed, did not for one moment think of 
 yielding to her parents' commands to forget her lover as 
 quickly as possible. She continued to meet him by 
 stealth, and at the expiration of a month, consented to 
 leave her pleasant home and indulgent friends, for one 
 who was comparatively a stranger, who easily convinced 
 her that her parents would soon be reconciled, when they 
 knew she was really married. 
 
 (170)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 171 
 
 But in this, the young pair found they had deceived 
 themselves. The father and mother persisted in their 
 refusal to meet their daughter or to forgive her disobe- 
 dience and ingratitude ; and, after lingering in the same 
 town a number of weeks, the young couple con- 
 cluded to return to Mr. Winn's native State. About a 
 year after her marriage, Dorothy was seated in the small 
 room which her husband's limited means enabled him to 
 hire, when she was startled by hearing a low knock at 
 the half open door. Before she could reach it, a woman 
 entered with a young child in her arms, which she laid 
 upon he table, wrapped up closely in blankets. The 
 wild and haggard appearance of the woman would have 
 startled a person of stronger nerves than Dorothy, who 
 could hardly find voice to ask : " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Want," repeated the beggar; " I want everything 
 food and clothes for myself and baby ! I 've walked 
 fourteen miles to-day with that great lump of a child ; 
 for one of my neighbors brought me word from Philip 
 that he could n't give me money, but if I would bring 
 the boy he would support him, and I could go to work." 
 
 " What has my husband to do with your child ? " 
 asked Mrs. Winn, starting to her feet, her eyes sparkling, 
 and her nostrils dilating. 
 
 " You better ask him that question. If he tells the 
 truth, he '11 say that the child is his own, and that he is 
 more my husband than he is yours, for I was all but 
 married to him when he went away, to be gone but a 
 few weeks," and the poor creature sank into a chair, 
 and hid her face in the tattered shawl which partly 
 covered her person. In the midst of her overpowering
 
 172 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 indignation at the deceit her husband had practised 
 upon her, and her horror at his vile character, she could 
 not resist an emotion of compassion for the trembling 
 form before her, and was just about to express some 
 words of sympathy, when they were both startled by 
 the appearance of Mr. Winn at the door. 
 
 At one glance he comprehended the whole scene, and 
 determined what course to pursue. " Is that you, 
 Molly," he inquired, advancing into the room. " Ho, 
 what have you got there, rolled up so tight ? " he said, 
 glancing at the child, and making an attempt to smile. 
 
 The woman arose, took off the coarse blanket, and 
 without a word laid the sleeping babe in his father's 
 arms. 
 
 Notwithstanding his criminal conduct toward the 
 mother, and his base desertion of her, the father's heart 
 was touched ; a softened expression stole over his fea- 
 tures as he passed his hand, softly, over the little head 
 lying on his arm. " It 's a very pretty baby," he said, 
 with an inquiring glance at his wife, who deigned no 
 reply. " Well, Molly, what are you going to do with 
 it," he asked, after a moment of awkward silence; 
 " can't you take care of the little fellow ? " 
 
 The question restored the mother's voice. " Take 
 care of it! Yes ; it's like tearing my limbs asunder to 
 give him up, and if you'll provide me food and clothes 
 for him, and leave him with me, I '11 forgive all the sin 
 and shame you 've brought upon me." 
 
 Mr. Winn shook his head. "I can't support two 
 families. It 's hard work enough for me to support one. 
 But you may leave the boy here ; wife and I will take
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 173 
 
 care of it, and you can go out to service, and earn some, 
 thing for yourself, and enough to clothe the boy." 
 
 " Never," said Mrs. Winn, in a voice so full of passion 
 that Molly caught her child to her breast. " Never, 
 while /live!" 
 
 " We '11 see about that," replied her husband, with a 
 sneer. He did see about it, and the child remained ; and 
 though in her husband's presence Mrs. Winn never took 
 the least notice of it, yet her woman's heart yearned 
 over the playful little fellow; and her many hours of 
 solitude, while her husband was about his work, were 
 enlivened by her increasing fondness for the child. 
 
 Molly went out to work in the neighborhood ; and, 
 occasionally, Mrs. Winn saw her, at dusk, watching 
 about the house to catch a glimpse at her boy. But she 
 never suspected, until nearly a year afterward, when 
 her little girl was ten months' old, that her husband's 
 sinful affection for the poor woman continued. At the 
 end of that time, a second scene occurred, similar to the 
 first, except that the criminal parties were more 
 hardened in their guilt, and the abused wife was 
 now entirely devoid of compassion for the guilty woman, 
 who had a second time become a mother. She now posi- 
 tively refused to have anything to do with the helpless 
 babe, who was not more than six weeks' old. No 
 threats or entreaties prevailed ; the child should not be 
 left under her roof. 
 
 Soon after this, she was persuaded by her husband to 
 remove to this State, where, he had been informed, he 
 could obtain much larger wages ; and, after a few years, 
 
 settled in B , bringing with them not only her own 
 
 15*
 
 174 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 children, but the little boy who had been left in her 
 care. Since they have lived here, they have been con- 
 sidered good people ; and, as they brought letters from 
 the church, where they last lived, they were received into 
 ours. Of late, however, the family, who reside in the 
 other part of the house, have heard loud talking and 
 quarrelling, which, at length, on his part, proceeded to 
 blows. "When my husband called upon her, she showed 
 him the marks of abusive treatment on her arms and 
 neck. The case has been before the church for more 
 than a week. To-morrow, Mrs. Winn, who was turned 
 out of her own house by her husband, just before the 
 matter was taken up, is coming to pass the day at 
 the Parsonage, as my husband wishes me to have 
 some conversation with her before the meeting of the 
 committee here, in the evening. Seldom has anything 
 occasioned so much talk in our quiet village. 
 
 Mrs. Winn reached the Parsonage about ten o'clock. 
 Poor woman ! she has my warmest sympathies. From 
 several interviews I have had with her heretofore, I have 
 supposed her to be very passionate in her temper, and 
 probably equally to blame as her husband, for the un- 
 happiness existing between them. But though I cannot, 
 now, esteem her wholly innocent, indeed, she is frank 
 to confess her haste of temper, yet, I believe there are 
 few who would have endured the treatment she has 
 received without wholly sinking under it. Besides 
 relating many particulars which were not contained in 
 the papers, she told me that, during the past ten years, 
 she had frequently received money from her parents;
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 175 
 
 but that he always had taken the letters from the office 
 and appropriated the money to his own use, not even 
 telling her he had received it, except, as she expressed it, 
 4 to 'aggravate ' her when it was all gone. She said she 
 had been bitterly punished for her hasty marriage, and 
 disobedience to her parents, by the conduct of her own 
 children ; for when she endeavored to train them as she 
 herself was taught, to habits of decency and propriety, 
 he took part against her, until not one of them paid any 
 attention to her wishes or commands. She had truly 
 brought upon herself one of the severest trials I can 
 imagine, and that is, being married to a man whom she 
 can neither respect nor love. She says, and this was 
 confirmed before the church, that he is in the constant 
 habit of using the vilest expressions before her and the 
 children, and even before neighbors who come in. And 
 all this time the great majority of the church have sup- 
 posed him a good man, and have listened to his exhorta- 
 tions at the weekly prayer meetings with interest. She 
 told me yesterday the reason she never went to those 
 meetings, which was that she could not endure his hypoc- 
 ricy, and that he often returned home and boasted what 
 a good speech he had made. After all, I think she must 
 have some kind of affection for him, for she wept as she 
 showed me a large green spot on her arm, where he had 
 pinched her, and said that he himself confessed after- 
 ward that he was sorry for it. " Oh ! " she exclaimed, 
 " if I could only keep my tongue still when he begins to 
 abuse me, I would give all I have in the world ! " She 
 then gave one instance when she endeavored to do this. 
 " A few weeks ago," she said, " I was sitting with my
 
 176 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 sewing by the fire. It was about nine o' clock in the 
 evening. I had been thinking and thinking until I was 
 almost crazy ; but at last I grew more calm, and deter- 
 mined to see if I could restrain my temper. If I did so, 
 I knew I must keep my mouth shut ; so when I heard his 
 step down the street I dropped my work and sank upon 
 my knees to ask God to help me to bear patiently what- 
 ever he might say. When he opened the door I looked 
 up at him and tried to smile, but calling me a vile name 
 he took down his pipe and began to smoke. I felt angry 
 enough to answer back in the same strain; but I bit 
 my lips and continued my sewing. 
 
 " ' What's the game now ? ' he asked contemptuously, 
 'out with it. None of your sulks.'" But I persisted in 
 not answering, though as he went on, my lips bled where 
 my teeth had entered. I never saw him so angry in my 
 life. He declared he'd kill me if I didn't answer him, 
 and so I had to give up," she added with a deep sigh, 
 " and when I once began I couldn't stop until I'd told 
 him all I'd been thinking of, how he took me away from 
 my pleasant home, and had ever since rendered me the 
 most miserable being in the wide world." 
 
 What could I say to comfort her? My eyes were 
 overflowing in sympathy with hers ; but my voice was 
 mute. 
 
 In the evening six gentlemeji met in the parlor, and as 
 she was the only female, I reluctantly consented to her 
 wishes, to remain by her side. I seated her in a rocking- 
 chair, and placed a chair on the opposite side of the room 
 for her husband. When Nora opened the door below, 
 and she heard the voice which last she had heard a? he
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 177 
 
 ordered her to leave his house forever, the poor woman 
 fell back in her chair, and grew so pale that I ran to the 
 nursery for cologne, with which I bathed her head. 
 After a few minutes' conversation in the parlor, the 
 committee accompanied my husband to the study; but 
 Mrs. Winn put her handkerchief before her face. After 
 a short prayer, for guidance in the case before them, one 
 of the gentlemen proposed some questions to Mr. Winn, 
 who commenced, though in rather an embarrassed man- 
 ner, to speak of his strong affection for his wife. He 
 soon became quite eloquent in his imaginary sketch of 
 his feelings, and called her by the most endearing terms, 
 " my own dear wife ! " " my dear Dorothy ! " 
 
 In the mean time, she had uncovered her face, leaned 
 forward in her chair, and with her lips parted was 
 eagerly listening to this unusual language of tender- 
 ness ! At length, with an expression half-comic, half- 
 tragic, but in which she was evidently sincere, she 
 burst out : " O, I never heard so fine a speech in all 
 my life ! Why can't you talk so at home ? " 
 
 The embarrassment of the poor man at his sudden 
 downfall was so ludicrous that, notwithstanding the 
 grave import of the meeting, every member of the com- 
 mittee laughed aloud ; and nothing but my sympathy 
 for the poor wife, as she suddenly recollected that she 
 had " spoke in the*meeting," prevented me from joining 
 with them. After Mr. and Mrs. Winn were dismissed 
 from the room, the committee were by themselves, until 
 a late hour, and at length were obliged, by the evidence 
 before them, to cut the husband off from communion 
 with our church, until such time as he shall manifest
 
 178 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 sincere contrition for his past course, and a determina- 
 tion to live differently in future. 
 
 My husband was requested to draw up a letter, to be 
 read to Mrs. Winn, whereby the church sympathize with 
 her in her trials ; but also censure her for the indulgence 
 of such passionate bursts of temper as she has freely 
 confessed. She passed the night at our house ; and this 
 morning, before she left, Mr. Gordon imparted to her the 
 result of their meeting. She was very much affected at 
 the punishment (as she called it), of her husband, and 
 said : " It will touch him in the tenderest point ; for he 
 always lots upon the good opinion of the church." 
 
 With regard to herself, she thought they had been 
 very lenient ; and said, she was afraid Mr. Gordon did n't 
 know how bad she was when she got excited. I saw 
 my hushand had difficulty in keeping his countenance 
 unmoved, at so frank a confession. After she left, Mr. 
 Gordon listened with interest to all my plea in her 
 behalf, which he was not before willing to do, lest his 
 mind should be biased by my enthusiasm, as he was 
 pleased to call it.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE FIRST HUSBAND'S FAMILY AND PARISH. 
 
 WHEN the twins were two years and a half old a 
 little son was added to the family, at the Parsonage, 
 who soon received the name of Frederic. He was a 
 very large, healthy child, and when nine months old 
 bid fair to become the master of his two gentle sisters. 
 With his nurse> however, he was infallible ; and the 
 wonderful stories she related of " our baby" were the 
 astonishment of her companions throughout the parish. 
 
 About this time Mrs. Hammond, the widowed sister 
 of Mr. Warren, came to pass the summer with her 
 favorite niece. The arrival of aunt Susan was wel- 
 comed with great delight. The spare chamber was 
 arranged just as the young Susan thought would 
 gratify her taste. Flowers were placed upon the 
 mantel-piece and work-table, and aunt Susan declared 
 it looked like a little paradise. Though suffering from 
 debility, yet nothing pleased her more than to have the 
 quiet little girls bring their basket of toys into her room, 
 and there amuse themselves in their play. Helen and 
 Fanny had never been known to quarrel with each 
 other. Sometimes, if one of them insisted upon a toy, 
 the other had in possession, the lip would quiver, and 
 tears fill the eyes ; but this always ended in their giving 
 up to each other. 
 
 (179)
 
 180 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 In the management of their children, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gordon displayed much tact and wisdom, though the 
 young mother often declared that she shrank from so 
 fearful a responsibility. With the twins but little exer- 
 cise of authority was necessary, for they were naturally 
 mild and yielding. A word of reproof brought a flood of 
 tears, in which the innocent one always fully sympathized. 
 Though their watchful parents were not long in disco\er- 
 ing the germs of evil, which, if not eradicated, would 
 grow and bear bitter fruit ; yet they every day thanked 
 God for the lovely characters of their first born. 
 
 With Frederic it was very different. He was, from his 
 birth, a self-willed, obstinate little fellow, who, if his 
 wants were not instantly gratified, made it known to the 
 whole neighborhood by his loud crying ; and if either of 
 the parents attempted the slightest discipline, such as to 
 keep him in bed when he wished to be up where the 
 bright light was burning so beautifully, or to withhold 
 his food when he had already eaten too much, his poor 
 mother's head ached with the violence of his screams ; 
 and she often said, the neighbors will certainly think I 
 am killing him." Mr. Gordon, however, had no scruples 
 on that account, and by never yielding to him simply be- 
 cause he cried, the little fellow soon learned wonderful 
 self-control. But with Nora he had his own way. 
 Never was there a more devoted and willing slave, than 
 she was to his numerous whims and caprices. 
 
 The grounds about the parsonage had become very 
 productive. The trees which Mr. Gordon had planted 
 the first year of his settlement, were now beginning to 
 bear, so that during this year they had a plentiful supply
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 181 
 
 of cherries, peaches and plums, with currants and goose- 
 berries. For the last two years Mr. McDonald, now a 
 a steady man and kind husband, had taken the care 
 of the garden and orchard. This, however, occu- 
 pied him but a part of the time ; and he readily pro- 
 cured work by the day, from the farmers in the neigh- 
 borhood, sometimes taking his pay from the produce, 
 and sometimes in ready money. But he always ob- 
 tained a comfortable support for his family. Another 
 little Jamie had come to them, but when night and 
 morning they bowed before the family altar, they never 
 forgot to bless God for their first-born, who was now an 
 angel in heaven. 
 
 Mrs. Rand had for a year been sleeping peacefully in 
 the quiet churchyard, by the side of her husband. The 
 character of her daughter, now thrown wholly upon the 
 companionship of her husband had assumed a more 
 cheerful tone. Mr. Choate was highly respected in the 
 community, and was in a fair way to become a wealthy 
 man. At the old gentleman's death the whole farm be- 
 came his, together with some personal property. By 
 selling a few acres of his meadow land, he procured the 
 means to enlarge his ^ stock and enrich his soil. Mrs. 
 Choate was considered one of the best dairy-women in 
 the county. Certainly she commanded the highest 
 prices for her butter and cheese. Many a golden ball of 
 the former, nicely stamped with a bunch of grapes or a 
 sheaf of wheat, found its way to the parsonage. Accom- 
 panying this expression of affection for their minister and 
 his family, James always put into the wagon a few of 
 his best early potatoes, or golden pippins, or something 
 16
 
 182 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 else, according to the season, for he never forgot Mrs. 
 Gordon's kind interest in his sickly baby, while he fol- 
 lowed his father-in-law to the grave. 
 
 Late in the fall, Mrs. Hammond, after passing a few 
 weeks with her brother, proceeded to New York for the 
 winter, where she was persuaded to purchase a house. 
 
 Notice having been given of their return to B , 
 
 Bessie had taken the children home to meet their parents. 
 It was indeed a joyful meeting. Mr. and Mrs. Warren, 
 with their whole family, being present, as Thomas hap- 
 pened to be on a visit from New York, where he had 
 gone into business. The parishioners had somehow 
 found out the day of their pastor's return, and substan- 
 tial tokens of this knowledge came to the parsonage 
 in the shape of roasted fowls, pies, bread and cake. 
 When they drove up to the door, three little heads were 
 peeping from the front windows, which, however, sud- 
 denly disappeared, and at length, when their parents en- 
 tered, emerged, in state, from the dining-room, under the 
 supervision of Bessie, on one side, and Nora on the 
 other. The little girls were leading between them 
 Master Frederic, who consented to walk upright, af- 
 ter having for fourteen months been on "ah 1 fours." 
 Upon their bosoms were cards printed in large char- 
 acters, "welcome, dear father and mother! Welcome 
 home ! " The young gentleman was, however, so much 
 excited by the sight of his parents, that he snatched 
 the card from his dress, and kneeling on the floor darted 
 across to the spot where they stood, that he might put 
 it into his mother's hand. 
 
 That was too bad, brother," exclaimed Helen, "aunty
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 183 
 
 told you to walk ; come and let mamma see how well 
 you can go." 
 
 But papa and mamma had already caught the loved 
 ones in their arms, and the exhibition was postponed 
 until another time.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DEATH AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 THE following spring was a season of unusual mor- 
 tality in B . The scarlet fever, that terrible 
 
 scourge of some parts of New England, raged fearfully 
 among the inhabitants. From almost every house came 
 the sound of sorrow and wailing ; and as surely might 
 be heard the voice of the good clergyman, pointing the 
 dying to a crucified Saviour, by whose merits alone they 
 could be saved, or administering consolation to the 
 mourners. From some parents all their children were 
 taken, and many lost one, two, or three, from their family 
 circle. As soon as he ascertained that there were com- 
 paratively few cases in her father's parish, Mr. Gordon 
 
 insisted that his wife and children should leave B 
 
 until the fever had subsided. In vain were all his wife's 
 remonstrances. He sent a note to Mr. Warren, request- 
 ing him to come with a carryall and take them to his house. 
 But he promised if he should be taken sick that he would 
 at once inform her. With this promise she was obliged 
 to content herself, and reluctantly left her dear home, 
 taking with her Nora and her three babes, Hannah hav- 
 ing consented to remain with Mr. Gordon. Twice every 
 day, for three days, did the young wife hear of the con- 
 tinued health of her husband, by means of a market 
 man, who passed through the town. But on the morn- 
 
 (184)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 185 
 
 ing of the fourth day she watched in vain for the mes- 
 senger. It was nearly ten o'clock, and her father had 
 been endeavoring to convince her that her alarm was 
 needless, and that she would probably hear from him in 
 the afternoon, when a man was seen driving hastily into 
 the yard. Mrs. Gordon sprang to the door, as she recog- 
 nized her husband's horse and buggy, and saw that the 
 man was Mr. Cleaveland, one of their nearest neighbors. 
 " How is my husband ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 Mr. Cleaveland either did not hear, or he could not 
 reply, for he immediately beckoned to Mr. Warren, and 
 followed him at once to his study. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon experienced a sudden faintness, and while 
 every particle of color faded from her face and lips, she 
 caught hold of a chair for support. But quickly rallying, 
 she exclaimed to her mother, " I cannot bear this sus- 
 pense, I must know the worst," and followed her father 
 to his study. Mr. Warren advanced and took her hand. 
 " Be calm, my daughter," he said, though in hurried 
 tones, " Your husband has had another attack of pleurisy, 
 and we must hasten to him." 
 
 "Is he alone?" she asked, catching her breath with 
 difficulty. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " answered Mr. Cleaveland, averting his 
 face from her tearful glance. " The Doctor is there ; 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Hall have been with him through the 
 morning." 
 
 Without a tear the poor wife turned to leave the room, 
 
 merely saying in a broken voice, " I will .go at once;" 
 
 and her father made hasty preparations -to accompany 
 
 her. It was hardly ten minutes from the time when Mr. 
 
 16*
 
 186 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Cleaveland drove into the yard, before he was on his 
 way home. Not a word was spoken by the distressed 
 wife, as they drove hastily on, though with her hand 
 pressed upon her heart, she listened to every inquiry 
 which her father made. As they approached the house, 
 Mr. Warren observed her close her eyes and move her lips 
 as if in prayer. In silence, he lifted her from the carriage, 
 wondering at her outward calmness, and praying that 
 she might be sustained in the coming trial ; for he knew 
 Mr. Gordon could not live. Pausing but for one moment 
 to throw aside her bonnet and shawl, the young wife flew 
 up the staircase to her own room. 
 
 Alas ! What a scene awaited her ! Though the day 
 was cool, the windows were all thrown open to obtain a 
 draught. The poor sufferer was propped up in the bed 
 with pillows, while Mr. Hall stood before him with a 
 large fan in the vain endeavor to enable him to catch his 
 breath. Mrs. Hall was wiping the cold moisture from 
 her pastor's brow, while the devoted physician stood by 
 his side watching with intense anxiety the effect of the 
 medicine. All this the distracted wife saw at a glance. 
 She needed not to be told in words ; she knew that her 
 husband was dying; and with an agonizing cry, ".oh, 
 why was I away !" she sprang forward to the side of the 
 bed. A faint groan escaped the lips of the dying man ; 
 but he made a feeble motion to all to withdraw. They 
 did so, and though every breath was a gasp, he placed 
 his hand upon her bowed head, as she knelt by his side, 
 her whole form shaken by the fierce emotions which were 
 almost overwhelming her. "Dear precious wife," 
 he murmured, " May God sustain you in this
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 187 
 
 hour of trial. It won't be long ere we shall 
 meet to part no more forever. You have been the 
 greatest blessing of my life. Remember this." After 
 a dreadful struggle for breath, he added, " oh, it is hard 
 
 to part with you. I thought I had done with 
 earth." 
 
 " I cannot, Oh, I cannot give you up ! " cried the poor 
 distressed- wife. " Oh, God, take my children, take all 
 else, but spare my husband ! " 
 
 The dying man sank back gasping, and making a feeble 
 effort to wipe his mouth. When the handkerchief fell 
 from his hand, it was covered with spots of blood. 
 
 "Father! Doctor!" shrieked Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 They instantly approached ; and it needed but one 
 glance to tell them that the dread messenger who must 
 
 sooner or later come to all, was at hand. Dr. S 
 
 gently raised the head of the sufferer, while Mrs. Hall 
 arranged the pillows. The short convulsive gasps grew 
 fainter and fainter ; his eyes which had been fixed with 
 an expression of unutterable love upon his wife, were 
 raised to heaven ; a celestial smile stole over his counte- 
 nance ; and with the whispered words, " blessed Saviour," 
 upon his lips, his spirit ascended to God. 
 
 After a moment the physician stepped forward and 
 gently closed the eyes, when with a heart-broken cry, 
 which those who heard it never forgot, the newly made 
 widow fell senseless to the floor. We must draw a veil 
 over many of the events which followed. After that first 
 cry of anguish, wrung from her heart, Mrs. Gordon arose 
 from her couch, and without a tear, went on in the per- 
 formance of her duties as a mother. Her neighbors and
 
 188 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 friends wondered as they witnessed her calmness. Even 
 her father and mother could scarcely realize this change 
 in their impulsive daughter. But the physician knew 
 that this was an unnatural calmness, and it rendered him 
 far more anxious than the most passionate outbursts of 
 grief. 
 
 In the remembrance of the oldest inhabitants in the 
 town, there had never been so large a funeral or so long a 
 procession as followed the remains of this beloved pastor to 
 the grave. Many tears were shed by young and old. Many 
 eyes, unused to weeping, were suffused, as they gazed for 
 the last time upon the marble countenance of their loved 
 pastor, so placid and peaceful in death. Many more, as 
 they caught a glimpse of the tearless eye and bowed 
 form of her, from whom had been taken the companion 
 of her youth, the light of her young life. It was not until 
 dust had been consigned to dust ; not until she, with 
 her sorrowing parents, brothers and sisters had returned to 
 her desolate home, where five blissful years had been 
 passed with him who had gone forever, and not until 
 her fatherless children were brought into the room, 
 placed in her arms, and her little girls gazing around in 
 afirighi^lisped the name of " papa," that the fountains 
 of her grief were broken up, and tears flowed forth to 
 relieve her bursting heart. She clasped her orphan chil- 
 dren to her breast, in a close, warm embrace, while her 
 sympathizing friends turned aside to wipe the thickly 
 falling tears. 
 
 Oh, who would not pity a widow who had no such 
 blessed ties to earth, when he who is best loved is re- 
 moved forever from her sight ! Who would not pray
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 189 
 
 that in these precious mementos of his love, she might 
 find a healing balm for her torn and bleeding heart ! 
 
 When, at the end of an hour, the physician reluctantly 
 left the house rendered so sacred to him by the death of 
 his respected and beloved pastor, he left it with gratitude 
 that his plan had been successful, far beyond what he 
 had dared to expect, that the sight of her children had 
 called forth a natural expression of sorrow, which had 
 probably saved her reason, perhaps her life. That night 
 her parents remained with her at the parsonage, and the 
 next morning she made not the slightest opposition to 
 returning with them to the parental roof. 
 
 When her kind friend, Mrs. Hall, asked, as she was 
 leaving, if she had any directions to give, she only shook 
 her head, as she mournfully replied, " I can never come 
 back." Just one week from the time when she reached 
 her father's house to remain a few days, she returned 
 thither, with her babes in her arms, a widow. 
 
 Months after, when time, that blessed comforter, had 
 allayed the poignancy of her grief, she found a painful 
 consolation in writing in her diary. 
 
 The first date was the following spring, when she 
 wrote, " A widow ! Yes, a widow ! How truly I now 
 understand the import of that word ! God alone, who 
 knows the struggle in my heart before I could say, ' thou 
 art just in all thy ways,' has had respect unto my lonely 
 condition, and heard my earnest, agonizing cry for grace 
 and strength to submit to his will. Often have my knees 
 been bent in prayer, and my voice refused to articulate 
 but my heart cried out, ' Oh, God, I am a widow 
 from whom thou hast taken him who was dearer to me
 
 190 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 than all beside. Thou hast left my soul desolate ; Wilt 
 thou not be to me a support and strength ? ' Oh, how 
 many precious words of consolation there are in the Scrip- 
 tures, addressed to just such bleeding hearts as mine! 
 Surely my heavenly Father understands and pities my 
 lone condition." 
 
 A month later she writes, " How many times have I 
 wept sympathizing tears, as I have seen a husband 
 buried from his wife ! But oh, how little I understood 
 the bitterness of her grief! Parents, brothers and sisters 
 are no less dear than before ; but oh, my husband, did 
 you realize that you would leave me alone ? that when 
 the waves of sorrow dashed over me, and well nigh over- 
 whelmed me, your sympathizing breast would be mould- 
 ering in the dust, and your heart so quick to feel all my 
 sorrow, be unmoved by my tears! Oh, my God, help 
 me to raise my thoughts to thy throne ! Dissever them 
 from the frail tenement of clay, which, alas ! is mingling 
 with its native earth, and follow the blessed spirit to its 
 seat at thy right hand ! " 
 
 " All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me." 
 
 To-day I attended the funeral of Mr. Sawyer. Oh, 
 how vividly did it bring back my dreadful loss ! " Bring 
 back," did I say ? The crushing weight upon my heart 
 has never lightened. Day and night I live in the past. 
 Even in my dreams, I am with my dear, blessed husband. 
 Alas, I awake, and it is but a dream ! As the widow 
 bent over the coffin, and pressed her pale lips to the cold 
 clay which would soon be buried from her sight, my
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 191 
 
 breath came quickly ; and I was almost suffocated with 
 the violence of my emotions. I wept so much that my 
 friends became alarmed, and while the procession was 
 forming, led me from the room. For a time I lost all 
 control over myself, and was unable to speak. But by 
 the kindness of Mrs. Wells and Eleanor, who remained 
 and administered to my comfort, I was at length ena- 
 bled to ride home. Dear father blamed himself for invit- 
 ing me to accompany him. But he could not know with 
 what freshness it would bring my loss to mind. I often 
 fear that my heavenly Father who searcheth my heart, 
 seeth there a spirit of rebellion to his chastening rod. 
 My prayer is, that I may from the heart say, " thy will, 
 not mine, be done." " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath 
 taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." Divine 
 grace alone can enable us to repeat these inspired words. 
 
 Helen and Fanny already seem to have forgotten the 
 loss they have sustained, a loss which can never be 
 made up to them. Blessed buoyancy of childhood! 
 Frederic will remember neither a father's care, nor a 
 father's love. But there is nothing which interests them 
 so much as to relate instances of his tenderness, and af- 
 fection. Every hour in the day I am reminded of him. 
 "When my little ones say anything which I think would 
 please him, I feel for one instant the impulse, " I must 
 remember to tell their father that ; but oh, so soon comes 
 the thought, ' He is no longer on earth ! ' " 
 
 Sometimes I have such a yearning for one more inter- 
 view with him, that I may ask his advice, or hear his ex- 
 pression of affection, that I can hardly be reconciled to
 
 192 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES | 
 
 the affliction that has taken him from me. God forgive 
 me, if his all-seeing eye discovers in my heart anything 
 that is wrong. But when I remember that for five years 
 I had not a joy nor a sorrow unshared by him, and that 
 never, never more can I lay my head upon his breast and 
 hear him say, " my darling wife," my soul refuseth to be 
 comforted. 
 
 Since writing the above, I have been led to see that 
 while cherishing such grief for my husband, I was in 
 danger of forgetting my mercies. When my little Fred- 
 eric lay at the point of death, I saw clearly where I had 
 sinned. God has a perfect right to all my treasures ; but 
 he in mercy gave back to me my babe, in answer to my 
 importunate prayers. I saw also that I had made an 
 idol of my husband, and was in danger of doing so with 
 regard to my children, and my heavenly Father took this 
 method to draw my affections more to himself. I love to 
 think that he had a special regard to my being a widow, 
 when he thus spared my only son. 
 
 For six months I have lived in New York city, with 
 aunt Hammond. She invited me for the winter months ; 
 but now she insists that I shall consider this my perma- 
 nent home. She has been like a kind parent to me in 
 all my affliction. The sum of five thousand dollars 
 which my husband had in the bank, previous to our mar- 
 riage, is still untouched ; and she added to it what was 
 obtained from the sale of my furniture. All this, she 
 says, I shall need bye and bye, for the education of my 
 children ; but while she lives, she will take care of me. 
 She has a nephew, Mr. Whitney, who is also very kind
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 193 
 
 to me, and very generous in his gifts to my little father- 
 less ones. He was a favorite nephew of uncle Ham- 
 mond, being the only child of his youngest sister, and 
 early left in his charge. Ever since uncle's death, he has 
 had the care of her property, and purchased for her the 
 elegant house in which she now resides. Indeed this 
 street is considered one of the most aristocratic in the 
 city, and on every side we are surrounded by millionnaires. 
 As yet I have made very few acquaintances. Brother 
 Thomas is in business here, and often passes an evening 
 with us. So far he has never repented the choice of a 
 mercantile life ; but says he will refund to father every 
 cent he has spent on his education ; and by that means 
 Edward can be fitted for a minister. He has already 
 been very successful, and has lately been taken into the 
 firm as junior partner; his old friend, Squire Wells, 
 generously advancing the money to enable him to do so. 
 Next winter, he intends to pass in the southern states, 
 transacting business for the firm. 
 
 Nora and Moselle take the children for a daily walk, 
 around the Park, a key to which aunt generously pro- 
 cured for me. When I remonstrated against the ex- 
 pense, she replied, " We shall gain it in freedom from 
 care, while they are out." 
 
 17
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE HEIRESS. 
 
 IN a spacious, richly furnished parlor of an elegant 
 
 mansion in S , sat three ladies busily occupied 
 
 with their sewing. The elder was a middle-aged woman 
 of mild and pleasing countenance ; the others appeared 
 to be from fifteen to seventeen. Helen, who was seated 
 near the window, suddenly looked up from her work, and 
 was about to speak, when she was interrupted by a quick 
 step in the hall, the door of the parlor being eagerly 
 thrown open, and a young lady bounded into the room, 
 exclaiming as she did so, " good news, mamma ! good 
 news, girls ! Laura has accepted our invitation, and will 
 be here the latter part of next week, or the first of the 
 week following ; the wedding is to be on the twenty-sec- 
 ond." Helen and Marianne instinctively started from 
 their seats, and before they were aware, Clara had put 
 her arms around them, and was rapidly whirling them 
 about the room. 
 
 After a moment, the excited girl sank breathless into 
 a chair, saying, "oh, mamma! I'm so delighted, Laura 
 wants us all to be bridemaids." 
 
 " If that is the case, I shall write at once for Willie to 
 come home and stand with me," said Helen, archly look- 
 ing at the blushing countenance of her cousin. " How 
 convenient it is to have a brother. Then it is pleasant 
 
 (194)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 195 
 
 to hear people say, 'what a fine looking fellow that 
 young Russel is, and how fond he appears of his sis- 
 ter.'" 
 
 Mrs. Russel smiled, as she saw the crimson becoming 
 deeper and deeper upon the cheeks of her daughter, and 
 said, " I should like to hear Laura's letter. When does 
 she say her husband elect, will come?" 
 
 While she is thus engaged, we will introduce our read- 
 ers to the members of this happy home. Mr. Russel, the 
 owner of the mansion, and the father of the family, was 
 a merchant of great wealth ; and what was of far more 
 consequence to his family, he was a scholar, a gentle- 
 man, and a Christian. 
 
 His father died when he was very young, leaving him- 
 self and two brothers, one older and the other younger, 
 to the care of their widowed mother. But well was she 
 fitted for the work, and nobly had she performed her 
 duties toward her fatherless boys. She taught them to 
 depend upon themselves ; to think and act rightly ; to 
 be industrious, persevering and prudent. Above all, she 
 earnestly endeavored to cultivate their affections toward 
 each other, and toward their Maker. Morning and eve- 
 ning she knelt with them at the family altar, and com- 
 mitted herself and her beloved children to Him who has 
 promised to be " the widow's God, and a father of the 
 fatherless." As they grew up toward manhood, she had 
 the unspeakable satisfaction of seeing her dear sons ami- 
 able and virtuous, guided and governed by the precepts 
 of the inspired word of God. 
 
 The elder son, Mr. George Russel, chose the mer- 
 cantile profession, and represented its advantages in
 
 196 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 such glowing colors, that both his brothers followed his 
 example. When Henry, the younger, attained the age 
 of twenty-one, the three went into partnership, in a firm 
 named " RUSSEL AND BROTHERS." Strictly honest and 
 upright in all their dealings, they had been eminently 
 prosperous in their business ; and year after year found 
 them able to enlarge their operations, and to make im- 
 mense profits. 
 
 But in the midst of their prosperity, death had sud- 
 denly entered this united family, cutting off in the prime 
 of life, the one who, to human appearances, could least 
 be spared. By the dreadful scourge of cholera, Mr. 
 George Russel and his lovely wife were hurried to the 
 grave, in the short space of twenty-eight hours, leaving 
 his vast property to his only daughter, Laura Russel, 
 then a child of two years. Mr. William Russel, the 
 Bubjtfct of this history, was, at the time of his brother's 
 death, on the eve of marriage, and took the little orphan 
 into his own family, where she had ever been treated as 
 a. dear child. 
 
 About three years previous to the time of our story, 
 the younger brother, Mr. Henry Russel, was called to his 
 heavenly home, having lost his wife, by consumption, 
 about eighteen months before. His brother was by his 
 side till the last, willingly consenting to be a father and a 
 guardian to the children thus bereft of their parents, at a 
 time when they most needed a father's care and a 
 mother's watchfulness. Standing by the bedside of his 
 beloved brother, and witnessing the dying grace merci- 
 fully bestowed to enable him to triumph over liis last 
 great enemy, Mr. William Russel seemed to catch a
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 197 
 
 glimpse of the home of bliss provided for those who live, 
 by faith on the Son of God ; and he devoted himself, 
 more fully and unreservedly, to his Master's service. 
 
 Mr. Henry Russel left two children, William, named 
 for his uncle, a young man of twenty, and Helen, a miss 
 of thirteen. William was then a senior in college. 
 More recently he had entered a law-school, and had now 
 but one year more of study before he would be admitted 
 to the bar. Helen was, at the time of her father's de- 
 cease, a young girl, so volatile and unreflecting, that it 
 heeded all the unceasing affection and care her aunt was 
 ready to bestow, to keep her from violating every rule of 
 propriety. But Helen was so full of fun, so cheerful and 
 good-tempered, so ready to acknowledge her faults, that 
 she had been an inmate of her uncle's family but a 
 few weeks before she was a favorite with every one 
 in the house. Helen was handsome, and she knew 
 it. Her mother had been a lady of uncommon charms 
 of mind and person, and her children greatly resembled 
 her. 
 
 Clara and Marianne were the only surviving children 
 of Mr. and Mrs. William Russel ; they having buried 
 two sons, and a daughter, in infancy. Clara was their 
 fourth child, and was now seventeen. Marianne was 
 fifteen, a few months younger than her lively cousin, 
 Helen. 
 
 Nearly a year after William and his sister had become 
 members of then: uncle's family, an aunt of Mr. Russel 
 came to the north to pass the summer, a great part of 
 the time being spent in the happy home of her nephew. 
 She took a lively interest in her young nieces, and as 
 17*
 
 198 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 the time approached for her to return to the south, she 
 strongly urged Mr. and Mrs. Russel to consent to allow 
 Laura and Clara to return with her to Charleston, for 
 the winter. Though well aware that Mrs. Norton would 
 exercise a most beneficial influence over their children, 
 yet they could not at first think of parting with them. 
 Clara was engrossed with her studies ; and Laura was 
 unwilling to leave her friends. But, at length, they 
 were prevailed upon to consent that Laura should go ; 
 and the increasing infirmities of Mrs. Norton, together 
 with the great delight she found in the society and 
 affection of her niece, had so far prevented her from 
 returning to her home for any length of time ; though 
 she had made them a hasty visit, when travelling to 
 the north, during the previous summer. 
 
 It was in the second winter of her residence at 
 the South, that Laura had formed the acquaintance of 
 Thomas Warren, who was passing a part of the winter 
 in Charleston. From her first interview with him, she 
 had been uncommonly pleased with his noble, manly 
 deportment, and the perfect ease and polish of his man- 
 ners, because she had seen that these were united to, 
 and produced by, strong religious principles. 
 
 Mr. Warren, too, when introduced to Laura by a 
 young lady, who, at the request of his college friend, 
 Mr. Stanwood, had accompanied him from the north, 
 and who had been a former schoolmate of Miss Russel, 
 thought he had never beheld a more interesting coun- 
 tenance united to a modest, unassuming appearance. On 
 further acquaintance, he became convinced that Miss 
 Russel possessed every qualification which he could ask
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 199 
 
 for in a wife ; nay, more, he confessed that she fully 
 answered to the ideal, he had formed, of a perfect lady. 
 Every hour that he passed in her society increased the 
 favorable impression, until he was obliged to acknowl- 
 edge to himself that he was decidedly in love ; and he 
 lost no time in paying to Miss Russel those nameless 
 attentions which he hoped would interest her in his 
 favor. 
 
 Mrs. Norton, who felt a mother's interest for her lovely 
 niece, soon perceived the design of Mr. Warren, and 
 took pains to make inquiries among her friends as to 
 the private character of the suitor ; for, though he had 
 never, in w r ords, spoken of his love, yet he took no pains 
 to conceal his attachment. Her inquiries were answered 
 so satisfactorily that she had no hesitation in allowing 
 the acquaintance to proceed ; and so far the course of 
 love had appeared true, and had " run smoothly ! " 
 
 But at length a change took place. From being a 
 daily visitor at the house of Mrs. Norton, Mr. Warren 
 only made a hurried call once in a week or two ; and, if 
 he accidentally met them at any place of public resort, 
 his manner was so embarrassed and reserved as to cause 
 great pain to the heart of the gentle Laura, and, even 
 indignation, on the part of her aunt. After every such 
 meeting the sensitive girl retired to her room, and passed 
 hours in tears, while she vainly tried to account, by 
 any appearance of caprice in her own conduct, for the 
 unaccountable change in her friend. All her woman's 
 pride was roused, that she could not banish from her 
 thoughts the image of a suitor who had basely treated 
 her. Every mark of affection he had exhibited, every
 
 200 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 tender word and look were carefully reviewed; and 
 Laura, though disposed to reflect upon herself, and 
 to exonerate him, could but feel that he had given her 
 reason to think he had wished to gain her affections, 
 and that he had certainly acted a part unworthy of a 
 gentleman, and wholly inconsistent with the charactei 
 of a Christian. This conviction produced a reserve in 
 her manner, whenever she met with the subject of her 
 constant thoughts, so that for several weeks nothing 
 more than the most common-place sentiments passed 
 between them. Still, she often met his eye, fixed upon 
 her with such sadness, almost amounting to anguish, 
 that the blush burned upon her cheeks, and her heart 
 thrilled with the thought, " Notwithstanding his strange 
 conduct, he does still love me ! " 
 
 Miss Carlton, her schoolmate, had for a few weeks 
 been visiting a friend, who lived out of the city. She 
 had become very intimate with Mr. Warren, having 
 heard much of him from Mr. Stanwood, the gentleman 
 to whom she was to be married on her return home. 
 Immediately upon her arrival in Charleston, she called 
 upon Laura, and soon introduced the name of her 
 friend Mr. Warren, and was at no small loss to con- 
 ceive the cause of the change which passed over the 
 countenance of her companion. 
 
 Mrs. Norton, too, spoke with great reserve, saying, 
 "we have been disappointed in the character of Mr. 
 Warren, and even his name produces unpleasant emo- 
 tions." 
 
 " What can he have done ? " inquired Miss Carlton, in 
 surprise. " I have known him for many years, and con-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 201 
 
 sidered him a pattern of all that is good and refined 
 Then he thought so very highly of you, Laura." 
 
 It was with some difficulty that Laura could keep 
 back her tears ; but making a great effort at calmness, 
 she replied, " let us drop this subject, dear Mary ; it is 
 plain he thinks so no longer. He has almost entirely 
 dropped our acquaintance." 
 
 " Astonishing ! " she answered thoughtfully, " what 
 can it mean ? " and she fell into a reverie so profound 
 that her friend left her, and walked to the window. 
 
 After a short pause, she added, " If this, indeed, be 
 true, he is no longer worthy the name of gentleman, or 
 of being a son of his excellent parents ; there is nothing, 
 in my opinion, so mean as coquetry in a man," and 
 she took a hasty, though affectionate leave of her friend. 
 
 Two evenings later, however, Miss Carlton called in 
 company with Mr. Warren, and though at first Laura 
 was cold, almost haughty, in her manner toward him, 
 yet, through the influence of Mary, the evening passed 
 off pleasantly, and the hurried remark of her friend, at 
 parting, brought hope once more to her affectionate heart. 
 " Laura," she whispered, as her friend was assisting her 
 to adjust her shawl, " there is some mistake. He speaks 
 of you with the greatest enthusiasm, and says he never 
 met a young lady whose character was so near perfection." 
 
 The suddenness of this remark so disconcerted poor 
 Laura, that when she gave Mr. Warren her hand, to bid 
 him good night, and met his ardent look of admiration, 
 her eyes fell, and she became most painfully embarrassed. 
 The night was passed by her in vain attempts to solve 
 the mystery.
 
 202 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Scarcely had she left the breakfast table before a mag- 
 nificent bouquet was brought to the door, with a card 
 attached to it, upon which was merely written, " For 
 Miss Laura Russel, with the kindest wishes of a friend." 
 The heart of Laura told her quickly who was the donor, 
 and she carried it to her room, without even mentioning 
 to her aunt its reception. In the course of the following 
 days she met Mr. Warren several times, either in the 
 street, or in society. He was always accompanied by 
 her friend Mary, who had a most mysterious air, which 
 she in vain endeavored to conceal. Even a less partial 
 observer than Mrs. Norton might have noticed in his 
 sudden brightening of countenance, and the eagerness 
 with which Mr. Warren started forward to meet Laura, 
 that he felt no ordinary interest in her welfare. Neither 
 could they fail to perceive in the shadow, which, after 
 an instant, passed over lu's face, or the reserve with 
 which his second thought caused him to dissemble his 
 real feelings, that there was a drawback which prevented 
 his appearing in the character of a lover, however 
 ardently he wished to do so. 
 
 It was nearly a week since she had received the bou- 
 quet, and Laura was in her own apartment selecting 
 such of the flowers as had begun to wither, and putting 
 them in a book to press. She had just returned the card 
 accompanying them, to her^ portfolio, when a servant 
 knocked at the door, and brought her another bouquet, 
 with a letter. It would be foolish to try to conceal the 
 fact that Laura's heart bounded as she glanced at the 
 address, and saw that it was in the handwriting of the 
 card, which she felt sure came from Mr. Warren. She
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 203 
 
 however thanked the servant, and asked who brought 
 them. 
 
 " A colored man, from one of the hotels," was the 
 reply. 
 
 Laura had never received a communication from Mr. 
 Warren, and her heart beat quickly, and then almost 
 stopped, as she thought, " the mystery will be explained." 
 She longed to open it; and yet, with an inconsistency 
 which she could not reconcile even to herself, she dreaded 
 to do so. She arose, put the flowers in a vase of fresh 
 water, and set them upon the mantel, wondering if the 
 note would explain to her satisfaction all the contra- 
 rieties of his conduct toward herself. At length she sat 
 down, and, breaking the envelop, read as follows : 
 
 " To Miss Laura Russel. 
 
 " How strangely to my throbbing heart look those 
 cold words, that chilling address ; yet I have schooled my- 
 self to my disappointment, and must bear it as best I 
 can. I am about to leave Charleston, the place where I 
 have known more of joy, and more of bitter sorrow, than 
 I ever knew before. Justice to you, and justice to my- 
 self, require an explanation of my variable conduct to- 
 ward you. I think, my dear, aye, too dear, Miss Russel, 
 you must have seen, from our first interview, how much 
 I admired your person and character. I have some- 
 times, of late, been called heartless, or rather, wanting in 
 those finer traits of character, which make a man suscep- 
 tible to love. I have sometimes feared this were too 
 true. But it is not so. In the agony of the past week, 
 I have almost wished my heart had never awoke to the
 
 204 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 bliss of loving with my whole soul, one who was every 
 way worthy of such devotion. I saw you, and had not 
 been many times in your society, before I acknowledged 
 I could ask no more in a companion for life ; and that 
 if I could win your hand I should be the happiest of mor- 
 tals. Excuse me for the seeming presumption, when I 
 say, that your manner was so kind, I felt encouraged to 
 hope that I was not displeasing to you. All this time I 
 had an impression that you were dependent upon Mrs. 
 Norton ; and visions of a happy home, where my ardent 
 affection should make up for the loss of greater elegance 
 in style and manner of living, began to dawn upon me. 
 
 " I was on my way to visit you, determined to end my 
 suspense by a frank avowal of my affection, when two 
 young gentlemen, with whom I am slightly acquainted, 
 overtook me just as Mrs. Norton's carriage, containing 
 you and herself, dashed past us. 
 
 " ' Look there, Warren,' said one of them. ' Did you 
 see that elegant girl? She's handsome, accomplished, 
 and very agreeable ; but what is worth more than all the 
 rest, she's rich as Croesus.' 
 
 " ' I think you are mistaken about her wealth,' I re- 
 plied, ' she is dependent, as I understand, upon her aunt, 
 who will, no doubt, leave her some property.' 
 
 " The gentleman who had not spoken, responded, ' all 
 very well for you to try to make us believe you think 
 so, my dear fellow. But for all that she is a great 
 heiress, and you know it. Much joy I wish you in your 
 love match.' 
 
 " My blood boiled with indignation ; but I hastily left 
 them, and returned to my rooms. I will not attempt to
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 205 
 
 describe to you the feeling of keen disappointment I 
 then experienced, nor the anguish of heart I felt (when, 
 on farther inquiry, I found what I had heard was true,) 
 before I could resolve to tear myself from your presence. 
 It has been a principle instiUed into my mind from child-' 
 hood, never to seek a connection with one possessed of 
 more wealth than I could offer in return. For the sake 
 of winning your love, I would forfeit all my hitherto 
 cherished hopes of making for myself a name and a 
 place among men ; but I cannot give up my self-res- 
 pect. You would despise me should I address you thus. 
 Therefore, though every feeling of my heart rebels, 
 I must leave you. This is now my only honorable 
 course. 
 
 " I need not assure you, that a line from yourself, say- 
 ing that I have not entirely forfeited your esteem, and 
 that you will sometimes pity your unfortunate frier d, 
 would give me greater pleasure than anything I have 
 now a right to expect. 
 
 "THOMAS WARREN." 
 
 Poor Laura ! She had sometr aes paused as if unable 
 to proceed, while the hot tears had fallen thickly upon 
 the written sheet. " Oh, what, would I give," she ex- 
 claimed passionately, when she had finished, " if I could 
 write and tell him I had not a cent in the world. I will 
 give it away. Oh ! what can I do ? " and she burst into 
 a flood of tears. She wept so long that she brought on a 
 violent headache, and when her aunt sent up for her to go 
 to dinner, she asked to be excused, and to have a cup of 
 tea sent to her room. 
 
 18
 
 206 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 Mrs. Norton went to her niece, but finding the door 
 locked, she retired to her own apartment 
 
 About an hour later, Miss Carlton called to beg Laura 
 to accompany her to do some shopping. 
 
 Mrs. Norton, who received her, said that Laura was 
 not well, and had kept her room through the day. 
 
 Mary turned quickly to the window and began to talk, 
 in a hurried manner, of a gay equipage which happened 
 to be passing ; but, after a moment said she would go to 
 Laura's room. It was not, however, until she had 
 knocked repeatedly, that she gained admittance. She 
 found her friend apparently calm, but with such a 
 mournful expression that Mary's eyes involuntarily 
 filled with tears. After sitting by her side, she at 
 length prevailed upon the poor girl to tell her the cause 
 of her grief, when Laura silently put Mr. Warren's 
 letter into her hand. 
 
 Mary took it eagerly; though her face grew almost 
 scarlet as she read, or rather glanced, at its contents. 
 " Why, Laura," she urged, " I do n't see anything here 
 that need distress you so much. I am sure I like him 
 the better, for feeling so." 
 
 " But he is going away," sobbed Laura, in such 
 distress that Mary, though her eyes were humid with 
 tears, burst into a merry laugh. 
 
 " Excuse me, dear," said she, kissing her tenderly ; 
 but I really could n't help it ; I 've grown very nervous 
 lately," she added apologetically, as she saw Laura 
 seemed grieved at her mirth. But Laura, really, you 
 take it too much to heart, write him an answer, tell- 
 ing him he can't get off in that way ; he has won your
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 207 
 
 affections, and he '11 be obliged to take you. That will 
 bring him to." 
 
 Laura looked up quickly and smiled through her tears, 
 at Mary's words. " Are you in earnest," she asked, " do 
 you think I ought to answer him ? " 
 
 " In earnest ! Oh ! no, of course not ! You wish him to 
 leave Charleston, thinking that you deem him a scoundrel 
 
 for trying to woo the richest heiress in , when he is 
 
 only junior partner of a house in New York. He de- 
 serves to be punished for such unwarrantable pre- 
 sumption." 
 
 Laura started to her feet. " Stop, Mary, I wont hear 
 you talk so ; you know I don't think any such thing. I 
 would give all I have in the world for such affection as 
 he has shown in that letter. So noble and generous a 
 heart cannot be bought with money." 
 
 Poor Mary ! She had, indeed, grown nervous. She 
 could not meet the indignant glances of her friend ; and 
 she rapidly walked to the mantel, and began admiring 
 the flowers. " If that is your real feeling," she at length 
 said, with emphasis, " you are bound in honor to tell 
 him so." 
 
 " But how can I? It would be unmaidenly to tell him 
 that I love him, when he has never asked me to do so." 
 
 "I am sure, every line of that letter breathes the 
 deepest affection," said Mary, again averting her face. 
 
 I need not detail all the conversation that followed ; 
 but will turn to Mr. Warren, who, the morning follow- 
 ing the reception of this note, was walking his room, 
 with hasty strides, trying by the violence of his exercise 
 to lessen the agitation under which he was laboring.
 
 208 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 At length he stopped. " But ought I not," he solilo- 
 quized, " to see her before I leave ? Would it not be 
 dishonorable in me to allow her to remain in doubt as 
 to my feelings ? Ought I not to tell her how dearly, 
 how truly I love her, and the reason I cannot offer her 
 my hand ? No, I dare not trust myself ; and, I am too 
 proud to sue for her hand, when, with it, her husband 
 will obtain so much paltry gold ! " 
 
 At that moment, he heard a knock at his door, and on 
 opening it, he took a sealed envelop from the servant. It 
 was superscribed in a delicate hand, and he hastily opened 
 it, wondering not a little who could thus have honored 
 him with an epistle. But his astonishment was increased 
 ten fold when, glancing at the signature, he read, " From 
 your true friend, Laura Russel." He threw himself into 
 a chair, and with suspended breath, hastily read its con- 
 tents, which were briefly these : 
 
 Mr. Warren, 
 
 " Your note, received this morning, I will not conceal 
 from you, has caused me much pain and embarrassment 
 Though Providence has bestowed upon me a large share 
 of the things of this world, yet, I have never valued 
 wealth, at all, in comparison with the affections of the 
 heart ; and, indeed, I have often shrunk from the respon- 
 sibility, every Christian must feel, as the steward of 
 Heaven's bounty to the destitute. 
 
 " My dear friend, we profess to be Christians ; you 
 say you love me, why should so trivial a circumstance 
 have given you so much distress ? I shall hope for the 
 pleasure of seeing you before you leave Charleston. 
 
 " With sentiments of high esteem and respect, 
 " I am your true friend, 
 
 " LAURA RUSSEL."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 209 
 
 Mr. Warren sank back in his chair, breathless with 
 astonishment. He put his hand to his head to convince 
 himself he was not in a dream! " What can this mean? 
 She received my note this morning? I have never 
 written her ! Some one has imposed upon her by an 
 anonymous letter ; or rather, a forged one, signed by my 
 name. How can I relate to her the humiliating circum- 
 stance that she has replied to that which has not been 
 written ? Shame and disgrace meet me whichever way 
 I turn." 
 
 He walked the room, with knitted brows and agitated 
 mien. But reflection brought other thoughts, and he 
 determined to go that very evening to see Miss Russel. 
 He rang for his servant, and despatched a note request- 
 ing a private interview with that lady ; then ordered his 
 horse and started off for a vigorous ride, to compose his 
 excited feelings preparatory to his call in the evening. 
 
 18*
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 MR. WARREN consulted his watch, which he had done 
 very frequently for the last hour, and exhibited signs of 
 impatience on finding there was still twenty -five minutes 
 before the time he had appointed for his interview with 
 Miss Russel, when a knock at the door arrested his 
 attention. He hastily opened it, muttering impatiently : 
 " I shall plead a positive engagement, whoever it may 
 be." But it was only his servant with another note, 
 which he took mechanically, and resumed his seat. The 
 contents did not wholly surprise him. It was from Miss 
 Carlton, and ran thus : 
 
 "Mr. Warren, 
 
 " I write to beg you to call upon me, before you go 
 this evening to Mrs. Norton's. I have something of 
 importance to communicate. I earnestly beseech you 
 not to fail, as you value the peace of my dear friend, 
 Miss Russel. 
 
 " In great haste, yours, sincerely, 
 
 " MARY CARLTON." 
 
 During his ride in the forenoon, Mr. Warren had had 
 time to collect his thoughts; and had come to the con- 
 clusion, from the purport of Laura's letter, that Mary 
 (210)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 211 
 
 must have been the one who had dared address her in 
 his name. He called to mind the earnest conversation 
 he had held with that lady on her return to Charleston 
 the week before, and that he had then told her his views 
 and feelings in regard to marrying an heiress. How well 
 he remembered the remark she made at parting. " Mr. 
 Warren, you are misled by a false pride ; and will sac- 
 rifice to it not only your own happiness, but the happi- 
 ness of one whom you have given every reason to sup- 
 pose you valued higher than a friend." 
 
 When he had read the note, he responded at once to 
 her summons, and soon found himself at the house of 
 the lady whom Miss Carlton was visiting. He was 
 shown into the parlor, where he found her impatiently 
 awaiting him. Her countenance bore the traces of re- 
 cent tears ; but she eagerly approached him, holding out 
 her hand. " Thank you," she said, with emphasis, " for 
 coming to me." 
 
 He led her to a seat, where she was painfully embar- 
 rassed in her attempt to introduce the subject upon 
 which she wished to speak. At length she said hesitat- 
 ingly, " Mr. Warren, I don't know what you will think 
 of me, but indeed I did it from the best motives," and 
 she ended in a passionate fit of weeping. 
 
 For a moment the gentleman was entirely at a loss 
 for words. He thought her very culpable for the liberty 
 she had taken with his name ; but he was much dis- 
 tressed to see her so deeply moved. Then he did not 
 doubt that she had, as she said, hoped it would bring 
 matters to a crisis. At length he replied : " I will not 
 pretend to misunderstand your meaning. You wrote a
 
 212 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 letter to Miss Russel in my name. I received an answer 
 this morning. Did you see the answer?" 
 
 " I did. Indeed she would not have written unless I 
 had urged her to do so. I also sent her two bouquets 
 which she ascribes to you, as the penmanship was the 
 same. But," she added, much excited, " she was suffer- 
 ing keenly from your neglect, never having dreamed of 
 the cause, and I thought I thought perhaps this 
 would set it all right. I feared your pride would pre- 
 vent what I knew you were in honor bound to do, after 
 the marked attentions you have paid her." 
 
 " And so," resumed Mr. Warren, with a faint attempt 
 to smile, " you undertook the duty for me. Have you a 
 copy of the document?" he added, in a tone which was 
 slightly bitter. 
 
 Mary eagerly put a folded letter in his hand. " It was 
 copied verbatim et literatim," she replied, blushing 
 deeply. 
 
 He took it and stood under the chandelier to read, 
 while she sat upon the sofa with her face concealed in 
 her handkerchief. His countenance exhibited deep feel- 
 ing as he read ; but he quietly folded the letter, put it in 
 his pocket, and returned to his seat on the sofa. 
 
 " Miss Carlton," he said, respectfully taking her hand, 
 " I must acknowledge your letter is very honorable to 
 me 5 I can hardly conceive how you were so well ac- 
 quainted with my feelings." 
 
 Mary looked up eagerly at the earnestness of his tone, 
 and replied : " I only wrote what you have from time to 
 time told me. I knew you loved her, and I thought that 
 she respected you until . When I went there yes-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 213 
 
 terday, after she received it, I found that she' was much 
 distressed to know what she ought to do. I will take all 
 the blame of her answering, if you think she did wrong, 
 for I convinced her that you would think she agreed with 
 you, that it was from mercenary motives you had tried 
 to gain her affections. I may as well confess all," she 
 added, hiding her face for one moment in her hands. " I 
 wrote an answer which I did my best to prevail upon 
 her to copy. But she is so very discreet and modest she 
 would not, but wrote instead of it, the one you received, 
 which I considered very cold, saying you had never asked 
 her to love you." 
 
 Mr. Warren made no answer except by an ardent 
 press of one of the small hands lying near him. Whether 
 he meant it as an expression of his forgiveness, or was 
 actuated to this sudden movement by the encouraging 
 nature of 'her conversation, has never transpired. 
 
 Mary went on. " I did not stop to reflect upon the 
 step I was taking, and when I saw Laura weeping over 
 the letter, I urged her to answer it. But I have been 
 sorry ever since, that I did not tell her at once 1 was the 
 author. I walked my room all night, fearing the worst 
 consequences from my rash action, and went early this 
 morning to confess it to her. But it was too late. The 
 answer had been sent, just as I had seen it last night, 
 and I was really afraid the mortification would kill her if 
 I told her then," and Mary shuddered as she spoke. 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed, starting to her feet, " You will 
 not tell her, Mr. Warren. Promise me you will not." 
 
 " I have no present intention of doing so," he replied ; 
 " but it is time for me to go."
 
 214 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 On his way to Mrs. Norton's he reflected that if he 
 allowed Miss Russel to consider the letter from him, why 
 
 he was bound in honor to " but " he thought after an 
 
 abrupt pause, " I must be wholly governed by circum- 
 stances." So after stopping near a lamp-post long 
 enough for a second perusal of the epistle, he walked 
 hastily on to meet his appointment. 
 
 When he left Mrs. Norton's, though it was at a late 
 hour, his heart was so full of happiness that he felt he 
 could not be confined within the four walls of his room 
 at the hotel, and wandered off at a rapid pace until he 
 was out of the city, where he strolled in the bright moon- 
 light until near the dawn. It was wonderful what had be- 
 come of all his fixed principles, his solemn determination 
 never to marry an heiress. 
 
 Laura pursued a much wiser course. Her heart, 
 which for quite a number of weeks had been wandering 
 like Noah's dove, in search of a resting-place, had now 
 found its home, and she was at peace. She therefore 
 retired to her bed, and from the sweet smile upon her lip, 
 one might reasonably suppose she was living over and 
 over in her dreams the bliss of the last few hours. 
 
 Early the next morning, Mr. Warren called upon Miss 
 Carlton. " I feared," he said, " that I did not sufficiently 
 thank you last evening for your kind interest in my wel- 
 fare." 
 
 Mary blushed deeply, as she replied archly, " I see that 
 all has happened just as I hoped and expected ; but oh ! 
 worlds would not tempt me to do the like again." 
 
 " I confess," he replied, with a smile, " it is rather a 
 dangerous game to play, but in my case at any rate,"
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 215 
 
 he added, slightly blushing, "you remember the old 
 adage, ' all's well, that ends well.' " 
 
 As Clara has long ago finished reading the letter to 
 her aunt, we wih 1 turn back to the commencement of our 
 story. It was now the first day of June, the wedding 
 was to be on the twenty-second, and soon ah 1 were busy 
 with preparations for the happy event. 
 
 Mrs. Norton and Laura had left Charleston the mid- 
 dle of May, and the same letter which had announced 
 Laura's approaching marriage, had contained an earnest 
 request that one of her nieces might take the vacant place 
 in her family the coming winter. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Russel had written immediately to 
 Laura. They could not consent that her marriage cere- 
 mony should be performed in any other place except in 
 her own home, and among the friends who had known 
 and loved her from her infancy. Laura had gratefully 
 accepted so kind and cordial an invitation, and was now 
 
 on her way to S . She stated in her letter, which 
 
 had caused so much joy, that it was their intention to 
 leave for Niagara, immediately after the wedding. 
 
 Clara, Helen and Marianne had gained the ready con- 
 sent of their parents that they should be bridemaids, as 
 Laura had requested. Helen wrote immediately to her 
 brother William, stating the time of the wedding, and 
 telling him he must allow nothing to prevent his being 
 present on so interesting an occasion. In a postscript 
 Helen added, that of course he would stand with her, and 
 that she had made all her arrangements to that effect. 
 
 The young student read the letter from his affec- 
 tionate sister with a smile, and said aloud as he tossed
 
 216 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 the epistle upon the table, " how Helen likes to tease 
 me!" 
 
 It was a bright morning in June. The birds were fill- 
 ing the air with their joyous melody. The dew was still 
 kissing the flowers, but Clara Russel, little heeding the 
 dampness of the grass, wandered to the end of the orch- 
 ard back of the house in search of some beautiful white 
 rose-buds. " Laura, dear Laura, is expected to-day ; and 
 kind aunt Norton ! How glad I shall be to see them ! " 
 She had come out, while all were still sleeping, to gather 
 Laura's favorite roses, for the decoration of her room. 
 Clara was an artless, ingenuous girl. She was not hand- 
 some ; that is, her features were far from regular ; but 
 her skin was of transparent whiteness, her mouth was 
 rather large, but displayed a regular set of teeth of pearly 
 whiteness. Her eyes ! Oh ! when one looked into them 
 they forgot everything else, there was such a world of 
 light and soul beaming in those large hazel orbs. Clara's 
 countenance varied with every thought and emotion. 
 The color was constantly coming and going in her cheeks, 
 telling to observers many a tale which she was striving 
 to keep close in her heart of hearts. 
 
 She was very happy on this pleasant June morning. 
 No doubt the arrival of aunt Norton and cousin Laura 
 were sufficient cause to send the warm crimson blood to 
 beautify her cheeks. The expected arrival of Helen's 
 brother, was so far from being an uncommon event, that 
 it of course had nothing to do with the joy which kept 
 gushing up from her heart, and causing her to sing for 
 very gladness. She was standing part way up on the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 217 
 
 wall, trying to reach a beautiful bud, which was almost 
 beyond her reach, at the same time that she was war- 
 bling the familiar song of " Home, sweet home", when 
 she was suddenly startled, by hearing a fine base accom- 
 paniment, close by her side. She turned quickly, to be 
 caught in the arms of her cousin William. She had 
 quite forgotten her exalted station, and would have fallen, 
 had he not prevented her. Mr. Russel, junior, earnestly 
 begged her to go on with her singing ; asserting that he 
 had been drawn from the carriage-road to the house, 
 by the carolling of what, he thought, must have been a 
 bird of great value, and that he had taken the pains to 
 \vade through the wet grass in order to secure the prize. 
 But Clara, hastily picking up the roses which in her 
 fall had dropped from her basket, declared that she did 
 not feel like singing, and walked demurely back to the 
 house, expressing neither surprise nor joy at his sudden 
 appearance. 
 
 " Why, Clara," said William, at length, I expected 
 you would wonder where I came from so early in the 
 morning, and you have not even said you are glad to 
 see me ! " 
 
 Clara suddenly raised her eyes, looked him full in the 
 face for one instant ; but probably the morning light was 
 too strong, for she as suddenly dropped them again. 
 Whaiever William gleaned from this earnest gaze, he 
 appeared satisfied, and walked quietly by her side. But 
 just as they reached the house he said, in a low tone : 
 
 -"I started from M at fo,ur o'clock, and rode over 
 
 before breakfast, to tell you that, to ask you to stand 
 with me at Laura's wedding. Will you, dear Clara ? " 
 19
 
 218 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 The color mounted to her brow, as she answered, 
 " If Helen will consent, for she anticipates that honor." 
 
 Who, then, did you expect as your partner ? " 
 
 " Mr. Warren has a friend who is to accompany him," 
 she replied, evasively. 
 
 At noon Laura arrived, and was welcomed amid great 
 rejoicings. But Mr. Russel observed with anxiety that 
 his aunt had failed in strength, since he had seen her the 
 previous summer ; and with pain acknowledged to him- 
 self that it would, indeed, be hard for her to return alone 
 to Charleston, in the fall. 
 
 It was very fortunate for the young ladies that they 
 had waited to consult Laura's taste in the selection of 
 their dresses ; for she had brought each of them a full 
 suit, as nearly like her own as Aunt Norton would allow, 
 she having insisted on presenting Laura with her 
 bridal trousseau. 
 
 After the evening repast, when the family were seated 
 in the parlor for evening prayer, Clara earnestly begged 
 Laura to resume her seat at the organ. This, she at 
 length consented to do; but was so much overcome 
 with associations of the past, together with the thought 
 that she was soon to leave these dear friends, that she 
 was obliged abruptly to leave her place at the instru- 
 ment, motioning to her cousin to go on with the accom- 
 paniment. But when her uncle, who had been to her a 
 kind father, began to pray for her, and for him who was 
 so soon to be united to her in the most endearing of 
 bonds, though much affected, yet her excited feelings 
 were calmed and soothed. She wondered how lie could 
 have so well understood all her wants and desires, as he
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 219 
 
 went on to thank God for restoring her to the home of 
 her childhood, and to pray that He, who had watched 
 over her in youth, when bereft so suddenly of her earthly 
 parents, who had called her by his grace, and had adopted 
 her into His family, who had now, in his Providence, 
 provided for her a partner, that feared God, and that was 
 already bound to her in the more enduring tie of Chris- 
 tian friendship, might still watch over her and bless 
 her, helping her always to keep in mind that, as her 
 blessings were great, so, too, were her responsibilities ; 
 that her wealth would be a joy or a curse, just as she 
 used it. Mr. Russel remembered, also, the kind friend 
 who had been restored to them, though in impaired 
 health, and prayed, that as her day was, so her strength 
 might be. 
 
 When they arose, all were softened and subdued ; 
 while Laura, after having given her dear uncle an affec- 
 tionate embrace, conducted Mrs. Norton to her chamber; 
 and Clara accompanied her. William begged his sister 
 to go out with him for a walk, when he succeeded in 
 procuring from the lively girl a promise that she would 
 not tease Clara about any attention he might think 
 proper to pay her, saying : " I have invited a friend of 
 mine to be your partner on the occasion." 
 
 But Helen pretended to be much disappointed, and 
 said, " Clara was very unkind to try to wean the affections 
 of her only brother from herself ; and at this particular 
 time, when she was aware that she had set her heart up- 
 on appearing with him." 
 
 " Nonsense, Helen," said William, half vexed, though 
 he could not avoid laughing at the airs she assumed.
 
 220 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 " You know you don't care a fig about it, and then you 
 know Clara is very far from asking such a favor. You 
 will be much better pleased with the attention of Mr. 
 Stanwood, only you'll have to curb your spirits. He is 
 a married man." 
 
 " Then I won't stand with him at all. I'll choose Mr. 
 Seymour if Miss Warren does not come, which Laura 
 says is uncertain," and Helen looked archly in her broth- 
 er's face as they came on to the piazza, where the lights 
 shone through the windows. 
 
 " Remember," said William, detaining her as they were 
 entering the house, " you have promised not to joke her 
 about me at all." 
 
 " I only say I'll do my best to avoid it," and she 
 laughed gayly. 
 
 Another week passed in this happy home, happy be- 
 cause though ever cheerful, yet they acknowledged their 
 heavenly Father as the author of all their mercies, and 
 endeavored to conform their lives to the standard he has 
 given. Mr. Warren arrived with his sister Bessie and 
 Mr. Seymour leaving his parents and younger brother 
 and sister to follow the next day. 
 
 Helen had claimed frequent praise from her brother 
 during the past week for her discreet behavior, though 
 her conduct had been far from satisfactory to him. She 
 was continually making blunders, followed by the most 
 formal apologies, which were equally trying to bear ; for 
 instance, she would address Clara as " my sweet sister, 
 my beloved sister," and when Clara blushed painfully 
 she would say, " do excuse me, coz. I wonder how I 
 could have made such a mistake, when of course the na-
 
 OK, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 221 
 
 ture of the case forbids such a relation," and this always 
 took place when William was present to profit by the 
 blushes. 
 
 All this rendered the poor girl so shy, that it was next 
 to impossible for him to see her, except in the presence 
 of the family, and he was obliged to content himself by 
 the thought that he would pay Helen in her own coin, if 
 she should ever fall in love. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood arrived with the friends of Mr. Warren 
 the evening of the twenty-first, and the wedding was to 
 take place on the following day. It had been Laura's 
 wish to be married in the morning, and proceed on her 
 journey, but she had at length consented to comply with 
 the earnest wishes of her cousins to postpone it until 
 evening. Mr. Warren had been noticed to be very busi- 
 ly engaged with Laura's uncle and guardian for a day 
 or two, and at length Mr. Stanwood was called into the 
 study to assist with his legal knowledge. On the morn- 
 ing of her wedding, Mr. Russel summoned her to his 
 study, where she found her aunt, her lover, and Mr. Stan- 
 wood. She was rather startled at the seriousness of 
 their appearance ; but her uncle said kindly, " I have been 
 rendering an account of my stewardship, and Mr. War- 
 ren has at length consented to take the care of your prop- 
 erty, but he has insisted (contrary to what I was sure 
 would be your wishes,) upon settling every cent of youi 
 fortune upon yourself." 
 
 " I cannot consent to such an arrangement," exclaimed 
 Laura, much agitated by the remembrance of a letter she 
 had once received. 
 
 " My dear Laura," said her betrothed, advancing and 
 19*
 
 222 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 taking her hand, though he was very pale. " Do not dis- 
 tress me by speaking thus. Much as I regard your 
 wishes, it is absolutely impossible for me to consent to 
 have it otherwise. My feelings on this subject have 
 never changed," he added, in a voice intended only for 
 her ear. 
 
 Laura said no more, but with a sudden determination 
 to prevail upon her cousin William to have the whole 
 matter reversed after her marriage, she asked her uncle if 
 that were all, left the room, and summoned William to 
 follow her to the parlor. After being closeted with her 
 for an hour, he came out holding checks signed by her to 
 her bankers to the amount of several thousand dollars, to 
 be given by him to various objects of public and private 
 charity. 
 
 The hour of eight had been appointed for the wedding. 
 The guests had arrived. Reverend Mr. Warren, who 
 was to perform the ceremony, with his wife, Edward and 
 Gracie, and beside these a large number of neighbors and 
 friends, were now seated awaiting the appearance of the 
 bride and bridegroom with their attendants. A slight 
 movement in the hall, announces that they are near at 
 hand. The clergyman arises from his seat and sets his 
 chair one side, to allow the bridal company to pass him. 
 The young attorney enters first with Clara, who blushes 
 as if she were to be the bride ; then Mr. Seymour and 
 Bessie, Edward Warren and Helen, followed by Mr. 
 Stanwood and the timid Marianne. After these had 
 taken their places, Mr. Thomas Warren, and Miss Laura 
 Russel advance to the vacant space which had been left 
 for them, when the good minister invoked a blessing
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 223 
 
 upon the intended union. He then in a few words ex- 
 plained the nature of the ordinance, the interest taken in 
 it by our Saviour, who performed his first miracle at the 
 wedding of Cana in Galilee, and with deep emotion he 
 administered the oath to them, by which they bound 
 themselves to love and cherish each other, and to per- 
 form all the duties of the matrimonial relation according 
 to the Holy Scriptures. Pie then pronounced them hus- 
 band and wife. The bride was exceedingly pale, and it 
 was only by a great effort that she restrained herself 
 from tears ; but at the close she glanced for one instant 
 into the face so lovingly bent over her, a thrill of joy 
 passed through her frame that she had henceforth one 
 heart which beat only for her, and that heart was so reg- 
 ulated by the sacred principles of religion, that she could 
 confide in it with perfect safety. Her friends eagerly 
 gathered around to express then- congratulations and 
 kind wishes to the newly married pair. Among the first 
 who approached, was Mr. Warren's mother, leaning upon 
 the arm of her new friend and relative, Mr. Russel. 
 With moistened eyes, she expressed the pleasure it gave 
 her to call Laura, " my daughter," and after a cordial 
 motherly embrace, both of the bride and groom, she was 
 led back to her seat. Mrs. Norton, too, was much af- 
 fected as she realized that her dear niece now belonged 
 to another. But the though't, " I shall soon be called to 
 my heavenly home," soothed the grief she would other- 
 wise have felt at the painful separation. There was a 
 sweet dignity in the manner of the young bride, as she 
 received the kind wishes of her friends, which won the 
 admiration of all. Her husband, as he gazed with pride
 
 224 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 upon her, drew her arm closer within his, as he thought, 
 " she is my own." 
 
 During the remainder of the evening cake and fruits 
 of all varieties were passed to the guests, and the younger 
 people made themselves very merry upon the occasion. 
 Mrs. Thomas Warren was repeated so often that Laura 
 was likely to become accustomed to the title. Helen 
 whispered in her ear, " don't you think that Mrs. Edward 
 Warren is quite as pretty a name ? " She then attacked 
 Clara, but William had found an opportunity in the 
 course of the day, to say a few words to his cousin, with 
 the full permission of her father and mother, which hung 
 like a charm about her, and prevented her from any far- 
 ther annoyance. So Helen in dismay turned to her part- 
 ner to impart her ill success. 
 
 The evening, like all other evenings, came at length to 
 a close, and Laura experienced a feeling of sadness, as 
 one friend after another approached to bid her adieu. 
 
 The next morning she started for the Falls of Niagara, 
 and for a tour to the West, after which she was to return 
 
 for a few days to S , before she settled in her new 
 
 home, in New York city. On her way she visited Mrs. 
 Stanvvood, who one evening said gravely, " My dear 
 Laura, I have had some thought of publishing a series 
 of letters, as a help to gentlemen in making matrimonial 
 proposals to ladies. I Rave known the happiness 
 of some gentlemen to be almost destroyed, merely 
 for the want of some proper guide of the kind I 
 mention. If you have any of my documents in your 
 possession, I shall be extremely obliged to you for the 
 use of them. Mr. Stanwood gazed at his wife, and
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 225 
 
 then at her friends, in amazement, while Laura put 
 her hand to her head and wondered if Mary were not 
 beside herself. Mr. Warren, with a deprecatory shake 
 of the head, advanced quickly to his wife, and seated 
 himself by her side. 
 
 " What can you mean, Mary ? " she said at length. 
 
 Mary threw herself on the carpet, before her friend, 
 saying, " dearest, will you promise to forgive me, because 
 if you wont, Mr. Stanwood, who is a magistrate, will 
 divorce you at once." 
 
 Laura seized her husband's hand, whom she perceived 
 was much agitated, and said hurriedly, " tell me, 
 Thomas, is she crazy ? " 
 
 " Do you remember," asked Mary, hiding her face, 
 which was covered with blushes, " that when we were in 
 Charleston, I one day, after repeated knockings, gained 
 admittance to your room, and found you weeping over a 
 letter, which I had some difficulty in prevailing upon you 
 to answer ? " 
 
 " Well," said Laura, turning very pale, and taking her 
 hand from her husband. 
 
 " I wrote it, dear Laura, don't feel so," she added, 
 really frightened, as she glanced up to meet Laura's 
 gaze. 
 
 But the mortification had been too great for the sen- 
 sitive bride, and she wept bitterly. She gently put away 
 her friend, and even her husband, when he attempted 
 to soothe her, sobbing, " it was cruel to deceive me so." 
 Mr. Stanwood left the room, motioning to his wife to ac- 
 company him, when she, for the first time, related the 
 circumstances connected with their betrothal. He told
 
 226 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 her he hoped she would never again be guilty of such 
 an action, and she shed many tears at the thought of her 
 weeping friend. 
 
 It was a long time before Laura was composed enough 
 to hear the explanation which her husband was so anx- 
 ious to impart. But when he informed her Mary had 
 only written what he had told her were his sentiments, 
 and that before he went to her on the eventful evening 
 which had been one of the happiest of his life, he had 
 received Mary's confession, and had acknowledged to 
 her that she had rightly represented him to her friend.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE TOURIST. 
 
 WHEN Henry Wells reached London he had faith- 
 fully kept the promise he had made to his friend, Mrs. 
 Gordon, at parting, and read every day in the silver- 
 clasped Bible she had given him. At first he only read 
 because of that promise, and because of the pleasure he 
 experienced in doing what he knew she would approve ; 
 but the more he read the more interested he became, un- 
 til he passed an hour or two every day during his voy- 
 age, in the perusal of its sacred pages. He had, when a 
 child, read and re-read the historical portions of the Scrip- 
 tures ; but now he perused with delight the powerful 
 diction and pathos of Job, the sublime visions of Isaiah, 
 and the thrilling eloquence of Paul, and his soul was 
 moved within him. The desire to be a Christian, and 
 to follow the precepts of the holy book, became stronger 
 and stronger every day. But on his arrival in London, 
 so many new and pleasing objects occupied his attention, 
 that he had little time except for a hurried performance 
 of his pledge, just as he was retiring to rest. 
 
 On the second Sabbath of his stay in London, the 
 
 celebrated Dr. was to preach. Notice of this 
 
 had been published in many of the papers ; and Henry, 
 among the rest, determined to hear him. The sermon 
 was the means of producing a deep conviction of his 
 
 (227)
 
 228 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 guilt as a sinner, before God, and now again he turned 
 to the sacred pages for comfort and peace. Here he 
 read, as if for the first time, the story of Christ's suffer- 
 ings and death, and here too the gracious spirit applied this 
 sacred truth to his mind, and the Saviour became to him 
 light and salvation, the chief among ten thousand and 
 the one altogether lovely. 
 
 After remaining for a week longer in London, he de- 
 parted for the Continent, and at the expiration of a few 
 months, having visited France and Italy, he returned, 
 early in the fall, to Germany, for the winter. It was 
 his object to acquire a thorough knowledge of the lan- 
 guage before he returned to his studies in the law. 
 Whenever, of late, his thoughts turned to his chosen 
 profession, he was restless and dissatisfied, and at length, 
 after weeks and months of doubt and uncertainty, de- 
 termined, if his father would consent, to relinquish that 
 profession, and by a protracted stay in Europe, to pre- 
 pare himself for a Professorship of Languages. But af- 
 ter a short time he was equally dissatisfied with this 
 project, and early the following summer, with the con- 
 sent of his parents started for Scotland, and joined the 
 University in Edinburgh, with which Dr. Chalmers was 
 associated. Here he remained three years, then re- 
 turned to Germany, and passed one year more, after 
 which he visited the other principal countries of Europe, 
 Egypt, and the Holy Land, and then he went back to Ed- 
 inburgh, where he began to preach. He received an earn- 
 est invitation to settle in a neighboring town, but his heart 
 was in his native land, and he began to yearn for home. 
 Taking with him letters from his Professors, in Edin-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 229 
 
 burgh, and other gentlemen who had become much inter- 
 ested in him, he left Liverpool early in 1836, and after a 
 short passage landed in New York, having been absent 
 more than six years. By his particular request no one out 
 of his own family were aware that he had changed his 
 profession ; but as the fact would now transpire, and as 
 he had several hours before the boat would leave for his 
 native place, he determined to present a letter of intro- 
 duction to a clergyman in the city. This call resulted in 
 a promise from him to supply, for a few Sabbaths, a vacant 
 pulpit in that place ; his engagement to commence the 
 next Sabbath but one. Had he known his old townsman 
 and friend, Thomas Warren, occupied one of the magnifi- 
 cent houses he passed in his walk back to the hotel, or 
 that his friend Susy had, for nearly two years, been a 
 resident in New York, he might not have been so impa- 
 tient to leave. True, in the years which had passed, he 
 had schooled his heart until he believed not a trace re- 
 mained of his old passion for her, but still she would 
 always be to him a dear friend. He knew, from his cor- 
 respondence with his sister, that Mr. Gordon had died 
 suddenly about two years before, and he knew also of 
 her grief for him ; but of late, Eleanor, who was about to 
 form new ties, had said less of her old friends, especially 
 as Thomas and Susan resided at a distance, so that ho 
 only knew, in general, that Thomas had become a mer- 
 chant, and had married a wealthy lady, and that Susan 
 was living with her aunt. The visit to his home re- 
 vived many associations, especially those relating to 
 the parsonage, where he had never been since his sad 
 20
 
 230 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 interview with Susan, which materially changed the 
 course of his life. 
 
 He opened the gate and passed up the walk, where in 
 childhood he had so often played, and lifted the Lion's 
 head upon the brass knocker. The door was opened by 
 a tall and elegant lady, in whom he found it difficult to 
 recognize his former friend Bessie. Without making 
 himself known, he asked for her father, and was intro- 
 duced as a stranger into the parlor, where Mr. and Mrs. 
 Warren were sitting. He advanced quickly to them, 
 holding out his hand, when the joyful recognition took 
 place. / 
 
 " It is Henry ! our own Henry ! " said the good man, 
 clasping both his hands, while Mrs. Warren gave him a 
 motherly embrace. Bessie then came in blushing to 
 welcome him, and with a glance reminded her father 
 that there was a gentleman present who had not been 
 introduced. Mr. Warren then smilingly presented Mr. 
 Seymour as a young gentleman of the same profession 
 as himself. Mr. Wells returned the smile, but made no 
 reply. Edward and Gracie were then called, at his re- 
 quest, and after half an hour in general conversation, dur- 
 ing which he learned that Mrs. Gordon as well as her 
 brother lived in New York, and inferred that Mr. Sey- 
 mour was trying to woo his old friend Bessie, he re- 
 quested a few minutes' conversation with Mr. Warren in 
 the study. He then communicated the fact that he had 
 become a clergyman, and showed him his letters from 
 Dr. Chalmers and others. Mr. Warren was very much 
 affected, and said earnestly as he grasped him by the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 231 
 
 hand, " God bless you, my young friend ; you have cho- 
 sen wisely, and I rejoice in your decision." 
 
 Henry then promised, though with some natural reluc- 
 tance, to preach the next Sabbath in his native place. 
 He knew this was the wish of his parents, and that he 
 ought to gratify them, but he knew also that to him it 
 would be a trying day. 
 
 Through the remainder of the week it was noised 
 about, that the son of Squire Wells had returned from 
 abroad, had become a minister, and that they would have 
 an opportunity to hear him on the next Sabbath, so that 
 it is no great wonder that all the stories of his boyish 
 pranks, and youthful frolics were revived, or that at an 
 early hour the church was crowded by persons eager to 
 recognize in the polished traveller, the youth they had 
 known and loved so well. 
 
 It was one of June's, most lovely days, and in that calm 
 and quiet retreat where all nature seemed to unite in 
 praise to its Maker, the young man who had so lately 
 taken upon himself the holy vows, felt his soul stirred to 
 its inmost depths, as he realized the sacredness of his 
 office. Here apart from the busy cares of the world, he 
 seemed to hear the voice of God, speaking directly to 
 him, and he drank deep draughts of spiritual knowledge 
 as he listened to the sacred words, " My grace shall be 
 sufficient for thee.' " Lo I am with you alway, even to 
 the end of the world." " Great is your reward in 
 heaven." 
 
 It was with such feelings and meditations as these, that 
 at the appointed time the young minister accompanied
 
 232 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 his parents to the church, followed them up the aisle, 
 waited at the door of the pew until they were seated, 
 then ascended the stairs to the pulpit. Mr. Warren was 
 already there, and soon the services commenced. In a 
 low but distinct voice, every word of which could be 
 heard even at the extremity of the house, Mr. Wells in- 
 voked the divine blessing. Mr. Warren then, at his 
 request, read the hymn, and conducted the other devo- 
 tional services, after which, he arose for the delivery of 
 his discourse. If some wondered that the young man, 
 after all his foreign education and travels, should have 
 nothing more in manner to distinguish him, there were 
 many who, with tearful eyes and earnest hearts, thanked 
 God for raising up, even from their midst, a man mighty 
 for God ; a man who, in his zeal for his Master, forgot 
 himself. It was with such feelings that Mr. Warren 
 listened to his young friend ; and he prayed that his life 
 might be spared to become a bulw.ark upon the walls of 
 Zion. 
 
 On Thursday, of the same week, he again started for 
 New York, and called immediately upon Thomas, now 
 one of the merchant princes of that great city. Here he 
 was introduced to Laura, who delighted him by her 
 simplicity and frankness. He congratulated his friend 
 upon his good fortune, who replied, " When ybu know 
 her better, you can understand how much I ought 
 to be congratulated." Mr. Wells was however disap- 
 pointed to learn that Susan, with her aunt and children, 
 had left the city for a few days ; but Thomas assured 
 him they would probably return the first of the week. 
 
 In reply to the question proposed by his friend, whether
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 233 
 
 he had not brought home a wife with him, he said, 
 briefly, " I have never loved but once." The answer was 
 given in such a tone as to preclude all farther conversa- 
 tion upon that subject. 
 
 When Henry rose to take his leave, both Thomas and 
 his wife insisted that he should take lodgings with them, 
 while he remained in the city. Indeed, for a long time, 
 they would take no denial ; but, at length, reluctantly 
 consented that he should remain at the hotel until the 
 first of the week. 
 
 On the following Sabbath, as Mr. Wells sat in the 
 pulpit while the congregation were assembling, his eye 
 fell upon a pew about half way up the middle aisle, in 
 which were seated a lovely group a young mother, with 
 two beautiful little girls, while between her and them 
 was an active boy with black hair curling up from his 
 white brow, and keen black eyes entirely unlike either 
 of the others. A middle aged man occupied the seat at 
 the head of the pew, and as the mother had some diffi- 
 culty in keeping the child quiet, he beckoned to the boy 
 to sit with him. When he perceived this action, the 
 preacher tried to avert his eyes from them, and took up 
 the hymn book to divert his thoughts into another chan- 
 nel. But no ; another minute, and his eyes are again 
 riveted upon that fair young face, about which there is 
 something which sends the blood wildly through his 
 heart. This time the lady looks up, glances at the 
 speaker, her eye meets his, she starts forward, her coloi 
 fades from her cheeks and lips. The recognition is 
 mutual. For one moment he gazes at her, and then 
 presses his hand upon his eyes as if to shut out the 
 20*
 
 234 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 sight Ah! in that single moment the labor of years 
 was undone ! He awoke to the fact that Susan Gordon 
 was still dearer to him than everything but the precious 
 truths of the Bible she had placed in his hands. 
 
 To the young widow, this sudden meeting was pain- 
 ful as well as pleasing. To see him at all would have 
 been a surprise, but to see him in the pulpit ! she 
 could yet hardly realize or understand her own emotion. 
 When they arose for prayer, her feelings overpowered her; 
 and while the choir were singing she wept, until she 
 feared she should be obliged to leave the house. " Can 
 it be," she asked herself, " that my prayers have been 
 answered ? " 
 
 Seeing his mother in tears, Frederic slipped from the 
 cushion and crept softly to her side, where, taking his 
 small handkerchief, he attempted to wipe her eyes, as he 
 often did at home. This kind act Henry noticed, and it 
 almost overcame him ; but he firmly fixed his mind upon 
 his subject, and at length regained his self-possession. 
 Mrs. Gordon, too, as her little son, who supposed that 
 she was weeping over his misconduct, whispered 
 " Please, mamma, don't cry, I will sit still and be a 
 good boy," endeavored to remember that she was in 
 the house of God, and engaged in his worship. The 
 sermon was from these words, " Cast thy bread upon the 
 waters, and thou shalt find it after many days." He 
 opened with a brief account of the manner of casting 
 bread, or sowing rice upon ground covered with water, 
 as is the custom in some Oriental countries. After this, 
 they find a plentiful harvest. He then applied it to 
 sowing good seed in the hearts of men, even if the soil
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 235 
 
 appear ever so unpromising, the seed sown may find a 
 lodgment there, and in God's own good time spring up, 
 and bear fruit to His glory. 
 
 Upon this part of his subject, he gave several illustra- 
 tions in point ; one was this : " A man was one day 
 walking in the streets of London, when he observed a 
 child, apparently about five years of age, endeavoring 
 to scrape some filthy offal from the gutter, with which to 
 satisfy his earnest craving for food. Just as the gentle- 
 man was opposite him the boy began to cry, because 
 he could not find sufficient to gratify his hunger. The 
 noise arrested the attention of the gentleman, who was 
 at that very time engaged in one of the Sabbath schools, 
 for the reformation of such boys. He stopped, ascertained 
 the cause of the child's grief, and, at length, by the 
 promise of food, persuaded the filthy boy to accompany 
 him home. This was on Sabbath morning. The boy 
 was washed, fed and clothed, and in the afternoon taken 
 to the Sabbath school, where, with open mouth, he 
 listened to the words of the teacher, as she repeated the 
 lesson for the day : ' Thou shalt not take the name of 
 the Lord thy God in vain ; for the Lord will not hold 
 him guiltless that taketh his name in vain : ' which 
 command having been explained to him as coming from 
 God, seemed to his young mind wholly inconsistent 
 with the lessons, both of precept and example, which he 
 was in the habit of receiving from his parents, and 
 which, therefore, made a deep impression upon him. 
 
 " For four successive weeks the boy found his way to 
 the house of the kind gentleman, where he was treated 
 in the same manner as on his first visit ; returning after
 
 236 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 service to leave his clothes. But after this nothing more 
 was seen of him. Whether his parents had removed 
 from the neighborhood and the child could not find the 
 way back, or for what reasons he stayed away they 
 never knew. 
 
 " But more than thirty years afterwards as this gentle- 
 man, now in the decline of life, was sitting in his parlor, 
 a stranger was announced as wishing to see him. A 
 tall, noble-looking man entered, his countenance some- 
 what embrowned, but with an expression of firmness 
 and resolution stamped in every feature. He ap- 
 proached and held out his hand, saying frankly, 'I 
 presume you do not recognize me ; nevertheless, I have 
 had the pleasure of enjoying your hospitality, and that 
 for several weeks in succession.' 
 
 " The old gentleman gazed earnestly at him, but 
 shook his head as he replied, ' I have no recollection 
 of your face.' 
 
 " Exhibiting deep emotion, the stranger inquired, ' Do 
 you remember, sir, a poor boy, whom, more than thirty 
 years ago you picked from the gutter, and after feeding 
 and clothing him took him with you to the Sabbath 
 school ? I am that boy, sir, and, under God, you are the 
 means of preventing me from being in the gutter still.' 
 
 " The aged man motioned his friend to a chair, and 
 resumed his own seat, too much affected to speak, while 
 an invalid lady, at the farther part of the room wept 
 aloud. She well remembered the dirty boy, and the 
 remonstrances of some of her family against his being 
 brought to the house. 
 
 " The stranger then, in a few words gave them his his-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 237 
 
 tory. Forgetting the instructions he had received, he 
 soon preferred to spend his Sabbath in play, rather than 
 to go to the Sabbath school, and as years passed, grew 
 more and more hardened in crime. At length, at the 
 age of fifteen he embarked on board ship as a sailor, 
 and here he soon became so profane as to shock the ears 
 of his wicked companions. For more than two years he 
 continued in this wicked course, until one night in a 
 terrible storm at sea, the vessel in which he had sailed 
 for India, was dismasted, and they expected every mo- 
 ment to go to the bottom, he was standing aft holding 
 on to the rigging, when a wave came and washed him 
 the whole length of the vessel. With a horrid oath he 
 resumed his place, when a voice like thunder sounded in 
 his ears, "the Lord will not hold him guiltless that 
 taketh his name in vain." He gazed around, but no 
 one was near. In one moment he was carried back to 
 the small school-house, where he had heard those words. 
 " Years had passed since he had heard them, but 
 now they came to him with convincing power, and he 
 found no rest until he threw himself at the feet of a cru- 
 cified Saviour, revealed to him by the very one who, of all 
 others, on ship board, had been a butt for his low ridicule. 
 As soon as he was discharged from the ship, he went to 
 work in earnest to get an education, for at that time he 
 could do little more than to spell out a page of simple 
 reading ; and, not to tire you with his trials, difficulties 
 and discouragements, he had at the time he called upon 
 his former patron, been a minister of the gospel for 
 six years. He was connected with the Methodist 
 denomination, and had labored in one of their foreign
 
 238 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 fields, to which he was now intending to return, after an 
 absence of a few months. That good old man cast his 
 bread upon the dark waters, and though for many long 
 years it was choked with weeds and tares, yet through 
 the blessing of God it had at last been found after many 
 days." 
 
 The preacher then urged his hearers never to be dis- 
 couraged on account of the unfruitfulness of the soil, nor 
 any other adverse circumstances, for God had power by 
 his holy Spirit, to make use of the humblest instrumen- 
 tality, even by a word spoken in season, to redeem souls 
 lost in sin, and give them a place among his people. 
 
 He then closed in the following manner. " A young 
 man was about to leave the shores of his native country. 
 He had been religiously educated, but was without hope, 
 and without God in the world. Indeed the precious 
 word of God was little more to him than a skilfully de- 
 vised fable. Just as he was about to sail, a dear friend 
 put into his hands a small Bible which she requested 
 him to read daily for her sake, assuring him, that morn- 
 ing and evening she would pray that the truths it con- 
 tained might be the controlling principles of his life. He 
 took the book and gave the required promise, and by the 
 blessing of God upon its life-giving doctrines, joined to 
 the earnest prayers which I doubt not ascended morning 
 and evening in behalf of the absent friend, this blessed 
 book, (holding up to view a well worn volume,) became 
 truly a lamp to his feet, and a light to his path." 
 
 His broken voice and humid eye, convinced more than 
 one hearer that the preacher alluded to himself, and when 
 he rose for .prayer many hearts responded to his appeal,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 239 
 
 and determined to cast their bread upon the waters, that 
 they might find it after many days. 
 
 But what were the feelings of Mrs. Gordon as she was 
 thus assured of the rich blessing which had attended her 
 parting words. A quick, bright flush upon her pale 
 cheek, and a convulsive sob, attracted the attention of 
 her companion, but as there were many in tears, the 
 emotion passed without more thought. 
 
 As Mr. Wells came from the pulpit, he perceived his 
 friends, Mr. and Mrs. Warren, waiting to speak with 
 him ; but on glancing toward the pew occupied by Mrs. 
 Gordon, he saw that she had left the house. 
 
 After Mr. Warren had expressed his pleasure at hear- 
 ing his old friend, he said with enthusiasm, " I wished all 
 the time that Susan could have been here. She would 
 have enjoyed your sermon exceedingly." 
 
 " I think she was here," remarked Mr. Wells, quietly, 
 " I recognized her, though she has lost her bloom." 
 
 " Yes, she is very much changed," answered Mr. War- 
 ren, abstractedly, feeling sure from his friend's manner 
 that all particular interest for his sister had subsided into 
 calm friendship. 
 
 Refusing the earnest invitation of his friends to dine 
 with them, the young clergyman returned to his hotel, 
 and attempted to fix his mind upon his afternoon dis- 
 course. But on the page before him, he could only see 
 a black bonnet, from under which a pair of earnest tear- 
 ful eyes, were gazing at him. 
 
 " Strange," said he aloud, throwing aside his manu- 
 script, " that one glance at her pale face, should have re- 
 vived in full force the affection I counted as dead. Oh,
 
 240 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Susan, is your heart buried in the grave of your hus- 
 band ! Or can you now return my devoted love ? " 
 
 It was not without a struggle that the young man at 
 length gave his attention to the subject before him, when 
 his mind was so much engrossed with it, that he was 
 surprised by the ringing of the bell. 
 
 The next morning, Mr. Wells, having the previous week 
 ascertained the residence of Mrs. Hammond, turned his 
 steps in that direction, wondering at how early an hour 
 he might venture to call. Not being much acquainted 
 in that part of the city, he was just going to ask if he 
 were in the right direction, when he saw approaching 
 him a boy, running at full speed after a hoop, followed 
 by two girls, and a beautiful spaniel, which he instantly 
 recognized as Moselle. They were all running past him, 
 when with a low whistle he called, " Moselle ! Moselle ! 
 poor fellow, good Moselle ! " 
 
 The dog turned, raised her ears, and her tail, began 
 smelling around for a moment, and then sprang with a 
 joyful bark of recognition upon her old master. So vio- 
 lent and almost fierce was her joy, that Fanny became 
 alarmed for fear she would injure the gentleman, or tear 
 his clothes. She called, " Moselle ! Moselle ! Come, Mo- 
 selle!" But this time the faithful creature took no heed 
 to the oft repeated call. 
 
 To witness what they would do, Mr. Wells turned as 
 if to walk on, and Moselle, though barking for the chil- 
 dren to follow, went with him. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the distressed Fanny to her sister, 
 " what shall we do ? Moselle is going off." 
 
 After one moment's hesitation they both set off after
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 241 
 
 her, and soon overtaking the gentleman, Helen said 
 " please, sir, will you give us back our dog ? Mamma 
 would feel very sorry if we should come home without 
 her." 
 
 " The beautiful creature seems to like me," replied Mr. 
 Wells, smiling, " Don't you think your mother would 
 sell her?" 
 
 " Oh, no, sir!" they exclaimed in alarm, " She wouldn't 
 give her up on any account. Somebody gave Moselle to 
 her a great while ago." 
 
 " Who was it ? " he asked, with a choking voice. 
 
 " His name was Henry, sir ; and she loves Moselle 
 very much, and talks to her about Henry. Come, Mo- 
 selle, go with me to mamma, and she'll tell you. Henry 
 come back sometime." 
 
 At this speech, Moselle renewed her manifestations of 
 joy by jumping on her old master. 
 
 In the mean time Frederic had been standing by, his 
 face growing very determined, as if he were making up 
 his mind to defend his rights to the death. When his 
 sister had done speaking, he came forward looking very 
 red. " No, sir," he said, " you can't have her ; mamma 
 wouldn't sell her for a whole lot of gold." 
 
 Mr. Wells patted the boy's head as he smiled and said, 
 " If she thinks so much of the dog, I wouldn't ask her to 
 give it up ; so, ' good bye, good bye, Moselle,' " and he 
 began to walk away ; but as he expected, with the faith- 
 ful creature close at his heels. In vain did the children 
 run after her to entice her back. She would not go un- 
 til the gentleman asked, " where does your mother live ? 
 21
 
 242 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 I shall have to take the dog to her, as she will not leave 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ; thank you, sir. She lives in the 
 next street;" and now Moselle appeared satisfied that 
 matters were in a right train, for she trotted along quietly 
 until they reached the steps of Mrs. Hammond's house. 
 When the servant answered the door bell, Frederic rushed 
 forward exclaiming, " mamma, don't let Moselle go away ; 
 here's a gentleman with Moselle." 
 
 It was still very early, and as the children in their ear- 
 nestness ushered Mr. Wells into the breakfast room, he 
 saw the young widow standing at the table wiping the 
 silver. Helen was preparing to introduce the stranger, 
 when with a sudden start forward, he caught her hand, 
 and the interchanged names, " Susan" " Henry" showed 
 that they were already acquainted. 
 
 Poor Susan ! the color came and went, and with a 
 thought of the loss she had sustained since he left home, 
 she burst into tears. Henry led her to a chair and sought 
 to soothe her, when she soon regained her composure, 
 and introduced her aunt, who well remembered him. 
 
 After explaining to the children that this gentleman 
 was the Henry who gave her Moselle, she dismissed 
 them to their play, though the dog absolutely refused to 
 accompany them. With regard to the old friends, it is 
 sufficient to say that after conversing together an hour in 
 the breakfast room, while Mrs. Gordon finished her morn- 
 ing duties, they adjourned to the parlor, accompanied by 
 Mrs. Hammond. Their themes of conversation were far 
 from exhausted. When the bell rang for dinner, Mr.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 243 
 
 Wells suddenly took leave, as he had engaged to dine at 
 Mr. Warren's, but asked leave to come again in the 
 evening. 
 
 " Come as often as you please," said Mrs. Hammond 
 cordially. " we shall make no stranger of you."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE YOUNG WIDOW. 
 
 AFTER dinner, when she had seen her aunt in bed for 
 her daily nap, Mrs. Gordon retired to her own room and 
 made the following entry into her diary. 
 
 " Henry Wells has come home a Christian and .a 
 clergyman. How grateful I ought to be, that any words 
 of mine were blessed to his soul. Yesterday 1 thought 
 him very much changed. So calm, when he used to be 
 impetuous ; but to-day he seemed just like the Henry I 
 knew when a child. I longed to ask him if he were 
 married ; but some how I could not, as he did not allude 
 to such a connection. He listened with great interest to 
 the subject on which I most love to talk, the character 
 of my dear husband. Oh, how he would have rejoiced 
 in the conversion of this dear friend! Aunt Susy was 
 very much interested in his conversation. He says he 
 has much to tell me not only of his travels, but also of 
 his plans for the future. He passed last Sabbatli at 
 home, and preached in the old church for father. I pre- 
 sume, if he has a family, he left them there. I will ask 
 Thomas about it. I wonder if he would have called to- 
 day, if it had not been for Moselle." 
 
 In the afternoon, on the way to his counting-room, 
 Thomas called to say that he and Laura would accom- 
 pany Henry there in the evening, and his sister took the 
 
 (244)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 245 
 
 opportunity to ask some questions with regard to her 
 friend. 
 
 In the evening, when they were all seated together, 
 Thomas, with something of his former teasing habit, 
 said, " Henry, a lady asked me, to-day, if you were a 
 Benedict. I believe I understood you to say you were 
 not." 
 
 Mr. Wells, whose hopes had been so buoyed up by the 
 kind reception he had met with in the morning, experi- 
 enced a sudden sinking of the heart. He bent his eyes 
 upon Susan with almost a look of reproach, and if he 
 had doubted before who had asked the question, he 
 doubted no more, as he saw the deepened color in her 
 cheeks ; but with a seriousness Thomas considered 
 wholly uncalled for, answered briefly, " You understood 
 me aright. During my absence I saw many beautiful 
 ladies, and many accomplished ones, but none whom I 
 wished to ask to sustain to me the relation of wife." 
 
 The evening passed off pleasantly in general conversa- 
 tion, but the question of Mrs. Gordon to her brother was 
 the occasion of a sleepless night to the subject of it, and 
 he could not but confess to himself that her manner was 
 more constrained after knowing that he was still unmar- 
 ried. 
 
 " Could it have been the supposition that it was oth- 
 erwise, which led her to receive me so warmly in the 
 morning ? " was a question which he asked himself again 
 and again, but which he saw no way to solve to his sat- 
 isfaction, unless he asked the lady herself. 
 
 Early the next morning, hearing Mrs. Warren express 
 her determination to send for her aunt and sister to 
 21*
 
 246 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 come with the children to pass the day, Mr. Wells vol- 
 unteered to be the bearer of the message, as he was in- 
 tending to invite the little girls out for a walk. He did 
 so, and as Mrs. Warren had requested them to come 
 very early, he proposed to accompany them when he re- 
 turned. 
 
 " The children will be happy to do so," replied Mrs. 
 Gordon. " Mr. Whitney will drive aunt and myself 
 over, as she is feeble." 
 
 During the walk Mr. Wells endeavored to drive away 
 his despondence, and render himself agreeable to his lit- 
 tle charge. He was not long in ascertaining that his 
 conversation must be confined to the little girls, each of 
 whom claimed a hand, for Master Frederic was as un- 
 tamed as a wild colt, darting up this street and down 
 that, with Moselle barking at his heels. 
 
 " Who is Mr. Whitney ? " was a question he longed to 
 ask ; and yet he did not think it quite honorable to elicit 
 information from the children, and so he went back with 
 them to a description of their life at the parsonage. 
 True, they could not remember all that they told him, 
 but they had often heard their mother and Nora talk 
 of their old home, and well understood their subject. 
 
 After waiting a few moments, while Mrs. Gordon at- 
 tended to the dressing of the children, Mr. Wells was 
 about to take his leave with them, when Mr. Whitney 
 entered, and was introduced to him. Mr. Wells instantly 
 remembered him as the gentleman he had seen in the 
 pew with Mrs. Gordon, and a sharp pang shot through 
 his heart. Mr. Whitney was, however, very much 
 pleased to see the clergyman, having been exceedingly
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 247 
 
 interested in his preaching, of which fact he kindly as- 
 sured him. 
 
 On his way to Mr. Warren's, he met two gentlemen 
 who had come from his hotel, and were going in search 
 of him. They made themselves known as the commit- 
 tee of the church, and then walked with him to the 
 house of his friend. They there assured him, that as far 
 as they had been able to ascertain, the congregation had 
 been much interested in his discourses, and wished to 
 lose no time in engaging him to preach as a candidate. 
 
 Mr. Wells replied that he had been employed by the 
 clergyman, upon whom he had accidentally called, to 
 supply the pulpit for three Sabbaths, but did not wish to 
 be considered as a candidate for settlement, certainly not 
 at present, as he might yet conclude to return to Scot- 
 land, where he had a call to settle. 
 
 Though he did not design it, yet this answer only 
 made the gentlemen more earnest to engage his ser- 
 vices ; but as they found him decided to give them no 
 encouragement at present, they ceased for the time to 
 press him farther. As he waited upon them to the door, 
 the thought passed his mind, " if I only knew that I 
 could gain Susan's affections, I would allow them to 
 proceed as they wish." 
 
 Entirely unconscious that the lady who passed them 
 on the steps, had such an influence on the fate of their 
 church, the committee departed, regretting the unfavor- 
 able answer they had received. " We must see Mr. 
 Warren," remarked one of them, " and enlist him in our 
 service. He is a townsman, I hear." 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " and a staunch Christian he
 
 248 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 is, too, as well as a thorough business man. I am told he 
 will not use a cent of his wife's money in his business, 
 but prefers her to give away the income for charitable 
 purposes. 
 
 At dinner Mr. Wells had a farther opportunity to be- 
 come acquainted with Mr. Whitney, who he found was a 
 nephew of Mrs. Hammond's husband. He also ascer- 
 tained that he was an unmarried man, and that he 
 owned a beautiful house and grounds three miles out of 
 town. That he kept a carriage, and was often in the 
 habit of taking his young relatives to ride, was very evi- 
 dent from their conversation with him. He had no 
 sooner entered, than master Frederic was on his knee, 
 showing off to his new friend, his acquaintance with all 
 that concerned uncle William, as he had been taught to 
 call him. 
 
 " How are Carlo and Dix ? " inquired the boy. 
 
 " Well, very well, and sent their regards." 
 
 The children laughed, and the boy continued, " may I 
 ride home with you to-night ? " 
 
 " If your mother is willing." 
 
 " You ask her," whispered the boy. 
 
 " Yes, Frederiq," Mrs. Gordon answered, overhearing 
 the question. 
 
 " I'm going to live with uncle William sometime, 
 aren't 1, mamma?" 
 
 " I cannot say, my dear." 
 
 " You said you'd see about it." 
 
 Mr. Wells noticed a quick glance between uncle Wil- 
 liam, and the lady, and he bent his eye piercingly upon 
 her, so that it was no wonder her cheeks burned pain-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 249 
 
 fully, as she answered the child. " Well, my boy, I will 
 keep my word." 
 
 " Then I shall go," he whispered again, " Fanny and 
 Helen say she always lets us when she sees about it." 
 
 This remark made the whole company smile ; but 
 Mr. Wells did so with a sad pain at his heart. To 
 Mr. Whitney, however, though the conversation con- 
 tained nothing particularly encouraging to his hopes, yet 
 he was thankful that it did not repel him. For nearly 
 two years, he had been much in the society of the young 
 widow, had witnessed her piety, her devotion to her 
 aunt and children, her enthusiastic yet even tempera- 
 ment, and he thought if he could have her for the mis- 
 tress of his suburban home, he should be happy indeed. 
 His aunt had long suspected his affection for her dear 
 Susy, and rejoiced at it with all her heart ; but to the 
 object of it Mr. Whitney had never breathed a word of 
 love. For a long time this would have been improper, 
 and of late, as he had watched her, he imagined a certain 
 coolness, or rather a dignity, on her part, which prevented 
 him from willingly running the risk of losing her by a 
 formal presentation of his hand. Though nearly forty 
 years of age, and with sufficient property to sustain a 
 family in affluence, he was willing to wait rather than to 
 lose all by being premature, especially as, in his frequent 
 visits to the house, he had every opportunity to enjoy 
 her society, though she was very chary of her company 
 when her aunt was not present. 
 
 Such was their relation to each other. Of Susan's 
 feeling we may hereafter judge from her diary: but at 
 present Mr. Wells was very ingenious in finding some
 
 250 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGESJ 
 
 look or word with which to torture himself when alone. 
 Mr. Warren and Mr. Whitney left after dinner, to return 
 to their business ; but though they invited Mr. Wells to 
 accompany them, Laura immediately replied that they 
 could not spare him ; that it needed one gentleman to 
 entertain Master Frederic. 
 
 In a few moments, the young gentleman slipped from 
 the room, and Mrs. Warren, in passing through the hall, 
 heard him in earnest conversation with the porter. She 
 returned to the parlor, and beckoned his mother and Mr. 
 Wells to follow her. From their position they could 
 hear all that was said without being seen. 
 
 " My mamma whips me, when I am naughty," said 
 the boy. 
 
 " That's too bad ! " replied the man in a sympathizing 
 tone. 
 
 " No, it isn't too bad," exclaimed Frederic with warmth. 
 " It's just right ; I like to have her, because it says she 
 must in the Bible, to save me from going to the wicked 
 place, and it don't hurt me any." 
 
 " There's a lesson for you," whispered Henry ; in reply 
 to which she gravely shook her head, though she could 
 not resist an inclination to join in the laugh. 
 
 " I fear I am too lenient with him," she responded, 
 after a moment, and when they had returned to the 
 parlor, " He is so different from the twins. If his father 
 had lived," she added, her eyes becoming moist, " he 
 would have had better management. He will sadly 
 miss his father's firm government as he becomes old." 
 
 Days grew into weeks. The church had presented 
 Mr. Wells a unanimous call to settle with them ; but he
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 251 
 
 told the committee that he preferred the parish would 
 not take any steps until his own mind was determined 
 in regard to his future course. In the mean time, Mr. 
 Warren had urged his friend to settle with them. He 
 perceived that Henry was undecided and doubtful, and 
 that this state of mind was injuring his health ; and he 
 at length drew from him the confession that he was 
 unwilling to decide the question until he could ascertain 
 whether Susan could return his affection. " If she can- 
 not," he remarked sadly, " I shall pay my parents a 
 farewell visit, and return at once to Scotland." 
 
 " I certainly had no idea of this," responded Mr. 
 Warren, " and cannot at all judge of her feelings. I am 
 sure Mr. Whitney is fond of her, and I have wished that, 
 at a proper time, she would marry again, but I never 
 thought her particularly interested in him. I will say to 
 you, in confidence, that I understood Mr. Gordon wished 
 it ; that is, if she could be happier. In his case, how- 
 ever, I may be mistaken, as I may be also in yours." 
 
 " In mine ? What of mine ? " asked Mr. Wells eagerly. 
 
 " Why, I concluded that absence and Susan's mar- 
 riage had entirely weaned your affections from her ; but 
 I'll get Laura to ascertain her feelings." 
 
 A day or two after, Mrs. Warren called upon her 
 sister-in-law for this purpose. When they had been 
 conversing for some time upon indifferent topics, Laura 
 said, " I regret extremely that we cannot prevail upon 
 Mr. Wells to remain in New York. It will be a 
 great disappointment to the society ; but I understood 
 my husband that he will probably settle in Scotland." 
 Susan rose abruptly and left the room, and though
 
 252 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 after half an hour, Mrs. Warren sent one of her nieces to 
 see if she were not intending to return, she came back 
 with an apology from her mother, on the plea of a bad 
 headache this morning. " She is crying," artlessly added 
 the child. Mrs. Warren departed quite delighted with 
 the fact she should have to relate to her husband, as an 
 evidence of his sister's interest in his friend. 
 
 After nearly an hour passed in tears, during which 
 poor Susan yearned for the sympathizing heart of him 
 who was sleeping quietly in the village churchyard, she 
 turned to her journal, and began to write. At the bottom 
 of the desk was a letter from Mrs. Hall, her dear friend 
 
 from B . This lady had passed a few days with her 
 
 on her return from a tour to the west, and, during that 
 visit, put into her hand this sealed note. She had wit- 
 nessed the attentions of Mr. Whitney, and thought the 
 time might be at hand when she should deliver a mes- 
 sage to the widow she had received for her from her 
 dying husband. As she hinted at the subject, Mrs. 
 Gordon really felt incapable of opening it, and was 
 grieved that her friend should suppose .she would ever 
 marry again. 
 
 "Oh yes, my dear!" answered Mrs. Hall; "you are 
 young yet ; life is all before you. I have no doubt such 
 will be the case at some future time. If you do not 
 choose to read my letter now, lay it aside till you need 
 counsel." 
 
 This she had done ; and now the letter lay before her. 
 She took it up, and was about to tear open the seal, 
 then, with a sigh, returned it to her desk and resumed her 
 writing ; from which we will take liberty to read a few 
 extracts :
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 253 
 
 " How much Henry reminds me of my dear husband. 
 I think his Christian character has softened and subdued, 
 as well as elevated him. I often wonder if he ever 
 thinks of the last time we met at home. From his calm 
 appearance, I judge not ; and yet, he sometimes gives 
 me a look which recalls the past. I fear he thinks me 
 very forward, and I have often heard that widows are 
 considered so ; but I must be on my guard. I certainly 
 wish to preserve his respect." 
 
 Later : 
 
 " Henry has received a call from our church. On 
 many accounts it would be pleasant to have him 
 here; but I have never mentioned the subject to him. 
 He is very kind to me, and appears fond of the children. 
 He was much pleased when aunt said to him : ' If 1 
 did not remember you from a boy, I should feel ac- 
 quainted with you from hearing Susan and her husband 
 speak of you so frequently.' 
 
 "Dear aunt! She would hardly have told him that, 
 if she knew all that has passed between us." 
 
 " Yesterday I heard Henry preach for the fourth Sab- 
 bath. I have sometimes thought it strange that, ex- 
 cept in his first sermon, he should never have made the 
 least allusion to the Bible I gave him. This morning 
 he called to take the children, for their usual walk. I 
 happened to be alone, for the moment, with Mr. Whit- 
 ney, in the breakfast-room, an occurrence which I have 
 studiously avoided since I suspected his affection for me. 
 Poor Henry seemed to feel that he was an intruder ; but 
 I begged him most earnestly to stay, and Mr. Whitney 
 22
 
 254 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 soon departed. Henry began to apologize ; but I aid : 
 1 On the contrary, you relieved me from an embari xssing 
 position.' Could I be mistaken in thinking that he was 
 much pleased at the confidence I reposed in him ? " 
 
 " This morning sister Laura has been here, and told 
 me Henry would probably go to Scotland. It was so 
 sudden to me that I was obliged to leave the room to 
 conceal my emotion. What must Laura have thought 
 of me ! Or what can I think of myself ? Why should 
 I be so much overcome ? Henry has never, since his 
 return, spoken to me of love. Can it be that I have 
 been so wanting in self-respect as to give my affections 
 unasked ? But I hear Nora opening the door, and as 
 aunt is riding out, I must prepare to go down." 
 
 A few hours after the call of Mrs. Warren, Mr. Wells 
 rung at the door, and inquired for Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 As Nora went to her room to call her, she started to 
 look in the mirror. Her eyes still bore the traces of 
 tears ; and she was very reluctant to have him see her in 
 such a condition ; but on a second call, from Frederic, 
 she went below. If her face was flushed with weeping, 
 his was intensely pale, for he had come to know 
 whether she would return his affection. As soon as they 
 were seated, he said to Frederic, in a low voice, " I wish 
 to talk with your mother a few moments ; will you run 
 and play with your sisters ? " 
 
 The boy glanced from one of them to the other ; 
 then nodded his head, and ran away. 
 
 " Susan," he began, after two or three impatient turns 
 across the room, " you may think me presuming on
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 255 
 
 your kindness; you may think my conduct absurd, but 
 I can bear this suspense no longer." He hesitated, and 
 then seated himself by her side : " My former affection 
 for you has returned ; and not only that, but it has in- 
 creased ten fold." 
 
 " And the same is true with me, dear Henry," she 
 replied as she placed her hand in his, though her face 
 was covered with roses. 
 
 I will not tire the reader with an account of the de- 
 light experienced by Henry at this frank avowal ; nor of 
 the two hours' uninterrupted conversation which fol- 
 lowed. Neither will I try to express the pleasure of the 
 committee who, by appointment, waited upon him that 
 evening at Mr. Warren r s, when the young clergyman 
 informed them that his business had terminated so 
 favorably that he had concluded to remain in this coun- 
 try, and would do nothing further to prevent the parish 
 from jnpeeting to act upon the vote of the church. 
 
 OfPreturning to her room, after the interview with 
 Mr. Wells, which would have such an important bearing 
 upon her future life, Susan again wrote a few lines 
 in her diary, which she found she had, in her haste, left 
 open upon the table ; but, before she did this, she again 
 drew out the letter from Mrs. Hall, and having broken 
 the seal, with a trembling hand, and a beating heart, 
 proceeded to unfold and read it. 
 
 The letter was brief, and was as follows : 
 
 " Very Dear and Respected Friend, 
 
 " More than a year ago, on an occasion of great 
 grief at the death of my beloved pastor, your dear hus-
 
 256 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 band, made a memorandum of a message from him to 
 you. It was when I was first summoned to his sick 
 room, and while my husband had gone for the physician, 
 that supposing he could live but a few hours, and 
 fearing that you might not reach him while he was 
 living, he said to me, in a broken voice, for his 
 agony at the time was great : ' You have always been a 
 good friend to my dear, dear wife, and I wish to leave a 
 confidential message for her with you, not to be de- 
 livered for the present ; but according to circumstances, 
 and at such time as you may judge proper. She is 
 young and attractive, and will probably receive propo- 
 sals to marry again. It may be that a dear friend, who 
 is now abroad, will, at a suitable time, renew his offer to 
 her. If he, or any other one gains her affections, I do 
 not wish her to hesitate or to devote herself to a single 
 life, for she is eminently calculated to give and receive 
 happiness in the married state. I feel that this message 
 is due from me to her, as she has sometimes expressed 
 herself strongly against second marriages.' 
 
 " He was so much distressed as he proceeded, that I 
 interrupted him, by giving him medicine or by fanning 
 him ; but he returned to the subject again as soon as he 
 was at all relieved. When my husband came in with 
 the physician, I leaned over him and said, < I understand 
 your wish, and will strictly comply with it. I will also 
 promise to be a friend to her as long as I live, and at 
 some future time to make known your kind mes- 
 sage."' 
 
 Tears blinded the eyes of the widow as she endeav- 
 ored to read the kind words of love, and unselfish con-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 257 
 
 sideration for her happiness, which seemed to come to 
 her from the grave of her. beloved husband. In the 
 midst of all his agony, he had provided for her welfare. 
 Again and again she took up her pen, but was obliged 
 to lay it down, and give way to the grief which the 
 remembrance of that never to be forgotten scene occa- 
 sioned her, at length she wrote: 
 
 " Henry has again proposed marriage, and this time I 
 did not decline his proposal. The affections which I 
 thought forever dead have revived under the influence of 
 his warm and constant attachment. 
 
 " In a dying message from my beloved husband, through 
 my kind friend, Mrs. Hall, I find that he anticipated such 
 an event, and expressed the wish that I should marry, if 
 I found it would contribute to my happiness. This 
 dying act was perfectly consistent with the whole of his 
 conduct with regard to me. Oh, am I not mistaken in 
 supposing I can ever love another ! Shall I not render 
 myself and Henry unhappy by the indulgence of undue 
 grief or regret at the loss I have sustained! Let me 
 rather strive to act upon the principle which, in such an 
 eminent degree, governed him, and follow the example 
 he set me for nearly five blissful years. 
 
 " For the sake of my children, especially of Frederic, 
 I confess it is desirable I should marry, especially if, as 
 I now feel sure will be the case, they will find a true 
 father in my choice. Henry has already acquired a 
 great influence over my restive boy, which I doubt not 
 will increase, and be in the highest degree beneficial to 
 him." 
 
 22*
 
 258 THK FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 The betrothal of Mrs. Gordon to Mr. Wells occasioned 
 great joy, not only to her brother and aunt, but to their 
 
 parents in C , who were immediately informed by 
 
 him of his happy prospects. Henry urged an immediate 
 union, stating in glowing terms the propriety of a clergy- 
 man being a married man, and having a home where his 
 people could call upon him, and Susan having consented 
 to be his, saw no reason for delaying the marriage be- 
 yond a few months. Mr. Wells, therefore, with the as- 
 sistance of a gentleman of the committee, began the 
 search for a house. Mrs. Hammond soon heard of this, 
 and put a final stop to such a necessity, by calling in a 
 lawyer, and making over the elegant mansion in which 
 she lived, to her niece. This she told Mr. Wells she had 
 intended to do at her decease, if Susan preferred living 
 in the city ; or, if not, to invest the property for her bene- 
 fit elsewhere. The young widow was very much affected 
 at her aunt's generosity, and drew from her a promise 
 not unwillingly given, to remain with them, and consti- 
 tute, as they had done, but one family 
 
 It was now the last of July. On the next Sabbath 
 Mr. Wells intended to give an acceptance to the unani- 
 mous call which he had received from both church and 
 parish, after which he had agreed to supply either by 
 preaching or exchange, until the first of October, when 
 he wished to be absent a month on his wedding tour. 
 The services of his ordination were to be postponed until 
 his return, and probably would take place the second 
 week in November. The intelligence of the early mar- 
 riage of their intended pastor, excited for the fair widow
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 259 
 
 no slight degree of attention. The story of his attachment 
 to Mrs. Gordon previous to her first marriage, his con- 
 stancy to this attachment through all the temptations of 
 his foreign life, and many other circumstances connected 
 with their private history were related and exaggerated 
 as usual on such occasions. The lovely twins and the 
 fearless boy also came under notice, and whereas hereto- 
 fore passers by contented themselves by remarking as 
 they met them at play upon the side-walk, " what beau- 
 tiful children," now their deep sun-bonnets were often 
 pushed back by ladies, who asked, " are you Mrs. Gor- 
 don's little girls ? How is your mamma ?" While some 
 not so prudent, asked, " how do you like the idea of hav- 
 ing a new papa ? " 
 
 Upon Mr. Whitney this announcement came so sud- 
 denly, that he could scarcely credit it, until informed by 
 his aunt of their previous history, which Henry related to 
 her when he asked of her the hand of her niece. Find- 
 ing his hopes thus disappointed, he concluded to leave 
 home, until after her departure for her native place, where 
 her aunt was to accompany her in a few weeks. His 
 aunt advised him to see Susan, and bid her farewell, 
 which he at length concluded to do, though with great 
 reluctance, for he thought that she must have been aware 
 of his increasing attachment to her, and he respected her 
 for the course she had adopted, which prevented his en- 
 during the mortification of being refused by her. 
 
 In this farewell interview, he assured her that no one 
 rejoiced in her prospects of happiness, more than he him- 
 self did, and he added, " I think you eminently qualified 
 for the station which you are to fill."
 
 260 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was so frank in her expression of interest 
 for him, and her gratitude for his kind wishes that, as he 
 left, he ventured to hope that she might have been de- 
 ceived as to the nature of his affection, especially as she 
 said : " I trust that we shall always retain you not only 
 as a parishioner, but as a friend."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WINNING WIFE. 
 
 HENRY STAXWOOD, the former classmate of Thomas 
 Warren, was a young lawyer of good talents and amia- 
 ble disposition. Whether his " cuteness" with the faculty 
 really turned his attention to the legal profession, I can- 
 not say ; but having been admitted to the bar, he estab- 
 lished himself in Cheswell, a flourishing town in New 
 England. 
 
 Here he was introduced to Mary Carlton, the beauty 
 and belle of the place. He wooed and won her; and 
 after a few months, during which she was absent on a 
 visit to a friend at the south, they were married, and 
 quietly settled in a home of their own. 
 
 The young lawyer, though not particularly partial to 
 parties and places of amusement, had always been in 
 the habit of attending them as a means of increasing 
 his practice. His young and lovely bride had been the 
 life of every gay circle, and no entertainment was 
 thought complete without her. 
 
 About six months after their marriage her attention 
 was called to the subject of religion, when, to the great 
 mortification and chagrin of Mr. Stanwood, his wife, 
 became a meek and humble Christian. 
 
 Neither Henry nor Mary had been religiously edu- 
 cated; and though respect for her feelings prevented him 
 
 (261)
 
 262 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 from saying so openly, yet Henry felt that his happiness 
 had departed. Instead of a lively, cheerful companion 
 to meet him on his return home, who, by her gayety, 
 would beguile him of all his office trials and cares, he 
 must now look forward to gloom and despondence. His 
 hitherto happy home, and lovely wife were converted, 
 he thought, into a vestry for long prayers, and a pious 
 fanatic. 
 
 Poor Mary, on her part, was not less tried. Not 
 having been blessed with Christian parents, or educated 
 amidst the cheerful piety of a truly happy home, she 
 knew not how far she ought to conform to her husband's 
 views and wishes. She heard his covert taunts in si- 
 lence, and often turned away to conceal a tear ; but they 
 drove her, where all our sorrows and trials should drive 
 us, to our Saviour's feet. Here she poured out her 
 whole soul before One who " was in all points tempted 
 like as we are," that he might " succor us when we are 
 tempted." 
 
 Day after day did the sweet young wife repair to her 
 closet, and as often were her prayers answered. Light 
 began to dawn upon her path. Her beloved Harry, con- 
 verted to God, sharing in all her new-born hopes, sym- 
 pathizing in all her doubts and fears, was the one object 
 of her daily thoughts and nightly meditations. How 
 earnestly did she pray that she might be the humble 
 instrument in the hands of her heavenly Father, of win- 
 ning him to Jesus, and from the false and fading plea- 
 sures of this world to the purer and nobler joys of 
 heaven. 
 
 She was well aware of her husband's displeasure at
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 263 
 
 the change in her feelings, and also of the views he 
 entertained of religion, as making all its associates 
 gloomy and morose, conversing entirely upon death and 
 similar subjects. She well remembered the time when 
 she cherished the same opinion. She therefore deter- 
 mined to show him, what was really the case, that she 
 never before was so happy. 
 
 Thus a week had passed away. Henry knew not 
 what to think. Every time he entered his home, Mary 
 appeared more and more cheerful. She rarely allowed 
 any one but herself to open the door to his well-known 
 tap, but sprang forward to throw herself into his arms. 
 
 " Dear Harry," she would sometimes say, " I am so. 
 glad you have come ; I have been watching for you 
 some minutes." 
 
 Several times the puzzled husband was on the point 
 of acknowledging that, after all, she wasn't much 
 changed, but he checked himself, " Wait until after the 
 Sabbath," he soliloquized. " It will be a good opportu- 
 nity for me to test her new views." The Sabbath had 
 been a favorite day with young Stanwood, because he 
 was then free from the duties of his office, and could 
 spend the day with his wife. He had been in the habit 
 of going to church in the afternoon, and then feeling 
 that he had kept the Sabbath, would take a stroll after 
 tea, or visit some neighbor for an hour or two of friendly 
 chat. 
 
 Mary was also looking forward to the Sabbath with 
 vaned emotions. It would be her first celebration of the 
 rest, peace and joy, which at the close of the last holy 
 day dawned upon her soul. After a weary struggle of
 
 264 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 many days, she had retired to her chamber, at the hal- 
 lowed hour of the setting sun, and there had cast all her 
 burden of sin upon her Saviour. Her spirit fainted for 
 the courts of the Lord, and her soul was filled with emo- 
 tions like those which inspired the Psalmist when he 
 sung, " I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into 
 the house of the Lord." But these emotions were not 
 unmixed with anxiety and sorrow, on account of her 
 dear husband. 
 
 She came, however, from her closet on Saturday eve- 
 ning, feeling that her duty was plain, and humbly resting 
 upon an Almighty arm for strength to perform it. Could 
 she fail ? 
 
 Sabbath morning dawned clear and bright. It had 
 hitherto been their habit to lie in bed much longer than 
 on the morning of other days ; and Harry slept so soundly 
 that Mary crept softly from his side without disturbing 
 him. She descended to the kitchen, where Betsey, tak- 
 ing the liberty to follow the example of her master and 
 mistress, had but just lighted the fire. Having taken spe- 
 cial pains with the coffee, she prepared, with her own 
 hands, a tempting dish for her dear Harry. She charged 
 the girl to be quiet about her work, and repaired to a 
 room for her morning devotions. 
 
 An hour later she heard her husband go down stairs, 
 muttering something to himself in no pleasant tone. 
 She flew to meet him. She folded her arms lovingly 
 about his neck, saying, " Isn't this a delightful day ? " 
 
 " I should think so," he replied, gazing intently into her 
 face. " Mary, what have you been doing to yourself ? 
 I declare! I never saw you look half so handsome."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 265 
 
 Mary hid her blushing face in her husband's bosom, 
 as she whispered, " It is because I'm so very happy." 
 Her tone was earnest, but serious ; yet he made no re- 
 ply. He turned at once into the breakfast room. He 
 had little dreamed what an ornament religion is. He 
 could not understand that the pure elevation of her 
 brow, the brightness of her eye, and the heavenly smile 
 on her lips, resulted from a heart at peace with her 
 Maker, from a meek and quiet spirit. 
 
 " Really," said Harry, as he sat at table, " Betsey im- 
 proves rapidly ; I never drank better coffee," at the 
 same time passing his cup to be refilled ; " and this 
 cream toast tastes just like my mother's, I must praise 
 her for it. 
 
 Mary smiled, but made no reply. After breakfast she 
 took her husband's hand and led him to the parlor; 
 though, to tell the truth, she felt somewhat embarrassed 
 about introducing the subject upon which her thoughts 
 were engaged. She led him to a large rocking-chair, 
 near the table, and sat upon his knee. 
 
 " What a delightful morning this will be to walk to 
 church." 
 
 " Ah ! you can't get round me in that way," said 
 Harry to himself. 
 
 Mary was a skilful tactician ; a look in her husband's 
 eye warned her not to go too far. She reached out her 
 hand and took up an elegantly bound Bible, which he 
 had given her as a wedding present, and which he re- 
 garded only as a necessary appendage to the centre 
 table. "What a beautiful Bible! I don't know that 
 23
 
 266 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 I ever thanked you for it. At any rate I'll do it again," 
 and she kissed her thanks. 
 
 Harry unclasped the covers and admired the print, 
 remarking that he had taken great pains to select the 
 best. 
 
 " Yes," she returned, " how very plain and clear the 
 type is," and she turned to the beautiful story of Ruth. 
 Before he was aware Harry was listening with absorb- 
 ing interest, forgetting entirely that this day was the 
 Sabbath, and this book the word of God. He would 
 not allow her to stop until she had finished the narra- 
 tive, and by that time he was in very good humor with 
 his wife, with himself, and with the world. 
 
 Mary started in surprise when the first bell rang, say- 
 ing, " Please excuse me now, I must dress for church." 
 When she came down, at the ringing of the second bell, 
 almost expecting he would object to her leaving him, 
 Henry stood brushing his hat, as he tried to hide his face 
 from her searching glance. 
 
 " Dear Harry, are you going with me ? " 
 
 " Certainly, you don't think I shall let you tramp off 
 half a mile alone. Beside, 'twould be dull music here 
 without you." 
 
 At the close of the day Harry was obliged to acknowl- 
 edge that something had improved his Mary. " For- 
 merly, though amiable and generally yielding in her dis- 
 position, yet she had too long been petted and indulged 
 as an only child, and a favorite in society, not to be dis- 
 posed at times to have her own way. When thus de- 
 termined, Harry had found he must yield. Now Mary's
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 267 
 
 sole object seemed to be to give him proof of her entire 
 love. 
 
 A month later, invitations were given out for the larg- 
 est party of the season ; and it was to close with a ball. 
 Poor Mary was sorely tried as to her duty. She had 
 lost all relish for such scenes. She felt that she had 
 wasted far too much time in them. But her husband 
 took it for granted she would accompany him, and expa- 
 tiated largely upon the anticipated pleasures. At length 
 it occurred to the young wife to consult an old lady who 
 was a friend of her mother's, and an eminent Christian. 
 It was fortunate for her that she so wisely chose her 
 confidant. 
 
 Mrs. Simons, after listening with great interest to her 
 young friend, advised her to defer her own wishes to 
 those of her husband, in every case where principle was 
 not involved. 
 
 " Yes," she eagerly answered, " but in this case ? " 
 
 " Has he expressed his wishes ? " 
 
 " He never commands me. It is unnecessary; but I 
 presume he will be displeased if I refuse to accompany 
 him, and I am sure he will be disappointed." 
 
 " Well, my dear, your own good sense will enable you 
 to decide. If you should tell him frankly you have lost 
 all interest in such scenes, and ask him to excuse you, 
 he will probably do so. 
 
 Encouraged by this view of the case, Mary returned 
 home, and taking an early opportunity, begged her hus- 
 band to allow her to remain at home. 
 
 "Pshaw!" was the impatient reply, "don't let me 
 hear any such nonsense. I was just beginning to think
 
 268 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 religion was nothing so very terrible after all, when you 
 begin with all this Methodist cant. But I can't say, it 
 is entirely unexpected. Religion spoils a person for every 
 enjoyment. If you go on so," he continued, after a 
 pause, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on his book, 
 " you'll prejudice me against it more than ever." 
 
 This was a sad trial to the sweet loving heart, that 
 had begun to pray so earnestly for her husband's conver- 
 sion. She brushed back the tears which had gathered in 
 her eyes, and said in a low musical voice, " Dear Harry, 
 though I do not enjoy such scenes as I once did, and 
 should much prefer a pleasant evening with you in our 
 own sweet home ; yet if you wish it, I will sacrifice my 
 feelings and go with you. But I wish, dear husband, you 
 would excuse me." 
 
 Harry happened at that moment to think of some- 
 thing he needed very quickly in the next room. Mary 
 was much disappointed. But her mind was clear that 
 in this case it would be better for her to comply with his 
 wish. As her husband had now left for his office, there 
 was no opportunity for farther conversation upon the 
 subject ; and she retired to her room to dress for the 
 evening. 
 
 It must be remembered that Mary had for many years 
 been in the habit of frequenting such scenes, having 
 never had their injurious tendency pointed out to her, 
 and now only regarded them as a waste of time which 
 might be more profitably and pleasantly employed, rather 
 than as sinful. 
 
 When she was nearly ready, with a low tap Mr. Stan- 
 wood entered the room.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 269 
 
 She looked at him with a sweet smile. " Does my 
 dress suit you, Harry ?" 
 
 " You were never more lovely in my eyes." She held 
 out her beautifully rounded arm for him to clasp the 
 bracelet. He did it mechanically, without speaking. 
 
 "Is it time to go?" she pleasantly asked, trying to 
 bring a smile to his face. 
 
 He walked toward the window. " I fear it is growing 
 damp, and you already have some cold." 
 
 " Oh, no ! my dear, I am perfectly well," she replied in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Well, on the whole, I don't think it will be prudent 
 for you to venture out. You will be sure to have a sore 
 throat." Mary just began to have an inkling of the 
 truth. And will you excuse me really ? " she asked in 
 a gay tone. 
 
 Henry walked to the window. He appeared to have 
 a very sore throat, for his voice was extremely husky. 
 Mary crossed the room and kissed his forehead, " my own 
 dear Harry," she whispered. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood soon retired to make his toilet, and 
 Mary took an interesting book and sat down to read. 
 How pleasant," she thought, it would be if Harry 
 didn't care to go, and would read to me, while I sew." 
 Her eye grew dreamy as she gazed into the future, and 
 saw a pleasant fire, a table covered with books, near by 
 which she sat busily engaged with her work, while her 
 husband sat by her, reading and talking by turns. There 
 was a vision too of a cradle standing near, and a sweet 
 babe asleep in it. Her reverie was suddenly interrupted 
 23*
 
 270 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 by her husband who entered, saying, " Don't sit up for 
 me, Mary, I may be late." 
 
 She looked up in his face so bright and cheerful that 
 he thought, " how foolish for me to leave her ! " But pride 
 said, " go," and he went 
 
 Dear girl ! He had no sooner gone, than she laid down 
 her book, and kneeling by the side of her chair, poured 
 out a most earnest prayer for her dear young husband. 
 When she arose, she felt assured that her prayer would 
 be answered. 
 
 Not more than half an hour had elapsed when she 
 heard the outer door softly open, (he had taken the night- 
 key,) and a light footstep across the hall. She looked up 
 to see her husband stealing behind her for a surprise. 
 
 " Oh!" said she joyfully, " I am so glad you've come 
 back. I was just wishing you were here." 
 
 He kissed her tenderly, as he said, " You've con- 
 quered, Mary ; I found in leaving you, I had left happi- 
 ness." 
 
 Six months passed away ; Mary's vision was in part 
 realized. A lovely infant lay by her side, calling forth 
 from her gentle heart such a gush of tenderness, that she 
 was almost too happy. Harry felt a father's pride in 
 gazing at then: new and precious treasure ; but soon find- 
 ing the house lonely, now that Mary was confined to her. 
 room, he gradually acquired a habit of staying out dur- 
 ing the evening. Nor when Mary was again able to go 
 below, did he give up this habit, and sometimes pro- 
 tracted his stay until near midnight 
 
 It needed all the young wife's native cheerfulness, 
 added to her absorbing love for her darling boy, to keep
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 271 
 
 her from sinking under this new trial. Once or twice 
 when she in the kindest manner begged him to tell her 
 where he had been, he answered her in such an irritable 
 tone and manner, that she determined to question him 
 no more. But her faith was sorely tried ; and when she 
 endeavored to pray, the thought of the sad, sad change 
 in her husband made her almost despair. 
 
 Yet he was not generally, or even often unkind. 
 Sometimes he seemed to feel ashamed of his harshness, 
 and once when he left her in displeasure, and had 
 thrown out some taunt at her religion, he returned, evi- 
 dently expecting and feeling that he had deserved her 
 anger. But the forgiving wife looked up so cheerfully at 
 his entrance, that he reproached himself bitterly for his 
 conduct. 
 
 Then he noticed that she had grown very pale, and 
 the thought, "what if I should lose her?" shot like a 
 dart through his breast. Softened and subdued by it, he 
 confessed his sorrow to her. He told her what she had 
 long suspected was true, that the young men of his ac- 
 quaintance had formed a club, and while she was sick 
 had induced him to join, for the sake of passing away 
 his lonely evenings. They told him he could leave any 
 time ; but when he had repeatedly proposed doing so, they 
 had sneered at his wife's influence, and ridiculed him for 
 being in her leading strings. They said, they supposed 
 since she had become religious, she thought it was 
 wicked for her husband to enjoy himself, or to do any- 
 thing but pray. 
 
 Mary had bowed her head over her babe to conceal
 
 272 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 her tears ; but when he stopped, she looked up, saying, 
 " Dear Harry, do you call the society of such men enjoy- 
 ment?" Now for the first time in his presence, she 
 burst into a passionate fit of weeping. 
 
 Mr. Stanwood was much distressed, and tried to 
 soothe her by promises of amendment, in which he was, 
 at the time, really sincere. 
 
 For several weeks, he passed every evening at home 
 with Mary, except when absolutely engaged in his office, 
 Sometimes he brought his law books, and having in- 
 terested his wife in the case, looked out his authorities 
 in her presence. Mary's heart was buoyed with hope ; 
 and she endeavored by every means in her power to 
 make his home attractive and happy. 
 
 But alas, for resolutions of amendment, when the only 
 strength for keeping them is in a depraved heart ! Mr. 
 Stanwood one day met a member of the club, who im- 
 mediately attacked him for leaving them so unceremo- 
 niously. They had missed him extremely. Harry mut- 
 tered something about pressing engagements. 
 
 " There ! I told them so," exclaimed the young man. 
 " But some of them would have it that you dared not 
 come; that your handsome wife had found you out, 
 and forbidden your being in the society of such ungodly, 
 graceless fellows as she thinks us to be." 
 
 Harry's face was crimson as he denied the charge; 
 and he was easily induced to be present the ensuing eve- 
 ning. He meant to prove to them that he was not afraid of 
 wounding the gentle, loving heart which beat so tenderly 
 for him, and which sighed and prayed so earnestly for 
 his best welfare. He meant to show them that he pre-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 273 
 
 ferred their coarse songs, and still coarser jokes and 
 sallies of wit, to her pure and chaste affection and 
 society. 
 
 As he sat in his office the day following this inter- 
 view, he found it impossible to confine his attention to 
 his business. In vain he looked over the notes he had 
 made of a case he was to plead at the next term of 
 court ; in vain he took down Blackstone, Chitty, and 
 other law books from the shelves to consult the authori- 
 ties. Wherever he looked, he could only see the image 
 of his lovely wife, pale and sad, bending over her babe 
 to conceal her tears. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said he, angrily throwing down his books, 
 "what a fool I am making of myself;" and the crimson 
 again dyed his cheeks, as he remembered the insulting 
 language of his club companion. " I despise them all," 
 said he aloud ; " yet, I could n't have them suppose I'm 
 afraid of my wife." 
 
 Here he fell into a long reverie, in which his feelings 
 and emotions were so conflicting and varied that he 
 never could accurately describe them. Sometimes he 
 wished that he were free from the whole set (meaning 
 the club) ; for he never found any real enjoyment in 
 meeting with them. To strengthen this feeling,, his 
 thoughts recurred to a remark he overheard from a dis- 
 tinguished citizen, on the street. He had passed two 
 gentlemen who were conversing on the side-walk, when 
 he accidentally stopped to look at a print in the window 
 of a store, and heard one of them say : " When Stan- 
 wood first came into town, I prophesied he 'd make a 
 capital attorney ; he has a shrewd tact for the business ;
 
 274 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 but his idea of collecting a practice by going to parties 
 and balls is all folly. They may like him for a com- 
 panion ; but, depend upon it, men of sense, when they 
 want their business done, will go to a lawyer who 
 keeps at home, or in his office, studying his profession." 
 
 " I hope he will succeed, for the sake of his lovely 
 wife," was the reply. 
 
 How well he remembered the surprise of Mary, as he 
 went home, chafed and irritated by these remarks, and 
 abruptly shook her off as she approached him for a 
 caress. 
 
 Then the idea flashed through his brain, " "Would not 
 Mary be delighted if I should become religious ! " But 
 here all was chaos. He had not a single right idea upon 
 the subject. He began by thinking he was a very moral, 
 good man, who had never done any harm, far better 
 than the generality of young men. But he was sud- 
 denly checked in his self-gratulation by an impulse of 
 the Spirit 
 
 Who shall say it was not in answer to the prayers of 
 his Mary ? A mirror was held up before him in which 
 he saw a young man, endowed by Providence with 
 talents, yet refusing to acknowledge his indebtedness 
 for them ; blessed with a lovely wife and child, yet 
 treating the one with abuse, the other with neglect 
 Then misspent privileges, broken Sabbaths, violations 
 of God's holy commandments passed before him, until 
 he was obliged to hide his face to shut out the hideous 
 sight presented to his view. 
 
 From imagining that he was far above his com- 
 panions in virtue and goodness, he now loathed himself
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 275 
 
 as a vile sinner. One point was settled ; he would 
 perform his promise, and meet with the club that eve- 
 ning, and then leave them forever. He no longer cared 
 for their scoffs. 
 
 On his way home, he debated the question of an- 
 nouncing his resolution to his wife. He finally con- 
 cluded not to pain her by doing so, but to leave early, 
 and then she would suppose him to be at his office. 
 Accordingly, he was more than usually tender in his 
 manner toward Mary, who had never volunteered any 
 marks of affection since he had treated her so rudely;* 
 and remarking that he should not be long absent, left 
 the house. 
 
 The first part of the evening passed quickly away. 
 Mrs. Stanwood had brought out her husband's slippers, 
 wheeled his favorite chair to the table, and having 
 soothed her babe to sleep, sat, awaiting his return. 
 
 But hour after hour passed, and he came not. She 
 laid aside her work, and took a book to beguile her 
 anxious thoughts. It would even have been a relief to 
 her if she had thought of the club ; but from her hus- 
 band's remark that he should soon be home, she feared 
 he must have met with some accident. Dreading, she 
 knew not what, she trembled at every sound ; and as the 
 clock struck twelve, she could endure it no longer. She 
 ran through the hall, threw open the door, and stood 
 gazing into the darkness. Not a light could be seen ; 
 not a sound heard ; and after standing until she was 
 thoroughly chilled by the night air, she shut the door, 
 and with a heavy heart returned to her room.
 
 276 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 After leaning her head for a few minutes upon the 
 table, she retired into an inner room. 
 
 But where was Mr. Stanwood ? Alas, alas ! he was 
 otill in the midst of the club, where, by turns, the Bible 
 ind the God of the Bible were scoffed at and ridiculed ; 
 and where he who had so lately been visited by the in- 
 fluences of the gracious Spirit, laughed louder than any 
 of his companions. At ten o'clock, he proposed to 
 leave, but they earnestly protested that they would not 
 consent, unless his wife had forbidden his being out late. 
 
 He immediately resumed his seat, and determined to 
 be the last in the room. At length the members dis- 
 persed, and Harry was left to make his way home, with 
 reflections which certainly none would envy. 
 
 He hoped and expected to find Mary asleep. But 
 could h e sleep ? An accusing conscience answered " no ! " 
 He gained the door, and softly applying the night-key, 
 entered the house. 
 
 All was silent as the grave. Taking off his hat and 
 boots, he crept up stairs toward his room, where a low, 
 murmuring sound arrested his attention. 
 
 He stopped and listened. It was Mary's voice. Who 
 could she be talking with at that hour ? He took a few 
 steps forward and gained the room. She was not there. 
 He listened again. What was it which suddenly bowed 
 the knees of this strong man, and caused the tears to 
 gush so freely from his eyes ? He heard Mary, his neg- 
 lected, insulted wife, alone, and at midnight, telling Jesus 
 her sorrows, and with tears beseeching Him to comfort 
 and strengthen her fainting heart for the trials which yet 
 awaited her.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 277 
 
 He heard her pray that the Holy Spirit might send 
 conviction into his soul, that he might repent of all his 
 sins, and find pardon and peace in believing in Jesus. 
 Mary wept aloud as she prayed that she might exhibit a 
 spirit of meekness and forbearance toward her compan- 
 ion, that she might win back the affection which was 
 estranged from her, and that they might live together in 
 harmony and love. 
 
 Jesus, her elder brother, heard and answered. The 
 sword of the Spirit had entered her husband's heart, and 
 was penetrating even to the secret recesses. He groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 Mary, in affright, started to her feet. She saw him 
 penitent and humbled in view of his sins. She read 
 passages of Scripture. She pointed him to the bleeding, 
 crucified Saviour. The night was spent by them in 
 earnest, importunate prayer. Mary wrestled like Jacob 
 for a blessing ; the language of her heart was, " I will 
 not let thee go except thou bless me." 
 
 When, the next morning, the natural sun arose, the 
 Sun of Righteousness also shone upon the mind of Henry 
 Stanwood; and though its glorious light revealed a 
 heart where sin and iniquity had abounded, it also 
 showed 9ne whose stains had been washed away by 
 atoning blood. 
 
 24
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 IT was a delightful Sabbath morning in October. The 
 first bells were ringing for church, and even at this early 
 hour the villagers began to assemble in the house of 
 God, while their whole appearance indicated a joyful 
 but subdued expectancy of some unusual event And 
 they are not destined to be disappointed. 
 
 As the clock strikes ten, a party are seen emerging 
 from the parsonage, and making their way slowly to the 
 church. There is quite a procession ; first, Squire and 
 Mrs. Wells, then Rev. Mr. Warren with his wife and 
 sister ; after them follow Henry and Susan, Eleanor and 
 Mr. Norton, Bessie and Mr. Seymour, Thomas and 
 Laura, Gracie, Edward, and George Wells, then the 
 children of Mrs. Gordon under the care of Nora bring 
 up the rear. Mrs. Hammond and Mrs. Hall, with her 
 good husband, are already seated in the house, together 
 
 with many friends from B , awaiting the ceremony 
 
 which is to follow. The Squire, with his family, take 
 seats in the front pew on the right of the pulpit ; Mrs. 
 Warren, on the left ; while the good pastor occupies one 
 of the chairs before the pulpit. The three couples then 
 presented themselves before him, each to be united in 
 the holy bands of wedlock. After a short prayer, Henry 
 and Susan advanced to the altar, when the minister 
 
 (278)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 279 
 
 says, " Henry, wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded 
 w if e ? etc., to which he responds firmly, " I will." 
 
 " Susan, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded 
 husband?" etc. 
 
 Susan, who with great difficulty can keep back her 
 tears, for thoughts of a former similar scene crowd her 
 mind, is only able to bow her assent. 
 
 " Then, in the presence of God and these witnesses, I 
 pronounce you husband and wife, and what God has 
 joined together, let no man put asunder." 
 
 The newly married pair then give place to Eleanor 
 and Edgar Norton, who in turn do the same for Bessie 
 and Walter Seymour, when having received the bene- 
 diction, the congregation quietly take seats in their own 
 pews, as the second bell has rung, and it is time for the 
 public services to commence. 
 
 In the afternoon, Henry preached for his father-in-law, 
 who was much overcome by the services of the morning. 
 
 Early the next day, the bridal party, accompanied by 
 Thomas and Laura, and also by Mrs. Hammond, Nora 
 and the children, left for New York, where after leaving 
 the latter in the care of her aunt, they proceeded to Ni- 
 agara. 
 
 On their way to the city, they were unexpectedly de- 
 tained one day in Cheswell, the residence of Mr. Stan- 
 wood. Thomas and Laura eagerly embraced the oppor- 
 tunity to call upon them, when Mary finding the party 
 were staying at the public house, cordially invited them 
 all to pass the day with her. To this they would by no 
 means consent; but leaving Mrs. Hammond who re- 
 quired rest, in the care of Nora, the three brides with
 
 280 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 their grooms, passed a pleasant evening under the hospit- 
 able roof. After living over in imagination many of 
 their college scenes, the conversation became more gen- 
 eral, and Mr. Wells, as well as his brother-in-law, was 
 delighted to find such abundant evidence as this unex- 
 pected meeting afforded, that the change in the religious 
 sentiments of their college friend, was genuine. All the 
 party agreed in declaring Mrs. Stan wood a lovely lady 
 and a winning wife. 
 
 On the return of the Reverend Mr. Wells and his lady 
 to New York city, the ordination took place ; which 
 event was followed by numerous calls from the people. 
 
 For the two years during which she had resided with 
 her aunt, Mrs. Wells had chosen to live in a veiy retired 
 manner, and to devote herself entirely to her family. 
 This mode of life was much more congenial to her taste, 
 than the more active one which she now anticipated ; but 
 as while the wife of a country clergyman, she had inter- 
 ested herself in the people of her husband's charge, so 
 here she determined to do the same. Among those who 
 called soon after her return, were many families from 
 whose acquaintance she anticipated great profit as well 
 as pleasure. Of some of them we shall give a more par- 
 ticular account, as illustrating the moral of our story. 
 
 The little girls were now seven years old, and as her 
 time would be so much occupied for the winter in receiv- 
 ing and returning calls, their mother determined to place 
 them in a select school. Frederic she preferred should 
 remain under her own influence and that of her husband. 
 During their absence on their wedding tour, Nora at the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 281 
 
 suggestion of Mrs. Hammond prepared the children for 
 the change which had taken place, and which on their 
 journey they could hardly realize. She also persuaded 
 them to practise calling Mr. Wells, papa, so that when 
 their parents returned it came quite natural for them to 
 do so, though sometimes Frederic in his enthusiasm or 
 haste to impart some news, exclaimed, " Mr. Wells," be- 
 fore he thought of the new relation. 
 
 When he did so, however, he found his father afflicted 
 with a sudden deafness which prevented any attention to 
 what he was saying. But as soon as the boy bethought 
 himself and added, " oh, I forgot, I meant papa! " he found 
 his parent's hearing restored. This practice soon proved 
 an infallible cure. 
 
 When Mr. Wells married a widow with children, he 
 intended to be in all respects a father to them. Many 
 and earnest were the conversations between him and his 
 wife in regard to this subject, and if anything could have 
 increased the wife's affection and respect for her new 
 husband, it was the untiring zeal he displayed in regard 
 to the dear objects of her love. Helen and Fanny con- 
 tinued mild and yielding. When they did wrong no 
 punishment was so severe as separation from each other's 
 society, and this was seldom necessary. Frederic as he 
 grew older, proved every day that he needed a firm, 
 steady government. 
 
 The passionate bursts of temper which had occasioned 
 his mother so much anxiety, had of late seemed to in- 
 crease rather than diminish. At the most trifling inter- 
 ference with his wishes on the part of his sisters or his 
 nurse, he flew into a^perfect fury of passion, before which 
 24*
 
 282 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 they found it best to give way. This seldom lasted long, 
 and was always succeeded by great grief for the injury 
 he had committed. He was always ready to express 
 this sorrow and beg for forgiveness, and often the im- 
 pression made upon him by his mother's tears and pray- 
 ers in his behalf was so great, that for days he was sub- 
 dued and softened.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE STEP-FATHER. 
 
 ONE day about three months after his marriage, Mr. 
 Wells was called from his study by a loud cry from one 
 of the twins. Knowing that their mother was at her 
 brother's, he went below to ascertain the cause of the 
 scream. A scene of confusion met his eye, such as he 
 had never seen or imagined. Every chair in the room 
 was thrown down, the ornaments from the mantel-piece 
 were lying about the apartment, as were also the books 
 from a table in the corner, while master Frederic with a 
 flushed face and a determined air, was tearing into 
 pieces a toy which had been presented him the previous 
 day. In the closet stood Nora, applying a wet cloth to 
 the forehead of Fanny, who had received a violent blow 
 from her infuriated brother, while Helen clung closely to 
 her side, by turns weeping and soothing her distressed 
 sister. 
 
 For one instant the father's heart quailed as his eye 
 rested on the scene ; but lifting up a petition for guid- 
 ance, he advanced to the boy, and gently taking him by 
 the hand, raised him to his feet. " Stop, my son," said 
 he, in a low, determined voice, " stop tearing that." 
 
 " It's mine," answered the boy fiercely, " and you are 
 not my mother." 
 
 (283)
 
 284 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 " No ; but I am your father, and you must obey me. 
 Stop, at once." 
 
 Frederic glanced into his father's face, but seeing, 
 him to ah 1 appearance perfectly calm, little compre- 
 hended the deep undercurrent of emotion called forth 
 by his conduct, and replied : " I say you are not my 
 father. He is dead ; I loved him, but I do not love you, 
 and you may go away from here as quick as you 
 please." 
 
 " Oh ! Master Frederic," Nora exclaimed, " don't talk 
 so, it will make your mamma cry." 
 
 Mr. Wells, finding there was likely to be a contest, 
 took him in his arms and carried him to his own cham- 
 ber ; though in doing so the struggles of the angry boy 
 required an exertion of all his strength. When there, he 
 placed him in a large chair with the injunction to re- 
 main quiet. But finding him determined not to obey, 
 he took half a dozen napkins from the drawer, and tied 
 him in such a manner that he could neither move his 
 hands nor feet. 
 
 His voice was so mild, and his whole manner so dif- 
 ferent from that of his tearful mother, that the boy 
 thought, " I shall conquer yet." 
 
 " My son," said he, sitting by his side, " I am sorry 
 that you, by your bad conduct, compel me to take such 
 measures with you. You have severely injured your 
 little sister, who is uniformly kind and obliging to you. 
 I fear the blow she has received will make her ill. From 
 your mother I have heard that you are in the habit of 
 giving way to your passion at the most trivial cause; 
 but I never conceived anything so dreadful as what
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 285 
 
 has occurred to day. It is by her wish as well as from 
 my affection for you, and the relation you now bear to 
 me, that I shall take you in charge. You must remain 
 here until I see fit to release you. I am now going to 
 attend to your sister, and I hope you will pass the time 
 in reflections upon your conduct." 
 
 Not a word had the child spoken while his father ad- 
 dressed him ; but as soon as he opened the door to go 
 out, Frederic heard his mother's voice, and began to 
 scream aloud : " Mamma, mamma ! " 
 
 Mrs. Wells had already been informed, by Nora, of 
 what had occurred. The sympathizing girl also begged 
 her mistress to go herself and attend to her child, saying, 
 " Of course, it can't be expected he '11 feel for him, like 
 the one who has the same blood in him; 'tis n't natur." 
 
 But Mrs. Wells assured her that no one could be more 
 gentle with the boy than his father ; and that, if he ever 
 hoped or expected to gain an influence over his child, he 
 must make him yield now." 
 
 When Mr. Wells descended the stairs, he met her 
 leading Fanny up to her room, supposing him to be in 
 the study. After going with her into an adjoining 
 chamber, and attending to the child in a manner which 
 proved to her that he possessed the tender heart of a 
 father, he requested her to give orders that no one 
 should go to Frederic, and then to join him in the study. 
 
 " After half an hour passed in earnest conversation 
 about the child, and in prayer by the father that he 
 might be governed solely by a desire for his child's 
 good, he left his wife in tears and proceeded once 
 more to the chamber.
 
 286 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 It is unnecessary to relate all that passed during that 
 long day, when Mr. Wells was so much agitated that 
 he could not devote a moment to study, though it was 
 near the close of the week, and his sermons were still 
 unfinished. Suffice it to say, that it was a day of pain- 
 ful solicitude to every member of the family. Indeed, a 
 stranger might have supposed death had entered the 
 habitation, so silent and sad was every countenance. 
 Never before had the boy been known to stand out so 
 long against authority, and the necessity that he should 
 be made to yield was obvious to all. Repeatedly had 
 his father repaired to the chamber, and tenderly inquired 
 if he were ready to submit to him, to confess his sin, and 
 ask forgiveness of his sister, and of his heavenly Father, 
 whom he had greatly offended. 
 
 " I don't love you ; and I want my mother," was the 
 only reply. 
 
 " But I love you, my son. If your own father could 
 speak, he would urge me to persevere in what is so try- 
 ing to my feelings, and to compel you to obey. I shall 
 do so, whether it takes a longer or a shorter time. I 
 shall certainly do what I know to be my duty." He 
 again represented to him the consequences of giving 
 way to such an ungovernable temper, and the danger his 
 sisters and friends incurred by being in his society. He 
 related instances of children who had deprived their 
 companions of sight while in a rage, or otherwise seri- 
 ously injured them; but when after being encouraged 
 to hope, from his quiet attention, that the conflict was 
 over, and he repeated the question, "will you obey 
 me ? " the answer was either the same as before, or a
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 287 
 
 decided shake of the head. Mrs. Wells had wept until 
 she had brought on a violent head-ache; but she re- 
 peatedly urged her husband to persevere, and encouraged 
 him to hope for the most favorable results, if he once 
 established his authority. Several persons called during 
 the day ; but the pastor denied himself to all. With his 
 own hands he carried to the chamber food, such as was 
 eaten at the table, and himself offered to feed the boy ; 
 but the obstinate child would not consent. 
 
 Mrs. Wells, at her husband's desire, had given orders 
 that no one should go into her chamber ; but this order 
 had not extended to the cook, who seldom entered that 
 part of the house. At least, if she understood the in- 
 junction, she disobeyed it; for putting a large plum- 
 cake under her apron, she watched an opportunity when 
 Mrs. Wells was below, and carried it to her favorite. 
 But the child honorably refused to take it without his 
 father's permission, and the cook, forgetting that the fact 
 of its being there would betray her, threw it down 
 hastily, and ran away upon hearing a step on the 
 stairs. 
 
 Who has been here, my son ? " asked Mr. Wells, 
 picking the rich cake from the floor; for one instant 
 fearing the fondness of the mother had prevailed over 
 her better judgment. 
 
 " Bridget," answered the boy, promptly. " She brought 
 the cake to me ; but I told her you had forbidden any 
 one to come here, and I would n't take it." 
 
 Mr. Wells turned hastily aside to dash a tear from his 
 eye, and then replied in a softened voice : " You did 
 right, my son ; just what I should have expected from a
 
 288 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 child who has been taught by such a mother. Cannot 
 you throw away your obstinate resistance of my kind- 
 ness, and allow me to feed you with a piece of this 
 cake ? " 
 
 " I'll give it to Fanny, sir, because I hurt her, and take 
 some of the bread and butter you brought me." 
 
 Oh how earnestly did the father long to press the boy 
 to his heart for this generous reply ! But suppressing 
 his emotion, he gently released one of his hands, that he 
 might help himself. Indeed his position was only pain- 
 ful from its long continuance, as his limbs were confined 
 with wide cloth. 
 
 " My dear little son," he resumed, when he had eaten 
 all he wished, " must I be compelled to tie this hand 
 again, or will you now be a good boy ?" 
 
 Frederic's lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears as 
 he said in a low voice, " If you will let me see my mother 
 I will." 
 
 " Your mother is longing to see you, my dear child," 
 replied Mr. Wells, with difficulty commanding his voice ; 
 " but she cannot do so until you have yielded to my 
 authority." 
 
 " I am sorry," sobbed the boy, bursting into tears, " I 
 have been sorry a long time, and I do love you dearly." 
 
 Mr. Wells's eyes showed that he was far from un- 
 moved, as he quickly released the boy and took him in 
 his arms, when he had rung the bell in order to send for 
 his wife. 
 
 Nora quickly obeyed the summons, and to her surprise 
 as well as great joy saw that the long conflict was at an 
 end. Frederic's arms were closely clasped around his
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 289 
 
 father's neck, and he was expressing his affection in the 
 fondest terms. 
 
 Mrs. Wells gladly arose from her couch to witness the 
 scene so vividly portrayed by the warm hearted girl, and 
 great was the rejoicing at the restoration of the dear boy 
 to the family circle. Aunt Hammond was summoned 
 from her chamber and the little girls from their beds to 
 unite in expressing their pleasure. Mr. Wells even re- 
 quested Nora to ask the cook to join them, as he thought 
 it might be a good opportunity to impress her with the 
 importance and good results of family government. He 
 never regretted the patient, calm decision, perseverance 
 and prayer with which he met and surmounted this diffi- 
 culty. It effectually established his authority on its only 
 safe foundation, the confidence and affection of his son. 
 From this time there was a gradual improvement in the 
 boy, and though sometimes his eye flashed, and he sprang 
 forward to deal a blow upon whoever came in his way ; 
 yet he seldom went beyond this, and soon began to real- 
 ize the pleasure of having conquered himself. He be- 
 came exceedingly fond of his father, who in everything 
 consistent with propriety, was very indulgent to him. 
 Once a day he generally accompanied him in a walk, 
 which occasion Mr. Wells took pains to render an agree- 
 able as well as profitable one. 
 
 Even the cook was heard to declare that " an own 
 father couldn't make more of the child." Neither she or 
 Nora ever forgot the scene in the chamber. 
 
 25
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE CITY PARISHIONERS. 
 
 IN a breakfast room belonging to an elegant house on 
 the same street, as the residence of the Rev. Mr. Wells, a 
 lady and a gentleman were one morning sitting together 
 at a late repast. She was fashionably attired, and as 
 she sipped her coffee from her cup of Sevres china, she 
 said carelessly, " Mr. Bentley, I wish you would give 
 the final orders for the carriage, I am sure you must by 
 this time have come to the conclusion that scarlet and 
 black are the only proper colors for the trimmings. Mel- 
 ville is really pining for his rides." 
 
 Mr. Bentley cast an anxious glance at the pale, but 
 exquisitely beautiful features of the boy who was seated 
 in a high chair by his side, and said quickly, " then why 
 waii for the phaeton ; order the carriage, and go out this 
 morning ; the air is very fine." 
 
 The lady assumed a scornful expression, and without 
 appearing to notice the sweet voice which pleaded 
 "please, mamma, I should like to go," she answered 
 haughtily, "Mr. Bentley, I am really astonished that 
 you have no more regard for what is proper. Perhaps 
 you have forgotten what I have repeated to you every day 
 for a week, that Mrs. Stickney Montague has a new car- 
 riage ; and that I certainly shall not give her the oppor- 
 
 (290)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 291 
 
 tunity to triumph over me, with her stylish phaeton and 
 outriders." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " commenced the husband angrily, but re- 
 straining himself, he said, more gently, " Surely, Agnes, 
 you would not allow your pride to prevent you from do- 
 ing that which you acknowledge the health of your only 
 child demands ? " 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Bentley made no reply. She felt 
 her anger rising, and she was anxious to keep her tem- 
 per so as to gain her point ; but the beseeching glance 
 of her boy irritated her, conscious as she was of being 
 governed by unworthy motives, and she replied sharply, 
 " Once for all, Mr. Bentley, I will not be seen in that 
 detestable carriage, in which I have rode for two sea- 
 sons. If you do not care enough for the health of Mel- 
 ville to give up your odious preference for blue and 
 orange trimmings, you surely cannot expect me to resign 
 all pretensions to good taste, which I should do were I 
 to. choose anything but scarlet and black. Therefore if 
 the child grows pale and thin for want of air, you have 
 no one but yourself to blame for it." 
 
 Though pale with suppressed anger, the millionnaire 
 turned to leave the room without making any reply. 
 He had often heard his wife use such words, but there 
 was now a bitterness and contempt in her tone which 
 stung him to the quick. He had his hand on the door, 
 when a soft voice said, " please, papa, kiss Melly good- 
 bye." The father turned, held out his arms to his dar- 
 ling boy, then strained him tightly to his heart. 
 
 " I love you," whispered the child, " I love you dearly." 
 
 " Melville," called the mother, come to mamma, I
 
 292 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ', 
 
 wouldn't love papa when he is so cruel that he shuts us 
 up like prisoners, and will not let us go out this beauti- 
 ful day, just to gratify his indomitable will ; " but the 
 child clung tightly to his father's neck, and laid his soft 
 cheek against his bearded face. 
 
 With lips closely compressed, and a terrible frown up- 
 on his brow, Mr. Bentley advanced to his wife, with the 
 child in his arms. He knew that her words, though ad- 
 dressed to the boy, were meant for him, and already irri- 
 tated by her conduct, he could now hardly control him- 
 self. For one instant he stood gazing upon her, as she 
 sat with her head thrown back in conscious beauty. 
 Her features were very lovely. The excitement had 
 added new lustre to her sparkling eyes, and given a 
 richer hue to the bloom upon her cheek. There was 
 also a striking likeness between her and the beautiful 
 boy clinging lovingly to his neck, and the sternness grew 
 less as he gazed. If she had exhibited any symptoms of 
 sorrow for what she had said, he would have tried to 
 forget what had passed ; but, alas ! she was too conscious 
 of her charms too sure that the moment she thought 
 proper to do so, she could bring him to her side, forgetful 
 of all but her love, to be willing yet to yield. He per- 
 ceived this even as he stood before her, and said in a 
 low but impressive voice, " Beware, Agnes ! you may 
 press me too far. I tell you now, that though I have 
 borne much because you are the mother of my child, and 
 because I have loved you ; yet my temper is by no means 
 invincible. A little farther and all intercourse between 
 us must cease." 
 
 Though her countenance turned a shade paler, the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 293 
 
 lady looked haughtily in her husband's face, and said, 
 carelessly, " the sooner the better, sir ; would it not be 
 well to call in a lawyer at once ? " 
 
 " Agnes," exclaimed Mr. Bentley in a husky voice, 
 half angry, half sorrowful, "do you mean what you 
 say ? " 
 
 " Why should you doubt it ? " she replied, attempting 
 to speak gayly. 
 
 " And do you know that if we separate you will also 
 lose your boy ? The law gives him to me." At that 
 moment, Melville, seeing that his father was troubled, 
 clasped his white arms still closer around his neck. The 
 action was not unnoticed by his mother, and it added to 
 the bitterness of her tone, as she said, " If you think to 
 frighten me you will be disappointed," and humming a 
 few notes from a new opera, she left the room. 
 
 Mr. Bentley sank into a chair, and hid his face upon 
 the child's shoulder. A dreadful tumult was going on 
 within his breast. His wife had proved herself a worldly, 
 thoughtless, and unfeeling woman. How had he been 
 deceived in her ! Her love of gayety and fashion had even 
 swallowed up all her affection for her child, and now she 
 seemed wholly lost to him. Upon her untiring devotion 
 to her boy, he had built many a castle which, alas, was 
 suddenly dashed to the ground. This pure and ardent 
 love which had increased from the moment of his birth, 
 had been a cloak with which he had covered many of 
 her faults. Now she quietly acquiesced in the thought 
 of being separated from him, and he groaned aloud. 
 
 " Please, papa, don't cry. Melly sorry papa sick," and 
 the small hand was passed caressingly over his face. 
 25*
 
 294 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 The father could bear it no longer. He started from 
 his seat, and bidding the boy go to his mother, retired to 
 the garden, back of the house, where, for nearly an hour, 
 he continued walking back and forth with rapid steps. 
 Fifty times his mind was made up to take her at her 
 word, call in a lawyer, provide handsomely for her, and 
 separate. But the boy ! Could he have the heart to 
 take him from his mother, who, aside from what had 
 just taken place, had been wholly devoted to him? 
 Memory carried him back a year, to the time when their 
 darling lay ill of a severe fever. How gladly had the 
 young mother turned aside from her ceaseless pursuit 
 after pleasure, and devoted herself to his comfort. Night 
 after night she watched by his couch, unconscious of 
 fatigue, unwilling to share the care even with him ; nor 
 would she rest until the physician pronounced him con- 
 valescent. The more he thought of this, the more he 
 became convinced that she had that morning assumed 
 an indifference that she did not feel; and he determined 
 to do nothing hastily, to watch her closely, and above 
 all things, to guard his own temper. If he could have 
 witnessed the scene which was taking place in the cham- 
 ber overlooking the garden, he might have been still 
 more convinced that she had not expressed her true feel- 
 ings. 
 
 On leaving her husband Mrs. Bentley retired at once 
 to her own dressing room, which was fitted up with al- 
 most regal magnificence. Costly rose-colored curtains 
 were draped from the windows, and also were suspended 
 'from a gilded scroll, fastened to the ceiling, and fell 
 gracefully around a child's bed. Tapestry-carpetings,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 295 
 
 toilet-tables, above which hung long mirrors, chairs cov- 
 ered with rich damask, ornaments of silver, and china, 
 and glass, proved that wealth, refinement and taste 
 reigned in that apartment. But the occupant thought 
 not of these things. She had been accustomed to 
 them from her birth, and they had no power to move 
 her. She threw herself into a luxurious chair, and with 
 her handkerchief at her eyes sobbed aloud. In this 
 state she continued until the door gently opened, and 
 Melville asked softly: "Please, Mamma, let Melly 
 come ? " 
 
 " She took the child, and held him so tightly that he 
 was almost frightened. " I will never give you up," 
 she exclaimed passionately. " He may go, and take 
 every thing ; yes, every thing ; but I will not be separated 
 from my boy." She continued in this state of mind for 
 a long time, weeping bitter tears of anger and self- 
 reproach, until she heard the hall-door open and shut, 
 and found that her husband had left the house. 
 
 " How foolish I have been," she exclaimed aloud ! 
 " He only did it to frighten me. I really wish I had 
 never thought of asking for a new phaeton ; and if 
 I had not told Mrs. Montague's sister that I was to have 
 one with trimmings of scarlet and black, I would give 
 it up now, for I reaUy care nothing about it. Oh, dear ! 
 What if he has really taken me at my word ? " And she 
 sank back in her chair, pale, and trembling at the 
 slightest sound. 
 
 During the hour which followed, as she sat with her 
 arms about her boy, who had fallen asleep in her lap, 
 her married life passed in review before her. She started
 
 296 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 back at the sight presented by an awakened conscience. 
 Her husband, who, on their first acquaintance, had 
 piqued her by appearing unconscious of the charms of 
 which her numerous admirers never failed to remind her, 
 her husband, high minded, honorable and generous, 
 with quick impulses, but a warm heart, was now about 
 to be lost to her forever ; yes, in that hour of self-exami- 
 nation, she acknowledged it to herself through her own 
 foolish pride and folly. At first he had yielded in every- 
 thing to her wishes, however frivolous ; but finding, as 
 he yielded, she became more and more exacting in her 
 demands, he had at first gently remonstrated, then finally 
 refused to comply, unless he were convinced of the 
 reasonableness of her desires. Two years before these 
 occurrences, at her earnest request, he had sold a valua- 
 ble family carriage, and purchased for her use one of a 
 more modern style, fitted and trimmed according to her 
 taste. With this she was very well satisfied until she 
 formed the acquaintance of Mrs. Stickney Montague, 
 who was noted for her desire to surpass all others in the 
 elegance of her dress and equipage. This lady had 
 lately persuaded her husband, who, by means of her ex- 
 travagance, had several times been nearly bankrupted, to 
 purchase for her a new kind of carriage, very elegant in 
 style, though not very commodious. 
 
 Mrs. Bentley no sooner saw her friend's new vehicle, 
 than she suddenly ascertained that her own was old- 
 fashioned and odious. And she did not rest until she had 
 coaxed her husband to gratify her by the purchase of one 
 which would surpass in elegance that of the lady whom 
 she styled her friend. The new phaeton was in process
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 297 
 
 of building when, unfortunately, there arose a disagree- 
 ment between them with regard to the color of the 
 trimmings. Mrs. Bentley decided upon scarlet and 
 black, and had confidentially informed Mrs. Duval, sis- 
 ter of Mrs. Montague, that those were the colors ; but 
 Mr. Bentley preferred orange and blue. If, however, 
 his wife had exhibited a willingness to consult his 
 taste, he had determined to give her a pleasant sur- 
 prise by ordering the trimmings according to her wishes. 
 Unfortunately, the conversation happened at a time 
 when she was vexed and annoyed, and her temper 
 unusually irritable. As she became more exacting, he 
 grew more cold and stern, until her passion was excited, 
 and she uttered words of bitterness and reproach which 
 he could not forget. For two days not a word was said 
 on the subject, when the desire of Mrs. Bentley to ex- 
 cite the envy of Mrs. Montague caused her to recur to 
 it at the breakfast table.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE LOST HEIR. 
 
 " LOST ! lost ! sometime between the hours of twelve 
 and three, a child of four years, with brown, curling hair, 
 black eyes and fair complexion! When last seen, he 
 wore a blue velvet sack, and drab pants buckled just 
 below the knee." 
 
 This was the continued, monotonous proclamation of 
 the street-crier on the evening of the day mentioned in 
 the former part of this story. Parents ran in alarm to 
 the windows to hear more distinctly, and shuddered as 
 they glanced at their own children. But still, up one 
 street, and down another, the fearful sound, " Lost ! 
 lost!!" rang out on the night air, making every mother's 
 heart to quake with fear. 
 
 In the princely mansion of Mr. Bentley, the scene of 
 distress was beyond all description, for it was their only 
 child, their darling Melville, who had so mysteriously 
 disappeared. When last we saw him, he lay quietly 
 sleeping in the arms of his weeping mother. At a later 
 hour, she was summoned to the parlor to receive callers, 
 and left him upon his low bed. Since that time no one 
 of the family had seen him. When Mrs. Bentley re- 
 turned to her room, dressed in the most elaborate man- 
 ner, but with a faint sickness at her heart as she thought 
 of her husband's parting words, she found Melville had 
 
 (298)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 299 
 
 arisen, and supposed that without doubt his nurse had 
 him in her care. The time passed slowly away until the 
 hour drew near when her husband usually returned to 
 dinner. Would he come ? " she asked herself. Her cheek 
 flushed and her heart beat tumultuously as she feared 
 not. Oh, now she realized more than ever, how her 
 whole soul was bound up in him and in her child ! Of 
 what avail were the most costly phaetons with their liv- 
 eried outriders, if her heart were desolate ? The image 
 of her rival Mrs. Stickney Montague, decorated with all 
 that art or money could supply, arrayed in robes of costly 
 magnificence appeared suddenly before her. But she 
 started back as if she loathed the sight. It was stripped 
 of all power to charm, and she could only behold a faded, 
 care-worn figure in whose breast envy, ambition and 
 malice waged a ceaseless war. " And this is the woman 
 whom I have been striving to emulate. This is she for 
 whom I have sacrificed my noble husband and rny child." 
 She placed her hands upon her breast to quiet the dread- 
 ful conflict awakened there. 
 
 It was now four o'clock, the hour for dinner. Mr. Bent- 
 ley usually so prompt, had not returned. She rang the 
 bell and directed the servant to send Melville to her. In 
 a few moments the door opened and Susan the nurse 
 appeared alone. 
 
 " I want Melville," said the lady in a subdued voice. 
 
 " Where is he, ma'am?" asked the woman, advancing 
 with an expression of surprise upon her countenance. 
 
 " Don't you know where he is 7" inquired her mistress, 
 starting to meet her, and speaking with great difficulty. 
 
 " No, ma'am, I've not seen the child since I left him
 
 SCO THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 with yees in the morning just as ye were coming up from 
 breakfast, and it's longing I've been after the swate boy 
 through the whole day." 
 
 Mrs. Bentley put her hand to her head to see if she 
 were awake. The room, seemed whirling around ; but 
 making a great effort she walked to her chair and sat 
 down. She knew now that it was no idle threat her 
 husband had made. He had taken her child from her 
 forever. Oh, how the words she had so thoughtlessly 
 uttered, " the sooner the better" now rang in her ears ! 
 Yes, she had brought this upon herself. She was alone 
 in the world. 
 
 She became so very pale that Susan thought she 
 would faint, and began to scream for assistance, but 
 Mrs. Bentley motioned her to be quiet, and after a mo- 
 ment her white lips moved, and she slowly articulated, 
 " Susan, are you sure you have not seen him since morn- 
 ing ? Try to remember." 
 
 " Indade and I'm sure then ; for it's wondering I was, 
 why the precious boy didn't come to his Susy for a walk in 
 the park, as I heard yees tell the master ye'd not be rid- 
 ing the day, and twice I came to the door, and heard a 
 sound of weeping like, so I said to myself, ' sure and it's 
 not Susan McLaughlin that's going to intrude on the 
 mistress when it's in trouble she is.' " 
 
 " But Susan, I left him in his bed when I went to the 
 parlor, and when I returned he was gone. Go and send 
 Ann to me, and ask the cook if she has seen any one 
 come in and stay ; ask Thomas too. No one could 
 enter without his knowledge." 
 
 In a very short time all the servants of the establish-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 301 
 
 ment presented themselves at the door of her room. 
 Consternation was visible upon every countenance, for 
 Melville was the pet and pride of the whole household. 
 All were eager to speak ; but alas,"none of them had any 
 comfort to impart ! The cook indeed had seen a myste- 
 rious looking person loitering about the basement-door, 
 but who pretended only to be begging for cold victuals. 
 Thomas was willing to take his oath that no one had 
 come through the front hall, but those he had himself 
 admitted, and as his station was near the door, his state- 
 ment was probably true. The voice of Susan bewailing 
 the loss of her darling, was the sound which was echoed 
 from all. Mrs. Bentley alone shed not a tear. Impa- 
 tiently waving her hand to command silence, she said 
 in a husky voice, " Thomas, when did your master come 
 in?" 
 
 " Not at all, ma'am, since the morning ; but now 1 
 think of it, he appeared to be troubled when he went out, 
 and I saw him wipe his eyes." 
 
 At this moment the bell rang, Thomas hastened to an- 
 swer it, admitted Mr. Bentley and in an eager tone asked 
 if he had seen Melville. 
 
 One moment sufficed to announce to the father the 
 distressing event. 
 
 " Where is his mother ? " he inquired, in an agony of 
 grief. 
 
 The man motioned up the stairs, and the distracted 
 father flew to her side. At the sight of him the servants 
 wept afresh. Mrs. Bentley was seated in a chair by the 
 bed of her lost boy ; her face buried in her hands ; the 
 convulsive motion of her whole frame showing the in- 
 26
 
 302 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 ward struggle to appear calm. When she heard her hus- 
 band's step, she started to her feet, gave him one look of 
 intense agony, then sprang into his outstretched arms. 
 For one moment all was hushed, the lookers on restrained 
 their loud expressions of gpef as they gazed at the silent 
 woe of the stricken parents. Words cannot describe the 
 mingled emotions of the desolate mother as she was 
 tightly clasped in the arms of her husband. In the midst 
 of all her ^dreadful weight of grief, a thrill of rapture 
 darted through her as she thought, " he has not forsaken 
 me, I am not alone." She laid her pale cheek upon his 
 shoulder and whispered, " Charles, forgive your poor 
 wife!" 
 
 " As I hope to be forgiven," he answered, with intense 
 emotion ! " May God forgive us both and restore to us 
 our precious boy ! " 
 
 He then led her to a couch, placed himself by her side, 
 and with his arm encircling her, said in a voice which he 
 had forced to be calm, " now tell me when was Mel- 
 ville last seen ? " 
 
 Susan, Ann, and Thomas all attempted to reply at 
 once. 
 
 "Stop," said Mr. Bentley, "one at a time, and be 
 quick ; there is no time to lose. The police must be put 
 upon the track." 
 
 An hour later, and advertisements had been sent to 
 each of the police station houses. Mr. Bentley had seen 
 the chief of police, who detailed a company of special 
 officers to visit suspected places, and all the officers on 
 the beat were put upon the watch. In addition to these 
 vigorous measures, the distracted father had advertise-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 303 
 
 ments struck off, containing a minute description of the 
 child, and offering a reward of ten thousand dollars to 
 any one who would restore him to his parents. When 
 this had been done, he directed the coachman to drive 
 home. While actively employed, the poor man bore up 
 bravely against this terrible blow, but now that he must 
 sit down in quiet and await the result, he began to real- 
 ize it in its fullest extent. He longed to return to his 
 wife, and yet dreaded to do so, with no tidings of their 
 boy. How entirely were all bitter memories of her oblit- 
 erated from his mind ! How fully were they reunited 
 by their overwhelming loss ! 
 
 Thomas had no sooner answered the impetuous ring 
 of the door bell, than Mrs. Bentley flew down the stairs, 
 exclaiming, " Oh, Melville, my own darling, where have 
 you been ? " But seeing her husband turn quickly aside 
 and enter the parlor alone, she burst into a passionate fit 
 of weeping. During his absence the tidings of the lost 
 child had spread far and wide. Neighbors and friends 
 had gathered around, some of whom, in their kind at- 
 tempt to allay the present distress of the almost frantic 
 mother, had unwisely endeavored to persuade her that 
 her husband would not fail to be successful in his search, 
 that it was certain he would not return without her boy. 
 Alas ! she was too ready to believe this, and thus her dis- 
 appointment had overwhelmed her. 
 
 Though his heart seemed ready to break, Mr. Bentley 
 forced himself to appear hopeful. He drew his wife ten- 
 derly to his side, laid her head upon his shoulder, and in a 
 low, soothing voice, whispered words of comfort and 
 hope. For hours they sat thus, the faithful and sympa-
 
 304 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 thizing Thomas considerately detaining any visitors or 
 servants who wished to join them. Sometimes a sound 
 in the distance would cause their hearts to beat painfully. 
 Each time the listening mother was sure her child was 
 found, and even heard his voice calling aloud, " mamma," 
 so that it was with difficulty he restrained her from rush- 
 ing out to meet him. But as one company after an- 
 other passed by, and still the child came not, she sank 
 beneath the weight of her grief. She now scarcely spoke 
 except to utter some passionate exclamation, " Oh where, 
 where is my boy ? It would be far, far better to know 
 he were dead." 
 
 Poor Mr. Bentley ! It was the truest token of his self 
 sacrificing affection for his wife that he remained by her 
 side, for with hi8 whole soul he longed to be engaged in 
 the vigorous search which was taking place through all 
 the by-lanes of that great city. He tried in vain to rea- 
 son with himself that he should only impede their prog- 
 ress, that he was wholly unaccustomed to such duty ; he 
 had an inward feeling that instinct would lead him to 
 his boy. The father's heart ached as it was thus torn by 
 conflicting ties. Once the feelings which led him forth 
 were so strong, that he unconsciously drew his hand from 
 hers, and started from his seat, but with a piteous excla- 
 mation of utter helplessness, Agnes cried out, " Charles, 
 you will not leave me ! " and he immediately resumed 
 his seat. 
 
 " No, no," he whispered, I will not leave you," and 
 he pressed her convulsively to his heart. " Agnes," he 
 said more calmly, " be patient. This is a work of time. 
 Every officer which can possibly be spared from the beat
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 305 
 
 is actively engaged in searching for our poor boy ; but it 
 may be unsuccessful for a time, I know, yes I feel God 
 will in mercy restore him to us ; but it may not be for 
 days or even weeks. Let us endeavor, my dear wife, to 
 be calm, that we may be better prepared for whatever 
 suffering is before us." 
 
 The tears poured like rain down the pale cheeks of 
 Mrs. Bentley ; but she presently replied, " Oh, Charles, 
 if I could only forget that I am the one who has brought 
 this terrible affliction upon us ! I, by my own wicked- 
 ness, have made you suffer, and my poor boy ! I know 
 that I deserve it ; but I feel that it will kill me ! " She 
 bowed her head in agony of spirit. 
 
 The whole frame of the husband trembled with emo- 
 tion, as he listened to the words of his wife. " Yes, Ag- 
 nes," he said after a pause, " In these long, sad hours, 
 I, too, have reviewed the past ; and God helping me, I 
 will, hereafter, li ve a better life, will prove myself a 
 more affectionate husband, and if Melville is restored, 
 which God in mercy grant, a more devoted father. We 
 have both sinned, my darling, I feel it now, I see where 
 I have erred. We have lived too much for the world of 
 fashion, too little for each other, and alas, not at ah 1 for 
 the service of Him who made us. I can remember, when 
 a boy not much older than our Melly, that my only sis- 
 ter lay dangerously ill with the scarlet fever. I was al- 
 most beside myself with grief at the thought that she 
 would soon be laid in the cold grave. I remember as if 
 it were but yesterday my mother leaving the sick room 
 where night and day she had watched by the little suf- 
 ferer and coming with her pale, wan face to take me 
 26*
 
 306 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 by the hand to her chamber. There was a large closet 
 within, and to this we at once retired, where motioning 
 me toward a low cricket, she knelt at a chair by my side. 
 Oh, how earnestly did she plead for the life of her little 
 Anna ! Yet she oft repeated the words, Oh, heavenly 
 Father, if it be thy will, restore her to us even from the 
 border of the grave ! ' I arose from that prayer soothed 
 and comforted with an assurance, though not then under- 
 stood by myself, that God heard and answered. After 
 that, I wept no more, but waited patiently for the time 
 when she would know me, and run about as of old." 
 
 " And did she?" asked Mrs. Bentley, breathless with 
 interest. 
 
 " Yes, she did. Not for an instant had I doubted it" 
 " Charles," almost gasped the poor wife, starting and 
 looking around the room, as if in search of that God 
 who is a Spirit, and cannot be seen by mortal eyes, 
 
 " Charles, why can't we pray too ? Perhaps he would 
 
 
 
 " Oh, Agnes," he faltered, bowing his head upon his 
 hands, " my mother was a Christian !" The words were 
 spoken in a tone of utter despondency ; and the heart of 
 the wife, which had begun to rest upon divine help, sank 
 again. Alas ! they little knew that their heavenly Fa- 
 ther was watching them with eyes beaming with icn- 
 derness, that this was his chosen way to bring them to 
 himself. 
 
 As the watch, passing the house, sang out, "one 
 o'clock," a ring was heard at the door. Both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bentley flew to answer it ; but Thomas had been 
 before them, and was receiving a message from Mr.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 307 
 
 Noyes, the chief of police. The search had, so far, been 
 unsuccessful, and must be suspended until morning. 
 Sad, sad indeed, and weary, were the hearts the poor 
 father and mother carried to their chamber that night. 
 They thought not of sleep. Drawing a lounge near the 
 bed, Mr. Bentley endeavored to persuade his wife to lay 
 her head upon the pillow ; but she turned from it, and 
 sought the support of his shoulder his, who was now 
 all she had in the world. Here, for some time she lay 
 so quietly, that he hoped she had forgotten her sorrows 
 in sleep. At length she spoke softly, as if almost afraid 
 of the sound of her own voice, " Charles, I do want to 
 pray, and I want to be a Christian, as your mother was ; 
 but I don't know how." As if actuated by the same 
 impulse, the young pair arose and knelt by the couch. 
 Entirely unused even to the form and attitude of prayer, 
 at first they could only express their thoughts to God by 
 " an upward lifting of the eye, and by the silent tear," but 
 the divine Lord put words into their mouths ; and they 
 were enabled to draw close to the mercy-seat, and to sue 
 humbly but earnestly for a blessing. Almost in the very 
 words with which years before the pious mother had 
 begged for the life of her child, the desolate father now 
 besought that the child who was lost might be found. 
 And then they prayed for themselves. Yes, this gay 
 couple, whose knees had never before knelt together in 
 prayer, whose lips had never formed words of supplica- 
 tion or of gratitude, now bowed themselves before their 
 Maker, and asked for the forgiveness of their sins, and 
 light to direct them in the new life which they were 
 determined to live.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE DISCOVERY. 
 
 EARLY the next morning Mr. Bentley explained to his 
 wife that if she would consent to have him leave her, he 
 might be personally engaged in searching for their child, 
 and was glad to see that she yielded at once to his 
 wishes. He then sent a servant a few miles out of town 
 for her married sister, and left her to begin his disheart- 
 ening labor, disheartening, I say, because already every 
 place where suspicion could rest had been examined, and 
 even the most hopeful began to fear that the lost one 
 was beyond their reach. But gold is powerful, and Mr. 
 Bentley poured it out like water. A more thorough and 
 extensive examination commenced. It was considered 
 probable that the child had been taken away for the very 
 purpose of demanding money for his restoration, and 
 therefore the father added another thousand for his 
 immediate recovery. 
 
 But notwithstanding all this, the day passed wearily 
 away : the night came, but no tidings of the poor boy. 
 The alternation of hope and fear had worn fearfully up- 
 on the frame of the poor mother. She was no longer able 
 to rise from her bed, but lay like a drooping lily, pallid 
 and trembling upon her silken couch. Alas, what mat- 
 tered it to her that her damask and lace curtains were 
 the most costly which could be procured ; that the fur- 
 
 (308)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 309 
 
 niture of her room had been imported for her use from 
 Paris, that the gold and silver ornaments even, would be 
 considered by many a young man, a handsome capital, 
 one glance of love from her dear child, the whispered 
 words, ".mamma, I love you," were worth more than 
 all. 
 
 Every few hours her husband returned, -if only for a 
 moment. He could not endure to be long absent from 
 her, who in her silent, tearless woe, with lustreless eyes 
 and sunken cheeks was far more beautiful to him than 
 in her days of richest bloom and pride. How ardently 
 did this afflicted pair, who but a few days gone by, were 
 on the verge of separation, now strive to repress their 
 own grief, and to impart hope to the other. As the 
 sound of her husband's footsteps met her ear, and the 
 sight of his pallid, ghastly countenance passed before her 
 view, how earnestly did the now loving wife strive to 
 appear, cheerful! But alas, nothing cut so deeply to his 
 heart as that sickly attempt to smile ! He turned hastily 
 away in bitterness of spirit. Near the close of the sec- 
 ond day, as Mr. Bentley, with Mr. Mansfield, his brother- 
 in-law, had returned from a place where they had been 
 strongly tempted to hope they might find the poor boy, 
 the father sank down perfectly exhausted. Not once 
 since the dreadful loss, had he closed his eyes in sleep ; 
 and only by making a great exertion had he forced him- 
 self to eat. He could not swallow when his only son 
 might be starving. Having bathed his head and admin- 
 istered a cordial, Mr. Mansfield prevailed upon him to lie 
 down, and try to sleep, urging the absolute necessity of 
 his doing so, if he wished to continue the search.
 
 310 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 But it was with the greatest reluctance that the af- 
 flicted father consented to their wishes to abandon, even 
 for an hour, his personal efforts for the discovery of his 
 lost boy. Mr. Mansfield at length prevailed and having 
 darkened the room, he left them to seek rest. 
 
 No sooner were they alone than Mrs. Bentley caught 
 her husband's hand and pressed it to her lips. " Charles," 
 she said, in a subdued voice, " I have been thinking 
 about your mother, and I can say as she did, ' If it is 
 thy will, restore to us our boy ! ' Oh, my dear husband, 
 it is sweet to feel thus ! He knows what is best for us. 
 If this dreadful event had not taken place, I might have 
 gone on in sin. I shudder to think of the precipice near 
 which I stood. Now, I feel that I have a Father in 
 heaven, and that he, for the sake of my Saviour, will 
 make me his child." 
 
 " Agnes," asked Mr. Bentley, in astonishment, " where 
 did you learn this ? " 
 
 " Do you remember the old lady, in the block oppo- 
 site, at whom I have so often laughed for her quaint, old- 
 fashioned ways as she sat sewing at the window ; but 
 whom I always liked because she bestowed such kind 
 glances on Melville ? She is aunt to the lady who has 
 married the new minister ; the mother of those beautiful 
 twins. Well, she has been with me nearly all the time 
 you have been out ; and Charles, she too is a Christian; 
 and she asked God just as if she knew he was directly 
 before her, to bless us, and to make this dreadful afflic- 
 tion work out for us a great blessing, even eternal life. 
 When she had done I asked her what she meant ; and 
 Charles, she really cried when she found how ignorant
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 311 
 
 we were; she said, ' Poor, poor child !'- I told her no 
 one had ever taught me suc!f things ; that my mother 
 died when I was an infant ; but that your mother was 
 a Christian, and knew how to pray." 
 
 " And what else did she say ? " groaned he aloud. 
 
 " She told me that the Son of God died for just such 
 sinners as we are, and that he would give us pardon 
 and peace, if we would pray to him ; and she read such 
 soothing words out of a little pocket Bible. She left it 
 with me, and I will read to you after you have been to 
 sleep. Then, I hope you will feel the same peace here," 
 putting her hand to her heart. 
 
 In the mean time where was little Melville ? It would 
 perhaps have essentially changed the mode of prose- 
 cuting the search, if more attention had been paid to the 
 eager communication of the twins, Helen and Fanny. 
 Soon after his mother left him to go to the parlor he 
 awoke, and finding himself alone, arose from the low 
 couch, and went softly down the stairs. The sun was 
 shining very brightly, and passing through a French 
 window which opened on the balcony leading to the 
 garden, he descended the steps, and walked slowly to the 
 end of the enclosure. Attracted by the sound of voices 
 in the street, he wandered to the fence separating the 
 garden from the side-walk, and stood for some time look- 
 ing through the iron railing. At length he perceived that 
 the gate was unfastened, and with a slight exertion of 
 strength pushed it open. Here he stood for nearly half 
 an hour watching groups of children as they passed, 
 until becoming interested in a party who were not en
 
 312 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 tirely strangers, as they lived just opposite, and he had 
 often nodded to them from the windows, and who 
 were skipping along in great glee, he ventured timidly 
 to join them ; and thus, without a cap, or any outer 
 garment, he took his first steps from home. The little 
 girls, who were on their way to school, and more accus- 
 tomed to take care of themselves, were delighted with 
 the beautiful child, and taking his hand led him gayly 
 on until he was entirely at a loss how to return. This, 
 however, he at length insisted upon doing ; but when he 
 left them became more and more involved until, wearied 
 and sad, he sat upon a step, and, leaning his head upon 
 his hand, began to weep. 
 
 His forlorn attitude attracted the attention of a little 
 girl who was hurriedly returning home after performing 
 an errand for her sick mother. She took the child by the 
 hand, and led him with her to the house which was 
 situated in a retired but respectable street, where the 
 better class of emigrants resided. Passing up one flight 
 of stairs after another, the girl whose name was Meta, 
 at length entered a room on the fourth floor, meagrely 
 and scantily furnished indeed, but scrupulously neat and 
 clean. The family were Norwegians, and had been in 
 the country but a year. In that time, death had made 
 sad ravages in their little group, and with merciless 
 grasp had taken two beautiful twin boys from the loving 
 arms of their mother. Herman and Evan were as dear 
 to her as the lovely child who gazed so beseechingly in 
 her face, was to his fond mother. Her husband had 
 gone to the West, and was to send for them when he 
 could obtain employment.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 313 
 
 When the poor woman heard from Meta where she 
 had found the child, she considered it a special provision 
 of Heaven in her behalf. She caught him to her warm, 
 honest heart, and wept over him tears of joy. Melville 
 was tenderly washed and fed, and lay that night in the 
 bosom of his new mother who little dreamed that, while 
 her heart beat so wildly with joy and gratitude for the 
 precious ~ treasure God had sent her, his mother was 
 weeping tears of anguish at his loss, or that the whole 
 city was alive with the search for the son and heir of 
 one of her wealthiest citizens. 
 
 Her quiet life and unobtrusive conduct had rendered 
 her respected by all her neighbors, and when the police 
 entered and searched a house not ten doors distant, he 
 dreamed not of inquiring of her. On the day Melville 
 was found by Meta, her mother was not well, and in 
 consequence did not, for two days, go out to her work 
 which was washing for families in high life. On the 
 morning of the third day, however, she was so much 
 better that, leaving Melly with his new and affectionate 
 sister, she went to wash in the family of Mrs. Wells. 
 About an hour after her arrival, and when she was fairly 
 at work at the tub, Nora, the chamber-maid came in, 
 and began to tell her of the dreadful loss sustained by 
 one of their neighbors. At first the poor woman paid 
 little attention ; but at length her interest was aroused 
 by a description of the child, and soon the unwelcome 
 conviction was forced upon her that her boy must be 
 given up. She eagerly inquired the day when the child 
 was lost, and finding the time corresponded exactly with 
 that when he was found by Meta, she grew very pale, 
 2
 
 314 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 and at length with a passionate burst of tears, said she 
 could not stay, she must go home. In vain Mrs. Wells, 
 who had been called to the kitchen by Norv., urged to 
 know the reason. She could only weep and beg in her 
 broken language not to be delayed. But she promised 
 to come again the next morning. Upon leaving the 
 house she lost not a moment in hastening to her home. 
 Conscience told her plainly there was no other course 
 for her to pursue, but to deliver the child to his parents. 
 For the two preceding days, Melville had so endeared 
 himself to her desolated heart that the struggle was 
 dreadful. When she suddenly flew up the stairs and 
 burst into the room, Melville was shouting with delight 
 at his success in blowing a larger bubble than Meta, but 
 was stopped short in his glee, by seeing her who had 
 taught him to call her mother, come rushing into the 
 room, catch him in her arms, and give way to the most 
 passionate grief. 
 
 Let us return to the princely mansion of Mr. Bentley 
 in - Park. The marble steps with their broad bal- 
 ustrade of iron, and the ponderous mahogany entrance 
 are unchanged. The door opens; Thomas occupies his 
 station of porter as of old. We pass through the immense 
 halls, up the broad staircase whose niches are filled with 
 marble statues, executed to order in Rome. Nothing is 
 missing ; and yet all is different. A solemn silence and 
 awe fasten themselves upon one which in vain they try 
 to shake off. Softly entering a door at the head of the 
 staircase, the darkened room, the sickening smell of cor- 
 dials warn us of sickness. Alas, it is worse than sick-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 315 
 
 ness ! It is hopeless sorrow of heart. The figure of a 
 man is extended upon the bed. By his side, with her 
 hand pressed upon his throbbing temples, is a delicate 
 female, dressed in a loose robe of white. Standing near 
 them with a goblet in her hand, is an old lady who says 
 in a low, sweet voice, " As thy day is, so shall thy 
 strength be. Wait upon God, my son. He will send 
 thee no more sorrow than he gives thee strength to en- 
 dure." 
 
 The man made an impatient gesture as if he could 
 bear no more, when the lady urged, " Oh, Charles ! if you 
 could only be willing to submit to his will, I know that 
 he orders all things for our good." 
 
 He shook his head despondingly. 
 
 At this moment a low knock was heard at the door, 
 and Susan entered hastily. Her eyes were red and swol- 
 len with weeping, and hitherto she had been unwilljj 
 to appear before her mistress; but now she seei 
 struggling with some violent emotion. Mrs. Bentley 
 looked at her in surprise and said kindly, " my good 
 Susan, you must try to restrain your feelings." 
 
 " Oh, what will I do ! what will I say ! The sorrow 
 quite killed me, and now my heart's broken entirely "with 
 the joy that's in store for yees," and Susan put her apron 
 to her face and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Mrs. Bentley arose and caught the girl by the arm ; 
 but in vain she tried to articulate. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! " exclaimed Susan, " Indade and if the 
 shock kills yees, I can keep it no longer, the swate, pre- 
 cious darling is found ! " 
 
 The change from grief to overwhelming joy was too
 
 316 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 great. The lady staggered back and but for the arms of 
 Mrs. Hammond, would have fallen to the floor. When 
 she awoke to consciousness, her blessed boy was kissing 
 her pale cheeks and calling her by the sweetest of names, 
 her husband had arisen from the bed, and was kneeling 
 by her side, while the words, " O God, I bless thee, for 
 thy undeserved mercy! Be thou henceforth my God 
 and father," burst forth as the expression of his grateful 
 heart. 
 
 After expressing her heartfelt sympathy with their joy 
 at the restoration of their child, as she had previously 
 done in their sorrow, Mrs. Hammond returned home, 
 that the now united family might be under no restraint 
 in their new and delightful emotions. She obtained 
 leave, however, to invite her nephew, Mr. Wells, to call 
 upon them as neighbors on the following day. 
 
 Jarly the next morning, Mr. Bentley rang at Mr. 
 's door, and requested an early interview. Upon 
 being admitted to the study, the pastor found he wished 
 to consult him about some measures to be taken with 
 regard to the Norwegian family who had befriended his 
 child. He had already been to see the kind washer- 
 woman, and found from her account that she attended 
 Mr. Wells's church, and had worked in his family for 
 nearly a year. 
 
 Mr. Wells called his wife and Mrs. Hammond, and 
 from them Mr. Bentley learned of the grief of the kind 
 woman when she first ascertained that she must give up 
 her adopted child. After Mrs. Wells had expressed her- 
 self warmly in praise of the family, Mr. Bentley having 
 learned that the husband was a farmer, was confirmed in
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 317 
 
 his resolution to expend half the money which he had 
 offered as a reward, in the purchase of a farm at the 
 West, and place the other at interest for their future use. 
 Until this could be accomplished, he undertook the sup- 
 port of the family, and wished to place Meta at school. 
 
 The gratitude of the good woman when Mr. Bentley 
 in company with her kind friend, Mr. Wells, called upon 
 her, and made known his intentions, can hardly be de- 
 scribed. She could at once go to her husband who was 
 disheartened at the prospect of the long separation which 
 would be necessary before he could support them in their 
 new home ; but she was earnest in her endeavor to con- 
 vince him that when she gave up the child, she had never 
 heard of the promised reward. She was very grateful 
 also for the opportunity afforded Meta of learning to read 
 and write ; but respectfully declined Mr. Bentley's gene- 
 rous proposal to provide her a better tenement, and sup- 
 port her without work until arrangements could be nUfclr 
 for her to join her husband. In the course of a few 
 months the farm was purchased in Ohio, and the grate- 
 ful, happy wife with her daughter took leave of their 
 friends, laden with everything which affection could sug- 
 gest, to make her new home comfortable, and in a neat 
 pocket-book, put into her hand just before she started, by 
 her little friend Melville, was a deed of the property 
 which had been presented her in his name. 
 
 27* 

 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE BRIDE OF THE MILLIONNAIRE. 
 
 THE spacious parlors belonging to the princely man- 
 sion of Mr. Russel Clinton, were brilliantly lighted, for 
 on the afternoon of the day in question, the owner had 
 arrived with his bride from their wedding tour, to take 
 possession of their new abode. The house whose free- 
 stone walls rose to the height of five stories, the iron 
 balcony and marble steps, indeed everything about it 
 proved to the passer by that the residents were among 
 the proudest of the aristocracy of that great city. 
 
 Mr. Russel Clinton was one of the merchant princes 
 oj^Jew York. The large business house with which he 
 was connected, sent ships to every sea, from which they 
 returned laden with the most rare and valuable products. 
 Silks and teas from China, rice and laquered ware from 
 Japan, muslins and shawls from India, all were 
 procured that could be turned into money, and for 
 years this house had been considered one of the most 
 prosperous and flourishing in the city. 
 
 Mr. Clinton married the daughter of his senior part- 
 ner, and the public journals had hardly ceased speaking 
 of the beauty of the bride, the magnificence of the bridal 
 trousseau, the splendor which attended the nuptials, be- 
 fore they returned from their trip to Niagara, and settled 
 down in their own home. 
 
 (318)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 319 
 
 In an ante-room leading from the back parlor, Mr. 
 Clinton with his wife and three young ladies who offi- 
 ciated as bridemaids on the late occasion, are gathered 
 about a table upon which are placed almost every vari- 
 ety of plate that could be found in a jeweller's shop, 
 together with many articles of bijouterie, which it would 
 be difficult to describe. These were the bride's wedding 
 gifts, and had called forth from her lips many exclama- 
 tions of delight. 
 
 " Did you notice this casket, Josy ? " asked her hus- 
 band, gazing with admiration at her brilliant beauty to 
 which excitement had lent an additional charm. 
 
 " Oh, no, Russel!" she answered, catching it from his 
 hand. " Your mother only gave it to me an hour before 
 we left;" and she held up to the light a magnificent ban- 
 deau of pearls of the purest water. 
 
 " Oh, how lovely ! How charming ! How becoming 
 they are ! " were echoed on every side, as Miss Le Row 
 twined them in the owner's black hair. 
 
 Josephine advanced and stood proudly before one of 
 the long mirrors, then catching 'in the glass before her 
 the gratified expression of her husband, she said with en- 
 thusiasm, " Russel, your mother is a darling, and tny 
 first expression of thanks shall be to her." 
 
 " Josy, what's this ? who can this be from ? " asked 
 Miss Glover, a laughing, black eyed Miss of eighteen, 
 holding up to view a small rosewood box to which a 
 curiously formed key was attached. 
 
 Josephine advanced quickly, and had no sooner taken 
 it than she exclaimed, " There ! I knew she would send 
 something. That is aunt Sarah's box, and T have
 
 320 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 wondered and wondered what they would give me ; but 
 I looked over all the cards two or three times, and could 
 find nothing from her or from uncle James. It is some- 
 thing handsome, I know. Come, girls, guess; you know 
 they're rich as Jews, though they live in such old- 
 fashioned style." 
 
 " I shouldn't be at all surprised if it was a diamond 
 necklace or ear-rings," answered Miss Le Row, with a 
 half-sigh, as she hoped her turn to receive presents 
 would soon come. 
 
 " Well, I can't wait any longer," called out the bride, 
 actually trembling with impatience to see the con- 
 tents ; " I have seen this box standing on aunt Sarah's 
 bureau ever since 1 can remember ; " and as she spoke 
 the cover flew open, revealing to the astonished eyes of 
 the eager group, not pink cotton surrounding diamonds, 
 not even pearls, but a plain folded paper underneath 
 which was a letter addressed, " To my dear niece, Jose- 
 phine Talbot." 
 
 The disappointment was too great. Poor Josephine 
 whose fancy had gone even beyond the imagination of 
 her companion, and had led her to expect to see a full 
 set of brilliants, could not restrain her tears. She scorn- 
 fully pushed the box from her, without even perusing the 
 letter. " There ! " she exclaimed, passionately, " I don't 
 care now for all the rest, I'm so provoked at the mean- 
 ness of aunt Sarah and uncle James," and her beauti- 
 ful features were distorted with anger. 
 
 Mr. Clinton gazed for one moment as if he could 
 hardly credit his senses ; but the thought, " she is young, 
 and has not been taught to restrain herself" darted thro'
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 321 
 
 his mind, and he said, soothingly, " but you care for me, 
 dearest ; and you shall have whatever you desire." 
 
 Josephine snatched away her hand which he had 
 taken and said, " No, I care for nobody ; it 's always 
 just so ; when I set my heart upon anything I'm sure 
 to be disappointed." 
 
 The feelings of the husband were so outraged, that 
 she should place her jewelry in comparison with his 
 affection, that his first impulse was to turn from his 
 wife, and leave the room ; but a moment's reflection 
 restrained him. 
 
 " Josephine," said he, more firmly ; " tell me, what did 
 you want ? what did you expect ? " 
 
 But the weeping bride would make no reply. Already 
 she began to feel ashamed of this first exhibition of tem- 
 per in the presence of her husband, but was too proud 
 to confess her folly. An awkward silence followed, 
 and soon the bridemaids took their departure. 
 
 As soon as Josephine was left alone, she retired to 
 her own room. She had not yet found time to examine 
 and admire the taste and elegance of the costly furniture 
 which everywhere met her eye, and now she was too 
 unhappy to do so. She leaned her Head upon her hands, 
 and shed tears of mortification and regret. She cared 
 not for her companions. They had often witnessed these 
 bursts of temper which the slightest annoyance would 
 call forth; but she could not forget the expression of 
 contempt with which her husband had regarded her as 
 he left the room to accompany her companions to their 
 residence in the next street. Once the thought oc- 
 curred, " I will tell him I am sorry and ashamed of my
 
 322 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES *, 
 
 conduct ; " but the moment she heard his step mounting 
 the stairs, she flew into the adjoining boudoir, and hastily 
 commenced undressing herself. 
 
 Mr. Clinton made no attempt to follow her, but went 
 quietly to bed. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Clinton, having laid awake 
 half the night deciding what course to pursue, appeared 
 at breakfast in the most bewitching of French morning 
 caps, and really exerted herself to be agreeable ; and 
 though, at first, the gentleman answered only by mono- 
 syllables, he could not long resist the influence of her 
 smiles, and their first breakfast was on the whole a 
 charming repast. 
 
 " What shall we do with ourselves till dinner ? " she 
 asked, as they arose from the table. 
 
 " I think," returned Mr. Clinton, " it would be well to 
 call a servant and put the articles in the next room in 
 their proper places. I cannot say I admire the fashion 
 of exhibiting such gifts." 
 
 " Why, Russel," she answered with enthusiasm, " that 
 is just what they are given for. Do you suppose Mrs. 
 Brace or Mrs. Ames or Mrs. Gray would have purchased 
 that elegant urn or fealver or set of forks if they had not 
 known that they would be talked about and praised as 
 presenting the most expensive gifts ? " 
 
 " I cannot say what their motives were ; but I had 
 supposed,'' he added with a slight degree of sarcasm in 
 his tone, "that they intended them as expressions of 
 affection for you. I know my mother had no suc-h 
 expectation in her humble gift, but presented it to her 
 new daughter in the sincere desire to give her pleasure."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 323 
 
 As the lady made no reply, Mr. Clinton, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation whether or not to break through the 
 rules of etiquette and go to his store, took a paper and 
 sat down to its perusal. 
 
 " Oh, Russel, do come here ! " called Mrs. Clinton, be- 
 fore he had had time to glance down one column : " Did 
 you ever hear anything so spiteful?" And she read 
 aloud : 
 
 "Dear Josy, 
 
 " I suppose you have been expecting a present from 
 me ; and have hoped for something which would reflect 
 honor upon the taste of your maiden aunt ; but to tell 
 you the truth, I am an old-fashioned spinster, and I do 
 not approve of many of the new-fangled notions which 
 obtain such favor at the. present day. In particular I 
 disapprove of the manner of presenting bridal gifts. I 
 think it is ostentation which prompts them, and ostenta- 
 tion which is cultivated by them, and as your uncle 
 agrees with me, we have concluded not to follow the 
 fashion but leave baubles to others, and unite in present- 
 ing you the enclosed. 
 
 " Your loving Aunt and Uncle." 
 
 " Shameful ! is n't it ? " she added, glancing at her 
 husband, as she unfolded the paper, and handed it to 
 him. " Only an old paper of advice." 
 
 " Shameful, Josy ? It is noble ; it is generous ; you 
 don't understand. This is a deed." 
 
 " What is a deed, Russel ? " she asked, as his eyes 
 were fixed intently on the paper.
 
 324 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Her husband soon succeeded in making her understand 
 that her kind friends had presented her with the beautiful 
 suburban cottage where her uncle always resided in sum- 
 mer. The property had been secured to her, together 
 with an annual income of five hundred dollars. The 
 house was to be occupied, as at present, by Mr. James 
 Wallace, he paying three hundred dollars rent, which 
 was to be added to the principal. One clause at the 
 close, however, excited a merry peal of laughter from the 
 bride, and even a smile from her husband ; and this was, 
 that she could never have the use of the cottage or the 
 money, until some misfortune or change in her circum- 
 stances, should render it necessary for her support. 
 
 The morning was fine, and Josephine easily persuaded 
 her husband to ride with her to Oakland Cottage, and 
 present her thanks in person to. uncle James. 
 
 Mr. Wallace, the gentleman in question, was at work 
 in the garden, when his niece arrived. He was delighted 
 to see her, and accompanied her around the grounds, 
 which were in fine order, under his own superintendence. 
 They then returned to the cottage where he ordered 
 luncheon, and they prepared to take leave in high spirits. 
 Josephine said gayly, " This present is just like aunt 
 Sarah, but the prospect of the possession is so far in the 
 distance that I think I should have preferred something 
 in my hand, as I used to say when I was a child." 
 
 " You are nothing but a child now, Miss, and a wilful 
 one too," responded uncle James, playfully patting her 
 cheek ; you will have to hold a pretty tight rein," he ad- 
 ded, turning to the husband. 
 
 " Oh, I think we shall get along charmingly ! " he re-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 325 
 
 plied, forgetting for the moment everything but her sur- 
 passing beauty as she gazed lovingly in his face. 
 
 Four years of uninterrupted prosperity to the young 
 merchant passed away; but at the end of that time 
 shrewd business men began to see that a crisis in the 
 commercial world was fast approaching; and some, by 
 wisely reducing their sales, began to make preparations 
 for it. Of this class, however, was not Mr. Clinton. He 
 had always been successful, and he could not understand 
 why he should not always be so. Everything which he 
 touched seemed to turn to gold, and he had acquired 
 the reputation of an exceedingly fortunate man. 
 
 This was true only in his mercantile life, for his home 
 was anything but pleasant. Two children had been 
 born to him, a noble, warm hearted boy, now three years 
 old, and a beautiful girl of eighteen months. 
 
 During the years which had passed since her mar- 
 riage, Mrs. Clinton, by her variable temper, and the fre- 
 quency of her complaints of her husband, had gradually 
 alienated his affections from herself. A story had of late 
 reached her ears, of his devotion to Miss Hobart, a young 
 lady who was visiting in New York, and, indeed, there 
 appeared to be some truth in the report, though when 
 accused by his wife of unfaithfulness to her, of having 
 forgotten his oft-repeated vows of never dying affection, 
 he neither confirmed nor denied the charge, but usually 
 began to hum a tune or take up a newspaper, to show 
 her that he treated the subject with the utmost con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Little did Mrs. Clinton realize the danger of the course 
 28
 
 326 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 she was pursuing, both with regard to her o\v*i happiness 
 and that of her husband and children. He was more 
 and more estranged from her, passed more and more 
 time at his counting room, and his evenings in places of 
 amusement, often, alas! in the society of those with 
 whom he would have blushed to meet his wife, or any 
 one of his acquaintance whose good opinion he prized ; 
 and less and less in the company of those whom it was 
 his duty to love and cherish. 
 
 Sometimes he sighed as he remembered the fond an- 
 ticipations of happiness he had indulged before his mar- 
 riage, and tried to retrace his steps and to pay his wife 
 the attentions which, now that she had lost them, she 
 coveted ; but, generally, one evening at home was as 
 much as his patience would endure, for Josephine, not at 
 all understanding his motives, or endeavoring to assist 
 him in his good resplutions by rendering the occasion so 
 pleasant that he would be induced to repeat it, eagerly 
 embraced the opportunity to upbraid him for his cruel de- 
 sertion of her and her children, and expressed her won- 
 der that he dared show his face at home. 
 
 On one occasion Mr. Clinton happened to meet at the 
 house of a mutual friend, the aunt Sarah who was spoken 
 of at the beginning of this chapter. The kind lady, spin- 
 ster though she was, drew her nephew into a retired cor- 
 ner and inquired for his family. 
 
 " They are well, I presume," was the reply ; " that is, 
 I know nothing to the contrary," and he endeavored to 
 turn the subject into another channel ; but she had a noble 
 motive in pursuing it, and she said pleasantly, " but, Rus- 
 sel, you do not feel as indifferent as you appear. I re-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 327 
 
 member you as a most devoted lover, indeed I confess to 
 some longings for one who would so unselfishly yield to 
 all my wishes, be blind to my faults, and adore my vir- 
 tues as you did Josy's." 
 
 Mr. Clinton smiled as his aunt was speaking ; but the 
 smile was quickly succeeded by a look of bitterness as 
 he replied, " Years ago I discovered the folly of expecting 
 happiness in being united to one who is not contented 
 with thinking herself a saint, but must make out that 
 every one with whom she is connected is a sinner of the 
 deepest dye. 
 
 " Why aunt," he added, breaking out with indignation, 
 " I can take my oath that for a year Josephine has never 
 spoken to me kindly or pleasantly, or in a wife-like man- 
 ner ; not once, as you did just now." 
 
 Aunt Sarah sighed, as she feared this was too true. 
 " But have you done your duty, my dear nephew ? I 
 acknowledge she has a high temper ; that was her infir- 
 mity when a child ; and I never could persuade my sister 
 that she was wrong in not subduing it. Josephine has 
 many fine traits. I believe she really loves you and her 
 children." 
 
 " She gives astonishing evidence of it, certainly," re- 
 sponded the incensed husband. 
 
 " But the children, Russel ? " 
 
 " Yes, the children," repeated he, with a heavy sigh, " I 
 love Albert I suppose as well as any father loves his 
 child ; but when my mere speaking to him is made an 
 occasion for reproach, and I am called hard names in his 
 presence, 1 think it best to keep out of his way. As for
 
 328 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES | 
 
 Emma, I have not seen the child for a month, except as 
 I sometimes pass her in the carriage with her mother." 
 
 " That is wrong, all wrong, I know you will pardon 
 me for saying so, as I have no motive but your good." 
 
 " You cannot be more painfully aware of it than I am ; 
 and I presume, Josephine would give you quite a tragi- 
 cal story of my mis-doing in that particular ; but the 
 truth of the case is just this. I am actively employed all 
 day in my business, and am often wearied and perplexed 
 with a multiplicity of cares; I return home at night, and 
 instead of finding a wife who will cheer me by her enliv- 
 ening conversation, and soothe me by her affection, I am 
 received with reproaches that I did not come before, 
 charged with ill-treating my wife, having no natural af- 
 fection for my children, and with the grossest crimes, 
 which if I have committed I have been driven to do so 
 by her treatment. If I am deaf to all this, and ring to 
 have the nurse bring in the children, then the tune is 
 changed, and I am accused of only coming into the 
 house to be an annoyance and a bore ; and nine times 
 out of ten the order is countermanded, and I am forbid- 
 den the sight of them. Now this is all dreadful ; but it 
 is true, and I confess I am heartily sick of the life I 
 lead." 
 
 The conversation was here suddenly interrupted by 
 the appearance of Miss Hobart, the lady before men- 
 tioned, who with a very sweet smile, begged to know if 
 she were an intruder, or if she might be allowed to rest 
 in that retreat where all seemed to be peaceful and 
 happy.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 329 
 
 Miss Wallace only fanned herself, but her nephew 
 made up for her want of cordiality by a complimentary 
 assurance that she never could be considered an intruder. 
 Her presence was always welcome. 
 
 Miss Hobart tapped him playfully with her fan, ex- 
 claiming, " oh, you flatterer ! But to return to what I was 
 saying, I am really sick of all this heartless show. I do 
 love quiet, or rather the society of a few congenial souls 
 with whom in the retirement and bliss of the home-circle 
 I can have sweet communion." 
 
 The speaker was a celebrated beauty, the lips which 
 uttered the truly refined sentiment, were of the richest 
 ruby, and at the close she cast a regretful glance at her 
 admirer, and then raised them to heaven. Ah, Miss Ho- 
 bart had often been told her best attitude was that of a 
 Madonna! No wonder then that though Miss Wallace 
 pursed her mouth to its smallest compass, and heartily 
 wished the lady who was thus weaving a snare around 
 the husband of her niece any where but in New York ; 
 yet Mr. Clinton was almost bewildered with the idea 
 that here then was one lady who possessed not only 
 great beauty and varied accomplishments, but a warm, 
 affectionate heart, yearning for the delightful joys of 
 home. 
 
 "Oh!" he thought, "would it had been my fate to 
 have married her ! I should have been a far better and 
 happier man. Starting up suddenly he offered the lady 
 his arm, and bowing to his aunt, soon forgot the ex- 
 istence of every body but himself and her who was by his 
 side. 
 
 28*
 
 330 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 A few weeks after this the attentions of Mr. Clinton 
 to the fair lady were brought to an abrupt termination 
 by the sudden failure of one of the largest houses in the 
 city, a firm so intimately connected with his own that 
 Mr. Clinton for the first time began to realize the danger 
 which others had for months foreseen. But even now 
 he was opposed to retrenchment. They were doing an 
 enormous business and had credit at the banks to any 
 amount. He persuaded his father-in-law to hold on a 
 little longer, encouraging him with the assertion that 
 they need have no fears. But while he would not con- 
 fess it even to himself, Mr. Clinton did tremble at the 
 bare idea of a failure, though he knew that if their bills 
 were paid, they could dollar by dollar meet all their lia- 
 bilities. These apprehensions so disturbed him that he 
 could neither eat nor sleep. His business had been his 
 god, he had been envied for his superior shrewdness and 
 good fortune. What would be said of him if what he 
 dreaded should ever come to pass ? He made up his 
 mind to one course ; he would leave the country. He 
 had no ties here to keep him, and he actually shrank 
 from the torrent of reproach he knew he should be called 
 upon to endure from his wife. Then he believed she 
 would rejoice at his absence, and sometimes the thought 
 of taking another lady as his companion, darted through 
 his mind. Would she consent ? He had no doubt on 
 that point. 
 
 One morning when about to rise from his bed, he 
 found himself wholly unable. He had passed a sleepless 
 night, and awoke when the sun was high in the heavens
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 331 
 
 from an unrefreshing nap after daylight. His wife had 
 joined a party to the springs, leaving the children in the 
 care of the nurse. He rang the bell and ordered the 
 servant to bring a cup of coffee to his bed, and to send 
 word to the store thas he was ill. 
 
 In the course of an hour his father-in-law visited him, 
 and found him suffering from an attack of fever. A 
 physician was immediately summoned, and forbid his 
 leaving the house for the day. 
 
 " Better send for Josy," said her father as he was 
 leaving the room. 
 
 " Oh, no, that is not necessary!" he eagerly replied, for 
 he dreaded the idea of being obliged to stay and endure 
 her angry reproaches. 
 
 " Well, do as you please, but get well as fast as you 
 can. There was never a worse time for you to be 
 absent from the counting-room." 
 
 " I dare say I shall be well to-morrow." 
 
 But neither to-morrow nor for a week did he leave his 
 chamber. Mr. Talbot visited him every day, and some- 
 times two or three times a day for consultation respecting 
 business, but all in vain, the crisis was fast approaching, 
 and one morning the papers announced the fact of the 
 suspension of the great house of Talbot and Clinton. 
 
 This was in 1837, and this great failure caused the 
 hearts of many to quake with fear, in some instances 
 not without reason, for it was foUowed by the ruin of 
 many smaller houses, until public confidence seemed to 
 be destroyed. 
 
 The day before this sad event, Mr. Clinton, closely 
 wrapped from the damp air, for it was raining violently,
 
 332 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 was carried to the counting-room. His partners had be- 
 come so accustomed to depending upon him to meet 
 coming payments that they thought if he were only there 
 for half an hour he could advise what course to pursue. 
 He returned to his house with the certainty that he was 
 a bankrupt. 
 
 For the ten days he had been at home he had seen 
 more of his children than in all their previous lives. A 
 father's love had been strongly called into exercise to the 
 exclusion of every other affection. Perfumed notes from 
 Miss Hobart were read and returned unanswered to the 
 drawer, with one exception ; when he penned the few 
 words : " I am ill, and cannot comply with your in- 
 vitation." % 
 
 Albert was a child well calculated to call forth a 
 parent's tenderness. He was a noble, affectionate boy, 
 and rapidly won his way, by his endearing words and 
 soothing attentions, to his sick father's heart. 
 
 " Don't it feel a little better, papa ? " he asked again 
 and again, after gently smoothing back the jetty waves 
 of hair until assured that his patient was much relieved. 
 
 Emma was for a day or two timid in approaching one 
 who was so much of a stranger ; but seeing the fearless- 
 ness of her brother, she soon became willing to sit on the 
 bed by his side, and even to take her nap with her curly 
 head lying upon his breast 
 
 Mr. Clinton was surprised at the strength of the affec- 
 tion which had so suddenly sprang up for these loved 
 ones. " I will bear poverty and trial, everything but dis- 
 honor for their sake," he exclaimed, as he looked forward 
 to a change in his circumstances, and remembered the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 333 
 
 resolution he had formed to leave home : " I could beal 
 it manfully if I had a good wife." 
 
 The night before the failure was announced was such 
 a night as he had never before passed. Visions of a 
 man at whom his fellows would point in derision, for he 
 had fallen from a high place, and knew enough of hu- 
 man nature to be sure that many would exult in his fall ; 
 and also of an incensed woman upbraiding him as the 
 cause of her ruin, Avere constantly floating before his 
 excited imagination. Then came the thought of a sweet 
 face, and lips which had tremblingly answered to an 
 avowal of his unholy love, and an evil spirit tempted 
 him to flee to her in his distress. But then he must give 
 up his children ; and now arose a dreadful tumult in his 
 breast. The good spirit struggled manfully, and at 
 length gained the victory. The gentle voice of his lovely 
 babes sounded in his ears, " Papa, I love you," and he 
 resolved for their sake to resist the solicitations of his 
 corrupt heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE SEPARATION. 
 
 NEWS of the fall of the great house of Talbot & Clin- 
 ton quickly reached Saratoga, and Mrs. Clinton took a 
 hurried leave of her friends and returned home. 
 
 Little realizing with what intensity of emotion her 
 husband was waiting to receive her, the young wife 
 reached her elegant abode, and proceeded at once to her 
 chamber. In the presence of her friends, on board the 
 boat as she came down the river, she had been obliged to 
 restrain all outward manifestation of her chagrin, and 
 she longed to be alone that she might give vent to her 
 feelings of keen mortification and anger. To be sure 
 she could not understand all the changes which must 
 necessarily follow; but she realized enough to know that 
 it would be considered a dreadful disgrace. 
 
 As soon as her husband knew she was in the house 
 he proceeded to her room. His heart was softened, and 
 he was conscious of strong emotions of pity toward 
 her in these trying circumstances. When he entered she 
 had thrown off her bonnet, and was leaning her head on 
 her arm indulging the most passionate grief. 
 
 " Josephine, my dear wife," said he, approaching her ; 
 " do not give way in this manner. To be sure our 
 property is gone ; but we still have a pleasant home in 
 the cottage your aunt gave you, and I will work man 
 
 (334)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 335 
 
 fully for you and the children if you will only love me 
 as you once did." 
 
 At first she did not reply ; but when he went on en- 
 deavoring to soothe her, she started to her feet, and with 
 her countenance blazing with indignation, asked : " How 
 dare you ask my love ? You, who have outraged every 
 law of propriety, and made yourself so notorious in 
 your shame that I must be pointed at as a deserted wife ; 
 and, in addition to all this, by neglect of your proper 
 business, reduced your family to poverty and disgrace." 
 
 " Stop, Josephine ! " he exclaimed catching hold of her 
 arm. "When you can talk in a less excited strain, I 
 will hear you ; but I will not listen to such charges. You 
 know them to be untrue." 
 
 " Deny them, if you dare," she answered, with a sneer. 
 " Deny that you have been guilty of improper intimacy 
 with Miss Hobart, and I will forgive you everything 
 else." 
 
 " I do deny it ; that is, I deny that anything criminal 
 has taken place between us ; but I cannot deny that she 
 has interested me more than any lady with whom I am 
 acquainted. When I have been driven from home, I 
 have taken refuge in her society. There, at least, I am 
 received with smiles, never with reproaches. But now, 
 Josephine, I am ready to take my oath that I will never 
 voluntarily see her again ; that I will become to you an 
 affectionate husband, and try to perform my duty toward 
 my children, if you will be to me what you were before 
 our marriage. We may yet be happy ; perhaps happier 
 than ever. Though our fortune has gone ; yet my name 
 as a man of business is not dishonored. Many gentle-
 
 336 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 men have assured me that there has not been such a cri- 
 sis in the commercial world, within their remembrance ; 
 and that a failure now is to be looked upon in an entirely 
 different light from what it would be at another time. I 
 have already received offers to go into a new business. 
 In the meantime we might live with uncle James, and 
 probably enjoy ourselves more rationally than we ever 
 did." 
 
 While her husband was speaking in an impassioned 
 manner, Josephine's better nature was aroused, and she 
 was strongly tempted to throw herself into her husband's 
 arms, confess her own folly in having driven him from 
 home, and promise to become to him a true and loving 
 wife ; but alas, pride forbade ! Confession was what had 
 never passed her lips ; and she could not humble herself 
 to begin now. 
 
 Mr. Clinton watched every variation in her counte- 
 nance, and as she began a fresh stream of abuse, he in- 
 terrupted her. 
 
 " Josephine, this is too serious a subject to decide has- 
 tily. It involves my happiness for life, perhaps your 
 own. If you are not willing to do your part to make 
 home happy, how can you expect that I shall do so. If 
 you still are determined to pursue the course with regard 
 to me, which has alienated my affections, 1 shall leave 
 the country forever. I have the right to take the chil- 
 dren ; but I will not do so cruel a thing as to tear them 
 from their mother, and condemn them to the wandering 
 life I shall be obliged to lead. Therefore I wish you to 
 take time, say till to-morrow morning, and then tell me 
 what you mean to do."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 337 
 
 Fully assured that this was only a threat to reduce 
 her to terms, Mrs. Clinton retorted, " you are very consid- 
 erate ; but I am quite as ready to decide now as then." 
 
 " And what is your decision ? " he asked eagerly, ad- 
 vancing a step toward her. 
 
 " That it would be better for us to part ; that I should 
 feel no security in the honor of a man who has been un- 
 faithful to his wife, and as I repeat with reason has de- 
 prived her of her patrimony by his vices and neglect." 
 
 Mr. Clinton staggered under the weight of this blow. 
 It was wholly unexpected. Could he give up his chil- 
 dren ? " Cruel, cruel woman ! " he exclaimed, " you have 
 spoken the words which condemn me to be an exile from 
 country and home ; but I will not receive this decision 
 as final. I will give you until to-morrow morning to re- 
 verse it," and he suddenly left the room, and went imme- 
 diately to the nursery. 
 
 The children flew to meet him, little suspecting what 
 changes were befojre them ; and he clasped them again 
 and again to his heart. 
 
 " Papa hurt Emma," lisped the child almost frightened 
 at the ardor of his embiace. He sat down, talked and 
 played with them until a ring from his wife's room, and 
 an order for the children to be brought to her. 
 
 He passed the day in making arrangements for his de- 
 parture, and for the support of his wife during his ab- 
 sence. As the firm had given up all their property to 
 meet their demands, not reserving a farthing for them- 
 selves, the creditors who were in the city, were disposed 
 to act in an honorable and creditable manner with regard 
 to them. It was proposed that Mr. Clinton should go to 
 29
 
 338 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 Calcutta, and adjust the business there, and the creditors 
 gave him unlimited power to manage for them. In the 
 course of the day he also drove out to see uncle James, 
 and made arrangements for his wife and children to 
 move to Oakland at once, if it should be her wish to do 
 so. He gave himself no time for thought or reflection. 
 One call which he made in the evening, it is painful to 
 record. This was upon Miss Hobart ; he had not seen 
 her since his sickness, and the sad change in his pros- 
 pects ; but judging from the beautiful sentiments he had 
 heard from her lips, he supposed she would be more 
 friendly than before. He was shown into the parlor 
 of the house where she was visiting, and giving the ser- 
 vant his card, requested her to inform the lady that he 
 wished to see her. The girl soon returned with a mes- 
 sage that Miss Hobart was engaged. He immediately 
 tore a piece of paper from a letter in his hat, and wrote 
 upon it, that he expected to leave the country in the 
 morning, and wished to see her once more before his de- 
 parture. 
 
 In a few moments she made her appearance, when, in 
 a hurried manner, he informed her of what had taken 
 place ; that he should probably never return to America, 
 and invited her to accompany him. 
 
 With a great show of virtuous indignation, the lady 
 declined the honor of his proposal, and wondered he could 
 have so mistaken her character. 
 
 " I have indeed mistaken it," he added, " if it is a re- 
 gard for virtue which prevents you. When last I saw 
 you I was Mr. Clinton, a miUionnaire. To-day, I am 
 Mr. Clinton, a beggar. From the millionnaire you have
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 339 
 
 received costly presents and attentions such as you knew 
 I had no right to pay you. To the beggar you denied 
 even the pleasure of seeing you when I call ; but I am 
 satisfied, and hereafter I shall thank you for saving me 
 from the sin I was about to commit. Yes, I shall esteem 
 this as the most fortunate call I ever made." They 
 parted with mutual recriminations. 
 
 It seemed to Josephine as if that long day would never 
 close, for to her it was far more trying than to her hus- 
 band. She found it impossible to believe that he would 
 ever leave her and the children, who were now constantly 
 calling for him ; and yet the bare possibility of it made 
 her heart almost cease to beat. By every possible excuse 
 she tried to justify her own conduct and to criminate him ; 
 but amidst all this she sometimes stopped in her rapid 
 walk across her chamber, as conscience whispered, " His 
 sin lieth at thy door." If she could have been assured 
 that he was making arrangements to leave for India, un- 
 der the apprehension of the course she intended to pur- 
 sue, she would have forced her lips to the simple words, 
 " I have erred ; " but alas ! when they were spoken it was 
 too late. 
 
 I will not delay on this painful scene. It is sufficient 
 to say that Mr. Clinton reached home at eleven o'clock, 
 and retired immediately to a room by himself, where he 
 passed the night in writing letters, and preparing some 
 business to be left 
 
 In the morning he rang for a servant to bring breakfast 
 to his room, for he had determined not to see his wife 
 until the moment he were ready to start, if she did not 
 retract what she had said. About ten o'clock he sent to
 
 340 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 her room to know if she was ready to give him her final 
 decision ; and soon proceeded to her chamber, where the 
 children were both with her. 
 
 Mr. Clinton was excessively pale, and was obliged to 
 control his feelings to appear with any degree of com- 
 posure. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton was dressing as he entered, and with her 
 face averted went on in the making of her toilet 
 
 Suppressing his indignation at her indifference, he 
 asked : " Have you anything to say to me, Josephine ? " 
 
 Taking a rich bracelet from the drawer, she proceeded 
 to clasp it around her arm, as she answered : " Nothing 
 different from what I have already said." 
 
 Covering his face with his hands, Mr. Clinton wept 
 aloud, and Josephine, whose pride was fast giving way 
 needed little more to make her yield, when he suddenly 
 started, and catching his children in his arms darted from 
 the room. The door opened again, and, with a coun- 
 tenance of such suffering as she had never witnessed, he 
 said : " Farewell, I do not upbraid you. Your own con- 
 science will do that when I am gone;" and pausing 
 only a moment for one last embrace of his son and 
 daughter, bidding them remember their father, he rushed 
 from the house. 
 
 As soon as his wife heard the hall door shut, and real- 
 ized that it was no vain threat, but that he had really left 
 her, she flew like a distracted creature to the window, 
 and shrieked after him to come back ; but he was al- 
 ready beyond the sound of her voice. 
 
 The servants soon learned from her what she feared, 
 and assured her that if he were really intending to leave
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 341 
 
 the country, he must return or send for his baggage ; and 
 with this poor comfort the distressed wife was qbliged to 
 content herself. But the day passed, and no messenger 
 appeared ; and at last one of the servants informed her 
 that all his baggage had been carried from the house 
 the previous day. 
 
 The now conscience-stricken wife \vas perfectly wild 
 with grief, which was not lessened by the appearance of 
 her father with an open letter in his hand which he had 
 just received from his son-in-law. 
 
 " What have you done, Josephine ? " he asked sternly, 
 his face flushed with indignation. 
 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 " Read this," he continued, putting the letter into her 
 hand. " It is now too late for tears." 
 
 " My Dear Father, 
 
 " It is with great pain that I am compelled to inform 
 you that a separation has taken place between your 
 daughter and myself. I leave the country in an hour. 
 Josephine is firm in thinking it better for me to go. Do 
 not blame her, but rather cherish and comfort her ; for I 
 have no doubt, when it is too late, she will keenly regret 
 the decision which has exiled me from home. I freely 
 acknowledge that I have been greatly in fault, and that 
 I ought to have exhibited more tenderness for her and 
 more affection for my children. My heart fondly yearns 
 for them ; would that I could enfold them once more in 
 my arms for a parting embrace. 
 
 " Your afflicted Son, 
 
 RUSSEL CLINTON." 
 29*
 
 842 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 " P. S. If I should live to reach India, you will hear 
 from me." 
 
 The letter fell from Josephine's hand, and she sank to 
 the floor in a death-like swoon. For several hours the 
 physician who had been summoned by her father stood 
 leaning over her, applying every remedy in his power ; 
 and, at length with a low gasp, she feebly opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 It was several days before she was able to be removed 
 out of town, when she had abundant evidence of the 
 care her husband had taken for her in the midst of the 
 preparations for his own departure. She manifested no 
 interest in what was passing around her, and had not her 
 friends acted for her, much personal property would have 
 been sacrificed. Her father informed her that the credi- 
 tors desired her to reserve for herself any articles she 
 might wish, before the furniture was sold. Her jewels 
 and wardrobe, of course, she still retained. Aunt Sarah 
 proved herself very efficient on this occasion, and with 
 the assistance of the servants, in a few hours removed 
 to Oakland all she cared to take from the house. 
 
 The nurse who had been with Mrs. Clinton for four 
 years, was persuaded to accompany her ; and now all 
 was done, and she had only to think of what had 
 passed. 
 
 A few months subsequent to the settlement of 
 Mr. Wells in New York, a gentleman was one morn- 
 ing shown into his study in whom he recognized his 
 most respected parishioner, Mr. James Wallace. At 
 this time, however, he appeared in deep affliction, and
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 343 
 
 informed his pastor that he had called to request him to 
 attend the funeral of his niece at Oakland. 
 
 Upon inquiring the particulars of her death, the pastor 
 ascertained that the child was daughter to Mrs. Clinton 
 who resided with him, and that it had died suddenly of 
 brain fever. The father was supposed to be in India, 
 and the mother was overpowered by her multiplied af- 
 flictions. As the former residence of Mrs. Clinton was 
 in the same block as their own, Mr. Wells remembered 
 the circumstances rumor had connected with his sudden 
 departure. He readily promised to be at Oakland at the 
 time specified. 
 
 It would have been impossible to recognize in the 
 heart-broken mother weeping over the body of her de- 
 ceased child, the proud woman whose haughty spirit had 
 refused to confess her faults, even though such refusal 
 would separate her from her husband forever. Mr. Wells 
 was deeply affected at the sight of her grief, but his en- 
 deavors to soothe her were in vain. It was not until his 
 third visit at the house of mourning, that Mrs. Clinton 
 would listen to the voice of prayer. " I have deserved 
 this affliction ; I have brought it upon myself. God in- 
 tends this as a righteous judgment upon me," were words 
 which continually fell from her lips. 
 
 Mr. Wells endeavored to convince her that God had 
 sent the affliction also in mercy, to bring her to himself ; 
 but for a long time she could not realize the truth of this 
 blessed doctrine. The devoted pastor continued to visit 
 her, and begged leave to carry his wife with him, and at 
 length had the unspeakable satisfaction of feeling that 
 out of death had sprung eternal life in the soul of his 
 afflicted friend.
 
 344 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 Mrs. Hammond's nephew Mr. William Whitney lived 
 scarcely half a mile from Oakland, and between his wife, 
 who was a lovely Christian, and Mrs. Clinton, there 
 gradually grew up an intimacy which resulted in the 
 rapid growth of the Christian graces, in the heart of the 
 latter. 
 
 The year following the marriage and settlement of 
 Rev. Mr. Wells, the family were made very happy by the 
 arrival of a little stranger among them. But their happi- 
 ness was of short duration, for at the end of three weeks 
 of suffering, it closed its eyes forever upon this world of 
 sin, and rose to join the blessed throng of infants before 
 the throne, who have been redeemed by the blood of the 
 Lamb. 
 
 To the good clergyman and his wife this was an ex- 
 ceedingly afflictive event. But they knew whose hand 
 held the chastening rod, and they endeavored to bow 
 submissively to his holy will, fully believing that though 
 they knew not now, why this was best for them, they 
 should know hereafter. 
 
 It was more difficult to reconcile Frederic who was 
 now six years of age, to the loss of his baby brother. 
 The generous boy had already made over to him all right 
 and title to his rocking-horse, wagon and sled, reserving 
 only the privilege to use them sometimes when brother 
 did not want them. When at the end of three short 
 weeks, so full of plans for the amusement of his darling, 
 he was called one morning to his mother's room, and led 
 to the crib where lay the lifeless body of the sweet cherub, 
 his grief was so violent that his father was obliged to
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 345 
 
 take him from the room. Helen and Fanny stood with 
 tearful eyes and quivering lips, and gazed upon the fair 
 white brow, so peaceful in its marble coldness, and Fan- 
 ny asked, " Mamma won't he be our brother again when 
 we go to heaven ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wells wept as she endeavored to impress upon 
 their minds the importance of being prepared to meet 
 their dear brother in a world where parting is unknown. 
 Though she endeavored to be cheerful, yet the death of 
 her babe operated so unfavorably upon her health, that 
 during the winter which followed, she was scarcely able 
 to leave the house. For the sake of her husband and 
 children, she struggled against her sorrow ; but there was 
 a dimness in her eye, and a languor in her step, which 
 showed that her thoughts were elsewhere. If anything 
 could have served to strengthen the bond between her 
 and her husband, this affliction did so. Mrs. Wells was 
 ever on the watch to avert any sudden allusions to the 
 afflictive subject which nevertheless was ever in their 
 thoughts, and by his soothing remarks to direct her mind 
 to the blessedness they enjoyed of having their little one 
 in the immediate presence of his Saviour. For many 
 months she was subjected to a return of her old com- 
 plaint, the nervous headache, and at such times nothing 
 could exceed the tenderness of her husband. His step 
 was as light and his hand as gentle as a woman's in ad- 
 ministering to her, and often when all other remedies 
 failed, he took her throbbing head between his hands and 
 held it firmly until she fell asleep. 
 
 During the sickness of her mistress, Nora who was 
 now released from the nursery, was elevated to the posi-
 
 346 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 tion of house-keeper, and under the direction of Mrs. 
 Hammond, she well fulfilled the trust reposed in her. 
 
 In June the whole family removed for. the summer to 
 
 C , the society having generously volunteered to 
 
 supply the pulpit until October. Their time was divided 
 between the two families, -and in the bracing air of her 
 native place, together with frequent bathing in the sea 
 which was only four miles distant, the invalid was fully 
 restored. 
 
 The sea-bathing also proved very beneficial to her hus- 
 band and children, and altogether the summer passed de- 
 lightfully. For the first time since she left B , Mrs. 
 
 Wells, in company with her husband, made calls upon 
 her old people. She found them as enthusiastic as ever 
 in their love for their deceased pastor, and though at first 
 some of them were rather reserved in expressing their 
 sentiments of affection for her first husband in the pre- 
 sence of her second, yet they soon found by the freedom 
 with which she spoke of him, and the heartiness with 
 which her husband joined in her remarks, that it was not 
 a subject which was interdicted between them. 
 
 The New Year following the absence of Mr. Wells 
 from his people, was improved by the church and con- 
 gregation, connected with the Street Church, by 
 a visit to their pastor, in which they presented him with 
 many valuable tokens of their affection for him, and their 
 appreciation of his labors. 
 
 Mrs. Thomas Warren was called early the following 
 spring to the bed-side of her aunt, who had lingered 
 much beyond their anticipations, but who was now fast
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 347 
 
 approaching her latter end. The mind of Mrs. Norton 
 was calm, and filled with glorious anticipations of the 
 rest, provided for the people of God. Laura remained 
 with her until the closing scene, which did not occur un- 
 til she had been in Charleston nearly three weeks. Im- 
 mediately after the funeral solemnities, she, in company 
 with her husband and her uncle Russel, departed for the 
 North, as the young mother was anxious to embrace her 
 dear little Mary, now nearly two years old, and from 
 whom she had never before been separated.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE RE-UNION. 
 
 IN the grounds belonging to the tasteful residence of 
 Mr. William Whitney, was a pleasant pond, which 
 being walled around, presented a very pleasing view 
 from the back windows. On one side was a miniature 
 boat-house, containing a tiny canoe, kept for the accom- 
 modation of those who wished to fish. 
 
 This pond was constantly replenished by a spring, the 
 overflowing waters passing off in a deep gurgling brook, 
 which ran along, sometimes widening and sometimes 
 through a narrow channel, which one might easily pass 
 over, until it reached the grounds back of Oakland, where 
 it formed the dividing line, between the estate of Mrs. 
 Clinton and that of her neighbor. 
 
 Upon the bank of this pond, under the shade of a large 
 elm, was the grave of little Emma, and here during all 
 the pleasant seasons of summer and autumn. Mrs. Clin- 
 ton with her only child passed many hours of every day. 
 Uncle James had placed a circular seat around the trunk 
 of the venerable tree, and here Mrs. Clinton brought her 
 work and books, and here also Albert conveyed his toys. 
 In the warm weather when the water was low, his 
 mother sometimes allowed him to bathe his feet, or 
 launch his miniature vessels in the cool brook ; but this 
 was only when she was near, for the bottom of the brook 
 
 (348)
 
 THE COUR1ESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 349 
 
 was rough and stony, and at certain seasons after a heavy 
 rain, the waters were so much swollen as to render it un- 
 safe for a child to approach its steep banks. 
 
 To Albert there was nothing of gloom about this spot, 
 for with it was associated many delightful conversations 
 with his mother, not only of the lovely sister who was 
 resting there so peacefully, but of his long absent father. 
 The few days which he passed in the society of his father 
 before he left home, had made an indelible impression 
 upon his mind. Every word of love, every token of af- 
 fection, however slight, had been repeated almost daily. 
 Probably, if he had been in the habit of receiving them 
 all his life, the recollection would not have been as vivid. 
 But those days when he learned the depth of a father's 
 love were a distinct era in his young life. 
 
 His mother had been his sole instructor, and by her 
 careful teachings he was far in advance of his years. 
 Geography was his favorite study, for he loved to trace 
 upon the globe in uncle James's library the path his 
 father travelled in going to India, and the route he would 
 take to come home ; for, long after hope had died out in 
 the heart of his mother, the boy insisted that he would 
 return. 
 
 " As soon as T am a man," he said one day, " I shall 
 take a vessel and go round the world until I can find my 
 father. Who knows but he is just like Robinson Cru- 
 soe living alone on an island, because no vessel has been 
 to take him away ? " 
 
 A sharp pang seized the heart of the mother as she 
 listened to his artless appeals, wholly unconscious of the 
 pain they caused her. 
 
 30
 
 350 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 Albert was now nine years of age, and Mr. Clint ) 
 had been absent nearly six, during which time no intel- 
 ligence had been received from him. 
 
 In the second year after his departure, letters had been 
 received by Mr. Talbot from Calcutta, reporting favora- 
 bly of the business there, and from time to time the 
 creditors had received large payments upon their former 
 demands against the firm. After waiting a sufficient 
 time for news which was expected by the way of Liver- 
 pool, Mr. Talbot wrote to his son-in-law, urging him to 
 hasten his business and return. Mrs. Clinton also wrote 
 an account of the death of their child. These letters he 
 enclosed to the address of their agent, with a request to 
 forward them to Mr. Clinton. The returning vessel 
 brought an answer from the agent that no such person 
 had reached Calcutta. That he had made inquiries of 
 ship masters ; but no one had brought out a passenger 
 by that name. Still, Mrs. Clinton did not wholly de- 
 spair. She remembered the words of her husband, that 
 he would not condemn the children to the wandering life 
 he should be obliged to lead; but as year after year 
 passed away, hope grew fainter and fainter, until scarcely 
 a spark remained. Sometimes, as Frederic indulged his 
 childish prattle about what might have occurred to pre- 
 vent the return he so much wished, her courage revived 
 for a moment, but only to plunge her in deeper gloom. 
 Through the day she was generally calm, though her face 
 had assumed a pensive expression, very different from 
 the brilliant beauty she possessed, when first introduced 
 to the reader. But during the night her couch was often 
 a sleepless one and her pillow wet with tears of bitter
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 351 
 
 repentance. In the education of her child, she avoided 
 everything which would lead to the indulgence of a 
 querulous or impatient temper, such as had embittered 
 her whole life. 
 
 Perhaps her character at this time cannot be better de- 
 scribed than by giving an extract from the diary of Mrs. 
 Wells: 
 
 " Yesterday I passed a delightful day with Mrs. Clin- 
 ton, in her charming retreat at Oakland. I was unwil- 
 ling to tax her kindness by taking the older children ; 
 but Mr. Wallace insisted that she wished to see them all. 
 The carriage came for us soon after nine o'clock in the 
 morning, so that we might reach there before the heat 
 became intense ; and we, six in number, started. Mr. 
 Wells being unable to leave his study until afternoon. 
 
 " My little Laura enjoyed the ride much, and, after her 
 nap, was kept out by Nora most of the day. 
 
 " Mrs. Clinton received us very cordially, and after we 
 were rested conducted us to the arbor in the garden near 
 the grave of little Emma, where we had a delicious 
 lunch. She remarked that it might seem strange to us 
 that she chose this spot ; but that it had become to her 
 the most delightful in the world. I saw she wished to 
 say more, but as the whole family were present, she re- 
 strained herself. Yet, after the young group under the 
 direction of Master Albert had dispersed about the 
 grounds, she continued : ' When at times I am borne 
 to the earth with sorrow, I come here and fix my 
 thoughts upon the world of purity and love where my 
 dear child has gone, and endeavor to claim the promise
 
 352 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 of my Saviour, he that cometh to me I will in no wise 
 cast out. Sometimes, I can by faith lay hold of the 
 precious hopes of the gospel, but there are seasons when 
 I think my sins have been so aggravated that there can 
 be no mercy for me.' 
 
 " I was deeply affected at the tone in which she spoke, 
 and my eyes bore witness to my deep interest as I en- 
 deavored to assure her that Jesus knew all our grief, and 
 sympathized with us ; that if she would cast her care 
 upon him, he would support her. Of course, I could 
 speak only in general terms, as she had never alluded to 
 her own particular trials. But now her heart was ap- 
 parently moved by my tears, and she exclaimed, ' Oh, 
 my dear Mrs. Wells, you can never know the bitterness 
 of my sorrow ! You have lost a husband ; and as I 
 have often heard, a tender, loving one ; but he died in 
 your presence after blessing you and bidding you fare- 
 well. I, too, had a husband, whose noble heart would 
 have been devoted to his family, who was capable by his 
 ardent affections of rendering home happy ; but I drove 
 him from me, I drove him into sin, which he abhorred, 
 and then heaped reproaches upon him, such as no hon- 
 orable man could endure. If he had ever in one instance 
 returned my unkindness, I could have something with 
 which to vindicate the course I pursued ; but on the 
 contrary, his life was one succession of efforts to win me 
 from the selfishness and disregard of all but my own 
 happiness, which was my only aim in life, and to assist 
 me in the performance of my duties as a wife and 
 mother. Even to the last, when, in consequence of my 
 abuse, he was driven from his country, he did not up- 

 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 353 
 
 braid me. He said, truly, your conscience will do that 
 when I am gone ! 
 
 " Oh, that I had only confessed my sin against him, 
 and received forgiveness ! For years, the hope of doing 
 this sustained me. Soon after the death of my child, I 
 wrote him that God had visited me in judgment, on ac- 
 count of my treatment of him, and I humbly begged him 
 to forgive my long catalogue of offences. I dared not ask 
 him to return to me. I knew I had no right to expect 
 that ; but for a long time I hoped he would answer, and 
 with one word assure me that I was forgiven. But the 
 suspense is dreadful. I think I could be thankful to hear 
 that he was dead, if I could be assured that he died a 
 Christian, rather than live such a life of agonizing 
 suspense. 
 
 " My child, and even my kind uncle and aunt, know 
 little of the grief which is shortening my days, for when 
 with them I strive to appear cheerful and even resigned 
 to the sorrow which my own sinfulness has brought 
 upon me ; but in the silent watches of the night, when 
 no eye but that which never sleeps is resting upon me, I 
 mourn in bitterness of spirit over my past life, and be- 
 seech my Father, who is in heaven, to forgive me. But 
 my happiest hours are passed in prayer for the lonely 
 wanderer, if he be indeed a subject of prayer ; and there 
 are moments when I believe that my earnest desires for 
 him will be granted." 
 
 As she said this, a faint flush beautified her colorless 
 cheek, and her eyes were raised to heaven in a glance of 
 sincere gratitude and fervent devotion. 
 30*
 
 354 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 It was a warm and pleasant day in October. For 
 nearly a week there had been incessant rain, and neither 
 Mrs. Clinton nor her son had been able to visit their 
 favorite retreat under the elm tree. 
 
 The morning lessons of Albert were concluded, and 
 he stood before his mother, with his cap in his hand, 
 begging her to take her work and accompany him to the 
 arbor. She was still undecided on account of the fear 
 of dampness in the ground, when her uncle James pre- 
 sented himself from the garden and assured her that the 
 sun had dried the walks, and that the clear, bracing air 
 would do her good. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton smilingly collected her work, and taking 
 from the rack in the hall a large hat and shawl, she was 
 soon seated in the pleasant shade, uncle James having 
 thoughtfully placed a cricket under her feet. The sound 
 of the brook dashing along as if impatient to reach its 
 destination, attracted the attention of the boy, and taking 
 his uncle's hand he led him toward it. The waters were 
 much swollen and had overflown their banks, forcing for 
 themselves channels aside from their natural ones. 
 Albert was delighted at the miniature rivers, as he called 
 the little streams, and ran eagerly to his mother to ask 
 permission to sail his new boat in one of them. After 
 being assured by her uncle that there could be no danger, 
 Mrs. Clinton gave her consent, and taking a book from 
 her basket was soon wholly absorbed in its contents. 
 She was suddenly startled by a loud scream from Albert, 
 who was calling her name. She flew toward the house, 
 as he was nowhere in sight, when another and another 
 shriek quickly followed ; and, this time it seemed to
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 355 
 
 come from behind her. With a sudden thought of the 
 deep water, the distracted mother fled down the walk, 
 and soon reached the brook. Here all was still, and with 
 trembling limbs she was turning to leave the spot, when 
 two small hands rose to the surface of the water, and a 
 faint call of " mother," almost turned her heart to stone. 
 Without one thought of her own danger, for the water 
 was very deep, she prepared to jump into the rapid cur- 
 rent, when a strong arm held her back, and in one mo- 
 ment a stranger laid the nearly insensible boy at her feet 
 With a countenance pale as death, Mrs. Clinton caught 
 his limpid form to her heart, as she murmured, " oh, my 
 blessed boy ! My God, accept a mother's thanks for the 
 life of her only child!" 
 
 " He is still in danger," said the gentleman, seeing that 
 the boy did not arouse himself. " Measures must in- 
 stantly be taken to resuscitate him. Tell me where to 
 carry him, and I will go instantly." 
 
 For one instant the mother's heart bounded wildly, as 
 she gazed at the stranger of whose presence until he 
 spoke, she had been wholly unmindful, and then speak- 
 ing with difficulty, she said, " Oh, sir, let us proceed at 
 once to the house ! " And she pointed to the cottage, 
 which could just be seen among the trees. The gentle- 
 man took the child from her arms, and conveyed him 
 tenderly to his chamber, Mrs. Clinton running on before 
 to send for a physician. 
 
 Having placed him in bed, the stranger asked how 
 soon the Doctor would probably arrive, and hearing that 
 they were obliged to send to the city, immediately order- 
 ed a warm bath, saying in an apologizing tone to Mr.
 
 356 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 "Wallace, " I am something of a doctor, and in the pre- 
 sent case, it will not do to defer some measures for his 
 relief." All the time he had been speaking, he occupied 
 himself in gently unloosing the boy's clothes, and com- 
 menced a vigorous rubbing of the limpicl figure, while 
 the mother tearfully called him by name. 
 
 Before the bath was prepared, Albert feebly opened his 
 eyes, and faintly smiled. 
 
 " Oh, my precious, darling boy !" exclaimed his mother 
 lifting his head from the pillow, and laying it upon her 
 breast, when her over-excited feelings found relief in a 
 natural burst of tears. 
 
 It was not until the boy was placed in the bath, and 
 was able to answer questions, that Mr. Wallace noticed 
 that the stranger's clothes were still dripping. " I fear, sir, 
 that you are exposing yourself," he said quickly, while he 
 rang the bell. 
 
 There was a slight tone of bitterness in the stranger's 
 voice, as he replied, " for three days and nights I have 
 lain in the water lashed to the fragments of a vessel, and 
 I hardly think a slight wetting on such a day as this can 
 harm me." 
 
 " Notwithstanding," replied Mr. Wallace with a smile, 
 as the servant appeared, " I shall do all in my power to 
 prevent it, and if you will follow Hannah to a chamber, 
 you will find a dry suit of clothes at your service." 
 
 Mrs. Clinton was kneeling by the side of the bathing 
 tub, and when the gentleman spoke, she trembled in 
 every limb. She fixed her piercing eyes on his face as if 
 she would read his very soul ; but after one glance he 
 turned from her, and soon left the room.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 357 
 
 Forgetful even of her restored treasure, the poor 
 woman sprang to the door as if to recall him, but he was 
 already out of sight, and she sank into a chair pale and 
 agitated. When Mr. Wallace returned from his atten- 
 tions to his guest, he found nis niece with her hands 
 clasped to her breast, and her eyes fixed immovably upon 
 the door. 
 
 " Where is he ? oh, don't let him leave ! " she gasped 
 out. 
 
 " Mamma won't answer me," cried the restored child, 
 speaking to his uncle, " and she looks so strange." 
 
 Mr. Wallace turned from one to the other, but was 
 entirely at a loss to understand the cause of the agitation 
 he witnessed. " He will soon be down to attend to his 
 little patient," he answered, supposing at length it must 
 be the fear of having the gentleman leave before the boy 
 was fully restored. 
 
 Making a great effort to control herself, she arose and 
 assisted the nurse, who was taking him out of the bath, 
 and the little fellow was soon lying comfortably in bed, 
 wrapped in blankets, and wondering that his mother did 
 not come to caress him. 
 
 But her heart was full, almost to bursting, not with 
 the danger which her only child had so narrowly escaped ; 
 no, her thoughts were not of him ; but of one who was 
 far dearer than her only son, or even the memory of the 
 lovely bud, broken from its stem and mouldering to dust. 
 Something in the voice of the stranger had caused her 
 poor desolate heart to throb so painfully that she could 
 hardly breathe, and though she had failed to recognize 
 one feature of her husband in the white-haired man,
 
 358 THE FIWST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 whose heavy beard so thickly covered the lower part of 
 his face ; yet the thought of his departure could not be 
 endured for a moment. She left the room to find her 
 uncle, who had just been to the stranger's apartment. 
 
 " I am sorry," said he, as she met him, " that I cannot 
 prevail upon the gentleman to remain, and pass the 
 night with us, but he says he must instantly return to the 
 city." 
 
 " He must not leave," exclaimed Mrs. Clinton with 
 something of her former decision of tone and manner. 
 
 Mr. Wallace smiled and was about to reply, but per- 
 ceived that their guest had entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton advanced to him, and taking both his 
 hands, tried to speak ; but the words died away, and she 
 fell almost fainting into his arms. 
 
 " My niece is much overcome by the excitement she 
 has passed through," said Mr. Wallace, as the stranger 
 laid her gently upon the sofa. " She is not able to bear 
 such a fright. I do not at all wonder she is unable to 
 thank you as she desires," and the good man really start- 
 ed, as he caught the expression of agony in her counte- 
 nance, fearing lest the shock had dethroned her reason. 
 The stranger seemed also agitated by the same thought, 
 and muttering indistinctly that he must return to the 
 city, approached the lady to take leave, saying, however, 
 as he did so, that he would call on the morrow and in- 
 quire for his little friend. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton started up, and in an almost inarticulate 
 voice, whispered, " oh, do not fail to return ! " 
 
 The conduct of his niece was so unaccountable, that 
 Mr. Wallace thought it necessary to apologize for her as
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 359 
 
 he followed his guest to the hall, by saying, " Mrs. Clin- 
 ton is in a declining state of health, and seems quite un- 
 nerved by the scenes of the afternoon. I trust to-mor- 
 row she will be better able to render her thanks for the 
 service you have been to us." 
 
 " I want no thanks. I deserve none," murmured the 
 stranger. " I was passing the street and was attracted 
 to the spot by the scream of the child, which it would 
 have been less than human to hear unmoved," and with 
 a warm pressure of Mr. Wallace's hand, he hastily left 
 the house. 
 
 " How very thoughtless of me not to ask his name," 
 remarked the kind man, re-entering the room where his 
 niece still sat motionless as he had left her. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton covered her face with her hands, while 
 the hot tears forced their way through her fingers, then 
 with a sound nearly resembling a groan, she arose and 
 left the room. After ascertaining that Albert was busily 
 occupied in talking with his good nurse, she hastened to 
 her own chamber, and having fastened the door, threw 
 herself upon her knees. 
 
 " Father in heaven," she cried in agony, " sustain me 
 in this new trial. It is, it must be he ; but he has cast 
 me off. Yes, as I did him ! Oh, I never thought of 
 this ! But can I wonder that his affections are wholly 
 weaned from me. Have I not deserved it?" Bitter 
 tears poured down her cheeks like water. Then doubts 
 of his identity with her husband, suggested themselves. 
 But they were instantly banished ; " that voice," she cried, 
 " oh, no other voice could move me thus ! and he will be 
 here again to-morrow ; what shall I ay ? What can I
 
 360 THE FIRST AND TriE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 say to him ? Will he believe me when I tell him for six 
 years I have been a repentant wife, mourning for the loss 
 of my noble husband ? " 
 
 After a sleepless night to Mrs. Clinton, the morrow 
 came ; but not the stranger. For three successive days 
 she waited and watched, but still he came not. Albert, 
 now fully restored, was continually running from the 
 gate to the house, to announce to his mother that a car- 
 riage was approaching, but alas ! they always passed by 
 without stopping. This continual suspense so wore 
 upon the feeble frame of the poor mother, that she was 
 obliged to keep her bed. Every sound caused her heart 
 to palpitate with renewed hope, which as often was 
 ;hanged to despondence. Her uncle, though entirely ig- 
 4orant of the hopes and fears which alternated in quick 
 succession through her breast, yet participated in her 
 anxiety to see once more the preserver of her child. 
 Without imparting his intention to her, he rode twice to 
 the city, and called at the principal hotels, but could 
 nowhere hear of a gentleman answering to his descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 Toward the close of the fourth day, which was the 
 Sabbath, Mrs. Clinton descended from her chamber, and 
 feebly bent her steps toward the grave of her child. It 
 was the season designated as the Indian summer, and 
 the air was as balmy as June. The sun was just sink- 
 ing to rest, and the whole western sky was lighted up to 
 witness the departure of the king of day. The bereaved 
 mother bent over the grave, and tears such as the sight 
 of it had not called forth for many a year, now fell 
 thickly upon the green sods before her. How often had
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 361 
 
 she knelt there in prayer for her husband, and thought if 
 she could see him once more, how earnestly would she 
 seek his forgiveness. Now how different had been their 
 meeting. It was plain he intended to leave her forever. 
 
 " Mr. Wallace directed me here to find you," said a 
 low voice at her side. Mrs. Clinton sprang to her feet, 
 and made a motion as if she would have thrown herself 
 into his arms, but he gently took her hand and led her to 
 a seat under the tree, where he seated himself by her. 
 Her heart beat almost to suffocation as she witnessed 
 the change which a few days had wrought in him. 
 
 " You are ill," she said suddenly. 
 
 " I have not been quite well," he answered evasively, 
 " or I should have fulfilled my promise to my little friend. 
 Indeed this is the first time I have left my chamber since 
 the evening I was last here." 
 
 " Oh, my husband! my husband!!" were words which 
 struggled for utterance, while her heart yearned over 
 him, but there was a dignity in his manner which re- 
 pelled her, and strange to say, doubts whether he were 
 her husband, began to intrude themselves upon her mind. 
 She tried to calm her agitated feelings, and pointing to 
 the gorgeous scene before them, sought to divert his at- 
 tention from herself. He gazed a few moments in silence, 
 and then arose as if to depart. 
 
 At this movement her pent up emotions would be re- 
 pressed no longer, and with a cry of agony, she caught 
 his arm, as she gasped, " oh, you will not leave me 
 again!" 
 
 The whole frame of the strong man shook with sup- 
 pressed emotion, as he resumed his seat by her side. 
 31
 
 362 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES *, 
 
 " Josephine," he said, in a husky voice, " I see that you 
 have recognized me ; you are the first who has pene- 
 trated my disguise, and he took from his head the silvery 
 locks which had served so effectually to screen from view 
 his own curly hair, which was indeed thickly sprinkled 
 with gray. You must once more pronounce my doom. 
 " Shall I again embark for India, and pass my life with 
 wild beasts in their jungles, or shall 1 remain with you ? " 
 The last words were spoken so hoarsely that it was only 
 by bending toward him that she could distinguish them ; 
 but when she did so, she fell on her knees at his feet, ex- 
 claiming, " oh, my God, I thank thee for this hour!" 
 
 Mr. Clinton raised her from her humble position, and 
 strained her to his heart. In that peaceful retreat close 
 by the grave of their little one, this re-united pair poured 
 forth to each other, the confessions, hopes and fears which 
 had alike agitated them during their long separation. 
 Tightly clasped in the arms of her husband, the grateful, 
 happy wife forgot her recent illness, or the lateness of the 
 hour, until startled by the voice of uncle James calling 
 her to come in. The good man could hardly believe his 
 sight, when, after waiting what appeared to him a long 
 time for his niece to return to the cottage with the 
 stranger, he ventured out to remind her that the dew had 
 begun to fall, and saw her head lying gently on his breast 
 
 " Josephine," said he, rather peremptorily, " you forget 
 yourself; you will take cold ; the dew is falling, and the 
 air is chilly." 
 
 " Oh, uncle James," she exclaimed, joyfully, " do you 
 not recognize my husband ? " 
 
 The good man wiped his eyes, coughed and hemmed ;
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 363 
 
 but somehow the surprise deprived him of his speech. 
 Mr. Clinton cordially grasped his hands, and tried to ex- 
 press his joy at the meeting, when they all adjourned to 
 the house to find Albert. 
 
 The boy could hardly control himself when told that 
 the kind stranger was his own father, though he could 
 scarcely reconcile the idea of a white haired man with 
 the recollection of a broad brow and black curly locks. 
 
 Uncle James also observed that his eyes must have 
 grown very dim, for he should never have imagined that 
 the gray-headed man could turn out to be the husband 
 of his dear niece. But the next morning when Mr. Clin- 
 ton made his appearance at table with a smooth face, 
 and bereft of his white wig, there w r as a start of joy- 
 ful surprise, which was many times repeated by different 
 persons through the day, as Mr. Clinton in company 
 with his wife, returned to the city and called upon his 
 father-in-law and other family friends, aunt Sarah Wal- 
 lace among the number. 
 
 Reverend Mr. Wells and his lady sympathized most 
 cordially in the deep joy of their friend in the return of 
 her husband, and the new affection which appeared to 
 exist between them. During their call the good pastor 
 introduced subjects calculated to test the character of 
 their new friend, and to ascertain whether the separation 
 had been blessed to him as to his companion, but was 
 grieved to see that they were skilfully evaded, until he 
 rose as if to depart, when taking the hand of his wife, he 
 led her before the clergyman, where with a choking voice 
 he said, " From what Mrs. Clinton has related to me of 
 your kindness to her during our long separation, I can-
 
 364 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES '. 
 
 not doubt but you will rejoice to re-unite us and implore 
 for us the grace of God in our new union ; that we may 
 cherish and support one another, bear patiently with each 
 other's faults, and do all in our power to promote mu- 
 tual joy in this life, and to fit for the blessedness of the life 
 to come." 
 
 These words were uttered with so much earnestness and 
 such deep emotion, that all present were moved to tears. 
 Mr. Wells with moistened eyes, stepped forward, and 
 holding a hand of each, bestowed upon them the usual 
 marriage benediction, when all joined him in prayer, that 
 religion might refine all their joys, and render their home 
 a paradise of conjugal love. 
 
 One morning early in December, Mr. Clinton an- 
 nounced to uncle James that he intended to take his 
 wife into town for the winter, " where," he added, " we 
 hope you will accompany us, otherwise we could hardly 
 feel it right to claim your hospitality another summer." 
 
 Mr. Wallace glanced in dismay at his niece, who an- 
 swered pleasantly, " this is the first intimation I have had 
 of such a movement, so I can give you no explanation." 
 
 " The fact is," resumed Mr. Clinton, clearing his throat, 
 " I am intending to go into business again in New York, 
 and it will not be convenient to live so far out of town 
 during the cold weather. I have been to look at a house, 
 and find it will accommodate us. We can easily carry 
 in Josephine's furniture, and be quite comfortable there 
 for a few months. She will go in with me this morning 
 and make arrangements to be settled in our new home 
 by Christmas."
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 365 
 
 His eyes were fastened upon his plate, or he would 
 have seen that his wife turned exceedingly pale, and 
 with difficulty restrained her tears. The few weeks 
 which had passed since his return home had been so 
 quiet and peaceful that the thought of returning to the 
 city, and having her husband exposed to the temptations 
 of his former life was dreadful to her. To be sure she 
 knew he would not long be contented to be dependent 
 upon her uncle, and had supposed that he would at a 
 future time seek some kind of business ; but for this 
 sudden announcement she was wholly unprepared. 
 
 Uncle James witnessed the quivering of her lip, and 
 determined to speak in private with his nephew, and 
 beg of him to do nothing rashly, as his friends would 
 gladly render him assistance. This he did, soon after 
 breakfast, and received the cordial thanks of Mr. Clin- 
 ton, with the assurance that he would not be detained 
 from applying to so generous a friend if he was in 
 need. 
 
 When they returned to the breakfast-room INIrs. Clin- 
 ton was washing the cups, and taking a paper from the 
 sideboard, her husband sat down to read, but she started 
 as she glanced at him to see signs of agitation upon his 
 countenance which he was evidently making a great effort 
 to conceal. Two or three times she met a glance so full 
 of meaning, that she was determined to seek an ex- 
 planation as soon as they were alone. 
 
 At length he laid down the paper, and with affected 
 indifference inquired, " How soon, Josy, can you be 
 ready to go into town ? Your uncle has offered me the 
 use of his carriage, and Albert may go with us." 
 31*
 
 366 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Though she would have preferred leaving the child at 
 home that she might converse more freely with him, she 
 answered cheerfully, " If you are. in a hurry to go I can 
 be ready in half an hour, or even in less time." 
 
 " That will do," he answered abruptly as he left the 
 room. 
 
 On reaching the city Mr. Clinton remarked : " I have 
 an engagement at twelve, and therefore we must not 
 tarry too long. There are two or three houses vacant, in 
 either of which I think we could be comfortable for a 
 few months. He drove into a back street, and at length 
 stopped at the door of a three-story brick house of re- 
 spectable appearance. Having rung at the next door, 
 procured the key, and assisted her from the carriage, he 
 said hurriedly : "You can just run over the house, and I 
 will remain near the door. The air is so cold in those 
 shut up rooms I dont like to take Albert from the 
 carriage." 
 
 Mrs. Clinton sighed as she ran up and down stairs 
 taking a cursory survey of the size and convenience of 
 the apartments. Not a ray of sun ever shone into the 
 damp rooms which were closely shut in by the higher 
 buildings with which the house was surrounded; but she 
 bravely determined to make the best of the choice if it 
 met with her husband's approbation, " for after all," she 
 whispered to herself, " what are the inconveniences of a 
 cold house compared with the blessing of having my 
 husband with me ? " 
 
 " Well, Josy," inquired Mr. Clinton, anxiously, " how 
 do you think it will do ? Can you manage to be happy 
 here, or to make it look like home ? "
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 367 
 
 She smiled as she replied, " I can be happy anywhere 
 with you and our dear child." 
 
 Mr. Clinton was seized at this moment with a severe 
 fit of coughing, and turned abruptly to the carriage. 
 When they were seated she said, " There is one objec- 
 tion to this house ; it is so far from our church, that I 
 suppose it would be difficult for Albert to walk." 
 
 " Perhaps one of the others would suit you better in 
 that respect," was the reply. 
 
 " Are you intending to call upon Mr. Wells this morn- 
 ing ? " she asked in surprise as he stopped at her pastor's 
 door. 
 
 " No," he replied, " but I was seized with a sudden de- 
 sire to visit our old home ; and thought, if you did not 
 care to go in, I could leave you here." 
 
 Mrs. Clinton grew very pale, and put her hand sud- 
 denly to her heart as she answered : " It would be pain- 
 ful in the extreme, but I will do so if you wish it." 
 
 " Thank you," said he, driving on. 
 
 She sighed heavily, but drew down her veil, and pre- 
 pared to alight from the carriage. Albert was in an 
 ecstasy at the idea of going into so fine a house. 
 
 Having fastened the horse to the ring in the marble 
 pavement, Mr. Clinton was obliged to put his arm around 
 his wife to assist her up the steps, so much distressed 
 was she at the idea of meeting strangers at such a time 
 and in such a place. 
 
 " Can we have the liberty of going over the house ? " 
 asked the gentleman of the servant who answered the 
 bell. 
 
 " Walk in, sir, and I will inquire," she answered hesi- 
 tatingly.
 
 368 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 Mr. Clinton stepped forward toward the parlor ; but 
 his wife stopped in the hall wholly unable to control her 
 feelings. 
 
 " It will not be necessary for us to go over every part 
 of it," said he, as she reappeared ; " I should like to visit 
 the rooms on the next floor." 
 
 Josephine caught his arm. " Oh, Russel, I cannot, 
 indeed, I cannot go up there ! " 
 
 " I will assist you," he replied, putting his arm around 
 her, while Albert readily followed the smiling servant. 
 
 A cheerful fire was blazing in the grate, but neither of 
 the party seemed to notice it, or anything which the 
 room contained; for, upon entering, the gentleman 
 gave way to a burst of emotion, the nature of which his 
 wife found it impossible to divine. But making a great 
 effort he soon conquered this, and taking his astonished 
 wife in his arms, he said tenderly : " Oh, my precious 
 wife, forgive me for having caused you such suffering, 
 which I was tempted to do that I might prove whether 
 your repentance was sincere. This, dearest, is once 
 more our home, and here we will again begin life ; not 
 as we once did, in our own strength, but as our good 
 neighbor says, with religion to govern and guide us. 
 Here we will daily implore strength of our heavenly 
 Father to fulfil aright all our duties to each other, and to 
 our only child. If we ever weary in well-doing, we will 
 visit the retired grave of our dear little Emma, or call to 
 mind the agony of the long years when we were 
 separated. 
 
 That was a blissful hour which followed ; and those 
 were blissful tears, which the happy wife shed as she laid
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. dt>9 
 
 her head upon the breast of her husband, and listened to 
 the trial it had been to him to take her to that cold, 
 desolate house, and the delight which thrilled his soul at 
 her reply, that * with him she could be happy any 
 where.' "It was with difficulty," he added, "that I 
 could refrain from catching you in my arms, and telling 
 you all; but I had imposed this test upon you, and I 
 determined to carry it out. Now you are all my own, 
 and hereafter there shall be no want of confidence 
 between us." 
 
 " But how could you afford to buy so expensive a 
 house ? " she asked, smiling through her tears. 
 
 " Your husband is richer than ever," he replied, press- 
 ing her closely to his heart. " I have purposed to go 
 into business with your father. I furnishing the capital, 
 and he giving his time and experience. We have 
 already engaged our old store. On Christmas evening 
 I propose to invite our friends to a family party, and 
 give them an account of my tour. But I cannot wait 
 until that time to say to you, that whatever you may 
 have observed in me, since my return, which appeared 
 like a want of affection, you must attribute entirely to 
 my desire to know if the change in you, which appeared 
 too great for me to conceive, was real, and would stand 
 trial ; or, whether it had been caused by the quiet life 
 you had led in the society of your kind uncle. The 
 restraint I put upon myself at our first meeting was the 
 cause of terrible suffering to me for three days, during 
 which I was a hundred times upon the point of sending 
 for you to come to my sick room. In your presence I 
 could only disguise my agitation by an abruptness which
 
 370 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 I noticed often caused you surprise, and perhaps pain ; 
 but nobly have you stood the trial, and now all necessity 
 for it has passed, and I am convinced that God has dealt 
 with me, a penitent husband, in great mercy, and has 
 given me such a wife as, except in Oakland, I might 
 search for in vain all over the world."
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 TABLE-TALK AND ENTERTAINMENT. 
 
 THAT was a pleasant party which assembled in the 
 mansion of Mr. Clinton on Christmas day. When the 
 guests were all seated around the dinner-table the 
 hostess pleasantly remarked, that, for the first time in 
 her experience of party-giving, every one was present 
 who had been " bidden." 
 
 " Another fact is worthy of notice," remarked the host, 
 with an impressive manner ; " we know that all present 
 are true friends, because we are united, not by the 
 ephemeral ties which the loss of a few dollars will 
 sunder, neither by party politics which, at present, are so 
 violently agitating the public mind, but by the enduring 
 bond of Christian friendship." 
 
 " I am happy to respond to that sentiment," continued 
 Mr. Bentley, who with his wife and son were among the 
 guests ; "but, until within a few months, I was ignorant 
 of the nature and strength of such a bond." 
 
 Mrs. Bentley, who was seated next her friend, Mrs. 
 Hammond, grasped her hand, and with dewy eyes, 
 whispered : " You, dear madam, first taught me to 
 understand and value Christian sympathy and love. 
 Oh, how different from my fashionable friends, who fled 
 from the sight of my distress ! " 
 
 " Thank yo.u, my dear, replied Mrs. Hammond, in a 
 
 (371)
 
 372 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES | 
 
 low voice, and returning warmly the pressure of her 
 hand. 
 
 But it is high time that I should name the honored 
 guests. There was the good pastor on the right hand 
 of the host ; opposite him was Mr. Thomas Warren ; 
 then followed Mrs. Warren, and her cousin Helen Rus- 
 sel, who was passing the winter with her ; and opposite 
 them Mr. and Mrs. Bentley, Mrs. Hammond, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Whitney, Mr. and Mrs. Talbot ; then uncle James 
 and aunt Sarah, with Mrs. Wells next to the hostess. 
 
 After the numerous courses had been served, and the 
 servants having placed the dessert of fruit upon the 
 table had retired from the room, Mr. Clinton called for 
 sentiments, Mr. Warren, Mr. Bentley, and Mr. Talbot 
 having responded, the host with a meaning smile upon 
 his countenance, called out his good pastor. " I have 
 one sentiment," returned Mr. Wells, " but I have repeated 
 it to my neighbor so often of late, that I see he expects 
 a repetition of it now, and I will not disappoint him : 
 " Religion the best refiner of our domestic enjoy- 
 ments." 
 
 This sentiment was received, not with a round of 
 applause, but with delight by many who, in their own 
 experience, had proved its beauty, and who, with grate- 
 ful hearts, eagerly responded to its truthfulness. 
 
 The guests then adjourned to the parlor, until sum- 
 moned back to the pleasant sight of Master Albert, pre- 
 siding at a table filled with his guests. Here were the 
 twins, occupying seats of honor opposite their host, and 
 next them Master Melville and Frederic Wells, Mary 
 Carlton Warren, and little Laura, in the arms of her
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 373 
 
 nurse Nora, then a timid little girl, whose attention was 
 wholly diverted from the gratification of her appetite, by 
 the number of strange faces about her, and who answered 
 to the name of Lily or Elizabeth Whitney. A very 
 merry group was this, who needed no wine to raise their 
 spirits, as their frequent shouts during the discussion of 
 their fruit well testified, they having partaken of their 
 more substantial repast, under the superintendence of 
 their mothers, some hours previous. 
 
 The latter part of the afternoon was devoted exclu- 
 sively to the children, during which Mr. Wells and Mr. 
 Warren proved that they had not forgotten the games of 
 their childhood. 
 
 Helen excited quite a laugh by the remark, " why, 
 father, I didn't know you could play blind man's buff; 
 and you can catch quicker than any one of us." 
 
 " It will take you some time, my dear, to learn all your 
 father's accomplishments," replied her mother, laughing 
 heartily at the astonishment exhibited by the child. 
 
 When the guests were called to supper after the chil- 
 dren with the exception of the twins had been sent home, 
 the conversation turned upon the subject, so often dis- 
 cussed, of amusements for children. 
 
 What amusement ought Christian parents to allow 
 their children? 
 
 " That is a grave subject, remarked Mr. Wells, and has 
 puzzled many parents who were truly desirous of know- 
 ing their duty. One point is very plain, children need 
 amusement of some kind. It is as necessary to the 
 healthy development of all their powers, as the exercise 
 32
 
 374 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 of their voice in reading is to proper modulation. But 
 in what shall this consist ? " 
 
 " I must confess," said Mr. Bentley, " that I shared 
 considerably in your little daughter's astonishment, at 
 seeing you engage personally in such a game as blind 
 man's buff, or even to sanction it with your presence. I 
 was taught that clergymen of your sect were very much 
 opposed to such sport But I hope you will excuse me 
 for saying that it is in this respect as in many others in 
 which I have had reason to change my opinion, the more 
 I see of truly Christian people, the more I am convinced 
 that they have been belied, and that they only know 
 how to extract real happiness from social enjoyments." 
 
 Mr. Wells smiled as he replied, " the surprise of Helen 
 was not that I joined in childish games ; she, as well as 
 her sisters and lively brother have had almost daily ex- 
 perience of my skill in them, but simply that blind 
 man's buff was in the list of my accomplishments. Be- 
 fore I took upon myself the responsibilities of a father, I 
 reflected much upon the subject of family government ; 
 and I believe the more parents interest themselves in all 
 that pertains to the wants of their children, the more in- 
 fluence they will have over them. I have good author- 
 ity for such a belief in the training of the family of my 
 good Professor, Dr. Chalmers. Never was a father more 
 familiar with his children, and at certain hours, enjoyed 
 a lively game with them, as heartily as any child I ever 
 saw. I have often called at his house during his hour 
 of relaxation, and seen him chasing them around the 
 room, or rolling upon the floor, while the house rang with 
 their merry peals, and yet his authority was never dis-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 375 
 
 puted. His uncommon regard to the welfare of his 
 daughters, and his desire to provide for their amusement 
 were ajso seen in the eagerness with which when he was 
 away from home, he noted everything in his journal 
 which could give them pleasure, and the remark was 
 often appended when he related a good anecdote, " read 
 that to Annie and Eleanor ; or Gracie will be pleased 
 with that." 
 
 " The fact is well established, I believe," remarked Mr. 
 Warren, after a short pause, " that children need amuse- 
 ments of some kind. As I have a little Miss who will 
 presently be coming on the stage, I should like to be in- 
 formed what are admissible and what are inadmissible." 
 
 " You have introduced an extensive subject for discus- 
 sion," replied his brother-in-law, " and one which as 
 Christian parents interests us deeply ; but as we hope 
 this evening to hear an account of our host's adventures 
 during his long absence, about which I confess to no 
 small share of curiosity, I propose that we postpone the 
 discussion of it until some future time." 
 
 After a few words in a low voice to his wife, Mr. 
 Warren replied, " we will defer it until New Year's day, 
 when I am requested by my good wife to invite you all 
 to our house, not excepting the babies, and their nurses." 
 
 This informal invitation being cheerfully accepted, the 
 party adjourned from the tea-table to the parlors, where 
 they requested Mr. Clinton to gratify their curiosity. 
 
 " That will not take long," remarked the host, seating 
 himself near his wife, while master Albert who had been 
 permitted to be present, occupied a chair near him. 
 " When I have stated one fact, and pointed your
 
 376 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 tion to a trifling circumstance which seems to have es- 
 caped the attention of my good father-in-law and some 
 of his friends, you will have the clue to my history. My 
 dear Josephine," he asked, turning to his wife, " did the 
 thought never occur to you that I had changed my name 
 during my absence ? " 
 
 Mrs. Clinton shook her head thoughtfully, while her 
 father started suddenly from his chair, and exclaimed as 
 he grasped him by the hand, " you are Mr. Manners, the 
 skilful accountant, to whom I owe all that I have re- 
 ceived from India. You are Mr. Manners who has made 
 such an immense fortune by exporting from India to this 
 country, and to all parts of the world, the hides you 
 bought of the natives." 
 
 Mr. Clinton smiled assent ; but his wife shuddered as 
 she realized the dangers, and hair-breadth escapes through 
 which he had passed, for with the. history of Mr. Man- 
 ners she was perfectly familiar. 
 
 " Yes, that is the fact I wished to mention ; now for 
 the other point. In the rendering of the accounts to oui 
 creditors at home, it often occurred to me as remarkable 
 that the fact of my portion of the proceeds as a member 
 of the firm, being withheld, and no notice taken of it by 
 the agent, did not excite from my friends here some in- 
 quiry or remark ; but I must explain as I go on, which T 
 shall do very briefly. 
 
 " When I left home, it appeared to me exceedingly 
 doubtful whether I should ever return. I had been suf- 
 fering from an attack of fever, and the excitement and 
 press of business attending my departure, brought on a 
 relapse on board ship, so that for many days my life was
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 377 
 
 despaired of. One of my fellow -passengers, a young man 
 whose care, under God, probably saved my life, told me 
 when I recovered that I was continually in my delirium, 
 calling " Josephine," and imploring her not to leave me ; 
 and he asked me who she was. 
 
 " At the end of six months from the time I parted from 
 my wife and children I landed in Calcutta, and immedi- 
 ately sought employment in our own firm, under the as- 
 sumed name of Manners. I gradually won upon their 
 confidence, and at length the whole of the counting-room 
 business fell into my hands. I was able yearly to remit 
 large sums for dues to our creditors, and at length, of 
 profit to the firm. My own share I retained, as I knew 
 my wife was in good hands and 1 had other projects. 
 Soon after the reception of a letter from her informing 
 me of the death of our daughter, which," he added, 
 slowly opening his pocket-book, and unfolding a worn 
 and yellow paper, " being the only one I received from 
 her during my absence of six years, you can easily 
 imagine was a very precious epistle, I conceived the 
 idea of recovering my position as a man of property, 
 and of returning home. 
 
 " To do this, I needed capital ; and as I received a 
 good salary, and lived almost penuriously, I succeeded 
 in laying .by something ; and when I found that quite a 
 considerable sum fell to my share of the profits, I de- 
 termined to commence operations wdthout delay. 
 
 " To avoid suspicion" from the agent, I invariably made , 
 up the account, and myself wrote Mr. Talbot, and each 
 one of the firm, myself among the number, enclosing 
 the amount due, and then of course retaining that which 
 32*
 
 378 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 belonged to me. But I did wonder, not a little, that no 
 letters were addressed to the agent demanding, in the 
 name of my family, the part which I thus kept back. 
 In such event I had made up my mind, at once to 
 make myself known to him, and thus prove my right to 
 it ; but the necessity for this never occurred ; and not 
 until the day previous to my leaving India did I impart 
 to the house, which I had served in the capacity of 
 accountant, the secret I had so carefully guarded. 
 
 " I made rather a hazardous experiment when I ex- 
 pended every cent I could call my own in hiring a com- 
 pany of natives to hunt for me among the jungles of 
 Hindostan ; but the very first return yielded so enor- 
 mous a profit, that I hired twice the number the next 
 year. Except the hours when I was devoted to the 
 business of the firm, I bent my whole energies to the task 
 of making money ; and I succeeded far beyond my 
 expectations. 
 
 " During the best seasons I myself became a hunter, 
 and sometimes was so engaged and excited in the fear- 
 ful chase after game that for a few hours I was free 
 from the dreadful weight of sorrow which, waking or 
 sleeping, the unfortunate separation from my family 
 caused me. I even became notorious as a marksman, 
 and a hunter, among those who had been trained to it 
 from their youth ; and accounts of my daring exploits 
 were published and spread all over England." 
 ' " Yes, and America too," exclaimed his father-in-law, 
 interrupting him. 
 
 " Well," continued Mr. Clinton, pressing his lips upon 
 the paper he held in his hand, and carefully returning it
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WIDDED LIFE. 379 
 
 to his pocket-book, " I believe I have communicated all 
 that will interest you." 
 
 " Oh, go on ! go on ! " was repeated again and again ; 
 while the tearful wife, in answer to a whispered remark 
 of her husband, bowed her assent. 
 
 " As Josephine gives her consent," he resumed, " I will 
 merely add that, though I became rich, I was not happy. 
 There was a dreadful void in my heart ; and at the com- 
 mencement of this year I determined to return to Ameri- 
 ca, whether permanently or not, remained to be proved 
 when I should arrive at home. But it took some time 
 to arrange my business so that I could leave without 
 considerable sacrifice, and I began to doubt whether I 
 could get away for another year, when I was startled by 
 a vivid dream, in which I returned home and found my 
 wife married again. You will not wonder at it, when I tell 
 you that this thought, which had never once before oc- 
 curred to me, took such full possession of my mind that 
 I determined to sail for America in the next vessel at 
 whatever sacrifice. 
 
 " By a fortunate circumstance, the necessity for this 
 was obviated by my meeting a gentleman of large capi- 
 tal, who wished to take my business. I made a good 
 bargain, reserving the right to return and enter into 
 partnership with him at any time in the course of four 
 years." 
 
 " Never ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clinton, with decision. 
 
 " If that is your settled determination, my dear, I will 
 write him at once ; for I suppose now I am living in 
 your house, I must obey orders," remarked he with ap 
 arch smile.
 
 380 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 " I do not understand you," she began. 
 
 " Well, I will explain that by and by ; now, I must 
 finish my long story. Of course, living as I had done 
 would hardly be promotive of piety or refinement. In- 
 deed, I had almost forgotten the rules of civilized society. 
 When on board ship I met an honest tar, than whom, 1 
 venture to say, a more godly man never piloted a vessel. 
 He had a pocket in his round-a-bout where he kept a 
 small book to wile away his leisure hours. I had often 
 noticed the good old tar reading and wiping his eyes, 
 and one day I approached him determining to see what 
 the book contained. As soon as he perceived me he 
 shut it up, and put it again in his breast pocket. ' What's 
 that you have there ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Only my law book,' he replied, turning away. 
 
 " ' Law book,' I repeated, in surprise. " I had no idea 
 that law books would make the tears stream down a 
 man's cheeks as they have down yours all the time you 
 have been reading.' 
 
 " ' Only illustrating the laws,' said he, rising. 
 
 " My curiosity was now thoroughly excited, and I 
 asked to see the book. 
 
 " ' Sorry I can't oblige you, sir,' he replied ; but my 
 sister, that's dead and gone, give it to me, and I set a 
 power by it.' 
 
 " Two days after this was the Sabbath ; and as I was 
 leaning over the side of the ship, and thinking of home, 
 Michael passed me in the prosecution of his duties. 
 When I looked up I suppose he saw tears in my eyes, 
 and quick as thought he thrust his hand in his pocket, 
 and brought out his law book.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 381 
 
 " ' Here, Mister Manners,' he said quickly ; * may be 
 you 'd like to read this 'ere a few minutes ; I calculate 
 you' d be careful on it, for the sake of my sister.' 
 
 " I held out my hand eagerly, and took the book ; and, 
 truly, the laws it contained caused all my bones to 
 shake, while its glorious illustrations, to which the owner 
 had referred, caused my eyes to pour forth rivers of 
 water, until I was forced, in anguish of spirit, to call 
 upon my ignorant friend to expound them for me. Truly, 
 never man rejoiced over another as he did over me in my 
 hours of groaning over those broken laws. The more I 
 cried out in agony of spirit, the more he thanked God ; 
 until at last he pointed me to a way of escape, of which, 
 though I had often heard, yet I never realized its full- 
 ness until I tried it, and found it satisfied my heart. And 
 now, good Michael, instead of rejoicing over me, rejoiced 
 with me, and many delightful hours we passed in read- 
 ing the illustrations in his divine law book, which, 
 by the help of its Author I also had adopted as the rule 
 of my life. 
 
 " When I reached New York, and was about to take 
 leave of my good friend, I offered him money if he 
 would leave the sea, and live where I could see him 
 occasionally. But this he refused, and all I could per- 
 suade him to accept was an order, carte blanche, upon a 
 certain house in New York for as many law-books as he 
 could distribute, either here or abroad. 
 
 Leaving my baggage in his care, to be sent to me at 
 the hotel, I took pains to ascertain whether my good 
 uncle was still living at Oakland, and proceeded thither 
 without a moment's delay. The good Providence which
 
 382 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 has watched over me in all my wanderings, led me to 
 the spot just in time to save the life of my child. But 
 the restraint I there put upon my heart, in accordance 
 with a plan I had formed of trying to disguise myself 
 from my wife, brought on a severe sickness ; and for 
 three days I did not leave my bed. 
 
 " I then returned to Oakland, found Josephine had 
 recognized me ; and in short," he added, catching a sup- 
 plicating glance from her, " after subjecting her to some 
 pretty severe tests, out of which she came triumphant, I 
 brought her here, and made over to her half my fortune, 
 so that she never again need be subject to reverses. Of 
 this latter fact, however, she was entirely ignorant ; and 
 I am happy in the belief that with her, it is of no ac- 
 count compared with the restoration of her husband." 
 
 The ardor with which the happy wife caught the hand 
 of her husband, and pressed it in her own, was the only 
 answer he wished; and soon after, the guests having 
 expressed their great pleasure at the interview withdrew 
 to their own homes. 
 
 On New-years-day the same party assembled at Mr. 
 Warren's, where, after a bountiful repast, the afternoon 
 was spent in amusing and instructive games with the 
 children. 
 
 When at an early hour the young people returned 
 home, the conversation was renewed upon the subject 
 of amusements. 
 
 " I have anticipated listening to the discussion with 
 great pleasure," remarked Mr. Bentley, " and as it pro- 
 gresses shall wish to ask some questions." 
 
 " The subject proposed by my brother," said Mr. Wells,
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 383 
 
 " was this : ' What amusements ought Christian parents 
 to allow their children ? ' 
 
 " There are some entertainments, perfectly innocent in 
 themselves, which have fallen into disfavor with Chris- 
 tians on account of the company into which they lead ; 
 for instance, dancing. No one, I presume, will say that 
 the mere physical exercise of dancing and whirling 
 in time and tune, required by this amusement, is in 
 itself sinful; it is surely no more so, than trundling a hoop 
 or jumping a rope. But when children go to a dancing 
 school, they are thus brought into company with many 
 others who are interested in the same sport. The con- 
 sequence is, they are invited out together to balls and 
 parties, where the heated rooms and late suppers are as 
 injurious to their bodily health as the lessons of detrac- 
 tion, envy and jealousy are to their mental cultivation." 
 
 " What do you say of theatres and whist parties ? " 
 asked Miss Sarah Wallace, leaning forward, and listen- 
 ing with great interest ? 
 
 " In the esteem of many, and among them are some 
 of the wise and good, these belong to nearly the same 
 class," replied the pastor ; " while I cheerfully admit, 
 that there are both entertainment and instruction in 
 many of the dramas of the old masters read in private 
 or by the fireside, I have yet to learn any advantages to 
 be derived from their performance on a degenerate stage, 
 which at all compensate for the expense and exposure." 
 
 " Place a child at the whist or faro table, and put cards 
 into his hands. At first, he has no interest in the games ; 
 but you encourage him, by saying that he will soon be 
 interested in it He is excited. The simple desire to be
 
 384 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES', 
 
 the victor is sufficient at first ; but soon that seems tame ; 
 a small stake must be laid down, just enough to add 
 excitement ; and thus it goes on, until his whole soul is 
 burning with a desire to win. Then, his parents become 
 alarmed ; he is no longer content to play a quiet game 
 at home, but must go to some gambling saloon, where 
 the brilliantly illuminated apartments, and the choicest 
 of wines add to the already over-excited frame, and 
 for the time he is insane! Entreaty and warning are 
 alike unavailing ; a passion has been acquired w r hich, 
 now, he cannot master. 
 
 " As to the theatre, the child at first only enjoys the 
 excitement of the crowded house, the loud applause 
 of the audience as a favorite actress appears on the 
 stage. He cannot understand or appreciate what is 
 really the interest of the play, and it is often well that he 
 cannot, since so many of them are decidedly immoral in 
 their tendency. But the habit of going to the theatre is 
 formed, pleasant associations are connected with it ; 
 and, as the youth advances in life, he attends two or 
 three times in a week. This, to say nothing of the 
 expense, is certainly placing him just so often in the 
 way of temptation. I do not say that a man cannot be 
 moral, and be a constant attendant at the theatre ; but I 
 should look upon such a man just as I should upon a 
 youth, who had repeatedly passed through the fire with- 
 out being burned. He would be the exception to the 
 general rule. He mixes with all classes of society. For 
 instance, take a youth who is a stranger in the city ; he 
 visits a theatre for the first time ; he is seated in close 
 proximity with a woman who has beauty of person, and
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 385 
 
 is gayly attired, but in whose heart vile passion reigns, 
 and who is described by inspiration as the one 'whose 
 lips drop as an honeycomb, whose mouth is smoother 
 than oil, but whose end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as 
 a two edged sword. Her feet go down to death, her 
 steps take hold on hell.' 
 
 " I shudder as I think of his danger ! The excitement 
 of the scene, the half-dressed actresses, the subject of the 
 play are so many aids to the vile being who has fastened 
 on him as her prey. There is no escape for him and he 
 returns home, in all probability, not the susceptible and 
 virtuous youth he was when he went ; for his baser 
 passions have been excited, his unhallowed desires 
 stimulated. His feet have strayed from the only safe 
 path, and he is already on the road to ruin. 
 
 " Few parents would deliberately put the wine cup to 
 the lips of their child if they realized that, in so doing, 
 they were cultivating a taste which might lead him to a 
 drunkard's grave ; and so with the class of amusements 
 of which we have been speaking. The parents allow 
 them, with the vain hope that they will be indulged to 
 moderation ; but this will not be likely soon to be the 
 case in Young America." 
 
 " What, then, is there left ? " asked Mr. Bentley, se- 
 riously. 
 
 " I should be sorry to think there were not many 
 sources of healthful and profitable amusements for 
 youth, even in our cities." Mr. Wells answered, cheer- 
 fully, " For young children, I am much in favor of out- 
 door exercises and sports, such as playing ball, driving 
 33
 
 386 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 the hoop, skipping the rope or flying the kite. You and 
 I, Thomas, never found any lack of variety in our 
 games. Then, for little girls, there is the never-ending 
 pleasure of dressing and undressing their dolls, playing 
 * Come and See,' which my little ones act out by the 
 hour together. Sometimes they have a store, and 
 arrange all their toys in order for purchasers, which 
 proves useful to them in many respects. Indeed, there 
 is no end to the fertility of their imaginations in striv- 
 ing to act out, in miniature, the scenes they witness 
 in real life. 
 
 " I imagine, after all, the difficulty lies in another 
 direction. All these things cause some trouble in the 
 house ; some disarrangement of the furniture ; so that, 
 if the mother does not make it a point of duty, she will 
 discourage in-door games. Then if the parents wish 
 their children to be interested at home, they must take 
 pains to render home agreeable. They must enter with 
 zest into their pursuits, give them aid and advice, and 
 encourage them by their presence. I must allude again 
 to my good teacher, Doctor Chalmers. 
 
 " One day, his deacon and elder called to see him 
 upon business. They were ushered into the sitting- 
 room where the family were assembled, and found their 
 minister upon the floor, playing marbles with his chil- 
 dren. Without rising from his fumble position, the 
 Doctor called out to them to join^in the play. They 
 did so, and entered heartily into the game. At length, 
 the deacon said : ' This is not the way I used to play it 
 in Galloway.' Come along, then,' said the Doctor, let 
 us try the Galloway plan,' which they did, until Mrs.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 387 
 
 Chalmers said, pleasantly : ' What a fine article it would 
 make for the Chronicle were it stated that Doctor Chal- 
 mers, with his elder and deacon, played at marbles, for 
 an hour, upon the floor, with the children ! ' " * 
 
 * Memoirs of Chalmers.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MELVILLE AND UNCLE GORDON. 
 
 I HAVE been this morning with my husband to call 
 ujxm Mr. William Russel and his bride, cousins of my 
 sister Laura. She is a lovely young lady, and fully an- 
 swers to the description her lively cousin Helen gave 
 me of her. I was happy to learn that he has taken an 
 office in Cheswell in partnership with Mr. Stan wood. I 
 wrote a hasty note of introduction for her to my frienfl 
 Mary. Laura is delighted with their prospects. She 
 presented the bride with a magnificent set of plate, 
 though they are not at present intending to go to house- 
 keeping. 
 
 On our return home, we found a letter from father, in 
 which he says he is again disappointed in the hope of 
 educating a son for the ministry. Edward, who is nearly 
 through his Junior year in college, has expressed his 
 decided preference for mercantile life; and father and 
 mother have reluctantly consented to allow him to leave 
 college. When brother Thomas was last at home, they 
 had some anxieties with reference to his course, as he 
 had all along declared that he was not suited for a cler- 
 gyman, a profession which he knew they had in view 
 when they sent him to college ; and at that time Thomas 
 offered to procure him a place in a counting-room. The 
 object of father's letter was to ask us to take the subject
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 389 
 
 into consideration, and let him know what we think is 
 best for the boy. 
 
 Our neighbors across the street manifest a great 
 desire to be friendly. Mr. Bentley came in a week ago, 
 having learned from the little girls that their school was 
 about to commence a new session, to make inquiries 
 whether it would be a suitable one for Melville. I was 
 happy to recommend it to him. He says he was greatly 
 surprised to hear from Frederic that he was the same 
 age as his little son ; that they have been in the habit of 
 thinking he was still a baby, and treating him as such. 
 I told him Frederic had a firm constitution, and was 
 uncommonly fearless for a boy of his age. He sighed as 
 he replied, that he feared years would be necessary to 
 undo the sad effects of their neglect of Melville's educa- 
 tion, that he had been pampered with sweetmeats, and 
 rich cake, until his appetite was so perverted that he 
 could not relish food which he ought to take ; and then 
 as to general knowledge, or the ability to think and act 
 for himself, he was as ignorant and helpless as an 
 infant. 
 
 I begged him to lose no time in making an entire 
 change in the boy's diet. " My children," I added, 
 " make their breakfast and supper o'f bread and milk, 
 which we engage of a farmer in the country. For 
 dinner, they eat heartily of one course of meat and 
 vegetables, and seldom care for puddings or pastry. 
 If I were his mother, I should refuse him sweetmeats 
 and cake as 1 should poison. Let his stomach rest. 
 It will do him no harm to go without food for a whole 
 day until he really craves it ; then he will eat bread and 
 33*
 
 390 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 milk with a relish. I wish," I added, smiling, " that you 
 would give me the care of him for a week." 
 
 " Are you in earnest ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " Certainly I am. If his mother will consent to give 
 him up wholly to me during his meals, I will promise 
 that in a week he will eat as heartily of bread and milk 
 as Frederic does." 
 
 " I do not hesitate to promise for her ; I know she will 
 consider it a great favor, because she really cannot resist 
 the child when he pleads for food." 
 
 " If that is the case, I shall be obliged to keep him 
 here throughout the day; and I am ready to begin to- 
 morrow morning. Let him come here to breakfast, and 
 then he can accompany the children to school, if you 
 conclude to send him there." 
 
 After this conversation, Mr. Bentley hastened away .to 
 talk over the subject with his wife ; and returned in an 
 hour to tell me that she thankfully accepted my kind 
 offer. 
 
 Yesterday my husband carried father's letter to 
 Thomas; and they agreed to invite the whole family 
 to come to New York for a month, and then we could 
 have time to arrange everything. Father has not taken 
 so long a vacation for many years ; but I think he will 
 find no difficulty in obtaining a supply ; and Thomas 
 inclosed a hundred dollar bill to cover all expenses. 
 Henry wished to join equally in this gift ; but brother 
 was peremptory in refusing. It will be a great under- 
 taking for them ; but I think on Edward's account they 
 will come. I am sure Gracie will urge them to do so.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 391 
 
 I had no idea yesterday, when I proposed io take 
 Melville, what a trial it would be to my feelings. Dear 
 little fellow! It is certain he has been greatly neglected ; 
 but his parents are now earnestly striving to atone for 
 their neglect. His temporary absence from home, though 
 so afflictive at the time, has wrought a great and happy 
 change in their family. 
 
 Melville came in just as we were sitting down to 
 breakfast, his hair nicely curled, and he looking as sweet 
 and delicate as a lily of the valley. I could not avoid 
 contrasting him by a glance with my bright-eyed, rosy- 
 cheeked boy in whose untiring activity one could easily 
 discover the full vigor of a healthy frame. His father 
 who brought him in, noticed the glance, and sighed as 
 he asked, " Do you think we shall ever have him looking 
 as healthy as this little fellow ? " 
 
 Frederic appeared quite indignant. " I am not little, 
 sir; I'm as tall as Helen and Fanny, and I am growing 
 to be a man." We all laughed at his pompous air, as he 
 swelled himself out. 
 
 " Here, Melville," he continued, " you can have my 
 high chair ; I can sit in another one." 
 
 To this the sweet boy replied softly, " Thank you, 
 Frederic." After seeing his son seated at the table with 
 a bowl of boiled milk before him Mr. Bentley left, as he 
 said his wife was waiting breakfast for him. Before he 
 went he whispered to Melville to be a very good boy. 
 
 My husband and I were quite amused at the surprise 
 of the little fellow at Master Frederic's appetite. He 
 had been running on the side-walk, trundling his hoop, 
 for nearly an hour, beside going to the grocery for the
 
 392 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES | 
 
 cook ; and after a blessing had been implored, he put the 
 bowl to his mouth, and did not stop until he had drained 
 it, and then he held it out for more. Helen and Fan- 
 ny crumbed their bread into the milk, and ate with 
 an equally voracious appetite, while Melville played with 
 his spoon, occasionally sipping a few drops of the milk 
 or eating a small piece of bread. 
 
 " Don't you like your breakfast, my dear? " I asked. 
 
 " I an't hungry, ma'am," he replied in a whisper ; " but 
 I'll eat it, if you will please to put in some sugar." 
 
 " Sugar in bread and milk ! " shouted Frederic ; " I 
 never heard of such a thing," while the twins stopped 
 eating to see if he were in earnest. 
 
 " I would n't try to eat it if you are not hungry ; you 
 can wait until dinner," I replied ; though the children 
 stared wildly at my treatment of an invited guest. 
 
 After prayers, Frederic took his little friend to his 
 play-room, after a caution from me to be very gentle 
 with him. 
 
 " I '11 take good care of him, mamma," was the quick 
 reply. The twins accompanied me to the nursery to 
 play with Laura, while she took her bath ; a pleasure 
 they would not willingly lose, and which they often say 
 is the pleasantest part of the play. After this, they read 
 to aunt Hammond for half an hour, until school time. 
 
 When they started for school, I am ashamed to say 
 that I slipped a cracker into the hand of Melville, as he 
 had hardly tasted his breakfast, and looked so delicate I 
 was really afraid he would faint. 
 
 " I don't like cracker, ma'am," he replied, gazing sadly 
 in my face. After they had left the house Fanny ran
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 393 
 
 back, and, in a whisper, asked me if she might go to the 
 cook for a piece of cake, Melville was hungry. 
 
 " No, my dear ; he is not well, and cannot have cake." 
 I had no idea so simple a refusal could cause me so 
 much pain. I followed them to the door, when Fanny 
 ran toward him, and I saw him put out his hand, not 
 imagining he could be refused. His eyes filled with 
 tears, and his lip quivered, but he said nothing. " Frede- 
 ric," I called out, " take good care of Melville, and don't 
 let the scholars trouble him. If he is not contented, you 
 may ask the teacher to excuse you while you come 
 home with him." 
 
 When they were out of sight, his mother rang at the 
 door to tell me that she was going out of town for the 
 day, so that if her little boy were homesick and called 
 for her, I could say she was not at home. I told her 1 
 was glad of this, for I had anticipated some trouble in 
 that way. They had not been gone more than an hour 
 when I heard Frederic's voice in the entry, and he soon 
 came to the nursery, leading his companion. 
 
 " I want to see my mother," said the child, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 The remainder of the forenoon, I was obliged to de- 
 vote myself wholly to the little fellow. I gave him a 
 pair of reins, and I was the horse and ran round the 
 room, and when he was tired I held him in my lap and 
 showed him pictures, explaining them in almost the 
 same language that I should to my little Laura. I was 
 really glad when the children returned from school to 
 relieve me. As the child had yet eaten nothing, Hooked 
 forward to dinner with some little anxiety. As usual,
 
 394 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 Frederic's first question was, " Is not dinner most ready, 
 mamma? I'm so hungry!" I assured him it would 
 soon be brought upon the table. 
 
 Mr. Wells cut a nice piece of tender meat for our 
 young guest, and with it passed him vegetables and 
 bread ; but they shared a similar fate to the milk in the 
 morning. His stomach seemed to turn from them in 
 disgust. I began to fear I had promised more than I 
 could perform, and that medicine would be necessary for 
 the child. To the astonishment of the children there 
 was no dessert, as I had purposely omitted it on Mel- 
 ville's account. Not that they wished any ; but they 
 thought I treated their company strangely. 
 
 In the afternoon he wished to accompany the children 
 to school again, and I wrote a note to the teacher stating 
 the circumstances, and that his parents hoped he would 
 be contented to go regularly. He carried Helen's new 
 porcelain slate, to amuse himself while they were re- 
 citing ; and I gave her a cracker for him, at recess, if he 
 wished it. 
 
 I was so busy this afternoon, I was not aware it was 
 time for school to be dismissed until I heard the twins 
 crying at the door. This was so unusual a circumstance 
 that I ran hastily down stairs to inquire the cause, when 
 I was really frightened at the sight before me. Helen 
 was leading her brother into the house, Fanny held Mel- 
 ville by the hand, while great tears were running down 
 his cheeks. 
 
 Frederic was wiping the blood from his nose, and 
 there was a swelling on his forehead nearly the size of a
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 395 
 
 small egg. His face was flushed, and he was evidently 
 under the influence of some strong excitement. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " the little girls exclaimed ; " a great 
 boy has been fighting brother, and has hurt him dread- 
 fully." 
 
 Their father came from the study, and seeing how 
 much excited they all were, requested them to wait 
 until he had attended to Frederic's head, when he would 
 be glad to hear the whole account. 
 
 It seems that on their way home from school a boy, 
 considerably larger than either of them, began to use 
 insulting language, saying to Melville, " Ho, little chalk- 
 face," and uttering other words of the same kind. 
 
 " Don't you say that again ! " replied Frederic, angrily. 
 
 This was the beginning of the quarrel. The boy, 
 finding it annoyed him, taunted him with not daring 
 to fight. 
 
 " I don't want to fight you," said Frederic, "for you're 
 a bad and dirty boy, and my father don't let me associate 
 with such boys; but if you call Melville any more 
 names I '11 whip you." 
 
 " Will ! hey? " sneered the boy ; " I should like to see 
 you ! " and he stepped up to Melville, and pulled his 
 long ringlets so as to make him scream. " There, cry- 
 baby ! " said he, " go home, and tell your ma ! " 
 
 This was more than Frederic could endure ; he had 
 promised to take good care of the child, who clung to 
 him like a helpless girl ; and he flew at the boy, and dealt 
 him a violent blow with his fist. 
 
 But the boy was an old hand at the business ; and 
 the pain making him furious, he returned the blow so
 
 396 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 rudely that it completely stunned Frederic. The other 
 was just going to run off, when a police officer caught 
 him and walked off with him to the station-house, say- 
 ing : " I have had trouble enough with your brawls ! " 
 
 Though the pain in his head must have been severe, 
 yet Frederic was too proud to complain, and bore it with 
 the fortitude of a martyr, while his sisters hovered around 
 him, and waited upon Mm as if he had been a prince. 
 He lay on the sofa with a bandage of cold water on his 
 forehead while we were at the table which, in spite of 
 his tears in the afternoon proved to Melville at least a 
 hearty meal. He even held out his bowl with the little 
 girls a second time, and when I smilingly replied to his 
 request, he said softly, " I like milk now." How I wished 
 his mother could have seen and heard him. 
 
 " You will come again to-morrow and get more, won't 
 you," I said. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I'll come every day." 
 
 Father, mother and Gracie have been with us nearly 
 a week. Edward was here until yesterday, when he 
 entered upon his duties as book-keeper in brother's store. 
 We are all much pleased with the plan, and are very 
 hopeful of his success. In person, Edward resembles 
 father much more than either of his children. I hope 
 he may also be like him in character. A great in- 
 timacy has sprung up between Helen Russel and sister 
 Gracie. I think they will find much pleasure in each 
 other's society. Laura has proved herself a kind and 
 generous sister, as well as a dutiful daughter. She con- 
 sulted me in private about Gracie's wardrobe which she
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 397 
 
 thinks hardly suitable for the city, though very proper for 
 a country girl, and asked as a favor if she might pur- 
 chase some articles for her. I told her I presumed 
 sister would gratefully receive any little articles, but as 
 she would remain so short a time it would not be 
 desirable to obtain many. 
 
 " But," urged Laura, archly, " I have almost obtained a 
 promise from mother to let her remain with me for some 
 months. It will be so desirable for Edward, you know, 
 to have her here to go out with him. There is no influ- 
 ence more salutary for a young man than that of a 
 sister, and then Helen would be so pleased." 
 
 We agreed to leave the subject to mother, and Laura, 
 sitting on a taboret at her feet, made known her wishes 
 in such a delicate manner that mother really felt that she 
 was granting a favor when she gave the whole care and 
 fashioning of sister's wardrobe into her hands with an 
 understanding that for Edward's sake she would try to 
 obtain father's consent to let her stay and make a long 
 visit. " Ah ! " said I, " for Edward's sake you will even 
 give up your baby." 
 
 " Susan," resumed Laura, " has already so many cares, 
 that I shall be happy in this way to relieve her, and I 
 really shall be glad of something to do." 
 
 " Dear girl ! she is never idle a moment. There are 
 several by-lanes where she goes weekly, and distributes 
 bounty. And others come regularly to her house, for 
 whom she is always at work. Little dresses, aprons and 
 stockings, are made there, by the dozens. No longer ago 
 than last week I found little Mary trying to sew upon an 
 34
 
 398 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ] 
 
 apron which she informed me in a whisper was for " one 
 of mamma's poor little girls." 
 
 I am happy to see that Mrs. Bentley appreciated 
 Laura's lovely Christian character. During the week that 
 Melville passed with me, she spent much time in my 
 nursery, trying as she said to learn something of my 
 way of managing. She remarked that her husband 
 would give half he was worth if he could find a boy like 
 our Frederic whom he could adopt as a companion to 
 his son. 
 
 Frederic's courage in defence of his little companion 
 has rendered him quite a hero with his partial friends. 
 Mrs. Bentley repeated her husband's remark that he had 
 read of such boys, but was not aware that they existed 
 in these days. I told her Frederic had caused me more 
 anxiety than all my other children, and I repeated the 
 scene which took place with his father soon after my 
 marriage, and which has resulted in great good to the 
 boy. She said the more we could allow him to be with 
 Melville the more grateful they should be, and that his 
 father hoped much from the influence of a bright, intelli- 
 gent boy to rouse his ambition. 
 
 " I think," said I, " the salutary effect will be mutual ; 
 Melville is obliging, kind and truthful, and I hope Frede- 
 ric may imitate him in those respects." 
 
 By firmness, and some little help from the children to 
 whom I explained my project, I was enabled to perform 
 my promise to Mr. Bentley, and had the satisfaction of 
 inviting him and his wife to tea with their son on the 
 last evening of his stay ; and to witness their surprise at 
 my success. To be sure, it will as I told them be a
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. ^99 
 
 long time before they can conquer his appetite for 
 sweets ; but when they saw how heartily he ate his 
 bread and drank his milk they were encouraged to perse- 
 vere. I was quite amused the next day as we sat at 
 dinner at a message from Mrs. Bentley, whether we 
 allowed Melville vegetables with his meat, or only bread. 
 I sent word that he was to have as many vegetables as 
 he wished, but at present no rich puddings or pastry. 
 My husband pleasantly suggested my setting up an in- 
 firmary for feeble children as I had been so successful in 
 my first attempt, which I told him I should like to do if 
 I could command the time. 
 
 As father will preach for my husband next Sabbath, 
 we have been able to accompany our friend to many 
 places of interest which otherwise we should have had 
 to postpone, as at this time Thomas is unusually occu- 
 pied with business. Indeed, I often wonder how he 
 accomplishes so much. He has the whole care of 
 Laura's property, besides his appropriate duties in the 
 firm. Then he is on a great many committees for be- 
 nevolent objects, which consume some time and a good 
 share of Laura's ready money. Mrs. Wells made the 
 remark to father that perhaps brother was in a situation 
 to do as much good as if he were a clergyman. 
 
 As the children were returning from the park to-day 
 with Nora and Melville, an incident occurred which led 
 to a recognition that has given us much pleasure. 
 Nora was drawing the baby in the wagon, while the 
 little girls walked by her side. Frederic and his dog 
 were as usual running this way, sometimes in advance
 
 400 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 of them and sometimes in the rear. Fanny was for a 
 moment walking backward, while she talked to baby, 
 when she stumbled at a crossing and fell. A youth who 
 was passing, stepped forward hastily, assisted her to rise, 
 and with his handkerchief wiped the dirt from her arm, 
 where she had grazed the skin. Frederic soon ran up 
 and the young man asked him his name. " Frederic 
 Gordon, sir," he replied frankly, and these are my sisters. 
 
 " My name is Gordon, too," said the youth, " Charles 
 Gordon." 
 
 " That was my father's name," the children exclaimed. 
 
 " Where did he live?" he inquired earnestly of Nora. 
 
 " He was a minister in B , sir ; and one of the 
 
 best men the sun ever shone on." 
 
 " Then you are my cousins," he responded, and he pro- 
 mised to call and see them after tea. 
 
 This evening he called, and we were all delighted with 
 him. He is the son of my dear husband's elder brother, 
 living in New Jersey, and has been in a book-store in the 
 city, for nearly four months. He knew that his uncle's 
 family resided in New York, but was diffident about pre- 
 senting himself to our notice. There is really a striking 
 likeness between him and his cousin Frederic, the 
 same large, full black eyes and red lips. The children 
 as well as their mother, are much pleased at the new 
 cousin. I did not ask his age, but should judge him to 
 be about eighteen. We invited him to come and see us 
 very often, which he says he shall be glad to do, as he 
 has formed no acquaintances in the city. I think from 
 what he said, and did not say, that he has been home- 
 sick.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 401 
 
 Since our first introduction to our new cousin some 
 months ago, we have seen much of him. My husband 
 appears really attached to the young man, and often 
 speaks to him freely, and in the highest terms of his 
 uncle. A few days since I heard the bell ring, and Nora 
 waited upon some one into the parlor. In one moment 
 there was a knock at the nursery door, and Charles asked 
 in a low voice, " aunt Susan, may I come in ? " 
 
 " My father is down stairs," he exclaimed joyfully, 
 " and wishes to thank you personally for all your kind- 
 ness to me. Will you come down ? Let me show him 
 the baby, too," and he caught her up from the floor. 
 
 I smiled at his impetuosity. His face was flushed and 
 his eyes sparkling with pleasure. " How much he is 
 like Frederic," I thought, as I turned to the mirror to 
 smooth my hair, and add a worked collar to my simple 
 toilet. 
 
 " Don't stop to dress, aunty," he said pleasantly, " you 
 look handsome enough. Father knows all about you ; " 
 and I soon found that from some source, he had heard 
 what prepared him to receive with open arms, the widow 
 of his deceased brother, though now again a wife. I was 
 actually startled by the resemblance to my dear lamented 
 husband. It seemed to bring him right before me. I 
 don't know what he thought of me, for as soon as he 
 had released my hand? from his cordial grasp, I burst 
 into tears. He held out his hands to Laura, who went 
 to him willingly, and walked to the window to give me 
 time to recover myself. 
 
 Mr. Wells now came in, and Charles introduced him. 
 Mr. Gordon's voice, and almost every motion is like his 
 34*
 
 402 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 brother's; the same precision which was so obvious 
 to me at first, but which I so soon ceased to notice, and 
 also the same warm impulsive heart. Henry insisted 
 upon sending for his baggage, and that he should make 
 his home with us while in the city. He also told 
 Charles, he must be here as much of the time as he 
 could be spared from his store. I have heard from my 
 brother-in-law in the course of two days, more of my de- 
 ceased husband's early life, than all I knew before. 
 Every day he says Frederic reminds him of his father 
 when he was a boy. I was astonished to learn that in 
 youth he was very passionate ; but governed by a high 
 sense of honor, and as he grew older, religion restrained 
 and guided this warm temperament, until he arrived at 
 the perfect equanimity of temper, which he possessed 
 when I knew him. 
 
 Mr. Gordon leaves us the first of the week. We shall 
 all deeply regret his departure. The little twins espe- 
 cially are exceedingly fond of their uncle, who with the 
 exception of his son, is the first relative on their father's 
 side, whom they have ever seen. Mr. Gordon expresses 
 in the most grateful terms his appreciation of our kind- 
 ness to his boy. He says it was with great reluctance 
 that he and his wife consented to the wish of Charles, to 
 come to New York, and live alone amid so many temp- 
 tations and exposures ; but that he has become so much 
 attached to uncle Henry and his family, that he seems to 
 have no desire to go elsewhere. 
 
 My heart swelled with pleasure, as I thought that per- 
 haps I and my dear Henry had been the means of sav-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 403 
 
 ing this beloved relative from the seductions of vice which 
 are of so varied, and specious a character in this great 
 city.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 HOME AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 WE must now pass over a period of ten years, and 
 once more visit the family of the Rev. Dr. Wells. One 
 place at the hospitable board had been vacated. Mrs. 
 Hammond for more than four years has been, as her 
 bereaved friends humbly hope, in the immediate presence 
 of her Saviour. Time has passed lightly over the good 
 clergyman and his wife. To be sure, she every now and 
 then reminds him of the few gray hairs which in her 
 opinion are helping to form his " crown of glory ; " but 
 his eye is still bright, his step firm and elastic. 
 
 It is now the season of the Christmas holidays, and 
 the family have gathered together to celebrate them. 
 * The twin sisters have returned from a long visit to their 
 uncle Gordon, and with their cousin Charles who went 
 to accompany them home, are now seated at the break- 
 fast table. Next him is a handsome youth in whom 
 were it not for his flashing eye it would be difficult to 
 recognize Master Frederic Gordon, now a Sophomore 
 in Yale College. Laura, whom we left in the arms of 
 the faithful Nora, is a tall, graceful girl of twelve, but 
 her place in the nursery has been since occupied by a 
 lad who answers to the address of Henry Cyrus Wells, 
 being named for his father and grandfather. Master 
 
 (404)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 40* 
 
 Henry is nine, and in person bids fair to resemble his 
 father. 
 
 " Mamma," says the youth to the fair-faced matron 
 behind the urn, " We boys are going to have a grand 
 court this evening, .and Horace Bentley wanted me to 
 ask you whether we should have it here or at his house. 
 Mrs. Bentley says it must be just as you say." 
 
 Mrs. Wells turned to her daughter before she replied, 
 and asked : " Did you engage to go to your uncle Ed- 
 ward's this evening ? " 
 
 " Yes, mamma," replied Helen ; " aunt Ada has in- 
 vited a number of young people to meet us there. 
 Henry," she continued, eagerly, " if you will have it 
 this afternoon, I will help you dress." 
 
 " And I '11 be the attorney," added Frederic, laughing. 
 " Oh what fun I used to have ! If you are willing, 
 mother, I '11 invite Albert and Melville just for the joke 
 of it. It will carry us back so to old times." 
 
 " Very well, my son, only in that case you must defer 
 it until to-morrow evening." 
 
 " Cousin Charles," exclaimed Helen, " would make 
 the best judge ; he can put on such a solemn air ! " 
 
 " I hope you don't mean to insinuate that it is only 
 4 put on,' " responded Mr. Gordon, with an arch smile. 
 
 " Oh, no, we acknowledge that you are a model of 
 propriety ; at least Fanny does ! " At this remark, both 
 the gentleman and the lady referred to assumed a really 
 serious expression, and Mrs. Wells cast a quick and 
 anxious glance at her husband. 
 
 " What shall I be ? " asked Laura. 
 
 " You shall be your own dear self," replied Frederic,
 
 406 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 tapping the cheek of his favorite sister ; " and you may 
 assume for the occasion the character of a witness. 
 Let me think, father, what would be a good crime ? " 
 
 A roguish smile played around the mouth of Dr. 
 Wells as he answered, " I have never heard of a good 
 crime, my son." 
 
 A flush passed over the countenance of the Sopho- 
 more as he said : " I meant one which would be simple 
 enough for the children to understand, for I remember 
 you always explained every part to us so accurately that 
 we were able to get great profit as well as amusement 
 from our games." 
 
 " Let us take a case of defamation or of theft," suggested 
 cousin Charles, " like the one which has of late so occu- 
 pied the public mind. The full reports in the papers will 
 give us great assistance." 
 
 This was at length decided upon ; and Frederic con- 
 sented to his brother's wish that he would arrange 
 the parts and write out what they were to say. Dr. 
 Wells had in his library a valuable collection of law 
 books, which were put in requisition on this important 
 occasion, and the young collegian who had entered into 
 the game with his whole soul, soon found that it was 
 no slight business, to draw up the indictment, and write 
 out the testimony and pleas, especially as he found the 
 spectators had increased from the members of his own 
 family to the whole circle of their acquaintance. It was 
 a very fortunate circumstance for the young man, that 
 just at this time his uncle Seymour arrived in the city, 
 who, by his knowledge of the detail of courts, soon put 
 all parts in a right train.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 407 
 
 Then the place for the court was changed from the 
 dining-room at Dr. Wells's to the large double parlors 
 of Mr. Clinton's mansion, and the time to New Year's 
 eve. 
 
 When the company were deciding which of the 
 numerous invitations they had received should be 
 accepted as to the place of holding their court, Horace 
 excited a great laugh by the remark: " Oh, would 'nt it 
 be nice if we could get leave to have it in the City 
 Hall! The idea of Squire Seymour who had con- 
 sented to preside as Judge sitting on the bench upon the 
 elevated platform, and examining Helen, Fanny, Mary 
 Warren, and Elizabeth Whitney as witnesses, was 
 altogether too ludicrous, and led to many merry jokes. 
 
 While these preparations were going on, the children 
 passed many pleasant hours in simpler games. One 
 afternoon' tickets were sent to all the families to whom 
 they were related to a grand concert at Mr. Bentley's, 
 when Helen and Fanny played the piano as the accom- 
 paniment to the singing of the tunes the young people 
 had learned at school. The evening was closed by a 
 simple entertainment. On the next evening, Mr. Thomas 
 Warren's large dining-hall was fitted up as a store. 
 Here was a desk behind which sat a clerk with the cash- 
 book, and there a gentleman, the owner of the store, at 
 his desk writing letters, then the clerks behind the coun- 
 ters, and the little cash boys arid girls with the constant 
 cry of " cash ! " made the scene a very lively one. Mrs 
 Wells with her sister Mrs. Seymour, Mrs. Bentley, and 
 Mrs. Clinton, with the young wife of Mr. Edward War- 
 ren were continually passing up and down the hall,
 
 408 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES, 
 
 purchasing articles of wearing apparel. Dr. Wells 
 paused often before a large library where Mr. Gordon 
 kept a book-store ; but he was principally engaged in 
 explaining to the children, for whose benefit and amuse- 
 ment they had assembled, the nature and importance of 
 their several posts. To Henry this was a new era. His 
 father and mother exchanged glances of merriment, not 
 altogether unmixed with anxiety, as they saw his cheek 
 flush and his brow knit, when his aunt Laura told him 
 pleasantly, he had not made the right change. " The 
 shawl, I think, sir," she added, " was $10, the gloves 
 $2.25, and the thread 9 cents, I gave you two bills, a ten 
 
 and a five ; and I ought to have A quick glance 
 
 from his mother restrained her. 
 
 " How much, ma'am, do you want ? " asked the boy, 
 eagerly. But the lady had turned to speak with a gen- 
 tleman behind her, and he was reduced to the necessity 
 of counting upon his fingers, taking care to turn his back 
 to the company. 
 
 That was a lesson which Henry never forgot. Arith- 
 metic had been his abhorrence ; but finding the absolute 
 necessity of knowing how to add and subtract, if he 
 would be a merchant, he commenced the study in ear- 
 nest, and became in time an accomplished accountant. 
 
 At length the day arrived for the sitting of " the grand 
 Jury," as Fanny Wells laughingly called it. The great, 
 difficulty had been to find persons who would consent to 
 be indicted. At last Albert Clinton consented to person- 
 ate a young clerk, charged with having purloined money 
 from the drawers of his employer ; and Mr. Gordon, the 
 prosecuting officer.
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 409 
 
 The argument of Fanny in persuading Albert, prob- 
 ably had some weight with him. She said uncle Wal- 
 ter will be sure to clear you, and then you will be quite 
 a hero. In his eagerness to please his cousin, Mr. Gor- 
 don quite lost sight of the fact, that if the young man 
 was discharged, he would not appear in a very favorable 
 light, having brought a false accusation. Probably also 
 she forgot that circumstance, or her regard for the honor 
 of her cousin would have induced her to dissuade him 
 from such a part. 
 
 The trial, however, was conducted skilfully, and when 
 the evidence was brought forward, so many circum- 
 stances tended to fix the guilt upon the prisoner, that 
 Mr. Gordon's course could not have been considered 
 honorable or just to his employers, had he not given them 
 an intimation of what he feared was true. In the course 
 of the trial it was proved that Mr. Gordon, who was 
 book-keeper and private clerk of the firm, had at several 
 different times, found that his books did not agree, nor 
 his accounts balance. On going out from the counting- 
 room late one night, when all the clerks had retired, he 
 saw young Clinton standing before one of the safes with 
 a roll of bills in his hand. He represented himself as 
 greatly shocked, and that he conversed faithfully with 
 him upon the certain ruin which would follow such a 
 course. 
 
 The young clerk, however, indignantly repelled the 
 idea that he was there for any criminal purpose. " Care- 
 lessness," he said, " was all the fault with which he was 
 chargeable." He then stated with every appearance of 
 honesty, that the money he held in his hand, was the 
 35
 
 410 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 amount of a check from the bank ; that when he reached 
 his boarding-house, he suddenly remembered that he still 
 had it in his pocket-book, and started to carry it back. 
 
 " But surely," asked his friend, " you could not have 
 been detained by supper until this late hour ? " 
 
 This question so embarrassed the young man, that 
 Mr. Gordon at the time was forced to the conclusion that 
 the whole excuse was a fabricated one. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Warren and Mr. Bentley, who personated 
 the owners of the store, were called as witnesses to what 
 passed between them and their private clerk, which in 
 brief, was the fact (stated with great reluctance by Mr. 
 Gordon, and as he confessed, not until the subject had 
 caused him many sleepless nights,) that he feared Clin- 
 ton was in danger, and that it might be well to place 
 him in another position in the store, where he would not 
 be subjected to so much temptation. This had not been 
 done, however, without repeated conversations on Mr. 
 Gordon's part, with the young man. 
 
 When the evidence for his guilt was all in, the younger 
 part of the audience forgetting it was a mock trial, began 
 to open their eyes very wide, and to wonder what would 
 be done to the prisoner. His little sister, Sarah Wal- 
 lace, began to cry from sympathy with the accused, until 
 her brother James assured her that Albert was only mak- 
 ing believe, and feigning to look sober. 
 
 'Frederic Gordon now called in witnesses for his own 
 defence. First, Horace Bentley, the teller at the bank, 
 stated that the prisoner brought a check, as he was 
 almost daily in the habit of doing, that after glancing 
 at it, he cashed it at once. There was nothing at ah 1
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OP WEDDED LIFE. 411 
 
 peculiar in his appearance, nothing like a consciousness 
 of guilt. 
 
 The next witness was Fanny Wells, who in her moth- 
 er's morning cap, personated the matron with whom the 
 prisoner boarded. Notwithstanding the serious nature 
 of her testimony, her appearance as she blushingly took 
 her place upon the stand, was greeted with a perfect 
 shout of merriment. 
 
 " What is your name ? " asked the attorney. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 Poor Fanny ! She had only intended to say Mrs. in- 
 stead of Miss, because she thought it would not be pro- 
 per for Miss Gordon to keep a boarding-house for young 
 men ; but the instant she had spoken, another shout ac- 
 companied by an arch glance from her brother at Mr. 
 Gordon, quite discomposed her, but in one moment she 
 added, " Mrs. Gordon Holmes, at your service." 
 
 " State what you know in regard to the prisoner." 
 
 " Your reverence will understand that I keep boarders, 
 and this young man among the number. He is the like- 
 liest youth I am acquainted with, my husband always 
 excepted. One night he came home as usual to tea, I 
 passed him his cup, but he had scarcely tasted it, when 
 he exclaimed, 'there now!' and clapped his hand on his 
 coat-pocket. ' Mrs. Gordon Holmes,' said he, ' I must ask 
 to be excused, I have forgotten some money I ought to 
 have left in the safe; I must go back at once, or the store 
 will be locked.' " 
 
 " I urged him to finish his supper ; but he said ' no,' 
 and hastily drinking his tea, he left the table."
 
 412 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 " Your testimony is very much to the point, Mrs. Gor- 
 don Holmes," said Squire Seymour, archly. 
 
 Next came Laura Wells, who testified that she had 
 met Mr. Clinton walking hastily to the store, that she 
 told him her sister wished to see him, and urged him to 
 go with her at once if only for a few moments. He ob- 
 jected on account of haste ; but she replied that Mary 
 would detain him but a short time. 
 
 Mary Warren was called, and with a very rosy face, 
 confessed that she was engaged to be married to Mr. 
 Clinton ; that she had received some important news re- 
 lative to their future prospects, and was much pleased 
 when he accompanied her sister home. He stated on 
 entering the room, that he could stop but one moment, 
 " but," she added, with a very natural hesitation of man- 
 ner, " we soon became interested in reading the letter, 
 and didn't know how the time was passing away. 
 When he found how late it was, he started up, saying, 
 * Oh ! I can't return this to the safe to-night, I'm sorry I 
 stopped so long.' " 
 
 Helen Wells testified that she was the mother of Mary 
 Warren, that the next evening he called and requested 
 to see her alone, when he confided to her his trouble, and 
 the charge of Mr. Gordon. " I felt worse," he added, " to 
 have him suspect me, than to have any one else in the 
 store, for he is the best friend I have." " But I told him," 
 she said, " to go on as if nothing of the kind had occurred, 
 and assured him that we had entire confidence in him." 
 
 After the closing speech by the lawyer, and a charge 
 to the Jury, by Squire Seymour, the jurors retired, and 
 shortly brought in a verdict of " not guilty"
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 413 
 
 The merry shout of the children at this joyful issue 
 . was responded to more quietly by the parents, who 
 hoped much profit as well as amusement might be de- 
 rived from the exercise. " I am glad he did n't take it ; " 
 " I never would steal money ; " "I would have acted just 
 as he did ; " and many other remarks from the children 
 proved that the scene had made a deep impression upon 
 their tender minds. 
 
 Mr. Bentley touched the arm of his pastor to draw his 
 attention to what Horace was saying : " If Mark An- 
 drews or Joseph Woodward laugh at me again, because 
 my father don't allow me to go to the theatre, I '11 tell 
 them I don't want to go. We have a great deal better 
 fun at home, and our fathers explain it all to us so we 
 can learn ever so much by it. 
 
 " Joseph himself confessed that half the time he didn't 
 know the meaning of what the actors said. He liked 
 to go and see the crowds of people and hear the shout- 
 ing, but he was always glad when it was done, because 
 his father let him go with him into the saloon and eat 
 oysters and drink wine. Sometimes, he says, he 
 stays there a whole hour, and calls for whatever he 
 wants, while his father goes off with people that he is 
 acquainted with. But he never does so when his mother 
 is with them, because she always goes right home." 
 
 Dr. Wells sighed as he listened to the animated 
 speaker, and thought of the probable fate of such a 
 lad. When the boys had turned away unconscious 
 that they had been heard, he said : " We certainly, my 
 dear sir, have encouragement to persevere." 
 
 " Encouragement ! " repeated Mr. Bentley ; " there is
 
 414 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 not a day that I do not bless God that I learned the 
 importance of parents interesting their own children, 
 and providing them suitable amusements before it is too 
 late ; before their young minds become corrupted by such 
 scenes as those to which my son just referred. It is to 
 you, sir, under God, and to my good friend Mr. Warren, 
 that I am indebted for the hopeful character of my 
 boys." 
 
 Mr. Clinton and Mr. Warren now joined the group, 
 and Mr. Bentley repeated the remarks of his son. 
 
 " I often think of it," suggested Mr. Clinton, " we 
 live in the very midst of temptation to vice of all kinds. 
 Some of us, at least, have children old enough to be 
 carried into the whirlpool of dissipation which is de- 
 stroying so many of our most promising youth ; and yet 
 ours have as yet manifested no disposition to engage in 
 these forbidden amusements and pleasures. I am often 
 asked by fathers, 'what is the secret of our manage- 
 ment ? ' and I invariably reply : * It is very simple ; our 
 aim is to render home so agreeable that our sons and 
 daughters may find their enjoyment here.' " 
 
 Do you remember, Mr. Bentley ? " asked Mr. War- 
 ren pleasantly, " the game of blind-man's buff we played 
 in these parlors near a dozen years ago." 
 
 " I shall never forget it, neither will my wife ; for that 
 occasion, together with the sentiment of our good pas- 
 tor, threw a world of light upon my path. Yes," he 
 continued, thoughtfully, "he said: 'Make much of 
 family entertainments and amusements ; those in which 
 parents and children can mingle; associate them as 
 much as possible with home and the home circle, and
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 415 
 
 you save them from the least desire to go abroad in 
 search of pleasure. Then let religion be the ruling prin- 
 ciple to refine and purify these joys, and there will be 
 but little danger to their morals ; we have the divine 
 promise, 'train up a child in the way he should go, and 
 when he is old he will not depart from it.' " 
 
 " I should be encouraged to hope that my preaching 
 would do great good," replied the Doctor, " if I thought 
 my hearers remembered it, and practised upon it as well 
 as you have done." 
 
 " Well, sir," resumed Mr. Bentley, " my wife will say 
 as I do, that not only with regard to our children, but in 
 our views of the matrimonial relation these simple 
 remarks have been as it were our text-book, to which 
 we have referred in every doubtful case. I should rejoice 
 to see it adopted, as such, in every family in our city."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE." 
 
 IT was a calm and quiet evening in June, three years 
 later, that the family of Dr. Wells were assembled in the 
 spacious front chamber of his father's mansion in C. 
 The white-haired grandfather was seated in a large arm- 
 chair, and his faithful companion by his side. Upon a low 
 couch which was drawn toward the window lay a young 
 girl, in whose transparent fairness of complexion, and 
 the attenuation of her form it was easy to perceive 
 the ravages of disease. But there was a calm con- 
 tentment beaming from her eye which, as well as the 
 hushed but eager look of expectation on the coun- 
 tenances of all present betokened the anticipation of 
 some interesting event. 
 
 Leaving Fanny Wells, for it was she, reclining on the 
 breast of her mother while her twin-sister passed her 
 hand caressingly over her full, white brow, we will take 
 the liberty to go back a year, and explain the event to 
 which they were looking forward. 
 
 When Mr. Charles Gordon had been established in 
 business about two years, and by the aid of his father 
 was in a fair way to rise to eminence and wealth as a 
 bookseller and publisher, he made known to his uncle 
 and aunt, what indeed they had long suspected, his 
 strong attachment to his cousin Fanny. 
 
 (416)
 
 THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 417 
 
 " Both Dr. Wells and his wife had a general feeling of 
 disapprobation of the marriage of cousins, and had 
 noticed with anxiety that their daughter's affections were 
 becoming interested, though aside from the relation 
 they knew of no one whom they preferred as a husband 
 for Fanny. In the hope of breaking up this incipient 
 attachment they had sacrificed the pleasure of the 
 society of herself and of her sister, and consented that 
 they should pass nearly a year with their grandparents in 
 
 C . It was soon after their return to the city that Mr. 
 
 Gordon made known his desires. 
 
 It is easy to believe what one wishes to be true, and 
 earnestly hoping from Fanny's quiet reception of her 
 relative that she felt for him nothing more than a cous- 
 in's regard, Dr. Wells explained to his young friend their 
 strong objection to the alliance. The young man was 
 greatly agitated, as he had not anticipated a refusal from 
 his partial friends. After a few moments of vain at- 
 tempt to control himself, he suddenly departed, having 
 obtained permission to see Fanny in the evening. 
 
 It was with real pain that Mrs. Wells communicated 
 the same to her daughter who, though she grew very 
 pale, yet said nothing to indicate the strength of her 
 attachment. The interview with her lover did not pass 
 without many tears on the part of the gentle girl, or of 
 strong emotion from her cousin ; but neither of them 
 once dreamed of doing that which would be displeasing 
 to those who they knew acted for their best good. They 
 endeavored to comfort each other in the painful disap- 
 pointment, though Charles assured her again and again 
 that, for her sake, he should never marry.
 
 418 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 " I shall always love you," said Fanny tearfully, 
 arising and putting her hand in his, to bid him adieu ; 
 and if ever you need sympathy" she could say no 
 more, but turned from him abruptly and sought her 
 chamber. For the first time in her life she refused to 
 admit her twin sister to share her grief. She must be 
 alone with her Maker. 
 
 As weeks passed into months, not a murmur escaped 
 her lips at the decision of her parents, though it had 
 suddenly quenched the light of her young life. But her 
 eye grew dim and her step languid, until the hearts of 
 her fond parents were filled with anxiety and alarm. 
 
 Then the absence of Charles cast a gloom over the 
 whole circle, for never, since their first accidental meet- 
 ing when he assisted Fanny from the pavement, had 
 he failed to pass the Sabbath with them, and accom- 
 pany the family to church. Dr. Wells called often 
 at the bookstore, but the sight of him always seemed 
 painful to the young man, and when invited to the 
 house, he briefly replied : " At present I cannot bear it." 
 Once or twice when he had accidentally met Fanny and 
 her sister in their daily walk, they were both so much 
 agitated that they shrank from the recurrence of such a 
 meeting. 
 
 Fanny at length became so feeble, and it was with 
 such difficulty she discharged her simple duties in the 
 family, that her father called in medical advice. But 
 the physician who had known her from childhood, said 
 she was free from disease, but was suffering from a 
 general prostration of strength, which he said probably 
 affected also her spirits. He recommended a change of
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 419 
 
 scene, and advised that she should return to her grand- 
 father's, and as far as she was able make use of salt 
 water baths. 
 
 Leaving her husband and younger children, Mrs. 
 
 Wells accompanied them at once to C , where for 
 
 a time the change seemed beneficial. In a confidential 
 talk with her daughter before she left her to return home, 
 she enforced upon her the importance of striving to be 
 cheerful, in order to regain her health. 
 
 . In an affecting tone of humility, Fanny replied : " I 
 do, mamma, I never allow myself to think of Charles ; 
 but I dream of him every night, and in my dreams he is 
 so wretched that I cannot help weeping." 
 
 A sharp pang seized the heart of the mother, and she 
 asked herself, can it be right to separate them ? Having 
 consented to leave her children at her father's for the 
 winter, she returned home, where she found that her 
 nephew was preparing to leave for the south, to be 
 absent several months. He found his own health fail- 
 ing under the pressure of anxiety with regard to Fanny, 
 and the constant struggle which was necessary to main- 
 tain self-control sufficient to manage his business and 
 thought that by travelling he could perhaps divert his 
 mind to other scenes. 
 
 His uncle and aunt parted from him with great 
 regret. Mrs. Wells, especially, was reluctant to have 
 him go to such a distance, as she had a feeling hardly 
 yet acknowledged to herself that to save the life of her 
 child, it would be necessary to retract their decision. 
 
 For a few months, the letters from C , rather en- 
 couraged the hopes of the parents, that Fanny would
 
 420 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 soon be better. The change in her was so gradual, that 
 those constantly with her, did not notice it as a stranger 
 would have done, and the young girl was so quiet and 
 unobtrusive in her grief, that scarcely her sister perceived 
 how rapidly her strength was wasting away. She was 
 obliged to lie down upon the sofa more and-more frequent- 
 ly ; but she always made some excuse, and seemed so 
 reluctant to confess herself ill, that her friends experi- 
 enced no particular alarm. At length one day in the lat- 
 ter part of February, she rode over to her grandfather 
 Wells's to pass a few hours, where she became so faint 
 and exhausted by the exertion, that she was obliged to 
 keep her bed. 
 
 Mr. Warren lost no time in writing to her mother, and 
 more than hinted that he considered Fanny in a decline. 
 In three days, Dr. Wells with his wife arrived, having left 
 home in the next boat after receiving the alarming intel- 
 ligence. 
 
 They were pained beyond expression at the change in 
 their daughter's appearance, though she met them with a 
 smile that cut them to the heart 
 
 " Henry," said Mrs. Wells, drawing her husband aside, 
 and addressing him by name as she always did when 
 laboring under excitement, " We have sacrificed our child. 
 God grant it may not be too late to repair the evil. 
 Fanny is dying with a broken heart" 
 
 Dr. Wells walked the room with uneven steps, but 
 with his eyes concealed by his handkerchief. " Would 
 that we had known of this sooner!" said he, in a hoarse 
 voice. " I will see the physician at once. Do not re- 
 proach yourself, my dear Susan," he added, seeing her
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 421 
 
 whole form was convulsed with weeping. " We did 
 what we thought was for the best." 
 
 " I know she will die," sobbed the distressed mother, 
 " and I shall have been the cause. Yes, she will die a 
 martyr to her desire to obey her mother." 
 
 A low knock was heard at the door, and Helen en- 
 tered, saying, " Fanny is impatient to see her mother." 
 
 " I will come in a minute, my dear," she replied, put- 
 ting a violent restraint upon her feelings. 
 
 When she entered the room where the invalid lay bol- 
 stered up in bed, she came near having another burst of 
 grief. The sick girl raised her thin arms, and drew her 
 mother affectionately to her, kissing her tenderly. " Do 
 you think me so much changed, mamma," she asked 
 softly ? " There, don't weep," she said, as she felt the hot 
 tears falling thickly upon her face. " I am reconciled to 
 death. For a long time I have known that I could not 
 live; but for your sake and Helen's, I have tried to 
 seem well. It will be better for him too," she added, 
 after a moment, seeing her mother was too much af- 
 fected to reply. " We shall meet there," raising her eyes 
 to heaven. " Don't you think, mamma, he is a Chris- 
 tian?" 
 
 Mrs. Wells could only motion her assent. 
 
 " Then I hope we shall spend an eternity together in 
 loving the Saviour who suffered so much for us. It will 
 not be wrong for us to love each other there ! " she asked 
 with an earnest inquiry. 
 
 " Oh, my love, forgive your mother ! If Charles loves 
 you still, you shall not wait until you go to heaven to 
 love him." 
 
 36
 
 422 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES J 
 
 Mrs. Wells sprang back at the sudden gasp for 
 breath from her enfeebled child. She had not realized 
 the danger of so sudden a relief. For a long time 
 Fanny lay with her eyes closed, and nearly resembling 
 death. 
 
 Her mother was almost frantic, and sent Helen for her 
 father and the physician. But by the aid of wine and 
 water, she again revived. When she opened her eyes 
 she gazed around her as if she feared she were dreaming, 
 and then feebly beckoning her mother to approach, said 
 softly, " Did I hear you aright, mamma ? May I love 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes, darling, I said so ; but don't think of it now, 
 your father will write to Charles to come home." 
 
 A beautiful smile of gratitude lighted up her pale face 
 as she replied, " oh, mamma, how happy you have made 
 me! Please leave me alone for awhile with Helen, I 
 can hardly realize it yet ! " 
 
 After a free conversation with the physician, the anx- 
 ious parents concluded to write at once to Charles, and 
 to direct to him at several places. This they did and 
 only waited to add a message from Fanny before they 
 sent the letter. After an hour, when Helen again sum- 
 moned her mother, Mrs. Wells read the letter aloud, and 
 asked what she should add from her. 
 
 " Tell him," said she, with a heavenly smile, " that the 
 hope of seeing him once more, has called me back to 
 earth." 
 
 Much as the mother suffered in writing this affecting 
 message, it was trifling compared with that of the young 
 man who received it in Washington as he was travelling
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 423 
 
 slowly homeward. He tortured himself with the thought 
 that he was called home to see her die ; and this thought 
 so agitated him that when after travelling day and night 
 
 he reached C , he appeared as if he would not be 
 
 detained long from following her to the world of spirits. 
 I must draw a veil over the meeting of these pure souls 
 and the bliss of the days and weeks which intervened 
 before Mr. Gordon returned to the city betrothed to his 
 lovely cousin. For the first time in their lives the twin- 
 sisters were separated, and Helen accompanied him to 
 New York to make preparation for the removal of the 
 family to C early in May, as Mrs. Wells had de- 
 termined not to leave her daughter until June, when a 
 husband would claim her. 
 
 In the mean time Fanny gained but slowly, and her 
 parents often sighed as they thought that perhaps years 
 would pass before she would recover from the shock her 
 constitution had received. She was now able to sit up 
 the greater part of the day, and to ride slowly for a few 
 miles. After her marriage she was to reside for a month 
 in the family of her mother's friend, Mrs. Hall, as the 
 physician earnestly recommended surf-bathing. 
 
 Charles had visited her once in two or three weeks 
 and passed the Sabbath, and to-night he was expected 
 for the last time. Yes ! To-morrow was the bridal day ; 
 and it was the arrival of the bridegroom who was now 
 momentarily expected. 
 
 Brother, and sisters are eagerly watching from the 
 window, and Fanny's eyes often wander in the same 
 direction, for she is sitting so that she can see far down 
 the street At length, Helen shouts : " There he is,"
 
 424 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES; 
 
 and soon two gentlemen closely resembling each other 
 rapidly approach the house. Mr. Frederic Gordon 
 catches his companion's hat which he was throwing 
 hastily upon the table, while the ardent, happy lover 
 springs lightly up the stairs, and soon folds his dearly 
 loved one to his heart. 
 
 " I wonder," thought Frederic, who was to graduate 
 in a month from college, as he stood at the door and 
 surveyed the scene, "if I shall ever love or be loved like 
 that!" By some strange association the sister of his 
 classmate and dearest friend, Albert Clinton, appeared 
 suddenly before him, and turning for a moment to the 
 window he was soon far advanced in dream-land. 
 
 To Mrs. Wells the marriage, under such circum- 
 stances, of her beloved daughter to the nephew of her 
 husband was one of the most affecting scenes of her life. 
 To give her up to the keeping of another would at any 
 time have been a trial to her loving heart, and she 
 realized now, as she had never done before, the anxiety 
 of her own mother at her first nuptials. But Fanny was 
 still an invalid, and needed the most tender nursing if 
 she ever regained her wonted health. This, she was sure, 
 the bride would receive from Charles, who every day 
 exhibited traits reminding her more and more of her 
 beloved husband. Then Helen was to remain with her, 
 and Mrs. Hall would be a mother to them until their 
 return to her own family in the fall. 
 
 The wedding ceremony was necessarily a very simple 
 one, as the bride was unable to bear excitement, and was 
 to ride directly after it to her native place. At the ap- 
 pointed time Mr. and Mrs. Warren came over from the
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 425 
 
 parsonage, Gracie being already there to dress the bride ; 
 the families, with no guests but the father of the groom, 
 and their kind friends Mr. and Mrs. Ha.ll, gathered in the 
 large parlor which Helen had decorated with roses and 
 narcissus. When all were seated, Fanny entered slowly, 
 leaning for support upon the arm of her lover. As they 
 reached the sofa, Charles whispered that she had better 
 be seated, but she shook her head, when he put his arm 
 tenderly about her waist, and thus supported her until 
 the mystic knot was tied which united them for life. 
 The bride was very pale as she took her seat ; but she 
 returned her husband's look of anxiety with a glance 
 of the most confiding affection. He bent over her as 
 he whispered: "Dearest Fanny, my head is actually 
 giddy with excess of happiness. You, now, are all 
 mine ! " 
 
 After waiting a moment to give her time to rest, her 
 father and mother went quietly up to salute her by her 
 new title, and they were followed by other friends. When 
 her new father approached she stood up to receive his 
 blessing ; but he took her hands in his and gently re- 
 seating her, said solemnly : " May God, your father's 
 God, grant you restored health, and much happiness, 
 my daughter ; " then, affectionately kissing her, he with- 
 drew. His manner and voice so much resembled his 
 deceased brother's that Mrs. Wells could not keep back 
 her tears. Fanny leaned her head upon her husband's 
 shoulder and wept silently, while all present were greatly 
 affected. 
 
 After the cake had been passed and, by order of the 
 physician who rode up in time to bid her farewell, a turn-
 
 426 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES ; 
 
 bier of porter given to his patient, her father and mother 
 
 accompanied the newly married pair to B , while 
 
 Helen returned in the carriage with Mrs. Hall. Here 
 they left her in the care of one of her oldest friends, and 
 with many charges to their new son to write often, they 
 bid the gentle bride, her husband and sister adieu, and 
 
 returned to C to make hasty preparation for going 
 
 to New York. 
 
 In concluding, I will say, Frederic having an uncon- 
 querable desire to follow in the footsteps of his father, 
 joined, a few months after his graduation, the theologi- 
 cal school in New York, where he entered with the ardor 
 and enthusiasm which was a part of his nature, into the 
 preparation for his chosen profession. In due time, he 
 finished his course, and was called to fill a post of useful- 
 ness and honor, in a church in Baltimore. 
 
 Soon after his settlement, there was a double mar- 
 riage in his father's church, when he was united to Sarah 
 Wallace Clinton, and Albert Clinton to his sister Helen. 
 Young Bentley, who was also a licentiate, having pur- 
 sued the same course as his friend, begged earnestly that 
 his nuptials with Laura might be celebrated at the same 
 time, but Dr. Wells pleasantly replied, that he hoped 
 there would not be another flood, though of late, people 
 were marrying and giving in marriage, as they were be- 
 fore Noah entered into the ark. 
 
 The winter following the marriage of Fanny at her 
 grandfather's, in accordance with the request of Mr. 
 Warren, the church voted to call a young man as col-
 
 OR, THE COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE. 427 
 
 league with their aged pastor. Their choice fell upon 
 Mr. Wainwright, a young licentiate who had studied the- 
 ology in C , and thus Gracie saw at length that the 
 
 paths of duty and of inclination were happily united. 
 For nearly three years she had been betrothed to her 
 father's student, having become acquainted with him 
 while he was in College, but had positively refused to 
 leave her aged parents. 
 
 Mr. George Wells, now an active citizen, residing on 
 his father's estate, called a meeting of the parish, when 
 they voted to repair the parsonage, and make such alter- 
 ations as their new minister might deem necessary for 
 the comfortable residence of the two families. They also 
 voted to continue the salary of their former pastor during 
 his life. 
 
 The latter resolution, however, the good old man 
 would by no means accept. His expenses were small, 
 his children all provided for. If he could have a home in 
 the parsonage, under whose friendly roof he had so long 
 labored for his beloved people, and the sum of two hun- 
 dred dollars annually, his wants would be amply sup- 
 plied. 
 
 Squire Wells lived to a good old age, until he had 
 held the infant of his grandchild, Laura Wells Bent- 
 ley upon his knees, and then departed, universally re- 
 spected and mourned by his large circle of relatives and 
 friends. 
 
 His son continued to increase in usefulness and hap- 
 piness. Upon the twentieth anniversary of his marriage 
 he gathered around him his children and children's chil- 
 dren to the number of ten souls. As he with his beloved
 
 428 THE FIRST AND THE SECOND MARRIAGES. 
 
 wife glanced from one to another, and called to mind 
 the active part they had taken in the education not only 
 of their own children, but also of those who had become 
 their companions, they blessed God that he had given 
 them the wisdom profitable to direct. 
 
 END,