THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LILY HTJSON; 
 
 a. cox-iFA.isrioisr to "the lamplighter.' 
 
 THE FORTIETH THOUSAND NOW READY OP 
 
 THE WA T H M A N ; 
 
 A TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF U THEJ)LD DOCTOR," LAWYER'S STORY," &C. 
 
 Published in one vol., cloth. Price $1.00. 
 
 » «i » i> . 
 
 The Watchman.— This is a book of a kindred character with the " Lamplighter"— 
 a volume which appeared some months since, and was extensively read and admired. 
 The characters are all well drawn, and the story is charmingly told. It abounds in 
 incident and adventure, and is pervaded by a healthy moral tone. It cannot fail of 
 meeting with great success with the reading public. — Troy Budget. 
 
 The Watchman is designed to subserve a good purpose, and it will, doubtless, effect 
 its object The characters are skillfully drawn and are remarkably life-like, and the 
 plot of the tale is of the most interesting description. The moral it inculcates is, that 
 eventual success awaits the efforts of those who earnestly strive to do their duty to 
 God and man. This book will be a fitting companion to the popular story of "The 
 Lamplighter." — York Advocate, Perm. 
 
 The Watchman. — This work is deservedly popular. The reader linds in their pages 
 sympathies of the closest nature, forming flowers for his path through life's weary 
 journey. The \ " Watchman " is safely ensconced against any attack by critics 
 upon this point. Its pages deal in truh. It pictures life as it is, and inculcates useful 
 lessons. The young man whose past has been boisterous ; whose present is full of 
 chaos and crags, and whose future appears gloomy with dark forebodings, may learn 
 a lesson of contentment from its pages.— Advertiser, Auburn, N. Y. 
 
 The design is certainly laudable, and this class of books deserves wide encourage 
 ment. — Utica Gazette. 
 
 Copies of the above loork mailed to any part of the United States, free of postage, on 
 the receipt of One Dollar, post paid, addressed to 
 
 H. LONG & BBOTHEE, 
 Publishers, 121 Nassau Street, New York.
 
 LILY HUSON: 
 
 O R , 
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES 'MIDST CONTINUAL HOPE. 
 
 A TALE OF HUMBLE LIFE. 
 
 JOTTED DOWN FEOM THE PAGES OF LILT'S DIAEY 
 
 BY ALICE GRAY. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 H. LONG AND BROTHER, 
 
 121 NASSAU-STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year One Thousand Eight Hundred and 
 Fifty-five, by H. LOXG & BROTHER in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of 
 the United States, for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 ZM. 1L. 13urroiiflh0, ZMm. $0660, Geo. OH. SUiantirr, 
 
 TrinUr. Stereutyiior. Binder.
 
 PR 
 M6ZjL 
 
 +ltt 
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 A Peeface is a natural appendage to a book. In the 
 present one the Author has but little to say. She presents 
 to the kind consideration of the public, a simple volume 
 of facts, unadorned, detailing the trials and troubles of 
 one who has suffered, in youth, through a continuation 
 of unfortunate circumstances, more evils than usually 
 fall to the share of suffering humanity. 
 
 There is more true pathos in actual life, than is to 
 be found in all the realms of fiction. We trust that 
 the public will look with a lenient spirit upon the 
 many little faults that must naturally be found in 
 every human attempt ; and with these few remarks, 
 we venture timidly, yet with a gentle trust in the 
 sympathy of our readers, to launch our book into the 
 world. 
 
 14821'
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Introduction to the family of Lily Huson — James Huson, her father, 
 deserts his wife and family — Distress of Maty Huson and her chil- 
 dren 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Sister Carry's departure from home, and unexpected yet welcome 
 return , 16 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A personal and mental description of Carry and Lily — A Fourth of July 
 celebration — Sickness and death of Carry — Distress of the family. . . 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Lily goes from home to reside with her uncle — Something about Deacon 
 Dilby, a hypocritical member of the church — A character too often met 
 with 29 
 
 - CHAPTER V. 
 In which the reader is introduced to new scenes and to new characters 
 which have a bearing upon Lily's after career — Lily's early marriage, 
 and her disappointment in the character and disposition of her youthful 
 husband — Lily is compelled to leave her husband's roof and to return to 
 her mother's home 34
 
 v i CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Lily's husband seeks to deprive her mother of her hard-earned savings, 
 and for a short time succeeds — The fox is caught in his own trap — 
 New characters introduced — Persecutors and benefactors contrast- 
 ed 54 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Lily, to her great surprise, meets, at the house of a friend, a female whom 
 her husband has secretly and illegally married — Lily's interview with 
 her husband — A divorce applied for and gained 62 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Troubles and persecutions — Mr. Friendly proves himself to be more than 
 friendly in name — Mrs. Huson has heard of her husband's death, and 
 through the persuasions of friends has married again 68 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Lemuel, Lily's brother, falls sick in consequence of having been led astray 
 — Lily's qualities as a sick nurse exemplified 73 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Lily endeavors to do something for herself and family — She engages in a 
 school for some time, and then gets her brother into busines for himself 
 — Misfortune still obtains — Mr. Friendly again shows his gener- 
 osity 76* 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Proposals of marriage — A lucky escape for Lily 83 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Lily hears from a relative whose existence she had never before dreamed 
 of — She fancies it is her long absent parent, again wishing to see his 
 children — Lily undertakes a long journey 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Incidents of Lily's journey — Her hopes and anticipations are doomed to 
 disappointment 95 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 New and interesting acquaintances 101 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A visit to a grave-yard and to a family tomb — Lily's return home 
 
 — Scenes on the Lake — The daguerreotype gallery — Lily makes fresh 
 
 exertions — A novel scheme projected — What her friends think of 
 
 it 105
 
 CONTENTS. v ii 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A visit to New York on business — Fresh disappointments — Lily hears news 
 of the death of her father some years before — She receives letters from 
 her half-brother — A strange letter from a stranger 118 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Still more mystery — The elucidation — The introduction and courtship — 
 Confidential letters — All is favorable and love in the ascendant — A sudden 
 change — A lover's inconstancy 129 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A Chapter of correspondence — A former lover's cruelty — The spirit and 
 determination of the forsaken one — An interview demanded 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The interview is, through the assistance of friends, brought about at last 
 — Lily Huson and her false lover meet, converse together, and part for 
 ever 157 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Lily devotes her whole attention to her contemplated project — Letters from 
 friends on the subject — She meets with encouragement — A fresh offer 
 of marriage scornfully refused — Still further relative to the scheme. 164 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Family affairs, trouble and death — Matters progress slowly — still encourage- 
 ment is held out — Letters from men of influence — Conclusion 177 
 
 Clara Neville 184 
 
 The Veiled Picture 254 
 
 My Father's Head Farming-Man 273 
 
 The Red Cloak 286 
 
 The Recognition 302 
 
 Tom Richards' Adventure 316 
 
 The Ruined House 328 
 
 Save Me from my Friends 369
 
 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was great commotion in the little town of C , 
 
 in Western New York, one fine morning in the year 1826. Per- 
 haps we had better have said there was great commotion in 
 one house in the aforesaid little town ; but as in all small com- 
 munities that which interests one family, interests in a greater 
 or lesser degree every inhabitant thereof, we will let our exor- 
 dium stand as it is. 
 
 This commotion, or excitement, or whatever it may be 
 termed, was, after all, caused by a very commonplace inci- 
 dent, being nothing more than the advent into the world of a 
 baby — a little blue-eyed, golden-haired creature, born, like all 
 other babies, to bear its share of the cares and troubles, and to 
 share its portion of the few pleasures and the brief glimpses 
 of happiness accorded to the denizens of this sublunary sphere. 
 The baby was already destined to be called " Lily," why, we 
 cannot say ; but Lily being a very pretty name for a girl, so 
 emblematical, as it is, of all that is lovely, pure, and estima- 
 ble in womanhood, we, for our part, are quite satisfied with the 
 appellation. 
 
 Very numerous were the visitors at the abode of Lily's pa- 
 rents on this fine May morning, and lively were the expressions 
 of congratulation from all ; some sincere, let us hope — some, 
 1*
 
 10 LILY HUSON. 
 
 perhaps, merely complimentary. But it is to be expected that 
 it is in the house where this momentous matter has occurred, 
 that the sincerest pleasure would prevail; for, no matter 
 whether it be easy or difficult to provide food for the mouths 
 or clothing for the backs of the olive-branches, who already 
 congregate around the hearth, to the parents, generally speak- 
 ing, the advent of another little burden in the shape of a liv- 
 ing baby, is a source of pleasure and congratulation. We are 
 sorry to say, however, that such was not the case in the pres- 
 ent instance. To be sure the eldest sister, Caroline, or Carry, 
 as she was commonly called, manifested great delight and sat- 
 isfaction at the advent of the little stranger, albeit though she 
 promised to increase her present toils, for to Carry's lot it 
 would fall to nurse and take charge of this latest addition to 
 the family ; but, strange to say, the parents of the new-born 
 infant, although, as far as outward appearances went, they 
 maintained a show of satisfaction, in reality experienced no joy 
 upon the occasion. What was the cause of this unnatural, not 
 to say unfeeling conduct, on the part of the parents, it will fall 
 to our duty, as faithful chroniclers of events, to state. 
 
 Mrs. Huson, the mother of Lily, was a native of the State 
 of New Jersey, born of respectable parentage, and the young- 
 est daughter of a large family of children. She was naturally 
 of an irritable disposition, and, in consequence of her being the 
 youngest — the pet and spoilt child of the family, this fault in 
 her disposition did not meet with the necessary, salutary re- 
 straint ; the result was, that as she grew older, a trait which 
 might, by proper management, have been, if not utterly eradi- 
 cated, at least brought under proper and healthy control, grew 
 with her growth, and strengthened with her strength, until it 
 became a prominent and irremediable defect in her disposition. 
 
 When she had arrived at the age of nineteen, her father died, 
 and upon her mother and herself, the other members of the 
 family being married, or engaged in business pursuits, devolved 
 the management of the estate. Thus matters remained for
 
 LILY HUSON. 11 
 
 three years, at the expiration of which period, one of her 
 brothers, thinking that it would be more satisfactory if the 
 estate were sold and the property divided, with the consent of 
 the other branches of the family this was resolved upon ; and this 
 brother being a married man, it was further arranged that 
 his mother, with his youngest and only unmarried sister, should 
 reside with him. 
 
 This gentleman, whose name was Nelson, resided ha the west- 
 ern part of the State of New York, where he successfully car- 
 ried un a mercantile business. He had in his employ a young 
 man who officiated as his clerk, between whom and his em- 
 ployer's sister an intimacy soon sprung up, which was disap- 
 proved of by the family, chiefly because the young man was 
 of poor parentage. However, Mary — that was the name of the 
 young girl — only became more infatuated with the youth, the 
 more opposition she met with. Huson, the clerk, had previ- 
 ously to this asked Mary Nelson's hand hi marriage, but he 
 had met with no positive encouragement. Now, however, 
 perhaps more to annoy her friends than from any very ardent 
 affection she bore the youth, she accepted the proposition, and 
 against the will of the family became his wife. Had there 
 been less opposition manifested by her friends, her better judg- 
 ment might have told her that she and her lover were unsuited 
 in temper and disposition to each other, and thus she might 
 have been preserved from many years of future unhappiness. 
 
 For the space of a year after their marriage, the young couple 
 lived very comfortably together, seemingly happy in each 
 other's society, and at the end of this period Caroline, the eld- 
 est daughter, was born. But the innocent babe failed to inspire 
 in the hearts of the parents that joy which is generally expe- 
 rienced on the birth of the first-born, when the parents are 
 fondly attached to each other. The demon of jealousy had 
 unhappily taken possession of the mother's breast, whether 
 with or without cause, we will not take it upon ourselves to 
 say; but it is much to be feared that Mrs. Huson did not
 
 12 LILY HUSON. 
 
 strive as a wife and a mother ought to do, to render home hap 
 py and agreeable to her husband- Mr. Huson was a man of 
 delicate constitution, and of a gentle and confiding disposition ; 
 generous he was, to a fault ; oftentimes, it is to be feared, to the 
 injury of his family, who had more immediate claims upon 
 him ; but had his wife striven to restrain this inclination to- 
 wards prodigality, and to attach him more fondly to his home, 
 there is every reason to believe that he would have proved 
 himself a loving husband and a kind and indulgent parent, al- 
 though he would never have succeeded in becoming a rich man 
 in a worldly point of view. This, however, was what the wife 
 most desired to see her husband. In person, as well as in dis- 
 position, she was the very opposite to him, being robust in 
 frame, healthy in constitution, and energetic and ambitious to 
 an extent rarely met with in woman. With this spirit of am- 
 bition she sought, but sought vainly, to inspire her husband. 
 
 It would be false to say that Mr. and Mrs. Huson had no 
 affection for their children or for each other ; but their incom- 
 patibility of temper allowed of no outward exhibition of fond- 
 ness, and from the period of the birth of the eldest daughter, 
 until the birth of the third child, which was a boy, the parents 
 lived very unhappily together. 
 
 At this period, Mr. Huson embarked into business for him- 
 self, and, almost a natural consequence in such cases, in a man 
 of his inert disposition, he became involved in debts, and to 
 escape the consequences, he fled into Canada. 
 
 After some time had elapsed, and arrangements satisfactory 
 to his creditors had been made, he returned to his wife and 
 family, and went again into the employment of his brother-in- 
 law. In this situation he remained two years, and then, for- 
 getting the vows he had pledged at the altar that death alone 
 should part him from her whom he promised to protect and 
 cherish, he quitted his wife and family, and left them to strug- 
 gle through the world without his counsel or support. 
 
 This sad event occurred on a bright Sabbath morning, seven
 
 LILY HUSON. 13 
 
 years after his marriage. He quitted home under the pretence 
 of going to attend a camp-meeting which was to he held in the 
 country about five miles from his place of residence, and re- 
 turned no more. On this fatal morning, after partaking of an 
 early breakfast, he took the little boy, his favorite child, upon 
 his knee and kissed him ; then setting him down, he cast a lin- 
 gering parting glance at his little girls, as they lay sweetly 
 sleeping on the bed, and then bidding his wife farewell, he hur- 
 ried from the house. 
 
 Let us digress for a few moments to relate how this separa- 
 tion came about. 
 
 About two weeks before this event occurred, two gentlemen 
 might have been seen in earnest conversation at the corner of 
 one of the principal, streets of. the little town. One was a tall, 
 slender man, of melancholy aspect, of about thirty years of age. 
 This was Huson, who had just left the store of his brother-in- 
 law, which was closed for the night, and was on his way to his 
 unhappy home. The other was a stout man of cheerful coun- 
 tenance, and of a generally lively appearance ; his name was 
 Jacob Nelson, and he was employed in the same store with 
 Huson. Jacob Nelson was the nephew of his employer, and 
 consequently, the nephew also of Huson's wife. They were 
 deeply engaged in conversation. 
 
 " Jacob," said Huson, after a pause in the conversation, du- 
 ring which pause he had stood absorbed in thought ; " Jacob, 
 I am weary of life ; I know not what to do, I am so unhappy 
 in my family affairs. I almost believe it to be my duty, a 
 duty I owe to my family as well as to myself, to leave them. 
 It seems to me that my presence renders my wife unhappy, 
 and she and my children will be better cared for by their rel- 
 atives when I am gone. It will be best for us all. What think 
 you, Jacob 1 Give me your opinion. Say, am I right in the 
 view I have taken of the case V 
 
 Again a thoughtful silence ensued, and the usually merry 
 countenance of Jacob assumed a sad expression. At length
 
 14 LILY HUSON. 
 
 the silence which began to grow painful was broken by Jacob, 
 who answered — 
 
 " Uncle James, I know not what to think — what to advice ; 
 indeed, I dare not counsel you in such circumstances. It would 
 be a fearful, an awful step to take. Yet, I will confess, /could 
 not live with Aunt Mary ; therefore I shall not lay a straw in 
 the way to prevent you following the course which your words 
 and looks assure me you have already determined upon." 
 
 " Jacob," replied Huson, " your aunt is a good woman in 
 every respect but one — her temper is ungovernable ; it has de- 
 stroyed mij peace and her own happiness. I, too, have my 
 faults ; who has not ? But these faults she cannot bear with. 
 We irritate each other beyond endurance. We must part — 
 yes — part for ever. You, Jacob — you will not betray my con- 
 fidence ?" 
 
 " No, uncle, never." 
 
 " Good-night, my dear young friend ; may you never expe- 
 rience the sorrow that has fallen to my lot. You have been 
 recently marriqd ; may you be happy in the married state — 
 which I have never been — never can be." 
 
 " Good-night, uncle," replied Jacob, and they parted. 
 
 From that moment the mind of James Huson was made up, 
 
 and he immediately commenced preparations for his departure; 
 
 he was now fully determined upon taking the terrible step he 
 
 had long contemplated. 
 
 * * % * * % * 
 
 Mrs. Huson had no suspicion when her husband set out, that 
 he had any other object in view than the visit he had spoken of 
 — to the camp-meeting, and it was only when the period that 
 he should have returned arrived, and passed, without his hav- 
 ing made his appearance, that she grew anxious. 
 
 Very soon rumors got afloat that James Huson had left his 
 wife and family, and as a necessary consequence this rumor oc- 
 casioned a great deal of gossip amongst all who were acquainted 
 with the family, and a good many busybodies who were not,
 
 LILY HUSON. 15 
 
 but who could not allow such a charming subject for gossip and 
 scandal to escape their notice. 
 
 In the course of a few days, a letter addressed to her hus- 
 band, from a friend, was received by Mrs. Huson, who, of 
 course, in his unaccountable absence, opened it, in the reasonable 
 hope that it might furnish some clue with regard to his actions. 
 
 The letter, however, was merely an invitation to her hus- 
 band to go to , implying that he would do well in his 
 
 business in that place. Hoping that her husband might have 
 gone on a visit to this friend, Mrs. Huson resolved to visit the 
 city herself, taking with her her two eldest children, calling on 
 her way at the house of her husband's father, in order to sat- 
 isfy herself whether the old gentleman was cognizant or not 
 of his son's movements. She learnt that he had not been there, 
 and leaving the children with her father-in-law, the forsaken wife 
 proceeded to , and there found, to her grief and disap- 
 pointment, that Mr. Huson, in company with the friend already 
 
 alluded to, had left for New York, only the day before 
 
 her arrival. Heart-broken and despairing, she returned to the 
 house of her father-in-law, and to her now, alas ! worse than 
 fatherless children. Before she left the residence of old Mr. 
 Huson for her own deserted home, a letter was taken from the 
 post-office, by a younger brother of her husband, addressed to 
 his father, which letter, the young man, fearing that if Mr. Hu- 
 son read it, it might prejudice his mind against the poor, for- 
 saken wife, read to his sister-in-law, and then burned, only re- 
 serving some papers which were enclosed within it, and which 
 the fugitive had addressed to his mother. In this letter James 
 Huson complained bitterly to his father of his forsaken wife, 
 and stated that he had left home for parts unknown — and forever. 
 
 For three weeks the unhappy wife stayed at her father-in-law's 
 house, in the hope that she might yet hear something more 
 definite respecting her husband ; but she waited in vain. She 
 
 then returned with her children to , and never from that 
 
 period did she hear directly to herself anything of her husband.
 
 16 LILY HUSON 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SISTER CARRY'S DEPARTURE FROM HER HOME, AND UNEXPECTED 
 YET WELCOME RETURN. 
 
 The reader must imagine a lapse of three years to have 
 taken place since the occurrence of the events related in the 
 foregoing chapter. 
 
 The wind is howling mournfully amid the leafless trees, and 
 the sleet is beating against the windows of a lonely dwelling- 
 house, from one of the windows of which, late as is the hour, 
 and dismal as is the night, the feeble rays of a solitary candle 
 are still faintly streaming. It is the same house to which our 
 readers were first introduced, the same roof that gave shelter 
 on the night of her birth to the heroine of our tale. Let us 
 take a peep within, and see who are the inmates of the dwelling 
 now, and why this pale light is gleaming at this unseemly hour. 
 We will first, however, mention, that the house is one of small 
 dimensions, with a small shed or outhouse attached. It is sit- 
 uated back from the road, and has a small garden in front. The 
 interior of the house consists of one large room, used as a sit- 
 ting-room, and two smaller sleeping-rooms. These are on tho 
 first floor, and there are two small chambers above. The floors 
 are uncarpeted, and the furniture is but scant ; but a bright 
 fire is blazing in an old-fashioned hearth, and near the fire is a 
 table with a lighted lamp resting upon it, and various articles 
 of female industry lying around it ; by the table is seated a 
 female just in the prime of life, busily plying her needle ; but 
 she looks care-worn and weary ; here and there silver threads
 
 LILY HUSON. 17 
 
 are mingled with her dark hair, and her black eyes, which give 
 evidence of having sparkled with fire and brilliance in youth, 
 are dim and dull with sorrow — perhaps with tears ; her fea- 
 tures, although her form gives token that she once was full and 
 well formed, have lost their roundness, and the rose that once 
 blushed beneath her olive skin has fled. Her figure is wasted 
 by grief and care, robust as once it was — for this woman, toil- 
 ing at this late hour, in the lonely dwelling, is the deserted wife 
 of James Huson. She is a mother, and she knows and feels 
 that her children's support depends upon her exertions. She 
 is toiling whilst others sleep, for the sake of her babes. In 
 silence she throws down her work, for a sudden start betrays 
 that some sound has caught her ears. It is a moan, as of one 
 in suffering. She rises from her seat, and enters one of the 
 smaller rooms. There, in bed, lies Mary Huson's mother, and 
 her sleep is disturbed by the troubles, and aches, and pains of 
 old age and infirmity. She gently soothes the old lady, who 
 sleeps again, and then she replaces the covering upon her boy, 
 who is sleeping with grandma, and has displaced the counter- 
 pane in his sleep. 
 
 The mother returns to the sitting-room, and lays aside her 
 work, and then taking the lamp with her, she enters the second 
 sleeping-room, and lays herself down on the couch on which her 
 two little girls are sleeping. She sleeps, but her sleep is broken 
 by troubled dreams, the sure accompaniments of a weary frame 
 and an aching heart. At length she rests more quietly, nor 
 wakes again until morning has dawned — the morning of an 
 eventful day, as it turns out to be, to this little family. 
 
 A niece of Mrs. Huson's came this day to visit her from a 
 distance, and when she was about to leave, she proposed to take 
 little Carry, the eldest daughter, with her. 
 
 " How can I part with my child ?" thought the mother. " Yet 
 it may be better for her that she should leave me." And her 
 niece having promised to be kind to the little girl, and to send 
 her home again to her mother, should she pine for her, the for- 
 saken wife gave consent.
 
 18 LILY HUSON. 
 
 The little preparations were soon made, and Carry left for 
 her new home. 
 
 A child at any period unexpectedly quitting a household, 
 leaves a void that it is difficult to fill ; how much more difficult, 
 then, is it to fill that void when the child is the oldest hope and 
 comfort of a worse than widowed parent ? But the Almighty 
 Being, who had laid the hand of affliction so heavily upon 
 Mary Huson's head, had sanctified that affliction to her. In 
 her trouble she had learnt to look to" Him for help, who has 
 promised to be a husband to the widow, a father to the father- 
 less, and a very present help in time of trouble. She has been 
 chastened, and has been benefited by the chastening rod. She 
 has been brought to acknowledge her short-comings, to look 
 towards Heaven, as her desired haven, after the perils and dif- 
 ficulties constantly met with in the voyage of life. She has 
 learned to look up to God, through Christ, her mediator and 
 her best friend. 
 
 Yet Carry was sadly missed in that little household. The 
 mother often sighed to clasp her child in her embrace again ; 
 her grandmother missed her, more than she would have thought 
 possible, had she not been tried. Her sister Lily and her 
 brother " baby," as he was still affectionately called, continu- 
 ally asked for the sister they loved so dearly, and who had so 
 much contributed to their happiness, and would say in childish 
 accents : 
 
 " Mother, why don't they bring back our sister % What 
 made you let her go, mother ? We loved her, and we want 
 her always to live with us." 
 
 But time passed away, and though they could never forget 
 her, the inmates of that little dwelling grew, outwardly at 
 least, more reconciled to the absence of Carry. 
 
 Lily grew up a promising child, and was loved by all who 
 knew her ; not only loved by her friends and neighbors, but 
 by her teachers likewise ; and yet she was a mischievous little 
 creaturo, full of life and spirit. She was ever making sport
 
 LILY HUSON. 19 
 
 and annoying those who sat near her, and often was she threat- 
 ened with punishment by the schoolmaster, but strange to say, 
 when school was over, the master and this naughty girl were 
 generally seen hand in hand, on their way home, seemingly 
 very happy and very friendly together. He did sometimes pun- 
 ish her, it is true, but he punished her with a kindness that caused 
 her to love him, and she was as tenderly attached to her sister 
 and brother as she was loved by them, and, as we have said, 
 all who knew her, even to the brute pets of the household. 
 
 More than a year had passed since Carry's departure from 
 home, and during that long period, the family had only once 
 heard from her ; but at the close of a lovely spring day, as 
 Lily was returning from school, she espied a smiling face peep- 
 ing from her grandmother's bed-room window. It was Carry. 
 
 " My sister !" exclaimed both girls in a breath, and in an- 
 other moment they were clasped in each other's embrace and 
 bathed in tears of joy. 
 
 It was a happy family party that evening, for Carry took her 
 seat by the fire again, and related all that had befallen her du- 
 ring her absence ; but we will let the little girl, of but ten 
 years old, relate the story in her own simple language. 
 
 It was a happy family party that evening, we repeat, as the 
 members composing it sat around the cheerful fire, in- the room 
 which served for parlor, dining-room, and kitchen. Grandma' 
 is all tears and smiles, for her idol and pet has returned ; 
 the mother is cheerfully waiting to hear her child's story, and 
 a happy smile is upon her lips, for she dreams not of the nature 
 of the story she is about to listen to. Lily and " baby" are 
 seated one on each side of their sister, her hands clasped in 
 theirs, as though they feared she might again leave them. How 
 smilingly they look up into the sweet face of this loved .sister, 
 who has been gone so long, and so far away — and who knows 
 everything, who must have seen such wonders ! How impa- 
 tiently they wait for her to commence her story ! 
 
 "It was night," commenced Carry, "when we got where
 
 20 LILY HUSON. 
 
 Polly lived," alluding to the period when she left her mother's 
 home with her cousin ; " and I was so cold and tired that I 
 had to go to bed without my supper. Mamma, you don't; know 
 how I wanted to come home, but it was so far that I could not 
 come ; and besides, I thought I would stay, so that you should 
 not have to work for me. 
 
 "Polly scolded me very much, and made me work very 
 hard ; but I learnt to knit socks, and I have been to school a 
 little. At last I told Polly to write to you, and tell you I 
 wanted to come home. She said you had written to say that 
 I must stay, and be a good girl. I tried to be good, but Polly 
 was so cross and wanted me to do so many things, that I could 
 not please her. The other day she left me to churn, and told 
 me if I did not have the butter ready against she came home, 
 she would whip me. I churned all the afternoon, but I could 
 get no butter ; so when her girls came from school, I told them 
 I was going home. I put up my clothes and left. Harriet and 
 Martha, cried after me, and told me they would tell their 
 mother. I told them I could not help it, I was going to see my 
 sister and brother (giving her little auditors a sweet look). I 
 
 walked to that night; oh, it was a long way for me to 
 
 walk, six whole miles. It was dark when I got there, and I 
 dared not go into a house, for fear some_person would come to 
 take me back ; so I went into a wood-yard, and I laid my bun- 
 dle of clothes between two piles t>f boards for a pillow, and 
 wrapped my shawl about me, and lay down to sleep. As soon 
 as it was light in the morning, I got up and started on my way 
 towards home. I had not got far when two men overtook me, 
 and asked me where I was going. I told them, and one of 
 them took my bundle to carry for me, and the other took my 
 hand and said, ' Poor child ! it's a long way for one so young 
 
 to walk.' They came with me as far as , and there they 
 
 stopped at a tavern. 1 told the lady of the house where I 
 wished to go, and she said she would try and find out if some 
 person was not going there who would let me ride, and told
 
 LILY HUSON. 21 
 
 me to stay with her until she found some one. She gave me 
 something to eat, and I worked for her. She offered me six 
 shillings if I would stay with her ; but, mamma, I wanted to come 
 home, so I told her if you would let me come back, I would. 
 I stayed with her till to-day, when those people who brought 
 
 me home came. I asked them to let me ride to , and 
 
 my mother would pay them, for she lived there, and they said 
 I might ride. And after dinner we started, and I am home 
 once more." 
 
 " 1 am happy, too, that you have returned, my darling child," 
 said Mrs. Huson. " Is this then the kindness that they pro- 
 mised to treat you with? Telling you when you wished to re- 
 turn that your mother said 'no.' You have walked, poor 
 child, the distance of eighteen miles, and been left to the charity 
 of strangers to bring you the other thirty-two. Poor dear- 
 child ! but you are once more under your mother's roof, and I 
 hope we shall never part again. I would gladly have paid those 
 kind strangers, but they refused to accept payment. They said 
 you were a good child, and no trouble to them. Heaven will 
 reward them, and I trust my little girl will always be very 
 good, and deserve the love and the good name of her friends." 
 And the grateful mother knelt with her little family around her 
 and prayed : — 
 
 " O God, thou who hath promised to temper the wind to 
 the shorn lamb, and who doth direct and govern all things by 
 thy wisdom and goodness, to thee we come with hearts filled 
 with love and gratitude for all thy blessings. 
 
 " Thou hast returned unto me my long absent, and first-born 
 child ; thou hast conducted her tiny feet to her mother's roof 
 once more, and now I would dedicate her, with all I have, to 
 thee and to thy service. 
 
 " Make us all thou wouldst have us to be, that we may glo- 
 rify thee in our good works. Bless those who assisted my 
 child back to her mother's care, and may those with whom she 
 has lived, henceforward be taught by thee to deal more kindly
 
 22 LILY HUSON. 
 
 with the unfortunate ; and oh, may I, through thy grace and 
 goodness, be enabled henceforward to keep the children thou 
 hast given me under my own roof and my own watchful care. 
 Thou knowest all that we stand in need of. Bless us according 
 to our necessities. To thee we would commend all whom we 
 are in duty bound to pray for, and at the last may we all assem- 
 ble and meet together in thy kingdom of Love, never again to 
 part. These favors we ask through thy dear Son. Amen."
 
 LILY HUSON. 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CARRY AND LILY DESCRIBED A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRA- 
 TION THE SICKNESS AND DEATH OF CARRY DISTRESS OF 
 
 THE FAMILY. 
 
 Another fleeting twelvemonth has elapsed, and again we 
 recommence our story. It is the morning of the Fourth of 
 July — the glorious day on which we commemorate the anni- 
 versary of our national independence. 
 
 The day has dawned in brightness and splendor. Nature at 
 this season of the year wears her richest garb, and a warm sum- 
 mer sun is gilding hill and valley with his dazzling morning 
 rays. 
 
 On this day there is to be a " celebration" in the patriotic 
 
 town of ; the streets even at this early hour are 
 
 thronged with people. Children are gathered here and there 
 in groups, with firecrackers and other toys, suitable to the occa- 
 sion ; but all is not pleasant to the sight, even on this day of 
 general rejoicing, and in this usually quiet little town, for in 
 the gutter of the main street lies a creature in the human form, 
 one who should lay claim to the name of man, debased, brutal- 
 ized by alcohol. Around him stand a group of mischievous 
 boys, throwing their crackers at him, whilst volleys of oaths 
 and groans burst from the lips of the miserable wretch, only 
 serving to cause mockery and to create laughter from the idle 
 boys. Oh man ! thou who art but a little lower than the an- 
 gels in heaven, thus to abuse thyself and debase the form that 
 God has created in his own image.
 
 24 LILY HUSON. 
 
 Turn we from this horrible sight, and let us elsewhere direct 
 our gaze. Just issuing from a wicket gate fronting a small, 
 hut neat dwelling, may be seen two little girls plainly but taste- 
 fully attired. Lightly and gayly they trip over the gravel 
 walks, as though their little feet had never been familiar with 
 fatigue, or their hearts known to sorrow. Both are attired in 
 white, and the low dresses and short sleeves disclose the purity 
 and brilliancy of the white arms and shoulders. Although 
 they are nearly of a size, one has the appearance of being a 
 little older than the other. Her dark auburn hair streams over 
 her alabaster neck and shoulders ; and beneath a pair of dark 
 arched eyebrows sparkle a pair of eyes black as sloes, from the 
 glances of which hope and happiness are beaming. She looks 
 a bud to blossom and bloom forever. The roses of health 
 blush so gracefully beneath her pearly skin. Her form and 
 features so round and full, and warm.with life and youth, seem 
 to bid defiance to sickness and the grave. But we have seen 
 as fair and rosy buds just pushing forth into blossom, and 
 while we have gazed with delight upon its beauty, it has drooped 
 its head and withered and died. 
 
 The youngest sister, for the children are sisters, is of a dif- 
 ferent style of beauty. She is quite as tall as her sister, who 
 is two years her senior. Her face is oval, and a profusion of 
 golden locks float gracefully over her neck and shoulders. Her 
 complexion blends sweetly the rose and the lily, and her laugh- 
 ing eyes are of the darkest azure, and beaming with love and 
 joy. Comparison can scarcely be made between the beau- 
 ty of these sisters ; the beauty of the one attracted attention, 
 while the soft winning ways and the gentle smile of the other 
 won the heart. 
 
 They stop in front of a jewelry store. An old man, the pro- 
 prietor of the store, is standing at the door. He is a short, 
 thick-set man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with largo 
 gray eyes, and a smiling face. He appears to be very fond of 
 the children, and has invited them into his store.
 
 LILY HUSON. 25 
 
 The reader will have anticipated that these are Mary Huson's 
 children, but they may not be aware who the old storekeeper 
 is. His name is Dilby — he is very wealthy, and he is a dea- 
 con of the church, and, by profession, at least, a member of 
 the Church of Christ. 
 
 Should the lingering, ardent gaze he bestows upon these 
 children, and the kindness of his tones towards them, be the 
 dictates of a fatherly affection that he feels towards the worse 
 than fatherless girls, God bless him ; but should that gaze be 
 the gaze of the fowler watching for his prey — those soft-spoken 
 words be dictated by the cunning of the dissembler, to lure the 
 innocent to evil ; yes, should it be that this father and grand- 
 father to children older than those whom his eyes, dim with 
 age, can hardly discern — should he, we repeat, be seeking to 
 entrap these children, as the cunning fowler would a rant avis, 
 into his meshes — we will not say God curse him, but we will 
 leave him to the avenger of innocence to meet his reward. 
 
 We shall see his character in its true light, be it good or be 
 it bad, in the course of our narrative ; for the present we will 
 leave him, and follow the children, who are just ascending the 
 steps which lead to their uncle Nelson's store. 
 
 Their uncle greets them with a merry "good-morning," and 
 " is grandma' pretty smart V a common question with him, 
 and after a few remarks between the uncle and his nieces, and 
 some conversation relative to the amusements and avocations 
 of the day, the little girls leave him to -hasten to the grove, 
 where the people of the town, and the visitors on the occasion, 
 are to congregate to listen to the oration in honor of the clay. 
 
 The day passed away merrily, and towards evening, when 
 the children returned home, Lily was quite elated by what she 
 had seen — so much so as to disturb her mother, who had been 
 ailing of late ; but Carry, though so gay and happy in the 
 morning, seemed tired and languid, and when in the morning 
 the physician came to prescribe for the mother, he pronounced 
 2
 
 2G LILY HUSON. 
 
 the poor child to be seized with bilious fever, and she was com- 
 pelled to keep her bed. 
 
 It was a dull time in the house. The mother and the eldest 
 child sick together. The grandmother totters about as well as 
 she is able, amidst her infirmities and alarm, and tries to wait 
 upon the patients and to do the necessary work of the house, 
 which had hitherto fallen to the lot of Carry, since her mother 
 had fallen sick. Kind neighbors came in to assist the old lady 
 in her numerous duties, but they could not ease her mind of 
 the anxiety which oppressed her. 
 
 Still and calm laid the suffering child, showing no sign of im- 
 patience in the midst of her suffering, faintly smiling as though 
 she wished to cheer the spirits of grandmother. No murmur 
 was ever heard to pass her lips, and the hopes of her mother 
 and grandmother and her numerous friends were raised with 
 the belief that the patient, darling child would recover. But 
 no, the dread fiat had gone forth, and the angel of death, wear- 
 ing an aspect of light such as he ever wears when he waits 
 upon the parting spirit of the young, the lovely, and the inno- 
 cent, was hovering around her couch, even when the foreboding 
 anticipations of her anxious friends were most 1 idled to rest. 
 Was there no eye to pity, no arm to save ? Must this lovely 
 bud be reft from the parent stem 1 must that sweet face, that 
 fair form, moulder into dust"? Yes — so it has been decreed, 
 and the decree applies to the young and lovely as well as to the 
 aged. " Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." 
 Earth shall know thee no more ; but an angel in heaven thou 
 .shalt bloom forever, fairer and more lovely than thou wcrt on 
 earth. The blow seemed heavy, but it was dealt in mercy. 
 Carry was too fair, too good, to live amidst the trials and temp- 
 tations of this world, and her heavenly Father removed her to 
 a better to dwell forever there with him and his angels, to know 
 sorrow and pain and sickness no more. On the morning of 
 the fourth of August, 1835, just one month from the day 
 when we described her as going forth in all the loom and hi-
 
 LILY HUSON. 27 
 
 larity of youth, to participate in the celebration, the spirit of 
 Carry Huson took its flight from the mortal body and fled to 
 the realms of bliss. 
 
 It is needless to dwell at length upon the scene that followed. 
 The sick mother, as yet scarcely conscious of her loss, gazed 
 vacantly at the little plain coffin, by the side of which stood 
 Lily and her brother, weeping as though their little hearts would 
 break. Poor things ! they felt most bitterly, yet scarcely 
 realized the idea that she, the sister they loved, almost idolized, 
 had parted from them forever. Lily pressed repeated kisses 
 upon the pale cold lips, and called upon her sister to awake, 
 and sobbed and wept, and sobbed again, until her fair young 
 face was swollen with weeping. And now the hour has arrived 
 for the perishing body to be borne to its mother earth. It is 
 the evening of the same day on 'which she died, for she is a 
 poor child, and there is no delay to give time for weeping 
 friends to come from a distance, and with mock solemnity to 
 follow the remains to the grave. The pastor called and read a 
 prayer, and the coffin is ready to be screwed down. It. was 
 then, when the cold clay was about to be borne forever from 
 the mother's sight, and to be left to mingle with the damp 
 earth, that the almost heart-broken mother feels the full Weight 
 of her anguish. One last, lingering look is bestowed upon the 
 sweet features, lovely even in death. An exclamation of agony, 
 " Oh my child !" bursts from her lips, and she is led away al- 
 most senseless. 
 
 And now the hearse moves slowly away from the dwelling, 
 which shall never again be gladdened with Carry's presence, or 
 enlivened by her song. The chief mourners are the grand- 
 mother and the sister and brother, and so the mournful caval- 
 cade reaches the grave where the body is lain. 
 
 The sad ceremony is over ; all have left the spot save Lily 
 and her brother and the clergyman. The poor children are 
 weeping over the tomb of her whose loss they can yet scarcely 
 understand, and the good pastor remains to comfort them. At
 
 28 LILY HUSON. 
 
 lencth he succeeds, and leads them home to the house of mourn- 
 ing. The grandmother, Mrs. Nelson, has returned before them. 
 She had been unable to accompany the remains of her grand- 
 child the whole way to the graveyard, in consequence of her 
 emotion, and its effect upon her aged frame, and had remained 
 at the house of her son, to recover herself. Poor Mrs. Huson 
 had lapsed into a state of unconsciousness. All that night the 
 asked — " Why does not Carry come home V The late sad oc- 
 currence seemed to have passed from her memory, and she 
 fancied her daughter was absent ; for Carry had, for some time 
 past, been accustomed to work away from home during the 
 day, only spending the whole of the Sabbath with her mother. 
 But she was recalled from her wanderings by the artless 
 prattle of Lily, who asked : 
 
 " Mother, where has sister Carry gone 1 Why have they 
 taken her away from us 1 Why does she not come and sing 
 as she used to do 1 I loved to hear Carry sing, mother. She 
 sang as sweetly as the birds amongst the trees in summer-time. 
 Will she sing to us no more, mother ?" 
 
 No, Lily, no more on this earth will the sweet tones of your 
 sister's voice be heard. 
 
 " Never again those soft, sweet notes, 
 Will burst upon thine ear, 
 Like the singing of a joyous bird 
 
 "When the summer months are near; 
 No more her song will rise at eve, 
 
 So fairy-like and wild, 
 As though it were a spirit sung, 
 And not that gentle child."
 
 LILY HUSON. «>9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ■ LILY GOES FROM HER MOTHER'S ROOF TO THE HOUSE AND 
 FAMILY OF HER UNCLE DEACON DILBY, A HYPOCRITICAL MEM- 
 BER OF THE CHURCH, A CHARACTER TOO OFTEN FOUND. 
 
 After the death of her sister, Lily was taken by her uncle 
 Nelson to reside in his family, but she was made, young as she 
 was, to feel the bitterness of dependence. She was not allowed 
 to play with her cousins or to sit in the parlor. Her daily em- 
 ployment was to assist the servants in such domestic drudgery 
 as she was able to perform, and her abode was the kitchen, 
 with the servants for her companions. 
 
 Perhaps this may have been owing to the jealousy of her 
 aunt, in consequence of the beauty, and grace, and intelligence 
 of her niece casting her own daughters into shade. Had Lily 
 been a plainer child, perhaps the sin of poverty and dependence 
 might have been partially overlooked. However, the poor 
 child was soon released from this painful thraldam, having still 
 learnt something by this painful teaching to one so young. She 
 had improved in her acquaintance with domestic duties, al- 
 though she had gained but little as regarded the cultivation of 
 her mind, for while she was at her uncle's home, her school 
 and her books had been neglected. The physician who attended 
 the family had noticed the tractability of the child, and had 
 boon pleased with her neat and engaging appearance, and he 
 asked Mrs. Huson whether she would allow her daughter to go 
 home with him and assist his servant, promising her a pittance 
 of five shillings a week. This proved to be a good situation
 
 30 LILY HUSON. 
 
 for the little girl of ten years old, who was already such an 
 adept in the art and mystery of cookery as quite to astonish 
 the worthy doctor and his wife. 
 
 In this situation she remained nearly twelve months, contin- 
 uing to give increasing satisfaction to her kind friends and plea- 
 sure to the heart of her mother, who was proud, as all mothers 
 are, to listen to the praises bestowed upon her child. At the 
 expiration of this period she was taken home by her mother, 
 who determined to send her to school during the winter months, 
 for although quick and intelligent, and apt to do well whatever 
 she took in hand, the education of poor Lily had. in consequence 
 of a variety of conflicting circumstances, been sadly neglected. 
 It was at this period, being then eleven years of age, that she 
 was baptized according to the rites of the church to which her 
 mother belonged. 
 
 She continued at school throughout the winter, when an event 
 occurred which again called her away from her studies. She 
 was called to attend the sick-bed of her grandmother, who had 
 long been lingering on the verge of the grave, and who died a 
 short time after her grand-daughter's arrival. From this 
 period until she had attained her thirteenth year, Lily was va- 
 riously employed ; sought after by every one on account of 
 her gentle disposition and her skill in household matters, and 
 loved by those with whom she lived. 
 
 Let us now change the theme. The reader will recollect 
 that in the course of a preceding chapter, we spoke of one 
 ] >eaeon Dilby — a jeweller by profession, and one of the wealthi- 
 est men in the town — who had spoken kindly to Lily and her 
 sister Caroline, on the morning on which we described them 
 as they went to attend the Fourth of -July celebration, and who 
 had asked them into his store, and pleased the children by 
 showing them the choice and rare goods therein displayed. 
 
 Deacon Dilby, after the death of Carry, redoubled his kind- 
 ness to her sister Lily. He would repeatedly, when she was 
 passing by, ask her into his store, and often make her trifling
 
 LILY HU SON. 31 
 
 presents of jewelry, such as is always attractive to the fancy 
 of a young girl. lie would kiss her and fondle her as though 
 she were a grandchild of his own. And she, poor child ! as 
 the old man pressed his lips upon her fair brow, and kissed her 
 cheeks, would listen smilingly and confidingly to his conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "See, Lily," he would say, "I will give you this pretty broach ; 
 it will become you well. You ought to be dressed like a little 
 lady, for you are for too pretty to wear those coarse clothes. 
 By-and-by you will be growing up a young lady, and then I 
 will take you to New York with me, and show you all the 
 pretty sights your rich cousins speak of having witnessed there. 
 Would you not like to go V 
 
 And the innocent, unsuspecting girl would answer "yes," 
 and return home to her mother and show her the present the 
 Deacon had made, and tell her how kind he was to her ; and 
 the widow, for so we will term her, since she had to bear a 
 widow's lot, would silently thank God that he had raised up 
 such a kind friend to her child, and would say " God bless him 
 fir his goodness to the fatherless," for she, poor creature, little 
 suspected the guile that lay hidden in the heart of this, to out- 
 ward seeming, fair-spoken, God-fearing man. And Lily grew 
 fonder of the old deacon, for she said, " Mamma says he is a 
 good, kind man, and mamma knows everything." 
 
 But an incident soon occurred which led even the unsuspect- 
 ing and confiding Lily to suspect that all the old man says to 
 her cannot be right for her to listen to. 
 
 One night the old man met her at the door of his store, as 
 she was passing by on her w T ay home, and he asked her to come 
 in. Suspecting nothing, she entered the door. 
 
 " Come up stairs," said the Deacon, "I have something to 
 show you, Lily," and, still unsuspectingly, for she was a mere 
 child, unversed in the vices and follies of the world. Lily com- 
 plied with the recpuest. 
 
 The deacon led her into a darkened room, and when she
 
 32 LILY HUSON. 
 
 found herself alone with him here, she for the first time began 
 to feel a sensation of unclefinable alarm. 
 
 " Why don't you have a light here, Deacon ?' she exclaimed ; 
 ' : I don't like to he in this dark room." 
 
 " Folks will see us if we have a light, Lily," answered the 
 Deacon. 
 
 " I don't care if they do ; say what you have got to say to 
 me and let me go home." 
 
 The Deacon, meeting with this unexpected opposition to his 
 evil designs, begged the poor child to be quiet, and to listen to 
 him, at the same time pressing his lips to hers and whispering 
 in her ears. 
 
 Lily protested against this usage, and bursting into tears, said 
 she would tell her mother all that had happened, when she got 
 home, and the Deacon became so alarmed lest her crying should 
 be heard by the neighbors, that at last he let her go, first 
 making her promise that she would not say anything about 
 what had occurred to any person. 
 
 But there was no necessity for her telling. Heaven will vin- 
 dicate the wrongs of the innocent. There had been watchers, 
 who had seen the child enter the store, and leave it in tears, 
 and strange reports got abroad respecting Deacon Dilby, and 
 a short time afterwards, other matters having been raked up — 
 for when once suspicion is awakened, it is difficult again to lull 
 it to rest — he was deprived of his honorary office, and excom- 
 municated by the church of which he had been so long a mem- 
 ber. 
 
 Lily was careful to avoid the store after this occurrence, but 
 evil enough had been done, and the innocent suffered, as well 
 as the guilty. The poor girl was slighted by her former asso 
 ciates, and oven by those who had been far more intimate with 
 the Deacon than she had been. But Lily was conscious of her 
 own rectitude, even at this tender age. She possessed great 
 strength of mind and purpose, and she pursued the even tenor 
 of her way, punctiliously fulfilling her duties to her mother and
 
 LILY HUSON. 33 
 
 those by whom she was employed. She felt, it is frue, that 
 her confidence in the parental fondness of the old deacon had 
 led her to trust him too freely, and she knew that she should 
 have refused his invitation to enter his dwelling beyond the 
 store ; but she knew nothing of the designs of the tempter 
 until it was too late to avoid the scandal of her neighbors. 
 Thus early in life did Lily learn the duplicity of human nature, 
 and though the lesson cost her much, for the school is a severe 
 one to study in, as the closing scenes of our story will show, 
 she was still a gainer by this early and harsh schooling. 
 2*
 
 34 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IX WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO NEW SCENES AND 
 NEW CHARACTERS, WHICH HAVE A BEARING UPON LILy's 
 AFTER CAREER LILIES EARLY MARRIAGE, AND HER DISAP- 
 POINTMENT IN THE CHARACTER OP HER YOUTHFUL HUSBAND 
 LILY IS COMPELLED TO RETURN TO HER MOTHER'S HOME. 
 
 We beg the reader to accompany us, in imagination — for we 
 claim the privilege of a novel-writer, notwithstanding we are 
 penning a veracious history, of moving hither and thither where 
 we list — into a small apartment in a house of plain, unpre- 
 tending exterior, located some eighteen miles from the 
 scene of the former incidents of this story. It is near the close 
 of a June day, in the year 1840, and the rays of the setting 
 sun are streaming in at the window, and gilding the pearl-like 
 drops which hang from the leaves of the shrubs which sur- 
 round the casement — for though it is June, the day has been 
 showery and the weather fitful as April. 
 
 The floor of the apartment is carpetless, but the boards are 
 as white as snow ; a table and a few chairs constitute the entire 
 furniture of the room ; yet scantily as it is furnished, it pos- 
 sesses an air of neatness which the eye loves to linger upon. 
 
 In the room arc seated an elderly couple, the gentleman tall 
 and portly, with a fine, intelligent countenance, in the linea- 
 ments of which, however, the marks of dissipation may be 
 traced. The lady is short in stature, and extremely slender, 
 and her pallid features tell that she has experienced that sorrow
 
 LILY HUSON. 35 
 
 which touches the very heart's core. But there is another occu- 
 pant of the room, whom we have not yet noticed; she is seated 
 opposite the couple already described, and we recognize her as 
 the widow Huson, fur so, since the flight of her husband, as we 
 mentioned before, she, lias been conventionally called. She is 
 engaged in earnest conversation with the elderly gentleman and 
 lady. 
 
 The conversation we are about to record will give the reader 
 a clue to the nature of that which had already taken place. 
 
 •• We love Lily dearly," said the lady, whom we will call 
 Mrs. Morse, " but she is a mere child, and Henry is also very 
 young. We have tried to put this matter off until a future 
 clay, when both will be older ; but Henry will not listen to one 
 word, now that he has obtained your consent." 
 
 '• I have also endeavored to persuade my daughter not to 
 think of marriage until she is older," said Mrs. Huson ; " but 
 I find she is governed by Henry's feelings more than her own, 
 and he will not listen to one moment's delay. He is even now 
 chafing with disappointment at the tardiness of the minister 
 and since they are determined, it will be of no use to offer fur- 
 ther opposition, especially since I have given my consent." 
 
 "My wife and myself have done the same," said Mr. Morse, 
 "yet we could all, no doubt, wish that they had waited until 
 they were older." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of 
 the minister and three young ladies whom he has invited. They 
 are conducted into the room by Samuel Huson — Lily's brother, 
 who is now a lad of twelve years old. At this juncture Mrs. 
 Huson left the. room in search of her daughter, who, with her 
 lover, was waiting impatiently, as all brides and bridegrooms 
 do, under almost any circumstances, for the ceremony to be 
 commenced and finished which was to make them man and 
 wife. 
 
 It is customary, and generally satisfactory, on such occasions 
 as these, to describe the appearance of the chief and most in-
 
 36 LILY HU SON. 
 
 terested actors in the scene, and therefore, while the ceremony 
 is proceeding, we will attempt to do so. 
 
 Henry Morse was a tall, well-proportioned young man, with 
 regular features and large "blue eyes. He was at this period 
 about twenty years of age, and was attired for the occasion in 
 a suit of black broadcloth, with white kid gloves. We have 
 heretofore attempted to give a description of the fair creature 
 who was so affectionately hanging upon his arm ; but she had 
 changed a little during the few — the very few — years that had 
 since passed over her head, and we will therefore attempt to 
 give a pen-and-ink portrait of Lily Huson, on her bridal day. 
 
 She was at this period a being of transcendent loveliness. 
 We have pictured her likeness in our fancies of Eve in the 
 garden of Eden, as she has been painted by the greatest of 
 modern poets. At this period Lily was only fourteen years 
 old ; but her form and features were as matured as though she 
 had numbered three or four more summers. Her oval face 
 and faultless features were shaded by a luxuriant mass of silken 
 hair of a golden color, which harmonized sweetly with the 
 purity and brilliancy of her complexion. A sunny smile played 
 upon her ruby lips, half of bashfulness, half of confiding love, 
 as she gazed furtively at the features of the youth by her side. 
 Her massy hair was gathered up according to the fashion of 
 the day, and her form, faultless, almost, as the " Greek Ideal," 
 was enveloped in a close-fitting, fawn-colored silk dress, cut low 
 at the neck and frilled. It is not exactly our forte to describe 
 the minutke of a lady's dress ; but for the benefit of the ladies, 
 on such an occasion as this, we shall attempt to do so. White 
 nett gloves covered her delicate hands, in one of which she 
 held a white cambric handkerchief, and, to complete the cata- 
 logue, white hose and black slippers encase a pair of beautifully 
 shaped feet. 
 
 And now the minister has pronounced the words which make 
 these two one, and the little party are crowding round to offer 
 the customary congratulations ; and the happy husband, all
 
 LILY HUSON. 37 
 
 fear of envious rivals 'banished, snatches from the sweet lips 
 of his voung, girlish wife, the first fond kiss of wedded love. 
 
 Already Lily has become quite a matron in her simple child- 
 ish way, though but just now a bride. She sits receiving and 
 giving invitations from and to the young ladies who have wit- 
 nessed the ceremony, with the grace of one long accustomed to 
 such duties. Yet she knows nothing of etiquette, but thinks 
 and speaks like a mere child as she is. 
 
 The company have dispersed, and the young husband and 
 his lovely bride are left alone. The shades of evening have 
 fallen, and they wander lovingly together around the fields and 
 amidst the groves that surround the dwelling. Let us leave 
 them to their enjoyment, and beg the reader to listen to us 
 while we speak of their first acquaintance and of their youthful 
 courtship. 
 
 One year after Caroline Huson's death, Mr. Morse, with his 
 family, consisting of a wife, a son, and a daughter, became near 
 neighbors of the widow Huson, and the son was employed 
 with the son of a neighbor, in driving the wagons which 
 brought his father's furniture to the new dwelling. Several 
 children were playing about in the yard of the house which 
 Mr. Morse was about to occupy, and Henry Morse, then a 
 young lad of fifteen, remarked to his companion, who was a 
 year or two older : 
 
 " Which of those little girls would you choose, if you were 
 to make choice of a wife from amongst them V 
 
 " I scarcely know," replied his companion. 
 
 "I do," answered Henry; "I know which I should choose. 
 She is the merriest and the prettiest amongst them, and that 
 little girl will one day be my wife." 
 
 His companion laughed at the idea, and there the conversa- 
 tion dropped. 
 
 After the new-comers had settled, Mrs. Huson, at the re- 
 quest of Lily, who had become quite a favorite with the fam- 
 ily, called upon Mrs. Morse, and from that period, an intimacy
 
 38 LILY HUSON. 
 
 ensued between the two families, which daily grew stronger. 
 Both women had lost their mothers, and each had mourned the 
 loss of a beloved daughter, and thus a bond of sympathy was 
 created, which strongly united them in the ties of friendship. 
 They confided to each other their troubles, and were almost 
 always together. 
 
 All this time the little folks were progressing. Henry would 
 manage to spend the evening at Mrs. Huson's, in company 
 with Lily, or Lily would frame an excuse to spend it with 
 Henry at his father's. Henry also attended Lily to and from 
 school, and sought every means of winning the little maiden's 
 love. 
 
 Thus passed several months, when Mr. Morse removed into 
 the country, and nothing for a long time was heard by the Hu- 
 sons of the family. At length Mr. Morse called upon the 
 widow, bringing many kind remembrances from Henry to 
 Lily ; and, some time after this, Henry himself called to see 
 his little friend. Lily loved him as all children love, those who 
 are more attentive to them than others ; but a deeper love was 
 taking possession of the heart of the youthful lover. lie in- 
 formed Lily that his sister Julia was very unwell, and was in 
 the village again, in order to be under the care of a medical 
 man, and all Lily's sympathy was aroused for the sufferer. 
 She promised to devote all her spare time to attending upon 
 her ; but the invalid gained no benefit from the doctoi', and 
 her friends soon took her home again, and shortly afterwards 
 she died, of consumption. 
 
 After this melancholy occurrence, nothing was heard of the 
 Morses by the widow's family, until after the exposure of 
 Deacon Dilby's base conduct towards Lily. 
 
 One day Lily was standing in the doorway of her uncle's 
 house, when a young man drove up a pair of horses attached 
 to a wood-rack, and accosted her familiarly. She at once re- 
 cognized him as her old playmate. He invited her to go home 
 with him and see his mother; which she readily promised to
 
 LILY HUSON. 39 
 
 do, if her mother would give her consent ; and getting into the 
 wood-rack, the youth drove her to her mother's house, and 
 easily obtained consent to take her home, promising playfully 
 to bring her back when she got tired of them or they of her. 
 
 The rest is an oft told tale. The youth grew more ardent 
 in his expressions of attachment for his former playmate, and 
 the maiden more reserved ; and when Henry, after Lily had 
 made a lengthened visit, brought her home to her mother's 
 house again, he begged permission to correspond with her, 
 which she, after some persuasion, granted. The Morses, at 
 this period, lived but four miles from Mrs. Huson ; but they 
 
 subsequently removed to , where we first introduced 
 
 them, on the momentous occasion of Lily's marriage. But 
 eighteen miles are nothing to a lover, and Henry often visited 
 Lily, although he had to walk the distance, for there were no 
 cars running in those days, and if there had been, Henry was 
 too poor to have paid to ride. But there was one advantage 
 gained by having walked so far to pay a visit. It admitted of 
 an excuse for the lover to remain longer at the abode of the 
 object of his affections. 
 
 On one of these occasipns Henry remained three days ; and 
 in those three days much was done. Many words were spoken 
 while the lovers were wandering together — as was their wont, 
 on the borders of the sunny lake that lay not far distant, in 
 the rear of the house — which cemented the affectionate feelings 
 they had long entertained towards each other, and which wove 
 the bonds of love more closely around them, and bound them 
 with a spell they could not — neither did they wish to — dis- 
 solve. . 
 
 They spoke together in the confiding terms in which lovers 
 speak whose whole souls are wrapped up in each other. Lily 
 told of the envy and detraction of the village maidens; of the 
 troubles and annoyances she met with at home now — for the 
 irritable disposition of the mother had been checked, not curbed, 
 by her troubles, and had now returned upon her with twofold
 
 40 LILY HUSON. 
 
 strength, and Lily had to bear it all now ; for she had no sis- 
 ter to share her sorrows or to participate in her pleasures — and 
 Henry confessed his love, and asked Lily to become his child- 
 wife, and she listened, and blushed, and blushingly consented, 
 if Henry and she could obtain the consent of their respective 
 parents. 
 
 And Mrs. Huson, when she heard the tale of love from her 
 daughter's lips, did consent, although, as we have seen, she 
 thought her daughter too young to marry. But, poor woman ! 
 she had much to trouble her, and many good excuses for her 
 irritability. Her brother's wife had never been friendly with 
 her, and had by degrees succeeded in alienating her brother's 
 mind from her. Her brother, who had ever been remarkable 
 for sobriety, had, it was said, through the ill-temper of his wife, 
 contracted a love for the wine-cup, and although he had, by 
 dint of his own exertions, made himself a tolerably wealthy 
 man while still young, difficulties arising from his fatal indul- 
 gence in this habit, threatened his family. To him the widow 
 could no longer look for counsel and support in her trials. 
 Henry Morse promised fair. She believed him to be a young 
 man of energy and industry, and one in whom she could place 
 full confidence, and on whose affection for her child she could 
 rely. He was poor, but the widow had managed to save a ^aw 
 dollars, and Carry, before her death, had added a trifle to her 
 mother's scanty earnings, and Lily had saved a trifle more. 
 It was but a small sum, all told, amounting to two hundred 
 dollars, or thereabouts ; but Henry said that a small place 
 could be purchased for that sum, which would at once place 
 them in possession of a little home, which he would purchase 
 in his own'name, and give Mrs. Huson a mortgage upon it. 
 
 And the marriage, as we have seen, took place, and Henry 
 Morse and his young child-wife and his mother-in-law, removed 
 to the new house which Henry had purchased. They had 
 never seen it ; but they had full and perfect confidence in
 
 LILY HUSON. 41 
 
 Henry's integrity. So their little furniture was, after the cere- 
 mony of the wedding, removed to the new homestead. 
 
 The house was situated three miles distant from the abode 
 of the elder Mr. Morse and his wife, and on the evening of the 
 first of May, 1S40, the new proprietors — the widow Huson 
 and the youthful bridegroom and his still more youthful bride 
 — took possession. It was dark when they arrived, and they 
 did not see much of the place that night ; but in the morning 
 they had leisure to satisfy their curiosity. The house was a 
 simple lowly dwelling, containing three rooms on the first floor, 
 with chambers above, and about an acre of garden ground be- 
 longed to it. It was sadly out of repair and unpainted, and 
 what was by no means ornamental, there was a pigsty right in 
 front. However, they set to work with a good will, to make 
 things more comfortable ; the obnoxious pigsty was removed ; 
 Henry busied himself in renovating, as well as he could, the 
 exterior of the dwelling, and the widow and her daughter took 
 the task of the interior decoration upon themselves. Thus, in 
 a week from the date of their removal, things bee;an to look 
 more comfortable. Still Henry had, as yet, notwithstanding 
 he had promised to give the widow a mortgage upon the prop- 
 erty, purchased with her money, only given his note. The 
 house was legally, really his. He was too proud of his young 
 bride, too happy in her society just now, to busy himself with 
 grave matters, and the deed of mortgage laid over. Still, the 
 widow feared not. She had, as we have observed, full and per- 
 fect confidence in his integrity and honesty of purpose. 
 
 But delay after delay occurred, and gradually widow Huson 
 began to -entertain suspicions derogatory to the honor of her 
 son-in-law. Her naturally irritable disposition soon fanned the 
 spark to a flame, and upbraidings followed persuasions, but 
 both were useless, as the young man obstinately refused to 
 give the mortgage. 
 
 In truth, it was a hard thing to bear, even for a woman of 
 the mildest disposition. Tor years the poor forlorn woman
 
 42 LILY HUSON. 
 
 had hoarded up a scanty sum from her poor earnings, in the 
 hope that she might have a home of her own in her old age ; 
 for, alas ! her youth and matronhood had been passed in a per- 
 petual struggle with poverty, and in dependence; and now to 
 find this last hope and all her little savings wrested from her 
 "by him to whom she had given her only daughter, was almost 
 more than she could bear ; more than any one could be expected 
 to bear with equanimity. 
 
 She might have taken the property in her own name, and 
 some blamed her for not having done so ; but her husband, 
 when he fled, had left her all his debts to pay, and she feared, 
 nut without reason, that had she done so, it would have been 
 seized by them. Whom could she trust, if not the husband of 
 her only daughter ? 
 
 Poor Lily ! Hers was indeed a pitiable case. She loved 
 her youthful husband, and had not yet learned to distrust his 
 integrity. She had suffered much from her mother's constitu- 
 tional ill-temper; but she loved her as a girl of generous im- 
 pulses must ever love the author of her being. Now, that 
 mother reproached her with being privy to her husband's dishon- 
 esty of purpose, and she pleads hard with him to satisfy his 
 mother-in-law by giving her the mortgage. Alas ! she pleads 
 in vain ; her husband treats her kindly and listens to her patient- 
 ly, but he listens as he would listen to the prattle of a child; 
 he reminds her of her mother's harshness towards her, and 
 tell-; her that he will break her quarrelsome temper, and bring 
 her to reason, by withholding from her at present the coveted 
 mortgage. 
 
 So matters progressed*, until thing- at length grew so des- 
 perate, that Henry was compelled to leave the house and take 
 his voting wife home to his father's, leaving Mrs. Huson and 
 her son unprovided for and among.:) strangers. A short period 
 after this, Henry Morse lefl his wife at her father-in-law's house, 
 and went to work on the canal, some miles distant. Lily soon 
 returned home to her mother, resolving, during her husband's
 
 LILY HUSON. 43 
 
 absence, to strive to render the widow comfortable, and, if pos- 
 sible, to banish the harsh feelings she entertained towards Henry 
 Morse ; for Lily was in hopes that Henry would earn sufficient 
 money to pay her mother back the money he had expended 
 for the house, and with a wife's trusting love, she still believed 
 that it was Henry's intention to do so. 
 
 Mrs. Huson, excepting at those times when her heart was 
 subdued by affliction, had, as we have repeatedly observed, 
 never treated Lily with the customary tenderness felt by a 
 mother for an only daughter, yet she loved her with all the love 
 that a mother possessing such an unhappy temperament, can 
 feel, and often it is deeper than it seems — as the current may 
 flow rapidly beneath and still leave the surface of the sea un- 
 ruffled. And as to Lily, she truly loved the only parent she 
 had ever known with that strength of love which only natures 
 such as hers are able to feel, and much— very much — was she 
 willing to sacrifice, to conduce to that mother's comfort. Oh ! 
 had the infirmity of temper, which was the original cause of 
 all Mrs. Huson's troubles, been curbed in early youth, how dif- 
 ferent might have been the fortunes of the family ! 
 
 Lily then was once more at her mother's home; her hus- 
 band had been absent, engaged at his new employment about 
 two weeks, when one night, just as the family was about 
 retiring to rest, a rap was heard at the door, of the cottage. 
 It was opened, and Henry Morse entered. In answer to his 
 wife's inquiries after the first greeting was over, he told her,, 
 he had come to take her with him on a canal boat, to the place 
 where he was employed, and that he must be back by day- 
 light in the morning. Notwithstanding all the objections of 
 the mother, the young wife was persuaded by her husband to 
 accompany him to the boat, six or eight miles distant,, and at 
 night ; and when she arrived, she found that Henry was going 
 to Buffalo, and thence to Albany. 
 
 For some time, however, they staid in the neighborhood, 
 and the youth and beauty of Lily occasioned much admiration
 
 44 LILY HUSON. 
 
 amongst her husband's friends. This was a source of annoy- 
 ance, not only to Lily, but to Henry ; and Lily perceiving it, 
 took the opportunity to persuade him to forego his journey 
 and to place her for the time being at his father's house. He 
 consented to this one evening, and they immediately started, 
 but they had not walked far when Lily, to her surprise and 
 grief, discovered that her husband was intoxicated : however, 
 they reached home in safety, and in the morning Henry again 
 returned to his work, his young wife having previously exacted 
 of and obtained from him a promise that he would thencefor- 
 ward shun the inebriating cup. 
 
 Lily remained at the house of her father-in-law until the 
 navigation was closed for the season, when she was joined by 
 her husband. 
 
 As is customary, the balls and festivities of the winter sea- 
 son now commenced, and Lily, in consequence of her youth, 
 beautv, and intelligence, has become the belle of the little 
 town. Envied by her own sex and admired by the opposite 
 sex, her artless simplicity and playful manner rendered her 
 the centre of attraction, and no party in the vicinity was con- 
 sidered complete without she was present. This was a fresh 
 source of annoyance to the husband, who was of a reserved 
 disposition, and constitutionally opposed to gaiety and merri- 
 ment. He unwillingly, however, accompanied her to these 
 parties, and while she was dancing, or conversing gaily with 
 her friends, he would sit and look sullenly and moodily on at 
 the scene ; nor could all her persuasions induce him to join in 
 the festivities. He would surlily reply : 
 
 " I don't dance; I am only waiting to go home." 
 
 " We will soon go, don't look so sorrowful, dear," would be 
 Lily's reply, and in the flow of youthful spirits, thinking of no 
 harm, and not dreaming that she was thus adding fuel to her 
 husband's irritation, she would dance off again to join the gay 
 throng. The playful, unsophisticated child, for she was no 
 more than a child, though a wife, thought it unkind of Henry
 
 LILY HUSON. 45 
 
 to deny her the simple pleasures she delighted in, and to wish 
 her to remain like a staid matron, always at home. 
 
 Henry now again took upon himself the direction of Mrs. 
 Huson's affairs. He persisted in his endeavors to coerce her 
 into submission, as he termed it, and treated Lemuel Lily's 
 brother very harshly, forcing the poor lad to labor beyond his 
 strength. 
 
 We have remarked how fondly Lily was attached to her 
 mother and brother, and this conduct on the part of her youth- 
 ful husband soon led to an estrangement between him and his 
 wife. 
 
 She remonstrated with him on the subject of his behavior, 
 and he soon became angry, telling her that it would be best 
 for them to leave her mother and brother altogether, and 
 promising on that condition, and on that only, to conduct him- 
 self kindly towards her. This was a reply that poor Lily lit- 
 tle expected, when she had exerted herself to become a peace- 
 maker between them, and she thus replied : 
 
 " Henry, you have always been personally kind to me, and 
 mother has at times been harsh ; but she has confided to you 
 her all, in the expectation and on the promise that you would 
 secure to her the mortgage, the dispute respecting which has 
 caused this unhappy difference in the family. This promise 
 you have failed to keep. Now, hear me; pay my mother the 
 money you obtained from her, and locate her where she can 
 maintain herself and my brother, until he is old enough to 
 manage for her. Do this, Henry — let me see that my hus- 
 band is what I believed him to be when I married him, and I 
 am still your wife ; but if you persist in your intention of 
 removing your things from here, and leaving mother in this 
 unsettled state, I shall remain with her. I will say no more ; 
 do as you please." 
 
 Henry did persist, and half-playfully, half-tauntingly, replied 
 to his young wife : 
 
 "You will soon be glad to come after me, Lily."
 
 46 LILY HUSON. 
 
 But he had mistaken her character. He had as yet seen her 
 only as the young and thoughtless girl, whom he fancied he 
 could mould to his will, and whose mind he could sway as he 
 pleased ; but he was mistaken in his judgment. 
 
 Lily, amidst all her thoughtless gaiety, had firm principles, 
 and deep feelings. She had learnt by brief yet painful 
 experience, that her husband did iiot possess those principles 
 of integrity and honor, without which no man can retain the 
 respect of a wife, and when respect was gone, the childish love 
 she had borne him fled with it. 
 
 Henry left the house, but remained in the neighborhood, 
 and was continually importuning Lily to quit her mother's 
 residence, and come and live with him. But this she stead- 
 fastly refused to do, reminding him of what she had told him 
 when they parted. 
 
 Shortly after this, Mrs. Huson received an offer to become 
 housekeeper to a gentleman who had lately come to reside in 
 the neighborhood, he promising to allow the widow to bring 
 her son with her ; and Henry Morse hearing of this, again 
 renewed his solicitations to his wife to return home with him, 
 and to let her mother and brother accept the offer that had 
 been made them. 
 
 Lily still refused, unless he promised to deal justly by her 
 mother, saying : 
 
 " No, Henry, I will labor with and for my mother, until you 
 have acted as I have said ; then, and not till then, will I return 
 to you as your wife." 
 
 The result was, that the widow and her son accepted the 
 offer of Mr. Jennings, the gentleman alluded to, and Lily pro- 
 cured another and a similar situation elsewhere. Henry Morse 
 took up his abode by himself in the widow r 's cottage, the fur- 
 niture having been stored away in one room, by Mrs. Huson, 
 before she removed. 
 
 In the spring, when the wife of Mr. Jennings returned home 
 from one of the New England States, where she had been pay-
 
 LILY HUSON 47 
 
 ing a long visit, the widow and her son returned to their own 
 home, hut Henry refused to allow her to remain there unless 
 she paid him rent for the cottage. 
 
 This she refused to do, and made preparations to move to a 
 village, about ten miles distant, to the residence of some friends, 
 with whom she had become acquainted during her residence ai 
 Mr. Jenkins', meanwhile taking up her temporary residence 
 at Mrs. Harvey's, where her daughter, Lily, had been for some 
 time employed, and where she expected to remain, since the 
 family had been very kind to her. 
 
 An incident occurred at this period, which will serve to show 
 the character of Henry Morse in another unfavorable and un- 
 manly light. 
 
 Mrs. Huson was seated one day beside her daughter, in a 
 room in Mrs. Harvey's house, when they were surprised by 
 the entrance of a man, whom they recognized as the constable, 
 into "the room. 
 
 " You must come with me, ma'am," he said, addressing Mrs. 
 Huson, " and you, Mrs. Morse, are subpoenaed as a witness." 
 
 " For what must I go with you 1 " exclaimed the startled 
 widow. "What is the meaning of this?" 
 
 " I know not," was the reply — " some trifle, I dare say, easily 
 to be explained ; but you can come quietly, and no one will 
 observe you." 
 
 The widow and her daughter, scarcely knowing what they 
 were doing, followed the constable, without speaking a word 
 to the court, where, to their surprise and horror, they dis- 
 covered that the widow was charged by Henry Morse with 
 having stolen a watch from him. He swore to the facts, and 
 the unfortunate and unhappy woman was committed for trial. 
 
 The trial duly came on, and upon the plea of " Not guilty," 
 having been given in by Mrs. Huson, who still was ignorant 
 of the nature of the charge against her, the following statement 
 was made by the prosecutor : 
 
 " A watch," said he, " has been stolen from a drawer in my
 
 4S LILY HUSON. 
 
 father's house, and I have found it amongst the effects of the 
 widow Huson, which are now stored in my house. It must 
 have been stolen by her while she was on a visit some time 
 since to her daughter, (my wife,) the witness here present, -at 
 my father's house, where we were then residing. For this 
 reason I have brought the present charge." 
 
 Lily was called as a witness, and proved to have seen the 
 watch in her husband's possession, but she knew nothing 
 further of the matter. 
 
 The widow was asked by the judge to explain the fact of the 
 watch having been found amongst her effects, in her son-in- 
 law's house. 
 
 She stated in effect as follows : 
 
 " Lemuel Huson, my son, previously to the marriage of my 
 daughter Lily to Henry Morse, became possessed by purchase 
 or by trading of a watch. When Henry Morse proposed to 
 purchase the house in which he now lives, I obtained the watch 
 from Lemuel, and asked him to try and sell it, as we should 
 need all the money we could raise at this juncture. He took 
 the watch, but instead of selling it, he traded it for another 
 one, paying the difference in value. He told me of what ho 
 had done, but gave me nothing in return for my son's watch. 
 At the time nothing was said about it ; but after Lily's mar- 
 riage, when I had had sufficient reason to distrust the integrity 
 of my son-in-law's principles, I took the watch which he had 
 obtained from my son out of a draw in Lily's room, at her 
 father-in-law's house, while I was there on a visit, and brought 
 it home with me. I carried the watch home with me, saying 
 nothing about it at the time to Lily, but telling the Morse fam- 
 ily what I had done. They also were silent upon the subject. 
 I consider the watch as mine, and as only a portion of the pro- 
 perty which my son-in-law has despoiled me of." 
 
 Lily was again called to the stand. 
 
 " Did you know that your husband's watch was missing ?" 
 asked the counsel.
 
 LILY HUSON. 49 
 
 " Yes," replied Lily ; " and I asked him where it was. He 
 replied that he had sold it." 
 
 Lily was again requested to stand down, and the prosecutor 
 was asked how he came into possession of the watch, as Mrs. 
 Huson had said she had locked it in a trunk. 
 
 He confessed to having broken open the trunk for the express 
 purpose of getting it into his possession. 
 
 The judge summed up, remarking in strong -terms upon the 
 atrocity of the prosecutor's conduct, and the jury, without re- 
 tiring, acquitted the widow of the slightest felonious intention. 
 
 Shortly after the trial, at which her innocence was so com- 
 pletely established, the widow with her son removed to the 
 place already spoken of, and Lily continued with her friends 
 the Harveys. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Huson struggled hard against poverty and want, 
 and barely managed to live ; arid feeling lonely without her 
 daughter, she sent for her to rejoin her. 
 
 Lily promptly complied with her mother's request, and 
 leaving Mrs. Harvey's house, she remained a few days with 
 the widow, and then obtained a situation amongst strangers, it 
 is true, but still near her mother. 
 
 Here again she was kindly treated, for her gentle and en- 
 gaging disposition procured her warm friends wdierever she 
 went. The family consisted of the husband, wife, and three 
 children, and Lily still more endeared herself to the family in 
 consequence of having, at the risk of her own life, saved the 
 life of the youngest child, a little girl of two years old, who 
 narrowly escaped drowning through having fallen into a cistern 
 whilst playing with her sister and brother, but a short time 
 after Lily had joined the family. She was thenceforward re- 
 garded by the grateful parents as the preserver of their child. 
 
 The widow Huson, amidst all her trials, could not repress 
 
 her longing for a home of her own, however humble it might be, 
 
 and in the autumn of the same year she and her daughter went 
 
 on a short journey of six miles, to examine a small homestead 
 
 3
 
 50 LILY HUSON. 
 
 which was offered for sale for a mere trifle. Thirty dollars, which 
 was the amount of Lily's savings at the period of her marriage, 
 had been saved from the grasp of Henry Morse, having been 
 reserved by the widow for any incidental expenses that might 
 arise after the purchase of the home she fondly hoped would 
 have been her own. With other savings added to this, she 
 hoped to be enabled to raise the amount of fifty dollars, and 
 for this sum in present payment she thought she could purchase 
 the place, which was only valued at one hundred dollars — five 
 years being allowed to pay the remaining fifty dollars in. The 
 house, as may well be imagined, was small ; but there was a 
 large garden attached, and some good fruit trees. The place 
 was secured, and the family removed thither, and for a time 
 were more comfortable. The widow took in washing and sew- 
 ing, and Lily was most of the time employed away from home. 
 Lemuel, too, by this time, was able to find many little things 
 to do, which helped towards the support of the family. 
 
 A poor and beautiful female is subjected to many annoyan- 
 ces and temptations, and Lily was not without her share. 
 Wherever she went, her surpassing loveliness of form and fea 
 ture gained her numerous, and often importunate admirers. 
 Among these was one whom, perhaps, had she been otherwise 
 situated, she might have looked upon with favor, for he was 
 alike unexceptionable in character and in personal appearance; 
 but though Lily had left her husband in eonsecmence of his vile 
 treatment of her mother, she knew she was a married woman, 
 and this she frankly told to all who persecuted her with their 
 well-meant but importunate attentions. The esteem of a friend 
 was all she had it in her power to give, and this esteem she 
 willingly bestowed upon all who were worthy of it. 
 
 But there were other suitors for Lily's affections — suitors 
 who may be found in all societies, but who should be scouted 
 by humanity. The winning manners and the beauty of the 
 widowed-wife, as we may term her, attracted the licentious gaze 
 of many of those vile creatures who are ever on the watch to
 
 LILY HUSON. 51 
 
 destroy the innocence of youth. Amongst the most prominent 
 of these was a wealthy merchant, in whose family Lily had 
 been employed. Long and uhflaggingly he practised his 
 abominable arts to win the lovely young woman's smiles ; and 
 at length she suffers so deeply from these persecutions that .she 
 fears even an earnest look. 
 
 She determined to endure the conduct of this man no longer, 
 but to seek her home again, and begged the wife of the mer- 
 chant, whose name we will call Taylor, to allow the hired man 
 to drive her home to her mother's house, making a plausible 
 excuse ; but, of course, unwilling to state the true reason of 
 her desire to return home, to Mrs. Taylor. The lady endeav- 
 ored to persuade her to stay, and offered her more wages, but 
 she would not be prevailed upon, and the escort she sought was 
 promised to her. Mr. Taylor, however, suddenly found out 
 that he had business near Mrs. Huson's house, and to Lily's 
 astonishment, she found that he, instead of the servant, had 
 taken his seat in the vehicle. For fear of creating unpleasant 
 suspicions in the mind of the merchants wife, she could make 
 no plausible objection to this unexpected arrangement, on her 
 part, and she set out for home in the company of her vile per- 
 secutor, compelled, during the whole ride, to listen to his flat- 
 tering promises and his specious pretexts to render her the vic- 
 tim of his base passions. 
 
 Among other devices, her would-be seducer from the path 
 of rectitude drove her by a circuitous route — for it was but 
 four miles from the merchant's house to her mother's cottaee— 
 and when it was nearly dark, he suddenly pulled up near the 
 entrance to a wood, and offered violence to induce the poor 
 girl to submit to his villanous desires. Lily, with great pre- 
 sence of mind, seized the reins of the horses, and caused them 
 to start and the scoundrel to release his hold of her ; he en- 
 deavored to stop them again ; but, fortunately, at this moment 
 a second vehicle appeared in sight, and his intended victim told 
 him that unless he took her immediately home, she would make
 
 52 LILY HUSO N. 
 
 D 
 
 his conduct known, and ask assistance of those who were_ ap- 
 proaching. Guilt is ever cowardly ; the scoundrel desisted, 
 merely saying : 
 
 " You will regret, by-and-by, that you did not comply with 
 my recjuests." 
 
 " Never," retorted Lily, " and I charge you to cease your 
 persecutions. I am no longer a child, and my honor shall nev- 
 er be bartered for gold, or all the baubles you can present me 
 with, or the flattery — fulsome and disgusting — that you pour 
 into my ears. I have been unfortunate in marriage — circum- 
 stances have compelled me to leave my husband, but I will not 
 be trifled with, sir. I have no wish to injure you ; but you 
 must cease your persecutions, or I shall use the power I pos- 
 sess. You have a good wife, and a fine family. It is them I 
 should injure most, and fear to injure by exposing you ; for 
 you have this day shown yourself unworthy of consideration. 
 I am now at the door of my mother's house. It is a humble 
 home to which you have brought me ; but you have kept your 
 promise, and for that I thank you. I will not stop to ask the proud 
 and wealthy merchant who seeks to rob the poor of that virtue 
 that is more priceless than gold, to enter the abode of poverty. 
 You have insulted me by telling me it is my own fault that we 
 live thus ; for you know that, at present, it is only by accept- 
 ing the offers of such as you, that my situation can be changed ; 
 but if life be spared me, I trust one day to improve my condi- 
 tion by my own exertions." 
 
 " I wish you may succeed," was the sneering interruption of 
 this bad man, as Lily bounded from the vehicle and entered 
 the door of her mother's cottage. 
 
 He did not, however, cease his persecutions ; but for several 
 years laid every snare to entrap Lily, and even sought to bribe 
 the widow to aid him in his evil designs ; but she forbade him 
 her house. Vengeance, however, overtook him, even in this 
 world ; for shortly after this his business affairs, in consequence
 
 LILY HUSON. 53 
 
 of some over-speculations, fell into decay, and he speedily be- 
 came as poor as she whom he had insulted with the grossest 
 insults in the power of man to offer to unprotected female vir- 
 tue, and fled with his family beyond the reach of his creditors 
 -»-whither, it was never discovered.
 
 54 LILY HUSON, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 lily's husband seeks to deprive her mother of her hard- 
 earned SAVINGS, AND FOR A TIME SUCCEEDS THE FOX 
 
 CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP NEW CHARACTERS INTRODUCED — ■ 
 
 PERSECUTORS AND BENEFACTORS CONTRASTED. 
 
 The widow Huson, lonesome in -her new home, so far dis- 
 tant from all her friends and acquaintance?, at length made 
 up her mind to dispose of it again to the landlord, and to re- 
 turn to , the scene o? her girlhood and early married 
 
 life ; for great as her trials had been there, they had been still 
 greater, she thought, since she had left it ; besides, she had a 
 brother there, and her heart yearned towards her kindred. The 
 transfer was effected, and the widow returned and called upon 
 her brother, to whom she told her troubles and trials, and 
 begged him to allow her to live in one of his houses, promising 
 to work for him to pay the rent. 
 
 But her brother's wife overheard this conversation. She had 
 always been unfriendly with Mrs. Huson, and she rushed into 
 the store, bidding her husband to refuse his sister's request ; 
 even using violent language, and offering threats towards Mrs. 
 
 Huson, if she dared return and take up her abode in 
 
 again, especially in one of her husband's houses. 
 
 Mr. Nelson, however, coolly ordered his wife to leave the 
 store and attend to her own business, adding that he was per- 
 fectly able to attend to his own without her advice or assist- 
 ance. Then addressing his sister, he said :
 
 LILY HUSON. 55 
 
 " You see the enmity my wife bears towards you ; but 1 will 
 assist you as far as I can. Fur the present, perhaps, you had 
 better find lodgings with some other person, and when I have 
 a house empty, I will give it you to reside in. In the mean 
 time," he continued, giving her a small sum of money, " it 
 will be unpleasant to you to remain here. You had better 
 procure lodgings to-night at the tavern, and to-morrow you can 
 look about you." 
 
 The widow left the house disheartened by the conduct of her 
 sister-in-law, who bore the character of an exemplary woman, 
 and yet who had treated in this cruel manner a woman, and 
 that Woman a sister in distress. Her husband's intemperate 
 habits may have annoyed her, and her sister's ill temper may 
 have disgusted her ; but all this was no excuse for her be- 
 havior. 
 
 The widow, however, settled in the little town, and, by the 
 advice of her friends, commenced a suit against her son-in-law, 
 to recover the money she had loaned him. He had given her 
 his note before he had attained his majority, and before pro- 
 ceedings could be instituted against him, it was necessary that 
 he should acknowledge, before witnesses, the fact of his having 
 given the note. 
 
 lie was at this period in employment in the neighborhood, 
 and the gentleman by wham he was employed, who commis- 
 erated the sufferings of the widow, persuaded Lily to meet 
 her husband at his house, and endeavor, without betraying her 
 purpose, to cause him to acknowledge the debt. 
 
 An interview was arranged, when several persons were pre- 
 sent besides Lily and her husband. Some casual remarks 
 were passed, when Lily suddenly asked her husband, who was 
 still anxious that she should return to his home, how he pros- 
 pered in business. 
 
 " Famously," he replied : " I am laying by money every 
 day." 
 
 "Then, Henry," said Lily, "if you are doing so very well,
 
 56 LILYHUSON. 
 
 which I am happy to hear, can you not pay the note which you 
 gave mother, when she lent you the money to purchase your 
 house with, aud in which your parents are. now residing 1 ?" 
 
 " I intend to pay the note some day," he testily replied, " but 
 I will not be hurried." 
 
 " Yet you were glad to hurry some matters, Henry," an- 
 swered Lily, " although you have had abundance of leisure to 
 repent." 
 
 Various other conversation ensued ; but the object of the 
 interview was gained ; Henry Morse had acknowledged before 
 several witnesses that he had given his note to Mrs. Huson. 
 
 The matter was promptly proceeded with, and the widow 
 obtained judgment in her favor, and Henry Morse was com- 
 pelled to give her the title-deeds of his homestead, which she 
 soon afterwards sold. 
 
 Months passed away, and nothing occurred worth recording. 
 Lily was still exposed, partly in consequence of her ap- 
 pearance and manners, so superior to the generality of those 
 with whom she mingled, to the temptations and annoyances 
 that young, beautiful, but poor young women are. exposed to, 
 although in her peculiar case these annoyances and persecutions, 
 as they may well be termed, arose partly, perhaps, out of the 
 general knowledge of the fact of her youthful marriage and 
 her having been compelled to part from her husband, while 
 still a mere girl. Even pretended friends sought to undermine 
 her pure principles, and to aid the wealthy and dissolute in 
 their conspiracies to effect her ruin ; but the Being who had 
 implanted these principles in her breast, watched over her and 
 preserved her from becoming a victim to the vile purposes of 
 her tempters. And in some instances, even these were com- 
 pelled to admire the firmness which withstood temptation, and 
 to become subsequently her best friends. 
 
 At length, however, Mrs. Huson was attacked with sickness ; 
 a severe erysipelas confined her to her bed, and Lily was com- 
 pelled to quit her situation to attend to her mother. The dis-
 
 LILY HUSON. 57 
 
 case lingered long, find when Mrs. Huson began to recover, she 
 found that the other expenses incurred during her illness, be- 
 sides the doctor's bill, amounted to so large a sum that she 
 was compelled to quit the house in which she had been resid- 
 ing, and to look out for a smaller house of less rent. 
 
 To the astonishment of the widow, who could not immediately 
 find a place to suit her, shelter was offered her by a woman 
 named Corwin, who had formerly been friendly, but who had 
 quarrelled with her some time before, and who, although the 
 widow was anxious to forget past differences, had up to this 
 moment shown no symptoms of reconciliation. 
 
 The offer was accepted from necessity, and soon the cause of 
 this seeming kindness became apparent. The object of Mrs. 
 Corwin was to introduce to Lily a young man of the name of 
 Lovejoy, who had long been enamored of the young woman's 
 beaut}', and who had bribed this false-hearted woman to assist 
 him in his nefarious designs. He was introduced by Mrs. 
 Corwin as a young man of good prospects, who was desirous 
 of making himself agreeable to Lily ; and although the beau- 
 tiful young woman endeavored at once to show that she could 
 only receive and converse with him as a friend, no opportunity, 
 of course, occurred in this interview for her to express her 
 opinions, or to explain herself more freely. The conversation 
 of Lovejoy was lively, and the evening passed pleasantly 
 enough, neither the widow or her daughter dreaming of harm, 
 or of the insidious designs of the visitor. But when about to 
 take his departure, he boldly took her hand and endeavored to 
 kiss her. Lily indignantly repulsed him, and rising from her 
 seat, immediately retired from the room with her mother. 
 Soon after, the young man left the house. 
 
 The following morning, Mrs. Corwin endeavored to make 
 some excuses for her visitor's conduct, which she endeavored 
 to palliate by observing to Lily : 
 
 " Mr. Lovejoy will be a great catch for whoever obtains him, 
 for a husband, and he is enamored of you, Lily." 
 
 <3#
 
 53 LILY HUSON. 
 
 • " As I presume, from his behavior, he is with every lady 
 whom chance throws in his way," replied Lily. 
 
 The conversation ceased, Lily having expressed her intention 
 of not seeing Mr. Lovejoy again. 
 
 Shortly after this occurrence, Mrs. Huson removed into one 
 of her brother's houses, where she resided two years in com- 
 parative peace and comfort. 
 
 Not so, however, with Lily ; Lovejoy, with three of his as- 
 sociates, subjected her to continual annoyance. One or the 
 other of them was sure to meet her or overtake her whenever 
 she left the house. Lovejoy had personally apologized to her 
 mother and herself for his rudeness on the first evening of their 
 meeting, and, under the circumstances, his apology had been 
 accepted, and his visits to Mrs. Huson's house had been per- 
 mitted. He called and conversed, and offered, as Lily was 
 find of reading, to bring her books, which otherwise she would 
 not have been able to have procured. Rarely, when the young 
 men would call together, the conversation would assume a 
 rather looser tone than Lily would listen to quietly, but she 
 would show her displeasure by a simple remark, that would 
 have the effect of at once checking the conversation and restor- 
 ing it to a better tone. By degrees, these young men either 
 became convinced of the folly of attempting to undermine the 
 purity of Lily's character, or felt that they were acting wrong- 
 fully. Innocence had triumphed over her enemies, and Lily 
 Morse was left in peace. 
 
 At the expiration of the two years mentioned above, Mrs. 
 Huson again broke up housekeeping, having been sent for by 
 her oldest brother, to keep house for him, he being a widower; 
 but she had not long resided with him before they became dis- 
 satisfied with each other, and she was persuaded by her brother 
 to accept an offer of marriage which had been made her by 
 a neighbor, the news of her husband's death having reached her 
 some time before. 
 
 The marriage took place. Mrs. Huson removed from the
 
 LILY HU SON. 59 
 
 house of her brother to that of her husband, and the widower 
 went to reside with his children. 
 
 Lily having taken pains to learn the art of tailoring, as soon 
 as she had perfected herself in it, returned to her native vil- 
 lage, her brother being employed upon a neighboring farm. 
 Instead, however, of seeking employment at the business she 
 had learnt, which she found it would be difficult to obtain. 
 Lily again went into the family of a stranger, to assist in the 
 household duties. Here she remained, until she found herself 
 here as much an object of persecution, and in a similar way, as 
 she had been at Mr. Taylor's ; therefore, she resolved upon 
 quitting the place, greatly to the regret of Mrs- Taylor, who 
 was ignorant of the evil designs of her husband, and who had 
 become attached to Lily, in consequence of her kindness to and 
 faithful attendance upon a child whom she had lost by death. 
 
 Lily thanked her for her kindness, and bade her farewell as 
 she got into the stage, which was waiting at the door, to carrv 
 her to the residence of her mother. 
 
 She remained here but a few weeks, and then returned 
 
 to , where she rented a small room, with a family, and 
 
 took in needlework-, until the season for such work grew dull, 
 when she went to spend a few weeks with a friend in the coun- 
 try. There, on the shore of a beautiful lake, in the compan- 
 ionship of her warm-hearted friends, and gratified with visits 
 from her brother on Sundays, she experienced more satisfac- 
 tion, more real happiness, than she had known since the days 
 of her childhood. There she could have wished to have hid 
 den herself forever from the trouble and turmoil and strife of 
 an unfeeling world ; but this earth is but a pilgrimage — there 
 is no rest on this side of the grave ; and after a few weeks' 
 residence in this happy spot, she was sent for by her uncle, 
 Nelson, to stay with him and manage the household matters, 
 whilst his wife was absent on a visit to their children, who 
 were married, and had gone to reside out West. 
 
 Lily remained with her uncle until the winter, having
 
 GO LILY HUSON. 
 
 nothing particular to trouble her, except that her mother was 
 growing old and feeble, found herself obliged to labor for 
 several children, whom her second husband brought home after 
 his marriage. The marriage was not a happy one any more 
 than the first. William Young, the husband, was of a roving, 
 unsettled disposition, fond of moving from place to place, and 
 is as irritable in temper as the widow Huson herself, or as we 
 should now rather say, as Mrs. Young, his wife. She missed, 
 likewise, the society of her children, and still hankers after a 
 homestead, where they can all live together. 
 
 At the request of her mother, Lily made inquiries for such 
 a place as they could purchase, at a land office, kept by an 
 intimate friend of her uncle's, with whom she had a slight 
 acquaintance, but there was nothing suitable to be heard of at 
 the time, though the agent kindly offered to keep a look-out 
 for any chance opportunity that might occur. Lily also spoke 
 to Mr. Edgar, one of the magistrates, who had been present at 
 the trial respecting the watch, who had ever since been a kind 
 friend to the widow and her family. It was he who had reco- 
 vered the money from Henry Morse, and had sold the property 
 afterwards for the benefit of the widow. Mr. Edgar observed 
 that he did know of a place which would shortly be sold at 
 mortgage, by the sheriff, and he promised to get it for her, as 
 the man who held the mortgage would bid it off at the sale. 
 
 Lemuel -went clown to see the place, and gave a good report 
 of it to his mother. It was three months, however, before the 
 sale was com]">leted. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lily's aunt had returned home, and she was 
 therefore required no longer. She was anxious to go to her 
 mother's ; but before she could leave the place, she insisted to 
 pay a small debt she had unavoidably contracted, and which 
 she had not then the means to pay, and at the same time retain 
 a sufficient sum to pay her necessary expenses in going to her 
 friends. 
 
 She knew she could not get the money from her uncle ; but
 
 LILY HU SON. 61 
 
 while doubtful how to act, she met one evening with Mr. 
 Friendly, the land agent, heretofore spoken of. He wished 
 her good evening, and walked a short distance with her. Sud- 
 denly the thought occurred to her — " He may lend me the 
 money I need ; I will ask him." She did so, and he desired 
 her to accompany him to his office, and he would lend her the 
 amount she required, with pleasure. 
 
 " I will pay it as soon as I can," said Lily, as he placed it 
 in her hand; "but I know not how long that will be." 
 
 " Make yourself easy upon that point," answered Mr. 
 Friendly, "and put yourself to no inconvenience to repay me. 
 I am happy in being able to serve you, and at all times you 
 may command me fearlessly. I have learned your history, 
 and am acquainted with your friends. Your brother Lemuel, 
 too, has lived with my brother-in-law ; he is an honest, indus- 
 trious boy. I have witnessed your exertions, and consider 
 your conduct highly honorable. I will always be your friend, 
 so far as it lies in my po\vei\" 
 
 Lily spoke of the place Mr. Edgar had mentioned to her. 
 
 " I know the place," replied Mr. Friendly ; " I think, too, it 
 is just the place to suit you. I will watch over the sale in 
 your behalf." 
 
 Lily expressed her deep obligations to him, and expressing 
 a hope that she would some day be able to repay his disin- 
 terested kindness. She wished him "good night" at the door 
 
 of her uncle's house, and the. following day left C , for the 
 
 residence of her mother and friends.
 
 G2 LILYHUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LILY TO HER GREAT SURPRISE MEETS, AT THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND, 
 WITH A FEMALE, WHOM HER HUSBAND HAS SECRETLY MARRIED 
 LILY'S INTERVIEW WITH HER HUSBAND THE DIVORCE AP- 
 PLIED FOR AND GAINED. 
 
 We now open upon another episode of Lily Morse's history. 
 We observed, in the last chapter, that she had gone on a visit 
 
 to her friends in the country, some distance from C . She 
 
 spent her time sometimes at the residence of one friend, some- 
 times at that of another ; and while visiting at the house of 
 Mrs. Harvey, she was surprised one Sabbath morning by the 
 visit of her husband to this lady. He brought with him a 
 lady and an infant, whom he introduced as his wife and child ; 
 then, inviting Morris Harvey, a son of the people whom. Lily 
 was visiting, to ride with him, he left the female and the child 
 with Mrs. Harvey. 
 
 In a few minutes, Mrs. Harvey entered the room where her 
 daughter Eva and Lily were sitting, arrayed for church, and 
 requested them to remain at home, mentioning that she had 
 visitors in the, parlor. The young women accompanied Mrs. 
 Harvey into the room where the lady and child were sitting, 
 and there, to the utter astonishment of Lily, she was introduced 
 to Mrs. Morse as a lady professing to be the wife of her hus- 
 band, and the mother of her husband's child. Of course Lily 
 was greatly affected, but she restrained her emotion, and with 
 out entering into any explanations, she surveyed her rival with
 
 LILY HU SON. 63 
 
 «i keen eye, made some attempts at conversation, but failed, 
 naturally enough, and then rose abruptly, and quitted the 
 room. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Mrs. Harvey and her daughter followed, 
 and made some remarks upon the embarrassment in which 
 their visitor must necessarily find herself. 
 
 It appeared that after Lily had quitted the room, her visitor 
 had asked what was that young lady's name. 
 
 "I generally call her Iluson," replied Mrs. Harvey, "but I 
 suppose her name really is Morse." 
 
 " She is a fine-looking young woman," continued the visitor. 
 
 "Yes," responded Mrs. Harvey, "and she is everything she 
 looks. We look upon her as one of our own children, and 
 wish we could always keep her with us." 
 
 Lily was perfectly aware of the uneasiness that her presence 
 i;i the house must cause to the unfortunate visitor, under the 
 strange circumstances, and believing that the poor woman was 
 to be pitied rather than blamed, she returned to the room where 
 she was sitting, and attempted again to enter into friendly con- 
 versation with her. 
 
 Nothing had been said of the relation which they held to- 
 wards each other, but the poor woman trembled excessively, 
 and looked frequently and anxiously towards the window, as 
 though watching for her husband to return. 
 
 Lily found it necessary again to quit the room, and to leave 
 the stranger for Mrs. Harvey to entertain. As soon, however, 
 as she saw her husband approaching, she rose, and went to the 
 gate to meet him. Lily also met Henry at the gate, and re- 
 quested him to come into the house. He was much discon- 
 certed, but dared not refuse; and telling the female he had 
 brought with him to come in with him, they entered the house 
 together. 
 
 Lily took Henry aside : 
 
 " Henry Morse," said she, " when I was but a little child 
 you wooed me for your bride. I thought and acted as a child,
 
 64 LILY HUSON. 
 
 You married me, but treated me as a mere toy, and neglected 
 and deceived my mother, who, for her daughter's sake, had en- 
 trusted you with her all. We parted ; why, you already know. 
 1 have since then labored hard to support myself respectably, 
 and have suffered much from the unhappy circumstances in 
 which I was placed, in consequence of our separation, which 
 led to a variety of persecutions and annoyances, such as I need 
 not describe. I have watched with a longing eye, in the hope 
 of seeing you become an honest man from principle, not from 
 necessity ; not that I loved you as a husband should be loved 
 by his wife ; but simply because we are commanded to love 
 one another, and because I had taken those vows at the altar 
 which I dared not break. 
 
 " I have heard before now that you had unlawfully married 
 another. This was merely report. I perhaps should never 
 have known the truth had you not come here to-day. You 
 knew that the members of this family w r ere friends of mine, 
 and by coming here in your situation, they knowing that you 
 have another wife living, you have insulted them — have 
 hurt their dignity, and have cruelly insulted me. Henry, 
 I shall apply for a bill of divorce. The proof which will allow 
 me to obtain this, is now in this house. Your child Henry, by 
 one you have no right to call your wife, is now here, seated on 
 his mother's lap. 
 
 " F have many times refused to follow the earnest advice of 
 my friends by applying for a divorce ; but now my duty to 
 myself and to the woman you call wife demands that I take 
 this course. I shall immediately proceed in this matter. Have 
 you any objection to urge?" 
 
 " No," answered Henry Morse, considerably crestfallen. " 1 
 shall not oppose the proceedings." 
 
 The conversation was dropped, and on the following morn- 
 ing Lily sent for her friend, Mr. Edgar, and upon his arrival 
 told him of her determination. 
 
 He tried to put it off, but Lily firmly refused to permit of
 
 LILY HUSON. G5 
 
 any delay, and told him that if he found any delicacy in acting 
 for her in the matter, she should, however unwillingly, apply 
 to some one else. 
 
 Mr. Edgar at length promised to consult with a lawyer and 
 superintend the matter for her, and in the spring she obtained 
 a bill releasing her from her husband. 
 
 As she was not yet twenty-one years of age, Mr. Harvey be- 
 came her guardian, and acted for her during the transaction of 
 this business ; and thus, at this early age, she found herself re- 
 leased from all obligations to one who had proved himself 
 utterly unworthy of her. 
 
 Shortly after she had obtained the bill of divorce, Mrs. 
 Young wrote for her to return home and claim the furniture, 
 adding that her husband had insulted her and Lemuel, and re- 
 fused to allow the furniture to be moved. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was absent for several days, therefore Lily was 
 obliged to act for herself, and without counsel she first went to 
 the family who resided in the house her mother was about to 
 purchase, and requested the privilege of occupying a part of 
 it to place some furniture in. The sale had actually taken 
 place, and it was understood that Lemuel Huson was to have 
 it as soon as the family who had rented it could conveniently 
 remove. They consented to give up the front part the next 
 morning, and then Lily left at daybreak in a wagon owned by 
 a colored boy — he being the only person she could employ — for 
 her mother's residence, a distance of sixty miles from the new 
 abode. Nevertheless, Lily did not rest until she had reached her 
 mother's residence. It was about three o'clock on the morning 
 following that on which they started, before she arrived there, 
 thy only having stopped now and then for a fewminutes on their 
 way to feed the horses. When Mr. Young saw Lily, he was 
 greatly surprised, notwithstanding he knew that her mother had 
 scut for her. However, he made no resistance when she ordered 
 the best of her furniture to be put up. It was soon packed, and 
 the horses having rested, they were ready to start on their
 
 66 LILY HUSON. 
 
 return at nine o'clock. Mr. Young remained behind to settle 
 matters, and was to rejoin his wife at her new home at his 
 leisure. The journey back occupied three days, for heavy snow 
 had fallen, and the roads were bad ; besides, the wagon was 
 heavily loaded with the furniture. 
 
 When they reached the place of their destination, Mrs. Har- 
 vey told Lily that the solicitor had been to see her during her 
 absence, and had expressed a desire to see her at his office as 
 soon as she returned. Accordingly she called to see him, and 
 requested to know for what purpose he wanted her. 
 
 "For nothing in particular," he replied ; "I thought I would 
 like to converse with you, and not finding you at home, I left 
 word for you to call upon me." 
 
 " I have employed Mr. Edgar to manage my affairs for me," 
 answered Lily, " and he told me it was unnecessary fur me to 
 do anything further in the matter until he returned." 
 
 Meanwhile the lawyer had taken a seat beside Lily, and re- 
 quested her to listen to him, 
 
 '■ I have not sent for you on business," he continued : " I was 
 pleased with your appearance the first time I saw you, and wil- 
 lingly engaged in your business, in the hope that I might ob- 
 tain a more intimate acquaintance with you. Several times 
 have I called upon you at the house of your friends, but you 
 have either avoided me or your friends have been present, and 
 1 could not get an opportunity to converse with you. There- 
 fore have I invited you here, and I thank you for coming. Mrs. 
 Morse, you so strongly resemble one whom I once loved, that 
 1 imagine I am in her presence and listening to her voice, when 
 I am in conversation with yon. Will you," attempting to take 
 her hand, ' : will you favor me by accompaning me in a sleigh- 
 ride to , and you will make me one of the happiest of 
 
 men." 
 
 As the lawyer finished speaking, and before Lily could re- 
 ply, the step of some one ascending the stairs was heard. 
 The lawyer rose hastily and went to the door, as Lily feared,
 
 LILY HUSON. 67 
 
 intending to lock it, and not allow any one to enter. She 
 desired him to leave the door unlocked, and at the same time 
 rose from her chair and went to one of the windows. The 
 lawyer left the door open, and the stranger entered, and at the 
 same moment she heard something drop upon the floor. It 
 was a knife with which the lawyer had vainly attempted to 
 secure the lock. The stranger merely spoke a few words to 
 the lawyer on business, and left the office. The lawyer then 
 again approached Lily, and recommenced speaking of the 
 sleigh-ride. Lily simply replied that she did not ride with 
 strangers, and as he had unwittin<dv to herself made her a par- 
 ticipant in the shameful act of the morning, she wished no fur- 
 ther conversation with him upon any subject. " Mr. Edgar,"' 
 she added, " would manage all her business with him for her." 
 
 She then left, without further conversation upon the subject 
 occurring then or afterwards; but the lawyer called once upon 
 her mother, to see her again, but she was absent. 
 
 The stranger, however, who had entered the room while she 
 was in conversation with the lawyer, had observed the knife 
 drop from the latch of the door, and this he mentioned to 
 others, which gave rise to other reports of scandal regarding 
 
 the unfortunate Lily's too great intimacy with Mr. , the 
 
 lawyer. It seemed as though fate had willed that the poor and ' 
 lonely girl should be continually subjected to scorn and to 
 false representations, however much she strove to bear herself 
 circumspectly.
 
 68 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TROUBLES AND PERSECUTIONS MR. FRIENDLY SHOWS HIMSELF TO 
 
 BE INDEED A FRIEND MRS. HUSON HEARS THAT HER HUSBAND 
 
 HAS DIED, AND MARRIES AGAIN, THROUGH THE PERSUASIONS OF 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 We will now return to Lily's home affairs, and see how 
 matters progressed there. Mr. Edgar had made out all the 
 papers, and had seen that all respecting the ownership was 
 perfectly secure, and Lemuel Huson had, at the age of seven- 
 teen, become proprietor of a place, which would, when all was 
 paid for, cost him five hundred dollars. Through the industry 
 and economy of the family, they had been enabled to make a 
 payment of two hundred and fifty dollars, and three years had 
 been allowed to pay the remainder in. Meanwhile, Lemuel 
 had hired out to a farmer for eight months, at the wages of 
 eleven dollars a month, and Lily, by taking in sewing, and 
 with the help of the garden, was enabled to support the family 
 and to furnish the little tenement comfortably. Her mother's 
 husband was, at this time, occasionally with them, but the 
 greater portion of his time he spent with his children. 
 
 The beauty and gentleness of the lovely girl, however, still 
 led many young men to call upon her, under pretence merely 
 of giving her sewing to do for them, but in reality to amuse 
 themselves by conversing with her, and the annoyance at lengh 
 became unbearable. One evening, a young man called to ask 
 her to make some shirts for him. She told him that if he
 
 LILY HUSO N. 69 
 
 brought them at a certain time, she would make them, other- 
 wise she would not be able to do so. After making a few 
 remarks relative to her charge, he took his hat and left the 
 house. It was a very light evening, and the curtain of the 
 window was up. Lily rose for the purpose of drawing it, as 
 the man closed the door, and to her astonishment and alarm, 
 saw another man meet him at the gate and ask, loud enough 
 for her to hear : 
 
 " What did she say 1 " 
 
 " Gad ! " replied the other, " I dared not talk with her." 
 
 The rest of the conversation was unheard, as they imme- 
 diately walked away together ; but Lily, slight as was this 
 remark, heard enousrh to make her resolve to take no more 
 work from strangers at home. From that period she only 
 worked in families. 
 
 She was sensitive to the opinion of the world, even to an 
 extreme, and shunned with affright anything that might give 
 rise to slander; but it is hard for a young and pretty woman, 
 under such peculiar circumstances as were Lily's, to avoid it. 
 
 Her only associates, beyond the members of her own family, 
 at this period, were the Harveys and Mr. Edgar's family. 
 Mr. Friendly had once been on a visit to the village, and had 
 called upon Lily, wishing her much happiness in her new 
 abode. Mrs. Young had showed this gentleman the garden, 
 wherein she intended to work herself, and he furnished her with 
 some very useful hints relative to the management of a garden, 
 and promised to bring her some garden-seeds when he should 
 "come again. 
 
 At length, the last day of April arrived, — all the neighbors 
 are putting their gardens in order. Lemuel came from the 
 farm and prepared the ground for his mother. Mr. Friendly 
 called again, and brought with him the promised seeds, which 
 he gave to Mrs. Young. Then turning to Lily, he remarked, 
 " Miss Huson" — Lily was called Miss Huson — now " The lily 
 being the sweetest flower of the valley, and you, in yourself,
 
 70 LILY HU SON. 
 
 personifying this loveliest of flowers, I have brought you 
 some lily seeds, as well as the seeds of other flowers, thinking 
 you might like to wile away a tedious hour, now and then, in 
 cultivating them. I hope you will receive them from your 
 friend and well-wisher, and as you witness them rising from 
 the soil, and gradually budding and blossoming under your 
 care, believe that he who gave them to you will be made 
 happy, and more than repaid, by witnessing the gradual unfold- 
 ing and the blooming of a fairer flower than any of them can 
 ever become. Lily, notwithstanding the trials to which you 
 have been subjected, I have witnessed in your behavior a pro- 
 priety and a virtuous resolve which adversity has failed to 
 tarnish, and I have resolved to be your friend; command me 
 in anything, Lily, and I will serve you to the utmost of my 
 ability." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," replied Lily, "for the pretty compliment 
 you have, paid me, so much your inferior in birth and circum- 
 stances. I thankfully accept the seeds you have given me, as 
 a token of regard from one who has, indeed, been a friend to 
 me. I am grateful for your past kindness to me, almost a 
 stranger. I trust now I shall be enabled to support those dear 
 to me in comfort ; and as the lily, the sweet flower, to which 
 you have flattered me by comparing me, blossoms fairest in 
 the lowly valley, and would scorch and wither in the glarish 
 light of the sun ; so in the lowly sphere, in which 1 am placed, 
 do 1 wish to remain. Perhaps, were I raised beyond my 
 present position, I should grow proud and vain, and lose the 
 very qualities for the possession of which you are now pleased 
 to praise me." 
 
 Mrs. Young now approached, and shortly afterwards Mr. 
 Friendly took leave of his humble friends. He, however, 
 called frequently, and was always fond of advising with and 
 encouraging his young farmer. 
 
 Two years more had passed away. Lemuel had, in this 
 period, been enabled to pay the remainder of the sum due for
 
 LILY HUSON. 71 
 
 the house and garden ; and now, for the first time, the family 
 is in quiet possession of a pretty little home, free from debts 
 and incumbrances. But, are they happy ] We regret to 
 answer " no ; " for it is even so. The unhappy temper of Mrs. 
 Young will not allow her to be happy anywhere. She was 
 constantly bickering with her children if they did anything 
 contrary to her notions, and sometimes it was impossible to 
 ascertain what they were. She was subject to violent fits of 
 passion, and many times poor Lily said and thought she must 
 leave her mother, as her father had done ; but she reasoned 
 with herself. " My mother," she would say, ' : is growing old ; 
 she has had much trouble during her life, and though it has 
 often been brought on her by her ungovernable temper, yet 
 she is my mother, and if I cannot endure with her, who can 1 
 She must and shall be cared for as long as I live." 
 
 We copy the following remarks, verbatim, from a diary that 
 Lily kept at this period, which, indeed, she had regularly kept 
 from the time she was able to write, and from which we have 
 gleaned the material from which the present narrative has been 
 constructed. It would appear, that Lily had always had an 
 idea of authorship, thinking that her simple yet eventful story 
 would make an interesting book. The entry is as follows : 
 
 " I will not dwell at length upon the painful theme of my 
 mother's temper. Oh, I would draw a thick veil over it, and 
 hide it from the world forever ; yet I cannot hide it from all, 
 for passion seeks no hiding-place, and I know, should my 
 simple story ever be published, my mother will read it, and 
 I trust, even in her old age, profit by the little mention I have 
 been obliged to make of her temper, in order to make my 
 diary a truthful one. "My mother has been harsh with her 
 children all their days, and in consequence duty more than 
 affection has bound them to her. They have suffered much 
 together, and I trust, will yet be happy in each other's society. 
 Tor this hope of happiness," continues the undaunted girl, 
 " will I continue to labor on."
 
 72 LILY HUSON. 
 
 In fact, notwithstanding Mrs. Young's infirmity of temper, 
 she, when she was calm, relied wholly upon her daughter's 
 advice, and Lemuel never thought or acted without also ad- 
 vising with his sioter, and she loved her brother, and labored 
 and studied for his interests and happiness, and thus in seek- 
 ing to do good to others, felt the bliss that the selfish can 
 never feel.
 
 LILY HUSON. 73 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LEMUEL FALLS SICK, IN CONSEQUENCE OF HAVING BEEN LED 
 ASTRAY — LILY'S QUALITIES AS A SICK NURSE. 
 
 The cares and troubles that Lily had endured while still so 
 young, combined with her never-ceasing labor, began to make 
 deep inroads upon her constitution, and to rob her face of the 
 rosy hue of health. Besides the constant care required in her 
 own family, she had been almost a daily attendant for some 
 time past upon Mrs. Edgar, whose family had been for a long 
 time in bad health. Her friend and companion, Eva Harvey, 
 too, had been laid upon a bed of sickness, which had well nigh 
 been a bed of death ; and it was Lily, who, day after day, spent 
 hours at her young friend's bedside, and who, night after night, 
 sat with her and handed drink or medicine, or wiped the per- 
 spiration from her fevered brow, or smoothed the pillow of the 
 restless sufferer, for it was in moments of consciousness, for 
 the poor girl was often delirious. It was in such moments that 
 Lily's name was ever upon her lips, seeking for some relief, or 
 praying her not to leave her. For eight days and nights she 
 w r as almost a constant attendant upon the sufferer, and only 
 when her friend was convalescent, she returned to her home 
 with a lightened heart, glowing with gratitude to God, that he 
 had heard her prayers in her friend's behalf, for Lily loved 
 Eva as a sister. 
 
 Her brother, too — still a mere lad — had been seriously ill 
 for four weeks, t.he sickness arising from the folly and wicked- 
 4
 
 74 LILY HUSO N. 
 
 ness of some friends, who had tempted the poor boy to drink. 
 He did so, and was brought home insensible with congestion 
 of the brain. It was long before he showed any signs of life, 
 and then the glassy eyes and the twitching of the nerves, and 
 the rocking of the body to and fro, told that he was in a state 
 of delirium ; and yet he recognized his sister Lily, and would 
 allow r no one to sit by him but her ; whispering if she quitted him 
 for a moment, " Lily, don't leave me." All these mishaps 
 happening one immediately after the other, as misfortunes are 
 wont to do, almost prostrated Lily ; but she bore it bravely. 
 Her brother at length recovered, and had been taught a lesson 
 which warned him ever afterwards to guard against intemper- 
 ance, and then poor Lily sought the rest she so much needed, 
 and which she had so nobly earned. 
 
 The family being now out of debt and tolerably comfortably 
 situated, Lily indulged herself with the gratification of a fancy 
 that had long possessed her mind*. That was, to improve her- 
 self by going to school, so that she might fit herself for teach- 
 ing others, or for the instruction of her own family. 
 
 She attended for one quarter at a small district school kept 
 by a young lady, and a partial acquaintance, after which she 
 went to the Union. During this period she kept no society, 
 but spent her leisure hours in studying her lessons for recita- 
 tion at school. Her teachers gave her the praise of being one 
 of the best scholars in the school, and the principal teacher re- 
 marked to one of his friends : " I like to hear Lily Huson read 
 the productions of her own mind. There is such a depth of 
 tender feeling in them, that, old as I am, I feel when listening 
 to her sweet voice leading the compositions she lias indited, 
 that she only requires a liberal education to render her worthy 
 to adorn the loftiest position in society. Nature has indeed 
 been lavish in her gifts to her. In personal and in mental 
 qualifications she has few superiors." 
 
 Over a year was spent by Lily in this manner ; but, mean- 
 while, though all was so quiet and happy at home, mischief
 
 LILY HUSON. 75 
 
 was hatching abroad. Mr. Young, the step-father of Lily, was 
 a man possessed of almost as violent a temper as that of his 
 wife, and when angry with her, he would leave her, and go and 
 stay with his own children by a former wife. At these times 
 he was accustomed to assail his wife's children, knowing that 
 by so doing he would enrage her ; and he blamed them because 
 she would not leave them and go and live constantly at his own 
 home. She would not allow her husband to bring his own 
 children to her house to live, as they were able, all but one, to 
 take care of themselves. This one, a little boy, Lily tried to 
 do all she could for, by keeping him at school, and many a time, 
 when her mother has been angry, and would punish the child 
 without reason, did Lily screen him from the threatened blow ; 
 but at length the father's conduct became so scandalous ; he 
 purposely sent abroad reports so injurious to Lily's fair fame, 
 which possessed not even the framework of truth or probabil- 
 ity, that she was at length compelled to rise in her own defence, 
 and to come to the determination that either he or her must 
 leave her brother's house. Lily was of a mild and amiable 
 disposition ; but when once aroused, especially by unjust accu- 
 sations, she would not be trifled with. From that period, Mr. 
 Young lived with his own children, rarely ever visiting his 
 wife, who remained with her own son and daughter.
 
 76 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LILY ENDEAVORS TO DO SOMETHING FOR HERSELF AND HER FAM- 
 ILY SHE ENGAGES AS A GOVERNESS FOR SOME TIME HER 
 
 BROTHER GOES INTO BUSINESS FOR HIMSELF— MISFORTUNE 
 STILL PREVAILS. 
 
 In the opinion of her teachers, Lily was now competent to 
 take charge of a school, and Mr. Edgar, who was going on 
 business to a large town a few miles west of her home, pro- 
 mised to make application for her as a teacher at one of the 
 public schools. However, as several months would elapse be- 
 fore any vacancy would occur, he endeavored, meanwhile, to 
 procure an engagement as governess in a private family where 
 there were young children, and he was fortunate enough to pro- 
 cure her a situation in the family of a medical gentleman in 
 the town, connected with the hospital in an official capacity, 
 who were anxious to secure the services of a respectable and 
 competent young woman to instruct their children, two little 
 girls of tender age. Inquiries being satisfactory, Lily, under 
 the escort of Mr. Edgar, immediately left home to enter upon 
 her novel duties. A carriage conveyed her to the doctor's 
 house, and she was shown into the library , where she passed 
 an hour in that suspense natural to a young woman in her po 
 sition. 
 
 At length the doctor made his appearance, and having learnt 
 who she was, he gave her a cordial welcome to her new home, 
 and directed his wife to be sent for. The two children were
 
 L1LYHUS0N. 77 
 
 also brought in and introduced to their new governess. The 
 doctor soon made an excuse to leave the room, leaving Lily 
 and his wife together. Mrs. Ikeman — -Ikeman was the doctor's 
 name — then explained to Lily the nature of the duties that 
 ■would be required of her, and expressed a hope that she would 
 be comfortable whilst she remained in their family. 
 
 The duties Lily had to perform were those comprising the 
 ordinary routine of a governess' life, and she was as kindly 
 treated as most governesses are in families who have risen to 
 comparative wealth from poverty, and who aspire to the dig- 
 nity of keeping a private governess for their children. Yet 
 Mrs. Ikeman was rather a showy, self-important personage, 
 and she was not slow in letting Lily perceive, by bitter expe- 
 rience, the difference, as she imagined, in their respective social 
 positions. 
 
 We will not, however, dwell on this subject ; suffice it to 
 say, Lily was pleased with her little pupils, and perhaps as 
 much loved by them as it was reasonable for one in her situa- 
 tion to expect to be, and that she was at least admired and re- 
 spected by them the insertion of the following letter will show. 
 It was written shortly after she had left them, by a patient of 
 the medical institution over which Dr. Ikeman presided, and 
 who lived in the doctor's family : 
 
 L , 0., Sept 7, 1831. 
 
 Miss Lily Husox, 
 
 Respected Friend : 
 
 The stillness of a Sab- 
 bath eve lingers o'er the land, and the few moments which in- 
 tervene between the present moment and my accustomed bed- 
 time, I propose to fill up in an attempt to indite a few lines for 
 your especial perusal. 
 
 I have heard not one lisp respecting the former governess at 
 
 , since I last saw that inviting retreat for the invalid, 
 
 viz., on the 26th of last December.
 
 78 LILY HUSON. 
 
 I have thought it really too provoking, that one who minis- 
 tered so much to the social enjoyments of our little -world, 
 whilst she was a resident with us, should be forgotten for the 
 good she had done, simply because the writer could not hear 
 of the good she ivas doing. I have therefore taken it into my 
 head to dispatch an epistle myself to her, so that if she will 
 not give an account of herself, she cannot say it is for want 
 of an opportunity. 
 
 Seriously speaking, if those are parted who have enjoyed a 
 slight measure of pleasant acquaintance with each other during 
 some portion of their earthly pilgrimage, why should the pall 
 of oblivion be permitted to settle over all their recollections 
 of past companionship, and they themselves as anxiously strive 
 to forget each as the incidents of an unpleasant dream? 
 
 1 would not wish you to gather from this that 1 flatter my- 
 self with the absurd idea that / contributed to your social de- 
 lights a tithe of that gratification which your unartificial con- 
 versation gave me. I have too good reason to know the con- 
 trary ; nevertheless, I am not without hope that I may hear 
 from you, even through the medium of your own pen, that I 
 presume, unauthorized, to address you. 
 
 Let me see; why should you not address me? 
 
 In the first place, if you are married, and pleasantly located 
 for life in some quiet home, you can surely afford to make men- 
 tion of your happiness to another, so as to induce him to " go 
 and do likewise." And, secondly, if you have not taken a 
 partner in the great business of life (which latter I incline to 
 suspect is the correct supposition), you will surely not prove 
 so treasonable to the better impulses of your nature as to re- 
 fuse to tell a poor fellow so, and thus withhold from him the 
 consolation of knowing that he is not the only one who is trav- 
 elling the path of single blessedne . 
 
 But I will stop this nonsense, and beg your pardon for the 
 introduction of it. The truth is, I have not written till now
 
 LILYHUSON. 79 
 
 (save to one who made no mention of you) to a single soul 
 whom I ever saw at . 
 
 I should like to learn something of their welfare, and, occa- 
 sionally, to interchange a few thoughts upon various subjects, 
 if so to do did not interfere with their own convenience or sen- 
 timents of delicacy ; and, feeling quite convinced of the impos- 
 sibility of ever hearing, unless I should first write, I have taken 
 the liberty of addressing an epistle to you. Should you per- 
 ceive no impropriety in favoring me with a reply, your readi- 
 ness to oblige will be gratefully appreciated. Should you 
 choose to remain silent, although regretting the alternative for 
 myself, I shall still entertain towards you the same sentiments 
 of respect, since none other than yourself can so well decide 
 what your own course should be. At the same time I trust to 
 stand acquitted of anything more reprehensible than the estab- 
 lishing of a friendly correspondence. 
 With sincere respect, 
 
 Believe me your friend, 
 
 J. S. 
 
 P. S. — Should you reply, please direct J. S., L , O. 
 
 Lily remained in this situation until the summer, when she 
 left, and accepted an invitation to visit some friends at a short 
 distance, with whom she remained several weeks. While on 
 this visit, she heard a piece of intelligence which awakened all 
 her energies. 
 
 A man and his wife had, a short time before, opened a con- 
 fectioner's shop in a neighboring town, and they offered to take 
 a partner on equal terms on the payment of fifty dollars, and 
 entered into an agreement, that when the partner wished to 
 leave, or if either party were dissatisfied with the other, to re- 
 fund the money. Lily consulted with Mr. Edgar, who thought 
 it would be a desirable opportunity for Lily and her brother, 
 whom she had long wished to place in business, where the labor 
 would be less severe than that of working upon a farm, as his
 
 80 LILY HUSON. 
 
 health had been much impaired since his sickness. She accord- 
 ingly sent to him for the fifty dollars, and desired him to join 
 her as soon as he could manage satisfactorily to arrange mat- 
 ters at home. Meanwhile, she engaged to manage for him, and 
 to take all risks upon herself. Accordingly she became a silent 
 partner in the little concern, and four weeks afterwards her 
 brother arrived. He had not, however, been long in his new 
 situation when he, as well as his sister, saw they would not be 
 able to effect much in their new employment. 
 
 x The partner, Mr. Arthur, was not a shrewd man in business 
 matters, and they soon found out, also, that he was not acting 
 fairly with him, according to the agreement of equal partner- 
 ship. Yet he was a member of the church, and generally re- 
 garded as a pious man, and Lily could not believe but that her 
 brother must be mistaken, when he told her of certain matters 
 that had come to his knowledge, which savored of dishonesty. 
 Not very long afterwards, however, a circumstance occurred, 
 ■which showed the man in his true light. Lemuel, in company 
 with his partner, rented a house, each occupying their own part 
 and living by themselves. Before they went into it, a gentle- 
 man who had wished to rent it, but who had neglected so to 
 do until Arthur and Lemuel had taken possession of it, went 
 to Arthur and offered him twenty dollars bonus for the house, 
 and without the concurrence or knowledge of Lemuel, he ,ac- 
 cepted it, thus compelling him to give up the house after he 
 had engaged to pay half the rent, without offering him any por- 
 tion of the bonus he had received. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was sent for, as he had arranged the whole mat- 
 ter for them, and a settlement was demanded, and Lemuel went 
 into business for himself. Mr. Arthur, however, never paid 
 twenty dollars out of the fifty he had forfeited, although he 
 was sued and judgment obtained against him. 
 
 Lemuel, by the advice of Mr. Edgar, bought out a confec- 
 tionery store, and gave his note for over one hundred dollars 
 for it. The note was endorsed by Mr. Edgar, who owed that
 
 LILY HUSON. 81 
 
 sum to Lemuel, and who promised to pay him in time for him 
 to meet the note when it became due at the bank. 
 
 The time came soon enough, as it always does in such cir- 
 cumstances ; but no money came to meet the note. It was a 
 dull time of year, and the profits on the business did not per- 
 mit Lemuel to lay anything aside ; the consequence was the 
 note was protested, and Lemuel's place was liable to be sold, 
 as the note was secured by it. Consequently, he was obliged 
 to sell at auction for fifty dollars what had cost him one hun- 
 dred and ten, for Mr. Edgar had become embarrassed in his 
 affairs, and could not raise the means at this time to save Lem- 
 uel from the sacrifice. 
 
 All this time Lily was not idle. She assisted her brother in 
 every way she could, in order that he might still continue in 
 business, and by economy save something to pay his debts. 
 But it was soon evident that the business was unsuited to him. 
 Therefore, shortly after the auction she had an interview with 
 the holders of the note, and effecte'd a compromise, they accept- 
 ing the sum of one hundred dollars, and giving up the note. 
 In order to raise this money she was obliged to seek assistance 
 from her friend Mr. Friendly, whom she had not seen for two 
 years. He readily offered to lend her the money, but refused 
 to take the note for security, saying : 
 
 "It may endanger your brother as much for me to keep it, 
 as those from whom you have just received it. So take the 
 note and burn it. Your brother will then be safe, and I will 
 trust to time and your promise for repayment. Something 
 may turn up in your favor. ' Never so long a lane but has 
 some turning.' Command me at any time, and you will find 
 me willing to serve you to the best of my ability." 
 
 Poor Lily, with a heart as generous, and a hand as willing to 
 do the same good turn to another that this kind man had done 
 to her, gave all she could give in tears of gratitude and in 
 thanks, saying : " I trust Heaven will some day enable me to re- 
 pay this noble confidence." 
 4*
 
 82 LILY HU SON. 
 
 " It will, my young friend, it will," answered Mr. Friendly ; 
 " be of good cheer." 
 
 Then shaking her cordially by the hand, he wished her fare- 
 well and success. She left him with a heart overflowing with 
 gratitude to God, who had raised her up this good friend, and 
 he sat down to rejoice in the means that God had given him to 
 enable him thus to serve his fellow-creatures.
 
 LILY HU SON. 83 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PROSPECTS OF MARRIAGE — A LUCKY ESCAPE FOR LILT. 
 
 During the period that Lily was assisting her brother in his 
 store, an incident of much interest to her took place. Several 
 times a tall, slender gentleman, had been into the store, and 
 once he had passed a compliment upon her, through her bro- 
 ther ; but as they were strangers to him, and as Lily supposed 
 him to be a married man, nothing was thought of the matter. 
 One day, however, he came into the store while she was there 
 alone, and told her, in a respectful tone of voice, that he had 
 called to converse with her, as he had long wished to do, but 
 had been fearful of giving offence. Lily placed a chair for him 
 near the stove, and took another herself. After some trifling 
 embarrassment, the gentleman proceeded to inform her that 
 he had been greatly impressed in her favor at the time he had 
 first seen her, and had often longed to talk with her on the 
 subject that lay nearest his heart, but her shyness had hitherto 
 prevented him up to the present time. Lily looked up in his 
 face and asked : 
 
 " Mr. Perry, are you not a married man ? " 
 
 "I have been," he replied, "but I buried my wife in New 
 York two years ago. She left me with two small children — a 
 boy and girl ; for them I wish to get a mother, and for myself 
 a companion. In you, I fancy I have discovered all those qua- 
 lities which would make a good mother and wife. I am lonely 
 since the death of my companion, and you are not moving in
 
 84 LILY HUSON. 
 
 the sphere to which you by nature belong. I am able to place 
 you in that sphere if money will do it, and I will do so, if you 
 will become my wife." 
 
 ' : Sir," replied Lily, " we are strangers to each other ; on 
 acquaintance you might not be pleased with me, as there are 
 many circumstances which have occurred in the course of my 
 life Avhich might cause you to change your mind." 
 
 " I have heard all," he replied, " and I have learned your 
 character by personal observation. I am satisfied, and I shall 
 not change my mind regarding you. With regard to myself, 
 I have two brothers in extensive business, residing in the town, 
 as also other acquaintances, some of whom you may know, 
 who will satisfy you with respect to my character." 
 
 " I will think of the matter," replied Lily, " and a week 
 hence I will give you an answer." 
 
 On this understanding they parted, and Lily consulted with 
 her brother, who was strongly in favor of the matter, but she 
 could not reconcile it to her own feelings. These, however, 
 she resolved to cast aside. Her brother was involved ; Mr, 
 Perry had promised to aid him in his business, and to pay his 
 debts. Her life had been a continual warfare against the vile 
 passions of man, and she reasoned with herself: — " By mar- 
 rying this man I shall avoid this, and obtain a protector, 
 which I feel I need ; " but she felt that her exalted ideas of love, 
 should she wed with Mr. Perry, would be blasted forever; for 
 instead of those soft, tender feelings which should pervade the 
 very soul of woman when she is about to give herself wholly 
 to the'keeping of another, and one of whom she feels herself to 
 be a part, she felt an undefinable dread,, not that Mr. Perry did 
 not possess sufficient personal attractions to render himself 
 pleasing to the eyes of woman, for he was, what is generally 
 termed, a good-looking man, and with Lily, personal attractions 
 possessed less merit than the beauty of the mind, mirrored 
 forth in the expression and in the conversation. Those charms 
 never fade, and which will never die ; but, we repeat, she knew
 
 LILY HUSON. 85 
 
 not why she dreaded the man : she had done so before she 
 became so intimately acquainted with him, yet he was kind to 
 her, ever solicitous to please, constantly making her agree- 
 able presents, and offering her flattering attentions, which she 
 declined, however, as often as she could do so without giving 
 offence ; still, by permitting his visits, it was generally under- 
 stood that his addresses were accepted, ^and that they were to 
 be united. He had requested her to fix upon an early clay for 
 the wedding to take place, and had named New Year's eve, 
 which was then a month distant ; but Lily gave him no posi- 
 tive reply that it could occur so soon as that, although she did 
 not refuse. He had proposed to get a carriage, and taking 
 with them one of his sisters-in-law and Lily's brother to visit 
 one of his aunts, in order that the ceremony might take place 
 at her house. Lily objected to none of his plans, but she felt 
 as though she could weep in the bitterness of her heart, and 
 exclaim, " Oh, that this cup might pass by me." But her bro- 
 ther's embarrassed circumstances, as well as her own, were 
 staring her in the face, like grim monsters, urging her on to 
 the sacrifice. She thought that she might again tax Mr. 
 Priendly's generosity by borrowing the money to save her 
 brother, but where should she get the means to repay him 1 
 Lemuel could not work so hard as he had done before his sick- 
 ness, and constant trouble and long-continued exertion had 
 reduced Lily to a mere shadow of her former self. Her sea 
 of life had been far too rough for the frail bark, and she had 
 been so rudely tossed to and fro on the waves of adversity, that 
 she shrunk from the appearance of the threatening storm. 
 
 She thought that if Mr. Edgar would pay the notes of his, 
 held by her brother, matters might yet be satisfacforily 
 arranged ; but he had been very kind and honorable in his 
 dealings with the family, and they did not like to put him to 
 trouble now in the days of his temporary adversity. There 
 seemed, therefore, no hope, but to trust to Providence ; and 
 as it appeared that Mr. Perry had been placed providentially
 
 8G LILY HUS.ON. 
 
 in her way, to follow cheerfully the path the finger of Provi- 
 dence pointed out. But she had mistaken herself; she had 
 allowed her own hopes and trusts to mislead her, but the 
 Providence, in whom she had reposed her confidence, would 
 not suffer her to fall into the trap of the betrayer. 
 
 One morning, about a week before the period fixed upon for 
 the marriage, she was sitting alone in her room, pale and 
 thoughtful, more like a marble statue than a living creature, 
 when her brother entered and told her that Mrs. Arthur wished 
 to see her. This lady had always been on good terms with 
 Lilv, notwithstanding her husband's differences with Lemuel : 
 still she did not wish to see her, as at this moment she did not 
 desire to see the face of any person, except her own relations ; 
 but thinking that perhaps the cool air might brace up her 
 spirits, she wrapped herself up, and went to Mrs. Arthur's, to 
 learn what that lady had to say. 
 
 After a few minutes' conversation on ordinary matters, Mrs. 
 Arthur broached the subject of Mr. Perry's visits. " Lily," 
 she said, " I understand Mr. Perry visits you quite often V 
 
 " He does," replied Lily, wondering at the bruesqueie of 
 manner in which Mrs. Arthur had spoken on a subject of so 
 delicate a nature. 
 
 " Then," replied Mrs. Arthur, " all I am at liberty to tell you 
 is, that he is a married mail, and has a wife and two children 
 residing not far from here. Beware. There is a scheme laid 
 to entrap you ; knowing you so well, Lily, I thought it my 
 duty to inform you of this. I have told you enough to put 
 you on your guard, and have no fears for you ; but do not 
 make use of my name. It was told me in confidence." 
 
 Lily, upon hearing this astounding intelligence, confided to 
 her friend the whole of the matter ; also mentioned her own 
 feelings with regard to the marriage, and speaking of the strange, 
 instinctive feeling of dread with which Mr. Perry had always 
 inspired her. She had thought, in consequence of her know- 
 ledge of his respectable connections in town, that it was need- 

 
 LILY HUSON. 87 
 
 less to make any inquiries regarding his moral character, trust- 
 ing to his word from her own regard for truth and natural 
 openness of disposition, or probably she might have been ac- 
 quainted with those circumstances before. 
 
 She returned home with a heavy heart, and yet with a feel- 
 ing of thankfulness that buoyed up her spirits. When she en- 
 tered her brother's store, there were several of his acquaint- 
 ances there conversing with him ; among the rest was Perry. 
 He arose from his seat and met her at the door, saying : 
 
 " I have been waiting to speak with you, Lily : will you be 
 all prepared for our marriage on New Year's eve ?" 
 
 " I think not," Lily replied, and then she related what she 
 had just heard, but refused to give the name of the friend who 
 had told her. 
 
 Perry was inclined to be angry, and he exclaimed : " I will 
 soon find out who this is." 
 
 " Prove that what I have told you is false," replied Lily, 
 " and the engagement will stand good, unless you wish it other- 
 wise." 
 
 This Perry promised to do, and on the morning before New 
 Year he came to the house and asked to see her. 
 
 " Is what you have related to me, Lily, all you have heard 
 to my detriment ?" he asked, when she came into the room 
 into which he had been shown. 
 
 Lily frankly told him what had been the state of her feel- 
 ings since her acquaintance with him, adding : " You know I 
 have always told you that I could not love you as a husband 
 should be loved, but that I w T ould marry you simply because cir- 
 cumstances seemed to require it. But as matters stand now 
 I wish the engagement to be at an end, and shall consider it so 
 from this period." 
 
 Perry immediately quitted the room, merely observing, " I 
 will be married in one week from this." And he was married, 
 but not to Lily, just one week from New Year's day. 
 
 Lily was not troubled with him any more, but a lawyer in
 
 88 LILY HUSON. 
 
 the town, who was an associate of his, and with whom Lily 
 had, through hira, become partially acquainted, now sought to 
 render himself agreeable to her ; but he was repulsed, and 
 shortly after this Lemuel sold out, and they both left the town 
 for their own house in the country. This lawyer, she after- 
 wards had reason to believe, was in league with Perry, and the 
 latter finding his own schemes disconcerted, his companion 
 had thought he would venture boldly on his own strength.
 
 LILY HUSON. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LILY HEARS FROM A RELATION WHOSE EXISTENCE SHE HAD 
 
 NEVER DREAMED OF SHE FANCIES THAT HER LONG ABSENT 
 
 FATHER IS STILL LIVING, AND ANXIOUS TO SEE HIS CHILDREN 
 LILY UNDERTAKES A LONG JOURNEY. 
 
 In the course of the following spring, a gentleman largely en- 
 gaged in the confectionery business, of whom Lemuel had been 
 in the habit of buying supplies for his store, offered. Lily four 
 dollars a week to attend in his store. She could not earn more 
 than this by sewing, and being anxious to make all the money 
 she could, in order to repay Mr. Friendly, and thinking she 
 might board with Mrs: Arthur, and so save nearly all her 
 wages, she consented to go and try for a month, then if either 
 party were dissatisfied, she could leave. 
 
 The gentleman by whom she was engaged was compelled by 
 business to be often absent from his store, and Lily found her- 
 self more lonely and exposed here than she had been with her 
 brother. She was also required to remain in the store during 
 the evening, and in consequence she told her employer that the 
 situation was unsuitable to her, and that she should leave at the 
 expiration of the month. He offered to raise her wages ; but that 
 would not have lessened her motives for leaving. Consequently 
 she left, and after remaining a few weeks with some friends, she 
 again went home, and felt herself far happier while employed in 
 busily plying the needle in her quiet little home, than sur- 
 rounded by loungers and flatterers, exposed to their rude gaze,
 
 90 LILY HUSON. 
 
 or what was still worse, listening to their vain and flattering 
 compliments. 
 
 Nothing happened to mar her quiet until late in the fall of 
 the year, when, one stormy evening, Lemuel returned from, 
 the neighboring post-office with a letter, the contents of which 
 we will give in full, merely making such omissions as, for ob- 
 vious reasons, are desirable. They are as follows : 
 
 New York, 1851. 
 Dear Sirs : 
 
 You will do me a favor, and them a much 
 greater one, if you can inform me where the heirs of a man 
 
 of the name of James Iluson may be found. Huson left ■ 
 
 some years since, and went to the South, where he died. He 
 probably left some property. If the heirs would take the 
 trouble to write, they might ascertain the fact, that is, whether 
 ^ he did or did not leave any property. They have an uncle at 
 the South, who will probably leave a small estate at his death, 
 which will most likely fall to the children of his brother James, 
 as I have heard him often sneak of them. Please write soon, 
 
 and oblige 
 
 Yours, &c, 
 
 ALBERT HUSON. 
 
 Sely axd Peter Nelson. 
 
 P. S. — If James Huson's wife Mary is living, let me know 
 where she is. 
 
 This letter had been remailed by Mrs. Young's brother to 
 her. and he had inclosed it in an envelope containing a few lines 
 from himself, which we will also publish. 
 
 Nov. 141ft, 1851. 
 My Dear Sistei: : 
 
 I received the inclosed letter this morn- 
 ing; by it you will perceive there is a prospect of your getting 
 something to assist you. Show it to Mr. Edgar, or to the
 
 LILY HUSON. 91 
 
 post-master, and they will tell you where to direct your letter 
 to Albert Huson for farther information. We are all well. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 SELY NELSON. 
 
 This letter came, we should have said before, from Sely Nel- 
 son only, Peter, the brother, often heretofore alluded to, having 
 removed out West. 
 
 The letter was answered by Lily, in her brother's name, and 
 the following reply was duly received : 
 
 ' November 28/A, 1851. 
 My Dear Sir : 
 
 Your letter of the 13th inst. came to hand 
 this evening, and I hasten to reply to your several interrogato- 
 ries. James Huson, your, father, when he left , pro- 
 ceeded immediately to New York, and from there went on ship- 
 board, in some capacity or other. He continued at sea for 
 nine or ten months, and then again went into some situation on 
 shore. A short time afterwards, he married again, and by 
 some means, probably through his marriage, became the owner 
 of a plantation in the South, and on this plantation he died, 
 probably in the fall of 1844, or thereabouts. As to his cir- 
 cumstances at the time of his death, I know nothing. I only 
 know that he left a widow and four or five children, so that I 
 think the chance is small there for any property reaching you, 
 though if you were like me, you would like to know something 
 of the matter. James Huson, the husband of Mary Nelson, 
 
 died near , S. C. Your correspondent is your uncle, a 
 
 brother of your late father, and the object of this inquiry is to 
 give you some clue to your late father's relatives, so that if 
 there should be anything that is honestly yours, you may have 
 the advantage of it. Perhaps you are not aware of it, but let 
 me tell you, you have an uncle living in the next county to 
 you. If I were in his place, I would see you as often as I 
 could. Now, my dear sir, I have perhaps said as much upon
 
 92 LILY HU SON. i 
 
 this subject as is necessary. As to the property, that, as you 
 will perceive, is still a matter of contingency. Your uncle, 
 who now addresses you, is the possessor of a small property, 
 without any heirs of his own to leave it to, though he has four 
 nephews living near him ; but to these he does not feel disposed 
 to leave what little he may possess, and would rather, if neces- 
 sity should compel him, leave it to a stranger. And now a 
 few words to my niece, whom I presume is the writer of the 
 letter I have received on the part of her brother. Inasmuch 
 as you cannot, at the present time, come out here to see after 
 anything of this kind, I shall expect you to write to me again, 
 and let me know all about your situation and circumstances ; 
 also, whether you feel inclined or disinclined to pay me a visit, 
 if any inducement should be held out to you. If you will, be 
 candid, and feel assured that you are addressing one who is 
 your relative and friend. With these remarks, I subscribe my- 
 self your supposed uncle and friend, 
 
 ALBERT I-IUSON. 
 P. S, — I shall look for a reply by the earliest mail. Give my 
 respects to your mother, and also to your uncle Sely, for his 
 promptness in forwarding my first letter to you. 
 
 A. H. 
 
 Taken from the post-office at the same time with the abovo 
 letter, was the following one, which bore no date. 
 
 My Dear Niece : 
 
 I shall not, at this time, enter into any 
 formal declarations of my views and motives in endeavoring 
 to become acquainted with you. You will see, by some re- 
 marks 1 have made to j'our brother, that you may, by pursuing 
 a proper course, realize to yourselves the heritage of the small 
 amount 1 may die possessed of, which, to say the least, is worth 
 a hazard. You say that my communications shall be confiden- 
 tial ; so they shall, from the world at large, but you may 
 make them known to such as you may think proper, and in
 
 LILYHUSON. 93 
 
 view of this, I will say this much to you : if, on the receipt of 
 this letter, you and your brother can make up your minds to 
 come and see me, and learn for yourselves the situation in 
 which you may place yourselves, I pledge myself to pay your ex- 
 penses back home again as soon as you may wish. This pro- 
 position may seem to you somewhat extravagant ; but when 
 you are once here, all will be clear to your perception. If you 
 entertain the proposition, write as soon as may be, and inform 
 me of the fact. 
 
 Until then and ever, believe me 
 
 Your uncle, &c, 
 
 ALBERT HUSON. 
 P. S. — Your father never changed his name. 
 
 From the singular tenor of these letters, Lily suspected that 
 the writer was her own father, who was yearning to see his 
 children again ; but who did not wish his wife to know that he 
 was living. She wished to draw out the secret by writing ; 
 but in this endeavor she failed. 
 
 The next mail brought the following letter : 
 
 December 25th, 1851. 
 My Dear Niece : 
 
 Perhaps it may not be amiss for me to add 
 
 a word to what I said last night. Now I intend to be plain 
 with you. My days are drawing to a close, and the small pro- 
 perty which I possess I intend to dispose of myself. As I said 
 last night, if you think it worth the hazard, you may as well 
 come, and, as I have already stated, if you are dissatisfied, you 
 shall have money to go back with as soon as you choose. But 
 to prepare your anticipated visit, I will say, that if you can- 
 not apply your mind exclusively to books and useful studies, 
 you had better stay where you are, and let some one else ob- 
 tain that which of right should be yours. I am no flatterer, 
 but say to you just what I think. If so disposed, you can 
 come here as quickly as a letter from you would reach me.
 
 94 LILY HUSON. 
 
 You can come nearly all the way by railroad. Come on to 
 
 , then take the road to , then partly by 
 
 stage and partly by railroad to , some fifty miles from 
 
 . When you get to inquire for Amos Dorsay ; 
 
 tell him you want to come to me, and he will fetch you at 
 once. He is my brother-in-law, so you had better not say 
 who you are, or he will think you will take toll from his mill. 
 He has set his mind upon being my heir-at-law. Now, my 
 child, 1 have said all I shall ever say on paper to you on this 
 subject. I am, my dear, 
 
 Your uncle, &c, 
 
 ALBERT HUSON. 
 
 The singular contents of this last letter made Lily's suspi- 
 cions almost amount to certainty. She imagined her father 
 old and infirm, without a friend to soothe his last moments. 
 Her filial sympathies were aroused. She forgot his cruel de- 
 sertion of her infancy, for she had never really blamed him ; 
 and, with such thoughts actuating, she determined to risk every- 
 thing and to go and see him. Then, again, she thought : " It 
 may be my uncle," and the supposition arose : " If he is desir- 
 ous of making me his heir, surely I ought to be willing to go ; 
 not, perhaps, for myself, but I should so like to get something 
 for brother. He is so anxious for a farm ; perhaps in this way 
 he will get it, and as we cannot both go at the same time, I will 
 go alone, as he has fixed upon me as his heir. Should it not 
 be my father who writes — though I cannot banish the idea from 
 my mind, for did he not call me his child ? and has he not said 
 the property by right is mine ? and this could not be were he 
 my uncle, for he would have brothers, whom the law would 
 acknowledge before me. It must be my father. At all events, 
 I will go and see." And having thus communed with herself, 
 and made up her mind how to act, Lily prepared for the long 
 journey.
 
 LILYHUSON. 95 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF LILy's JOURNEY — HER HOPES AND ANTICIPATIONS 
 
 ARE DOOMED TO DISAPPOINTMENT THE RELATIVE SHE HOPED 
 
 WAS HER FATHER PROVED TO BE REALLY AN UNCLE. 
 
 In one week after having come to the resolution mentioned 
 in the preceding chapter, Lily left her home, alone, and on a 
 stormy day in ay inter, to travel a journey of nearly five hun- 
 dred miles. She did not intend, on the first day, to go beyond 
 the town where her brother had kept his store. There she 
 ■wished to make some necessary purchases and to remain until 
 
 the next morning. As the cars stopped at , through 
 
 which place they passed, Mr. Friendly came on board, and as 
 fortune would have it, the only vacant seat was next to Lily. 
 She was surprised, but pleased to see him, and told him the 
 cause of her present journey. He endeavored to persuade 
 her not to go, telling her that over two hundred miles of the 
 journey would have to be performed by stage, over rough and 
 disagreeable roads ; but Lily had started, and the feelings 
 which had led to her undertaking the journey, were unabated, 
 and she resolved to go on. When they arrived at the town 
 where the cars were changed, he kindly offered to take charge 
 of her and to convey her to what place she wished ; but she 
 declined his courtesy, only begging that he would look after 
 her baggage, and told him which train she wished to take in 
 the morning. He promised to have everything in readiness 
 for her, and left in a sleigh for the tavern, while Lily completed
 
 90 LILY HUSON. 
 
 her purchases and then walked to the residence of a friend, 
 with whom she passed the night. In the morning her friend 
 accompanied her to the cars. Ten minutes before the cars 
 were ready to strart, Mr. Friendly arrived, and having pointed 
 out her baggage, he spoke to the conductor of Lily's journey- 
 ing alone, and requested him to afford her such assistance as 
 she might require. -He then wished her a pleasant journey, 
 and said, smilingly, he should expect to hear an account of her 
 trip when she returned. 
 
 The bell rung ; she shook Mr. Friendly's proffered hand, 
 wished him "good-bye," and was again on her way. In the 
 
 course of a few hours, they reached . The conductor 
 
 recommended her to stop at the Mansion House, to which 
 place he kindly conducted her, seeing that a porter had charge 
 of her baggage, and when he left her told her that he would 
 learn about the stages leaving, and call and let her know. Lily 
 was shown into a neat parlor, where she threw herself into a 
 large rocking-chair, and spent an hour in deep and rather som- 
 bre meditation ; for her heart was sad and lonely. 
 
 She has a long journey before her; now, for the first time, 
 came to her mind the reality that she had to perform this long 
 and weary journey alone. But the gloom was quickly dispelled. 
 She trusts she may be able to accomplish something for those 
 whom she loves, and all that a few moments before looked dark 
 and drear, is cheered by the sunshine of hope. She prepared 
 for tea, to partake of which meal she was shortly summoned. 
 At six o'clock the conductor called, and told her she would 
 
 have to proceed by stage to ' — , and that the conveyance 
 
 would not leave until nine o'clock the next morning ; also, that 
 there were several lady passengers registered, but none going 
 all the distance. There were gentlemen going through the 
 whole route, but none whom he knew, to whose care he could 
 confide her ; but he said he would call in the morning again, 
 and let her know then if there was no lady going the through 
 route.
 
 LILYHUSON. 97 
 
 Lily thought that if there were no ladies going the whole 
 journey, she would almost rather return home, as the stages 
 run night and day. However, the evening was spent as agree- 
 ably as was possible in a hotel and amongst strangers. In the 
 morning, the conductor again called, and said, that a lady had 
 
 registered her name to travel as far as , and thus the 
 
 poor young woman's fears of having to travel without a female 
 companion were dissipated. 
 
 At the appointed hour, the stage arrived at the door of the 
 hotel. The passengers of the stage in which Lily's place was 
 secured — for there were four stages in all — consisted of two 
 ladies, one of whom was a German, besides herself and two 
 gentlemen. The day was passed very pleasantly, the passen- 
 gers were chatty and agreeable, although the drivers once or 
 twice created some little alarm by recklessly racing with each 
 other, and that too, at one time, close to the edge of a preci- 
 pice. But these are the common mishaps of travel, and are 
 scarcely worth recording. In the evening there was a change 
 of stages, and they begged one of the gentlemen to take the 
 same stage as an escort and protector, he having been particu- 
 larly attentive throughout the clay. This he willingly con- 
 sented to do. He was a Southern gentleman, and like most 
 Southerners, gallant and accommodating to ladies. To amuse 
 them, he related a brief sketch of his life. His name was 
 Parkfield, and he had been spending some time at the North, 
 and was now returning to his uncle, who was a wealthy planter. 
 The night passed away, those who could, endeavoring to slum- 
 ber. Just before daylight, the stage stopped at a station, to 
 change horses, and the passengers alighted to warm themselves. 
 Mr. Parkfield was standing near Lily, by the stove, when a 
 roughdooking fellow, from one of the other stages, beckoned 
 him on one side. He went, and Lily noticed that their con- 
 versation soon became warm, and that they used threatening 
 gestures towards one another. Presently, Parkfield left the 
 house, with several others, but soon returned, and going up to 
 5
 
 93 LILY HU SON. 
 
 the man already mentioned, Lily heard him say : " You must 
 take my apology, or accept my challenge." 
 
 Lily requested him to come to her, and asked, in some 
 alarm, the cause of the disturbance. It appeared, that when 
 the change of stages was made, two men, one of whom was 
 this rough-looking fellow, had given up their seats, as they 
 understood at the time, to three ladies; but on alighting at fhe 
 hotel, and finding that one was a gentleman, the man alluded 
 to, had used some coarse expressions to Parkfield, and had 
 claimed his seat. Parkfield made an apology for having occu- 
 pied his place, saying that he had done so by the request of 
 the ladies themselves, but it had been refused, and hence the 
 disturbance and the threatening words that had ensued. Lily 
 immediately went up to the man, and explained how the change 
 had been made, and the, fellow left without replying a word. 
 Shortly they were summoned to resume their places, and Mr. 
 Parkfield having seen the ladies seated, took his own place in 
 another stage. As soon as there was sufficient light to see, 
 the ladies found that the man who had caused the disturbance 
 was in the stage, sitting opposite to them, while another gen- 
 tleman occupied the seat by their side. One of the gentlemen 
 
 in the stage was from the town of , as it appeared from 
 
 his conversation, and was acquainted with Mr. Nelson, Lily's 
 uncle. The name of this gentleman was Tuttle, and he kindly 
 promised to assist her during the journey, observing that it 
 was a long and an arduous journey for her to take alone. The 
 lady slept during the greater part of the time, but Lily was 
 unable to sleep, and she suffered greatly from the fatigue as 
 well as from the dread she after a short time began to have of 
 Mr. Tuttle, who, though to outward appearance civil, and 
 even solicitous in his attentions to her comfort, she had reason 
 to suspect of sinister motives. The fatigue also had made her 
 seriously unwell, and at one time she thought she would not 
 have been able to continue the journey. Some days passed in 
 thus making their weary way in the stages ; at length, to Lily's
 
 LILY HUSON. 99 
 
 great relief, they came to the junction where she was to quit 
 the stages for the cars. Here she parted with her female com- 
 panion of the journey, and to her great relief with Mr. Tuttle, 
 who continued his journey in the stage. 
 
 After this, her journey was comparatively easy, and she had 
 no difficulty in finding her uncle's house. 
 
 She was disappointed in her anticipations of meeting her 
 father. It was indeed her uncle whom she saw, but instead of 
 the aged and feeble man she had expected to see, she found 
 him hale and active, and by no means aged. 
 
 The motive of his letters was soon explained. She found 
 that her uncle indulged freely in the use of ardent spirits, and 
 at such times was scarcely capable of using his tongue or his 
 pen coherently. The following conversation between him and 
 his niece one day, shortly after her arrival, will give the reader 
 some idea of the pleasure she received through this visit : 
 
 " Uncle, I have learned many things since I have been with 
 you, that had I remained at home I should not have become 
 acquainted with, and which it would, perhaps, be better I had 
 remained in ignorance of; aside from this, and the pleasure 
 you say you have enjoyed in my society, I feel that the time I 
 have spent here has been lost. Could I persuade you to leave 
 off drinking and to become a temperate man, I should feel that 
 I should have no cause to regret my having come to you, but 
 now I wish I was home again." 
 
 " Why would you leave me, Lily V 
 
 " Because, uncle, I know that I can gain no good by remain- 
 ing. I have been deceived in you, and your promises made to 
 induce me to leave my home were false ; I can be of no service 
 here, and my brother may need my aid at home." 
 
 " Still you must stay and bear with me yet a little while, 
 Lily," her uncle replied, although he could assign no reason 
 beyond the self-indulgence he gratified himself with in her 
 society. 
 
 Matters remaining thus, Lily left for home, her uncle having
 
 100 LILY HUSON. 
 
 so for acted up to his promises as to provide her with funds 
 for the long journey. An extract from the first letter Lily 
 received from him after she had left him to pay a visit to her 
 
 friends in , will show that after all, he had looked upon 
 
 her and remembered her with kindness. He wrote : 
 
 " My dearest niece : — I was at yesterday, and got 
 
 your looked-for and welcome letter. I was glad to learn that 
 
 you still thought of me with kindness " Again he said, 
 
 " Tell Frank to write a few lines, if only to say she would like 
 to see me. That thought itself, from such beings as you and 
 she, affords the sweetest pleasure to a mind like mine." 
 
 This uncle had been a fine-looking man in his younger days, 
 and even at this period, at the age of fifty-five, he is still a good- 
 looking man, intelligent, and possessed with noble and gener- 
 ous feelings ; but, alas ! the vice of intoxication had overpow- 
 ered him, and was leading him on to ruin. 
 
 Thus much respecting Lily's visit ; all her bright hopes had 
 faded, although her uncle still expressed his intention of making 
 her his heir. He was a widow with one child, who was sup- 
 posed to be still living, but who had been removed from his 
 home when quite an infant, by a female acquaintance who had 
 taken him on a temporary visit ; but who had mysteriously 
 changed her residence shortly afterwards, and had since not 
 been heard of by the family.
 
 LILY HUSON. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NEW AND INTERESTING ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 Lily had received a pressing invitation to visit some friends 
 
 in ■ , and it was partly on this account that she left her 
 
 uncle in the month of March. She was to travel by the cars 
 the whole distance, and having taken her place and given her 
 uncle the last " good-bye," she settled herself back in her seat 
 and indulged in a reverie upon all that had passed since she had 
 left her home. At length her attention was aroused by an 
 exclamation of delight from the lips of a gentleman opposite 
 to her, and arousing herself and following with her own eyes 
 the direction of his, her gaze rested upon one of the loveliest 
 landscapes she had ever seen. Although the spring was yet in 
 its infancy, the sward was clothed in the brightest of green. 
 A small stream rippled close to the railroad, and beyond that 
 the eye rested upon an extensive plain, spread like a map before 
 it — and interspersed with towns and villages, and woods and 
 groves, and hills and dales in endless variety. The scene drove 
 from her mind the sombre thoughts which had temporarily 
 taken possession of it, and she amused herself with watching 
 the ever-changing scenery as the cars rolled rapidly along. 
 
 They were detained one night at a place called , a 
 
 pleasant town, fifty miles from , which they did not 
 
 reach until the following day. By noon Lily arrived at the 
 residence of her friends. She had their address and proceeded 
 directly to their house, when the cars stopped at the depot. It
 
 102 LILY HUSON. 
 
 was a large, three story brick edifiee. Lily had never seen her 
 friends, but on inquiring for her aunt, she learnt that she 
 
 had been absent fur three weeks on a visit at , but was 
 
 expected home that day. She then asked for her uncle; he 
 was at his place of business, but she was informed would soon 
 be home to dinner. Lily then said who she was, and explain- 
 ed the cause of her not having arrived the night before, as had 
 been expected. She was then invited into the house, and in a 
 few moments a young lady entered the room and gave her a 
 warm and hearty welcome. Lily had once seen this young 
 lady's daguerreotype, but was unprepared to meet her at her 
 uncle's house, as she thought she had gone to her home in New 
 England. She was another niece of Mr. Gardner, Lily's uncle, 
 by marriage, and her name was Frances Gardner. She was 
 the "Frank" alluded to in the extract from her uncle Albert's 
 letter. The recognition Was mutual, and the kiss of friendship 
 was given and received by each. Frances Gardner was short 
 in stature, but well proportioned, with dark hair, hazel eyes and 
 fair complexion, and a pleasing and intelligent countenance; 
 altogether, she was a beautiful and engaging girl, and the two 
 young women were shortly engaged in an animated conversa- 
 tion, when the door was opened, and uncle Gardner entered the 
 room. He recognized Lily at once, as soon as he heard her 
 name mentioned, and bestowed a fatherly kiss upon her fair 
 cheek as he extended her a hearty welcome to his home and his 
 affections. Lily thought the expression of her uncle's counte- 
 nance extremely pleasing. He was tall and slender, with dark 
 hair, blue eyes, and a face beaming with intellect and good 
 humor. 
 
 Lily was soon epiite at home in the society of her uncle and 
 her cousin Frances, and she anticipated with pleasure the 
 arrival of her aunt ; but it was not until the noon of the follow- 
 ing day that she arrived. She was greeted by her aunt with 
 the same degree of warmth that had characterized her welcome 
 from her uncle and cousin, and in the pleasing society of these
 
 LILY HUSON. 103 
 
 kind, and to her, new friends, Lily found the days pass swiftly 
 and happily, and she felt that in this visit she was fully repaid 
 for the disappointment and anxiety that had attended her since 
 she had left her. home. Her aunt was more than a pretty — she 
 was a lovely — woman ; one whom to know was to love and 
 esteem. She was of small stature, with blue eyes and a round, 
 good-humored face ; when young, she must have been really 
 handsome. Mr. Gardner was her second husband, the first 
 husband having been Lily's own uncle and brother to her 
 father, therefore no actual blood relationship existed ; but she 
 was acknowledged as a relative by the whole family. 
 
 To Lily this visit was a source of unmixed gratification. 
 Naturally of a cheerful disposition, she was fond of society and 
 of innocent amusements, and one great attraction to her was 
 the number of social parties got up by her aunt Gardner and 
 other friends especially for her entertainment. Although she 
 had not been much accustomed to mix in society, nature had, 
 as we have often heretofore mentioned, been bountiful in her 
 gifts to her, and under her tuition, that of art was not needed. 
 She possessed not, it is true, any of the trifling accomplish- 
 ments, and she was destitute of the airs and graces of the fine 
 lady, but she was only the more attractive in consequence of 
 her graceful simplicity of manner. Sometimes she rode out 
 with her uncle, who was acquainted with every inch of the soil, 
 and who knew where to find the loveliest nooks and the sweet 
 est landscapes, and these he would point out to his youthful 
 companion. Here the land would rise to a great height, and 
 there gradually slope off into green fields, or pasture land 
 covered with thick and pleasant groves ; sometimes a ravine 
 would intervene between two craggy rocks, lending to the 
 scene a picturesque grandeur which fascinated the gaze, and the 
 mind would wander back to the days, not so very lon<r distant, 
 when the red man owned the soil, and the white man sought to 
 dispossess him of his birthright. Then this ravine and those 
 dense groves sheltered the lurking savage watching for oppor-
 
 104 LILY HUSON. 
 
 tunity to deal the death-blow upon his grasping foe. Then, 
 perhaps, the scene was grander, because wilder than it is now ; 
 but as the eye wandered over the rich fields of corn and grain, 
 the beholder could not but confess that, however in reality 
 unjust was the war of extermination the white man raised, he 
 had misused God's gifts since he had gained the victory. 
 Looking towards the town, the scene was equally suggestive. 
 From the hill-top the eye of the beholder looked down upon a 
 blackened mass of buildings. This blackness being caused 
 from the quantity of stove coal used in the buildings. The 
 distant hum of the inhabitants, heard through the clear atmos- 
 phere of early spring, told of energy and industry in the 
 exercise of which human skill was exerted to the utmost, and 
 one might have thought that where all was bustle and strife 
 after wealth, there was little room left in that busy town for 
 the softer and more genial sentiments of humanity ; but Lily 
 knew that there were warm hearts beating for her amidst that 
 motley, dingy crowd, and then having rode far enough to 
 impart a healthful vigor to the frame, to exercise, but not to 
 fatigue, the body- — Lily and her uncle would return to the 
 town and to their dwelling, and do ample justice to the excel- 
 lent dinner provided by her aunt, their appetites sharpened, as 
 their nerves were braced by the keen air of the morning.
 
 LILY HUSON. 105 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A VISIT TO A GRAVEYARD, AND TO A FAMILY TOMB LILy's RETURN 
 
 HOME — SCENES ON THE LAKE THE DAGUERREOTYPE GALLERY 
 
 LILY MAKES RENEWED EXERTIONS — A NOVEL SCHEME PRO- 
 
 . JECTED — WHAT HER FRIENDS THINK OF IT. 
 
 It is singular that although men rarely like to think or talk 
 of death, the grave-yard or the cemetery almost always have 
 a fascination for the stranger, even where none of his kindred 
 dust are there interred. This fascination is increased when he 
 knows that beneath that sacred soil lie buried the bones of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 Lily's grandparents and one of her uncles had been buried 
 
 in the church-yard of , and though she had not seen 
 
 them since the days of her earliest infancy, for they had many 
 years before paid the great debt of nature, she was naturally 
 enough happy to hear them spoken of in terms of praise and 
 still abiding love. Her grandfather had fought in the glorious 
 battles of the Revolution. She had seen his name more than 
 once alluded to in terms of commendation, when the history of 
 the heroes of days gone by was alluded to, and it was with 
 feelings akin to awe and veneration, that she strolled into the 
 grave-yard on the afternoon of Sunday after her arrival at her 
 uncle's house. She recollected still, although then a mere 
 infant, the tales her grandfather would tell, as she sat on his 
 knee, of the scenes he had passed through, and of the battles 
 in which he had participated, and now she was for the first time 
 to visit that grandsire's grave. 
 5*
 
 106 LILY HUSON. 
 
 She stood and gazed upon it, and memory recalled with ten- 
 fold perspicuity the days when the form that now lay cold and 
 mouldering to dust beneath that stone, had carried her in his 
 arms and caressed her with a grandfather's pride. She moved 
 on to the tomb of her uncle. On the stone that marked this 
 tomb his affectionate widow had caused some lines of her own 
 composition to be engraved. Lily perused them with interest, 
 and copied them into her note-book. They were simple lines, 
 and simple rhymes. We will not copy them ; the stern critic 
 would sneer, the idle reader would laugh; but if a poet's 
 artistic skill had not composed these lines, there was true 
 poetry in the heartfelt impulse that dictated them, and Lily 
 treasured them far more than if they had possessed all the 
 meretricious graces of art, and all the flowers and flourishes of 
 ornament — as we gaze upon the little rivulet with more emo- 
 tion than upon the ornamental lake — as we treasure the heart's 
 offering of a friend we love more than the costly gift of the 
 stranger. Lily wept to think that all that remained of those 
 loved and cherished ones, was a heap of mouldering dust ; all 
 that told they had once lived upon earth, was a mound of clay 
 surmounted by a marble slab. Let us quit this solemn scene. 
 The day soon comes round when Lily must leave this pleasant 
 family ; with whom, had she not other and nearer ties, she 
 could have been well content to dwell for the remainder of her 
 life. On the evening of the last clay of April, a party was 
 assembled at her uncle's house ; but although those who had 
 there met were all congenial spirits, the party was not so lively 
 as usual. Lily was to leave on the following morning for her 
 home. Her oldest cousin Augustus was endeavoring, with 
 Frank, to persuade her to linger longer with them, and had it 
 not been for the reason we have given, she fain would have 
 stayed. But she had heard that the lake was clear, across 
 which she intended to return. The boats had commenced their 
 regular trips, and she has only been waiting thus long in order 
 to obtain a letter from an uncle who resided upon the shore of
 
 LILY HU SON. 107 
 
 the lake, whom she had not yet seen, and to whom she intended 
 to pay a brief visit before she returned home. She could, as 
 we have observed, have wished to linger forever amongst the 
 friends who had been so kind to her, and amidst the enchanting 
 scenery of this delightful country, the pleasures of which were 
 to her ever new. But duty demanded her return, and she 
 dared not refuse to obey the call. Her brother was lonesome 
 and unhappy without the society of his only sister. Her 
 mother weeps, and fears she may never behold her daughter 
 again. These tidings from home have reached her through the 
 medium of the pen, and have spread a cloud over the sunshine 
 of her enjoyments. It had been settled that she should leave 
 in a few days at the furthest ; she had been prevailed upon to 
 remain over the morrow, and when the party broke up, the 
 visitors bade her an affectionate farewell. 
 
 She had received the expected letter from her uncle, and he 
 had renewed his pressing invitation. There was no more ex- 
 cuse for delay, and at length the morning arrived on which she 
 was to take her departure. Before breakfast time, the coach 
 which was to convey her to the cars arrived at the door. An 
 affectionate farewell was exchanged with all her friends, but it 
 was cousin Orra who had Lily's last kiss. Towards the approach 
 of night she arrived at her uncle Rosson's, who was waiting at 
 the depot to receive her, and she spent the Sabbath — for it was 
 Saturday evening when she arrived — with him and his family. 
 These friends, as well as the Gardners, were relatives on the 
 father's side, to Lily, and there was yet another uncle whom 
 we neglected to mention, who had called at her uncle Gard- 
 ner's, having walked nearly a hundred miles to see her. He 
 was poor, and Lily insisted upon his riding home, presenting 
 him with ten dollars of the money she had received from her 
 uncle Albert, to pay his expenses. She was much touched 
 with the affection that had prompted the visit, and would have 
 been happy if she could have returned with the old man and 
 ministered to his necessities, and she prayed that God might
 
 108 LILY HUSON. 
 
 yet put it in her power to do so. Lily greatly enjoyed a stroll 
 with her uncle Rosson on the shores of the beautiful lake, al- 
 though the breeze whistled bleakly from the North ; and on 
 Monday morning she took leave of her new friends, her uncle 
 accompanying her to the steamboat. The boat soon started, 
 and waving her handkerchief in farewell to her uncle, she 
 gazed with wonder and delight at the surrounding prospect. 
 
 This was a novel scene to Lily. The lake was considerably 
 agitated from the effect of recent gales, and the waves were 
 foaming and dashing angrily against the side of the steamer ; 
 but she rides majestically onwards, gliding with rapidity through 
 the angry foam. 
 
 When the vessel had reached within a few miles of the har- 
 bor, the sky, which had been calm and clear before, became sud- 
 denly black as night. A thunder storm came on, accompanied 
 with squalls of wind and rain. The lightning played fearfully 
 in the heavens, and the steamer tossed to and fro, seeming to 
 Lily's unpraeticed fancy as though she mocked the control of 
 the helmsman. The passengers eagerly clung to anything they 
 could lay hold of that would enable them to keep their footing, 
 and gazed eagerly upon the town, which was just in sight in 
 the distance. Lily threw herself into a large rocking-chair, 
 and with her head thrown back she endeavored to keep motion 
 with the steamer, as she rocked to and fro, while she watched 
 the forked lightning and listened to the reverberating peals of 
 thunder. She showed no fear, although to her, unusued to 
 such sights, the scene was sublime — awfully grand. She wit- 
 nessed the seamen's hurried motions, and wondered how they 
 could pass to and fro while the passengers were afraid to move. 
 The. storm, however, soon subsided, and the steamer run into 
 the harbor. 
 
 Lily thanked the kind Providence that had guarded her and 
 maintained her in safety, during what, to her, was a terrific 
 scene, and also prayed that it might be thus with her through
 
 LILY HUSO N. 109 
 
 life, however dark and gloomy might be the horizon above and 
 around her. 
 
 The boat remained in harbor until evening, when it again 
 started. It was a widely different scene now to that of the 
 morning. The vessel now glided out of the harbor and along 
 the smooth bosom of the lake, like a queen going forth to her 
 bridal, leaving myriads of bright stars in her train as she 
 cleaves her way through the sparkling element. For some 
 time Lily sat gazing with admiration upon the lovely scene 
 from her state-room window ; but soon the dark blue sky 
 above and the glassy deep below alike fade from her view. The 
 snorting of the engine and the rippling of the waters were 
 hushed. Lily was journeying in the land of dreams, and there 
 Ave will leave her until morning. 
 
 Another day, partly spent upon the lake and partly in the 
 railroad cars, was over, and Lily was once again at home and 
 busy relating to her mother and brother the adventures she 
 had met with. How different was the scene now present to 
 her to those she had left ! There all joy and happiness ; here 
 all labor and anxiety ; for her brother was in difficulties still, 
 from which there seemed no possibility of extrication. Lily 
 looked around her to see what she could do to remedy in some 
 slight degree this great evil of poverty. Her services were 
 required by a gentleman in the town \\ here she had been be- 
 fore engaged in business. He wished her to attend in a daguer- 
 reotype-gallery, and offered her good wages. She consulted 
 with a friend with reference to the propriety of her accepting 
 the offer, and at length she engaged, upon the condition that if 
 either party was dissatisfied, she could leave after the first 
 month. 
 
 While in this situation she was of necessity obliged to receive 
 a good deal of company. She had not been in attendance in 
 the gallery more than two Aveeks, when a gentleman Avho had 
 been observing her a long time, and whom she had once before 
 met at the house of a friend, came into the room where she
 
 110 LILY HUSON. 
 
 was sitting reading. A few casual remarks were passed, and 
 Lily continued her employment, thinking the gentleman would 
 soon leave, as he appeared merely to have come in to look 
 around him, and on no particular business. lie walked about 
 for some time looking at the daguerreotypes upon the walls, 
 until he had passed behind Lily's chair, when, turning round, 
 he remarked : 
 
 " They are beautiful pictures, and add much to the adorn- 
 ment of the room ; but the chief attraction, Lily, is your own 
 sweet self." As he said this he leaned over her shoulder and 
 attempted to kiss her. Lily, perceiving him, arose and left the 
 room, thinking he would leave and annoy her no further. As 
 she passed him, in order that he might not think she had noticed 
 his act, she said : 
 
 " I fancy my services are needed in the back-room." 
 
 When she returned, he had gone ; but in the afternoon he 
 came in again, and offered Lily an orange that he said he had 
 bought purposely for her. Lily declined taking it, and he 
 tossed it into her lap. She picked it up and handed it back to 
 him, telling him that his attentions were not appreciated by 
 her, and she would be much obliged if he would cease to annoy 
 her any further. She again left the room, without waiting for 
 any reply, and saw r little of him afterwards. 
 
 Perhaps this very man will say, should he ever chance to 
 read this, that Lily was imprudent to accept a situation in such 
 a place. But why 1 what is it that makes such places impru- 
 dent for females to be placed in? We will answer. It is the 
 impudence of such as he. It is the depraved nature of a cer- 
 tain class of mankind, most evident in a high state of civilization, 
 that makes every place where the poor female strives to obtain 
 a living, imprudent. She may stitch — stitch — stitch — her life 
 away in a hovel, and scarcely be heard or seen ; but, by those 
 who happily have not to earn, by the labor of their own hands, 
 their daily bread, be they men or women, she is thought to act 
 imprudently if she seeks to earn a better living by other honest
 
 LILY HUSON. Ill 
 
 means, which remunerate her labor more satisfactorily. The 
 female may preach " women's rights" as long as the world 
 stands; but how can we hope that a change in our political 
 nations will better woman's condition so long as the laws 
 which God has given are disregarded, nay scuffed at? Those 
 who cannot govern their own passions, be they men or women, 
 are assuredly unfitted to make laws for a nation. The chief 
 aim of every individual is true happiness. Some seek it one 
 way, some another, yet the end of all is the same. The man 
 of wealth does not find the happiness he has sought in the pos- 
 session of that wealth. The licentious man does not find it in 
 the gratification of his loose passions. The Christian alone 
 finds the happiness which others seek in vain, because he can see 
 a bright haven above the gloomy horizon, and can look beyond 
 the tomb. True happiness is in the reach of every one, but if 
 Ave do not perceive a foretaste of it here, we shall not find it 
 hereafter. Man is little better than the beast of the field, which 
 perishes, unless he can find a place within his breast for-that 
 love of God and the enduring peace in that love which passeth 
 all understanding. Man is simply an instrument in the hand 
 of his Creator, and yet Satan maketh use of the same instru- 
 ment to serve his own evil purposes. A good act cannot be 
 instigated by an evil power, for by so doing, the kingdom of 
 Satan would destroy itself. There is in each person two con- 
 ditions : one is light and love, which is God ; the other is evil 
 and darkness, which is Satan. Now God is continually at war 
 with Satan in the hearts of men, and at war with the sin which 
 dwelleth in our nature ; for with nature itself God is not in 
 enmity. Could only the proud nature of man's mind, wherein 
 is the kingdom of Satan, be destroyed. Christ's kingdom would 
 be set up in every individual heart. There would then be no 
 need of changes in our political and social laws, for God, 
 reigning in the heart of man, would allow of no evil-doing. 
 Then would man be truly happy. Then would women no 
 longer crouch beneath the tongue of slander, or bow in sub-
 
 112 LILY HUSON. 
 
 mission to the licentious will of man, or mourn over the degra- 
 ded state of man's nature. Men will cease to weep bitter tears 
 over the faithless wife, nor the wife mourn the desertion of the 
 husband, or wish to roam abroad, away from her home, in 
 search of the happiness she seeks, but cannot find there ; for 
 the wisdom of God will give to Adam his own rib ; to the 
 man his own wife ; and they will' be one flesh, seeing their God 
 in each other, as through a mirror. The law of divorec, which 
 
 ]\l rs- N , and others, so urgently contend for, will then be 
 
 of no avail, for it would be easier to separate the Siamese 
 twins, as husband and wife, united heart and soul in such a 
 union of love. There are now many men and women legally 
 married, who are no more man and wife, than if the ceremony 
 of marriage had never been passed through by them ; but we 
 have been led into a digression from our story, and will return, 
 trusting the reader will pardon our wanderings. 
 
 Lily began to think that she had mistaken the sphere for 
 which she was destined. She began to revolve in her mind 
 some plan by which she might obtain the means to make her 
 mother comfortable, and obtain for her brother the desire of 
 his heart, a small farm. She had hoped to obtain a compe- 
 tence for herself, and to this purpose she had hitherto directed 
 all her energies in vain. She had many friends, who had 
 shown kindness to her — them she wished to repay ; and the 
 idea struck her that she would publish the history of her event- 
 ful life— eventful, though yet so few years had passed over her 
 head ; but she knew how ill-fitted she was, by habit and edu- 
 cation, to arrange her history into proper form for publication. 
 She knew that very numerous books were thrown aside by the 
 publishers, and at all events she could hope to benefit little by 
 them. At last she thought of a novel scheme, and she whis- 
 pered it to one person. He was in no way to assist her, but 
 he did not disapprove of the idea. She therefore left her em- 
 ployment, and by advertising, Endeavored to find out a suitable 
 person to aid her in carrying out the plan she had formed. She
 
 LILY HUSON. 113 
 
 also wrote to Mr. Edgar, who had removed East, and whilst 
 she was writing his reply, we will see what other inducements 
 were held out to her. 
 
 Mr. Friendly felt so deep an interest in Lily, that he urged her 
 to attend some good school and improve herself. An extract 
 from a letter, written by him at this period, will show his notions 
 on the subject. The letter was written in reply to one sent 
 him by Lily, expressing her thanks for his kind solicitude in 
 her behalf, and for his generous aid in times of need. He wrote : 
 
 " The more I know of you, Lily, the more am I 
 
 phased with you. I sincerely thank you for the kindly 
 expression of your feelings towards me, but I have done only 
 that which I think from my heart you really deserve from one 
 who has known and watched you so long, and who has been 
 enabled to afford you such little aid as I have. My dear Lily, 
 you only need to cultivate your excellent understanding, in 
 order to take a lofty position in the ranks of your sex. Your 
 shrewd common sense, your cpuick and sensitive feelings, your 
 intuitive comprehension and your quickness of perception, 
 would, if you could only so far sacrifice your womanly pride 
 as to study thoroughly such books as I could recommend, and 
 not think them beneath your dignity, place you soon in a 
 position far above that which you now occupy. 
 
 " We are never too old to learn, Lily, and if you reply that 
 you lack the means necessary to enable you to devote your 
 time to the improvement of your mind, I will make the offer 
 to aid and assist you as far as it lies in my power to do so. I 
 shall be amply repaid by your correspondence, and in witness- 
 ing your progress, which I feel assured will be rapid. 
 
 " 1 am in earnest, Lily, when I advise you to place yourself 
 in some seminary, for, from what I have observed in you, I 
 believe you to be gifted with a more than ordinary intellect, 
 which it seems to be sinful to neglect " 
 
 Lily felt that she had already received too many favors from 
 the hands of this generous benefactor, and she had not the heart 
 to accept his generous offer, as she saw no prospect of ever
 
 114 LILY HUSON. 
 
 being able to repay his kindness. She declined the offer, there- 
 fore, deeply as she felt the kindness that prompted it; but she 
 was proud of his high opinion of her, and grateful to him as 
 though she had entered fully into his views. 
 
 She had received replies to letters written by her to learn 
 the real state of her father's affairs, which the reader will recol- 
 lect were alluded to in her uncle Albert's letters. Lily had 
 written in her uncle's name to the post-master of the town 
 where her father had died, and where his widow and family 
 still lived. We copy the following extract from the post- 
 master's reply : 
 
 " Dear Sir : — I have made the necessary inquiries for 
 
 you, having known Mrs. ITuson for some time. She is residing 
 in the suburbs of this town, and has been confined to her room, 
 and for the greater part of the time to her bed, for the last two 
 years. Her pecuniary circumstances are very poor indeed ; 
 so poor is she, that if it were not for the assistance she receives 
 from the church of which she is a member, she would suffer 
 greatly. 1 read your letter to her. She seemed to be over- 
 joyed to hear from you, and begged me to write you all about, 
 her, and her situation. She is an amiable woman, and has 
 ever borne an excellent reputation ; and 1 sincerely hope that 
 your circumstances will permit of your doing something for 
 her, for she is really in great need. She has two children 
 living — William and Henry ; the first is learning a trade here ; 
 the other is in Maryland, but neither are in circumstances to 
 afford her any assistance. Such is a hasty sketch of the person 
 you wish to hear about. Mrs. Huson sends her love to you 
 all, and often says, ' Oh ! how 1 do wish I could see one of my 
 husband's brothers.' You will please reply to this, as it will 
 give her great pleasure to hear from you; and anything you 
 may be pleased to send her, will, if entrusted to my care, be 
 gladly attended to and carried to her. 
 
 " Respectfully, yours, 
 
 "M. E. M., Post-master."
 
 LILY HUSON. 115 
 
 Lily's heart beat tenderly for this poor woman and her 
 children. How she longed that she possessed the means to 
 aid them ! Her heart smote her for having innocently raised 
 expectations she could not gratify. 
 
 She wrote to her uncle Albert, but did not anticipate any 
 assistance from him. How earnestly she now prayed that she 
 might meet with success in her plans ! She had written to Mr. 
 Edgar, explaining her views to him, and she received the fol- 
 lowing reply, which, we will copy, as it will disclose the nature 
 of the scheme she had in view. Young gentlemen, don't laugh 
 too loud, and ladies fair, don't distort your pretty faces for one 
 moment with a frown, since you already know Lily's laudable 
 ohject in offering herself in this way. Be merciful, and with- 
 out further comment we will give Mr. Edgar's reply : — 
 
 July 1,4th, 1852. 
 " My Dear Young Lady : 
 
 Yours of the 20th of June duly 
 came to hand, but I have been called away by business, which 
 has necessarily delayed my answer until now. I had intended 
 to have written you to-day, and my mail carrier has just 
 brought me your letter of the 12th instant — -just in time to 
 reply to both letters together. Well ; your proposition to 
 dispose of yourself in matrimony, may be a very good one, 
 and I should like to see it carried out to a good round price; 
 because I know you would fetch a good price, if the prize could 
 only be seen by all to whom a ticket was offered. I know 
 several who have expressed to me the influence that pretty face 
 and those speaking and bewitching eyes have over them, to 
 say nothing of that musical voice, that pleasing smile, disclos- 
 ing two rows of pearly teeth, and that fascinating manner, and 
 constant exertion to a good and holy purpose which has ever 
 characterized you. How pleased I should be to know that you 
 were happily situated, and settled in life, and it appears strange 
 to me that you have not ere this disposed of yourself to your
 
 116 LILY HUSON. 
 
 satisfaction, m a more legitimate way than that which you now 
 propose. But, as the old saw says, 'It is a long lane that has 
 no turning,' your path through life may yet turn happily for 
 yon. That it may be so, is my sincere wish. I have made, as 
 you are well aware of, some little exertions towards the object 
 in view, in your behalf; but my endeavors hav'e not hitherto 
 been attended with the success I could have desired. Still I 
 have a hope in the future, although for the present it may be 
 out of my power to assist you towards attaining your desired 
 end. I do not like to advise with you in regard to this step, 
 for fear Dame Fortune should not smile upon my advice. 
 Perhaps, if you, alone, and without advice, adopt for yourself 
 the course you think most desirable to take, and then 'go 
 ahead,' fortune might crown you with success. I will make no 
 objection to any course you may choose to take, and any thing 
 I can do for you, will be most cheerfully done. 
 
 " I shall be pleased to learn what course you-have decided 
 upon ; but I must tell you one thing, this undertaking will be 
 attended with considerable expense and trouble as regards 
 printing, as well as in engaging the services of a capable writer 
 and responsible agents to carry out the plan afterwards. Then 
 1 have an idea that you place the price of the tickets too high 
 for the great mass to purchase. The tickets- should not be over 
 two or three dollars. I should prefer them at one dollar, for 
 your object is money ; and, if a young man should win the 
 prize and you did not like him, you could divide the money and 
 cry quits. The cheaper the tickets the more would there be 
 sold, and there are very few young men but would be willing 
 to venture one dollar, when perhaps they would not like to 
 venture more in such a scheme. But after all, knowing your 
 laudable object, 1 do not like to throw impediments in your 
 way, yet I am not at all flattered with the idea. I do not say 
 this lo discourage you. I should like to see you carry the plan 
 out successfully, and I repeat, you may depend upon every 
 exertion in your behalf being made on my part. I thank you
 
 LILY HUSON. 117 
 
 for the kind and tender interest you have expressed with regard 
 to my health and prospects, and take this opportunity to reas- 
 sure you of my continued good feelings towards you and your 
 family. You will also please to accept my thanks for the 
 interest you have taken in my behalf by your uncle. I trust 
 he will not for the present sell those notes or give me trouble, 
 for the time will most assuredly come, and is not far distant, 
 when I will make all right with him, as well as with your 
 brother. It is in your power to aid me in these matters, and 
 if you will exert your influence you will receive your reward ; 
 for the present, I will leave this matter with you." (The last 
 part of this letter alluded to certain monies lent Mr. Edgar by 
 Lily's uncle and brother, through her influence, and Lily had 
 willingly used that influence, knowing Mr. Edgar to be an 
 honorable man, though temporarily embarrassed in pecuniary 
 matters. 
 
 Our readers will have some idea now of the nature of Lily's 
 scheme, from the remarks Mr. Edgar has made in allusion to 
 it in his letter. But still she required the assistance of some 
 active, energetic, and efficient person to engage with her in the 
 matter. 
 
 To endeavor to obtain this, she now bent all her energies, 
 at the same time, keeping it a secret to all but those whom we 
 have mentioned ; but she found it a difficult matter to find a 
 person at once willing and capable, to join her.
 
 118 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A VISIT TO NEW YORK FRESH DISAPPOINTMENTS LILT HEARS 
 
 OF THE DEATH OF HER FATHER, WHICH OCCURRED SOME YEARS 
 
 BEFORE— LETTERS FROM HER HALF BROTHERS A STRANGE 
 
 LETTER FROM A STRANGER. 
 
 Lily was not daunted by the ill prospect of success which 
 lay before her; although months had passed, and still the scheme 
 rested merely a fabric of the imagination, having assumed no 
 material form. Under the circumstances, she determined to 
 apply to a friend in New York for advice and assistance. This 
 friend we will designate as Mr. Bowman. 
 
 She immediately wrote to Mr. Friendly for assistance, he 
 being a railroad director, and he procured for her and her 
 mother a free passage to New York and back. Mrs. Young had 
 many friends and distant relatives in the city and suburbs of 
 New York, whom she had not seen for thirty years, and Lily 
 made this her excuse for visiting the metropolis, as well to her 
 mother as to Mr. Friendly. 
 
 On arriving in the city, Lily sent a note to Mr. Bowman, 
 who was a distant relative of her mother's, but he did not 
 receive it until next day, and poor Lily began to despair ; think- 
 ing that probably he had left the city, and that her hopes, so 
 far as regarded him, were disappointed, as she had been unable 
 to discover what had become of him, either through the press 
 or by means of private inquiry. She was, however, told that 
 he was not in the city. Mr. Bowman did not immediately
 
 LILY HUSON. 119 
 
 respond when he did receive the note, and Mrs. Young began 
 to grow uneasy at remaining in the city so long, as their means 
 were but small, and their money began to run low. She, there- 
 fore, had come to the conclusion to return home, and thence to 
 correspond with Mr. Bowman, and ask him to aid her in getting 
 a suitable person to engage in the business. But before the 
 cars left, her cousin came. He was a man engaged extensively 
 in business, and to all appearance a gentleman. She intimated 
 to him her object in visiting the city, but had not time then to 
 explain matters. However, he agreed to aid her if there was 
 any prospect of making money, and she promised to com- 
 municate in confidence the whole matter to him, by letter, after 
 her arrival home. 
 
 We publish the following extract from the letter she wrote 
 according to promise, detailing the particulars of the scheme 
 she had in view : — 
 
 Dear Sir : 
 
 Mother and I arrived home in safety on Wednesday 
 afternoon, and found matters much as we had left them ; there 
 was no occasion for us to have been in such a hurry, and I was 
 sorry that 1 had left without some further conversation with 
 you. However, my object in opening a correspondence with 
 you, at this time, is business, and I feel assured that with the 
 aid of a suitable person to assist, and with proper manage- 
 ment, a fair profit may be realized by all concerned. 
 
 I wish, therefore, a fair, straight-forward business course to 
 be pursued. You will probably think me a strange woman, 
 and 1 frankly own that I am one who desires to rise above 
 the condition in which untoward circumstances have placed me ; 
 and when once I am convinced a thing is honorable and right, 
 I am desirous at once of going through with it. "I will," 
 you said to me ; " I will." I like that strong, but grand ex- 
 pression. No one who ever uttered it in a tone of sincerity, 
 was ever a mean, weak-minded person. Mere casual obstacles
 
 120 LILY HUSON. 
 
 do not trouble him, though they rise en masse, as it were, to 
 pull him down. He thus speaks, and the unconquerable " will" 
 prevails. Obstacles fall before him. He stands forth a con- 
 queror. 
 
 If a man would succeed in any undertaking, let him not 
 look mournfully at his lot ; but with '* I will " breathing from 
 his lips — the spoken resolve of a strong and a good heart — let 
 him go forward, trusting in Providence, and he must and will 
 succeed. 
 
 Show me the man who never rose higher than a mere sro- 
 veiling earthworm ; whose influence died with his breath, and 
 I will confidently assert that that man never uttered the words 
 "1 will" with confidence in his tone, and strength and resolve 
 in his heart. But let the fires of energy course through a man's 
 veins, and if the thoughts are directed in the right channel, al- 
 though he may meet with temporary obstacles, he must and 
 will succeed. 
 
 Having thus expressed herself, Lily laid her plan openly and 
 clearly before Mr. Bowman, and he wrote to her in reply, say- 
 ing that he felt inclined to aid her ; but before matters were 
 settled, he met with an accident which prevented him from 
 doing so. 
 
 Lily was now adrift again, not knowing where to find another 
 person to ask assistance from. Yet still she clung to the 
 scheme as the only one by means of which she could hope to 
 realize her cherished wishes. 
 
 Meanwhile she received two letters from her two half-bro- 
 thers, which still tended to urge her on to action. We publish 
 these letters below. 
 
 Dear Sister : 
 
 It affords me much pleasure to address these 
 lines to you, who have so generously owned me as a brother. 
 I hardly know what to say in reply to your letter. I must say I
 
 LILY HUSON. 121 
 
 never was more surprised than I was when I received your letter, 
 and 1 hasten at once to inform you of what I am sure you will 
 be glad to hear, viz : that mother knew nothing of my father's 
 
 former marriage. Mother was born in , in the year 
 
 IS — , but was living in when she became acquainted 
 
 with your father. This was in the year 1830, and she was 
 married to him during that year. Thence mother and father 
 
 removed to , and there father kept a store in the year 
 
 1832. In 1834, William, the oldest child of James and Ellen 
 
 Huson, was born. About six months after this they left 
 
 and went to , and from thence removed to . At 
 
 they resided, I believe happily, until my father's death. 
 
 Mother was left with five small children, and not a friend to 
 look to for support. This was very hard ; but she bore it 
 bravely. In the course of twelve months, however, but two 
 of us were left. When I was about eight years of age, I left 
 mother to get a living the best way I could, and after some 
 time, working first at one little thing, then at another, such as I 
 was capable of doing, I went to learn the trade of coach- 
 making. Brother is at the same trade in , but he is 
 
 not yet out of his time. I have an aunt in , who does 
 
 all she can for brother, and has also done all she could for both 
 of us. She is poor, and makes her living by her needle, and 
 now she is getting up in years, and her health is very bad. 
 Henry, aunt, and myself are all the family that are living. It 
 was hardly worth while for me to say anything about our hard- 
 ships ; but you asked to know what were our circumstances. I 
 have told you them the best way I know how. 
 
 Dear sister, I am really proud to think that I can call you 
 my sister, and only wish that I could express the love that I 
 have for you and the others of your family whom I never 
 dreamed until lately were in existence. I am happy to think 
 that we have one relation who takes an interest in our welfare. 
 I have often wished I had a sister ; little did I dream I pos- 
 sessed one I expect to visit the fair in New York next sum- 
 6
 
 122 LILY HU SON 
 
 iner, if nothing happens to alter my arrangements, and I shall 
 be pleased to extend my visit a little further, and stop a few 
 days with yon. If you have' the same desire to see me that I 
 have to see you, you won't care how soon the time comes 
 round. You have asked me to tell you something relative 
 to my future prospects. They arc dull ; I see nothing before 
 me but hard labor all the days of my life; but 1 shall be well 
 satisfied with that, if I only preserve my health. I am now in 
 
 the employ of Mr. M , who has the largest establishment 
 
 of the. kind in this city. I have had so little schooling, and so 
 little chance to attend school since father's death, that I am 
 hardly able to write and spell so that any one can understand 
 it. I hope, therefore, that you will excuse me. I will say 
 nothing more at present. Giye my love to Uncle Albert, and 
 tell him he must write me as soon as possible. Give my love 
 also to my mother-in-law, as I will call her, and to brother. 
 I am yours, dear sister, 
 
 Very affectionately, 
 
 WILLIAM HUSON 
 
 The following letter was received from Henry, the brother 
 of William, whose letter we have already given above : 
 
 Dear Sister : 
 
 I have much pleasure in writing to you at your request. 
 I feel grateful to you for not saying anything about the circum- 
 stance that has happened, and I assure you I am willing to love 
 ■ you as a sister. I hope there will be no bad feeling aroused 
 in the family, relative to what has passed, and what was beyond 
 our control. I shall be very glad to see you, and I hope it will 
 not be long before we shall see each other. I shall be in 
 
 in the course of a fortnight. You need not answer this 
 
 letter until then, as I am going to to finish the few re- 
 maining days of my time. When I return, I shall be most 
 happy to hear from you. My trade is carriage-body making,
 
 LILY HUSON. 123 
 
 and I have been doing very well at it. Perhaps you would 
 like to know my age. It is just seventeen years and ten 
 months. You must excuse my writing and inditing, for I never 
 had any schooling. I would say more gladly ; but I have 
 written already four letters to-day. I will write at greater 
 
 length when I write again. I would like to see brother , 
 
 I have forgotten his name. Please give my love to him. 
 I am, dear sister, 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 HENRY HUSON. 
 
 William Huson, on the death of his mother, which occurred 
 very soon after Lily had heard from the postmaster of the 
 town where she lived, wrote to his supposed uncle, giving the 
 particulars of her death, and Lily had then made herself known 
 to the children. The above letters are the replies to those she 
 sent them at that period. 
 
 They were, she learnt, poor, friendless, and uneducated, and 
 Lily felt a strong desire to assist them — to aid them in attend- 
 ing a good school, and to have them near her, that she might 
 help them to guard against the evils to which youth is 
 liable. 
 
 Her circumstances, however, precluded any such idea, but 
 she henceforward kept up a correspondence with them, endea- 
 voring to encourage them to pursue a path of rectitude and 
 propriety. 
 
 Poor Lily still had sad trials at home ; but she strove to 
 keep all things as quiet as possible, with the assistance of her 
 brother Lemuel. 
 
 Mr. Friendly again kindly offered to aid the family, and often 
 sent presents to Mrs. Young. Below we publish another ex- 
 tract from one of his letters, written at this period, which will 
 give the reader some idea of the feeling and good disposition 
 he entertained towards the family.
 
 124 . LILY HUSON. 
 
 " I shall pass, to-night, by your place ; but I pre- 
 
 sume I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you. Still, if the 
 ears stop to wood and water, it is not impossible that I may 
 see you. How do' you get along this cold weather 1 Have 
 you wood in plenty, so as to make you warm and comfortable 1 
 I often think how hard this severe winter would be to the poor. 
 I mention this, not that I think you destitute, for I think if you 
 were, you would be frank enough to let me know, but I know 
 there are many poor creatures who are obliged to get along as 
 best they can, without an earthly friend to assist them. God 
 help them. Plow little do those who have abundance them- 
 selves, think of the sufferings of the poor, or how happy and 
 grateful they could render others at but little cost to themselves. 
 We are told, we have the poor with us always ; but, alas ! for 
 them, they are too often forgotten in this cold and selfish world. 
 I thank God that he has given me a heart to feel for, and means 
 to relieve, my poorer fellow-creatures. I assure you, I enjoy 
 doing good this way as much as do those enjoy my bounty who 
 are partakers of it. I trust I shall always have such feelings, 
 and the means to exercise them ; but this knowledge is hidden 
 from us for good purposes, no doubt." 
 
 Lily had confided her scheme to her generous benefactor, 
 and he had informed her that he thinks, perhaps, she may make 
 money out of it in consequence of its novelty, although, at 
 first, he did not approve of it ; but looking closely and con- 
 scientiously at the matter in every point of view, he had come 
 to a different conclusion. He regretted the exposure to which 
 it would subject her, but promised to aid her as far as he could. 
 
 Lily also wrote again to Mr. Edgar, requesting him to take 
 charge of the whole affair, and she will try to obtain the means 
 to commence it with. 
 
 After writing twice and waiting for a long time for a reply, 
 she received the following letter :
 
 LILY HUSOX. 125 
 
 January 3rd, 1853. 
 Mr Dear Young Friexd : 
 
 Your two letters, one dated the 28th November, and the 
 other on the 2Gth December, came each duly to hand. You 
 desired me to take time and not be too hasty in my conclu- 
 sions, but fairly to reflect upon the nature of your scheme. I 
 have done so, and have delayed writing until this moment, 
 scarcely knowing, indeed, what to write you, or what to advise. 
 My knowledge of your abilities, and of your great anxiety to 
 be engaged in some active duty, that you may be enabled to 
 place your family in comfortable circumstances, together with 
 the generally exalted sentiment of your letters, have occasion- 
 ed me no little anxiety for your welfare and success, in what- 
 ever you may undertake; and that you may meet with some 
 assurance of success, it would give me great pleasure to aid 
 you to the utmost extent of my power, but I regret that it is 
 not in my power to give you more encouragement than what 
 you may find in this. You know, Lily, that I am somewhat 
 embarrassed in my pecuniary affairs, and I am now striving to 
 disentangle myself from these embarrassments. 
 
 Having accepted a good offer here, my business is increasing, 
 with every prospect of success ; I have reason to suppose that 
 toy purposes will in the end be attained. I am under an engage- 
 ment with the gentleman with whom I am now connected 
 in business, until the 1st day of August, 185-, and I am to give 
 him a certain share of the profits of the business here, while he 
 remains in . These circumstances preclude me entire- 
 ly from engaging in any thing else. In fact, so states my engage- 
 ment with him. You know, Lily, it is important to myself 
 and my friends that I devote my whole energy towards that 
 which presents a reasonable prospect of my attaining the end 
 for which I am residing in this place. Your scheme, I do not 
 doubt, if rightly got up and well managed, would result in 
 making money ; but, Lily, a much younger man than I is 
 required for such a project.
 
 126 LILY HUSON 
 
 I have spoken with respect to it to some particular friends 
 in this place, hut they do not give you much encouragement, 
 as there are so many novelties in the world ; and it would cost 
 a large sum of money to start with, and if unsuccessful, the 
 expense to me would be very serious, by throwing me out of 
 a fair prospect. A younger man, differently situated, it would 
 not affect so much. I have tried to find some one here to under- 
 take the matter for you, but no scheming ones live here. We 
 are the antipodes of the Yankee people. I wish I could find a 
 proper and suitable person for you. It seems to me that such 
 an one ought to be found in the State of New York, where 
 there is so much enterprise. I shall continue my exertions to 
 that effect, and will write you again. In the mean time, write 
 me an account of all you do. 
 
 Give my respects to your mother and brother, and tell the 
 latter that I shall not forget him. Accept yourself my very 
 high regard, and believe me to remain, 
 
 Yours, as ever, 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 G. EDGAR. 
 
 Poor Lily ! she found but little to encourage her, yet she 
 would not give up the idea she had planned, for she can think 
 of nothing else half so encouraging, and she is determined to 
 bring it about in some way. 
 
 And now, for the present, we will drop the subject, and refer 
 to the occurrence of an incident which was one of the most 
 interesting that ever had occurred to Lily, and certainly the 
 most heart-rending to her. 
 
 Many persons had sought to win the hand and heart of Lily, 
 but there was always some insurmountable obstacle in the 
 way ; something to prevent her from loving as a wife is com- 
 manded in God's word to love her husband. She sought to 
 love all mankind with the love Wc are all commanded to bear 
 towards our fellow-creatures ; but the softer, gentler love that
 
 LILY HUSON. 127 
 
 the true woman feels for her husband, or for him -who is pledged 
 to become such, Lily had never yet felt for any one. Many 
 are personable in regard to feature and figure, and well cal- 
 culated to attract the eye ; but their feelings, tastes, and views 
 with reference to love widely differ. She had often asserted 
 that, that true, pure love alone, which is implanted in the heart 
 of mankind by our Heavenly Father, could ever reconcile her 
 to the idea of becoming a wife. One day, having been asked 
 by a friend why she did not get married, after making some 
 playful remarks, such as " No person will have me ;" " I am, 
 waiting for a good husband ;" " If I only get him, I shall not 
 have waited too long, and if I get a bad one, I shall have long 
 enough to live with him ;" and such like phrases, she honest- 
 ly told him why she had not got married. 
 
 " Four years ago," said she, " I was passing down the street 
 on which I now reside, when my attention was attracted by the 
 fragrance of some flower. I turned to look for it, and chance 
 discovered it to me, close by a fence in front of a small and 
 humble dwelling. It was a beautiful violet. It was peeping 
 from beneath the rude fence, and wasting its sweetness on the 
 desert air, surrounded by its sister flowers. Hundreds, per- 
 naps, had passed it on that day without noticing it. I stopped 
 and plucked it, and carefully carried it home. A gentleman 
 with whom I was acquainted, shortly after called in ; after 
 shaking hands with him, I presented him with my little flower, 
 and gave him an account of its capture. _He inhaled its fra- 
 grance, and admired its beauty ; but before he left it began to 
 droop, and after he had gone, I found it on the table forgotten 
 by him. I placed it between the leaves of a Bible. Its history 
 is still fresh in my memory, and a fragrance still seems to linger 
 around its faded petals. Had I admired this little .way-side 
 flower for its beauty alone, it would not have possessed these 
 lasting charms to .me. Thus it is in my case. If a man ad- 
 mires me and wishes to obtain me for a wife merely because 
 he is attracted by my face and form, which are beauties that I
 
 log LILY HUSON. 
 
 possess but a moderate share of, -when that little is gone, he 
 will have nothing left to love. But if he loves me for the mind 
 and for the inner virtues of the heart, these can never fade, can 
 never decay, but will, if kindly tended and cultivated, still 
 grow in beauty, and even when the form lies mouldering in the 
 dust, will, like the little violet, leave a lasting, lingering fra- 
 grance behind. 
 
 " When my Heavenly Father directs to me a corresponding 
 mind and heart, I shall be happy in accepting them, and the 
 hand of the possessor with them, and it will be my chiefestjoy 
 on earth to render that husband happy. If such an one I never 
 meet, I shall be content to remain single. Oriental gems could 
 never compensate for the want of true affection ; there is some- 
 thing more in marriage than the mere name. Better, far better, 
 be termed an old maid, than be an unhappy wife." 
 
 Let her, who is sitting like the queen of flowers admired by 
 all, a paragon of perfection amongst the daughters of men ; 
 let her watch, lest vanity enter her heart, beguiling her to trust 
 proudly to her own strength. Let her remember that she 
 standeth amongst slippery places, and be not high-minded, but 
 fear God, and walk in His ways, lest she stumble and fall. 
 
 Our readers will, we trust, pardon us for this digression, a. id 
 we will return to our story. In the following chapter, we will 
 introduce the incident we have spoken of by jniblishing a letter 
 which Lily received in reference to it.
 
 LILY HUSO.N. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 STILL MORE MYSTERY THE ELUCIDATION THE INTRODUCTION 
 
 AND COURTSHIP — CONFIDENTIAL LETTERS ALL IS FAVORABLE, 
 
 AND LOVE IN THE ASCENDANT A SUDDEN CHANGE AND A 
 
 LOVER'S INCONSTANCY. 
 
 , January 17, 1853. 
 
 My Dear Lady : 
 
 Ever since I first saw you at Mr. B 's, I 
 
 have been so favorably inclined towards you, that I can no Lin- 
 ger resist the impulse that leads me to address you, as this 
 is the only method I have at present of communicating my 
 feelings to one who I trust will pardon my presumption. May 
 I hope that you will confer upon me the greatest of all possi- 
 ble favors by responding to this letter, and, I trust, responding 
 also to the sentiments herein expressed ] Please favor me with 
 an early reply, as I feel very anxious whether my addresses 
 will be encouraged. 
 
 Accept, dear lady, my best wishes for your happiness, 
 And believe me to be 
 
 , Your affectionate friend, 
 
 E. JILTON. 
 
 This gentleman Lily had met a few times at the house of a 
 
 mutual friend, but had never been much acquainted with him. 
 
 She had thought him a talented man, and had respected him 
 
 as such. The friend, also, at whose residence she had been 
 
 -6*
 
 130 LILY HUSON. 
 
 introduced to him, had, in joke, said many things about him 
 to her — such as : 
 
 " Lily, he is a widower, and very much admires you. I 
 think you would make him a good wife, and so does he. He- 
 will make a good husband to some woman." 
 
 After the above fashion Mrs. B was always teasing 
 
 Lily about Mr. Jilton. But she had thought nothing more 
 about the matter until she had received the above letter, and 
 then she knew not what to say or do, he was such a stranger 
 to her. His person was pleasing, but beyond her idea that he 
 was possessed of talent, she knew nothing at all about his dis- 
 position or of the character he bore. His letter showed that 
 his temperament was impulsive, and her sympathetic feelings 
 prompted her to reply in a manner that perhaps he might con- 
 strue favorably. Imagine Lily's surprise when she received 
 the following answer to her letter : 
 
 'o 
 
 , January 2(jth, 1853. 
 
 Dear Madam : 
 
 I am so well pleased with the expression of 
 sentiment that your letter contained, that I am almost ashamed 
 to inform you that I have never written to you before now. 
 
 There is some mistake about the matter, and still I cannot 
 but be pleased that it has occurred ; for, to tell you the truth, 
 I have been so favorably impressed with regard to you, that 
 although I have never written you, I have often thought of doing 
 so, and have only been deterred by the consideration that you 
 would regard the act as a presumptuous one, in so short an 
 acquaintance. Somebody lias indeed conferred upon me an 
 overwhelming favor. Whether it was so intended or not I can- 
 not say, but I so regard it. Now, since you have kindly con- 
 sented to that which 1 so ardently desire, viz., to correspond 
 with me and improve our acquaintance, do not let this little 
 mistake prevent us from carrying the purpose into effect. I 
 was always inclined to be a little superstitious, and I believe
 
 LILY HUSON. 131 
 
 there is a providence in this affair. It is so much in accordance 
 with my views and feelings, and has so effectually, yet so unex- 
 pectedly, removed the scruples I had before indulged in with 
 regard to the propriety of writing, that I am quite inclined to 
 hope and believe that our further acquaintance will be mutually 
 agreeable. To acknowledge that I entertain towards you feel- 
 ings of as warm a nature as those to which you respond, would 
 be but to express the honest sentiments of my heart, and if an 
 acquaintance of longer standing than the present should create 
 in your own heart a similar feeling, I shall be indeed happy. 
 I shall look with much anxiety and impatience for your next let- 
 ter in reply, and may I not hope to receive it by the next mail? 
 I am, dear madam, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 P. S. — I should be happy to meet you in person, and have a 
 social interview. Please let me know in your next letter 
 whether that would be agreeable to you, and if so, whether 
 one week from next Friday evening would suit your conveni- 
 ence. F. J. 
 
 Lily at once suspected Mrs. P of bringing about this 
 
 correspondence ; but the feelings expressed in both letters were 
 the same, and she scarcely knew what conclusion to arrive at. 
 She was, however, led by the ardor of the writer's expressions, 
 and by her own feelings towards him, to reply. But she couched 
 her reply in cautious terms, so as not to awaken sentiments in 
 the heart of the writer that, on a closer acquaintance, could 
 not be realized. 
 
 We will not stay to comment upon the nature of the corres- 
 pondence which followed this singular introduction ; but let the 
 letters of Mr. Jilton show the character of the correspondence 
 with both parties. 
 
 The following letter was the first received from Mr. Jilton 
 after Lily's reply to the letter given above :
 
 132 LILY HUSON. 
 
 , Sunday, P. M., Jan. 30, 1853. 
 
 My Dear Friexd Lily: 
 
 I feel assured that you will excuse me 
 for addressing you by that endearing name ; for I cannot, if I 
 would, conceal the fact that your frankness and generous spirit, 
 combined with the very favorable opinion that I had pre- 
 viously formed of you, have made a deep impression upon my 
 mind. If there be anything for which I have longed and sighed 
 more than another, it has been for some tender and confiding 
 friend, possessed of feelings and sentiments congenial to my 
 own, into whose ears I could whisper the inmost feelings of, 
 my heart, and to whose breast I could confide every warm 
 emotion. Every day brings to one's notice the heartless crea- 
 tures of fashion and folly, who scorn the very idea of love as 
 inconsistent with their notions of independence ; whose hearts, 
 indeed, by a long indurating process, are rendered incapable of 
 such a sentiment. From such, who would not turn away in 
 disgust, when seeking for a warm-hearted, affectionate friend % 
 Better, far better, that the heart's holy aspirations were 
 smothered in their conceptions, than confide to such one's hopes 
 of domestic happiness. I cannot at present resist the impres- 
 sion that there is in our views and feelings towards each other 
 such a correspondence and sympathy, as will make our friend- 
 ship enduring. Time may dispel the fond hope as an illusion. 
 Circumstances may prove that we are both mistaken ; but, for 
 myself, I will not believe it until the unwelcome reality forces 
 itself upon me, in no uncertain light, at least. Let the matter 
 be fully tested. For myself, again let me say, that I feel like 
 entrusting to you my feelings of gratitude to a kind Providence, 
 for thus introducing us to each other. And, if I say to you 
 that I cannot help loving you, in advance, do not chide me, but 
 attribute it to a heart too susceptible to love. Thank you for 
 your kind permission to visit you. I shall embrace the oppor- 
 tunity, if possible, on Friday, the 4th proximo, by leaving the 
 city at 4£ o'clock, P. M. Now I do not wish to tax you too
 
 LILYHUSON. 133 
 
 heavily ; but I should be much pleased to receive a letter from 
 you before that time, if you can consistently write. Please 
 state how far from the depot you live ; also, whether I had 
 better stop at the east or west depot. 
 
 I am sincerely yours, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 Miss Lily IIuson, &c, &c. 
 
 The feelings and sentiments of the above letter so beautifully 
 blended with Lily's own, that she could not help loving their 
 author. She thought there was no cause for chiding. She 
 thought she knew the generous nature of the writer, and wil- 
 lingly complied with his request, by replying to his letter. 
 This having been done, she waited with anxious expectation for 
 the evening to come, when she anticipates a visit, fraught to 
 her with so deep an interest. 
 
 On the evening in question, she was seated in the plain and 
 neat parlor of her dwelling, made so by her economy and 
 industry, as plainly and as neatly attired ; for Lily felt no 
 desire to fascinate any man by dress or coquetry, far less the 
 man whom she wished to win her heart and eventually her 
 hand. 
 
 She anxiously waits, and yet trembles, for the issue of the 
 visit. At length she heard the opening of the gate, and her 
 heart beat violently in her bosom ; a knock at the door of the 
 house quickly followed, which Lily answered herself. She 
 kept no servant, but willingly and proudly waited upon her- 
 self. She had resolved beforehand to meet her lover alone. 
 She knew fall well that a stranger would render the meeting 
 embarrassed on both sides. With a trembling hand and a beat- 
 ing heart she opened the door, and greeted the expected visitor. 
 
 The following letter from Mr. Jilton, written subsequently 
 to this meeting, will better explain how the evening was 
 passed, than will any description of ours :
 
 134 LILY HUSON. 
 
 Saturday, P. M., Feb. 5, 1853. 
 
 My Dear Lily: — Here I am again, writing you only a few 
 hours after our separation. What Joes it mean '? what will 
 have to be done unto me to induce greater deliberation'? 
 Can you prescribe in such a case 1 If you desire, to undertake 
 my cure, I suppose you will wish to know the symptoms some- 
 what in detail. I will give you some of the more prominent 
 ones, and from them, perhaps, you will be able to judge 
 whether or not the disease admits of the possibility of a cure. 
 To tell the plain truth of the matter, although I am fully aware 
 of the existence of some malady in the region of the heart, yet 
 it is of so pleasing a nature, and so very flattering, that 1 have 
 no disposition to be cured. So you need not try very hard, 
 Lily, unless you think it necessary. 1 suppose I need not tell 
 
 you that my visit to was of the most gratifying 
 
 description, inasmuch as I there found a heart, beating in unison 
 with my own, the tender impulses of which were not smoth- 
 ered by the cold formalities of a cold and heartless world ; but 
 on the contrary, evinced, like my own, in no ambiguous manner. 
 
 Say, dear Lily, are not our views and feelings singularly 
 consonant 1 Are we not both ready to obey the heart's warm 
 impulses, and to enjoy in each other's society the unalloyed 
 bliss of pure love ? For myself, I am prepared to* say, that I 
 love you as I love no other being in the wide world. Can you 
 say as much % If so, let me hear it from your own lips, or see 
 it from your own pen, and I shall be happy. You must be 
 aware that I am quite dull to-day, not from having overslept 
 myself last night, but from some other cause, which you may, 
 perhaps, divine, so you will not expect me to write much this 
 time. My heart dictates many things which I want to say, but 
 I shall reserve them until I see you, which I hope will be soon. 
 Please let me know in your reply when you will be here, also 
 in what street and at what number you will stop, and, above 
 all, write immediately. I am, most affectionately, yours, 
 
 F. JILTON.
 
 LILY HUSO N. 135 
 
 We will simply say, in allusion to this letter, that Lily, 
 shortly after it was written, went on a visit of several weeks' 
 duration to the city, where Mr. Jilton resided, and the follow- 
 ing letter received by her, shortly after her return home again, 
 will show how matters had progressed in the meanwhile. 
 
 , March 19 ih, 1853. 
 
 Dear Lilt : 
 
 I thought I would allow you sufficient time 
 
 to have arrived safely at home before I troubled you with a 
 letter, although my inclination would have led me to write on 
 the same day on which I suppose you left the city. My inter- 
 course with you has been of the most pleasing character during 
 your stay here, and I cannot but feel deeply the vacuum which 
 has been created by your departure. 1 have seen none of your 
 friends here since you left, but each returning evening brings 
 the sweet recollection of the happy hours spent with you at 
 their houses, and I can hardly resist the inclination to go in 
 search of you. I no longer think of you as a stranger, but as 
 part of my own existence, and, for this reason, the time of our 
 separation will appear to me long, very long. I am prepared 
 to obey the promptings of stern duty, let it lead in whatever 
 direction it may. I wish you, therefore, to act with strict refer- 
 ence to your own convenience and circumstances, without any 
 reference to what I may have expressed to you. My constancy 
 will stand the test of time, and so long as I have the assurance 
 that your heart beats responsively to mine, I shall continue to 
 love only you. I shall look forward with impatience to the 
 time when I shall be permitted to visit you ; but, in the mean 
 time, please communicate freely with me with regard to the 
 result of your interviews with your mother and brother. I am 
 obliged to make this letter short, or lose to-night's mail, and 
 that I am unwilling to do, as it would delay your answer one 
 day longer, and I am very anxious to hear from you. 
 
 Please write immediately, and oblige your devoted friend, 
 
 F. JILTON.
 
 13G LILY HUSON. 
 
 Lily replied to this letter, and waited impatiently for an 
 answer, but it came not ; but her lover came unexpectedly, 
 and answered it in person. Although Lily liked to see him as 
 often as it could be made convenient, yet she could not recon- 
 cile the matter of his not answering in person. She was truly 
 fond of reading his letters, for they spoke directly to her heart, 
 while he said but little, and that little in jokes. This was a 
 source of unhappiness to her, yet she blamed herself for being 
 so sensitive, and longed to be merry and gay with him. Yet, 
 she found no enjoyment in it, and once she told him that she 
 feared her extreme sensitiveness would prove a source of un- 
 happiness to them both, and asked him if they had not better 
 drop the engagement. He replied : — 
 
 " Lily, I do hope we shall not quarrel," and he bade her an 
 affectionate " good night," which in part soothed her disquieted 
 feelings. 
 
 But his last visit was drawing near. He came like a shadow 
 and passed away. He was unusually dull that evening, and 
 Lily was more excited than ever ; for to have a gentleman dull 
 in her society was something new to her. 
 
 She could not comprehend it. As Mr. Jilton was about to 
 leave her, she said : — 
 
 " May I expect to hear from you soon ? I do so love to 
 read your letters ; they speak what the tongue refuses to utter !" 
 
 He replied : — 
 
 " Then you don't want to see me ; I fear I have offended you 
 by coming so unexpectedly. I know I am dull, but I cannot 
 help it. It arises from an inability to utter my feelings in 
 words." 
 
 Poor Lily grieved to think that she should thus have seemed 
 to find fault with one who appeared to be in mind, in disposi- 
 tion, and in person, all she could desire, and one whom she 
 truly loved. But this he never told her before, or her generous 
 disposition would have passed his reserve by, and not have 
 allowed it to interfere with her happiness. But we will say no
 
 LILY HUSON. 137 
 
 more. They parted, as usual, in a most affectionate manner at 
 the gate of her humble house, he telling her he would write 
 immediately on his return home. However, nearly a week 
 passed by without a letter ; Lily was sitting one day busily 
 employed sewing, but her thoughts were far away. She look- 
 ed pale and drooping. She had not for a long time been well, 
 for a severe cold she had caught had settled upon her lungs, 
 yet she did not complain ; but worked away cheerfully, in 
 anticipation of a certain coming event. It was a gloomy day 
 and her spirits were more than usually depressed, and she felt 
 that a few words from the one she loved most dear would bring 
 back the wonted sunshine to her heart. 
 
 She had sent her brother to the post-office to see if he could 
 find a letter there from Mr. Jilton. He returned, and entered 
 the house smiling ; Lily knows, by the expression of his face, 
 that the expected missive has come at last. She took the let- 
 ter from her brother's hand, and imprinted a warm kiss upon 
 the seal. 
 
 Then, with a trembling hand, she tore off the envelope. 
 What did she see to cause the temporary tinge of red that 
 anxious expectation and hope had caused to color her cheek, to 
 disappear and leave such a j)allor behind % Nothing, only that 
 the customary white gilt-edged sheet, is tinted of a salmon 
 color ! but what did that matter, so long as the same hand 
 penned the passionate, loving sentiments which so cheered her 
 heart 1 ? Still she thought there was something ominous in this 
 trifling matter. But what now has changed that pallor, the 
 pallor of sickness and anxiety, to the deadly pallor of pain and 
 anguish 1 What has stopped the wild beating of her heart, and 
 caused the death-like calm to succeed it 1 The letter fell from 
 her hands. Her bright eyes, but lately sparkling with eager- 
 ness and love, became expressionless as glass. Lily had faint- 
 ed, and for fifteen minutes she remained in a state of uncon- 
 sciousness. Her friends, who had gathered around her, feared 
 that the vital spark had fled ; that the mortal part of Lily alone 

 
 138 LILY HUSON. 
 
 remained, and the immortal spirit had left the senseless form 
 of clay. At length she opened her eyes, and her lips moved. 
 
 " He shall come to me and tell me his reasons. I will have 
 them from his own lips. He shall not avoid me, until I have 
 heard him give utterance to his reasons for acting thus !" she 
 exclaimed; "but marry him! no. Marry him, I now never 
 will !" 
 
 Again she relapsed into a state of unconsciousness — and we 
 will endeavor to explain the cause by giving the contents of 
 the letter. 
 
 March 20th, 1853. 
 Friend Lily : 
 
 It is not without the most unpleasant feelings that I sit 
 down to recall the circumstances that have lately been reveal- 
 ed to me, in the course of recent developments that have been 
 made. That there is no genuine heart-felt sympathy between 
 us, I have for some time past striven to disbelieve, although 
 our recent interviews have furnished sufficient evidence of the 
 fact. But the last interview has set the matter entirely at rest, 
 in my mind, and has dispelled therefrom every doubt. We 
 are entirely unsuited to each other in many respects, and for 
 this reason a union between us could only result in untold 
 misery and wretchedness to us both. I have been compelled 
 to believe these things much against my wishes, for I had fond- 
 ly, too fondly, hoped to find it otherwise. 
 
 But the ever present " dulness" of the one, and the " sen- 
 sitiveness" of the other, with the reproaches and denunciations 
 which they must ever produce, combine to point out a fate 
 which I would shun as I would deadly poison. Our intimacy 
 has been blindly "fallen into" through circumstances not alto- 
 gether "accidental" or " prudential," and now it is time, in my 
 humble opinion, to recall sense and judgment to the control of 
 our actions. You will bear me witness that I have not been 
 governed by any selfish or unworthy motives in my intercourse
 
 LILY HUSON. 139 
 
 ■with you, and now I feel sincerely sorry that we ever met. 
 Setting aside all that I have rehearsed, I have been made ac- 
 quainted with certain circumstances since I last saw you, which 
 would cause me to shrink from a union such as we have con- 
 templated. I will not say, that I will not fulfil my engage- 
 ments ; but, I ask, in all sincerity, do you insist upon the ful- 
 filment of the engagement, when, from the nature of things, I 
 cannot love you 1 I know you will not, if your former declara- 
 tions, oft repeated as they have been, are sincere. 
 
 Respectfully yours, &c, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 
 No wonder the drooping Lily sunk beneath this cruel blast. 
 It was the destruction of all her bright hopes of happiness, and 
 coming at such a moment, when her health required the most 
 tender attention and care, is it not strange that the reason, 
 which tattered upon its throne, did not flee for ever? 
 
 For two long weeks did Lily's anxious mother and brother 
 watch with tenderness over the loved one ; but who can tell 
 the agony of a broken heart 1 None, but those who have 
 experienced its wretchedness and despair. Those eyes, which 
 were wont to sparkle with joy and gladness, or to weep in 
 sympathy with the woes of others, are dull and lifeless, and 
 the fount of tears has gone dry. Such grief as Lily felt was 
 too deep for tears. * Could she have wept, she would sooner 
 have found relief. It was long before poor Lily recovered her 
 equanimity ; but at length she received strength from the only 
 source from which all true strength and all goodness comes 
 from the hand which had allowed, for His own wise purposes, 
 to allow the blow to be dealt ; but which now applied the heal- 
 ing balm to the wounded spirit, and Lily rose superior to her 
 trial and strove to conquer her misplaced affections. She 
 wrote briefly to her inconstant, faithless lover, demanding not 
 that he should fulfil his engagements, from which she freely ab- 
 solved him, but that he should furnish her with the reasons
 
 140 LILY HUSON. 
 
 which had dictated his cruel conduct. In the following chap- 
 ter we will give her letter, and the reply of Mr. Jilton, from 
 which the reader may perhaps be able to form a better judg- 
 ment, with regard to his conduct, than we can lead him to by 
 any explanation of our own. 

 
 LILY HUSON. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A CHAPTER OF CORRESPONDENCE A LOVEr's CRUELTY THE 
 
 SPIRIT AND DETERMINATION OF THE FORSAKEN ONE AN INTER- 
 VIEW DEMANDED. 
 
 Lily, as soon as she was able, wrote as follows : 
 
 April 3d, 1853. 
 
 Dear Sir : 
 
 This is the first moment since yours of the 
 29th March came to hand, that I have been able to reply to it, 
 and I cannot now do justice to the reply ; but I trust I shall in 
 this, as well as in many other things, be excused, by one whom 
 I have not blindly, or without using judgment, given my love. 
 I have long studied my own heart, and know it well. I also 
 know yours, perhaps, better than you have judged. 
 
 Circumstances have denied that share of book-knowledge, 
 which is my due, but they could not deprive me of that which 
 nature has given. Being deprived of the one, I have endeav- 
 ored to profit by the other. I have, in imagination, soared 
 above the stars, and penetrated the veriest depths of earth and 
 through boundless space, and what have I found there 1 The 
 word Eternity, and its depths, death alone can fathom. I have 
 studied inanimate nature, and have found it all serene and beau- 
 tiful. Then whence springs earth's depravity 1 ? It is not to be 
 found amongst the birds of the air or the beats of the field :
 
 142 LILYHUSON. 
 
 these fulfil the behests assigned to them by their Creator. It 
 is not to be found in any living being that does not possess a 
 soul. 
 
 Now, Frank, please to excuse this familiarity. Stoop so 
 low, and do not " shrink" to penetrate with me beneath the sur- 
 face of human nature. Let us search the human heart, and find 
 what is there hidden. In the first place, what is he that is 
 called man 1 He is simply a creature formed in the same way 
 as any other animal, and by the same Power. Then why does 
 he differ so widely from them? Because the creature ice call 
 man differs but little in many respects from the lower animals. 
 But God, who is love and a spirit, created man in His own 
 image, and chose his image for his own abode. What part of 
 our body then is-man 1 Love and spirit are not matter ; there- 
 fore the image of God cannot be matter, consequently the mind 
 alone can be man, and is the essence or image of the Creator. 
 
 "Will you now take my hand in friendship — nothing more — 
 and penetrate with me into the recesses of the human heart? 
 Human — why 1 Because, governed by man, if governed at all. 
 Tread softly, that we may not awaken the slumbering affections, 
 this being the resting-place. We find nothing but the warm, 
 red current of life, but the mind of man sees not with external 
 eyes. I do not expect you to see with my eyes; but turn 
 your own within, and your own good judgment will tell you I 
 was not, nor am not blind. But you knew neither yourself 
 nor me. Had I been devoid of judgment when you asked me 
 to become united to you, and said you were then as ready as 
 ever you could be, would I, loving you as I did, have said 
 wait, you are not yet acquainted with me? 
 
 If you have ever really loved, you will respond — no. 
 
 I knew you did not love me with the strength with which I 
 loved you, although you professed to the contrary. Had you 
 known and loved me, as you once wished me to believe you 
 did, you would not have been cold and chill, and I should have 
 had nothing to complain of when you were in my society. But
 
 
 LILY HUSON. 143 
 
 the difficulty lies here. You knew not your own heart or mine. 
 Oh, study it, that you may not wreck the happiness of another; 
 or be deceived in your own, for I tell you the only union that 
 will bring happiness, is that of the heart, which God alone can 
 give. This is a love which will stand when all else fails. Yes, 
 when the grim monster, death, stands waiting for his prey, she 
 who bears this love for you will not turn to the cold, cold world 
 for its sympathy, but will ascend with her heart still full of 
 love to her Creator. I heed little the scorn of the world. 
 Virtue and truth shall yet go forth conquering and to conquer, 
 whatever obstacles may be a stumbling-block in their path. 
 
 Please thank for me the informer of whom you speak, who 
 has told you that which makes you " shrink" from a union with 
 me, such as you had contemplated only eighteen days ago : " a 
 being whom you thought of, not as a stranger, but as already 
 part of your own existence." Had this been so, no earthly 
 power could have severed you from a part of your own being. 
 Had you loved as I did, misfortunes, or all that others might 
 have said against one or the other, would but have strength- 
 ened the bonds. For myself, I never contemplated a union 
 of hands alone, but of hearts also, and I should have waited 
 long enough to test your sincerity. You never aspired to such 
 a degree of love as mine, therefore, my love for you, you could 
 not appreciate, and its ardor checked yours, for I cannot believe 
 that you had no affection for me after all your professions. 
 
 But here let me advise you to know well your own heart 
 before you tell another that you love her. You may never 
 again find in woman the strength of attachment I bear you, noio 
 only as a sister to a dear brother, for as I once before told you, 
 I would not seek to reclaim a heart whose pulse had once 
 grown cold towards me for the wealth of the world. Frank, 
 you have trifled unconsciously with the best part of my nature, 
 but I forgive you as I forgive those who most wantonly injured 
 me with you. I know not whence the blow came, for you have 
 withheld from me the means of proving their falsehood.
 
 144 LILY HUSON. 
 
 I should have been happy in confiding to you all my troubles 
 and their causes ; and, oh, how happy to have received conso- 
 lation from you ! Think not the world trifles with my name, 
 or with my sex alone, from malice. I have learned from a close 
 study of human nature, that more offend from want of thought 
 than from want of feeling. 
 
 Pardon me, if I touch upon a sensitive chord, when I say 
 that your poor wife, I believe, loved you with a "sensitive" 
 love, as you have termed it. I love her very memory, and 
 sometimes think the spirits of departed ones linger in the air 
 to shed a softening influence over our hardened natures. 
 
 You say, our " intimacy " has been blindly fallen into by a 
 circumstance not wholly "accidental." I have always thought 
 that you or one of your acquaintances knew more about that 
 fatal letter which brought us together, than I had been able to 
 learn, notwithstanding my strong suspicions. But let it be as 
 it. may, it is nothing to me now, and as you cannot love me, 
 you have nothing to weep the loss of. Many, many times 
 shall- 1 think of you, and in the silent watches of the night you 
 will think of me, although another lies sleeping by your side. 
 When sickness has laid you upon your couch, and death is 
 tapping at the door, and professed friends have fled, then will 
 you think of the love you encouraged and slighted. Yet 1 hope 
 you may be happy in your present anticipations and in your 
 future expectations. 
 
 There are jewels in your heart, which, if refined and polished, 
 will shine as the stars of heaven. 
 
 Oh, let us learn to create a world of love about us, and as a 
 reward we shall enjoy true and lasting happiness. You will 
 never know what it has^ cost me to write this letter ; and 
 should we never meet on earth, may we meet in heaven. 
 Henceforth I shall seek seclusion from the world ; 1 can look 
 fur constancy and faith in the heart of man no more. I shall 
 for the present retain your letters. I have said, I forgive you, 
 and I love you still ; and when I peruse their pages, 1 shall
 
 LILYHUSON. 145 
 
 think you once loved me. This may be the last time I shall 
 be permitted to write you, therefore 1 ask your indulgence 
 yet a little longer. You remember I once told a dream I had? 
 and said I thought it allegorical, and would tell you if I found 
 it so. 
 
 The dream was this : I was neatly clad, all but my dress. 
 You came towards me, and offered to take my right hand. I 
 looked and saw it was extremely fair, but my dress was soil- 
 ed. I noticed this, and I thought " he must not take my hand 
 until I have changed this dress," yet you persisted in taking 
 the hand. I then -awoke. Now, here is the allegory : "When 
 you requested an interview with me, I granted it, determining 
 to tell you all my circumstances and misfortunes ; then, had 
 you persisted in taking my hand, all would have been well ; 
 but I could not tell you all, time was so short. What I did 
 confide to you, made, as you told me, no difference in your 
 feelings, and I thought I would not mar our happiness by the 
 sad recital. The soiled dress was my name, soiled and aspersed 
 by unfortunate circumstances. My own right arm had been, 
 with the assistance of heaven, my only protection through life, 
 and its covering had been torn and soiled that I might ac- 
 knowledge the wisdom and goodness of my Heavenly protec- 
 tor, and not glory in my own strength. For this, you see, I 
 blame myself, and ask your forgiveness, if in word or deed, I 
 have offended you. I could wish that many things were dif- 
 ferent to what they are, yet I would not recall them, for they 
 have taught me how frail is human nature, and have opened my 
 heart to sympathize with the unfortunate. I have suffered much, 
 I still expect to suffer ; but the right arm of Him who has 
 aided me through all, is still about me, and will aid and uphold 
 me, when all else fails me. 
 
 It is now thirteen years since the night of my sorrow be- 
 gan. Long, long is the night that knows no morning. 
 Long,, long the sleep that knows no waking. I open my 
 eyes, and lo ! in the East a small bright spot appears ; it 
 7
 
 14G LILY HUSON. 
 
 must be my morning dawning. You will not comprehend me 
 now. 
 
 In your last you called me " Friend Lily." I thank you for 
 it, and trust you think me such. In this letter, I have confided 
 to you the whole of my heart. It may prove a source of mer- 
 riment to you, but I give you credit for more sincerity and 
 depth of feeling. Why need I trouble you in this way any 
 longer? It is not meet that I should cast even one long, linger- 
 ing look back. Please excuse me ; I will bring this to a close. 
 In love and respect, I remain, 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 LILY. 
 
 Sadness overshadowed the once smiling face of Lily Huson. 
 She wrote, at this period, in her diary : " It is April 9th, and 
 early morning. Nature's songsters invite me forth, but I have 
 no ear for their music. The bright sky, in all its glory, seems 
 but to mock my grief. Oh, when shall I obtain relief from 
 this oppression 1 .. Oh, God ! give me patience to bear the 
 chastening rod. Oh, thou bright sun, thou enlivenest all nature, 
 but there is no day for me. My sun has set in darkness, and 
 there is nothing left to fill up this aching void." 
 
 " April 10th. — If such love as he professed for me can grow 
 cold, I am led almost to doubt the name of love ; but no, that 
 I cannot do. For my heart whispers, ' Love still remains on 
 earth.' The object of my affections has deceived me, yet hope 
 whispers, ' There is a congenial mate for every being.' Why 
 were we made such social creatures ? Why this heart so lone 
 and sad, when not another heart beats in unison with it ? Why 
 so cold and dreary, if man or woman are complete, alone ? My 
 Heavenly Father, in His own good time, will work all things 
 for my good ; I will bide His time. He doeth all things well." 
 
 Let us now lay this diary, this record of grief and woe, this 
 mirror of a breaking heart, seeking to relieve itself by pour-
 
 LILY HUSON. 147 
 
 ing forth its gushing sensations, and return to the thread of 
 our story. 
 
 In reply to the letter we have published above, Lily received 
 the following from Mr. Jilton : — 
 
 April 8th, 1853. 
 Friend Lilt : — 
 
 Your lengthy, but interesting, letter was duly received 
 by this morning's mail. Justice to .myself demands that I 
 reply to some of its allegations, and I embrace this early oppor- 
 tunity to make it. I wish to do so in all kindness and sin- 
 cerity, motives which I feel have prompted me, in my every 
 act towards you, and not a whit the less in perusing my last 
 message, than in all preceding ones. The accident, if such it 
 may properly be termed, which commenced our correspon- 
 dence, was one over which I had no control. The introductory 
 letter was neither written nor instigated by me or any friend 
 or acquaintance of mine, as you more than insinuate in your 
 letter. So that with regard to this, which you must admit was 
 the cause of the commencement of our acquaintance, I am in 
 no sense to blame. That letter came to me when my heart 
 was sad and desolate, when it longed for some sympathizing 
 and congenial spirit, and hence, I solicited an acquaintance, 
 which you kindly granted. I met you at your home. I found 
 you destitute of cold formality, and ready to encourage my 
 advances. I was pleased with you, aye, loved you, and, Lily, 
 every sentiment which I expressed to you was sincere. So it 
 has ever been with me ; but I am to blame in allowing myself, 
 impelled by the ardor of my feelings, to advance too hastily, 
 when I found I might. In this I have erred, and for this I ac- 
 cept your forgiveness, which was evidently intended to have a 
 more extended application. I could neither ask nor accept 
 " forgiveness" for that which involves no blame. In this single 
 respect, allow me to say, that we are both to blame, in my
 
 148 LILY HUSON. 
 
 opinion. You speak with some assurance of my future " ex- 
 pectations" and " anticipations." 
 
 They are dark and forbidding, indeed ; and although your 
 remarks imply the transfer of my attentions to some other 
 object, your surmise is wholly without foundation. Of the 
 two individuals who, you say, have " aspired" to my hand, I 
 know nothing, and if any such thing be true, I have received 
 no intimation of it. Certain it is, as I can prove, that I have 
 not paid the slightest attention to any lady, except yourself, 
 since the death of my dear companion. Nor do I know of 
 one now upon whom I would venture the slightest thought 
 of that kind. But it is needless to review these points at 
 length. I wish to be frank and plain with you, and to write 
 precisely as I would talk, were I in your presence. I have not 
 ■refused to fulfil my engagements, nor shall I. By so doing, I 
 should incur a liability which I hope never to incur. On the 
 contrary, I shall insist upon the fulfilment of them, although I 
 feel the result would be untold misery to us both, unless you 
 are willing to give me in writing a full and unqualified release 
 from them. To this proposition, I await your answer. 
 
 I am in great haste, and must close. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 
 Lily's healrh would not allow her to reply to this letter im- 
 mediately, and if it had, all she could have said would have 
 been : — 
 
 " Come to me, and frankly tell me what I have done that 
 calls so loudly for a written release ; also what has been said 
 against me, and who was the author of the insinuations you 
 profess to have heard, which have caused so great a revulsion 
 in your feelings towards me." 
 
 But, as we have said, sickness for a time prevented her 
 answering, and then, as soon as she was able to journey, her 
 brother took her West with him, hoping the change of scene
 
 LILY HUSON. 149 
 
 might bring back his sister's cheerfulness. Lily had requested her 
 friends to say nothing to her, or in her presence, about the 
 painful matter, which they were careful not to do; at the same 
 time, she strove to forget that such a circumstance had occur- 
 red. 
 
 Few who saw her graceful figure and smiling face, as she 
 stood on the deck of the steamer, on her return home from her 
 Western tour, would have believed that her heart had been 
 recently so cruelly lacerated, and her bosom agitated by so 
 terrible a storm. 
 
 Lily stopped at the house of a friend upon her return, in 
 order to give Mr. Jilton an opportunity of seeing her, and to 
 explain matters to her satisfaction. She would not allow him 
 to come to her home, for fear her mother might treat him un- 
 kindly should she meet him, for she had never been in favor of 
 Lily's encouraging his visits, and only consented because she 
 said her daughter really loved him. Lily feared her mother's 
 fiery temper, and still she wished to screen her lover from an 
 angry word. 
 
 Having arrived at the house of the friend spoken of, who 
 lived in the city where Jilton resided, Lily sent, by the hands 
 of her cousin, a note to her recreant lover, requesting a per- 
 sonal interview, in which she told him she would explain all 
 matters, if he would but grant it to her. 
 
 A verbal answer was returned, that he would ■ see her, as 
 requested. But, at 5 P. M., a letter was handed to her, the 
 contents of which we will give below : — 
 
 Friday, P. M., May Qth. 
 Miss Husok :— »< 
 
 "When I received your unexpected invitation this aftei-- 
 
 noon, to call on you at Mrs. E 's, I thoughtlessly accepted 
 
 it. Perhaps thoughtlessness is too prominent a characteristic 
 of mine. Indeed, I think it is. If so, I must be pardoned, I 
 have thought the matter over since, and I cannot convince my- 
 9*
 
 150 LILY HUSON. 
 
 self that it is my duty to see you, until the very reasonable 
 request that I made in my last letter, is either acceded to or 
 denied. By refusing to answer my last letter, you have acted 
 consistently neither with your own oft repeated professions, 
 nor with any just conceptions of duty. You have often said, 
 in substance, that you did not wish to hold me to any obliga- 
 tions that had become irksome, and yet, when I ask you to 
 give me, in writing, a release from an obligation which I admit 
 that I have incurred, but which circumstances have rendered 
 unpleasant to me, you treat my request with perfect indif- 
 ference. Now, this is not right, and I do not wish to see you 
 until some kind of an answer is returned. If you wish to hold 
 me to my engagement, why say so frankly, and you will find 
 me ready to fulfil it. You know I do not wish to do so. 
 Knowing this, you can do as you choose, for I am under no 
 similar obligation, present or prospective, to any other person. 
 This is my position, and it will be impossible for you or any 
 other person to make it appear either to yourself or others an 
 unfair one. I have written with a full knowledge and apprecia- 
 tion of the fact, that this letter will be read by others than 
 yourself; nor shall I complain of this. Whenever you give 
 me an answer to my previous letter I am ready to see you, and 
 will do so, if you desire it, even though I should have to go to 
 
 , and further ; if you wish me to fulfil this engagement, 
 
 I will do that, too. I wish to know, in an unqualified manner, 
 whether you hold me to it or release me. 
 
 Eespectfully yours, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 
 Lily replied to this letter that she could not give him an 
 unqualified release from his engagement, until he would grant 
 her a personal interview. She also wished him to consider the 
 reply she thus sent, as an answer to his letter of the 8th April, 
 which, she stated, circumstances prevented her from answer- 
 ing at a proper time.
 
 LILY HUSON. 151 
 
 She said she wished to see him, and to talk over matters, and 
 not to write any more, for she was unable to write all she 
 wished. He had come to her, and asked her to accept his 
 engagement : in like manner must he act to obtain her release. 
 She told him not to fear to see her, for he will' find her, as he 
 has ever done, ready to comply with his requests, so far as 
 was consistent with her duty to herself. 
 
 To this letter Mr. Jilton replied as follows : 
 
 , May 12th, 1853. 
 
 Mrs. Husox : 
 
 The course which you attempt to impose upon 
 me, may be entirely in accordance with your real principles ; 
 but you will allow me to say it is utterly inconsistent with all 
 your previous professions, and therefore anything but creditable 
 to you. The request which I made was long anterior to yours, 
 and still you insist that yours shall be granted first. I have 
 asked of you what you have uniformly said you were ready to 
 grant when desired. I have the best of reasons for asking it, 
 some of which I have given you. Your refusal to grant my 
 request implies, if it means anything, either that you wish to 
 annoy me for having entertained too good an opinion of you, 
 or you wish to hold me to my engagement. If the former be 
 true, I wish you to understand at once, and finally, that I am 
 unmoved by all such annoyances ; and if you imagine, that 
 like the wary fowler, you have entrapped a victim in your 
 snare, you may find the sport too costly to be interesting 
 before the game is finished ; but if the latter is the true state 
 of the case, then I wish you to name the precise time for the 
 consummation of your troubles, and I will be on hand at the 
 precise hour. Then I shall see you, for I do not " fear" to see 
 you as you insinuate, and why should I % Now this last request 
 you will be compelled to accede to, if you do not to the first, 
 otherwise the " breach of promise," which I must infer you 
 wish to establish, will be on your own side. I have never
 
 152 LILY HUSON. 
 
 refused to marry you, and as it is for you to set the time, you 
 must do so, or I am free. Act as you please, for I have no 
 further request to make. I have secured two witnesses to this 
 letter, who will see it mailed. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 
 After Lily had read this letter, she thought to herself, " He 
 promised to see me, if 1 only gave him some kind of an answer 
 to his letter of the 8th of April ; now he refuses to see me. Is 
 this the noble, high-minded man, to whom my affections were 
 given 1 He has left me hut one alternative — this I must fol- 
 low. My circumstances will prevent me setting an early day, 
 therefore I will and must, since he compels me to it, suit this 
 matter to my circumstances. I could, for his sake as well as 
 my own, wish it all settled, but how am I to do so, in justice 
 to myself? I am willing to pay the penalty, but I must know 
 for what I am condemned. First, I may be wrong in the mat- 
 ter, therefore I will confide it to my friend, Mr. A '■ , and 
 
 be guided by his advice and his cool judgment." (Up to this 
 time Lily had kept her own counsel,) although Mr. Jilton had 
 inferred to the contrary in one of his letters. Even now she 
 acted just as her judgment directed, and simply asked of her 
 friend if she was doing right. Her own kindly feelings would 
 have prompted her to go herself to Mr. Jilton, and learn what 
 she wished to know, but her judgment dictated the course she 
 was about to pursue. 
 
 Lily embodied the soliloquy, spoken above, in a letter to 
 Mr. Jilton, to which she received the following reply : 
 
 B , May I8tk, 1853. 
 
 Mrs. Huson : 
 
 I do not wonder that you think any further 
 correspondence unnecessary. Of course you do not wish to 
 see an appropriate reply to yours of the 15th inst. Well, I
 
 LILY HUSON. 153 
 
 think, if I were the author of that letter, I should feel pre- 
 cisely the same with regard to an answer. I should not wish 
 to see it. I should feel as though I had forfeited the last claim 
 to consistency and sincerity, and should dread to see a just 
 exposition of it ; but I have something to say yet, for which I 
 ask no apology. I do not expect you to be influenced by them 
 in the least, for you have shown by your denial of your oft- 
 repeated professions, and by the infamous position which you 
 now take, that you are beyond the reach of any noble impulse. 
 You imagine that you have caught in your vile meshes a " rara 
 avis," by sporting with which you may gratify a disposition, 
 which, I thank God, I do not possess myself, and shall ever 
 despise in others. Only think of your professions of " honor," 
 " principle," " not wishing to win back," &c, &c. ; and some of 
 these, too, repeated with unblushing impudence, in the very let- 
 ter in which you deny a release which no honest woman could 
 for a moment refuse. Think you, / would hold you, or any 
 other woman, when I found that a better knowledge of facts had 
 changed the nature of your feelings towards me ] You know 
 that I would not. No, I would despise myself most heartily, 
 could I believe myself capable of so mean an act; and yet you 
 prate about your dignity, your disinterestedness, honor, &c, &c. 
 What is meanness 1 What is intrigue % What is it to retaliate ? 
 The causes that led to my request were not mere suspicions, 
 Mrs. Huson, and had they been so, every one would have been 
 more than established by the course which you are seeking to 
 take. I have no confidence in you whatever. I do not even 
 respect you, nor can I. Nay, you show by your present posi- 
 tion, that you have no respect for yourself. You intimate, 
 that, with a knowledge of my feelings towards you, that you 
 are willing to marry me. Now, understand, that with charac- 
 teristic dishonesty, you have misquoted my proposition. I did 
 not agree, as you very well know, to meet you on the 1st of 
 September, 1853, nor at any other time, except for the con- 
 summation of our marriage, at a time which you may set ; but 
 7*
 
 154 LILY HUSON. 
 
 do not for a moment think that you can evade setting that time 
 by any of your low devices if you wish to hold me to my en- 
 gagement. I know what I say, and if you court an investiga- 
 tion, you can institute it at any time after your appointed day, 
 if I do not fulfil. The result will, I fear, develop some new 
 phases in the art of daguerreotyping ; also, that there is a less 
 amiable way of gaining affection and good opinion than in 
 buying them. Meantime, don't talk to me of " love," or of 
 any other sentiment, honorable to woman, until you can show 
 yourself capable of entertaining it, for, in connection with your 
 position, such professions are worse than disreputable, — they 
 are absolutely fiendish. You must, indeed, Joe reduced to a 
 desperate extremity, when you are willing to marry a man, 
 who can never even respect you. Well, do so, it proves your 
 vileness. I shall not break my engagement. You have pro- 
 mised to marry me, even under existing circumstances, show> 
 ing, as you must admit, that, that " love," about which you 
 talk so much, has no place in your vocabulary. You seek an 
 unhallowed alliance to gratify the worst of passions. I thank 
 God that there are so few of your sex who could be brought 
 to such a position. You will fail in gratifying even your gro- 
 velling disposition, Mrs. Huson, by pursuing this course. ' I 
 tell you, dark lower the skies about your future prospects, 
 unless you speedily make this matter right. I mean what I 
 say. 
 
 F. J1LTON. 
 
 " Can this be the man to whom my affections were given ?" 
 exclaimed Lily, in horror and amazement, when she read this 
 letter, "and to whom, a few weeks ago, I would willingly have 
 given my hand ; into whose hands I would have entrusted my 
 future destiny 1 Surely fiends are sporting with that mind 
 which I had supposed so noble and good ; but this unfeeling 
 and ungentlemanly letter shall not beget in my mind a re- 
 sponse ; low as he has endeavored to make me, I cannot stoop
 
 LILYHUSON. 155 
 
 to give a just exposition of it. He surely must misconstrue 
 my feelings and wishes in this matter. I cannot write to make 
 him understand. I must and will see him; for I dread to see 
 the man, once so fondly loved, actuated by these contending 
 passions. I will lay aside every thing else, until this matter is 
 settled, for surely his mind must be wrought to a terrible pitch 
 to have induced him to have indited such an epistle. I will go 
 
 to and consult with my friends, and bring the matter 
 
 to a close as soon as possible, for I cannot bear that it should 
 rest thus any longer, or endure that even he who has wronged 
 me should exist in his present unhappy condition." 
 
 Lily made up her mind to go to , and on arriving at 
 
 the house of one of her friends in that city, she sent a note to 
 Mr. Jilton, containing the following words : — 
 
 Mr. Jilton : — 
 
 As you have set at naught the conditions mentioned in 
 my last, concerning our matters, I, regardless of your threat, 
 but in mercy to your feelings, for which mercy I expect no 
 credit, for the last time ask you to grant me a personal inter- 
 view, in order that we make those matters " speedily right." 
 If you have no confidence in me, bring with you a person whom 
 you can trust, whose mind is unbiased in this matter. If my 
 
 proposition accords with your wishes, meet me at Mr. A 's 
 
 this evening, at 7 o'clock. I shall expect a reply from you by 
 
 2 P. M., which you may send to Mr. A 's office. 
 
 I remain as ever, yours, &c. 
 
 LILY HUSON. 
 
 To this billet Mr. Jilton sent the following reply : — 
 
 May 28th, 1853. 
 Mrs. Huson : — 
 
 If it be necessary for me to repeat my answer to your 
 question, I will say, as I did before, " Answer my letter ask- 
 ing a dismissal from my obligation, which you have often said
 
 156 LILY HUSON. 
 
 you were ready at any time to grant, if requested. Show 
 yourself sincere in what you have said, and I will see you. 
 Until then I have a strong desire to be excused, even though 
 you send for me fifty times a day. But in regard to com- 
 pliance with my request, which, bear in mind, is prior to yours, 
 do as you please. I have dismissed all solicitude on that point. 
 I shall not, under present circumstances, see you, until a time 
 which it remains for you to set. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 F. JILTON.
 
 LILY HUSO N. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW IS, THROUGH THE ASSISTANCE OF FRIENDS, 
 
 BROUGHT ABOUT AT LAST LILY HUSON AND HER FALSE LOVER 
 
 MEET, CONVERSE, AND PART FOR EVER. 
 
 Lily bore up nobly under the difficult and distressing circum-' 
 stances under which she was placed. We trust our readers 
 will not condemn her as guilty of obstinacy, or of indecorous 
 behavior in thus insisting upon a personal interview, even if it 
 could be only obtained by actually appointing a time and place 
 for the consummation of the marriage ceremony. It must be 
 recollected that imputations had been cast upon her conduct, 
 which it was due alike to herself and to her friends to confute, 
 and this could not be satisfactorily effected without a personal 
 interview with her accuser. She had no desire now to marry 
 the man who had so basely deceived her, and so cruelly trifled 
 with her affections ; but she insisted either upon -this dreadful 
 ordeal, or a satisfactory explanation of his conduct. Lily pos- 
 sessed great firmness of character, and she acted chiefly upon 
 her own judgment, simply submitting her decisions to one 
 friend, Mr. Allen, and asking his opinion. He had agreed with 
 her on every point. 
 
 Lily then made one last effort to bring about this much de- 
 sired, long sought interview. It was a terrible effort; but it 
 was the last she intended to make in writing. She wrote the 
 following note and dispatched it by a messenger to Mr. Jilton's 
 place of business, requesting an answer immediately, to be loft 
 at the post-office for her : —
 
 158 LILY HUSON. 
 
 , May 30th, 1853. 
 
 Mr. Jilton : — 
 
 As you will not see me under present circumstances, 
 and I have no desire to avoid setting a time for the consumma- 
 tion of our engagement, meet me for that purpose at the , 
 
 at 8 P. M., on Tuesday, of this present week. I request an 
 answer to this. 
 
 I remain, ever yours, 
 
 LILY HUSON. 
 
 To this note she received the following reply : — 
 
 , May 30^, 1853. 
 
 Lily Huson : — 
 
 The is a place which I know nothing about ; a 
 
 lady, seeking to be married in twenty-four hours' notice, should 
 make the arrangements at home, and not at a strange place. 
 
 To this letter there was no signature, and the ink was hardly 
 dry when the letter was taken from the post-office, about an 
 hour before the appointed time of meeting. Notwithstanding 
 thcprovoking tone of the reply, Lily, in company with a young 
 female relative, remained at Mr. Allen's until after the set 
 time, and then they returned home. 
 
 Lily, as we have before hinted, would willingly have let this 
 distressing subject drop, but justice to herself and friends de- 
 manded that some satisfactory cause should be assigned where- 
 fore the engagement should be broken. She wished not to 
 re-establish herself in Jilton's good opinion, and she knew in 
 her own heart that she was innocent of the imputation inferred 
 to her charge by her perjured lover, but she could only hope 
 to avoid the tongue of slander by compelling her accuser to 
 give his reasons for his conduct by word of mouth, or to refute 
 his imputations. 
 
 She w r as more than ever resolved in her determination to
 
 LILY HUSON. 159 
 
 compel him to give her an interview, and since the most press- 
 ing and urgent solicitations to effect this object by letter had 
 failed, she resolved to pursue another course. She called upon 
 Mr. Allen, the morning after she had sent the last note, and 
 telling him of her plans, requested his aid to bring it about. 
 She requested him to see a Mr. Felton, a friend of Mr. Jil- 
 ton's, who was unacquainted with her, and to request him, in 
 her name, to grant her an interview at his earliest convenience. 
 Mr. Allen cheerfully complied, and himself accompanied her 
 to Mr. Felton's on the following morning. Introducing Lily 
 to that gentleman, he left them together. Lily thus opened 
 the subject: — 
 
 ' ; Mi". Felton," said she, " I wish to confide to you, and to 
 solicit your good offices, in regard to a delicate matter; be- 
 lieving you to be a friend of the opposite party concerned in 
 it — " " I am a friend to right," interrupted Mr. Felton, and 
 Lily continued, " I, sir, am a stranger to you ; in Mr. Jilton 
 you must have some confidence in consequence of his position 
 towards you, and the situation he holds. I have no wish to 
 injure him in any way ; but I will set the whole matter before 
 you, just as it is, thinking you will see, with impartial eyes, 
 how the matter stands. Lean to his side, if you will, for not- 
 withstanding Mr. Jilton's strange conduct in this matter be- 
 tween us, 1 believe him to be otherwise a worthy man. I have 
 sought, as you w r ill perceive by the correspondence, if you will 
 take the trouble to peruse it, to obtain an interview with Mr. 
 Jilton, in order that the matter might be satisfactorily arranged. 
 I have thought that, perhaps, Mr. Allen might be prejudiced 
 against him, but I will say no more, but allow you to read the 
 contents of the letters that have passed between us ; then your 
 cool judgment can decide." 
 
 Lily handed Mr. Felton the letters, all of which he carefully 
 perused. When he had finished reading them, he remarked : — 
 
 " There is much in these letters explanatory of the late 
 singular conduct of this man ; for some time past I have ob-
 
 160 LILY HUSON. 
 
 served a singularity in his behavior, that I have been unable to 
 account for. or to be so familiar with him as with others who 
 hold the same relative position towards me. 
 
 "Now, I understand that you wish to see him to learn for 
 what you are censured. Would it not be your better plan to 
 take a friend and go to him % If I were more intimate with him 
 than I am, I would go to him and tell him I think he had better 
 see you ; but still I will do so, if you think it advisable, for I 
 certainly think it his duty to grant you the interview and give 
 you the explanations you require, especially since he asks- so 
 much of you ; but I think any endeavor to settle matters 
 favorably, will be like the endeavor of a drowning man to catch 
 at a straw ; he has evidently changed his mind, and knows no 
 other way to get out of the trap he has placed himself in. / 
 think you are very fortunate in escaping any further connection 
 with him." 
 
 After a few more observations, it was arranged that Mr. 
 Felton should call upon Mr. Jilton, and advise him, as his best 
 course, to see Lily. 
 
 This he did, and Jilton, at length, promised to do so. The 
 time for the meeting to take place was arranged, Jilton 
 promising to meet her at Mr. Allen's, at whose house he had 
 refused to meet her before. 
 
 The hour appointed for the meeting came ; Lily was wait- 
 ing, but an hour passed away, and Jilton did not make his ap- 
 pearance. Mr. Allen was obliged at length to go to arrange 
 some business he had on hand, and for this purpose he was 
 about leaving the house, when he met Mr. Jilton at the door. 
 
 They returned together to the room in which Lily was wait- 
 ing. 
 
 In the presence of Mr. Allen, she thus opened the conversa- 
 tion : — 
 
 " Mr. Jilton, I have at last succeeded in bringing you to me. 
 I will now tell you what I wish you to do. In the first place, 
 please to state what you saw in my conduct on the occasion of
 
 LILY HUSON. 161 
 
 your last visit to me, that was sufficient justification for you to 
 change your mind ; secondly, I wish you to give me a copy in 
 writing, of the nature of the charges you have heard preferred 
 against me, for there must be something dreadful to cause a 
 man to shrink from the presence of one whom he has professed 
 to love, as you professed to love me ?" 
 
 Pie replied : — 
 
 " I have given you as one cause, your extreme.sensitiveness ; 
 another is, that you are inclined to superstition, and believe in 
 dreams ; another, you are prone to ask silly questions — " 
 
 Lily, interrupting : — 
 
 " What are these silly questions ?" 
 
 " Such as these : ' Are you offended with me now?' ' 
 
 " I presume I had good cause to suspect that you were, or I 
 should not have asked you. Are these the only sins I am 
 guilty of?" 
 
 " What I heard about you was told me in confidence, and by 
 a friend, therefore I cannot tell you what it was." 
 
 " I have no wish to injure you or your friend," replied Lily, 
 " therefore I will not insist upon any names. Please to state 
 simply what you have heard." 
 
 " I will see the person who gave me the information, and if 
 he is willing, I shall tell you ; I will write if you prefer it. 1 
 have given up all solicitude about the matter. If you insist 
 upon our marriage, I am willing to fulfil my engagement." 
 
 " Frank Jilton," exclaimed Lily, solemnly, " could you, in 
 the presence of your God, say the words, knowing the responsi- 
 bility they imply, I will, agreeably to the command of God, 
 promise to love, honor and cherish this woman in sickness and 
 i:i health? I will answer this question for you — / cannot love 
 you ; I would sooner take to my bosom a reptile than a man 
 who did not love me, and if I were ever forced into marriage, 
 I would not live a moment with you." 
 
 " I could compel you, Lily," replied Jilton.
 
 162 LILY HUSON. 
 
 " No," answered Lily, " there is no person on earth can com- 
 pel me to live with the man who cannot love me." 
 
 " You have, since I wrote that sentence, shown your willing- 
 ness to marry me," replied Jilton. 
 
 " Show me one word in my letters that will prove that as- 
 sertion ?" 
 
 " You have set a time for the consummation of our enlace- 
 ment. What does consummation mean, Lily, except the ful- 
 filment of it V ' 
 
 " / set a time for the consummation of your engagement, 
 which implies completion or end !" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lily," said Jilton, jokingly ; " I appeal 
 to Webster." 
 
 " This is trifling ; but it matters not, the engagement would 
 still have been, as I can convince you of if necessary, ended, 
 as it will end now. All I ask is for you to give me in writing 
 what I ask from you, and then you shall have the written re- 
 lease. Send it to me at my house. I now wish you to listen 
 to your letter of the 18th May — " Lily read it to him, after 
 which she said : " Oh, Frank Jilton, had you been the generous, 
 noble-minded man I mistook you for, you could never have 
 stooped so low as to have indited those lines to one whom you 
 had so recently professed to love, as yourself, or indeed to any 
 woman, however degraded she might have been. I do not say 
 one word for the purpose of re-establishing myself in your 
 good opinion, for if your intimate acquaintance with me has 
 not taught you what 1 am, ill-seeming circumstances, notwith- 
 standing, you can never really know me." 
 
 " I admit that I was hasty in my last communications with 
 you," replied Jilton, " but every sentiment I expressed towards 
 you up to that time, was sincere. I blame you now, as well 
 as Mr. Allen, for going to Felton with this matter ; or rather, 
 I blame Mr. Allen more than you, for he is a man who is uni- 
 versally considered to possess strong good sense, and for him 
 to advise you to make this matter known to Felton was wrong.
 
 LILY HUSON. 163 
 
 He knew the relation in which I stood with regard to Mr. Fel- 
 ton, and both of you must have known that this course would 
 inflict injury upon me." 
 
 " Mr. Allen," replied Lily, " had nothing to do in the mat- 
 ter, only as I requested his interference. Let the blame, there- 
 fore, rest upon me alone. I say that you have not been in- 
 jured by me, for still Mr. Allen and Mr. Felton are the only 
 persons, strangers to my family affairs, to whom this vexatious 
 matter is known. I will go again to Mr. Felton and exact 
 another promise from him, although he has already promised 
 me that the knowledge he has acquired shall not prejudice him 
 against you or affect your interests, and Mr. Allen will never 
 mention a word to any person with respect to what has passed 
 between us. He has given me his promise of that ; and now, 
 before we part, I will say to you, you are free from any engage- 
 ment, as regards me, as you can ever wish to be. I would 
 never seek to injure you ; but, before I give you a written re- 
 lease, you must give me, in writing, the accusations or impu- 
 tations you have heard against me." 
 
 " I will do as I have promised, if I obtain the consent of the 
 person who gave me the information," replied Jilton. " Good 
 morning." 
 
 " Good morning," repeated Lily, and thus they parted, for 
 ever.
 
 1G4 LILY HUSON. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LILY DEVOTES HER ENTIRE ATTENTION TO THE FURTHERANCE OF 
 
 HER CONTEMPLATED PROJECT LETTERS FROM FRIENDS ON THE 
 
 SUBJECT LILY MEETS WITH ENCOURAGEMENT A FRESH OFFER 
 
 OF MARRIAGE SCORNFULLY REFUSED STILL FURTHER RELA- 
 TIVE TO THE SCHEME. 
 
 Lily's attention was now wholly engrossed in the prosecu- 
 tion of the singular project alluded to and explained in a pre- 
 ceding portion of our story. Indeed, during the period of her 
 engagement and anticipated marriage with Jilton, she had not 
 lost sight of it. She fondly anticipated, for she slightly alter- 
 ed her plan, getting up the work in connection with him, and 
 making the story of the courtship and marriage the concluding 
 portion, in the hope that all parties interested might be mutual- 
 ly benefited. It was to this she alluded in her long letter to 
 her ci-devant lover. She believed fully that could she get any 
 one to aid her, she would certainly succeed, and still she 
 strongly inclined to this belief, but resolved, if no one could be 
 found, to go on with it unaided by any person. 
 
 With this object in view, she again wrote to Mr. Edgar. 
 That gentleman replied as follows : 
 
 , May 25ih, 1853. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Huson : 
 
 Your last letter was duly received, 
 and I have since been exerting myself, in order to procure you
 
 LILY HUSON. 1G5 
 
 some assistance in the prosecution of your plan. I have been 
 thus far unsuccessful, but I send you a paper which will give 
 you some desirable information. 
 
 The paper inclosed, with the plan drawn thereon, has been 
 the rage in the South for some time past, and it struck me that 
 I would send it to you. You can examine it, and I believe, 
 
 that if you will write to Mr. , at , he will put you 
 
 in the way to carry out your wishes. Don't be afraid to write 
 and learn what he says. You can refer to some of your 
 acquaintances. Let me know what his reply is, and I will send 
 you the names of some other persons to whom I would advise 
 you to write if you do not succeed with him. I sincerely wish 
 it was in my power to assist you personally, but all I can do, 
 situated as I am, is to encourage the thing amongst those 
 who are engaged in that kind of business. Give my good 
 wishes to your mother and brother, and accept yourself my 
 high regards. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 G. EDGAR. 
 
 Lily, as she was advised, commenced a correspondence with 
 
 Mr. P m. Meanwhile, several little incidents occurred, 
 
 to the relation of which we will here give place. 
 
 The following extract of a letter from Mr. Friendly, will give 
 the reader some idea how matters were progressing at Lily's 
 home, where she has spent but little time of late. He writes : 
 
 " As to your matrimonial scheme, I will not 
 
 now say much about it ; but when you get it up, I will put in 
 for a chance. I am sorry that you cannot find peace and quiet- 
 ness at your home. I feel for and sympathize deeply with 
 you in your trials and vexations. I trust a happier state of 
 things awaits you in the fut,ure, and that. you may then enjoy 
 the peace of mind and comfort you so much long for. But 
 these trials are sent by our Heavenly Father, and it is our
 
 1G6 LILY HUSON. 
 
 duty to submit and bear them as cheerfully as we can. I cer- 
 tainly think very highly of your kind and benevolent feelings 
 towards your mother and brother, and esteem you for the 
 very many good traits of character which you possess. Your 
 moral qualities are known to me and fully appreciated by me, 
 and I shall continue to show you by my acts, that I regard you 
 as one of my dearest friends. I have seen the gentleman to 
 whose keeping the fair Lily would have entrusted her heart 
 and hand. Pardon me, if I say, frankly, that he was unworthy 
 of you, and that you have been fortunate in escaping any closer 
 connection with him. At any rate, to say the least, I think 
 his disposition was too dull, harsh and stern, if not unfeeling, to 
 have rendered him a fitting companion, throughout life, to one 
 so gentle and affectionate as yourself. You were opj>osite to 
 each other in temper and general disposition, as it is possible 
 for two persons to be, but I will let the subject pass ; I pre- 
 sume it will not be a pleasant one to you. 
 
 How did you spend the Fourth % Perhaps you are now 
 engaged in writing me the particulars of the national festival 
 as it was observed in your quiet town. If so, I shall know all 
 about it in good time. Until, I shall suppose you spent the 
 day, sitting quietly at home in your room, in the white cot- 
 tage, on the sloping ridge, and that in the evening you wan- 
 dered abroad to take a pensive stroll beside the meandering 
 stream, while the pale moon tinged the edges of the ripples 
 with silver, and the ripple of the tiny wave and the murmur 
 of the stream mingled in your ear in tones of sweet music ; or, 
 perhaps, you retired early to rest, and while the midnight 
 rejoicing was in its glory, the fair Lily was locked fast in the 
 embraces of that dull and senseless heathen called Morpheus. 
 You will think, Lily, that I have been sacrificing to another 
 heathen divinity, though one of a more cheerful and rollicking 
 character, after this rhapsody ; but no, I assure you I am as 
 calm and sedate, although not quite so philosophical, as Plato. 
 
 I have addressed you in a cheerful strain, in order to aid you
 
 LILY HUSON. 107 
 
 in banishing from your mind the remembrance of woes and 
 troubles past, and in order to call forth that cheerfulness and 
 livelines of disposition, which is natural and certainly most 
 suitable to you. I feel that you will excuse anything that an 
 old and tried friend like me may say, and therefore 1 subscribe 
 myself 
 
 The true friend of the fairest Lily that ever bloomed on hill 
 or valley, 
 
 M. FRIENDLY. 
 
 Lily also received another letter from Mr. Jilton, which ran 
 as follows : 
 
 , July 4th, 1853. 
 
 Mrs. Huson : 
 
 Having had an interview with the person 
 who gave me the information respecting you, the details of 
 which you request me to commit to writing, and having failed 
 to obtain his consent to comply with your request, I am unable 
 to do so. I may say, however, that the only objection appears 
 to be, that the individual in question knows nothing positively 
 as to the truth of his statements, but only hinted it to me in 
 kindness, and as a report. As I told you, it was nothing of the 
 nature that you conceived it to be, and as I have intimated the 
 reason for my request to no person but you, while you have 
 seen fit to blaze it abroad ; so, if you choose to continue that 
 course, remember that nobody but yourself will have to bear 
 
 the responsibility. There are members of the of 
 
 here, to whom your artless story of wrong might be 
 
 as interesting as to Mr. Felton, and in whose opinion it might, 
 perhaps, injure me as much. You can now do as you choose 
 about the request that I mentioned some time ago. 
 
 F. JILTON. 
 
 To this heartless, insulting, unfeeling letter, Lily sent the 
 following reply :
 
 168 LILY HUSON. 
 
 , July 17th, 1S53. 
 
 Mr. Jilton : 
 
 I had given up the idea of hearing from you 
 again, and considered all matters between us as settled ; but 
 since you have favored me with a communication, 1 will reply 
 to it. 
 
 When I failed to obtain a personal interview with you, after 
 trying to do so by every means that lay in my power, even 
 annoying you in my anxiety to have the matter settled, I 
 applied to Mr. Felton, as a suitable person to aid me in obtain- 
 ing that which I had sought for in vain. I found him a sensi- 
 ble, kind-hearted man. After setting the matter before him 
 just as it stood, and "not as an artless tale of wrong," for in 
 this matter you wrong yourself, not me, he kindly consented 
 to assist me to obtain the interview I desired. He did so, and 
 I sincerely thank him for having done so, and hope you may 
 yet have reason to do the same. If you will go to Mr. Felton, 
 or to Mr. Allan, they being the only persons to whom I have 
 confided, or as you say, "blazed" the subject to, they will tell 
 you, as they have told me, that you were not injured in their 
 estimation by anything that I said or did. I have no desire 
 to injure you or any other person, and indeed could not do it. 
 My heart's desire is to see you rise in the estimation of man, 
 and in the sight of God, to the utmost limit of greatness and 
 goodness that it is permitted to mortals to attain. Now, at 
 our last interview, you said that every sentiment which you 
 had expressed towards me was sincere. If this, indeed, be so, 
 surely you must still entertain the same sentiments. Then 
 here allow me to recapitulate the reasons you gave wherefure 
 two hearts, united, as I believed, and only waiting for a suit- 
 able time to acknowledge their union before the world, should 
 be separated. 
 
 In the first place, you said, " my feelings were too sensi- 
 tive" to suit you ; secondly, " I believe in dreams and am in- 
 clined to be superstitious." My superstitions amount to this :
 
 LILY HUSON. 109 
 
 I believe my destiny, now, hereafter and forever, to be in the 
 hands of God. I have dreamed dreams and have been foolish 
 enough to relate them, and perhaps so far to believe in them, 
 that I believe the imagination does not always sleep with the 
 body. Thirdly, " I have asked you silly questions." These 
 failings, the possession of which I do not deny, would, say you, 
 " be the cause of untold misery to us both." My sensitive 
 feelings and my superstitions, you knew I was possessed of be- 
 fore our engagement, and had there been no engagement, I 
 should have had no cause to ask you the silly questions which 
 I well remember. Now, in the last place, and setting aside all 
 I have rehearsed, " some person or persons have seen fit, for 
 the want of better employment, to censure my name," which 
 censure, from report, has caused you to shrink from an ac- 
 knowledgment before the world that an union in the presence 
 of God, had taken place between us. If you really possessed 
 those feelings towards me which you have professed to do, our 
 union is recorded in Heaven, and will stand when time with us 
 is no more. But if they were simply a fancy you conceived 
 for me, combined with an animal desire, which is unworthy the 
 sweeter name of love, then are not you the generous-minded 
 man to whom my affections were given, and there is no engage- 
 ment existing between us. Not where the fancy leads, but where 
 the heart is, will the mind find rest. The gaieties and honors 
 of the world may dazzle for a while, but they are insufficient 
 to satisfy the heart's desire. Have I now granted the request 
 which you made to me? Within your own breast you will 
 find the answer. 
 
 I remain, as ever, your true friend, 
 
 LILY HUSON. 
 
 This letter of Lily's was, however, never sent, for a few days 
 after it was written, before she had an opportunity to send it, 
 she was informed by Mr. Felton of Jilton's marriage, and not 
 8
 
 170 LILY HUSON. 
 
 wishing to annoy him by this communication, she withheld it 
 altogether. 
 
 But, should these records ever be published and find their 
 way into his hand, he will readily recognize the correspondence, 
 and thus receive the last letter of Lily's as a reply to his own. 
 
 Just as Lily had finished writing the above letter, her mother 
 entered the room where she was seated, and told her that a 
 stranger had called to see her. 
 
 She arose, and saw an old, gray-headed man advancing to- 
 wards her. She coolly accepted the proffered hand, and slight- 
 ly returned the expressions of pleasure expressed by him, for 
 she had recognized the stranger. It was M , once Dea- 
 con Dilby. 
 
 The old man seemed annoyed at the coldness of his recep- 
 tion : — 
 
 " Why is this, Lily ?" exclaimed he : "I know you were a 
 sweet, pretty girl, and you have grown up to be a beautiful 
 young woman." 
 
 Lily's cheeks were flushed, and she looked unusually well, 
 and cjuite fascinated the old man's gaze. He looked as though 
 he could devour her at a glance ; but she coolly and collected- 
 ly took a seat near by him, and made no reply. 
 
 " Lily," continued the old man, " I presume you are ac- 
 quainted with my situation. I am alone in the world V 
 
 " I have heard of it, Mr. Dilby," answered Lily. 
 
 " It is now nearly a year since my wife died ; I am very 
 lonely," continued the old man, " I have sought you out and 
 wish to converse with you plainly. Would you like to go and 
 visit the World's Fair, in New York, Lily 1 I have made up 
 my mind to go, and I do not wish to go alone. Lily, I have 
 come to ask you to accompany me ; you would be such a de- 
 lightful companion to travel with." Then, turning to Lily's 
 mother, who was present, he said : — 
 
 " Will you let her go with me, Mrs. Young V 
 
 "I have nothing to say to or about her," replied the
 
 LILY HUSON. 171 
 
 mother ; "she will do as she pleases and thinks best;" turning 
 to Lily, " I must go and attend to my business. Can I be ex- 
 cused ?" 
 
 Lily bowed an assent, and Mrs. Young left the room. 
 
 Dilby then took a seat on the sofa beside Lily, and took her 
 hand, which she promptly withdrew from his grasp. 
 
 " I have no desire to visit the World's Fair," she said, " and 
 if I had, I should not wish to go alone with you." 
 
 " Would you not go with me if you were my wife V asked the 
 old man. " This I wish to make you ; yes, I want to call you 
 by the sweet name of wife. I wish you to call me husband. 
 Will you not permit this ?" 
 
 " I could not even encourage such a thought," replied Lily. 
 " Why do you not seek a partner more suited to your age ?" 
 
 " Because I don't wish to marry an old woman. I have 
 loved you long and dearly, and now that circumstances have 
 opened the way, I have come to offer you myself and all I 
 have, which will enable you to live just as you wish all the 
 days of your life, for I will settle my property upon you before 
 our marriage. -This will make you secure, and, I doubt not, 
 happy, for all you require is the chance and the means to take 
 your position amongst the foremost in the land. Oh, how 
 proud I should feel to call you my dear wife ! We will remain 
 in New York all the winter season, and in the summer seek 
 some lonely spot by the sea shore, and you shall spend your 
 time just as you may please. In travelling or otherwise, you 
 shall do as you wish." 
 
 " I havegiven you my answer," said Lily. " It is useless for 
 me to sit listening to this strain, for I do \\o\ believe there is 
 any marriage without love, which sentiment I could never feel 
 for you." 
 
 " I know you would soon learn to love me," whimpered the 
 imbecile old man ; " I should be so kind to you that you could 
 not help it. You know you are not holding in society the 
 position that by nature belongs to you. I offer to place you —
 
 172 LILY HUSON. 
 
 yes — I will place you above the comforts of this poor home, 
 and above the taunts and scorn of the world." 
 
 kc Mr. Dilby," replied Lily, " can you place me back to that 
 innocent part of my life when you sought to rob me of all that 
 woman holds most dear 1 Talk not to me of the taunts and 
 scorn of the world, when you were the foundation of all the re- 
 ports that gossip and cruel scandal have ever raised against me. 
 You trifled with my infancy. You were the cause of the first 
 false stigma being applied to my name, and you were the first 
 cause of many evils that have happened me which might other- 
 wise have been avoided. 
 
 " By means of industry, I have been enabled to place my 
 family in their present comparatively comfortable circum- 
 stances, which you, in your pride of wealth, call ' poor.' I 
 am satisfied with them, until, through my own exertions, I can 
 place myself in better circumstances. By accepting your offer 
 I should not benefit the condition of my friends, which to me 
 is of more importance than my own. We have suffered 
 together, together will we enjoy what Heaven sends, if it be 
 not my lot to link my destiny with another in -the holy bonds 
 of love. As to taunts and reproaches, God will still continue 
 to give me, as he has hitherto, strength to stand up against 
 them." 
 
 " Lily, I am glad you possess the feelings of exalted piety, 
 which give you that strength," replied Mr. Dilby : " I 
 acknowledge my past sins, and I have come now to repair the 
 injury I have done to your name. I offer you wealth and hap- 
 piness — yes, all I can, I do offer you. I know you too well to 
 heed what the world may say, yet some may believe the false 
 reports that have been raised. As my wife you will escape 
 them all, and shine as only one so pure and so lovely as you 
 can shine, loving all, and beloved by all who know you." 
 
 " This sounds to me," said Lily, smilingly, " like Satan, 
 tempting sin, or rather, it reminds me of that part of the Scrip- 
 tures where Satan is represented offering Christ wealth and
 
 LILY HOSON. 173 
 
 honors, to fall down and worship him. Pardon the illustra- 
 tion, I could not refrain from drawing it, it came to my mind so 
 forcibly. I think I may place my trust in the Providence that 
 has hitherto protected me, let man say what he will against me." 
 " Lily, I wish you would take time and consider of my pro- 
 position. In two weeks, with your consent, I will call for your 
 answer. I hope you will forgive and forget everything in 
 which I have wronged you 1 " 
 
 " I forgive, but I cannot forget. You have had my decided 
 answer. I would not leave my family in poverty to place 
 myself in a palace. Your offers are liberal, but I cannot accept 
 them. I hope you will accept this final answer, and put your- 
 self to no further trouble with regard to me." 
 
 " Oh, Lily," said the old man, rising to go and weeping ; " I 
 did expect to have found you more yielding, and ready to 
 accept my offers. How can I leave you % all my fond hopes 
 are blasted. Will you not allow me to hope, Lily % " 
 
 " I do not wish to be unkind in word or deed," replied Lily, 
 " therefore I cannot hold out one word of encouragement." 
 
 The old man shook her hand, and imprinted a kiss upon it. 
 " God bless you, my dear child, and may you be happy," he 
 said, as he took his leave; and when he reached the gate, he 
 added, " If you change your mind in my favor, write me to 
 that effect." 
 
 The old man was gone, and Lily sat alone, musing upon 
 what had passed. 
 
 " I never thought to see this day," she uttered to herself. 
 " He would have robbed me of my innocence in my youth — 
 aye, in my infancy; now thought that poverty would drive me 
 a willing victim into his arms and into the lap of luxury. In 
 this event I can again trace the hand of Providence ; Satan 
 tempts, but God giveth us strength to prevail against him, 
 thereby glorifying himself through the weakness of mankind." 
 Lily had, during the year, four offers of marriage, all of 
 which the world would have thought good matches. Only one
 
 174 LILY HUSON. 
 
 did she favor ; and that one, had it been consummated, would, 
 as the correspondence we have recorded has shown, not 
 have been a happy one. Such are the strange events — the 
 truths of life, stranger than fiction, over which we have no 
 control. 
 
 Let us now change the theme, — our record is drawing to a 
 close, and again see how Lily is proceeding with her singular 
 project. 
 
 In her correspondence with Mr. P m, she referred him 
 
 to Mr. Allan and to Mr. Emory. She stated that these gen- 
 tlemen were well acquainted with her, and are well known, 
 holding respectable and responsible positions in the city. 
 
 Mr. Allan also enclosed the following notice to Mr. P m, 
 
 in Lily's behalf: 
 
 S*r: . 
 
 Mrs. Huson has been intimate with me and my 
 
 family for several years, and I consider her one of the best 
 young women I ever knew. She is not what the world would 
 call a pretty woman, but possesses a pure and warm heart, 
 and a highly-gifted mind. The presence of intellect may be 
 traced in each feature and in every movement of her graceful 
 and majestic figure. I have witnessed her wonderful exertions, 
 and can conscientiously say, I consider her as one of earth's 
 choicest treasures. Her present project is a worthy one, which 
 I feel assured will be patronized by every feeling and respec- 
 table citizen. Business circumstances preclude me from assist- 
 ing her in this enterprise, but I will do all I can in selling her 
 tickets. 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 B. ALLAN. 
 To the above, Mr. Emory added : 
 
 " From my acquaintance of two or three years' standing 
 with Mrs. Huson, I fully concur in the above opinion. 
 
 "D-. K. EMORY."
 
 LILY HUSON. 175 
 
 Another letter from Mr. Edgar will give the reader some 
 idea of the progress of Lily's project. It is as follows : 
 
 , August 17th, 1853. 
 
 Mrs. Lily Husox : 
 
 Yours of the second inst. came duly 
 to hand, and you would have received an earlier reply, had I 
 
 not waited to hear from Mr. P m, as you hinted that I 
 
 probably might do. However, 1 will wait no longer and keep 
 you in suspense. 
 
 In reply to yours, I must say, I am much pleased to have a 
 letter from you and to hear of your apparently good prospects. 
 
 I am not personally acquainted with Mr. P m; I only saw 
 
 his scheme in the papers, and sent it to you, thinking you 
 mieht gather some benefit therefrom, if he writer or calls on 
 me, I assure you I will do my best for you, and will follow his 
 advice, and second your wishes to the letter. I really believe you 
 will make the scheme work, and I only wish it was in my power 
 to undertake the entire management of it for you ; but 1 fear I 
 could not, and then you don't say how much, or what share 
 you would give me if I could embark in the enterprise. I think 
 I could sell a thousand tickets in this place, and perhaps in 
 other towns near two or three thousand more, -perhaps a mueh 
 
 greater number. If I could see Mr. P m, he is the right 
 
 kind of man, and I might, perhaps, aid him in some suggestions 
 in regard to carrying out the plan. When all is ready for the 
 distribution of tickets, let me know if I am wanted and can do 
 anything; I will do all that lies in my power. I have spoken 
 to many gentlemen here, and they are pleased with the idea. 
 I repeat, I really believe I could sell a large number of tickets 
 here. I shall be pleased to hear of you often, and to be 
 informed of all you are doing. I really hope your success 
 may reach your highest anticipations. 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 G. EDGAR,
 
 170 LILYHUSON. 
 
 We now approach the concluding chapter, but before we close 
 the present one, we will give the following extract from a let- 
 ter received by Lil} r from Mr.. Friendly, showing the con- 
 tinuance of his kindly feelings towards her : — 
 
 " Your peaches were very rich ; I wonder if I 
 
 thought them more delicious because you sent them to me, and 
 because I so much admire the donor. Would to God, generous 
 girl, that you had it in your power to display before the world 
 the kindly and noble disposition that He has given you. You 
 would truly do much good "
 
 LILY HUSON. 177 
 
 CHARTER XXI. 
 
 FAMILY AFFAIRS — TROUBLE AND DEATH MATTERS PROGRESS 
 
 SLOWLY — STILL ENCOURAGEMENT IS HELD OUT LETTERS FROM 
 
 MEN OF INFLUENCE CONCLUSION. 
 
 It is a customary and time-honored practice to dispose satis- 
 factorily of all the characters that have figured in a story, if 
 not before, at all events in the course of the concluding chap- 
 ter. But as Lily's diary is still rich in material, and as she 
 promises to furnish sufficient for another volume before long, 
 in which we hope to see her smoothly gliding down the stream 
 of time, we do not feel it necessary to do more than com- 
 fortably dispose of those characters who will not figure in the 
 next work. 
 
 Eva Harvey, Lily's intimate friend, is married to a worthy 
 young man, and bears the honors of matronhood with all be- 
 coming dignity. 
 
 Frank Gardner has also been led to the altar by Augustus 
 Huson. Jacob Nelson was unfortunately drowned in the lake, 
 and Sely Nelson came, by his own hands, to an untimely end. 
 
 Lily one day received a letter from Mr. Friendly, when 
 suddenly, while she was engaged in reading it, she came to a 
 full stop, and her features ■ showed such alarm that her mother 
 asked what was the matter. Lily hesitated to reply, but her 
 mother still urging her, she read as follows, aloud : — 
 
 " Lily, I should not have troubled you with a com-
 
 178 LILY HUSON. 
 
 munication at this time, but: on account of the death of your 
 uncle Nelson, the report of which you may not have heard. 
 
 " The following are the particulars : For some time past, it 
 appears the family have been endeavoring to get his property 
 out of his hands into their own, on the plea that he was inca- 
 pable of managing it himself (for my part, I think he was fully 
 capable of attending to his own business.) However, his 
 family succeeded in obtaining possession, and that, report says, 
 has been the cause of your uncle's death. Yesterday afternoon 
 he left home quite well, and, meeting with a friend, he invited 
 him to drink. This friend said, ' You have brought up your 
 daughters to look at nobody but lawyers, and now the lawyers 
 have got your daughters and your property, too. You have 
 to go to your wife or Haskins, to ask for sixpence to get a 
 glass of brandy. Ah! how do you like that, uncle Nelson 1 ?' 
 
 " Your uncle's proud spirit could endure no more. Pie re- 
 plied, ' My wife and children are working against me. I don't 
 want to live.' It i§ supposed he went and procured poison, and 
 took it as soon as he arrived home, from the effects of which 
 he died in two hours. 
 
 " Your mother's words have come true, ' His family will 
 kill him yet.' Knowing the nature of the feelings existing be- 
 tween you and your family, I have thought it not amiss to write 
 you. I deeply sympathize with your poor mother and her 
 family. Your uncle was an esteemed friend of minp, and I 
 deeply regret his loss. 
 
 " I understand he is to be buried to-morrow. 
 " I remain yours truly, 
 
 "M. FRIENDLY." 
 
 The reader has known but little of Sely Nelson, but we 
 leave him to imagine the feelings of his sister when she heard 
 of his sad death. 
 
 Lily immediately left for '■ — , at which place she arrived 
 
 at midnight, and she immediately proceeded to the house of
 
 LILY HUSON. 179 
 
 her uncle. She was admitted by the watchers, and found the 
 family all assembled. After the solemn greetings were over,, 
 she withdrew to the room where the corpse lay, and fyr many 
 minutes stood gazing mournfully at the features, still in death, 
 of him who had been more than an uncle to her, who had been 
 all the father she had ever known. 
 
 He had left his wife with a clear income of $1,200 per an- 
 num ; but was she happy 1 Did not the thought sometimes 
 arise in her bosom, " Had I not sought to wrest the control 
 of my husband's property from him, he might still be living?" 
 
 Lily returned to the room where the family were seated, and 
 asked if she should fetch her mother to see the last of the 
 brother she most loved. 
 
 For some time Mrs. Nelson seemed to object, but at length 
 she bade Lily do as she' pleased. 
 
 Mrs. Young came on the following day, and shortly after- 
 wards the body- was borne to the grave, and earth had seen the 
 last of Sely Nelson. 
 
 Let us pass from this dreary subject. 
 
 For some time past Lily has noticed a pleasing change in 
 her mother's disposition, for the better, and with the sw r eet 
 hope of smoothing her rugged path in the downhill of life, she 
 labors hard to carry out the enterprise she has taken in hand, 
 and Mr. Friendly has promised to aid her with all his influence 
 to cause it to succeed. With such men as Messrs. Friendly, 
 Edgar and Allen, to assist her designs, she feels confident of 
 eventual success. She is also encouraged, although almost a 
 stranger to him, by one whom the people were proud to exalt 
 to the highest honor save one which a Republic can bestow 
 upon man. Lily, though but little acquainted with this gentle- 
 man, esteems him equally with her three other friends. To 
 meet with such in this cold, unfeeling world, is as the oasis in 
 the sandy desert to the pilgrim. 
 
 Without giving names, we will show from extracts from let-
 
 180 LILY HUSON. 
 
 ters the interest he has shown, and the influence he has exerted 
 in her behalf. 
 He writes : 
 
 " I wrote to , publishers, by this mail, stating 
 
 in substance all I know of you, and your intended publication. 
 With the deepest sympathy for your misfortunes, I remain, 
 yours truly, 
 
 To this the publishers in question sent the following reply : — 
 
 " It would give us a great deal of pleasure to see the 
 lady in cpaestion, or any one else in -whose welfare you are in- 
 terested. If she will send us her MSS. for examination, we 
 will advise her in the premises to the best of our ability. 
 
 " With respect, &c. &c, 
 
 " Publishers, " 
 
 The publishers also wrote to Lily as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Madam t — 
 
 " M — : favored us with a letter this week, kindly 
 
 commending your undertaking to our favorable consideration, 
 to which we replied yesterday." 
 
 However, with all this promise of assistance, with all the 
 kind wishes and sympathies of her friends, and with all her 
 own unwearied exertions, it has been but lately that Lily has 
 been enabled to secure the assistance of a suitable person to 
 manage the arrangements of her projects. 
 
 Now, for the present, in Lily's name, we bid our kind readers 
 farewell — at least, a temporary farewell. This work is not a 
 mere tale of fiction, founded upon facts, but a tale of truth, 
 unembellished by fiction. Many of the incidents have fallen
 
 LILY HUSON. 181 
 
 under the personal observation of the editor, and all the facts 
 that have fallen under her observation have been gathered from 
 the diary or from the lips of Lily. May we hope that it will 
 find a little vacant corner in the literature of our country, and 
 merit liberal patronage and protection from an enlightened and 
 sympathizing public. 
 
 And. now let us say a few words to parents and children, and 
 more especially to those who anticipate entering into the holy 
 state of matrimony. 
 
 Parents, mothers in particular, seek to know your own hearts 
 thoroughly, that you may be the better able to study the hearts 
 of your children, eradicating the weeds therefrom, and cherish- 
 ing and cultivating the flowers, that, in the appointed time, the 
 buds may blossom into their perfect loveliness, and shed a 
 sweet perfume around them. Thus will you not only render them 
 useful members of society, and preserve them, by God's help, 
 from a multitude of evils, but you will secure to them such 
 happiness here as is accorded to the pure in heart and the firm 
 in purpose, and perfect happiness hereafter ; or if they be call- 
 ed away from you, you will be assured, when you sec them for 
 the last time on earth, that they have but gone before you, and 
 will meet you in Heaven. You can say with comfort and 
 assurance, "My child is not dead, but sleepeth ;" the body 
 may lie mouldering in the grave, but the spirit hath departed 
 to live for ever with the God who made it, and the memories 
 of the lost dear ones will linger in your bosom and shed a 
 perfume around your pathway through life, until you, in God's 
 good time, are called hence to rejoin those who have only gone 
 a short time before you. We have all been children upon 
 earth. Oh, mav we all become children of God, and dwell 
 with Him in happiness in His kingdom, for ever and ever. Oh, 
 children .' may the God of love sit enthroned in your hearts, and 
 next to the love that you bear to God, love your parents ; they 
 whose joys, and griefs, and sufferings are for and with you. 
 
 Brothers ! love and protect your sisters ; your love may
 
 182 LILY HUSON. 
 
 save them from many and deadly perils. Sisters ! love your 
 brothers; the love of a sister has great and saving influence. 
 Entice them, by kind words and loving smiles, to remain at 
 home and spend their evenings ; read to them and with them, 
 enjoy together every harmless amusement calculated to make 
 home attractive. Counsel with them, plan with them, to make 
 their daily labors lighter. A sister's encouragement will ren- 
 der the hardest labor easy and light. With a home to receive 
 him, made cheerful and attractive by the love and care of a 
 kind sister, how many young men might be saved from vice 
 and from the fascinations of the tavern ! Soon there would be 
 no such resorts, for there would be no victims left for the keep- 
 ers to profit by. We hope and believe, even now, that, in 
 this regard, we are on the eve of a great change. With 
 parents it will commence in the heart, by the grace of God, 
 led to know the evil of past derelictions from duty ; with 
 children, it will commence at birth, and the change will be im- 
 planted in the heart through the parent, and rooted and strength- 
 ened by education and early training. Father, mother ; 
 brother, sister ; husband, wife, all associated in family happi- 
 ness and mutual love, with God as our common lather. What 
 heart can conceive greater happiness than such a union here? 
 It will fit and prepare us for an everlasting union in Heaven. 
 
 Ye who are about to enter into the holy estate of matrimony, 
 ask yout hearts, before you take the irrecoverable step, if it is 
 pure love which prompts you to wed. Ask your hearts serious- 
 ly, if, under any circumstances, they can cling to the object 
 around which they have twined the chords of affection ? Wait 
 and study each the other, that you may be satisfied that in heart, 
 thought, deed, you will become one. Heed well the heart's 
 response, for by that only can ye be assured that ye will in- 
 crease your own happiness or that of others by marriage. 
 
 There never was a human being formed without a congenial 
 mate, although here they may not meet. There are many who 
 will respond to me when I say there is more misery in the
 
 LILY HUSO N. 183 
 
 world arising from family disunion, than from any other source. 
 Between the husband and the wife there should exist a har- 
 monious blending of mind, which will lighten each of half the 
 burden of evil men and women are doomed to suffer. 
 
 And now, dear readers, for we trust we have some warm- 
 hearted and sympathizing readers, as the greatest reward for 
 our labors, we will imagine that we see the sympathizing sigh 
 heaving the breast, or the tear of pity bedewing the cheek, and 
 that we are mingling our sighs and tears with yours, and truly 
 happy shall we be if w r e have written one chapter which has 
 cheered the heart of the reader, or afforded the slightest amuse- 
 ment or instruction. 
 
 •Listen, then, to the gentle '"'Good-bye" that Lily gives. 
 Weep not over her misfortunes ; but rather rejoice, for they 
 have proved her greatest blessings. The earth must be rent 
 before its gems are brought to the light of day. And what, 
 though she and all of us, should lose all that the world can 
 give ? Have we not the promise of priceless gifts and happi- 
 ness everlasting, hereafter, if we seek it in a proper spirit? In 
 that spirit may we all seek the precious boon of love unutter- 
 able, promised us by our Heavenly Father. 
 
 Gentle reader, farewell. We may meet again.
 
 •
 
 CLAHA NEYILLE, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " LILY HUSON." 
 
 I said, dear reader, that we might soon meet again ; but 
 when I penned the concluding paragraph of Lily Huson, I did 
 not imagine the period of our next meeting would so soon 
 ai-rive. The following story relates to the experience of a near 
 and dear relative, now deceased. I have related the tale, 
 nearly verbatim, as I have heard it from her own lips, for she 
 was the heroine, Clara Neville. In some respects, in order to 
 weave her narrative into a connected story, I have been 
 obliged, slightly, to change its thread; but I have in every 
 instance closely adhered to its actual facts. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Who that has lived near the sea-coast has not experienced 
 the terrors of a night of tempest— a pitiless, howling night of 
 storm and -sleet, and drift, when the rain, and the wind, and 
 the thunder, and the hoarse murmur of the surf, distinctly 
 heard throughout the universal discord, weigh fearfully upon 
 the spirits and oppress the mind with horror, mingled with 
 which is a secret sensation of gratitude that we are not exposed 
 to its fury, and a feeling of pity and sympathy with those who 
 are 1 ?
 
 186 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 On such a night as this, in the autumn of 1S4 — , two ladies 
 might have been seen, in a small cottage, situated on the out 
 skirts of the village of York, in New Hampshire, sitting 
 together in an apartment whose decorations and furniture, 
 simple and even scanty though they were, were marked by 
 that characteristic which money cannot command ; the impress 
 of good taste, whilst its limited dimensions tended rather to 
 enhance than to diminish the appearance of comfort, which far 
 outweighs lofty ceilings and marble columns, on a stormy 
 night in November. Still the comfort was barely comfort; 
 everything was neat and tidy, everything was in its proper 
 place, but there was no luxury, and little or no ornament. 
 There were sketch books and a piano-forte, but they were not 
 for the purpose of amusement ; for it was from giving instruc- 
 tions in music and drawing that the inmates of that humble 
 abode derived the principal part of their income ; and a cur- 
 sory glance at the room showed that whatever happiness 
 existed there owed nothing to the wealth of this world. 
 
 The tea things had just been removed, and by the side of the 
 elder lady various articles of female industry already occupied 
 the table ; whilst an open volume by the side of the younger 
 lady indicated that she was about to read aloud to her mother, 
 who was busily at work on an article of female attire. Yet for 
 a time the needle lay still and the book was neglected ; both 
 were plunged into a train of thought, which neither seemed 
 inclined to break, and it was evident that between them and 
 the burning coals, upon which their eyes were fixed, visions 
 interposed of far more interest than the ever-varying forms of 
 the fire, that shifted and dickered before them. 
 
 Unhappily, to judge from the expression of their counte- 
 nances, that interest was a painful one, and for some consider- 
 able time neither broke "the silence within, which contrasted 
 so strangely with the noise without. 
 
 " God help the poor sailors that are exposed to this storm," 
 said the elderly lady at last, as a blast passed over the house,
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 187 
 
 with a voice of thunder, rocking the chimneys and howling like 
 a wild beast demanding its prey ; " I am afraid we shall have 
 more wrecks this fall." 
 
 " I never hear of a storm from the northeast, mamma, without 
 trembling," returned the other ; " I cannot understand how men 
 can be sailors." 
 
 ' ; Poor girl ! " murmured the mother, " she little knows 
 what the sea cost her, and yet he was no sailor." 
 
 The young lady, her reverie thus interrupted, took up the 
 book, and seemed about to commence to read aloud. 
 
 The elder lady, Mrs. Neville, as far as could be judged from 
 her appearance, was between thirty and forty years of age. 
 She still retained the traces of great beauty, yet they were but 
 traces, for grief and care had impressed their seal too deeply 
 on her countenance to admit of what is called good looks 
 remaining ; but though the bloom of youth, its freshness and 
 brightness, were gone, time could not efface the traces of her 
 beauty ; the classic cast of her features still remained, and the 
 striking likeness between her "and her daughter afforded a faith- 
 ful representation of what she must have been in the days of 
 her youthful prime. 
 
 Clara Neville was now in her nineteenth year, but her com- 
 manding figure, tall and fully developed, gave her the air of 
 being a year or two older ; rich, heavy clustering ringlets of 
 sunny hair fell down to her shoulders, and though her com- 
 plexion was fair to the verge of paleness, her eyes were dark 
 blue, and shaded with dark brown lashes. The expression of 
 her countenance was now grave almost to melancholy ; some- 
 times an expression of sadness would steal over her face, yet 
 that sadness was mingled with tenderness, and, anon, a cloud 
 would pass over her brow, that contrasted strangely with the 
 otherwise amiable expression of her features. Once, and but 
 once, she fairly hid her face in her hands and sobbed aloud, but 
 the momentary weakness quickly passed away, and again there
 
 188 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 was a gleam of pride in her eye — the pride of victory gained 
 over herself. 
 
 Still, however, if there were some symptoms of wavering 
 and indecision, the expression of her lips changed not, resolution 
 was distinctly stamped upon them; the high-hearted will that 
 would not yield was expressed in the silent compression that 
 gave assurance of firmness that no words that could have issued 
 from them could have done. 
 
 With respect to the history of these ladies but little was 
 known in the village of York, except that about twelve years 
 before the period of which we speak, they had arrived, nobody 
 knew how and nobody knew whence, at the cottage they now 
 occupied. 
 
 During all this time they had mixed little with the village 
 society ; their means appeared to be very limited, for Mrs. 
 Neville had from her first arrival endeavored to increase them 
 by giving instructions in music and drawing to the well-to-do 
 farmers' and tradesmen's daughters in the neighborhood, as 
 well as giving instructions in some minor branches of female 
 accomplishments in which Clara had of late years rendered her 
 considerable assistance. After a few years the curiosity excited 
 by their arrival died away ; the neighbors ceased to interest 
 themselves with the circumstances of Mrs. Neville's former 
 life, and left her in peace and quietness to pursue the only 
 object that seemed now to occupy her thoughts, the education 
 of her child, in which she was as successful as the fondest parent 
 could desire. The mother's pride was mingled with the Chris- 
 tian's thankfulness that she saw her Clara grow up in loveliness 
 of mind and person ; but the hour of trial was now at hand. 
 Near Mrs. Neville's residence there lived a wealthy old bache- 
 lor who had made a fortune as a merchant in one of the cities 
 of New Hampshire, and had for some years past lived a retired 
 life on a country-seat, half farm-house, half villa, he had pur- 
 chased, located near the sea-coast. He had a nephew who had 
 been educated at Harvard, and a few months before the date
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 189 
 
 of the opening of our story had paid a long visit to his uncle 
 previous to his leaving home for the West Indies, where he had 
 a lucrative situation offered to him. The old gentleman's 
 name was Morton, and from the moment of his arrival almost, 
 he had cultivated the good graces of the widow, and as far as 
 friendship went on her part he had succeeded, but no further. 
 Harry Morton, as perhaps was natural in consequence of his 
 so frequently visiting the widow's cottage with his uncle, soon 
 became greatly attached to Clara. The attachment, too, was 
 mutual, and when Harry left for the West Indies something 
 like a promise was exchanged between the young people that 
 they would never, either of them, love another/ Mrs. Neville 
 knew her daughter's secret, but the old gentleman was quite 
 ignorant of it. He would have thought it preposterous that a 
 youth so young as his nephew should think of marriage. To 
 be sure Harry was three and twenty, and a very handsome 
 fellow too, but what of that % Mr. Morton thought no man 
 under fifty should ever dream, of wedlock. 
 
 Shortly after his nephew's departure, Mr. Morton busied 
 himself in procuring a situation as governess for Clara, and 
 succeeded in obtaining an engagement for her in the family of 
 a gentleman named Ellsworth, who resided at Natchez, in the 
 State of Mississippi. He had private and domestic reasons of 
 his own for his exertions in this matter, as we shall hereafter 
 see. 
 
 Clara and her mother had never yet been separated. The 
 day of departure was rapidly drawing near, and the sorrow of 
 parting lay heavy on both mother and daughter. * * 
 
 Suddenly Clara laid down her book. 
 
 " Did you hear anything V she asked. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Neville, " I hear nothing but the howling 
 of the storm." 
 
 " I thought I heard firing," said Clara; "there, I heard the 
 sound of a gun again then quite plain."
 
 190 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Neville listened for a moment ; the young lady's ear 
 had not deceived her — gun followed gun in rapid succession. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven !" she exclaimed ; " is another of those 
 terrible scenes of death and destruction at hand ?" 
 
 Still the heavy booming of the cannon, evidently signals of 
 distress, mingled with- the storm, and left no doubt, from the 
 loudness of the sound, that the ship from which it proceeded 
 was close to the land, if not actually on shore.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. ifli 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 Mr. Morton sat in his dining-room after dinner and stirred 
 the fire. Every man thinks he can stir the fire better than any 
 other man, so Mr. Morton seemed to derive no little comfort 
 from the feeling of conscious superiority that the performance 
 gave him, and he looked with a bland expression of benevolence 
 and approval upon a bottle of curious old port, of which potent 
 liquor he was wont to observe, that it was the natural wine of 
 gentlemen ; and likewise upon a dish of hickory-nuts and al- 
 monds, of which he was accustomed to observe, that it was a 
 very bad arrangement of Providence that made them so indi- 
 gestible. 
 
 From the walnuts he passed into a brown study, a train of 
 thought or a fit of abstraction, whichever the reader is pleased 
 to term it, which lasted a full half hour, during which time he 
 sat musing and sighing, and sipping port wine, like a true and 
 faithful lover as he was. 
 
 Mr. Morton was a little, oily, globular man, with a roundish? 
 reddish nose, a bald, bullet head, and a ponderous, pendulous, 
 double chin. 
 
 His shoes were large and loose, for he was shod on anti-corn 
 principles ; loose also was his neckcloth, as if, though fearing 
 apoplexy by expansion within, he was well resolved that it 
 should not be forced upon him by the pressure from without; 
 the three lower buttons of his waistcoat, released from their 
 charge, said, as plainly as buttons could say, " We would not 
 now call the President our uncle," and yet, notwithstanding
 
 192 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 that comfort seemed incarnated in his person, Mr. Morton 
 seemed ill at ease. Pie put his hands in his pockets, he perch- 
 ed up his little legs upon the fender, he pursed up his mouth, 
 and still from time to time, broken sentences escaped his lips. 
 
 " That getting Clara the place at Mr. Ellsworth's was a grand 
 move of mine. She'll be very lonely now — we'll ask her to 
 dinner on Saturday — suppose she'll come — show her what a 
 comfortable fireside is — what sort of a life the mistress of this 
 house would lead. To be sure she has seen it before — and a 
 roast turkey — she has refused me four times — four times in as 
 many years — very extraordinary. "Well, she can never have 
 the face to refuse me the fifth time, can she % Clara will be 
 gone — she'll be so lonesome — and Maria never will have dinner 
 ready in time — these girls are so careless. (Mr. Morton's 
 housekeeper, Maria, was a girl of thirty years.) There is 
 something mysterious about her history, too. Wonder if Mr. 
 Neville is really dead ? (here one eye closed) so odd her rc- 
 . fusing me four times — 1 never thought she could have gone 
 beyond three — hope she's not too cunning — widow's sometimes 
 are — don't think she is." One eye was closed. The other eye 
 seemed inclined to follow ; he made an effort to open both ; 
 the fire appeared to be sending up long streaks of flame before 
 him ; he nodded, he winked ; ideas, such as they were, began 
 to jostle one another in his head ; there was a humming in his 
 ears ; he slept and dreamed. 
 
 The first distinct vision that rose before his eyes was a fancy 
 sketch of the late Mr. Neville — pictured from imagination, for 
 he had never seen the defunct gentleman — who, with very huge, 
 black whiskers and a fierce expression of countenance, started 
 up from the indigestible nuts, and then instantly vanished. 
 
 Then an unusually bright blaze from the fire, lit up the torch 
 of hymen from the ashes of the deceased husband, and the 
 dreamer, blue coated, brass buttoned, white waistcoated and 
 black trowsered, stood in the village church of York. There 
 was a strong perfume of orange flowers, and opposite him stood
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 193 
 
 Mrs. Neville. Then while he was still tasting, or rather an- 
 ticipating bliss, the dream passed away, and Mr. Morton re- 
 turned to the consciousness of his bachelordom and his half- 
 emptied bottle of port wine. 
 
 But now a strange and ill-omened sound burst upon his ears. 
 It was the report of a cannon — he distinctly heard gun after 
 g im — ailc ] on that coast he very well knew that the sound of 
 artillery announced danger to human life, as assuredly as it did 
 on the field of battle. With the hurried exclamation of — 
 
 " A ship in distress !" — 
 
 Mr. Morton opened the window and looked out into the 
 night. It was dark and dreary, being, in fact, the same night 
 we have described in the preceding chapter. It was every 
 moment growing more stormy. The chill wind whistled round 
 the room as it came in at the window, dislodging every light 
 article from its fixed location in the bachelor's sitting-room. 
 From the sea came up a smell of salt spray, and Mr. Morton, 
 feeling none of his senses gratified, did what all sensible per- 
 sons do under similar circumstances : he closed the window, 
 put more coals on the fire, drew the screen behind his back ; 
 and re-applying himself to the wine and hickory-nuts, he con- 
 tinued his former waking reverie — 
 
 " Surely," said he, " when Mrs. Neville feels herself alone 
 on such nights as these, and we shall have many such during 
 the winter, she'll feel the want of a protector," and so saying, 
 he grasped the poker, probably with the view of demolishing 
 an imaginary burglar, a stifrdy beggar, or a rival, as the case 
 may be, or perhaps with the more pacific intention of stirring 
 the fire. Whatever were his intentions they did not ripen into 
 action, as at this moment his neighbor, the clergyman of the 
 village, entered abruptly, and called out — 
 
 " Come down to the beach, Morton. There is death in the 
 blast ; there is a ship on shore on the sands, and they will never 
 be able to launch the life-boat unless they get all possible as- 
 sistance." 
 
 9
 
 194 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 " My dear friend," said Mr. Morton, casting a wistful glance 
 towards the decanter, thence to the hickory-nuts, thence to the 
 fire, and finally to the window, as much as to say, " I know 
 the difference of the things within and the things without, as 
 well as any body.'' 
 
 " Of what earthly use can I bel I never touched an oar in 
 my life. I have not done dinner yet, and I have got a cold ; 
 besides, coffee will be served presently." 
 
 " There are lives in danger." 
 
 " What can I do 1 I'm not a humane society, am I V 
 
 " You can show an example." 
 
 " The Lord forbid," returned Mr. Morton, in utter horror at 
 the bare idea of setting an example, or indeed of exposing his 
 rubicund face at all on such a night. 
 
 " You can help to get the life-boat manned." 
 
 "I should not be able to make myself even heard in such a 
 storm." 
 
 " You have some influence with the fishermen. Consider 
 the poor sailors may soon become food for fishes." 
 
 " Most likely get the influenza myself; and if you go to the 
 life-boat, you'll become food for fishes yourself, instead of feed- 
 ing on them, like a good churchman." 
 
 "Well, I must go alone. You would not cross the room, I 
 believe, to save your brother's life. It is ever the way with 
 you." And the clergyman departed. 
 
 " It's always the way with Mr. Eugsby," soliloquized Mr. 
 Morton ; " he's never happy unless he's got something to do 
 that every one else detests. Now r , I shouldn't wonder if he 
 goes in the life-boat himself in spite of my warning ; but he 
 never minds me. However, I must go and tell Maria to ask 
 the Nevilles to dinner on Saturday." 
 
 And on this hospitable (?) thought intent, he left the parlor. 
 
 Upon arriving at the beach, Mr. Eugsby found his worst 
 apprehensions realized. The vessel was lying about a quarter 
 of a mile from the shore — broadside on to the sea, which broke
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 195 
 
 over her violently. She still continued to fire guns, but each 
 time the interval between them became longer and longer, as 
 if those on board found some difficulty in loading ; and the sea 
 ran so high that it seemed almost impossible that the life-boat 
 could live on it. The boat was, however, got ready, and Mr. 
 Eugsby exerted all his eloquence to get a crew for her, offering 
 not only liberal payment, but to take an oar himself, when he 
 fancied he saw by the glimmering light of the moon, which was 
 now beginning to show objects indistinctly, something like a 
 black object floating on the top of- the waves, and it became 
 clear that the body of a man was drifting rapidly towards the 
 shore. It entered the surf, and for a moment disappeared in 
 a gigantic wave that raised its crest many feet high into the 
 air. It came swelling in with its helpless load, broke with a 
 heavy plunge and a hoarse roar, and then spreading a silvery 
 sheet of foam all round, rippled back with a musical gurgling 
 over the shingle, leaving its burden, whether living or dead 
 none can tell, behind it. 
 
 Before the next wave had time to come in and sweep it back 
 again into the waters, the body had been secured and dragged 
 high and dry on the beach. 
 
 It was evidently, from the attire and appearance, that of a 
 gentleman ; and from the circumstance of his having all his 
 clothes on, it was inferred that he had been carried overboard 
 by accident, and, though he seemed dead, he was carried to the 
 nearest house, which was that of Mrs. Neville. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed the widow, as soon as she saw 
 the face of the insensible man — for she had humanely bestirred 
 herself to provide a couch and the necessary appliances for the 
 physician, who had been summoned. " Good Heavens ! it is 
 Mr. Thornton." 
 
 The usual remedies were applied, and for a long time in 
 vain ; but still there were indications of life ; slight indeed, but 
 sufficient to induce the continuance of the efforts to restore it, 
 and at last those efforts were crowned with success.
 
 196 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 The symptoms of animation became more and more fre- 
 quent, and by midnight the perils and dangers of the shipwreck 
 were forgotten in a sound sleep. 
 
 Mr. Eugsby kindly sat up all night with the resuscitated 
 man, and in the morning the sufferer was sufficiently recovered 
 to give an account of the wreck ; but we must defer this ac- 
 count to another chapter.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 197 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The scene now changes from the northern to the southern 
 portion of the Union. 
 
 A fortnight after the date of the events mentioned in the two 
 preceding chapters, there was a great bustle and hurry at the 
 foot of one of the wharves at New Orleans ; not that it was 
 anything extraordinary taking place, it was merely the every 
 day occurrence of a steamer being about to take its departure 
 upon a trip up the Mississippi ; but on such occasions there is 
 always to the eye of a stranger as much hurry and confusion 
 as if such departures were of rare occurrence. Porters bustled 
 to and fro; carriages, setting down passengers, lined the Levee; 
 bales and boxes were tumbled about, as if they cost nothing, 
 and lay around in such confusion that one unused to such sights 
 would imagine that they belonged to nobody— or if they did 
 have owners, the said owners would be lucky indeed if they 
 ever succeeded in getting possession of half their property. 
 Then there were crowds of sorrowing friends, bidding farewell 
 to those who were about to leave them ; there were tears in 
 abundance, and some smiles ; some mock sorrow and much 
 forced cheerfulness ; much faint-hcartedness and a great deal 
 of hopeful anticipation ; wails of distress and frightful oaths, 
 and merry laughter ; sounds of every variety mingled and inter- 
 mingled in strange confusion, while above all could be heard 
 the hissing, and snapping, and snorting of the steam, as it was 
 eased off from the boilers of the steamboat. At length all 
 was ready for a start. The passengers and their baggage and
 
 198 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 the cargo was all on board ; the last sorrowing friends had been 
 warned to go ashore — the plank was withdrawn from the gang- 
 way — the words, " Slack off," " Go ahead," were given — the 
 paddle wheels made two or three revolutions, forwards and 
 backwards, as if trying their strength before commencing their 
 race — " All right," was shouted shrill and clear by the captain 
 from his elevated post on the paddle-box — a bell tingled mer- 
 rily, the ropes that bound the leviathan to her moorings were 
 cast adrift, and fell with a dull plash in the water, and the 
 
 E S slid out into the turgid waters of the Queen of 
 
 Eivers. Handkerchiefs waved a last adieu from the quarter- 
 deck of the steamer, and the parting salute was returned from 
 the shore, and the gallant vessel sped swiftly on her way, and 
 in half an hour afterwards the wharf, so lately a scene of busy 
 confusion, was comparatively deserted. 
 
 Among the passengers on board the E S was Clara 
 
 Neville. She had dined with her mother at the house of Mr. 
 Morton on the Saturday, Avhen, as the reader will recollect, that 
 gentleman had resolved to invite the widow to his residence, 
 and on the Monday following had taken her departure for 
 Natchez, where Mr. Morton had procured her the situation as 
 governess. 
 
 A friend of Mr. Morton's, who w r as going to New Orleans 
 on business, had promised to take her under his charge through- 
 out the journey, and to provide her, when arrived at the 
 Crescent City, with an escort for the remainder of her journey. 
 Clara had reached New Orleans in safety, and the gentleman 
 who had accompanied her had readily enough found a friend 
 who was going up the river willing to take her under his care 
 as far as Natchez. This gentleman, wdiose name was Warner, 
 was a young man of five and twenty years of age, who was in 
 the habit of making trading voyages up the Mississippi. He 
 was a tine, handsome-looking fellow, possessed of a soul full of 
 Southern chivalry, and felt quite proud of the confidence reposed
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 199 
 
 in him in thus having a young and pretty girl, like Clara Neville, 
 entrusted to his charge. 
 
 For an hour or more after leaving the wharf Clara was 
 silent; her heart was too full to speak — for she seemed now 
 for the first time in reality to be utterly separated from her 
 mother. Hitherto she had been accompanied by a friend with 
 whom she had a partial acquaintance, and who, at least, was 
 himself a native of her own State. Now, she was in the hands 
 of an utter stranger, and going to reside — she knew not for 
 how long — amongst strangers. Her young escort, having seen 
 that she was comfortably seated on deck, left her to herself; 
 for perceiving her sadness, he thought it best not to press his 
 conversation upon her, though he lingered by her side, so as to 
 be ready to assist her in any way that might be required. 
 
 On rushed the heavily-laden steamer with lightning speed 
 through the turbid waters, and still Clara sat beneath the deck 
 awning, gazing vacantly over the levees across the level coun- 
 try beyond, affording a view extending over many miles. At 
 length the entire novelty of the scene aroused her from her 
 home-sick reverie. She gazed with increasing curiosity at the 
 vast plantations, stretched far away in every direction, upon 
 which, from the deck of the steamer, the negroes busy at their 
 daily toil could be distinctly seen. The villas and mansions 
 of the planters and the huts of the slaves, scattered in groups 
 here and there, rendered the landscape to her fancy extremely 
 picturesque, and all the more exciting to her curiosity on ac- 
 count of the novelty of everything her eye rested upon; and 
 at last the sad and thoughtful expression disappeared from her 
 countenance altogether, and she rose from her seat to get a 
 better view of the rapidly varying scenery. 
 
 Mr. Warner noticed this change, and immediately drew 
 nearer to her and commenced pointing out the various locali- 
 ties of interest, and the young couple soon became apparently 
 as well acquainted as if they had known each other for years.
 
 200 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 At length the young man asked Clara if she intended making 
 a long stay at Natchez. 
 
 " I know not," she replied. " I am engaged as governess to 
 the family of Mr. Ellsworth. I have never been away from 
 home before. Perhaps years may elapse before I see my home 
 and my mother again." 
 
 "Mr. Ellsworth!" exclaimed the young man. "I have 
 known him since I was a boy. 1 trust I shall often have the 
 pleasure of seeing you there, Miss Neville, for I often visit 
 Natchez." 
 
 Clara had it upon her lips to ask what sort of a fimily they 
 were amongst whom her lot was cast ; but she found some dif- 
 ficulty in framing so delicate a question, and while she was yet 
 deliberating, there came a sudden rush of people towards the 
 stern of the vessel. 
 
 " What is the matter % " inquired Clara, rather frightened., 
 
 " A steamer is coming up with us astern," replied Mr. 
 Warner. " Come with me, and let us see the race." 
 
 They removed to the stern of the vessel. About a mile in 
 their wake a steamer apparently about the same tonnage as the 
 
 E S was tearing after them, puffing and snorting so 
 
 loudly that the sound could be distinctly heard. She was evi- 
 dently gaining upon them. 
 
 There was a tumultuous momevent amongst the officers and 
 
 crew of the E S . Each one appeared excited, and 
 
 the passengers evidently sympathized with them. Orders were 
 rapidly and loudly given to heap on fuel ; and the deck load 
 was moved hither and thither to trim the vessel most advan- 
 tageously, so as to enable her to outstrip her rival in speed. 
 Even the passengers were desired repeatedly to change their 
 positions, so as better to bring the steamer to her bearings. 
 
 Clara felt a little nervous as she witnessed the turmoil and 
 excitement still increasing, and heard the sharp, loud orders of 
 the captain. 
 
 " Is there any danger ?" she asked of Mr. Warner.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 201 
 
 "No, no — none" he said, "unless we strike a 'snag,' and 
 they are not often met with so low down the river as this. We 
 are trying to distance that vessel astern, that's all, and we shall 
 do it, too. Look how we shoot ahead now. Bravo ! bravo ! — 
 heap on more fuel, captain — give her all she can bear. Ah ! 
 
 ah ! it's no use, old chap. You can't come up to the E 
 
 S when she's got her dander up, no ways you can fix it." 
 
 Certainly the steamer that Clara and her companion were on 
 board of did now seem to do something more than hold her 
 own ; but still she gained but little upon her pursuer, for hours 
 passed away in this exciting flight, and still, though the pursu- 
 ing vessel was a little further astern, she was plainly in sight. 
 The night passed away, few of the passengers seeking rest, and 
 the morning dawned, and though far, far astern, the pursuing 
 steamer was yet in sight. 
 
 Clara had been among the few of the ladies on board who 
 had retired to rest, but Warner had remained on deck through- 
 out the night. About six o'clock in the morning he was sitting 
 near the stern alternately dozing, and waking with a sudden 
 start, when he became suddenly conscious of an alarmed move- 
 ment among the passengers. 
 
 Starting to his feet, he asked what was the matter. 
 
 " I don't know," said a gentleman standing near him, " but 
 I am afraid something has happened tc the machinery. I see 
 the people rushing wildly from the cabins, and " 
 
 What further he was about -to say we know not. There was 
 a sudden explosion — a ripping of planks and a rushing of 
 steam — shrieks and cries of alarm run through the vessel, and 
 " Oh God ! the boiler has burst ! " was shouted by a dozen 
 voices at once. 
 
 In a moment the young man sprang down the cabin stairs 
 and rushed into the ladies' cabin, in one of the state rooms of 
 which Clara was still sleeping. 
 
 " Come on deck as quick as possible, Miss Neville," he said. 
 
 " For God's sake ! tell me what is the matter ?" said Clara, 
 9*
 
 202 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 ■who had been awakened by the explosion, and was dreadfully 
 frightened with the noise and confusion. She was leaving the 
 state room just as the young man reached it. 
 
 " An accident has happened to the machinery — that is all ; 
 I trust there is no danger," he replied, endeavoring to assume 
 as careless a tone as possible. " The passengers are frighten- 
 ed, but I hope there is no real cause for alarm. We shall soon 
 have all put to rights again," and he took Clara by the arm and 
 led her quickly through the cabin, which was filled with hot, 
 stifling steam, and when they reached the cabin steps, shrieks 
 of pain rang on their ears, telling that some poor creatures 
 who had been near to the midships of the steamer had been 
 severely scalded or otherwise injured. 
 
 ' ; Hasten, hasten on deck, Miss Neville," exclaimed the young 
 man. " Bear up bravely, (Clara was near fainting,) we shall 
 have fresh air on deck. Come — come along," and he carried 
 her up the ladder. But they had scarcely set their feet on 
 deck before the fearful cry of " Fire" was heard. A thick 
 smoke burst up from the main hatchway, quickly followed by 
 tongues of fiery flame. 
 
 All was confusion and dismay ; passengers pushed each other 
 rudely aside ; men and women and children, several of the 
 latter only half clad, rushed hither and thither screaming, and 
 each apparently bent selfishly upon his or her individual safety, 
 though amidst the confusion could be heard occasionally the 
 wail of children for their mothers, and the frantic cry of 
 mothers seeking their children, and husbands their wives, while 
 the voice of the captain was still heard above all, urging the 
 passengers to keep order and go aft as quickly as possible, still 
 assuring them, though the facts belied his statement, that there 
 was no danger. Mr. "Warner reached the stern of the vessel 
 with his charge, and by dint of great exertion and no very 
 courteous treatment of others, placed her in a position of tem- 
 porary safety. At this moment the vessel which had been in 
 pursuit, came up and passed them, her decks crowded with
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 203 
 
 passengers, who gave a shout of triumph and defiance as the 
 steamer flew by. 
 
 " We are on fire," shouted the captain. " Stay and render 
 us assistance." 
 
 " For the love of God, stay by us," shouted a hundred voices. 
 " We shall all perish." 
 
 But the steamer passed on her way. Those on board could 
 not help seeing the flames ; but they either underrated the dan- 
 ger, or else had become so excited by the long chase and so 
 rejoiced at their triumph, that they were deaf to all appeals of 
 humanity. 
 
 And now the flames rushed towards the stern, devouring 
 everything in their progress. The helpless steamer had been 
 headed for the shore nearly opposite Port Hudson ; but her 
 progress was slow, indeed she was merely drifting with the 
 tide ; for, though she answered the helm, her machinery was of 
 course perfectly useless. Numbers had jumped overboard, 
 choosing rather to perish by drowning than by the flames, 
 which already severely scorched those who stood huddled to- 
 gether near the tafirail. 
 
 There seemed no chance of succor — no hope of escape. 
 Warner still stood with his arm round Clara's waist — anxiously 
 looking in the direction of the shore, and then turning and 
 watching the rapid progress of the flames. She, poor girl ! 
 bore up nobly ; not a cry of alarm escaped her ; her pallid 
 face alone betrayed her mental agony, as she thought of home 
 and distant friends, and her affright as she saw the all-devour- 
 ing flames advancing towards the spot where she stood. Al- 
 ready the heat was unendurable, and the shore was yet distant ; 
 and even if the shore were reached, there seemed no prospect 
 of escape with life from the burning vessel. 
 
 "We can endure this no longer," whispered Warner into 
 her ear. "To remain here were to perish. We must leap 
 into the water. I can swim well. Will you trust yourself with 
 me 1 — dare you take the frightful leap ?"
 
 204 CLARA NEVILLE 
 
 " If you think it best." 
 
 " I do. It is our only hope of escape." 
 
 " Then I am ready to avail myself of it." 
 
 " Jump first, and I will follow," said the young man. And 
 Clara, summoning all her fortitude, sprang, with a prayer on 
 her lips, into the foaming water, now literally swarming with 
 gasping, drowning human beings. 
 
 As she sunk down beneath the surface a thousand burning 
 thoughts of home — her mother, all the incidents of her life, 
 flashed through her brain. Quick as lightning Warner sprang 
 after the brave girl, and as she rose gasping to the surface, he 
 caught her by her clothing, and whispering to her not to catch 
 hold of him, endeavored, with a lusty arm, to strike out for the 
 shore, with difficulty avoiding the many outstretched arms 
 reached forth to grasp him by the drowning wretches around 
 him.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 205 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Warner -was a strong, active man, and a powerful swimmer : 
 but he had but one arm at liberty, the other was clasped around 
 the vest of Clara, and large pieces of wood, casks and boxes, 
 fallen or blown from the steamer, literally choked up the pas- 
 sage and rendered it almost impossible for him to force his way 
 through them ; besides, he was almost suffocated by the dense 
 volumes of smoke which rolled aloncj above the surface of the 
 water, blinding his eyes and choking his breath, while, ever 
 and anon, the hand of some drowning man or woman would 
 clutch hold of his clothing or his arms, with a tenacity which 
 it required all his strength to shake off. He was not more 
 than thirty yards from the shore, yet from the water he could 
 not perceive it ; a quarter of an hour had elapsed since he had 
 sprung into the river with his precious burthen, and still he 
 had made but little progress. The undercurrent swept him 
 back towards the steamer as fast as his utmost endeavors en- 
 abled him to strike out for the shore. Two or three times he 
 was on the point of dropping his burthen and leaving the now 
 insensible girl to take her chance, "while he, thus enabled to re- 
 double his exertions, should reach the shore in safety and pro- 
 cure more efficient help ; but as often as the thought crossed 
 his mind, he cast it away — feelings of humanity and chivalry 
 interposed, and he still battled desperately forward, although 
 growing weaker and fainter every moment. 
 
 At length a mist came over his eyes — a sensation of stupor 
 pervaded his brain — a dull, heavy pressure deadened his ears
 
 206 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 — a thousand fantastic thoughts flashed at once upon his brain 
 — he seemed to witness the panorama of his whole life passing 
 rapidly before his mental vision, and then — all was darkness. 
 
 He recollected no more till he awoke, as from the sleep of 
 death, and found himself undergoing intolerable torture. His 
 whole frame tingled with the painful, indescribable sensation 
 sometimes experienced in one limb of the body, when having 
 been placed for some time in a constrained position the blood 
 has become torpid, and a thousand needles seem to be picking 
 into the flesh as the circulation recommences. 
 
 For some time he was unable to recollect what had occurred 
 or how he had been brought into this condition. Memory was 
 temporarily obscured. He opened his eyes and found himself 
 lying on a bed in a strange place, with strange faces, and as his 
 distraught fancy pictured, uncouth forms flitting around him. 
 He groaned and again closed his eyes. A strange fancy seized 
 upon him. He thought he had died, and had now awakened 
 to, the mysteries of another world. 
 
 The groan he uttered had been heard by his attendants, and 
 one of them approached the couch and asked in a gentle voice 
 how he felt. The sound of a human voice restored him to him- 
 self; he again opened his eyes, and looking at his interrogator 
 said, in a feeble voice : 
 
 " I feel ill — very ill. I cannot describe how I feel. Where 
 am I ? How came I here V 
 
 " Be thankful that your life has been saved, when hundreds 
 have perished," was the answer. " You have been saved from 
 
 the burning wreck of the E S . But ask no questions 
 
 now. Try to sleep." 
 
 In a moment the recollection of the whole frightful scene 
 through which he had passed recurred to his mind, and notwith- 
 standing the injunction of the medical attendant, he could not 
 help asking for information relative to his fair charge. 
 
 " The young lady," he said, " the young lady with whom 
 I leaped overboard from the burning vessel. Is she safe V
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 207 
 
 " I know not," was the reply ; " several ladies have been 
 saved, and they are well tended elsewhere. If she of whom 
 you speak lives, be assured she will be well cared for ; but 
 your own recovery depends upon your present quiet repose." 
 
 Weak as he was, the young man would have started from 
 the bed, but he found himself so severely bruised that he Mas 
 unable to move, and now for the first time he discovered that 
 his right arm lay helpless at his side. An involuntary cry of 
 pain escaped from his lips, and he said : 
 
 ' ; My arm is broken." 
 
 "Ah!" said the surgeon, immediately examining the limb. 
 " Indeed it is so. This must be seen to. I had not observed 
 this before ; but be quiet — be quiet, sir. You can render no 
 help to the lady, and will do yourself much harm if you at- 
 tempt to make any exertion just now." 
 
 Uttering another groan of agony, but perceiving the utter 
 uselesssness of expostulating, he resigned himself to his fate, 
 while the surgeon proceeded to bandage the broken limb. 
 
 It was some time after the steamer had blown up and caught 
 fire before it had been possible to render any efficient aid to 
 the unfortunate passengers and crew. The noise of the explo- 
 sion had been heard at Port Hudson, and attention having been 
 directed to the spot, the conflagration had been seen, but the 
 village was two miles distant, and only three or four scattered 
 habitations were on the shore opposite to where the sad acci- 
 dent had occui'red. Assistance had been sent with all possible 
 speed to the scene of disaster, but ere it arrived the steamer 
 had been burnt to the water's edge, and three-fourths of the 
 unhappy sufferers had perished. 
 
 The greater portion of those who had reached or been cast 
 on shore were maimed and bruised to a degree that rendered 
 them helpless, while some were already dead, and others had 
 scarcely a spark of life remaining, and betrayed no symptoms 
 of consciousness. 
 
 All these, however, were removed into the houses near by —
 
 208 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 the females being carried to one domicile, and the males to an- 
 other. Among those "who had been found, apparently dead, 
 were a young man and woman, the left arm of the former 
 locked with a clasp which it was difficult to unloose, around 
 the waist of the latter. These were Warner and Clara. 
 
 The young man had been removed to a neighboring house, 
 and after being carefuly tended and skilfully treated, had shown 
 symptoms of recovery, as we have seen. The young woman 
 was taken to another dwelling and placed under the care of ne- 
 gro nurses, superintended by a lady who had come down from 
 Port Hudson on this mission of mercy, and was assisted by 
 another skilful surgeon — the medical men of the neighborhood 
 having all volunteered readily to give their services on this sad 
 occasion. 
 
 Let us now enter the cottage where Clara lay. 
 
 Mrs. Ellsworth, the lady with whose family Clara was to 
 become an inmate, had received information by letter that the 
 young lady was to leave New Orleans for Natchez, about the 
 
 date on which the E S was to sail from that city. She 
 
 had been on a visit to a friend in Port Hudson, and was in the 
 village when the news arrived of the accident of the steamer, 
 and naturally enough, she feared that Clara might have em- 
 barked on board. Independently of this, she was a lady of 
 very amiable and generous disposition, and she readily engag- 
 ed with a party of ladies who volunteered to go down to the 
 scene of the sad disaster, and render what assistance they were 
 able to all ; but especially the snfferers of their own sex. It was 
 Mrs. Ellsworth who was superintending the nurses, in the cot- 
 tage which Clara — supposed to be past all human aid — had been 
 carried. 
 
 But after repeated attempts to reanimate the vital spark, 
 should it still be lingering in the mortal frame, and as frequent 
 disappointments — when at last hope, lingering long, had de- 
 parted, and the nurses were about to compose the limbs of the, 
 as they supposed, dead girl — Clara, to the astonishment of all,
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 209 
 
 though such instances are not uncommon, in similar cases, gave 
 signs of life. 
 
 Fresh exertions were made, and at length the humane sur- 
 geon declared that she was in a fair way of recovering. All 
 she now needed, he said, was rest, for she was so weak and 
 feeble, that the slightest exertion might prove too much for 
 her exhausted frame. 
 
 A fiery ordeal had Clara undergone during the last hour. It 
 has been said, that death by drowning is an easy one. It may 
 be so, but the few short minutes or moments that precede un- 
 consciousness are, perhaps, more painful — mentally and physi- 
 cally, than those that precede the stillness of death, under any 
 other form ; and then the horrors of awakening to life, as 
 recorded by those who have experienced them. They are such 
 as the pen is unable to describe, the mind unable to conceive, 
 and upon the frame of a sensitive female, they act with more 
 intensity than upon man. Clara suffered more acutely than 
 her gallant preserver ; but she had, at last, fallen asleep, and 
 sitting by her couch, was the gentle Mrs. Ellsworth. Of the 
 few females who had survived, the rest had been recognized, 
 and placed under the care of their friends. Mrs. Ellsworth 
 had a singular presentiment, albeit, she as yet knew not the 
 name of the sufferer, that she was the governess who was ex- 
 pected about that time, and she took the unknown sufferer 
 under her especial charge. The negro nurses had been dis- 
 missed, the shadows of evening began to fall, Clara was still 
 sleeping soundly, and by the bed-side sat Mrs. Ellsworth, 
 alone. 
 
 A slight shudder passed over the frame of the sleeping girl, 
 and she awoke. Opening her eyes, she gazed vacantly around 
 her. At length her gaze rested upon the kindly face bending 
 over her. 
 
 " Where am I?" she asked. 
 
 " In, safety and well cared for", my dear," returned Mrs. 
 Ellsw r orth.
 
 210 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 "What has happened to me, and why am I here in this 
 strange place ?" said the young woman, with that strange for- 
 getfulness of the past, which is always observed in cases of 
 resuscitation from death by drowning. 
 
 Briefly Mrs. Ellsworth related to her the particulars of the 
 disaster which had happened. 
 
 Then, as usual, the whole scene recurred to her recollection. 
 
 " And he, the brave man, who saved my life, where is he'?"' 
 
 " Living and likely to do well," resumed Mrs. Ellswoi'th, 
 who had heard of the restoration of Warner. 
 
 " Thank God for that," said the girl. " I should have felt 
 that he owed his death to me, had it been otherwise." 
 
 " Compose yourself, my dear, and sleep again," said Mrs. 
 Ellsworth. " You are yet too weak to talk ; by and bye you 
 shall tell me the story of your suffering, and how I can aid 
 you ; but tell me now what is your name?" 
 
 " Clara Neville," answered the girl. 
 
 " And mine is Ellsworth. I am the lady who engaged you 
 as governess ; but we will talk another time. Sleep now." 
 
 " No, I feel quite wakeful and able to talk," answered Clara. 
 " It will relieve my mind to speak of what I have suffered. 
 Oh, God ! it was horrible." 
 
 She had indeed slept for some hours, and as she had not 
 suffered from bruises as her gallant preserver had done — he 
 had been hurt in protecting her — she felt — although her con- 
 sciousness was hardly yet completely restored, and her senses 
 slowly and confusedly extricating and arraying themselves out 
 of the chaos of suspended animation — quite well in bodily 
 health, setting aside the lassitude consequent on her previous 
 sufferings. 
 
 Observing this and seeing that she was inclined to talk, her 
 kind nurse interrogated her as to the nature of her sufferings 
 after she had quitted the burning wreck. 
 
 " I became senseless," said Clara. ' : Soon after I sprang into 
 the water I recollect Mr. Warner catching hold of me after I
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 211 
 
 reached the surface. I felt that I must have sunk far down, 
 but the last sensation that I have a distinct recollection of," 
 she continued, in a low, feeble, but very earnest voice, " was a 
 chilling anxiety and uneasiness, as if my heart were disturbed, 
 together with a dimming of my understanding, and a confused 
 but horrible idea that the wails of distress that I heard around 
 me were those of departed spirits tremblingly awaiting the 
 final judgment — then I felt a sort of languor, a ringing in my 
 ears — a heavy, gray damp mist pressing in my eyes, and fore- 
 head, and breast, and then I dropped off insensibly, as if going 
 to sleep." 
 
 "To-morrow, my love, you shall tell me all," said Mrs. 
 Ellsworth. " You are too weak, too excited now. You must 
 not exert yourself too much ; you will be calmer and stronger 
 to-morrow, after a night's rest, and then — " 
 
 "No — no — no," said Clara earnestly— " not to-morrow — 
 now. It is more than my mind can support — it overpowers, 
 it oppresses me. You do not know what it is to have been 
 what I was — sorrow, separation, fear, are heavy Aveights to 
 bear alone — when they belong to this world only ; think how 
 heavily they weigh upon the soul, when another world is also 
 present. Listen to me now, dear madam, but for a few mo. 
 ments, and then I will sleep." 
 
 And Mrs. Ellsworth, seeing that the sad history of the period 
 of her death-like trance weighed heavily upon her mind, and 
 imperiously demanded the relief of sympathy, sat down to 
 listen to her tale — that her overburthened spirit might find 
 rest. 
 
 " You do not know," continued Clara, " what strange fancies 
 seized upon my mind, when I was utterly insensible to the 
 scene of horror around me. There came a sudden sound on 
 my ears like the firing of a cannon — and then I felt pain no 
 longer. I thought I slept, and suddenly awaking with a glare 
 of light, I fancied I lay in a rich and lofty chamber — its walls 
 of golden colored glass, that gleamed and glistened in the lustre
 
 212 CLARA SEVILLE 
 
 of countless thousands of lamps. Its roof was mother-of-pearl 
 of tremendous brightness ; its floor of the whitest and purest 
 marble ; numbers of couches and chairs were scattered about, 
 seemingly of tortoise-shell inlaid with gold and silver ; the 
 bedstead on which I lay was of ivory ; the curtains of the 
 richest purple silk ; all scattered over with strangely fantastic 
 figures embroidered in pearls. A fountain was playing in a 
 conservatory full of the most gorgeous flowers at the further 
 end of the room ; birds hopped from plant to plant with a' 
 sweet but plaintive warbling. Everything seemed a vision of 
 fairy enchantment such as I never dreamed of before ; but 
 amidst all this beauty and brightness I lay in a misery that 
 cannot be described. It was not pain — it was far more than 
 pain ; for, though I would have given worlds for one gasp, / 
 could not draw my breath. 
 
 " Then, with a slow and shadowy change, the scene melted 
 away into a green, smiling valley, the walls became sides of 
 hills and the skirts of woods, green banks and sprouting hedges ; 
 the ceiling dissolved into a blue sky, across which a few stray 
 clouds were floating slowly, and casting their lingering shadows 
 on the sides of the mountains ; flowers seemed springing into 
 life and light at my feet; buds of beauty thronged in gorgeous 
 multitudes, and the sweet birds of song called to them from the 
 thickets ; the fish leaped exultingly, till the gleaming water 
 seemed alive with the flashing of light ; the butterflies flitted 
 amongst the flowers, and the bees worked cheerfully, as if the 
 sight of their bright flutterings lightened their labors ; the 
 breezes came and went — some came over violet-beds, some 
 through orange groves — but they fanned my forehead in vain. 
 A tight hand seemed fastened round it, a stifling weight pressed 
 on my chest ; for, though I would have given worlds for one 
 gasp, I could not draio breath. And suddenly came darkness, 
 but a clear, cold darkness, like starlight, and the place I was 
 in turned to stone; there were no more green fields or bright 
 buds, the valley was petrified ; naked rocks stood around, rear-
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 213 
 
 mg up their giant forms like watching giants ; huge clusters of 
 crystals, of every form and size reflected back the pale, cheer- 
 less light, in a thousand different rays, and above all were soar- 
 ing pinnacles of ice— cold, colorless ice — that it froze my heart 
 to look at ; then, as I looked around, I thought the valley nar- 
 rowed, and then I saw that it was filled' with tombs cut out of 
 the living rock, carved with all manner of grotesque ornaments ; 
 and suddenly, from out of one of those came a group of frightful 
 figures, clad in grave garments — and I lay, a living corpse, 
 waiting its tomb. I knew no more till I woke to partial con- 
 sciousness, and felt the stinging agony that I suppose attended 
 my resuscitation. I slept again, and I awoke to see you bend- 
 ing over me just now." 
 
 Strange words these, to come from the lips of a young and 
 innocent girl, but who knows how many such strange thoughts 
 pass through the minds of those who endure the pangs of death 
 by drowning. 
 
 " You have suffered much, poor dear," said Mrs. Ellsworth ; 
 " but now, all is over. Sleep, and to-morrow you will be quite 
 restored — and I will take you home." 
 
 " My mother ! " exclaimed the girl, " she will hear of this, 
 and believe I was lost. Her heart will break." 
 
 " She will hear the news of the- wreck, doubtless, but I will 
 write immediately to her, and tell her of your safety. Now 
 sleep." 
 
 And Clara, who felt weary and feeble, composed herself in 
 the bed and slept soundly till daylight.
 
 214 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since Clara Neville left home for 
 Natchez. During that period Mr. Morton has been very par- 
 ticular in his attentions to Mrs. Neville, but he has not made 
 so much headway as he had hoped. 
 
 Mr. Thornton has completely recovered from the weakness 
 consequent upon his shipwreck, and he has left the cottage of 
 the widow for parts unknown — unknown, at least, to Mr. Mor- 
 ton, though he has made himself busy in the endeavor to dis- 
 cover who and what he is. He has an idea that Mr. Rugsby 
 knows something more than he will tell ; but Mr. Rugsby is 
 close, very close, and Mr. Morton can worm nothing out of 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Morton has a great idea in his head ; he means to give 
 another party. He never thinks that anything can be done 
 without a dinner party ; but this is to be an extraordinary 
 affair — not on account of the numbers that are to be invited. 
 There are only to be present Mr. Rugsby, the Widow Neville 
 and two or three others — near neighbors ; but Mr. Morton 
 intends to invite the company to stay all night ; that is to say, 
 the widow and Mr. Rugsby ; the latter just to keep Mrs. Neville 
 in countenance. Mr. Rugsby will have the best bed-room 
 placed at his disposal, and the widow will sleep with Miss 
 Maria, the housekeeper. The excuse for keeping the clergyman 
 and the widow all night, is that they shall accompany their host 
 to examine some property he has lately purchased about ten 
 miles distant, whither he intends to remove in a few weeks, he
 
 CLARA NEVILLE 215 
 
 says; but, as he has resolved in his own mind, on the clay that 
 he obtains the promise from Mrs. Neville, to become Mrs. 
 Morton ; for, though to a man less sanguine, the conduct of the 
 widow would afford little cause for hope, Mr. Morton has no 
 doubt that he will carry out his object. 
 
 The* eventful day has arrived, and with the first flush of 
 morning has also arrived a bran new suit of clothes from the 
 store of the best tailor in York. A blue coat with bright but- 
 tons, which Mr. Morton intends shall serve him for his wedding 
 coat when the eventful day arrives ; a buff vest, and a pair of 
 nankeen inexpressibles made to fit tight to the legs. Mr. Mor- 
 ton's legs are somewhat of the Lilliputian, Pickwickian order, 
 bearing no proportion to the plumpness and rotundity of his 
 upper works ; but he flatters himself that they are particularly 
 well shaped, and then it would be a sin and a shame to conceal 
 them " under a bushel " — of extra broadcloth. 
 
 And now the momentous period of dressing for the party 
 has arrived, and Mr. Morton has retired to his boudoir to Ado- 
 nize himself. The duties of shaving and ablution have been 
 performed ; the fat little bachelor has encased his plump body 
 in a new shirt of snowy whiteness with a profusion of frill that 
 a pouter pigeon might have envied, and has drawn the nankeen 
 tights over his nether limbs. They fit admirably, without a 
 crease, and as he twists and turus to survey himself in the 
 glass — from the front, the side view and from behind — he can 
 scarcely conceal his triumph ; he thinks the form of the Apollo 
 Bclviclere not a circumstance in comparison with his own 
 figure ; indeed, he rather has a contempt for that style of 
 beauty. He rather prefers the Jupiter Tonans style, which he 
 fancies he rather effects in his own rounded outlines. To be 
 sure he is rather bandy ; but did not the immortal Hogarth 
 say that " a curve was the true line of beauty." And now 
 comes the task of putting on the crowning articles of attire — 
 the spotless vest, fresh in its buff refulgence, and the coat in its 
 jpristine and glorious brightness, every button, as it is enrolled
 
 216 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 from the tissue paper that covers it, shining like a miniature 
 mirror. 
 
 First of all, however, he inserts in the bosom of his shirt a 
 new set of gold studs, purchased expressly for the occasion ; 
 but unforeseen and unfortunate occurrence, the lowermost stud 
 slips from the button-hole, and lodges beneath the light waist- 
 baud of the pantaloons, and in his fidgetty hurry to recover it, 
 it works itself lower and lower, until it lodges just above the 
 knee, where it displays itself in a little round spot, suggesting 
 the idea that there is a pimple beneath the pantaloons. 
 
 il Confound it !" exclaims Mr. Morton. " Bother it ! Let 
 it go — it's the lowermost stud, and won't be missed," but then 
 he catches sight of the little excrescence destroying the smooth 
 symmetry of his lower member, and discovers that he must 
 actually disrobe again. Disrobe again ! and it already ap- 
 proaching the hour when he expects the arrival of his visitors. 
 But there is no help for it, and to work he goes. It was some- 
 thing like the operation of skinning an eel — the pulling off 
 those pants ; and Mr. Morton gets very hot and very red in 
 the face with the exertion. He would call somebody to help ; 
 but the negro boy has gone to York after some fruit which had 
 been forgotten until the last moment, and there is no one else 
 in the house but Miss Maria, and the cook. However, the 
 arduous task is accomplished at last, and somewhat divested 
 of their original smoothness, the tight pants again grace the 
 legs of their owner, but he has scarcely buckled his suspenders 
 when a glance at the mirror reveals to him the astounding fact 
 that he has rubbed a pimple on his face in his struggles, which 
 has started bleeding, and a drop of blood has fallen upon his 
 shirt front. 
 
 " Damn !" exclaimed Mr. Morton. He was a very moral 
 man, and a deacon of his church, although somewhat given to 
 indolence and selfishness, and he started in dismay at having 
 uttered the oath. But it teas very provoking ! 
 
 However, there was no help for it — the suspenders must be
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 217 
 
 unbuckled again — the tight waistband loosened, and another 
 speck and span new shirt take the place of the soiled one. 
 
 This was done at last, and then came the crowning job of awk- 
 wardness, the constantly recurring distress of bachelors, the tying 
 on of the cravat. If ever an article of attire, shaped by femi- 
 nine hands, was cunningly devised for the express purpose of 
 alluring a man into the bonds of wedlock, it is these tantalizing 
 cravats, which, somehow or other, won't sit right, twist and 
 torture them as we may ; although at the first magic touch 
 from a fair, soft hand, it it astonishing how easily the thing is 
 done. Presto ! quick ! and, ye gods ! what a change — the un- 
 couth article of masculine attire sets as gracefully as the collar 
 that clasps the white throat of the lair tiring maid, who has 
 effected this wondrous transformation. 
 
 But Mr. Morton had no fair tiring maid to assist him, and 
 he was nearly tripping into sundry oaths again, as he tied and 
 untied, and rumpled and crumpled, until they were utterly unfit 
 to wear, cravat after cravat, before he could get one to suit 
 him — and he did not get one to suit him after all ; still, one 
 which suited somewhat better than the rest, he was compelled 
 to put up with at last. His boots were drawn on, the waistcoat 
 and coat donned, and Mr. Morton stood arrayed in all the 
 splendor of his new attire. 
 
 Then came the careful examination of the tout ensemble. The 
 mirror on the mantel-shelf was taken down, and placed op- 
 posite the mirror on the bureau, so that a back and front view 
 could be obtained at the same time, and with a couple of scrub- 
 by hair-brushes in his hands, Mr. Morton set himself to work, 
 to arrange the few scanty hairs which time and superabundant 
 good living had left him. 
 
 After all, the examination was not satisfactory. How strange 
 it is, that when a man exerts himself to dress for a special oc- 
 casion, he rarely succeeds — at least to his own satisfaction. He 
 generally looks worse in his own opinion than ever he did be- 
 fore. With the ladies it is different ; dress and adornment 
 10
 
 218 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 comes to the dear creatures by nature, and down they go from 
 the boudoir, floating into the drawing-room, in all the splendor 
 of their prim array, while their masculine friends hobble after 
 them, constrained in every motion — tight-booted, tight-cravated, 
 tight-collared — poor, miserable wretches, blushing at their own 
 attempts at bravery. 
 
 So it was with Mr. Morton ; he was not at all satisfied. His 
 face, never remarkable for its delicacy of complexion, was 
 flushed, to anything but a gentleman-like hue, and somehow or 
 other, the bright color of his coat did not assimilate at all with 
 the flush in his cheeks and on his forehead. 
 
 Still he thought his figure, on the whole, was taking, and for 
 better observation, he mounted upon a cricket, and holding one 
 glass in his hand, turned and twisted it about so as to get the 
 reflection of his person from the other in every conceivable, 
 and as he thought, graceful attitude. 
 
 Just at the moment when ' the plump old bachelor was at- 
 tempting a position which might have served fur Ajax defying 
 the lightning, the negro boy, Sambo, entered the room without 
 knocking, for the purpose of informing his master that he had 
 acquitted himself of his errand. 
 
 " Ky !" exclaimed he, starting back in astonishment, as he 
 witnessed the strange antics Mr. Morton was cutting, perched 
 on his carpeted pedestal. "Ky! what de debbil dis ? What 
 ail you, massa, you play dem kickeraboo antics ?" The rosy 
 hue on the cheeks of the old bachelor deepened with the blush 
 of shame at being caught, even by his negro boy, in this un- 
 dignified position ; but with admirable presence of mind, he 
 turned his head, alighted from the cricket, and advancing to the 
 mantel-shelf to place back the glass, said — 
 
 " Remind mc, Sambo, to have the seat of these pantaloons 
 altered ; they do not set so well as I could desire." 
 
 "Yes, massa," said the grinning darkey, and then he added, 
 " I call at de Post Ofns, as I come back, and ax for de letters 
 and papers. Dere is some newspapers an a letter for you, and
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 219 
 
 anoder one for Missey Neville," handing a small package to his 
 master as he spoke, and immediately retiring, grinning to the 
 kitchen, to laugh over with the housemaid, cook and general 
 servant of all work, the ridiculous position in which he had sur- 
 prised Mr. Morton. With the object of recovering his com- 
 posure, and subduing the roseate hue of his visage, before the 
 company arrived, Mr. Morton sat himself down in his easy 
 chair, and opened the package of newspapers. They were from 
 New Orleans, and glancing over the first that came to hand, his 
 eye lit upon the following paragraph : 
 
 " Last evening, intelligence reached this city of the destruc- 
 tion by fire, in consecpuence of the bursting of the boiler, of 
 the steamer E S , bound to Natchez. The sad acci- 
 dent happened near Port Hudson. It is said the E S 
 
 was racing at the time, with another vessel, which passed by 
 her during the conflagration, without stopping to render as- 
 sistance, although she was hailed to that effect. We sincerely 
 hope, for the sake of humanity, that this is not true. We are 
 sorry to be obliged to state that upwards of one hundred per- 
 sons, crew and passengers, many of the latter being ladies and 
 children, perished in the flames or by drowning, in consequence 
 of leaping into the river. From the wreck of the devoted ves- 
 sel only some twenty persons are reported to be saved, and 
 these are very much burned and bruised. It is thought few 
 will survive. 
 
 " This is all that we know at present ; but we have dispatch- 
 ed a special reporter to the scene of disaster, and shall publish 
 a full account in our next issue." 
 
 "God bless me !" exclaimed Mr. Morton, getting redder in 
 
 the face than ever. " The E S . Why, that is the 
 
 steamer in which Clara Neville's passage was engaged from 
 New Orleans to Natchez — shouldn't wonder now if the poor 
 girl's among the list of sufferers. Pity — too — still it 'ill help 
 me with the widow. Shan't tell her, though, to-night — stop till 
 to-morrow, and introduce the subject carefully. Great deal of
 
 220 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 sympathy — tears and so forth. Press her hand and swear — 
 no, not swear— but promise to be a second daughter. No — 
 pshaw ! What the d — 1 ! the mischief, I mean, am I talking 
 about — promise to be her protector — soothe and comfort her, 
 and then, at the nick of time, pop the question. Under the 
 circumstances, I shan't be obliged to kneel. That, to tell the 
 truth, would be very awkward, in these tight pants. They fit 
 well, too," and he stroked his knee, and the calf of his leg, and 
 gazed upon them approvingly. " Altogether, it won't be a 
 bad thing for me. How strange it is, that the disaster of one 
 person frequently helps forward the fortune of another." At 
 this moment, the bell rang, and rising from his chair to listen, 
 the old bachelor heard the voice of the widow, and that of Mr. 
 Rugsby, who accompanied her. 
 
 Taking another look into the mirror, twisting himself about, 
 and passing his fingers through his few straggling hairs, Mr. 
 Morton descended to the drawing-room, to do the honors. 
 
 " I think • this is a chef (Tccuvre of mine," he said, " this 
 idea — but I must pump old Rugsby — cunning old fox, he, is, 
 and find out who this man, Thornton, is. There is some 
 mystery there, which I haven't been able to fathom."
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 221 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is a delusion in the fairer part of the creation — the fancy- 
 that they enjoy a monopoly of beauty. To eyes aesthetically 
 trained to appreciate them, there are many — very many beau- 
 tiful things in the world. 
 
 Potatoes, for instance, and buttermilk, what favor they find 
 in the eyes, what emotions they raise in the hearts of the ex- 
 citable Irish. Upon what lonely meershaums do dreary Ger- 
 mans cast sheep's eyes. Would the Venus de Medici direct 
 the gaze of a Greenlander from a bottle-nosed whale, or the 
 Apollo Belvidei-e, the glances of garrison belles from a heavy 
 dragoon 1 How many, who coldly murmur " she's a good-look- 
 ing girl," eagerly exclaim, " that's beautiful butter." But jest- 
 ing apart, to those who seek it, the beautiful is to be seen eve- 
 ry-where. 
 
 It hovers over the strucr";lin2; soul like a crimson cloud over a 
 
 DO O 
 
 stormy sun-set — never so welcome as when most unexpected, 
 never so radiant as when lit up by the sunshine of the heart — 
 never so impressive as when the faithful marshals the way to 
 the blissful ; and so it was that, to the philosophic eye, it was a 
 beautiful sight to see Mr. Morton, when he sallied forth, in his 
 glory, from his dressing, to meet Mrs. Neville in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Notwithstanding the sad news he had just heard, gorgeous 
 visions of the future flashed through his brain. He thought 
 that the widow could not say him nay, in his now fine array ; 
 but that with Crcsar, notwithstanding his previous failures, he 
 had but to say " Veni, Vidi, Vici."
 
 222 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 Nevertheless, all his hopefulness was not unmixed ; as the 
 slave who accompanied the Roman General in his triumphal 
 car to whisper in his ear, that despite the laurel and the char- 
 iot, the captains and the spoil, the sword and the spear, the 
 triumphing soldiers and the exulting people, he, the chief of 
 all, the idol of the hour, was mortal, and must taste the bitter- 
 ness of death, so, Mr. Morton's bachelor bashfulness whispered 
 in his ear, that he had still a somewhat awkward scene to go 
 through, even though its results were to differ from those of 
 
 CD / O 
 
 its predecessors. 
 
 " Upon my word," said he, " it is extremely embarrassing. 
 I wish it was over. I shall be amazingly puzzled what to say ; 
 perhaps as she is a widow, and must understand that sort of 
 thing, she will speak first. Ah ! very likely ; that will be very 
 pleasant. I wonder will she blush. I'm sure I shall." 
 
 However, it was no use thinking — the time for action had 
 arrived. He knew that the widow was alone in the drawing- 
 room, and he thought, before the parson arrived, he might as 
 well pop the question, if he found himself, that is to say, equal 
 to the task. So he stopped a few paces from the door, wiped 
 his face with his pocket handkerchief, cleared his throat, step- 
 ped on, hesitated, stopped, stepped forward again, and, at last, 
 opened the door, and stood -in Mrs. Neville's presence — look- 
 ing rather as if he were an intruder within his own domicil — 
 feeling, to use an expressive phrase, " as if he couldn't help it." 
 
 The first thing that struck him was Mrs. Neville's self-pos- 
 session, as if she had any cause, at that moment, to be any 
 otherwise than self-possessed. She actually received him, and 
 returned his constrained salutations, as if she thought no more 
 of him than of a total stranger ; and she did not even seem to 
 notice the remarkable and unwonted elegance of his attire. 
 
 " I — 1 — I — am truly happy to see you, my dear Mrs. Ne- 
 ville," he at length mustered courage to say. " I thought that 
 by inviting you to my house, to meet a few friends of yours 
 and mine, ma'am — of yours and mine — it might — that is, in
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 223 
 
 your present lonely condition, now that your daughter has 
 gone South — be — be — a relief to you." 
 
 " It gives me the greatest pleasure, Mr. Morton, to accept 
 your, kind invitation. I fully appreciate the motive. You have 
 been very good, to exert yourself as you have done for my 
 dear Clara. I am delighted to have an opportunity of express- 
 ing my gratitude." 
 
 The amiability of tone and maimer in which this was said 
 seemed, to the excited Mr. Morton, as a most favorable omen 
 with regard to the consummation of his desires. The very 
 crown of his head blushed all over its bare expanse like a new- 
 blown rose; up went the modest blood, overrunning territory 
 after territory on his phrenological globe, with true filibuster 
 recklessness ; it swamped the intellectual organs instantly, 
 and spread itself over the effective ones : cautiousness, self- 
 esteem, firmness, benevolence, were all illumined by the ruddy 
 flood ; it passed over adhesiveness to philoprogenitiveness, and 
 still further ; and still Mrs. Neville continued : 
 
 " In my present situation, it is really a mark of kindness, 
 on your part, that cannot be too highly appreciated." 
 
 " It gives me great pleasure to hear you say so, Mrs. Ne- 
 ville," said Mr. Morton, inexpressibly relieved in his embar- 
 rassment by finding the widow — as he thought — ready to meet 
 him more than half way. 
 
 " It was so considerate of you, too," continued the lady ; 
 " for, really, the cottage — lonely, as I now said, was melancho- 
 ly in its solitariness." 
 
 The pride of successful diplomacy certainly stirred in Mr. 
 Morton's heart at this instant. " It's the solitude, poor thing !" 
 thought he, " that comes of getting her parted from Clara. 
 When she comes to hear of the loss of the steamer, — but, I 
 won't say anything of that, just now. Still I can't pluck up my 
 courage to the sticking point, yet. Ah ! I have it — a thought 
 has just struck me " — and again addressing the widow, and 
 making some common-place remark about the weather, Mr.
 
 224 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 Morton returned to welcome his other visitors, and to put the 
 idea he had just hatched in his brain into execution. 
 
 " It will be better than taking her unawares — though I think 
 she has some notions of my intentions by her remarks," he 
 muttered as he proceeded to the apartment he had dignified by 
 the name of his Library, to meet Mr. Eugsby, who had come 
 in while he had been talking with the widow, and was seated 
 there. 
 
 The reader will recollect that we introduced the Reverend 
 Mr. Rugsby to him on the occasion of the shipwreck on the 
 coast, on which occasion Mr. Thornton, the mysterious stran- 
 ger, and stumbling-block in Mr. Morton's way, had been saved 
 from the wreck, and carried to the widow's cottage. Mr. Rugs- 
 bv had, on that occasion, remained with the stranger all night. 
 
 He was, as may be readily surmised from his conduct on 
 that storinv night — a good, kind-hearted man, ever ready to 
 render his fellow-creatures a service. He was friendly with 
 Mr. Morton, although he saw much to condemn in his selfish- 
 ness of character, for he was incapable of existing at enmity 
 with any man ; but, the widow was a great favorite with him 
 — and Clara he loved as he would have loved a daughter of 
 his own. 
 
 The scheme that had suddenly began to resolve itself in Mr. 
 Morton's mind, was to get the clergyman to make the proposi- 
 tion in his behalf to the widow after dinner — he managing, on 
 some pretence, to withdraw the rest of his guests, and then, 
 before she retired for the night — (we previously observed that 
 Mr. Rugsby and Mrs. Neville were both to be accommodated 
 with a bed in Mr. Morton's house,) he would pop the question 
 plainly, and without any circumlocution, and thus save himself 
 a taslc, the accomplishment of which, in consequence of his 
 flattering embarrassment, he found himself at present unequal. 
 
 After having conversed for some time with the clergyman, 
 he, as if by accident, changed the conversation quietly, and 
 spoke of the widow and Clara.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 225 
 
 " Mrs. Neville must be very lonesome at the cottage, now 
 Clara has left," he said. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Rugsby. "No doubt it is a good thing 
 for Clara — this engagement you kindly procured for her, but I 
 almost think it a pity that the mother and daughter, who have 
 always resided together, should now be separated." 
 
 " Mr. Rugsby — ahem ! were you ever in love ?" said. Mr. 
 Morton, abruptly. 
 
 "It is a strange question to ask," answered Rugsby. "I 
 have never been married," he continued, with a sad smile on 
 his countenance ; "but I can scarcely conceive, that there ex- 
 ists a man of my age, who has never known what it is to love." 
 
 " I — ahem ! — should like to know what is your opinion about 
 love — and — ahem ! — marriage," continued Mr. Morton, red- 
 dening very much, as he stammered out the words. 
 
 Mr. Rugsby smiled, as much at the manner of the speaker, 
 as at the singularity of the question. The good man enjoyed 
 a quiet joke, and he replied by asking another question. 
 
 " Suppose, Mr. Morton," he said, " you first favor me with 
 your opinion on those delicate matters." 
 
 " Marriage," said Mr. Morton, blinking the former question, 
 "marriage — it's having a wife— don't you know? Now, for 
 example, just as we are situated now, don't you see, whilst you 
 are here — I mean while a stranger is tarrying at my house, my 
 housekeeper, Maria, is thinking of nothing but how she may 
 make herself agreeable to him. Now, on the other hand, if I 
 were married, my wife would always be thinking of nothing 
 but how she might make herself agreeable to me. Now don't 
 you see ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," returned Mr. Rugsby, " that is a most profound 
 observation of yours, Mr. Morton, that is," (he added, aside) 
 " if pathos constitutes profundity." 
 
 "Particularly," continued the other, rather flattered by the 
 deference accorded to his views — " a religious woman, like 
 
 10*
 
 228 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Neville — they always make the best of wives, make no 
 trouble, and do what they are bid." 
 
 " Very sound reasoning," said Mr. Rugsby, " but I cannot 
 say that I see the object you have in 'view in turning the con- 
 versation upon this subject." 
 
 " Mr. Rugsby," said Mr. Morton, solemnly, " you may not 
 be aware that I have long sought Mrs. Neville's hand — unsuc- 
 cessfully, it is true ; but I believe because I have never yet had 
 courage to address her point blank on the subject. But I have 
 been remarkable in my attentions — very remarkable ; and I 
 planned this little party with the view of carrying out my ob- 
 ject. I intended to have put the question to her plump to-day, 
 but I became embarrassed as usual ; and at length I made up 
 my mind to request you, as a friend, to be my ambassador. 
 Couldn't you now, my dear sir" — and he spoke in a wheedling 
 tone of voice — " couldn't you pave the way for me, as her 
 respected and beloved pastor? Say something about the lone- 
 liness of her cottage — now Clara has gone — that's the great 
 point to press upon her — women are such timid creatures. 
 Thus you can hint, in a cautious way, that I would take that 
 cottage off her hands, and find her a home somewhere else." 
 
 " I see," said Mr. Rugsby, highly amused ; but, he thought 
 to himself, " If you knew the sort of success with which I 
 pleaded my own cause twenty years ago, you would not im- 
 pose such a task upon me now." 
 
 " And my moral character, Mr. Rugsby ; don't you think 
 you might consciously say something relative to my moral 
 character ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said Mr. Rugsby. 
 
 " And then you might hint something about a conservatory, 
 and a closet to put away odds and ends in, and a fancy carriage 
 and gray ponies ; I believe that is a sort of thing women like, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " And a boy in buttons," suggested Mr. Rugsby, laughingly. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Morton, " brass buttons ; and then you
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 227 
 
 might insinuate that a widow's dress does not become her. 
 She always wears it." 
 
 " I will not fail to exert myself in your behalf," said Mr. 
 Rugsby. And the conversation was at an end, for other visit- 
 ors arrived and demanded Mr. Morton's attentions. 
 
 The dinner passed away as dinner parties usually do, and 
 Mr. Morton, watching an opportunity, managed to draw away 
 his other friends, under pretence of showing them some pic- 
 tures, leaving Mr. Rugsby and the widow together. 
 
 The clergyman endeavored delicately to broach the subject 
 of his diplomatic promise; how effectively, remains to be seen. 
 He was rather a bashful man himself; and there were reasons 
 which the reader will learn in due time, why, in the present 
 instance, he should feel himself in a particularly delicate and 
 constrained — even painful position. Nothing but his easy good 
 nature, which led him to seek to gratify everybody, could have 
 made him consent to play the part he had undertaken. 
 
 When, however, Mr. Morton and his friends returned to the 
 drawing-room, the host glanced slyly at the widow and clei'gy- 
 man, who were still on the sofa engaged in conversation, and 
 he observed that the former glanced bashfully at him, and that 
 there was an expression of gratitude beaming through her 
 bashfulness. 
 
 ' ; All right !" he thought ; " what an exceedingly worthy 
 man that Mr. Rugsby is," and during the remainder of the clay 
 he was in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. 
 
 At ten o'clock the rest of the visitors departed, and the cler- 
 gyman and the widow were on the point of retiring to their 
 respective bed-chambers, when Mr. Morton, in a gentle, insin- 
 uating tone of voice, begged Mrs. Neville to grant him the 
 favor of a few moments' conversation. 
 
 The widow seemed intuitively to understand why he wished 
 to speak to her alone, and with a grateful smile she expressed 
 her perfect willingness to grant him the favor he sought. 
 
 They seated themselves upon the sofa. It was near the
 
 228 ' CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 witching hour of night. To the amorous bachelor the hour 
 was most propitious, and the liquor of the rosy god had given 
 him more than ordinary courage, for he had imbibed freely. 
 
 The widow commenced the conversation. 
 
 " I am delighted to have an opportunity of expressing my 
 gratitude to }'OU, Mr. Morton, for the offer you have been so 
 good as to make me through Mr. Eugsby," said she, with an 
 amiability of manner that caused the blood again to color 
 vividly the ehceksjmd forehead, and bald crown of her admirer. 
 "But," continued the widow, "if such were your good inten- 
 tions towards me — if it is allowable to ask such a question — 
 pray why did not you announce your good intentions towards 
 me in person ? What could have induced you to employ a 
 messenger in the person of Mr. Eugsby — why did you not tell 
 me of your kind intentions yourself ?" 
 
 Mr. Morton simpered and fidgetted; a certain warning 
 instinct whispered in a voice of significant import, that it would 
 never do to tell her he was frightened to pop the question him- 
 self. He felt that the question of ultimate supremacy was yet 
 to be decided ; he said : — 
 
 "Why, really, Mrs. Neville, I don't know; after what has 
 passed, 1 had a delicacy — ; ' 
 
 "That f can perfectly appreciate, Mr. Morton," interrupted 
 the widow, with an air of the most enchanting deference. " I 
 can see and appreciate the delicacy of mind that deterred you, 
 after having so overwhelmed me with your past kindness, from 
 exhibiting yourself so prominently in the character, I may say, 
 of a lone woman." 
 
 " The very word," muttered Mr. Morton to himself, with a 
 spasmodic action of the muscles of the throat, something be- 
 tween a gulp and a hiccup — "The very word Eugsby used," 
 and with his delight at recognizing the very phrase in which 
 Mr. Eugsby, in a passing confidential whisper, had promised 
 him success — mingled with a sort of flutter of doubt, whether 
 the time had not arrived when he might, with propriety, say
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 229 
 
 something about a kiss, or some little indulgence or instalment 
 of that sort. " However," thought he, " I must say something 
 civil. I suppose she will not confess that she is in love with 
 me, till I have, at least, tol^l her that I'm fond of her — that's 
 only reasonable — upon my word, I do love her very much." 
 
 The lady, however, appeared to take all the trouble out of 
 Mr. Morton's hands. 
 
 " Pray when do you propose " 
 
 " Ahem-h I thought I proposed," thought Mr. Morton. 
 
 " 1 should avail myself of your kindness," asked she, in 
 
 the most winning manner in the world. 
 
 "It rests with you to name the day, my dear Mrs. Neville," 
 replied he, in the most winning manner in the world. "That 
 is coming to the point," thought he, his mind much eased by 
 finding that he was not called upon formally, to repeat his tale 
 of love. " Upon my word, it's very pleasant work — courting 
 a widow. She saves all the trouble, like a self-acting coffee- 
 pot." 
 
 " Considering all the circumstances," continued he, various 
 systems of circles overspreading his countenance with a net- 
 work of simpers, " considering all the circumstances, and the 
 time we have known each other, I should think it would not be 
 expected. I mean, there should be no unnecessary delay." 
 
 " There need be no delay at all," answered the lady, with as 
 much decision of tone and manner as her natural gentleness 
 admitted of. 
 
 " Charming frankness," thought Mr. Morton — " sweet com- 
 pliance ! how few women would have said so much in so few 
 words." 
 
 However, the moment of decision is sometimes puzzling, 
 even to those whose minds are made up, and he, as if to 
 familiarize his mind to the sound and the sense, repeated, 
 " there'll be no delay at all." 
 
 " I am perfectly ready, at any time," said Mrs. Neville ;
 
 230 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 " you know since Clara has gone, it has made a great difference 
 with me." 
 
 — 
 
 " And so prepared you for a greater," said Mr. Morton in a 
 kind of extatic state, that seemed to be composed of couleur dc 
 rose — acid gas — and bank notes. 
 
 "It is but a step," said the lady, smiling. 
 
 " A most important step," said the gentleman, chuckling and 
 ruffling his hands, and warming with the subject, "yes, the 
 glorious future is before us, we must think no more of the 
 past." This was philosophy, and consequently unintelligible 
 to Mrs. Neville. 
 
 " Why, my dear Mr. Morton," she said, " you surprise me! 
 How long have you possessed this fancy for moralizing ?" 
 
 "True love is morality," returned Mr. Morton, without 
 having any perfect idea of what he was saying. 
 
 " I hope so," said Mrs. Neville, beginning to be somewhat 
 puzzled. 
 
 " I trust so," said Mr. Morton, fervently. " I feel it — I 
 know it ; but the day — the day V 
 
 " Any day that suits you, will also suit me," said Mrs. 
 Neville, with angelic resignation. 
 
 " Directly then, before a magistrate," said the impetuous 
 lover. 
 
 " Before a magistrate," said Mrs. Neville, apparently still 
 more puzzled — " a magistrate ! 1 should have thought that 
 quite unnecessary, unless it was a public house, at least a busi- 
 ness of some sort, requiring a license." 
 
 " Witty creature ! the occasion makes her playful — shall 
 we say this day three weeks?" said Mr. Morton, with due 
 consideration for the publication of banns. 
 
 " With all my heart," was the answer, that went straight to 
 Mr. Morton's heart, and sent the blood out of it, as if several 
 millions of pins and needless were whirled through his veins 
 with each throb of his pulse. 
 
 " Charming creature !" said he, and he rose from his seat,
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 231 
 
 concluding that the propitious moment had arrived, when he 
 might claim the privilege of a chaste salute. 
 
 Mrs. Neville, who supposed that he had risen to leave the 
 room, rose also, and came forward to meet him, thereby giving 
 him additional courage. 
 
 " One kiss, my adored," said he, completing the circular 
 character,of his face by bringing his lips into a circle, and ex- 
 tending his arms till he looked more like a crab than anything 
 else. " The first— the— " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! what can you mean, Mr. Morton ?" said 
 Mrs. Neville, retreating in the utmost precipitation, but with a 
 certain self-taught engineering skill, upsetting a chair at his feet 
 to serve as a sort of temporary abattis. " Are you mad ?" 
 
 " Yes, my beloved, mad with love and joy," was the alarm- 
 ing answer ; "mad, beside myself— out of my reason," where- 
 upon the lady took refuge behind a table, and having succeeded 
 in imposing it between herself and her admirer, who, by his 
 gestures, sought to express the vivacity of his feelings, looked 
 on in no little anxiety to see what he would do next; quite 
 certain, however, that he could not jump the table, but not by 
 any means desirous of commencing a series of rings, like a 
 hunted hare. 
 
 " Maiden coyness," murmured the lover, continuing to ad- 
 vance. " Widow coyness, I mean ; why, surely, Mrs. Neville, 
 we who are engaged to be married — " 
 
 " Engaged to be married !" shrieked Mrs. Neville, in a tone 
 and manner that checked Mr. Morton on the spot, and made 
 him feel as if a very black hole had opened beneath his feet 
 with a very uncertain bottom. "Engaged to be married! 
 how on earth can you talk such nonsense ?" and at the same 
 moment a sort of wild look that appeared upon the poor man's 
 face, suggested to her that he was really laboring under a delu- 
 sion on the subject that amounted to a monomania, if such is 
 the proper term as applied to a couple. 
 
 " Engaged to be married ! " repeated Morton ; " to be
 
 232 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 sure — why, what have we been talking about this last half 
 hour ; are we not engaged to be married'?" 
 
 The gentleman's perplexity, showing that he was still some 
 way to windward of her, restored the lady to her self-possession. 
 
 " Certainly not," said she. 
 
 " Why, you accepted the offer I made you through Mr. 
 Rugsby," urged Mr. Morton. * 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied the lady. " Of course I did, and 
 was extremely obliged to you for the consideration and kind- 
 ness it showed, though I was certainly somewhat embarrassed 
 by your choice of an ambassador; but what has that to say to 
 engagements ?" 
 
 " Why did you not tell Mr. Rugsby that you Avould marry 
 me 1 ?" asked Mr. Morton, beginning to feel extremely uneasy, 
 when he reflected upon the simple, honest character to whom 
 he had entrusted this delicate commission. 
 
 " I told him nothing of the sort," answered Mrs. Neville. 
 " Mr. Rugsby came to me after dinner, with a proposal from 
 you—" 
 
 " So he did," interrupted Mr. Morton, " and you accepted it." 
 
 " A proposal from you," continued the lady, without seeming 
 to hear, or at all events to heed his interruption, " which you 
 said you felt a certain delicacy about making yourself, to take 
 my cottage off my hands, as you observed that it was larger 
 than I wanted, now that Clara was gone, and the garden, 
 besides, was a sort of unnecessary expense, and to let me have 
 that nice little cottage which you have lately purchased, and 
 for that purpose you had invited him and I to visit you, stop 
 all night, and go with you to see the cottage in the morning." 
 
 " The silly, stupid, bungling fool," ejaculated Mr. Morton ; 
 but here he hesitated, and simpered, " did he not say anything 
 about marriage 1 " 
 
 " Not a word," returned the lady, who, seeing the mistake 
 into which Mr. Morton had fallen, now came forth from behind 
 the table, relieved of the fear of holding a tete-a-tete with a luna-
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 233 
 
 tic; " nor should I have listened to him if he had ; really, Mr. 
 Morton, grateful as I feel to you for the constant and unceasing 
 kindness you have heaped upon me, who, God knows, has stood 
 much in need of it, I can entertain no stronger feelings. The 
 recollection of one who" — here her voice faltered — " who is at 
 rest years ago, remains too deeply — in short," she said 
 abruptly, " I must beg that once for all you will receive the 
 assurance that T never can and never will be yours." 
 
 Thus terminated the meeting that had commenced so tri- 
 umphantly ; Mr. Morton retired, his heart so thoroughly chil- 
 that a third pint of his favorite mulled port was required 
 to restore it to its proper temperature, where it remained and 
 never boiled over again. From that time he gave up all hopes 
 of obtaining the widow's hand in marriage. 
 
 We shall not attempt to analyze the widow's feelings as she 
 retired to bed, after the housekeeper had shown her to the room 
 she was to occupy ; but let us visit Mr. Morton in the solitude 
 of his bachelor chamber — 
 
 '■'■%. pretty fool I have made of myself," he said, "and a 
 precious donkey that Mr. Rugsby has made of himself. 
 
 " That comes of trusting to a parson — and yet they ought to 
 know how to manage these things better than any one else. 
 What on earth could the man have been blundering at? I too, 
 after having put myself to all this trouble to get Clara out of 
 the way ; and that reminds me she's out of the way, far 
 enough, most likely. I'm rather sorry for the girl ; but it 
 will serve the mother right. She's lonely without her, she 
 savs. Well, she'll be lonely enough when she learns that 
 she's drowned. Perhaps she is, and p'aps she isn't. Well, I 
 shan't say anything about it till the morning." 
 
 By this time the extra quantity of mulled port Mr. Morton 
 had imbibed, began to have a visible effect upon his vision and 
 his speech. 
 
 " The disappointment," he stammered, " has quite put me 
 out and disturbed my senses. There's two — two candles, and
 
 234 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 two — two chairs, and two fire-places — and the room's all turn- 
 ing round in a whirligig. O, Lord! how sick I feel." 
 
 And rising with difficulty, Mr. Morton groped his way to his 
 bed, on which he tumbled with his clothes on, and slept and 
 snored till morning. 
 
 He was, however, too well-seasoned a toper to feel any evil 
 after-effects, and he rose in tire morning as sleek, and oily, and 
 hearty as ever. His first act was to seek out the clergyman, 
 and telling him, in no very gentle terms, of his mistake, to ask 
 him how he had come to blunder so desperately % 
 
 Mr. Rugsby bore the reproof meekly, as became one of his 
 cloth. 
 
 ' ; Really, my dear Mr. Morton," he said, " I did the best I 
 could, in a delicate manner. I did not actually mention mar- 
 riage — but 1 thought the lady would understand me when I 
 told her that, thinking her lonely in her cottage — living by 
 herself — mind you — living by herself — you had thought of 
 asking her to remove to a small sized cottage yOu had recently 
 purchased, and you would take the old place off her h^nds. 
 Of course I imagined that she would understand the allusion." 
 
 Mr. Morton turned rapidly away. " Oh what a fool you 
 are!" muttered he; "and what a stupid dolt you have made 
 of me !" 
 
 The bell rang for breakfast, and both gentlemen returned in 
 silence to the house.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 235 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was anything but a pleasant journey that day to Mr Mor- 
 ton ; here he layed for his old easy fitting garments ! Gracious 
 goodness ! to screw himself up in such a tight fit, like the man 
 in the iron mask — and all for no purpose. How his boots 
 pinched ! And then the expense ; so much money actually 
 thrown away ! To be snubbed in this way by the widow ! Oh, 
 these widows ! what deceptive creatures they are — a young 
 girl blushes and sighs and simpers. You can form some idea 
 of the state of her feelings ! but the widow is so composed ; 
 takes everything in such a matter-of-fact manner, that there is 
 no guessing at the true state of their minds. 
 
 Mr. Morton revolved in his mind whether he should not 
 take his revenge by spoiling the pleasure of Mrs. Neville's 
 ride, by telling her of the misfortune that had happened to the 
 steamer in which her daughter had sailed from New Orleans ; 
 but he" came to the conclusion that it would lead to a " scene" 
 on the road, and he resolved to defer the relation of the sad in- 
 telligence until the next day, when he would call for the pur- 
 pose at the widow's cottage. 
 
 The day's jaunt was not in fact a pleasant one to any of the 
 party. The widow really pitied the poor old bachelor, for she 
 saw he was in earnest — besides, no woman receives an offer of 
 marriage from any man, however much she may dislike him, 
 without feeling some sort of compassion for him — and Mr. 
 Rugsby, although matters had turned out just as he had ex- 
 pected, was sorry that he had had anything to do in the busi-
 
 236 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 ness — and especially that he had managed, in his extreme 
 delicacy, to make such a bungling affair of the part he had 
 volunteered to play — and Mr. Morton, although he feared the 
 clergyman and respected him too, as much as he respected any 
 man, had not recovered from his ill-temper — so, after a very 
 brief visit to Mr. Morton's new purchase, the party returned 
 to their host's house and left shortly afterwards for their several 
 homes. 
 
 The next, morning Mr. Morton, now clad in easy fitting gar- 
 ments, sallied forth to the cottage of Mrs. Neville, and requested 
 the servant to say that he wished to see her. 
 
 " What can the man want with me V thought the widow ; 
 " surely my refusal yesterday was decided enough, and I don't 
 expect now that he will press me to change my residence. I 
 wouldn't do so if he did. Really the man is growing too im- 
 portunate — interrupted me, too, right in the middle of the let- 
 ter. I'm a good mind to deny myself to him — no, perhaps I 
 had better not. I'll see him, and if he makes any further offers, 
 I'll tell him plainly that any future visit to the cottage will be 
 considered by me as a disagreeable intrusion," and laying a 
 letter she had been reading and had been apparently deeply 
 interested in, on the table, the widow made her appearance in 
 the small parlor into which Mr. Morton had been shown by 
 the servant. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Neville," said Mr. Morton, and the 
 widow coolly and distantly returned the salutation. 
 
 Mr. Morton noticed her constrained manner, and thought to 
 himself, "Ah, my lady, I have news to tell that will bring 
 down your pride, I warrant me," and he took the newspaper 
 already alluded to from his coat pocket. Perhaps he had some 
 thought — who knows ] — that the widow under the pressure of 
 her distress — left alone in the world — would even yet listen to 
 his protestations of love. However, he at once proceeded to 
 disclose, in a tone of hypocritical solemnity, the sad intelli- 
 gence.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 237 
 
 "Have you Jieard from Miss Clara, ma'am, since she has 
 
 left r 
 
 " Yes, sir, I received a letter announcing her safe arrival at 
 New Orleans. I received it by the post this morning." 
 
 " Oh !" sighed Mr. Morton, " sad things happen in this vale 
 of tears, ma'am." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the widow, imagining that the gentleman 
 was alluding to the departure of Clara from home, "but we 
 must learn to submit to them and to bear them patiently. 
 Clara is my only child, and was my sole companion ; but I 
 could not hope to retain her society always. I presume some 
 day she will marry, and in that case she most likely would 
 have left me, even had she not had an offer of this situation." 
 
 " Ah !" again sighed Mr. Morton. " My dear Mrs. Neville ; 
 notwithstanding what passed between us yesterday, you will I 
 trust still allow me to address you thus, for believe me I sym- 
 pathize deeply in the sad misfortune that has befallen you. 
 Clara was a sweet child, Mrs. Neville." 
 
 " Yes, she was a good girl," replied the widow, still wonder- 
 ing what Mr. Morton meant. 
 
 " Arc you, my dear madam, fully prepared to bear up 
 against a great affliction ?" ; 
 
 The widow started — she wondered what affliction had befallen 
 her that could have reached the ears of Mr. Morton before she 
 had heard of it. 
 
 " I must, I can endure any misfortune that may have occur- 
 red. Indeed, I must do in such a case as others do, and as I 
 have done before. But pray, be more explicit, Mr. Morton !" 
 she added, really feeling somewhat alarmed, for she read in 
 Mr. Morton's countenance, that something of more than ordi- 
 nary interest must have happened. Mr. Morton slowly un- 
 folded the newspaper. 
 
 " I have here," he said, " a newspaper which I received from 
 New Orlerns the day before yesterday, announcing the loss by 
 explosion and fire, of the steamer E. S., bound from New
 
 238 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 Orleans to Natchez, and on that steamer Miss Clara's passage 
 was engaged. The report is that nearly all that were on board 
 the ill-fated vessel were lost. I much fear, Madam, that Clara 
 is among the sufferers. The news pained me much, I could 
 
 not find nerve sufficient to tell you of it before " 
 
 " Thank God ! that you did not," exclaimed the widow, 
 
 with a slight shudder, but at the same time with a composure 
 of manner, that perfectly astonished Mr. Morton, who had 
 anticipated hysterics and fainting fits, and screams of terror. 
 
 He betrayed his astonishment in his countenance — and the 
 widow continued : 
 
 " Thank God ! that you did not tell me before, for I should 
 have been greatly alarmed ; for the letter Clara wrote from 
 New Orleans was delayed, and this morning, I received that 
 and another letter from Mrs. Ellsworth, in which she states 
 that Clara is safe and under her care at Pout Hudson. Fortu- 
 nately, I opened the letter 'of the latest date, and thus saved 
 myself from the anxiety, and agony of mind, the first letter 
 would have entailed. Poor Clara, she has suffered much, but 
 again, I say, thank God ! all is well wi„th her. She has lost her 
 clothing, it is true ; that loss under any other circumstances 
 would have deeply grieved me ; but now I am so grateful that 
 her life has been saved, that I have no room in my heart for 
 grief." 
 
 Here was a blow to all Mr* Morton's well-laid schemes. 
 He had nothing more to say, and he looked so completely 
 crest-fallen, that the widow could not help observing it. 
 
 " Why Mr. Morton," she said with some degree of asperity ; 
 " you look as if you were rather sorry than glad, that poor 
 Clara has been almost miraculously preserved from a watery 
 grave, or worse, from a still more frightful death." 
 
 " No — no — ma'am, no. I am glad — yes — very glad — " 
 said Mr. Morton, commencing to fold up the newspaper, and 
 replace it in his capacious coat pocket. " No, I am truly glad 
 — yes — very glad, indeed — I trust your next intelligence from
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 239 
 
 the south -will be still more satisfactory, ma'am — I shall wish 
 you good morning — I am happy that my visit has been so satis- 
 factorily terminated — good morning, ma'am," and without fur- 
 ther parley, Mr. Morton bowed, and shuffled himself out of 
 the house. 
 
 He did not leave a very favorable impression behind him, 
 for he had not been able sufficiently to disguise the disap- 
 pointment he really felt, and when he had gone, Mrs. Neville 
 said : — 
 
 " Can it be possible that that man could have had an un- 
 worthy object in hurrying Clara away % It looks like it, and 
 yet it can hardly be. I will not allow myself to be prejudiced 
 against him." 
 
 Let us return to Clara, whom we left at Port Hudson, under 
 the motherly care of Mrs. Ellsworth. 
 
 Clara rapidly recovered, and was taken by Mrs. Ellsworth 
 to Natchez, on the second day after her recovery from the sad 
 accident which had befallen her. She was comfortably pro- 
 vided with everything that she needed, and in a few days she 
 wrote to her mother, giving a detailed account of the accident, 
 and of her feelings during the fearful ordeal through which she 
 had passed. She spoke in the highest terms of the gallantry 
 of young Warner, and also of the kindness she had experienced 
 at the hands of Mr. Ellsworth and his family. This letter was 
 a great relief to Mrs. Neville, who, although she had ex- 
 perienced feelings of gratitude which had counterbalanced all 
 others on the first receipt of the letter from Mrs. Ellsworth, 
 had subsequently given way to despondency as the after- 
 thoughts crowded upon her imagination, and she began to 
 realize all that her daughter had suffered. 
 
 Mr. Warner called on the following week at Mrs. Ellsworth's, 
 and had an interview with Clara ; what occurred then we can- 
 not say ; but from that period the visits of Warner became 
 more frequent than ever, and Clara and he often walked out 
 together of an evening.
 
 240 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 We mentioned that something like a promise of faithful 
 attachment had passed between Harry Morton — Mr. Morton's 
 nephew — prior to that young man's departure to the West 
 Indies, and when young Warner talked of love, thoughts of 
 Harry would interpose and prevent Clara from returning, as 
 perhaps she would otherwise have done, his ardent protesta- 
 tions. So matters progressed for the space of six months, and 
 at the expiration of that period it would be idle to say that the 
 gallant young man had not acquired a great influence over the 
 heart of Clara, which had naturally been inclined towards him 
 by strong feelings of gratitude on account of his noble and 
 successful endeavors to save her life at the risk of his own — 
 fostered by his subsequent attentions, and not a little aided by 
 his handsome person and fascinating manners. 
 
 Mr. Morton went home with his heart full of bitterness to- 
 wards the widow. His little, mean soul could not brook the 
 humiliation of being refused by Mrs. Neville ; and finding his 
 hopes of revenge, by plunging her into grief for the loss of . 
 her child, so completely frustrated, he set himself to work out 
 some scheme of dark revenge. 
 
 He knew that her cottage was for sale, and although he 
 could ill-sj)are the money to purchase it of her landlord, _ he 
 resolved to make the sacrifice, for the purpose of carrying out 
 his deL^otable plan of vengeance ; and this effected, he set him- 
 self to work to plan other measures with the same object. 
 
 He had, since Clara had departed, received a letter from his 
 nephew, in which the young man had made allusions to Clara, 
 which satisfied his uncle as to the state of his affections. The 
 old bachelor had pished ! and poohed ! as he read the letter, 
 and had called his nephew a silly boy ; but he had thought — 
 " So long as I get the consent of the widow, and succeed in 
 gaining her hand, why, the young folks may do as they please, 
 for aught I care." Now he conceived that he might turn the 
 misfortune that had befallen Clara to good account. He sat 
 down, therefore, and wrote to his nephew, stating that Clara
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 241 
 
 had left home for Natchez, and giving the particulars of tho 
 catastrophe ; furthermore, stating that her life had been saved 
 by a youth who had, he believed, succeeded in completely 
 alienating the girl's affections from him. lie took occasion to 
 traduce the characters both of the mother and daughter, and 
 to state that he had been grossly deceived in them ; that the 
 mother was a selfish, sordid-minded woman, who, hearing that 
 Warner possessed wealth, had persuaded Clara to transfer her 
 affections to her richer lover ; and that Clara had readily done 
 so. She was, in fact, said the old gentleman, a light-hearted, 
 giddy coquette, not possessed of one spark of genuine feeling ; 
 and he concluded by persuading the young man not only to 
 forget her, but to punish her by transferring his affections to 
 some other lady and marrying her ; while he would endeavor 
 to make^Warner acquainted with Clara's true character. 
 
 Harry Morton was a tolerably good-hearted, but a hot-head- 
 ed, impetuous young man. He had no conception that his 
 uncle, to whom, as his sole relative, he was much attached, 
 could have any surreptitious motive in thus sj)eaking of Clara 
 Neville ; and in a moment of passion, he, on the receipt of his 
 uncle's letter, resolved at once to renounce her. We have 
 mentioned that he was a good-looking young fellow, and he had 
 already attracted the favorable notice of more than one of the 
 warm-blooded West Indian belles. His heart had been hitherto 
 impervious to the fairy darts shot forth from their eyes, and 
 Clara had remained the polar star towards which his affections 
 had ever been directed ; but now his feelings underwent a 
 revulsion, and within a month from the receipt of his uncle's 
 letter he had wooed and won, and was wedded to, the fair 
 daughter of a planter in the vicinity of Montego Bay, Jamai- 
 ca; and the mail that left the Island immediately after the date 
 of the wedding, carried a newspaper, both to Clara and his 
 uncle, describing the ceremony. The uncle received a letter 
 likewise ; but the young man thought he would best show his 
 contempt of Clara by sending her the newspaper alone. 
 11
 
 242 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 It was with a strange admixture of feeling that Clara read 
 this notice. That she felt her pride wounded, it would be vain 
 to deny ; but, after all, her feelings with regard to Harry Mor- 
 ton had been those of mere girlish affection. They might 
 have ripened into love had nothing occurred to create a revul- 
 sion elsewhere ; but she had felt that she really loved Warner, 
 and that her plighted troth to Harry was all that stood in Iho 
 way of her returning the love she bore him. Thus matters 
 remained for the space of a month from the purchase of the 
 widow's cottage by Mr. Morton. Mrs. Neville was ignorant 
 of the change that had taken place in the ownership of her 
 domicil. She had always paid her rent regularly ; but small, 
 comparatively, as was the amount, it had usually taxed her 
 energies to the utmost to meet the demands upon her purse. 
 She enjoyed a small independence, but it was so very small 
 that she depended for the payment of her rent, and for the 
 few luxuries with which she indulged herself, upon the receipts 
 from her musical pupils ; consequently, she was very much 
 surprised as well as distressed, upon receiving notice from the 
 agent for the collection of her landlord's rents, that her rent 
 would be increased twenty-five per cent, on the ensuing quar- 
 ter. 
 
 Business was, at this time, dull. It was difficult to obtain 
 new pupils, and several of her old ones had got married, or 
 were on the point of getting married; and, consequently, had 
 either left her, or were on the point of leaving her. The result 
 was, that when the quarter's rent became due, she had n<Jt, for 
 the first time since she had rented the cottage, wherewithal to 
 pay her rent. 
 
 She went to the agent to beg for time ; but the man told 
 her that he had received directions from his employer to dis- 
 train immediately if their dues were not promptly paid. He 
 did not say who was his employer ; and Mrs. Neville, after 
 some (Teliberation, made up her mind to go to the landlord 
 /'who resided at York) herself, and, stating her circumstances,
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 243 
 
 to ask for a temporary relaxation of his rigid rules, on her 
 part. 
 
 The gentleman received her kindly, and told her that he had 
 known her so long, and had such perfect confidence in her in- 
 tegrity, that he would willingly have granted her the accom- 
 modation for twice the time she required, but he had sold the 
 property, and had no longer the slightest control over it. 
 
 ' ; To whom have you disposed of it ?" demanded the widow. 
 
 " To a near neighbor «5f yours," replied the late landlord ; 
 "to Mr. Morton — a most estimable gentleman, I believe— who 
 will be ready and willing to grant you any accommodation in 
 his power ; though I certainly did not think that he would 
 have raised the rent of that small cottage so exorbitantly.'' 
 
 " To Mr. Morton," sighed the widow, as if by intuition see- 
 ing - through the object of her new landlord, " apply to him," 
 she thought to herself, " / never will. I have a few trinkets," 
 she observed to the landlord. " I cannot think of applying to 
 Mr. Morton. I would submit to any sacrifice first. Can you 
 inform me where I can raise a small sum of money upon them 1 
 
 There were none of those curses to society (pawnbrokers' 
 shops) in that part of the country, therefore unless the widow 
 could find a private friend willing to advance her money upon 
 the trifling articles of jewelry she possessed, her hope of rais- 
 ing money on these trinkets was useless. 
 
 Mr. Davis, the landlord, immedialely and kindly offered to 
 lend her the money she required, refusing to take the pledge 
 she offered. 
 
 The rent day came round ; Mr. Morton had made himself 
 acquainted with the state of the widow's affairs. He imagined 
 that she would be under the necessity of humbling herself to 
 the agent, and through the agent to him ; he was therefore 
 greatly disappointed to find the money paid promptly to his 
 demand. Temporarily, at least, he had been disappointed in 
 his scheme. Matters, however, went worse and worse with 
 the widow ; before the expiration of another quarter she had
 
 244 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 lost all or nearly all her pupils. Other debts besides the 
 rent had pressed heavily upon her. She had disposed of her 
 jewelry privately. The small debts she owed to Mr. Davis 
 had not been paid, and, to Mr. Davis' credit, not asked for, 
 and now the rent again became due, and the widow had not 
 wherewithal to meet it, neither had she a friend of whom she 
 could borrow the money. 
 
 By this time Mr. Morton had not scrupled in various ways 
 to show his hostility to Mrs. Neville. Indeed she had good 
 reason to suspect that she owed the loss of some of her most 
 remunerative pupils to his evil influences, and she could hope 
 for no mercy nor consideration at his hands. She could not 
 bear the idea of applying to Clara, for she was aware that her 
 salary was no more than sufficient for her necessities, and the 
 poor girl wrote to her repeatedly so hopefully, that she had not 
 the heart to tell her of her distresses. 
 
 She resolved to call upon Mr. Morton and tell him that she 
 was utterly unable to pay her rent, and to ask for delay, and 
 thus to know the worst at once. 
 
 She walked on to his cottage, and plainly stated her circum- 
 stances to him. He listened attentively — a gleam of malicious 
 delight beaming upon his countenance as he heard the sorrow- 
 ful tale — and when Mrs. Neville had concluded he said : 
 
 " I am sorry to hear this, madam, but you alone have not 
 suffered. The general depression has caused me much distress. 
 Most of my property consists of real estate, and if I cannot 
 obtain my dues, I cannot pay my own way." 
 
 " I ask but a little time," pleaded the widow, " I have occu- 
 pied the cottage so long, and you have known me for so many 
 years — " 
 
 " All very true, Madam," answered Mr. Morton, " but I do 
 not see that you have any better prospects before you. Ah ! 
 Mrs. Neville,' things might have been different — and, ahem ! 
 I don't say tbart it is too late now. Some time ago, I made you 
 an offer of my hand which you indignantly refused. Mrs. Ne-
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 245 
 
 ville — I give you the alternative — accept the offer now, and 
 henceforward you shall be mistress of the cottage, the rent of 
 which you are no longer able to pay." 
 
 " No, sir," said the widow, " you received my reply at that 
 time once and for all. Do with me as you may. Treat me 
 with what severity you please, your wife I will not and cannot 
 be ; and, Mr. Morton, I see through the motives of your perse- 
 cutions. It was for the purpose of humiliating me thus that you 
 purchased the cottage I now inhabit. Through your influences 
 I am well assured I have lost my most valuable pupil. For 
 the present, sir, you may have succeeded in your cruel aim to 
 oppress the widow — but rest assured that the hour of retribu- 
 tion will come, perhaps when you least expect, and are least 
 prepared for it." 
 
 " So be it, Madam," said Mr. Morton, now completely losing 
 his temper. " Good morning, ma'am," and he rose from* his 
 seat and left the cottage. Great surprise was manifested in 
 York on the following morning, by the information derived from 
 placards posted on the walls, that the effects of the Widow 
 Neville were to be sold by public auction. She had been so 
 long a resident of the immediate neighborhood, that she was 
 known personally or by reputation to almost everybody in 
 that small place, and universally esteemed in consequence of 
 her quiet, unobtrusive demeanor. 
 
 No one at first suspected the reason for this distraint upon 
 the widow's property. The general opinion was that she was 
 about to leave that part of the country, and was probably go- 
 ing to reside in the vicinity of Natchez, whither her daughter 
 Clara had removed ; but when it became known that the sale 
 was to take place at the instance of Mr. Morton, in the conse- 
 quence of the inability of the widow to pay her rent, Mr. Mor- 
 ton having recently become her landlord, the surprise and in- 
 dignation of the people who knew the widow became very 
 great. 
 
 However, there was no help for it. Anathemas were
 
 246 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 bestowed freely upon the usurious proprietor, but the law had 
 to take its course. 
 
 There was, however, a general determination to purchase the 
 effects at a high rate in order that after the sale Mrs. Neville 
 might have some funds in her possession wherewith to recom- 
 mence housekeeping, and many of the parents of her former 
 pupils resolved to place their children again under her care. 
 
 The widow, however, felt the humiliation most bitterly. 
 The law enabled her to retain a small portion of her effects ; 
 but though her furniture was not expensive generally, the very 
 articles which would be sold were those which were relics of 
 better days, and which she prized far above their intrinsic value. 
 
 Herein consisted the anticipated revenge of Mr. Morton. 
 He wished to deprive the widow of these her household gods, 
 far more than he cared about the little money she owed him. 
 
 Mr. Rugsby, who greatly commiserated the poor lady, used 
 every endeavor to urge Mr. Morton to forego his purpose, but 
 in vain, and the day appointed for the sale came speedily round. 
 The red flag flew from one of the windows of the cottage, and the 
 neighbors gathered in to witness the sale or to make purchases. 
 
 The auctioneer commenced his duties, and one by one the 
 most cherished articles of furniture were exposed to the prying 
 eyes of the curious. The bids commenced, and ran high. Mr. 
 Morton wished himseflf to become the owner of the most valu- 
 able articles, and he had engaged a person to bid for them over 
 the offers of any other person. 
 
 The bids made by the neighbors commenced high, and the 
 less valuable goods were allowed to go off at their price ; but 
 at last one of the articles that Mr. Morton coveted was 
 •put up, the bids were large, but Mr. Morton's bidder outstrip- 
 ped all the rest. It was on the point of being knocked down 
 to him, when another offer was made. Mr. Morton's friend 
 increased his figure — a higher bid was made — still another 
 increase on the part of Mr. Morton's friend — another bid from 
 the stranger, so high that it was useless to contend further. 
 This article passed into the possession of the person unknown.
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 247 
 
 However, there were several other valuable articles, and Mr. 
 Morton still hoped to obtain possession of these ; but he hoped 
 in vain. The stranger — who was unknown to any person 
 present — still distanced every competitor, and every article 
 fell into his possession. 
 
 The pertinacity of this man seemed to have a strange effect 
 upon Mr. Morton. His oily face became more oily — his rubi- 
 cund visage became still more rubicund — and he fidgetted 
 about as though he were possessed with St. Athony's fire. 
 
 The sale was closed, and then came the crowning astonish- 
 ment — not alone to Mr. Morton and the rest of the persons 
 present, but to Mrs. Neville herself — for a paper was handed 
 to the auctioneer while he was still on* the stand. He read it 
 aloud. It stated that the goods had been purchased by Mr. 
 Hornby, in behalf of the widow Neville. 
 
 " Mr. Hornby ! Who is Mr. Hornby 1 " was asked around. 
 
 No one knew. 
 
 The auctioneer looked about him — but the stranger, after 
 handing him the note, had quitted the cottage. Mrs. Neville 
 was asked who he was, but she professed total ignorance. # Mr. 
 Morton declared since the stranger had withdrawn, that he had 
 a right to the goods ; but the auctioneer stated that the note 
 contained a check for the whole of the money bid for the prop- 
 erty, which was of sufficient amount to pay all the debts of the 
 widow, and leave a large balance in her favor. 
 
 This settled the point, and the crest-fallen Mr. Morton was 
 compelled to submit, and to see his prospects of revenge lade 
 into nothingness. 
 
 The widow raised her eyes in speechless gratitude to God, 
 who had so singularly interposed in her behalf, and Mr. Rugsby 
 silently took her hand, and pressed it warmly, with a strong 
 emotion visible in his countenance. The cottage was cleared 
 of the visitors, but nearly all the goods remained — and the 
 widow found herself, through the generosity of this unknown 
 friend — in the clear possession of several hundred dollars.
 
 248 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Some weeks passed by, and Mrs. Neville heard nothing rela- 
 tive to the generous friend who had advanced the money for 
 the purchase of her household goods, on her own account, be- 
 sides leaving such a handsome overplus. 
 
 Meanwhile she had received two or three letters from her 
 daughter, Clara, who had informed her of the deceit which had 
 been practiced by Henry Morton, and had also told her, in an 
 indirect maimer, of the attention that was shown her by War- 
 ner, whose generosity and gallantry she spoke of in the highest 
 terms. So matters rested for some time. 
 
 One day the widow was surprised by the arrival of a wagon 
 in front of the cottage, from which descended Mr. Thornton, 
 the gentleman already spoken of as having been saved from 
 the wreck, and lodged and resuscitated in Mrs. Neville's domi- 
 cile. 
 
 Thornton was welcomed by the widow with something more 
 than the favor due even to an old acquaintance. 
 
 What occurred on the occasion of this meeting it is needless 
 to repeat in detail. Suffice it to say, that the gentleman and 
 lady were closeted together that evening for a long time, and 
 the result was that they separated for the night, the gentleman 
 taking a bed at the cottage, with feelings of mutual satisfac^ 
 tion. However, for the better enlightenment of our readers, 
 we may as well give something of the former history of Mr. 
 Thornton and Mrs. Neville. 
 
 In early life, Mrs. Neville, then Miss Johnson, had met with
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. v 249 
 
 Mr. Thornton, then a highly generous youth of seventeen years 
 of age, while the lady had scarcely numbered fifteen summers. 
 Thornton was a young man of excellent prospects, but having 
 no means, at that early period of his life, of supporting a wife 
 — indeed, they were both too young to marry, although, like 
 many of the young folks, they did not think so themselves ; 
 and the mother of Miss Johnson, who was herself a widow, 
 although by no means averse to the future union of her 
 daughter and Thornton, naturally wished that a long period of 
 probation should elapse, and that the youth should secure a 
 position in life, before she willingly consented to give him her 
 daughter's hand. Consequently, she dismissed him with the 
 promise, that if after the lapse of two years the affections of 
 both remained unchanged, and the young man could show that 
 he was in a fair w-ay of doing well, she would place no impedi- 
 ment in the way of his marriage with her daughter. 
 
 Young Thornton, who had been studying for the medical 
 profession, shortly afterwards obtained a situation, as surgeon 
 on board a vessel, bound from New York to the East Indies. 
 
 The two years of probation elapsed, and nothing was heard 
 of, or from him. Mrs. Johnson believed that he had changed 
 his mind, and that some other lady whom he might have met 
 on his travels, had estrayed his affections from her daughter. 
 
 Not so, Clara Johnson, the daughter ; she believed that her 
 youthful lover had died abroad, and with all the ardor of affec- 
 tion, characteristic of a young and innocent girl, loving for the 
 first time, she resolved that she would never marry another, 
 but would remain wedded in spirit, to her youthful lover, 
 though their earthly union were never consummated. 
 
 However, by degrees, this devotion wore itself away. Clara 
 Johnson still cherished absent affection for the memory of 
 Thornton, but she no longer refused to mingle in company, nor 
 to listen to the vows of other lovers. 
 
 She had reached her twentieth year, when a sad misfortune be- 
 fell her mother, who, by the failure of a mercantile house in New 
 11*
 
 250 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 York, lost all her little fortune, which had consisted of an annu- 
 ity paid by the firm, of which her husband, during his life-time, 
 had been a partner, and with whom he had banked his money. 
 She was suddenly reduced from comparative affluence to 
 poverty, and her daughter ,was compelled to employ her musi- 
 cal talents for her own support, and that of her widowed mother. 
 It was strange, how friends — aye, how lovers fell off, as soon 
 as it was known that Mrs. Johnson and her daughter were de- 
 pendent solely for support to their own exertions. 
 
 Clara had had a dozen of lovers before, each more eager than 
 the other for her hand ; now, all fled her — all but one — a Mr.. 
 Neville — a man already somewhat advanced in years, who had 
 been less kindly treated than any other of her admirers. Now, 
 however, he showed his worth ; he came forward and nobly 
 offered to relieve the widow by the advance of money for the 
 payment of certain pressing liabilities which had fallen upon 
 her ; and hoped — not asked — but hoped that his long and ardent 
 affection for her daughter might be reciprocated — and that in 
 this alone he might meet with his reward. 
 
 It was with a sad and heavy heart that Clara Johnson listen- 
 ed to her mother's urgent persuasions that she would accept 
 Mr. Neville's hand. However, her love for her parent at 
 length overcame her sentiments of repugnance with regard to 
 marrying a man whom, however much she respected and 
 esteemed, she could not love as a wife should love. But, suffice 
 it to say, that although Thornton's memory w r as still deeply 
 imprinted upon her heart, Clara Johnson became the wife of 
 Mr. Neville. 
 
 " My mother pressed me hard, « 
 But my daddy did na' speak, 
 But he look*d at me sair 
 
 Till my heart was like to break. 
 My heart was far awa' 
 
 Wi' my Jamie, o'er the sea, 
 But auld Robin Gray 
 
 Became gude mon to me."
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 251 
 
 Years wore away, and no tidings were received of the absent 
 Thornton. Every body now had given him up for lost. 
 Meanwhile, Clara Neville, the heroine of our story, was born, 
 and with the birth of her daughter had been engendered in the 
 heart of Mrs. Neville, if not an ardent love, at least a strong 
 attachment to the husband who had always been a fond and 
 affectionate companion to her. 
 
 Hitherto, all had been couleur de rose in Mrs. Neville's 
 domestic life. She had known no grief since the regret she 
 had felt at Thornton's singular disappearance, and this grief 
 had by this time sobered down to a mere chastened melancholy 
 recollection of the halcyon days of "Love's Young Dream." 
 
 Mr. Neville had, until Clara Neville, his daughter, reached 
 the age of ten years, been remarkably prosperous in business, 
 and had become a man of considerable fortune. He was ex- 
 ceedingly fond of his wife and child, and the latter had received 
 as good an education as it was possible for him to obtain for 
 her. Young as she was, she was already extensively accom- 
 plished, and had developed a singular talent for music. 
 
 Mr. Neville was just on the point of retiring from business, 
 when a friend placed before him a prospectus of a speculation 
 which promised to double, in the space of two years, his already 
 ample fortune. Unhappily he was induced to embark the great- 
 er portion of his property in it, and the result was that twelve 
 months afterwards, he found himself a ruined man. He was 
 unable to bear up under the weight of this blow. Already on 
 the downhill of life, he succumbed beneath his misfortunes, and 
 six months afterwards he was borne to his last resting-place. 
 
 The wreck of her husband's fortune was invested by the 
 widow in a small annuity, and with this she removed with her 
 child to the neighborhood in which, at the commencement of 
 our story, we have introduced them to the reader. 
 
 It is useless observing any mystery with regard to the 
 stranger, who, on the night of the storm, was saved from the 
 wreck by the humanity and bravery of Mr. Kugsby and the
 
 252 CLARA NEVILLE. 
 
 seamen and fishermen of the coast. This man was Thornton — 
 as we have already mentioned his name in allusion to this 
 event — and also that he had been recognized by the widow ; 
 but whatever passed between them at that time we know not. 
 Thornton left the cottage, and nothing had since been heard of 
 him. 
 
 It is proper, however, that we should state what had been 
 the occasion of the young surgeon's long absence and silence 
 after he had sailed from New York for the West Indies, in the 
 expectation of returning within eighteen months to claim the 
 hand of his betrothed. 
 
 He had quitted the vessel at Palo Pewang, having received 
 an offer of great pecuniary emolument, to sail on board a 
 country ship. He pleased himself with the idea that in this 
 employment he would, in the course of a few years, reap an 
 ample fortune, and returning home, claim his bride, and at the 
 same time surprise her with his wealth ; but the ship he sailed 
 in was wrecked on the coast of Zanzibar, and the captain, offi- 
 cers and crew were retained in captivity by the natives. It was 
 two years before young Thornton managed to effect his escape, 
 and six months longer before he reached Calcutta, where, 
 anxious to hear news from America, he managed to procure a 
 file of New York papers, one of which contained the intelli- 
 gence of Clara Johnson's marriage with Mr. Neville. 
 
 The young man was almost paralyzed by the shock, and 
 some time elapsed, ere his energies became sufficiently re- 
 cruited, to enable him to think of his future course. 
 
 Then, however, he roused himself, and obtained an engage- 
 ment as Assistant Surgeon, in an Indian hospital. He was a 
 skilful surgeon, and in that country, at that period, he had 
 abundant opportunities of pushing his fortune. He renounced 
 all thoughts of love and of home, and in the course of a few years, 
 found himself a man of considerable wealth ; still he perse- 
 vered until his means exceeded even the most sanguine and 
 ambitious desires of his youth. He then ceased from practice,
 
 CLARA NEVILLE. 253 
 
 and after a time, became possessed with a strong yearning to 
 see bis native land again. He sailed from India, and landed in 
 England, and it was on his passage from England to America 
 that he was wrecked. However, he did not lose his property, 
 although the ship was lost. His money had been invested in 
 American funds, and he was in the clear possession of $15,000 
 per annum. 
 
 Our story advances to a climax, The reader will already 
 have surmised that it was Thornton, who, under the assumed 
 name of Hornby, had engaged an agent to purchase the effects 
 of Mrs. Neville, at her sale. He had very coldly and distantly 
 received the all kind attentions of the widow, during his tem- 
 porary repose at her cottage, after his misfortune, and he had 
 left her almost without bidding her farewell ; but the very 
 sight of her had relit in his heart, the almost extinguished flame 
 of love, and he had taken measures secretly to ascertain how 
 much or little she had been to blame in the part of duplicity 
 played, in regard to himself. The result was satisfactory, and 
 from that moment he determined to befriend her, and perhaps 
 yet to become her husband. 
 
 But little more remains to be told. Some short time after 
 the sale, Thornton effected an interview with the widow, and 
 three months from that period they were united in the bonds 
 of matrimony ; and on the same day on which Mrs. Neville 
 became Mrs. Thornton, Clara became the wife of Warner. 
 
 Mr. Morton had to put up with his disappointment as best 
 he could. He still lives, a miserable old bachelor, ruled 
 over by his housekeeper, Maria. But report says Maria is 
 shortly to become Mrs. Morton. If so, God pity the wretched 
 man. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, shortly after the wedding, removed 
 to the South, where Warner had come into possession of a con- 
 siderable estate ; and there they still live, in as much happi- 
 ness as is ever accorded to mortals in this lower sphere.
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 [The following series of short stories are written from old family 
 manuscripts, which fell by chance into the hands of the author. 
 The majority relate to the early recollections of a near relative ■ but 
 "although she has preserved the original allusions to paternal rela- 
 tionship, she disclaims this tie of consanguinity. It was necessary, 
 in order to maintain the truthful style of the narratives, to keep as 
 closely to the original text as possible. Some of them relate to 
 events which occurred in England. It is sufficient to say, in order 
 to explain this, that the author is, on her father's side, of English 
 descent. These tales relate to the earlier history of her father's 
 family in that country. With these explanations, she presents the 
 stories to the public] 
 
 THE YEILED PICTURE. 
 
 One room in my father's country residence was fitted up 
 as a library or study. The furniture therein was heavy and 
 substantial — dark, highly-polished oaken chairs and tables and 
 sofas adorned the apartment, the chairs and sofas having 
 maroon-colored leather cushions ; the floor was covered with 
 a dark patterned, serviceable carpet, and on one side stood a 
 heavy, handsome book-case, having a terrestrial and a celestial 
 globe, set each in a stand of black mahogany on either side of it. 
 An eight-day clock, bronzed and elaborately ornamented, stood 
 on the mantel shelf, in company with a pair of handsome, 
 bronzed candelabras, and a vase of the same material, which, 
 during the season, was always filled with flowers. In various
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 055 
 
 parts of the room were little marble-topped tables, covered 
 with rare collections of stones and shells and other articles of 
 vertu, and the green stained wainscot was adorned with a few 
 choice engravings set in polished rosewood frames — but, though 
 fow, these engravings were rare and costly. Nothing that was 
 not really valuable was admitted to become one of the chosen 
 household gods of that favorite apartment, to which no intru- 
 sive maid-servant was ever admitted. My father laid and lit 
 the fire in winter, and in summer filled the vacant stove with 
 green branches and flowers plucked fresh from the garden by 
 his own hands, and on stated occasions he even dusted the 
 room and swept the floor himself, so fearful was he that some 
 profane hands would disturb his papers — put his scattered 
 volumes in order as they would term it, or, maybe, disturb the 
 arrangement of his cherished curiosities. Women are angels 
 everywhere else but in a library or a study — and they are 
 angels there too — but they play the very d — 1, Avith their ideas 
 of neatness and propriety, if they chance to get fumbling 
 amongst the books and papers and half-written pages of manu- 
 script that usually lay scattered about the room. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott had not, at the period I speak of, written 
 his novel of the " Antiquary," or my father might have taken 
 his ideas respecting the impolicy of admitting females into the 
 sanctuary of the studio from that original worthy. However, 
 I believe it is the case with every man who possesses a library 
 or a study, and sets any value by it. It is " Instinct, and comes 
 by Nature," as Dogberry hath it. Let woman's soft voice and 
 sweet smile be everywhere and pervade every space ; but as 
 you cherish your dumb friends, the books on your shelves, and 
 the cherished productions of your own brain, which you regard 
 with a father's love for his offspring : though the world beside 
 scoff at them as worthless — keep woman's duster and besom 
 far away from the sacred precincts of your studio. Sometimes 
 we children were allowed to visit this mysterious and to us 
 half-dreaded chamber, and indulged with some one of the light-
 
 256 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 est works my father's somewhat sombre library contained to 
 read, or to look at the pictures ; but our eyes frequently wan- 
 dered to a picture which hung on the Aval], of which I have not 
 yet spoken, and which was the only painting in the room, and 
 the only picture that was honored with a gold frame. A cur- 
 tain of gauze constantly covered it, as though to preserve it 
 from the dust ; but probably there were other reasons for the 
 care that was taken of it, we often thought ; for it was but 
 rarely my father could be persuaded to withdraw the curtain 
 and allow us to feast our eyes upon the picture, though often 
 when passing by the half-closed door of the room have I seen 
 him standing before it, with the curtain drawn aside, and gazing 
 earnestly at it, as though it were an object of adoration. 
 
 It was the portrait of a young and beautiful girl, apparently 
 of some eighteen or twenty summers. The complexion was 
 transparently fair, exhibiting the delicate tracery of every blue 
 vein of the throat and brow. The eyes were blue and large, 
 but the heavy eyelids with their dark silken lashes half covered 
 them and gave to them a soft and dreamy expression. The 
 hair was golden, or rather of that classical shade of color, so 
 rarely seen — a golden brown, m which the light played in bright 
 yellow tints, which the shades deepened into auburn ; the short 
 upper lip, slightly parted, just afforded a glimpse of a set of 
 teeth, pure and even as small pearls, and a dimple that nestled 
 on one cheek of the sweet oval countenance imparted to the 
 fair face an indescribable expression of naivete and bewitching 
 simplicity. Taken all in all, it was one of the loveliest faces I 
 had ever seen. I thought so when, a boy, I first gazed upon 
 it — I thought so still more than ever, when, a man, I had almost 
 learnt to love the inanimate portrait. 
 
 As I have said, my father would sometimes show us this 
 portrait, but when we asked him to tell us whose likeness it 
 bore, he always made some excuse, and said he would tell us 
 by and bye, when we grew older, and I have often seen a deep 
 sigh escape from his bosom as he spoke. It was evident that
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 257 
 
 there was some painful reminiscence connected with the por- 
 trait or with the original of that fair shadow, which, while he 
 often seemed to take a melancholy delight in thinking upon, die 
 could not bring himself to talk about. One day, however, 
 when I was about seventeen years of age — I think indeed that 
 it was upon my seventeenth birthday, my father summoned 
 me into his study. I was on the point of leaving home for the 
 first time in my life for any lengthened period, and was going 
 
 to spend two or three years at University, and he bade 
 
 me be seated, and commenced to talk to, me in a confidential 
 manner, with the object of conveying advice to me on the occa. 
 sion of this, my first entry into the world, beyond the precincts 
 of home and its watchful guardianship. 
 
 He told me of his experience, when a young man, and ten- 
 derly warned me to steer clear of the shoals and sandbanks of 
 life, upon which, but for the gracious interposition of Provi- 
 dence, he would have split upon ; for he was, as I have before 
 stated, brought up by an uncle, who, attached as he was to him, 
 was too much occupied with himself and his real or fancied ail- 
 ments to pay much attention to the moral training of his 
 nephew ; his parents were poor and had a large family, beside 
 him, to provide for, and happy to leave him beneath the roof 
 of a wealthy relative, who, they hoped and believed, would 
 start him and see him fairly afloat in life, they left everything 
 else to chance, except that his mother when she wrote would 
 urge him to conduct himself well ; but we all know when the 
 anxious parent is not present to give good advice with her own 
 lips,' how, too often, her advice is little heeded. 
 
 After some time had been passed in such conversation, and 
 such admonition as the occasion suggested, my father said, 
 ' : And now, my dear boy, before I wish you good night, I will 
 relate to you a little episode of my own life which has refer- 
 ence to that portrait which you have so often asked me to tell 
 you the history of, although I have hitherto refrained from 
 relating it. It may have the effect of assisting you in restrain-
 
 258 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 t 
 
 ing your passions, should they become suddenly excited, at 
 least until you have taken time to reflect, and, if so, your father 
 will not have suffered in vain. Believe me, my son, there is 
 little in this world that ought to allow us to give way to pas- 
 sion, and so most of us acknowledge when it is too late ; for 
 we often find that when we think we have been most injured 
 there are explanatory and extenuating circumstances, which, 
 had we considered them in time, would have thrown altogether 
 a different light on the subject which has excited our anger. 
 Few, indeed, are the things in this world worth flying into a 
 passion about and wreaking the mad dictates of our phrensy 
 upon. 
 
 " The story may seem to you to savor of superstition — but 
 I am, as you know, not superstitious — nevertheless, although 
 there is a mystery in it, I am unable to fathom, it is circum- 
 stantially true in every detail. 
 
 " At the age of five-and-twenty, almost immediately after I 
 had succeeded to the property left me by my uncle, I took a 
 trip to Europe. 
 
 " I was partially moved to do this in consequence of an 
 urgent desire that possessed me to visit Scotland — the land of 
 my progenitors — partly by a desire to travel amidst the 
 scenes I had read of — natural to a young man who has the 
 means in his possession to gratify his desires — and partly for 
 the purpose of adding the experience of travel to my know- 
 ledge of mercantile business, an addition that I Avas well aware 
 would be of great future advantage to me. I had been two 
 voyages to sea; but neither of them had been of much service 
 to me, so far as regarded increasing my store of knowledge 
 regarding things in the old world : besides, had I even had the 
 opportunities I coveted, I was too young to benefit by them. 
 
 " Leaving my business therefore in the care of my partner, 
 I took passage to London, and after a brief sojourn in the great 
 metropolis, 1 started for Scotland, and it was not long before,
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 259 
 
 in the vicinity of Aberdeen, I found out the transatlantic 
 branches of our family stock. 
 
 " 1 was well received by them, partly, perhaps, because of 
 the relationship I bore, and still more because they soon found 
 out that although a young I was comparatively a wealthy man. 
 
 " Among the relatives to whom I was introduced was a gen- 
 tleman of the name of Forbes — a lawyer, or, .as they are called 
 in Scotland, a writer to the signet. He was a cousin of my 
 father's, on the mother's side, and therefore could scarcely be 
 called a relative, except in Scotland, where relationship is said 
 to extend to the thirty-second cousinship ; but the great attrac- 
 tion that I found at his house was his daughter Lucy, the origi- 
 nal of the picture I have alluded to. The picture is fair, but no 
 mortal hand could truly portray the loveliness of the original. 
 Even to the present day, and I have travelled far and wide, and 
 am now growing an old man, never have my eyes alighted 
 upon a being so faultless in form and feature, as well as in dis- 
 position, as was Lucy Forbes. We were thrown much together, 
 for the old gentleman — her father — took a great fancy to me, 
 and as Lucy had been brought up in seclusion in the Highlands 
 of Scotland, and had never been thrown into the society of 
 young men of her own rank in society, it is little to be won- 
 dered at that she gradually became attached to me. For my 
 part, I loved her from the very moment I first cast my eyes 
 upon her ; no one at all capable of appreciating female love- 
 liness could have clone otherwise. 
 
 " Moreover, our tastes were similar ; we both took intense 
 delight in wandering amongst the magnificent mountain seenery 
 of her native land, and talking of books and poetry and the 
 glowing beauties of nature, and amidst those mountainous 
 haunts, in one of our favorite walks, we one night mutually 
 whispered the sweet tale of love into each other's ears, and 
 plighted our mutual troth. 
 
 " The story of our love was told to the old lawyer, and hav- 
 ing taken every precaution to satisfy himself that the tale I
 
 2G0 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 told of myself and my position in life was true, he gave his 
 consent, with this proviso, that if, at the expiration of eighteen 
 months of absence from each other, our affection was still the 
 same, we should be married. 
 
 " This was hard to bear ; but upon this point the old man 
 was inexorable, and Lucy was too good a girl to disobey the 
 slightest wish, more especially the positive desire of her father ; 
 for the old gentleman had been father and mother to her, her 
 mother having died in giving her birth. I was on the point of 
 returning to the United States to pass my period of probation, 
 although I would have preferred remaining in Europe, for I felt 
 little inclined to settle seriously to business until our marriage 
 had taken place ; nevertheless, I felt that it was my duty to 
 return home, unless by farther extending my travel I could be 
 really useful to the firm in which, though the youngest member, 
 I was the leading partner. 
 
 " Fortunately, as I then thought, before I left Scotland I re- 
 ceived a letter from my business associates, informing me that 
 a lucrative offer had been made to them, asking for the esta- 
 blishment of a branch of the firm in Calcutta, and they wished 
 my advice and decision in the matter. If the offer was accept- 
 ed, however, they added, that it would be advisable for one of 
 the firm to visit the East Indies. 
 
 "Nothing could have been more acceptable to me at the 
 time than such an offer as this. I thought it the very thing I 
 wanted, and was overjoyed at the prospect thus afforded me of 
 visiting the East, and with the fancy that the eighteen months 
 of probation would pass rapidly away in the excitement of 
 travel. 
 
 " What short-sighted mortals we are ! How much misery 
 would have been spared me had that unlucky voyage never 
 been made! And yet, I have had my fair share of happiness, 
 after all. Perhaps it was all for the best. 
 
 " I mentioned my determination to Lucy and to her father, and 
 the old man expressed himself pleased with it, while Lucy her-
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 261 
 
 self, although she said she would sooner I could remain in Scot- 
 laud, was pleased that, since I must leave her, I was going to 
 India, for she had a brother there three years older than her- 
 self, who was a Captain in the Honorable East India Compa- 
 ny's service, and as she was ardently attached to this, her only 
 brother, she was glad of the opportunity that would thus be 
 afforded of our meeting each other, for she was confident, she 
 said, that I should like Arthur and that he would like me. 
 
 " I received several letters of introduction to gentlemen of 
 influence in Calcutta, through the kindness of old Mr. Forbes, 
 and was the bearer of a thousand remembrances of various 
 kinds from Lucy to her brother, and three weeks after I had 
 decided upon going, having written my partners to that effect, 
 I took my departure from Portsmouth on board the Honor- 
 able Company's ship Madagascar. 
 
 " After a pleasant passage of three months and a half I ar- 
 rived safely at Diamond Harbor, whence I sailed up to Cal- 
 cutta in the pilot boat, and having delivered my credentials I 
 was soon comfortably installed in good quarters, at the house 
 of a friend of old Mr. Forbes. 
 
 "Captain Forbes was, I was informed, stationed at Bangalore, 
 in the Madras Presidency — a long distance from Calcutta ; but 
 nevertheless, after I had satisfactorily arranged my affairs in 
 that city, I started for Bangalore on a visit to the brother of 
 my betrothed, whom I was most anxious to become acquainted 
 with. I travelled by dauk, or palanquin post, and though it 
 was the most expeditious way I could travel in those days, I 
 was a long weary time over my journey, as I travelled chiefly 
 by night, in order to avoid being exposed to the heat of the 
 day. 
 
 " At length I reached Bangalore, and having made myself 
 known to Capt. Forbes, I was most heartily welcomed and in- 
 troduced as a friend and relative of his family to his brother 
 officers. I found Arthur Forbes to be a high-spirited young 
 man, exceedingly gentlemanlike, and as handsome almost as
 
 262 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 his sister, considering the difference of the sexes, but his tem- 
 per was fiery, and that ebullition of spirits which in her was 
 pleasing, amounted with him almost to turbulence. Still, as I 
 have said, he was exceedingly kind to me ; he introduced me 
 to the officers' mess, where I dined three or four times a week, 
 and found the members a fine, gentlemanly set of fellows ; 
 then, he got up a tiger hunt, which I enjoyed amazingly, for 
 the excitement was something new to me. It was hunting on 
 a grander scale than ever I had witnessed before, although the 
 prairie hunts in my native land are quite as grand in one sense ; 
 but there is not the same danger in them which, strange to say, 
 gives such zest to a tiger hunt, and the skin of the splendid 
 Jaquor we brought back with us, for there are no Royal Ben- 
 gal Tigers in the vicinity of Bangalore, was bought by Capt. 
 Forbes and presented to me, that I might carry it as a trophy 
 of my valor to his sister Lucy. 
 
 " Thus several weeks were spe'nt very pleasantly, and the 
 day drew near on which I had arranged to take my departure 
 for Calcutta, complete my business arrangements there, and 
 returning to Scotland, marry Lucy and bear her away with me 
 to New York. 
 
 " In anticipation of this day, Captain Forbes had invited the 
 officers of a garrison of native troops at a short distance from 
 Bangalore to dine at his mess ; for in the absence of the Colo- 
 nel and Major on furlough, he, as senior captain, was com- 
 manding officer. Several of the officers of the civil service 
 were also invited, and altogether the affair promised to be the 
 grandest thing of the kind that had ever come off in Bangalore. 
 
 " The dinner passed off famously, and after dinner, having 
 enjoyed for some time the music of the native band, from the 
 verandah, while we smoked our hookahs, we returned to the 
 mess room, and according to a custom, but too prevalent in 
 those days in India, and one which carried off more lives than 
 all the sickness charged to the climate, we sat down to a regu- 
 lar drinking bout, which was prolonged until long past mid-
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 0(53 
 
 night. To be sure it was claret that we chiefly drank ; but 
 after a few bottles had been discussed, some foolish fellow pro- 
 posed that a glass of cognac should follow every third glass of 
 claret, to keep the cold, thin wine from disagreeing with the 
 stomach. Elated with wine as we all were, this proposition 
 was adopted nem. con., and in a very short time our mirth grew 
 uproarious. According to the various temperaments of the 
 men, some grew quarrelsome, some merry, and some maudlin- 
 ly sentimental, and after a time one of these latter proposed 
 the health of his sweetheart in England. 
 
 " ' The health of our sweethearts all round, and mine at the 
 top of the tree ; Kate O'Meara, of Kilkenny,' sung out an 
 Irish lieutenant, and immediately a perfect Babel of confusion 
 arose, each foolish, half-drunken fellow, insisting that the palm 
 of beauty should be given in favor of his own mistress. 
 
 " ' Decribe the girls— describe them and let an independent 
 jury decide which style of beauty is the fairest,' cried out some 
 one from the noisy throng. 
 
 " ' Aye, describe them ; describe them, and one after another 
 we'll toast the whole fair bevy,' cried out another, and it was 
 decided that such should be the order of the night, although 
 several of the party objected to any of their own female friends 
 being introduced into these descriptions, as might probably 
 be the case. « 
 
 " However, the fun went on ; and according to the peculiar 
 imaginative and descriptive powers of each narrator as it came 
 to his turn, a set of fancy portraits were drawn, so bewitching- 
 ly beautiful that the soul of an anchorite might have been fired 
 with the portraiture. 
 
 " At length it came to my turn, and I rose, and filling a 
 bumper of claret to the brim, I gave a toast — 
 
 " ' Lucy Forbes — the rose of Aberdeen.' 
 -"' Who is it that dares to introduce the name of my sister 
 on such an occasion as this V said Captain Forbes, raising his 
 head from the table on which it had been leaning ; for either
 
 264 * THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 from his more excitable temperament, or from his having drank 
 deeper than most of us, he was in that condition of incipient 
 intoxication which had the effect of rendering him quarrelsome. 
 
 " ' Sit down, Forbes; be quiet, man ; there's no harm done, 
 nor none intended by your friend and guest, and your sisters's 
 betrothed lover, that is going to assert the claims of his " ladye 
 love" to wear the crown of beauty,' said the junior captain of 
 the regiment. 
 
 " ' By G — d — no one shall desecrate the name of my sister, 
 by mentioning it in any way among a parcel of drunken 
 vagabonds, were he her husband, instead of her lover,' replied 
 Captain Forbes, rising from his seat, and proceeding in the 
 direction of the sword-rack. Some one very wisely restrained 
 him, and the arms were removed by another of the party. 
 
 " ' No matter,' said he, and he seized hold of a decanter by 
 the neck, adding, ' if any one dares mention my sister's name 
 again, [ will fling this at his head.' 
 
 " Unwilling, myself, that Lucy's name should be the occasion 
 of a drunken brawl, I sat silent, and the rest around the table 
 also held their tongues, as they had nothing to do with the 
 matter, probably not one of them knowing the young lady. 
 Here I hoped the silly quarrel would drop ; but Captain 
 Forbes was in that condition of inebriety, in which persons of 
 an excitable disposition are generally inclined to pick a quarrel, 
 and seeing us all remain quiet, he said : — 
 
 " ' A pretty set of fellows you are, to be cowed by one man ; 
 and you, sir,' addressing himself to me, ' you are a coward — 
 yes — a coward. No one but a fool would mention the name 
 of a lady in such a connection as this — and none but a coward, 
 having mentioned it, would be brow-beaten as you have been.' 
 
 " I still remained silent, though I had drank too much wine 
 myself to allow me to estimate the words of a man excited by 
 drink at their true value ; but my silence, instead of cooling 
 his passion, appeared to increase it, and he went on tauntingly 
 to say :
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 2G5 
 
 "'This comes of Lucy allowing her affection to be won by 
 a sneaking civilian. I swear by G — d a coward shall never 
 marry Lucy.' Then, suddenly rising from his chair, he almost 
 sprang towards me, and shook his fist in my face. 
 
 " I still managed to control my passions, while his comrades 
 appeared to be greatly annoyed at his violent conduct, and 
 cries of ' shame,' ' shame,' ' sit down,' were heard on all 
 sides. These symptoms of disapprobation exasperated the 
 Captain still more, and he struck me a blow in the face, which 
 caused the blood to flow in a stream from my nostrils, at the 
 same time saying : — 
 
 ' ; ' Now let us see how the coward will act.' 
 
 ' ; I have said that I was already heated with wine ; nothing 
 but the strong desire I had to avoid a quarrel with the brother 
 of Lucy, had restrained the passion that was boiling within me 
 on hearing those repeated taunts and bearing with them so 
 long. I could contain myself no longer. Maddened with rage 
 and semi-intoxication, and with the pain of the blow, I seized 
 a claret glass full of liquid that stood near me and dashed the 
 glass, wine and all, in the face of the Captain. His face and 
 lips were severely, cut and for a moment he reeled backwards, 
 then, seizing hold of a decanter by the neck, he broke it over 
 my head and laid me senseless on the floor, covered with blood 
 which was mingled with the purple wine. I recollected no- 
 thing more that took place in the mess-room that evening ; 
 when I was restored to consciousness, I found myself in bed, 
 feeble- from loss of blood, and upon questioning my Hindoo 
 attendant, I found that I had for some days been delirious from 
 the sufferings of a high fever. 
 
 " My medical attendant would not allow me to talk, and I 
 had to remain unconscious of what was going on abroad, until 
 I was so sufficiently recovered as to be declared by the phy- 
 sician to be in a state of convalescence. I then heard that 
 Captain Forbes, after I had been carried away from the mess- 
 room, had worked himself up into a state of maniacal fury, and 
 12
 
 206 THE VEILED PICTURE 
 
 had been put under restraint, for fear that he should injure 
 himself or others, and that on recoyering his senses, although 
 he had been told that I was dangerously ill, he had expressed 
 his determination to call me out, for insulting his sister, the 
 moment I recovered, if I recovered at all. It was in vain that 
 he was told by his brother officers that he alone was to blame ; 
 that he was the first aasressor, and that no insult had been 
 offered by me to his sister. He would listen to no argument 
 — the man appeared to be possessed by a demon, and swore 
 that nothing but my blood or his should wipe out the fancied 
 insult. 
 
 " That he was in earnest I had proof, the very day that I 
 was enabled to walk abroad ; for that very evening a young 
 cadet — a mere tool of the Captain's — brought me a challenge ; 
 all the other officers had positively refused to have anything 
 to do with the affair. 
 
 " The note was couched in a style which showed the maligni- 
 ty of the man, for he wrote that he did not wish me to reply 
 to him until my health was perfectly restored, for he was 
 aware of the necessity of physical health to a brave man — let 
 alone a coward — in an affair in which one of the parties was to 
 die on the field, as he was determined should be the case 
 in this affair, and he added a postscript, stating that if I ven- 
 tured to attempt to quit Bangalore without giving him the 
 satisfaction he sought, he would horsewhip me through the 
 Residency, and if I escaped his vengeance he would post me as 
 a coward and a scoundrel through the world. 
 
 "There was no way of dealing with such a madman, but to 
 let him have his own way, and I accordingly wrote a reply 
 that I was ready to meet him at any time and at any place he 
 should choose to appoint. As to attempting an apology, it 
 would have been absurd. He was the aggressor, not /, and 
 though I had never fought a duel, nor seen one fought, I felt 
 that to give way would be to show myself a craven. 
 
 " The meeting was arranged for the following morning, and
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 267 
 
 the young cadet already spoken of was to act on the part of 
 Capt. Forbes— I of course had to look out for a ' friend,' and 
 should have been utterly at a loss, had it not been for the kind- 
 ness of a lieutenant of Captain Forbes' company, who frankly 
 stated that I was the injured party, and that he. would stand by 
 me in this unpleasant business. 
 
 ' : It was to be expected that I could not look upon this tra- 
 gical termination of the tour I thought would have been so ad- 
 vantageous, without some forebodings as to the result, and 
 though during the remainder of the day I affected to assume 
 an appearance of cheerfulness, I was in no enviable frame of 
 ■ mind. It is by no means pleasant to reflect that within a few 
 hours you are to stand exposed to danger, even if the chances 
 are fair on both sides, and the reflection is still more unpleas- 
 ant when you are aware that you, ignorant of the mode of 
 proceeding in, so called, affairs of honor, are to meet a pro- 
 fessed duellist, as I had been informed was Captain Forbes. 
 
 " No doubt the gloomy reflections of the day acted upon my 
 excited fancy during my troubled slumbers that night ; but I 
 had scarcely retired to my cot, and even to the present day, 
 I do not think I was asleep, when I perceived a strange light 
 burning on the table at the foot of the bed. I knew I had put 
 out my candle on retiring to rest, and I called to my servant, 
 and asked him what was the reason that he had relighted the 
 candle. There w T as no reply, and I was on the point of rising 
 to put out the light, when the musquito netting, which hung in 
 thick folds at the foot of the bed, was withdrawn, and as clearly 
 as I see that sweet face depicted on the canvas now, I saw the 
 fair form of Lucy Forbes standing at my bedside. I was par- 
 alyzed with astonishment, and a sort of superstitious alarm 
 mingled ; my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, so that I 
 was unable to utter a syllable. 
 
 " The lovely girl seemed to be weeping bitterly. Her face 
 and lips were pale, and she stood slightly bending over the 
 cot, her lips moving as though in an endeavor to speak ; at
 
 268 THE VEILED PICTURE 
 
 length I heard her whisper, in a faint, almost unearthly voice, 
 ' Is it for this I have loved so well and so trustingly,' and she 
 held a Bible in her hand open at the ten commandments, and 
 her finger pointed out the sentence, 'Thou shalt not kill.' 
 
 " Unable, as I was, to speak or move, apparently held mo 
 tionless and speechless by some supernatural power, I made 
 the mental resolve that for Lucv's sake — come what might, I 
 would not be guilty of her brother's blood ; but would fire 
 my pistol in the air, and even as I made this resolve, the 
 tearful face gave way to a beaming smile, and the figure 
 vanished and I was left in darkness. So vivid was all this 
 to my mind, that although when the figure vanished I was- 
 able to move and rise, I could not think I had been dream- 
 ing, and I got out of bed, and, strange to say, the candla 
 on the table was hot and smoking, as though it had been 
 recently extinguished. I looked at my watch — it was just 
 past midnight — I had not lain down more than half an 
 hour. I called my servant, who was soundly sleeping on a 
 mat in one corner of the room, and asked him if he had 
 heard any noise or seen anything unusual. The man rose 
 up and rubbed his eyes and replied in the negative. I was 
 confident that he really had been sound asleep. 
 
 " I was still dozing at 4 o'clock, when my friend, the lieu- 
 tenant, entered my room and woke me, telling me it was time 
 to prepare, as we Avere to be on the ground at 6 o'clock. I 
 rose and partook of a cup of coffee, slightly dashed with 
 brandy, and having received elaborate instructions how to act 
 and how to take aim, we set out for the ground, which we just 
 reached m time, for Captain Forbes and his second and the 
 Doctor of the regiment with his assistant were already there. 
 "VVe bowed stiffly to each other and were placed in position bv 
 our seconds, after the ground had been measured. I then 
 received the parting injunction how to take aim from the lieu 
 tenant, which, however, I did not heed, as I had determined to 
 fire in the air, and the signal was given. We fired simul-
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 269 
 
 taneously, I discharging my pistol in the air, and the bullet 
 from the pistol of my opponent passing through my hat. 
 
 "The seconds now attempted to interfere, stoutly asserting 
 that Captain Forbes ought now to be satisfied ; but he savagely 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " ' We will have no cowardly subterfuges here — I said it was 
 to be death to one or both, and so it shall be.' 
 
 " He would not listen to reason, and again the pistols were 
 loaded, and again we fired, this time the ball of my opponent 
 passing through the fleshy part of my arm, and I again firing 
 in the air. A second time the seconds sought to arrange mat- 
 ters, but in vain, and we were again placed in position for a 
 third fire. 
 
 " The wound I had received and the murderous pertinacity 
 of my opponent had angered me, and it seemed as though I 
 were throwing away the chances of my own life, and I almost 
 determined to take aim this time ; but as the thought suggested 
 itself, I could almost fancy I heard the same low voice whisper 
 in my ear, ' Thou shalt do no murder,' and I again resolved to 
 discharge my pistol in the air. 
 
 " Whatever was the cause, whether passion had unnerved 
 him, or his hand trembled, I cannot say, but this time Captain 
 Forbes fired wide of his mark, the bullet burying itself in a 
 tree near me. He furiously threw the pistol aside, declaring 
 it to be useless, and demanded another weapon from another 
 case. 
 
 " ' Shame ! murder ! shame !' burst from the lips of the by- 
 standers as they witnessed this brutal obstinacy ; but now my 
 own passions were fully aroused. I no longer heeded the 
 supernatural warning, but I resolved to fire, and if possible 
 disable my antagonist. 
 
 " Again we fired — again Captain Forbes — the dead shot — 
 fired wide of his mark ; but my bullet, aimed at his right arm, 
 had gone through his heart. He sprang wildly into the air, 
 and fell full length upon the ground — a corpse.
 
 270 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 " I was seized with horror at thus having caused the death 
 of a fellow -creature, though it was certainly through no fault 
 on my part. So satisfied were the authorities with the account 
 of the spectators respecting my conduct, that I was imme- 
 diately discharged from custody (for I had given myself up) 
 after an immediate and mere cursory examination. 
 
 " The body of Captain Forbes was borne to the barracks, 
 and preparations for the funeral were immediately made ; he 
 was to be interred on the following night. 
 
 " I was in a state of mind bordering on distraction for the 
 remainder of the day, and at night I threw myself down on 
 my couch, after having passed hours pacing up and down 
 my room. 
 
 " Again I had scarcely lain down, without having this time 
 extinguished the light, when I perceived a motion in the cur- 
 tain, which I had drawn close around the cot, and again I dis- 
 tinctly saw the figure of Lucy. The features looked paler and 
 thinner than before, and there was a look of mingled love and 
 reproach in her countenance, as she slowly raised her hand and 
 pointed her finger upwards. At this moment I saw blood 
 streaming from her lips, and I placed my hands before my 
 eyes, perfectly transfixed with horror. When I removed my 
 hands the figure had vanished. I slept not that long, dismal 
 night, but as the slow hours of day dragged along, my body 
 could no longer bear up against the weariness that assailed 
 ' me, and I slumbered until I was awakened by the preparations 
 being made for the funeral. It was near midnight — and I 
 rose up and closed my door, and with a feeling of horrible 
 sickness at my heart, again flung myself upon the bed and 
 closed my eyes. A funeral procession seemed to pass before 
 me — but there were two coffins, and I seemed to be drawn by 
 some mysterious powers towards them, and on the plates I 
 read — the simple words ' Arthur Forbes, Capt. H. C. S.,' 
 ' Lucy Forbes' — that was all, and as I opened my eyes, I heard
 
 THE VEILED PICTURE. 271 
 
 the discharge of guns over the grave of the deceased officer — 
 the funeral was over. 
 
 " I returned to England — a sad and almost broken-hearted 
 man. The news of his son's death had reached Mr. Forbes 
 by mail before I arrived, and although I wrote to him and 
 although he had received from other sources an account of my 
 conduct in this unhappy affair, he refused to see me. 
 
 " 1 learnt that Lucy had died suddenly from the bursting of 
 a blood-vessel, in an illness said to have been caused by a 
 fright after a horrid dream, and, singular enough, the dates of 
 her death and interment were the same as those on which I 
 had seen the fearful visions I have described. I visited her 
 grave secretly ; by bribing the sexton I was admitted into the 
 family vault, and there, before me, I saw a fac simile of the 
 identical coffin I had seen in the last of three supernatural visions, 
 and on the coffin was simply inscribed, on a silver plate, ' Lucy 
 Forbes.' 
 
 " I sailed for home, bringing with me as a most cherished 
 treasure that portrait (pointing to the one on the wall) which 
 Lucy had sat for prior to my departure for India, Two years 
 after this, 1 married your mother, and she made me a good 
 wife until the hour of her death. I told her this sad story, and 
 often have we sat and talked over the untimely death of the 
 lovely original. 
 
 " To my children I have never heretofore told the story ; 
 but now you, my son, are about to leave me to go forth and 
 do battle with the world. May this sad, strange tale be of 
 service to you ; in your hours of youthful enjoyment, beware 
 of intoxication, and curb the violence of your temper. Above 
 all, let nothing tempt you to fight a duel. In any case, it is 
 a ridiculous and insane and wicked method of settling a differ- 
 ence, for scarcely in any cause can it be justifiable. I have 
 never yet been able to account for the supernatural appearance 
 of the form of Lucy at my bedside, but a supernatural warn- 
 ing I deem it to have been, and perhaps had I obeyed the
 
 272 THE VEILED PICTURE. 
 
 warning, and to the last refused to fire at Lucy's brother, all 
 might have been well. 
 
 " Now, my boy, good night ; I have told you the history 
 you have so long been anxious to hear of the veiled picture. I 
 would now be alone." 
 
 I left the room, and did not see my father again that night. 
 In the morning he shook my hand as I got into the stage, and 
 whispered in my ear, " Eemember the moral of the Veiled 
 Picture."
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 OR, 
 
 PETER MULROON'S ADVENTURES 
 
 IN NEW YORK. 
 
 We were still rusticating in the country. It was not the 
 season of the year that is generally chosen for a country so- 
 journ, for, as I observed in my last sketch, it was winter time, 
 and the snow lay deep upon the ground and the wind whistled 
 shrilly through the leafless branches, not with the musical 
 sound that it gives forth when the sweep of the breeze is re- 
 sisted by masses of heavy foliage ; but with the melancholy 
 dirge-like tone that renders the sound of the tempest so fearful 
 to a landsman's ear at sea, as it whirls amidst the bare shrouds 
 of the ship's rigging, and shrieks ominously among the rattling 
 cordage, and yet there is music even in the storm to those who 
 have ears as well as eyes open to the beauty and majesty of 
 nature in all her phases, and there is beauty in the country at 
 all seasons of the year, albeit that the sharp sleet may rattle 
 against the windows and the wind may whistle dolefully adown 
 the chimney ; for snugly ensconced within, one may bid defi- 
 ance to the storm without, and watch the leafless branches and 
 the bare trunks of the trees bending wildly yet gracefully to 
 the blast, and see the snow spread its carpet over the earth, 
 purer and whiter than lawn. In the city the pure snow is soon 
 trodden into slush and mud, and even the return of fine frosty 
 12*
 
 274 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 weather "brings no relief, for still the same filth and swash is to 
 be met with everywhere in the dirty streets. Winter in the 
 city is a lasting purgatory that is scarcely remitted by the re- 
 turn of spring ; winter in the country has its ever recurring 
 pleasures, as have all the seasons where the pure fresh air of 
 heaven can be breathed, free from the dust and filth that ga- 
 thers in the misty atmosphere of the crowded city. 
 
 It was a wintry night, then, when with a party of friends 
 who had come to spend the Christmas holidays with us, we 
 were all seated, as I have heretofore described, under my fa- 
 ther's hospitable roof tree ; but the melancholy music of the 
 storm without was unheard by the joyous party, or was only 
 alluded to occasionally for the purpose of giving a richer zest 
 to the mirth, or a deeper inspiration to the draughts of hot ale 
 and spiced wine that passed from hand to hand amidst the 
 company. My father liked to keep up the fashions of old 
 times, and as he was of Scotch descent, he insisted on having 
 the " yule " log extended across the ample chimney every 
 evening during the Christmas holidays, while round the room 
 and suspended from the ceiling were huge branches of ever- 
 greens, bringing to recollection the stories we had heard and 
 read of Christmas associations in the old country, when 
 
 " The misletoe hung in the castle hall," 
 and as the pretty girls passed beneath or were dragged not 
 unwillingly by the robust, and eager swains, they received a 
 salute uj:>on their rosy lips and many kind wishes for their 
 happiness, and many hopes that they might live to enjoy many 
 happy returns of the day. Another fashion of my father's was 
 on such occasions as these to assemble the farming men and 
 to allow them to share in the festivities, for on these meetings 
 social distinctions were forgotten, and all joined in the general 
 hilarity or strove with song or tale to add their quota of amuse- 
 ment to the party. My father was famous for his pleasant 
 method of telling a story ; for it makes a mighty difference 
 how a story is told — there is often a great deal more in the
 
 M7 FATHER'S HEAD FARM IN G-MAN. 275 
 
 manner than in the matter, and he was so often called upon by 
 the juveniles of the party that no wonder the good old man 
 sometimes found himself weary, and could scarcely rack his 
 imagination to remember something new that would bear suf- 
 ficient embellishment of fancy to render it interesting. 
 
 Again and again had he been called upon, and on the night 
 in question he declared off, and said he should depute that por- 
 tion of the entertainment to some other person amongst the 
 company. 
 
 " But who is to tell the story V was the query all round. 
 
 "I couldn't tell a story for the life of me," said one ; " nor could 
 I," said another. So at last my father again came to the rescue. 
 
 " If none of you can tell a story," said he, " I know who 
 can, and one I am sure will amuse you. I have heard it more 
 than once, and every time laughed heartily at it, and can hear 
 it with pleasure, and laugh at it again. Here, Peter," continued 
 he, calling upon the headman of his farm, a merry, good-heart- 
 ed Irishman of some fifty years of age. " Here, Peter Mul- 
 roon, step forward and take another cup of wine, and then tell 
 these ladies and gentlemen your adventures, or rather your mis- 
 adventures when you first emigrated from the old country to 
 New York." 
 
 Thus appealed to, Peter came forward, nothing loth, although 
 he considered it etiquette to appear unwilling and to require a 
 little pressing, although, God bless the man, shamefacedness 
 and he had parted company long ago, if indeed they had ever 
 met, and having saluted the assembly, he took his pipe from 
 his lips, and having gulped down a large glass of spiced currant 
 wine, thus commenced : 
 
 "Gintlemin and leedies, I'll tell you something that will de- 
 vart you if I can, though sorra a bit am I gifted with the gab 
 of spaking before ginteel company. 
 
 " It's me thravels from ould Ireland till America that the 
 masther has called upon me to relate, and if so be as you've
 
 27G MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 never hearn me tell the story before, sure I'm willing and rea- 
 dy to oblige yees." 
 
 " No, Peter, none of us have ever heard you tell the story ; 
 how should we, when we don't know that we have had the plea- 
 sure of seeing you before V was the general rejoinder. 
 
 So Peter went on thus : 
 
 " You must know, then, that it's nearly thirty-four years 
 ago since the notion o' thravelling came into my head. I was 
 then a smart active young fellow, with an eye like a hawk, and 
 a leg, savin' the ladies' prisence, as nate as ever had a stocking 
 dhrawn over it, or was ornamented by a bunch of ribands tied 
 to the knees of me breeches. Och ! musha, but I had the leg 
 to go a coorting wid, and no mistake, and mighty proud I was 
 of that same illegant leg, I can assure yees ; but that's neither 
 here nor there, so I will go on wid my thravels, baring any di- 
 grissions I may make occasionally. 
 
 " ' Well,' says I to myself, one fine morning, while I was 
 trenching the young praties in my mother's garden, ' what's 
 the use,' says I, ' of nateral janius, if a fellow lets it get moul- 
 dy. It's an ould and a thrue sayin', if yees ivants to sell your 
 pig ye must kape in the middle of thefai?; so bedad ! hit or miss, 
 as the blind man said when he beat his wife, I'll be off to 'Meri- 
 ca, that's the place for a man to make his fortune, and if im- 
 pudence can do it, sure I'll not be behind hand wid it.' 
 
 " So I bids the ould woman good bye and much luck wid 
 her breed of pigs, and the next morning seen me wid a short 
 stick in my fist and ten sovereigns # in my pocket, trudging 
 along on the road to Dublin on my way to Liverpool to take 
 shipping for Amerika, whistling the ' Eakes of Marlow,' as I 
 wint along, to keep away the lowness of spirits that was akreepin' 
 over me when I thought of the poor ould mother I had left be- 
 hind, and I detarmined in my mind to send a ship over for her 
 so soon as ever I'd made my fortune' ' or,' says I to meself, 
 ' may be it's coming for her meself I'll be afther a few years in a 
 coach and six wid my sarvants in cocked hats and silk stock-
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 277 
 
 ings ; and meself all covered over wid goold and diamonds, and 
 a beautiful young crayture of a 'Mexican wife a walking by me 
 side dhressed in silks and satins and an illcgant long white 
 train dhragging afther her through the mud, for musha, but 
 she'll be too proud to lift it out of the dirt herself,' and thin, 
 saving yer presence, leddies and gintlemen, I screwed meself 
 round to take a peep at the nate swelling calf of me leg, 
 and down I came plop in the mud and tore the sate of me 
 breeches. 
 
 " ' Ah, musha bad luck to yees, for a proud boy,' says I to 
 meself when I saw the accident to me new bree'ehes, 'sure,' I 
 says, ' the spelling book always told me that pride must have 
 a fall, an' may be it's an ill omen this is ; but sure I'll not be 
 afther taking it so. My breeches is thin,' said I, ' and me 
 heart's light, and sure' ' a light heart an' a thin pair of breeches 
 will go the world merrily round,' as the ould song says.' 
 
 " I needn't take up your time telling you how I got to Dub- 
 lin and took passage to Liverpool in a ship full of hogs, for 
 they had no staymers plyin' to and fro in those days, nor how 
 I rowled in among the hogs, and the brutes catched hould of 
 my torn breeches and most had 'em off, so that when I got to 
 Liverpool I found myself under the needcessity of buyin' me a 
 new pair, which took one of me sovereigns, though I had none 
 to spare, seein' as I had a long voyage across the say before 
 me, nor how I bargained with the captain of a sailing vessel to 
 carry me across the herring pond for two pound ten, meself 
 finding oatmeal and praties ; nor may be would yees be car- 
 ing to listen till the mishaps of the passage, how the male and 
 praties got short and how the wather, I'd swear till it, was got 
 for cheapness out of some muddy ditch, and mighty little of 
 it was there at that, nor how the dirthy spalpeen of a skipper 
 sowld the passengers' praties and male at a price that .soon 
 emptied their pockets of the little money they had, and the 
 poor cratures that had no money were half starved, and would 
 have been all starved if it hadn't been for the charity of the
 
 278 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 other passengers ; but Pettier Mulroou was not the boy to care 
 for such thrifles as these, though when I landed at New York 
 sure I'd hardly got a testher left in my pocket, what with buy- 
 ing praties for myself and male for the poor misfortunate dis- 
 solute passengers. 
 
 " ' Never mind,' says I, ' divil a ha'porth I care, sure its in 
 a free counthry I am, and me purty face and figure,' says I, 
 ' '11 soon make my fortune,' and I slapped me leg and glanced 
 aside as I said this ; ' and now,' says I, ' now for the fortune.' 
 
 " But musha, bad cess to it, divil the taste of a fortune could 
 I see lying about anywhere ; the houses looked as black and as 
 hard as stone and mortar could make 'em, and the people 
 looked as black and as hard as the houses. However, ' many 
 a bad beginning makes a good ending,' says I, so griping my 
 shillalah tighter in me fist I marched right into the town, up 
 one street and down another, looking into the shop windows as 
 I passed, and wondering at all the grandeur that I saw. After 
 thropesing the town for four mortial hours, I found meself in 
 the same spot where I had started from. 
 
 ' : ' What's to be done next ?." says I, and sure a bright 
 thought struck me. ' I'll inquire of everybody 1 meet the 
 shortest and wisest way of making a fortune. Somebody sure 
 will be able to put me on the right track of it.' 
 
 ' : But I was wrong ; everybody I axed laughed at and jeered 
 me ; one chap tould me the surest way of rising in the world 
 was up a ladder wid a hod of morthar on me showldher ; and 
 another asshured me that I could not fail of making an impres- 
 sion upon the public if I joined the labors of half-a-dozen gintle- 
 nicn who were knocking dacency into the pavin' stones wid big 
 wooden mallets. 'Twas lucky for the spalpeen he didn't wait 
 for me answer, or I'd have left him as nate an impression of 
 my little sapling on his skull as would sarve to keep me in his 
 mind for many a day. 
 
 " Night was now coming on, and without as much as would 
 pay turnpike for a walking-stick in me pocket, I was beginning
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 279 
 
 to think that I should have the wide world for a feather-bed 
 and the beautiful sky with the stars shinin' so bright for a 
 speckled counterpane, when, good luck to me, I saw a smart, 
 well-dressed young woman a stindin' at a hall door. 
 
 " ' Who's afraid V says I to myself: ' I'll put my commedher 
 on that young lady or me name's not Pether Mulroon,' says I. 
 ' If her heart's made of the customary faymale materials she'll 
 take pithy on me dissolate situation.' 
 
 " Wid that I walks up to the door, and making a bow to 
 her in the most engaging manner I could consaive, I begun a 
 tellin' her me story ; but before I could get two words out, 
 she threw her arms about me neck and gave me a kiss that 
 nearly took away me breath. 
 
 " ' Ah, thin dear, is it yei'self that's here V says she. 
 
 " ' Divil a doubt of it mam,' says I, making answer and look- 
 ing very hard at the young lady. 
 
 " ' And what on airth brought you to these parts !' says she. 
 
 " ' Bad luck, I believe,' says I, ' if I'm to get no better treat- 
 ment than I've met already.' 
 
 " ' Come in, thin,' says the young lady ; ' the masther and 
 misthress are out takin' tay, and there's nobody at home but 
 the masther's ould aunt, and she's in bed these two hours. So 
 come down to the kitchen and we'll have a comfortable talk of 
 ould times. God help you for a poor gomoleagh I but you 
 must be kilt with hunger acushla. Stop a bit and I'll get you 
 something for your supper. There's a piece of could beef in 
 the larder.' 
 
 " You may be sure I was mighty astonished to meet wid all 
 this kindness, and me a poor dissolate stranger, and all this 
 time I was a thinking who the kind, tender-hearted young fay- 
 male could be. Just then the light passed before her face, and 
 I thought I recollected her. I jumped oft* my sate, and giving 
 me shillalah a twirl that sent it a spinning against the ceiling, 
 I says :
 
 280 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 " ' Sure, an' you're Peggy Darly from Ballycushin, the next 
 parish to mine on the ould sod V 
 
 " ' Sure and I am,' says she, ' and you're Pether Mulroon, 
 that was the natest lad in Bally macary. I recollected your 
 fay hires as soon as yees began to spake.' 
 
 " Well, wid that I up and danced a bit of a jig up and down 
 the kitchin', throwing off me paces beautiful, and ended by 
 giving Peggy a smack on her rosy lips you might have heard 
 a mile off. ' To think I should meet Peggy Daly in 'Merikey,' 
 says I, ' and me such blundhering omadhoun as not to have 
 known the beautiful eyes of yees when I first saw you.' 
 
 " Peggy blushed and bid me not to be rude, but for all that 
 I saw she liked the kiss I gave her. 
 
 " Well, in less time than I can tell you, Peggy had a beau- 
 tiful dish of beef on the table before me. The sight of it made 
 my teeth wather, and I was preparing for a grand attack upon 
 it, when ding — there came a thundering ring at the door, that 
 sounded all over the house. 
 
 " ' Holy Mother o' Moses, that's the masther's ring,' says 
 Peggy, turnin' as white as a turnip ; ' I'm murthered and ruined 
 forever.' 
 
 " ' Tare and ages, don't say so Peggy,' says I, ' can't you 
 hide me anywhere 1 ?' 
 
 " Ring — cling a ding — a ding — ding goes the bell again, as 
 though the house was a pulling down. 
 
 " ' There, he'll break the door down if he's kept waiting,' 
 says Peggy, trimbling from the riband in her hair to her shoe- 
 strings. 
 
 " ' I'll creep into an auger hole,' says I. 
 
 " ' Stop,' says she, ' there's an ould lumber-room up stairs 
 that you can hide in. Here, up these back stairs with you. 
 At the top of the second landing turn to the right, and the first 
 room on the left is the one. Whist! make no noise now.' 
 
 " ' Nabockloshf says I, and I began to mount the stairs as 
 softly as a fly upon blither ; but when I came to the second
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 281 
 
 landing 1 could not tell whether it was the left hand turn and 
 the right hand door I was to take. I was fairly bothered 
 between them, and then I stood in the dark, till at last I took 
 the left hand turn for luck, and coming to a door on the right 
 hand I opened quite aisy and walked in. 
 
 " ' All's right,' thinks I, and I began to grope about in the 
 dark for a sate of some kind, when I bobbed my head against 
 a bed-post. 
 
 " ' Small thanks to you for that,' says I, and stretching out 
 my hand I laid it plump upon the nose of somebody in bed. 
 
 " ' Who's there V cried a voice that sounded like a cracked 
 fiddle under a blanket. 
 
 " ' Dished again ; by the powers, I've got into the ould aunt's 
 room as sure as there's turf in Athlone,' says I. 
 
 " ' Thieves, murdther, fire, robbery, murdther,' bawled the 
 ould body at the pitch of her voice ; and tumbling out on the 
 floor on the opposite side of the bed, she rushed out of the 
 room, screaming all sorts of murdther as she rushed down 
 stairs. 
 
 " ' What's to be done now ?' says I. ' I'll either be hanged 
 or shot for a robber if I don't get out of this,' and there was no 
 time to lose, for I heard the masther calling for his blunderbus 
 and pistols, and in another minute I might have had more slugs 
 in my body than ever there was in a head of spring cabbage. 
 
 " 1 looked out of the window. It was four stories from the 
 ground — the sight made my head turn. I looked up the chim- 
 ney — it was as black and as narrow as a dog's throat. How- 
 ever, it was no time to stand upon thrifles, so getting into the 
 chimney by dint of squeezing and scrouging, I managed at last 
 to get to the top. What to do next I did not know ; so letting 
 myself down again till I was over the fire-place, I listened and 
 listened, but not a word or a sound could I hear from the room 
 below. 
 
 " ' All's quiet there ; I've put them on a wrong scent,' says 
 J to myself, and with that I let myself slither down into the
 
 282 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 grate, and stepped out upon the hearth and found myself in an 
 illigant little room with a lamp lighted upon a table in the 
 centre of it. The wall was all hung round with curtains of rale 
 silk, and lovely pictures and little images of white marble were 
 stuck here and there about the room. There was a beautiful 
 carpet, too, upon the flure, that it went agin my conscience to 
 tread upon ; and a small sophy beside the table, with chairs 
 and stools and everything complate but the bed — that had 
 vanished. I could not tell how. I rubbed my forehead, and 
 there sure enough was the lamp, near as big as a hen"s egg, 
 that 1 got when I run my head against the bed-post in the 
 dark — there could be no mistake about that. So I began to 
 ponthcr and think, and at last it struck me that in coming down 
 the chimney again I had got into the wrong flue, and I was now 
 in another house. 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, 'maybe it's all for good luck, as the mouse 
 said when he fell into the male-tub.' 
 
 " At that moment I heard a key turn in the door, and as I 
 had no wish to meet any of the family in my unpresentable 
 condition wid my face and my clothes all soot, I slipped behind 
 one of the window-curtains just as a fine young man came into 
 the room leading a party girl. 
 
 " ' Whist,' says I, ' sure here's a coortin' scene a going on,' 
 and so sure enow it was, for I soon heard them billing and 
 cooing like a couple of doves. 
 
 " ' Pether Mulroon,' says I to myself, ' it's barely dacent of 
 yees to be listening to such a scene as this. It's not honor- 
 able, Pether,' and just then when I was thinking what I should 
 do next, I heard the lady begin to sob, and then the gentleman 
 pressed her more, and says he, ' It's nothing but right that you 
 should lave your guardian and let him make the best he can of 
 it ; sure you're of age and you love me,' says he, ' and he's no 
 right to keep you mewed up here." 
 
 "And then there was more kissing and whispering, and then 
 the lady consinted to run away.
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 283 
 
 " ' You can't have a better chance,' says the young man, ' for 
 your guardian's gone into the country, and to-morrow he'll bo 
 back, and then ye'll be fast agin.' 
 
 " After a little more talk, ' I wish we had some dacent boy 
 to carry down the thrunks,' says the young man ; ' stay, Lucy, 
 till I go and see if I can find one, for we must have them out 
 before the servants return." 
 
 " Wid that I comes forard, and making my best bow I offers 
 my services. 
 
 " ' Who the divil are you V says the young man, looking 
 mighty savage at me, while the young lady was about to" scream, 
 when he stopped her, for they were as feard of being found 
 out as I was. 
 
 " So I up and towld my story, and as lovers are generally 
 tindther hearted they believed me, and says the young man, 
 says he, ' Pether, ye say that's your name, if you'll help us 
 out with the thrunks and dhrive us where I direct ye, may be 
 it's the best night's work you've ever done, for I had rather 
 sit by the lady than dhrive,' says he, ' for the poor crayture 
 wants support.' 
 
 "'Whist!' says I, ' Pether's the boy that'll help a loving 
 couple out of the hands of a grumpy guardian any how,' and 
 so I shoulders the thrunks and carries them down stairs, and 
 sure enough there was a carriage waiting, and into it we got 
 and drove a good many miles into the counthry until we stopped 
 at a pleasant house, which the young gentleman said belonged 
 to him, and there the priest, or the magistrate, as I afterwards 
 learnt, was a waiting, and the young couple were buckled to. 
 
 " Well, to make a long story short, the gentleman axed me 
 the next day, when they were agoing to start a travelling away 
 out West, whether I was willing to accept a situation upon his 
 farm, and as I had had enough experience in one day to find 
 that goold was not to be picked up in the streets of New 
 York, I accepted the offer, and I lived there many years, and 
 though I did not send a ship for my mother, nor yet go home
 
 284 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 
 
 wid a coach and six to bring her out to Amerikey, in the coorse 
 of a few years I had saved money enough to fetch the ould 
 woman out, and she lived with me till she died, five years 
 agone, when I first came to be head man on this farm. And 
 there, gentlemen and ladies, was the termination of my thra- 
 vels from ould Ireland till Amerikey." 
 
 " And what became of Peggy Darly, Peter?" asked one of 
 the ladies. 
 
 " Oh, sure ma'am, poor Peggy lost her situation, for the 
 masther and misthress would'nt believe her story, and would 
 have it that she had let in robbers, and so she was turned out 
 widout a characther, and a hard job the poor crayture had to 
 get intil another place. 
 
 " Howsomever, at last she succeeded, as she afterwards tould 
 me, and lived there a good many years. 
 
 " It was a great many years after the adventures of that 
 evening before I saw her again ; but on one occasion having 
 been sent up to New York to sell some horses for my masther, 
 who should I meet but poor Peggy, looking as nate and spry 
 and handsomer than ever. 
 
 "So I makes bowld to go up to her, and says I, 'Peggy, 
 I'm Pether Mulroon,' and Peggy she says, 'Pether, ye ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself for the throuble ye caused me. 1 
 was turned out of my place all because of ye,' says she, ' and 
 was well nigh starving in the streets.' 
 
 " ' Peggy,' I replied, ' shure, my poor darlint, it was not my 
 fault, for I was nigh being hanged and kilt for murder and rob- 
 bery,' and afther a while we made all right, and I axed her 
 where she lived and said I would call and see her before I left 
 the city. 
 
 ts But she looked shyly at me, and replied : — 
 
 "'Never mind calling upon me, Pether, I've had one call 
 too many of yours already ;' but after some small talk and 
 blarney I persuaded her to get lave to come out and walk with 
 me on a place they call the Batthery, in the evening, and in
 
 MY FATHER'S HEAD FARMING-MAN. 285 
 
 the course of our conversation I axed her ' did'nt she mean to 
 get married, for it was a shame,' said I, ' to see such a purty, 
 sensible girl a living single,' and she sighed and said she hadn't 
 got a beau as she liked and perhaps them as she liked did'nt 
 like her, and says I, ' who is that you like, Peggy V and she 
 blushed as red as a peony rose, and I felt my heart didthering 
 within my bosom, and Peggy began a thrimbling as she hung 
 on to my arm, and after a while she says : — 
 
 " ' Pether, when you go back to the country again, it'll be a 
 long time before I see you any more, perhaps never,' and she 
 sighed again, deeper than ever, and at length I made bould to 
 ask her would she go into the country with me and be my wife, 
 and she whispered yes ; and determined to strike while the 
 iron was hot, I married her before I left, and I took a wife 
 home as well as the money I got for my masther's horses ; and 
 here she is, here's Peggy Darly, now Peggy Mulroon, herself," 
 he added, as he pushed forward a motherly looking middle 
 aged woman, who had been blushing and pulling at his coat to 
 make him desist as he was. telling his story. 
 
 " A right good wife has Peggy made me," he added, as be- 
 fore the whole company he gave the good woman a kiss as 
 hearty as if it had been that of a lover. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen and ladies," said he, " you've heard Pe- 
 ther Mulroon's story. Here's health and long life and pros- 
 perity to yees all."
 
 THE RED CLOAK: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MURDER AT THE ROADSIDE INN. 
 
 A TALE OF NEW YORK IN OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The strongest argument held by those persons who are op- 
 posed to capital punishment is, that many persons innocent of 
 crime are known to have suffered an ignominious death on the 
 scaffold. I believe these instances are rare ; but it is horrible 
 to reflect that one single instance should have ever occurred. 
 If a convicted criminal were, instead of being doomed to death, 
 made to suffer the living death of life-long imprisonment, 
 should it ever be proved that he was innocent, while he still 
 lived, although nothing could ever recompense him for the long 
 and unmerited suffering he has endured, at least, he could have 
 the satisfaction of knowing that at last his innocence was proved 
 to the world ; he would meet with the sympathy of all men, 
 and his relatives and friends could again rally around him and 
 receive him amongst them with a fondness and affection 
 rendered stronger than ever on account of the undeserved cal- 
 amity to which he had been subjected and the years of mental 
 anguish and physical privation that had ensued. 
 
 I well recollect a story my father, who was strongly op-
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 287 
 
 posed to the system of capital punishment, used to tell. I will 
 relate it ; and when the reader has perused it, he will acknow 
 ledge that he had reason to hold the strong opinions he did 
 upon this question, although in his time the subject had not 
 began to occupy the attention of the community. Fortunately 
 for him ; happily for the honor of his relatives, his innocence of a 
 dreadful crime that was imputed to him, was proved before 
 the dread sentence was passed, and he stepped forth from his 
 prison house again a free man, without a stain upon his 
 character ; but the horrible suffering he endured during the 
 short period of his incarceration, and when he was brought out 
 into open court, exposed to the unpitying gaze of hundreds of 
 spectators, who came to witness the show, left a painful im- 
 pression upon his mind which was never thoroughly eradi- 
 cated. It rendered him nervous and bashful until his dying 
 day. 
 
 In the year 1808, when Marinus Willett was Mayor of the 
 city of New' York, my father, then a young man of twenty 
 years of age, first visited the city, in the hope of obtaining 
 some employment in a merchant's counting-room that might 
 enable him to support himself decently, and perhaps by-and- 
 by to better his fortunes. My grand-father was the owner of 
 a small farm in the vicinity of Troy, N. Y., and having given 
 my fither a better education than, in those days, generally fell 
 to the lot of farmer's sons, he had at a suitable age placed him 
 in a store in Albany, and as he grew older, thinking that the 
 city of New York offered a wider field for a young man to 
 push his fortune, he had sent him thither with several letters 
 of recommendation to eminent merchants of New York from 
 merchants in Albany, and with such a slender stock of money 
 as he was able to afford. Forty-five years ago travel to and 
 from New York was very different to what it is at present, and 
 it sometimes occupied a week or more to effect the passage in 
 one of the North River sloops, which at that period carried 
 passengers between the capital of the State and the great com-
 
 288 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 mercaal emporium. On this occasion there was only one pas- 
 senger on board the sloop besides my father — an elderly gen- 
 tleman, whose fine, benevolent features at once arrested my 
 father's attention, and the old gentleman himself seemed to be 
 equally pleased with his youthful companion. He was one of 
 those kind-hearted persons whose minds do not grow aged as 
 their hairs grow gray ; his heart still possessed all the freshness 
 of youth, although his once buoyant disposition was sobered 
 down to a habitual, even cheerfulness which comported well 
 with his venerable aspect. He was one of those old men 
 whom children naturally incline to, and whose society youth 
 seek out and find a pleasure in. Be sure when an infant looks 
 up smilingly in the face of an aged stranger and when children 
 gambol around him or sit quietly upon his knee listening to 
 the pretty stories he loves to tell them — be sure that that man 
 has a heart formed for friendship and love. The reason of 
 grown men and women may be deceived in this respect — that 
 of children is rarely deceived, if ever. 
 
 During the weary days that passed on the journey, my 
 father had made the kind old gentleman his confidant, and had 
 received a great deal of friendly advice from him ; and more 
 than that, he had told my father that he had some influence in 
 New York, and as he was aware that a stranger in a large city 
 was exposed to many temptations and difficulties, he w T ould 
 himself endeavor to provide him with a situation in the house 
 of one of his own friends, who was in business as a merchant 
 
 in Broad street. 
 i 
 
 The old gentleman, whose name was Withers, was a planter 
 from the South, and he was on his annual northern tour, partly 
 for pleasure and partly for the purpose of making the purchase 
 of such necessaries as would be required on his plantation, on 
 his return home. Of course he had a considerable amount of 
 money with him, and on one occasion when he happened to 
 mention this in the hearing of the captain of the sloop, my 
 father says he observed a singular expression pass over the
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 289 
 
 man's face, but at the time he thought nothing of it, and 
 in due time the little vessel arrived in sight of the city of 
 New York. 
 
 It was getting late in the evening, and as the wind and tide 
 were both against the vessel, the captain determined to run 
 her as close as possible in shore and then cast anchor for the 
 night. This having been done, he approached to the seat near 
 the traflrail of the sloop, on which the old gentleman and my 
 father were sitting. 
 
 " We are still a goodish bit from the city," said he, "and 
 if you gentlemen think you will find it tedious staying on board 
 the sloop, my mate and I are going ashore to an inn hard by 
 to see some old acquaintances and stay for the night, and you 
 can go along with us." 
 
 " Can we get any conveyance into New York in the morn- 
 ing V inquired Mr. Withers. 
 
 " No fear of that," said the captain; "you can take your 
 baggage ashore with you to the inn, or you can make up your 
 mind to stay aboard, just which you please." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Withers, " if my young friend is agree- 
 able I vote that we go ashore ; the evening is delightful, and 
 we shall enjoy a walk before bed-time after having been cooped 
 up so long on board this little vessel." 
 
 Of course my father was agreeable to any proposition start- 
 ed by the old gentleman, and the boat was lowered and the 
 captain, the mate and the two passengers were in a few mi- 
 nutes set on shore some where near the spot where Thirty, 
 first street runs through the Eleventh Avenue. I need not tell 
 my readers that New York, although even then a very flourish- 
 ing and tolerably large city, was very different from the New- 
 York of the present day, and the spot where the boat landed 
 her crew and passengers was quite a long way in the country. 
 A small but comfortable old wayside and waterside inn stood 
 there, which many, many years ago was razed to the ground 
 o
 
 290 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 and to this inn the passengers were conducted by the captain, 
 the old gentleman and my father each carrying their portman- 
 teaus with them. 
 
 Mr. Withers ordered a good supper to be got ready, of 
 which he invited my father to partake, and then while it was 
 preparing, they walked out together into the fields adjacent to 
 the house. 
 
 In due time the landlord announced that supper was ready, 
 and having done full justice to the landlady's excellent cookery, 
 my father and Mr. Withers retired to rest, each occupying a 
 single bedded room on the same landing. 
 
 I will tell the remainder of the story in my father's own 
 words : 
 
 " I do not know how long I had been in bed," he would say, 
 " when I heard a horrible noise as of some one shouting for 
 help, and I strove to rise and could not. In a few minutes the 
 dreadful shrieks and cries for help were succeeded by moans 
 like those of a dying person and I was still struggling as I 
 thought to rise and go to the aid of the sufferer, when I sud- 
 denly awoke and found that I was in a strange room, standing 
 in my night clothes near an open window. While in the act 
 of endeavoring to recover mv bewildered senses I heard the 
 rush of footsteps up the stairs and the captain of the sloop and 
 the servant man of the inn rushed into the room, and seizing 
 me tightly by the arms, they proceeded to bind me, half naked 
 as I was, to a chair. 
 
 " What is this for 1 what is the matter ?" I asked, still be- 
 wildered in my senses and half believing that I was still 
 dreaming. 
 
 " Matter enough, youngster," replied the keeper of the inn, 
 who just then entered the room, " as you soon will find out to 
 your cost. Who could have believed that such a young man 
 could be such a blood-thirsty wretch." I did not reply, for in 
 truth I knew not what to say, nor what my assailants meant. 
 
 At this moment I heard a moaning sound from the bed which
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 291 
 
 stood at the other end of the apartment, and presently two 
 or three other persons entered the room. 
 
 " It is the doctor and the constables," said the landlord, and 
 an elderly gentleman dressed in black, stepped up to the bed- 
 side. " This is the murderer," continued the landlord, ad- 
 dressing a truculent looking man who had come in with the 
 medical gentleman, and who was accompanied by two others 
 as rough and brawny as himself, and as he spoke the constables 
 came towards me, and one of them, the man whom the land- 
 lord had addressed, laid his heavy hand on my shoulder and 
 looked into my face. 
 
 " I do not know him," said he, " he must be a stranger in 
 these parts, for I know almost every jail bird in the State." 
 
 " He is very young to have committed such a horrible deed," 
 said another person, for by this time the room was crowded 
 with strangers who had heard the news that a gentleman had 
 been murdered at the inn. 
 
 " Ay, he's young enough ; but I have known younger than 
 him capable of committing any crime," replied the chief con- 
 stable, " and he's an old hand, too, I'll warrant, or he could 
 not act as deep as he does ;" and he proceeded as he said this 
 to place a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. 
 
 " Good God !" said I, " what does, what can this mean ?" 
 
 " You sham it well, youngster," was the brutal reply. " It 
 means that you have stabbed that gentleman as is dying in 
 that bed there, and this is not the first crime you have com- 
 mitted, by a long chalk, I'll be bound. People don't generally 
 begin with murder." 
 
 As he said this I saw a sudden movement of the crowd that 
 had gathered round the bed, for up to this time I had been 
 half unconscious of what had been going on, and three or four 
 voices said : 
 
 " Poor gentleman, he is trying to speak," and then I heard 
 a feeble voice say, as if with great pain and labor ; " Hed, red
 
 292 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 cloak" and then there was an audible shiver, and a cry of hor- 
 ror ran through the assembly, one of the persons saying : 
 
 " See, see, he is dying — he is choking with blood." 
 
 There was a tremor of the bed, a painful, death-like silence 
 amidst those who stood around, and then a whisper, " He is 
 dead." 
 
 In a moment I comprehended all. Some one had murdered 
 my aged friend, and I was accused as the murderer. I knew 
 I was guiltless ; but " how came I out of my own bed ? How 
 came I into the room of the murdered man ?" 
 
 I was seized with horror, and as the constables proceeded to 
 drag me out of the room I became unconscious ; but I learned 
 afterwards that I was confined in a room of the inn all nisht, 
 closely watched by the officers, and in the morning — my senses 
 only half restored — I was carried into the city and taken be- 
 fore a magistrate. 
 
 I found the captain of the sloop, the servant of the inn before 
 mentioned and the landlord already at the justice's room, and 
 the two former deliberately charged me with murder, for the 
 purpose of robbing the old gentleman — my fellow traveler — 
 of the large amount of money in his possession. 
 
 The magistrate called upon me to state what I had to say 
 why I should not be committed for trial, and in some measure 
 restored to self-possession by the awful predicament in which 
 I found myself, I answered, as nearly as I can recollect, as 
 follows : 
 
 " I know no more of this awful business than a child unborn. 
 I am the son of poor but respectable parents near Albany.- I 
 never was guilty of a crime. I appeal to God for my inno- 
 cence of this murder. Mr. Withers was kind to me on the 
 journey from Albany, and upon my telling him that I came 
 with letters of recommendation to some gentlemen in New 
 York who might procure me a situation, he promised to use 
 his endeavors to get me one himself. If 1 have murdered this 
 gentleman, I am a monster — a thing for man to shudder at
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 293 
 
 and Heaven to forsake. Yet you see I can with unblanched 
 cheek call on God to witness my innocence ! I am guiltless of 
 this crime, and Heaven may yet point out the hidden perpe- 
 trators of it. Mr. Withers had a small portmanteau with him 
 when he-went to bed, and we bade each other good night at the 
 door. Then I turned to the man servant of the inn and gave 
 him my cloak with a promise of a shilling if he would brush 
 it well and return it to me in the morning. He took it and 
 went away. I then went to bed. How I came to be m Mr. 
 Wither's bed-room, as Heaven is my judge, I know not. I 
 did no murder. I had no weapon. I am innocent. My life 
 may be sacrificed, but I am innocent. God help me — God 
 help me !" 
 
 There was a death-like silence in the court when I had fin- 
 ished speaking, and I noticed the spectators looking at each 
 other in doubt and surprise. 
 
 " Where is the servant man ?" said the magistrate, for he 
 had left the court room. 
 
 There was a little bustle in the Justice room, and the man 
 was brought back. 
 
 " What is your name V said the magistrate. 
 
 "Ephraim Jenkins, sir." 
 
 " State again your reasons for supposing this youth guilty of 
 this horrible crime." 
 
 " I heard the cry of murder, and I woke up the captain of 
 the sloop, who slept in the next room to mine, and together 
 we went to the room whence the cries proceeded. We found 
 this young man in his night clothes just in the act of escaping 
 towards the window, and having secured him we went to the 
 side of the bed on which lay the old gentleman ; he was mor- 
 tally wounded — stabbed in the breast with a long knife or 
 dagger apparently, and he gasped out something about a red 
 cloak, he mentioned the same words again before he died, and 
 the prisoner had on a cloak lined with bright red when he 
 came to the inn last night."
 
 294 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 " On your oath," said the magistrate, " did the prisoner or 
 did he not hand you his cloak and promise you a shilling for 
 brushing it, as he says 1" 
 
 " He did not." 
 
 " God forgive you," said I. 
 
 " You may retire," said the magistrate, and then turning to 
 the captain he asked — 
 
 " Did Jenkins awaken you during the night V 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " State what followed." 
 
 The witness gave the same account as Jenkins. He had 
 heard cries for help and shouts of murder, and he had pro- 
 ceeded with Jenkins to the room whence the sounds came, and 
 there had found the prisoner — his late passenger — as already 
 described. The landlord had also heard the noise, but he had 
 not reached the room where the murder was committed until 
 the prisoner was secured. 
 
 The magistrate continued : 
 
 " You have no doubt, I presume, that the murder was com- 
 mitted for the sake of obtaining the money that was in the 
 murdered gentleman's possession ?" 
 
 " No doubt of that," replied the accuser ; " where is the 
 portmanteau the poor gentleman carried to the inn with him, 
 and which doubtless contained the money 1 Has any one seen 
 it since the murder V 
 
 "No," was the response, "no one has seen it." 
 
 " What can have become of this portmanteau V continued 
 the magistrate. 
 
 No one spoke, and he then added — 
 
 " Was no knife or weapon discovered with which the wound 
 on the unfortunate Mr. Withers could have been committed 1" 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Prisoner," said the magistrate to me, " this case is invol- 
 ved in some mystery by the absence of your supposed tempta- 
 tion to commit the murder, viz., the portmanteau and the not
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 295 
 
 finding the weapon with which Mr. Withers was stabbed. I 
 do not see how you could have had time to conceal these things, 
 seeing how and where you were taken ; but it is my duty to 
 commit you for trial. The dying words of your victim con- 
 cerning the cloak are against you. You are fully committed 
 for trial on the capital charge." 
 
 I fainted away, and in that condition was borne to prison. 
 The Sessions did not come on for a month, and during that 
 time an inquest was held on the body, and it was found that 
 the heart had been pierced by some sharp weapon, and the 
 only wonder was that death had not ensued more quickly than 
 it did : the verdict of the coroner's jury was " wilful murder," 
 of course, and everything appeared in a fair way for hanging 
 me. Time wore away, and it only wanted four days to the 
 trial. Meanwhile my father and mother had come to New 
 York, and had visited me ; they were overwhelmed with grief, 
 poor things ! and they truly believed me innocent. I fancy 
 they were alone in this belief. They had sought out counsel 
 for me, but the lawyer had plainly told them that to engage 
 him was only to waste their small means ; however, he under- 
 took the case out of compassion to them chiefly ; for they had 
 but little money to fee him with. Mr. Withers' friends mean- 
 while had secured two able counsel, who were confident of 
 getting a verdict against me, so certain did every one appear 
 of my guilt. The day of trial came, and with a palpitating 
 heart I was led from the prison to a room in the court-house, 
 where I was confined until my name was called. 
 
 The first trial was some insignificant case of robbery, ending 
 in an acquittal, to the great relief of the auditory, who were 
 quite as impatient as holiday folks at a theatre when listening 
 to some dull piece of pomposity previous to a pantomime, or 
 a favorite spectacle, or an afterpiece, which and which only, 
 they care about seeing. 
 
 At length my name was called, and in another moment I 
 was led to the bar.
 
 296 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 I felt that all eyes were upon me, though I did not raise my 
 head to look around. Although I knew my own innocence, I 
 would willingly have sunk into the ground and hid myself for- 
 ever. 
 
 There was a dead silence while the indictment was being 
 read, charging me with the wilful. murder of John Withers, and 
 then I was asked if J were guilty or not guilty. 
 
 " Not guilty," I replied, " as God is my judge." 
 
 There was a murmur in the court, and some one, apparently 
 a female, called out, " he is innocent." 
 
 " Officers," said the judge, " bring me the person who 
 spoke ; whoever it was shall be committed." 
 
 The person, however, could not be found, and after a deal of 
 bustle order was restored, and the counsel for the prosecution 
 rose and commenced his charge. 
 
 This charge and the reply of the counsel for the prisoner, 
 my father would repeat almost word for word, so deeply had 
 every word uttered been impressed upon his mind ; but it is 
 needless for me to repeat it here, as the reader has already 
 been informed of the nature of the evidence, and the facts ap- 
 peared so conclusive against my father that no one could 
 imagine him otherwise than guilty of the dreadful crime with 
 which he was charged. 
 
 " The only difficulty," continued my father, " was to ascer- 
 tain what had become of the portmanteau and the knife with 
 which the deed was committed ; but it was pretty generally 
 set down that I had made way with the portmanteau previous 
 to committing the murder, and that I had some accomplices. 
 Indeed people thought I had tracked the old gentleman from 
 Albany purposely to commit the crime, so easily are people 
 prejudiced against a prisoner when once the idea has gone 
 abroad that he is guilty. 
 
 The Judge had commenced to sum up, with a decided lean- 
 ing against me, and the jury looked as though they were 
 anxious to pronounce the verdict, without leaving the box, when
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 297 
 
 the same voice that had before interrupted the court, exclaimed : 
 
 " He is innocent, and nothing shall any longer cause me to 
 withhold my evidence." 
 
 " Bring that woman down here," said the Judge, stopping in 
 his summing-up, "if she has no evidence to give, but is merely 
 actuated by feelings of excitement, I will commit her instantly 
 — such persons have no businessvto attend such scenes as this." 
 
 The general impression appeared to be that the woman was, 
 as the Judge said, acting from feelings of excitement over which 
 she had no control, and such was my own opinion, although it 
 was still sweet to believe that one person in that crowded court 
 thought me innocent, when all others believed me guilty ; for 
 I had begged my poor father and mother not to attend the 
 trial. 
 
 The counsel who had pleaded my cause, however, thought 
 there might be some reaction in my favor made by this occur- 
 rence, and his keen eye had caught the two accusers stealing 
 out of court as the woman was brought forward by two officers. 
 
 " I request that the witnesses for the prosecution be detained 
 in court until this witness is examined," said my counsel (whose 
 name, by the way, was Lemmon.) 
 
 The Judge ordered that they be detained, " and now," said 
 he, as he turned to the female, " what is the meaning of your 
 interrupting the court in this manner'?" 
 
 " I am chambermaid at the Hudson Inn, ' she replied, " and 
 I can prove that this young man is unjustly accused." 
 
 A ray of hope shot through my mind ; I raised my head, 
 and my eyes met those of my accuser. I saw that they were 
 deadly pale. 
 
 " What have you to say V continued the Judge, still ad- 
 dressing the woman. 
 
 " I wish to be sworn," she replied, and the oath was duly 
 administered. She then proceeded to state as follows : 
 
 "My name is Hannah Smith; I am chambermaid at the 
 Hudson Inn, but the housemaid was unwell on the morning in 
 13*
 
 298 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 question, and as the fires were to be lighted early, I had pro- 
 mised to rise and light them for her " 
 
 At this juncture of the witness's statement, Jenkins suddenly 
 exclaimed, " It's a lie — it's a lie ! she has been paid to get me 
 into trouble." 
 
 " You" said Mr. Lemmon, with a voice that rung through 
 the court, " she never mentioned you ! Does your conscience 
 forestall her evidence ?" 
 
 A murmur of intense surprise and interest ran through the 
 court, and the Judge leant forward, his eyes fixed on the pale, 
 working face of Jenkins. 
 
 " Where are you, Captain Moore ?" he exclaimed — " where 
 are you ] They are all against us — all — all you see — " 
 
 " Idiot !" hissed the captain through his clenched teeth. 
 
 " I cannot allow this," said the Judge. " Officers, take both 
 these men into custody, but keep them in the court." 
 
 Mr. Lemmon now turned to the witness and said, " Hannah 
 Smith, go on with your testimony." 
 
 The woman continued : " I went to bed early, but about 
 midnight I awoke, and it then occurred to me, as I felt restless, 
 that I would rise and lay the fires ready for the morning. I 
 got up and had to cross the yard to get to the scullery. As I 
 opened the door leading out, I saw Jenkins cross the yard from 
 the stables with the gentleman's cloak with the red lining hang- 
 ing over his arm." 
 
 "You are quite sure it was Jenkins you saw?" 
 
 " Quite. I should not have spoken had I not heard him 
 deny that the gentleman gave him the cloak to brush." 
 
 " And this," continued the counsel, " you state on oath ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Why, in the early stage of the trial, when you first heard 
 the denial of Jenkins, did you not come forward at once and 
 tell all you knew V 
 
 " I had hoped that other evidence would have saved the 
 prisoner, and would have rendered mine needless, for I was
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 299 
 
 engaged to marry Jenkins, and though since the night of the 
 murder I have cast such thoughts aside, I did not wish to be 
 his accuser." 
 
 " And is this all you have to say ? this is a favorable turn 
 in the evidence for the prisoner, but it merely proves that he 
 told the truth respecting the cloak and that his accuser swore 
 falsely." 
 
 i; It is not all. When the noise occurred in the inn I was in 
 the parlor laving the fire. I ran up stairs, intending to return 
 to my bedroom, when. I saw Jenkins at the other end of the 
 gallery come from the murdered gentleman's room with the 
 cloak wrapped round him. He threw it off* and stepped into 
 the prisoner's room, where he left it. In a moment after I 
 saw the prisoner pass out of his own room to the murdered 
 man's, in his night-clothes. I was frightened, and I heard Cap- 
 tain Moore say, ' This is capital, he is walking in his sleep. 
 We will secure him.' I then heard a scuffle and soon there 
 was a crowd of people in the house. I made my way to my 
 bedroom and locked myself in ; this is all I know of the matter." 
 
 The witness was requested to stand aside, and a ray of light 
 opened upon me. I had hitherto been at a loss to think how 
 I had got into the room, but now I recollected that once or twice 
 in my boyhood, when excited after a long journey, I had fright- 
 ened my mother by rising from my bed and walking in my 
 sleep. I beckoned my counsel, and was about to ask him to 
 send for my parents to pi'ove that I had had a habit formerly 
 of walking in my sleep ; but before I could speak there was a 
 general murmur in the court, and all eyes were turned in one 
 direction. Mr. Lemmon turned and pointed out Jenkins to 
 me. His face was awfully pale, and he appeared as though he 
 was about to faint. At length he burst into a wild cry that 
 terrified every one. 
 
 " Spare my life — spare my life,'' he shrieked, " and I will 
 tell all — spare me — I did it — I did it — but Captain Moore
 
 300 THE RED CLOAK. 
 
 tempted me ; he said the gentleman had money enough to 
 make us both rich — Oh! God — spare my life." 
 
 The effect which this had upon the crowded court was elec- 
 trical. Every one rose to his feet, and it was some moments 
 before the Judge, who himself rose, could command a hearing. 
 
 He bade the officers place both Jenkins and Moore at the 
 bar, and then told Jenkins to tell all he knew. This the un- 
 happy man did. The two villains had resolved to charge me 
 with the murder, and for this purpose Jenkins had perpetrated 
 it, dressed in my cloak, and seeing me come into the room, as 
 had been described by the servant girl, they had immediately 
 accused me of the murder, and had thrown open the window, 
 which was not more than fifteen feet from the ground, to lead 
 to the impression that I was on the point of escaping when 
 arrested. 
 
 The Judge asked Jenkins where the portmanteau was, and 
 he replied that it had been handed to him by Moore, who had 
 hidden it in the stable. Officers were sent to search the spot 
 indicated, and both it and the knife, still crusted with blood- 
 stains, were found. The trunk had not been yet opened, and 
 it was examined in the presence of the Court, and found to con- 
 tain upwards of $4,000. But little more remains to be told. 
 The prisoners were tried, found guilty, sentenced to death, and 
 executed, without the expression of one word of sympathy by 
 the crowd who witnessed the execution. I need not say that 
 my parents were overwhelmed with delight, and Mr. Withers' 
 friends, who, after all, were good sort of people, were so sorry 
 for what I had unjustly suffered, that they placed me in a situ- 
 ation very far above my expectations, and perhaps this dreadful 
 episode in my life was the real stepping-stone to my prosperity 
 in business. 
 
 " But it has caused a shade of melancholy to hover around 
 me ever since," my father would add, as he concluded this 
 story, which was told to every one of his children, and had a
 
 THE RED CLOAK. 301 
 
 strange fascination abont it that always arrested the attention 
 even of the eldest, who had heard it, I don't know how many- 
 times. " 1 never since that period have read of an execution 
 being about to take place, but a sickening feeling comes over 
 me;jt is foolish, perhaps, but I cannot help the thought arising 
 that may be that poor wretch is as innocent as I."
 
 THE RECOGNITION 
 
 AND THE RECOMPENSE. 
 
 We were all sitting around the fire in the ample chimney of 
 an old country farm house — one of those old cosy farm houses 
 which are now rarely to be found, having given place to model 
 cottages and modern improvements, though I doubt whether 
 these latter are half so comfortable as the old roomy cabin 
 with its ample kitchen and its general aspect of home comfort 
 and hospitality, rough and unshapely as it was outside ; but as 
 I was saying, we were all seated on the benches which extend- 
 ed round the ample chimney of my father's farm on the Dela- 
 ware, oil Christmas eve in the year 1840, cracking jokes and 
 nuts at the same time, and practising various sedentary amuse- 
 ments after having thoroughly tired ourselves out with romp- 
 ing during the early part of the day. 
 
 At length the jokes grew dull, and our jaws began to ache 
 from the long continued action upon the hickory nuts and 
 weariness began to steal over the assembly ; some of us, had 
 began to dose, much tct the indignation of others, who thought 
 the fact of falling asleep on Christmas eve, before midnight and 
 Christmas day had been welcomed, equal to an act of sacrilege, 
 when my little sister Fanny, who was seated by my father's 
 side upon a low stool, leant her arm lovingly and caressingly 
 upon the old man's knee, and looking archly up into his face, 
 said :
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 303 
 
 " Dear papa, do tell us a story — one of those nice old stories 
 that you have so often amused us with ; for see — I declare 
 Jane has gone to sleep and so have Betsy and William." 
 
 Thus invoked by his favorite daughter — the pet of the fami- 
 ly — my father laid aside his pipe, and brushing back his white 
 hair, as a preliminary, stooped his head down- and kissed the 
 little enchantress who sat crouching down by his side. 
 
 " I hardly know what to tell, Fanny," said he ; " my stories 
 have been so often told that I am fearful they will fall on dull 
 and unwilling ears, and I scarcely feel in the humor to relate 
 one to-night, even if I could recollect anything new." 
 
 " Oh, papa !" said Fanny, " to say that your stories are dull, 
 and that you can't tell us anything new ! when you know that 
 everything you tell us seems new, no matter how often we 
 have heard it ;" and curiosity having been awakened by the 
 request of the pretty pleader, there was a general call of: 
 
 '' A story — yes, tell us a story — anything will do — you must 
 tell a story." 
 
 " Well," replied my father, " I suppose I musn't beg off, 
 since my pretty Fanny has got so many backers. So I will 
 try if I can't tell something new. You all know Mary Milton 
 and her daughter, who live in the little cottage with the pretty 
 flower and kitchen garden hard by, which you have so often 
 admired ?" 
 
 " What, the old blind Irish woman and her tidy, good-na- 
 tured daughter 1 ?" replied Fanny. " Yes, we all know her, but 
 what have you got to tell us about her ?" 
 
 " Wait and sec," responded my father, smiling, " perhaps 
 there is something more romantic in the history of the occupa- 
 tion of that little cottage by the old blind Irishwoman than you 
 ever dreamed of. You never knew how it was I came to show 
 so much kindness to the poor old lady and her industrious 
 daughter, and you never imagined, I dare say, that all this 
 kindness is but a small remuneration for benefits received by 
 me from them in former days, when Mary Milton was not an
 
 304 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 old blind Irishwoman, but one of the comeliest middle-aged 
 dames I ever saw, and her daughter was as blithe, pretty and 
 buxom a lass as ever drove a young Irish lad crazy with a 
 glance of her beautiful dark grey eyes, and her sweet, yet 
 roguish and half mischievous smile, displaying teeth white as 
 ivory, and a couple of dimples in which Cupid, himself would 
 have been happy to nestle." 
 
 " Oh papa !" said Fanny, for she was privileged to say any- 
 thing, " so you were in love with Kathleen, were you ? I see 
 now why you were so kind to her mother !" 
 
 " No, you provoking little huzzy," replied the old man, smil- 
 ing and patting the rosy cheek of the child of his old age. " I 
 was not in love with Kathleen, although we are both nearly 
 the same age, and w r hen I first became acquainted with her we 
 were both of us mere children." 
 
 Kathleen was a widow of about sixty, and her mother was 
 past eighty years of age, and both of them had resided in 
 the cottage my father had spoken of since any of us could re- 
 member. 
 
 But to my father's story. 
 
 " You are all aware," continued he, " that when I was quite 
 a young lad I took it into my head to go to sea. You have 
 often heard me mention the fact. My father and mother were 
 poor people, and I, when quite an infant, was adopted by a 
 bachelor uncle, a brother of my mother's, who was pretty well 
 off. But though he was very fond of me, I believe as I grew 
 up I annoyed him considerably, for he was an invalid, and 
 somewhat testy in disposition. One day on my return from 
 school for the vacation, I mustered up courage to ask him whe- 
 ther he would allow me to go to sea, and I was agreeably sur- 
 prised to find him readily give his consent, for I had expected 
 a point blank refusal, but the old man was glad to get rid of 
 me and the trouble I occasioned him. Indeed, I fancy I was a 
 bit of a pickle, and a serious annoyance to him during the long 
 vacations, for he was sorely troubled with rheumatism. To
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 305 
 
 make the matter short, my uncle jumped at my proposal, my 
 parents were agreeable to anything that suited him, and as lie 
 was acquainted with a shipmaster in Boston to whom he had 
 rendered some service, he at once wrote to him, asking him to 
 take me on board his ship. The request was granted, and 
 with marvellous celerity my outfit was amply provided, for 
 though teazed by my boyish pranks, my guardian was wealthy 
 and by no means penurious, and I was dispatched like a parcel 
 delivered to the care of the driver of the stage to Boston, with 
 a letter of introduction to the captain of the ship. 
 
 " I reached Boston safely, and immediate! y made my way 
 to the captain's residence, and presented him my credentials. 
 
 " I found Captain Maurice to be a rough spoken, but kind- 
 hearted man, of perhaps fifty years of age, and by no means 
 one of the worst specimens of his class, for merchant captains 
 in those days were generally a rude, uneducated body of men 
 — they have greatly improved since. Well, to make a long 
 story short, and to proceed at once to the pith of my narrative, 
 I sailed in the good ship Laurel on a voyage to Liverpool and 
 back, and when I returned I assure you I was pretty well tired 
 of a sea life. It was nothing so romantic as I expected. The 
 ocean appears pretty enough viewed from the beach of a water- 
 ing place on a delightful summer's day, and to sit in a comfort- 
 able room in a hotel facing the sea, with every appliance for 
 mental and physical enjoyment at hand, and thence view old 
 ocean in his fury, is very sublime ; but the smooth mirror-like 
 surface of the ocean as seen in calm weather from the deck of 
 a vessel soon grows monotonous and wearisome to the eye, 
 and a tempest braved out on shipboard is much less agreeable 
 than when witnessed from safe and comfortable quarters ; the 
 danger, the discomfort and all the various disagreeable reali- 
 ties destroy all the illusions of romance that shore folks dream 
 of. But I had too much pride to tell my guardian that 1 was 
 tired and disgusted with the profession I had voluntarily chosen, 
 and to sea I went again, and perhaps, had not circumstances
 
 306 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 happened as they did to put a temporary stop to my wander- 
 ings, I should have continued to follow the profession of a sea- 
 man. 
 
 " The second vovage that I made, the vessel was bound to 
 Galway, and all went on well enough until we approached the 
 Irish coast, when the aspect of the sky betokened pretty clear- 
 ly that a storm, which threatened to be of unusual violence, 
 was at hand. The captain hoped to make the land and run 
 into harbor before it reached any alarming violence, and we 
 stretched in towards the shore under all the sail that in the 
 threatening aspect of the weather we deemed it safe to carry. - 
 Towards nightfall we made the land, but it was a considerable 
 distance off, and as the weather had been for the three days 
 previous rather cloudy, we had not been able to take an ob- 
 servation of the sun, and consequently had to depend upon our 
 dead reckoning. Still we thought that the land we saw must 
 from its appearance be in the vicinity of Galway, and there- 
 fore having taken a couple of reefs in each topsail, we stood 
 under easy sail dead for the shore ; before midnight, however, 
 the storm that had so long threatened burst upon us with such 
 fury that in a very short time we were at the mercy of the 
 wind and waves. The sea broke over the deck in immense 
 volumes of water that washed away boats and sj:>ars, sky-lights 
 — the galley — the poop deck and every thing that offered re- 
 sistance to its mad career. The waves seemed to our excited 
 imaginations to be animated with demon-like rage and to be 
 bent on our destruction. Several of the crew had been wash- 
 ed overboard, and we all clung to the rigging of the main 
 and mizzen-mast for our lives, expecting every moment that 
 we should share the sad fate of our unfortunate companions. 
 The carpenter had been ordered to cut away the main-mast in 
 the early commencement of the gale, in the hope that by so 
 doing and thus relieving the vessel of some of her topweight 
 she would ride easier, and lie had cut away the lee rigging and 
 part of the weather rigging when a sea swept him overboard.
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 307 
 
 Unaware of this, or unheeding it in the excitement of the mo- 
 ment* a great number of the crew had gathered in the weather 
 rigging, when a gust of unusual violence snapped the distended 
 shrouds, and with an awful crash which struck terror into the 
 hearts of all on board, the mast jerked to and fro — backwards 
 and forwards — with the tossing, rolling and pitching of the ves- 
 sel, until the ship making a heavier roll than usual, it went by 
 the board, snapping as clean off as a carrot, and carrying with 
 it into the boiling and foaming waters all the hapless men who 
 had thronged the weather rigging. I was beside the captain in 
 the mizzen rigging — there had been four of us there together, 
 but first one then another was swept away until at length he 
 and I were the only persons left alive on board, that we knew 
 of. The filling of the mast had damaged the ship's bottom, 
 and to add to our horror we soon perceived that she was filling 
 with water and fast settling down. 
 
 " ' It is all over with us. God forgive my sins — my poor 
 wife,' I heard the captain say in broken sentences, and then the 
 vessel plunged heavily forward, recoiled — plunged again — and 
 — I recollected nothing more until 1 opened my eyes as though 
 awakening from some frightful dream, and saw several rough 
 looking men hurrying to and fro upon a beach engaged in se- 
 curing and hauling up high, and dry, various boxes and bales 
 that the waves were washing on shore. For some time I could 
 not collect my thoughts, and then came the full recollection 
 of my unfortunate condition and of the loss of all my shipmates. 
 
 " I experienced a strange sensation, a feeling of grief so in- 
 tense that it seemed as though my heart would break, mingled 
 with joy and gratitude that my own life had been spared — ■ 
 that I, a mere child as it were, should have been saved, when 
 so many stalwart men had found a watery grave. 
 
 " I tried to rise, but I found that I was so weak that 1 could 
 scarcely move hand or foot ; nevertheless the motion I made 
 attracted the attention of one of the men, whom I afterwards 
 ^found were a savage race of wreckers, half fishermen, half
 
 308 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 smugglers, who esteemed a shipwreck a God-send, and who so 
 far from endeavoring to save the crew, were accustomed to 
 finish the work of destruction on the bodies of the unfortunates 
 whom the waves had spared in order that they might secure 
 the spoil that was washed on shore, and have no witnesses 
 that might afterwards give them trouble respecting the dis- 
 posal of their ill-gotten booty. 
 
 " The man advanced towards me, and pushed me with his 
 foot. I opened my eyes, which 1 had half closed for very 
 weariness, and he stooped down and laid his brawny hand on 
 my breast. 
 
 " ' By G — d,' said he to another man who had approached 
 the spot where I lay — -by G — d, here's a youngster alive as it 
 appears, though how the d— 1 he managed to escape being 
 •sucked down in the swirl made by the sinking ship, puzzles me. 
 However, he's more than half dead now, and it'll be no harm 
 to give him a finisher.' 
 
 " So saying, he coolly drew from his pocket a large clasp 
 knife, which he proceeded to open with his teeth, and then feel- 
 ing for the feeble pulsation of my heart, he was about to plunge 
 the blade into my breast, when he was interrupted by his 
 companion, who appeared to be of a gentler disposition than 
 himself. 
 
 " ' Hisht ! Jim Doolan, said he, ' sure you would'nt be 
 after committing murdther on thim as the waves of the say 
 has spared V 
 
 " ' Dead min tell no tales,' was the brutal reply, as he raised 
 his arm to inflict the cowardly, deadly blow. 
 
 "The other man caught hold of the uplifted arm of the 
 ruffian, saying : 
 
 " * Jim, this is a mere child, and I won't stand by and see 
 his life taken — lave him where he is ; he is unsensible as it 
 seems, and if he recovers, so let it be, if not let the poor chap 
 die easy.' 
 
 " The more cruel ruffian rose reluctantly and left me.
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 309 
 
 "All this time, although unable to speak a word, I had a full 
 preception of what was going on. My blood seemed to be 
 frozen within my veins ; but the horror that I felt as I heard 
 the brutal words of the would-be-murderer and saw the up- 
 lifted knife, in some measure served to restore the circulation 
 of my blood, and to revive me from the death-like apathy into 
 which I had fallen. 
 
 " The men passed on to some distance and in the course of 
 a few minutes I managed to sit partially up and to look around. 
 
 " As well as I could judge, the day appeared to be far ad- 
 vanced, and I must have lain for hours insensible after having 
 been almost miraculously thrown on to the beach alive, after 
 the ship had gone down. The storm had almost subsided — in 
 fact the wind had completely fallen, but the sky was full of 
 scud which, from its rapid and irregular motion, told that the 
 war of the elements was still going on in the upper strata of 
 the atmosphere, and the sea still heaved, and the waves rushed 
 with a hollow and mournful sound on the beach. I had been 
 washed up against a ledge of rocks and lay in a pool of water 
 which covered my lower limbs. My head had been cut se- 
 verely by the rocks, and as I essayed to crawl to some place 
 of concealment, for I was fearful that some other of the ruffians 
 would discover and murder me, and the love of life, now that 
 I had aroused from my torpid state, began to grow strong 
 within me, I found that one of my legs was broken, and hung 
 perfectly helpless. 
 
 " I had not before felt the hurt, but the motions had restored 
 the circulation of the blood, and the pain was dreadful — I 
 groaned in agony. By-and-by I became again insensible from 
 pain, and I was again aroused by feeling an arm passed under 
 me. I opened my eyes — it was growing dark, but there was 
 still light enough for me to perceive a beautiful female form 
 bent over me and a sweet face looking pityingly into mine. 
 
 " ' See, mother dear, he is not dead, poor boy,' said the 
 young girl as she turned her beautiful grey eyes towards an
 
 310 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 older female who was standing near her, ' let us see if we can 
 not carry him up the cliff and take him to our cottage. Try,' 
 continued she, addressing me, ' try, poor boy, if you can stand 
 up.' 
 
 " The two females raised me between them, but as soon as 
 I put my leg to the ground it sank beneath me, and I fairly 
 screamed with pain. 
 
 " ' O wirra, wirra !' exclaimed the elder woman. ' The 
 Virgin be merciful to us, the poor boy's leg's broken entirely. 
 Poor child, let us see, Kathleen, if we cannot carry him be- 
 twixt us. Sure, he is only a small creatur an' no great 
 weight.' 
 
 " Between the two females, amidst many exclamations of 
 pity and many laments over my sufferings, I was borne to 
 their cabin a quarter of a mile off, and when there, undressed 
 and laid on a clean bed; when the younger female was dis- 
 patched to the nearest town — a mile distant — for a physician. 
 He arrived and speedily set the broken limb. Fortunately it 
 was a clean fracture, and I completely recovered from the 
 effects of it. Meanwhile, while the surgeon was fastening 
 splints to the fractured limb, the elder female (having dressed 
 the wound in my head during her daughter's absence in search 
 of the surgeon,) prepared me a dish of oatmeal and milk por- 
 ridge, which I partook of heartily, and feeling greatly eased of 
 my pain, I fell into a profound slumber. 
 
 " When I awoke another day had dawned, and as soon as I 
 moved in bed the elder woman was at the bed-side, and in 
 motherly tones she asked me how I felt. While I was speak- 
 ing in reply, the young girl came in with a pail of milk, and as 
 soon as she saw me awake, she too came to the bed-side and 
 took my hand, and bending her sweet, fresh young face over 
 me, she kissed me, expressing her delight at seeing me look so 
 much better. 
 
 " I then learned that she and her mother having heard of the 
 loss of a ship during the night of the storm, had gone down to
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 311 
 
 the beach early on the following morning, knowing the savage 
 habits of the wreckers, with a view of affording such aid as they 
 could to the survivors of the crew should there be any, and 
 endeavoring to preserve them from the viofence of the plun 
 derers of the wreck, which, after sinking, had broken up, and 
 the cargo, of which was, as I have already observed, floating on 
 shore. 
 
 ' ; They had searched the beach for hours, and were returning 
 home in the belief that all the hapless crew had been lost, 
 when I fortunately arrested their attention. At first they be- 
 lieved me to be dead, but the young girl had placed her hand 
 upon my breast and had felt the almost imperceptible pulsa- 
 tions of my heart, and she then had passed her arm under my 
 neck and raised my head. It was this which had restored me 
 to consciousness. 
 
 " My leg progressed favorably enough, but the wound in my 
 head threatened to be more serious, for before night I began 
 to grow delirious, and showed every symptom of violent fever. 
 The doctor advised that I should be taken to the hospital — as 
 I afterwards learned — a. most wretched place, whence few 
 patients came out alive — but this the two women would not 
 listen to. ' Providence,' they said, had saved me almost mi- 
 raculously from death and had delivered me into their care, 
 and they would tend me and care for me as if I were their own 
 relative, whether I lived or died.' 
 
 " For six weeks I lay in a condition between life and death, 
 then, thanks to the care of my gentle nurses, more than to the 
 skill of the doctor, who thinking his services would not be 
 very amply remunerated, was rather careless in his attendance, 
 I began to recover, and at the end of ten weeks was quite 
 well. All this time I had been supported by the widow and 
 her daughter — for I learned that the elder female was the 
 widow of a small farmer, who when he died had left her the 
 cottage, an acre or two of ground — on which she cultivated 
 vegetables for sale in the Galway market — and a couple of
 
 312 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 cows, the milk from which, her daughter carried into the town 
 and sold. 
 
 " In this manner they gained their humble living. They 
 were poor — very poor — nevertheless they were contented and 
 happy. When I got well, ashamed of being longer a burden 
 on my kind benefactresses, 1 expressed my intention of pro- 
 ceeding to Liverpool and there getting a berth on board some 
 ship bound to the United States. 
 
 " Of course the poor women could say nothing in opposition 
 to this determination, though I could see that they were sorry 
 to part with me. They had nursed me through a dangerous 
 sickness — they had saved my life, and their generous affections 
 clung to him they had thus preserved and so carefully tended. 
 
 "The morning I left, the elder female placed a couple of 
 sovereigns in my hand — I believe it was half her small sa- 
 vings — and in spite of my objections forced me to accept them. 
 I left them with many kind expressions and many tears on 
 both sides, and in due time reached Liverpool. There I soon 
 got a ship and came to New York. 
 
 " On my arrival, I found that my uncle had left me all his 
 property to come into my possession at the age of twenty-five ; 
 I determined to return to my parents and to adopt the mer- 
 cantile profession. I struggled considerably in youth, for my 
 parents were poor, and I could not touch my uncle's property 
 until I was the specified age mentioned in the will. At that 
 age, however, I drew the money, embarked largely in busi- 
 ness, and was successful, as you all know. 
 
 " Years — many years passed away, and although I sought 
 to find my benefactresses, all my efforts were vain. They had 
 removed from the neighborhood of Gal way, and no one to 
 whom I applied knew whither they were gone. 
 
 " Full twenty years after the incidents I have narrated had 
 occurred, I stopped on my way to this farm, which I had pur- 
 chased some five years before, at a small village where the 
 stage changed horses and the passengers took dinner.
 
 THE RECOGNITION. 313 
 
 " While smoking a cigar in front of the hotel, a poor hag- 
 gard looking female passed me, leading by the arm an old 
 woman who appeared to be entirely blind. 
 
 " The younger female in plaintive tones besought charity for 
 her blind mother, who, she said, was starving. They had not 
 tasted food that day. 
 
 " There was something in the manner and the tone of voice 
 of the younger woman that struck me as familiar to me, al- 
 though I could not recollect when or where I had seen her 
 before. 
 
 " ' You are emigrants from Ireland V I said. 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' she replied, ' and mother took sick on the pas- 
 sage with fever and became quite blind.' 
 
 " ' What are you doing here in this country place V I asked. 
 
 " ' We are on our way to Philadelphia, where I was told 
 that a number of women were wanted to fill the place of farm 
 servants and dairy maids, and I hoped that our small stock of 
 money would have carried us there, and that I should get work 
 and be able to take lodgings for my poor mother, and to sup- 
 port her.' 
 
 " ' You are used to dairy work ?' said I. 
 
 " ' Oh yes, sir. My mother once had a little farm near Gal- 
 way, and we kept cows. I have all my life been used to farm 
 life.' 
 
 "'You came from near Gal way?' I said, and a new light 
 seemed to break upon me. I thought I had discovered where 
 I had seen the younger woman before. ' Pray,' I continued, 
 ' is your name Milton V 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' she replied, ' Kathleen Milton, and my mother's 
 name is Mary." 
 
 ' : ' Do you recollect,' said I, seizing the astonished woman 
 by the hand and pressing it warmly, ' do you recollect saving 
 the life of a poor shipwrecked sailor boy many — many years 
 ago, and tending him carefully during a long sickness V 
 
 " ' Oh yes, poor little fellow,' replied both the women at 
 14
 
 314 THE RECOGNITION. 
 
 once. ' He was a good and pretty lad. He must be a man 
 grown long since. Perhaps if he knew where we were, and 
 how distressed we are, he would help us — that is, if he were 
 able.' 
 
 " ' And he is able,' I replied. ' I was that poor sailor boy, 
 and long have I sought to find you out, and to recompense you 
 for your kindness, for I owe my life to you — and do I see my 
 kind old benefactress blind 1 This is indeed a happy and yet 
 a sad meeting.' 
 
 " It is needless for me to say any more than that they told 
 me the too oft told tale of Irish poverty and distress. Bad 
 weather had spoilt their crops, and rendered their little farm 
 worthless. The daughter had married shortly after I left them 
 a husband who took to drink — by-and-by the farm and cottage 
 and cows were sold — the husband had died of delirium tre- 
 mens, and after enduring untold hardships for years, they^iad 
 at length determined to accept an offer of a Union Workhouse 
 Committee to give them a passage to America. They had 
 landed with only a few shillings in their possession, and the last 
 of this small stock had been expended. 
 
 " I took them with me to the farm — established them in thafc 
 little cottage, and "there they have lived in comfort for years, 
 and there, while I have the means of supporting them, they 
 shall live, for after the poor old woman's death, and she cannot 
 last long, I shall make over the cottage to Kathleen. 
 
 " Now I have told you my story, and I think it is ©ne you 
 have not heard before. How are you pleased with it ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is a famous story," replied Fanny, " and I shall love 
 Mary and Kathleen Milton more than ever," and so repeated 
 the round of listeners. 
 
 Just as my father had concluded his tale the clock struck 
 twelve, and the whole party rose to welcome in Christmas day, 
 and to exchange the courtesies of the season. At this moment 
 Kathleen Milton came to the door, leading her aged and blind
 
 THE RECOGNITION 315 
 
 mother, for they had waited up purposely to wish my father 
 and his children many happy returns of the seasons. 
 
 They were received with shouts of welcome by all, and Fanny 
 sprang up, and throwing her arms round the neck of Kathleen, 
 kissed her heartily, saying : — 
 
 " Papa has been telling us such a nice story about you, Kath- 
 leen. You saved his life when he was a little boy." 
 
 A year or two after this Mary Milton died. Her daughter 
 survived her several years, and I need not say, resided in the 
 pretty little cottage until the day of her death. She died only 
 a very few years ago — and thus in Mary and Kathleen Milton 
 was realized the truth of the text : — 
 
 " Cast your bread upon the waters, and you shall find it 
 after many days."
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE 
 
 WITH THE MALAY PIRATES. 
 
 A few years after my father had commenced his commercial 
 career, finding that his affairs were prospering, he embarked a 
 large amount of capital in the shipping business. Having been 
 in his early youth himself a sailor, he was accustomed to take 
 considerable pleasure in visiting those vessels in which he pos- 
 sessed any interest, and he thus became intimate with several 
 of the seamen, especially those who were old standards, that is 
 to say, who adhered to one vessel and always made a point of 
 sailing, if possible, under one favorite commander. 
 
 Among these steady old seamen there was one who was an 
 especial favorite of my father's. His name was Richards — 
 Tom Richards he was generally called, and as he was growing 
 old and grey when I was but a mere child, my father often 
 used to press him to remain on shore, promising to find him a 
 suitable situation, either in his store or on his farm, in fulfilling 
 the duties of which, he might pass away the days of his old 
 age, free from the perils and dangers of a sea-life. 
 
 Once or twice he managed to persuade the old man to 
 remain on shore for one trip ; but more than this he was 
 unable to effect ; for after a few months' sojourn on terra firma 
 nothing would satisfy Tom Richards but another trip to sea ; 
 and as the old sea-dog was as obstinate as a mule when once
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 317 
 
 he had taken a fancy in his head, it was of no use arguing with 
 him ; but off to sea he went. Poor old man ! he ended his 
 days in my father's house as a sort of servant of all work, or 
 rather a general idler, for his principal employment and enjoy- 
 ment was to sit in the summer-house in the garden at the farm, 
 and there to tell yarns to us boys and girls, while, at the same 
 time, he carved us boats and canoes to swim in the ponds, or 
 endeavored to teach us the way to rig a ship and to speak in 
 the classical vernacular of the sea. 
 
 In the course of his roving life Tom Richards had naturally 
 met with many strange adventures, and it was one of the 
 greatest treats to us youngsters when my father, during his 
 visits to the country farm-house, after Tom had become a regu- 
 lar inmate, would take us out in the pleasure-boat to enjoy a 
 fishing excursion, old Tom of course being entrusted with the 
 management of the boat; and there, while, watching our lines, 
 and awaiting the tantalizing advances of the coy, timid denizens 
 of the water, we would listen to one of Tom's amusing yarns. 
 
 Tom Richards had once had an adventure with a pirate, and 
 had actually, according to his own account, been governor of 
 one of the numerous islands of the Pacific ocean, though in tell- 
 ing this latter yarn I am rather inclined to think that he drew 
 the " long bow" a little too strongly, for his adventures on the 
 island bordered so much on the marvellous. However, Tom 
 swore it was all fact, and the story amused me greatly when 
 first I heard it. 
 
 "The fish don't bite to-day," said my father one day when, 
 while engaged in one of these excursions, we had sat for up- 
 wards of half an-hour watching the lines until we grew sleepy, 
 without meeting with the encouragement of one single nibble. 
 
 "No, Cap'n, (Tom always called my father Cap'n,) no, I 
 rayther think the sun be too warm jist now — the creatures has 
 thir feelins like as humans, and wdien the sun shines so brightly 
 they goes and takes a snooze in the shade of the reeds and 
 bushes as grows on the banks of the river."
 
 318 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 
 
 " Well, Tom," responded my father, " suppose we follow 
 their example, not by taking a snooze, as you call it, but by 
 pulling the boat under yonder clump of willows, and then Tom 
 you can spin us one or two of your yarns. I have heard it 
 said that you once had a brush with a pirate, and that you lived 
 some time amongst the natives in one of the Pacific islands. Is 
 this true?" 
 
 " Yes, Cap'n, it's true as death, but the yarn's rayther a long 
 'un ; but perhaps the young masters and misses would like to 
 hear it. If so be, Tom Richards is allers ready to afford 
 amusement." 
 
 " By all means ; by all means. Do tell us the story about 
 the pirate. Won't it be delightful," was the universal cry, and 
 the old man plied his oars vigorously for a few strokes, and 
 ensconced us snugly in the shadow of the willows, where 
 spreading our lines, so as to be ready to take advantage of a 
 chance bite from any fish that might be urged by hunger, or 
 rendered greedy by the tempting bait, we seated ourselves 
 comfortably and awaited the old sailor's story. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, Cap'n," commenced Tom, address- 
 ing my father, " but to a reg'lar old salt there do be something 
 fascinating about the blue water of the ocean which tempts him 
 oftentimes to cast aside shore comforts and go again and again 
 to sea, altho' he aint no longer a-driven to it for a living, and 
 altho' whenever he does go, he growls and swears at the same- 
 ness of the life, and vows that every trip shall be his last. But 
 'taint no manner of use; arter he comes home, and has been on 
 shore a spell and spent his wages, off he goes to sea again ; and 
 so it goes on until he gets laid on the shelf, like a used-up spar, 
 when unfit for service any longer, and then he is obliged to 
 remain on shore and live a useless life, 'till his old eyes are 
 closed and he is laid in his grave. But to my mind the deep 
 blue waters of the sea make a much sweeter and cleaner bury- 
 ing-place than the mouldy turf of a churchyard. Now here 
 am I, like a battered old hulk laid high and dry on the beach,
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 319 
 
 and my old timber?, when I full to pieces, will be put in the 
 ground to rot, instead of shifting to and fro in the deep currents 
 of the ocean, as I should wish 'em, for then they would sartain 
 come up fresher and cleaner at the day of judgment, when the 
 word is passed for all sail to pass in review afore the great 
 commodore, than if they come a sweltering up from the filthy 
 sod. Howsomever, it can't be helped. I stuck to the sea as 
 long as possible, and while a sailor 1 allers did my duty, and I 
 am ready to turn out whenever the call shall arrive for us to 
 appear all ataunto to pass muster for t'other world." 
 
 " But, Tom, that's not the story about the pirate," said my 
 little sister, who was getting tired of listening to the old sailor's 
 laments of the hardship of being compelled to die ashore. 
 
 " No, little Miss," replied Tom, "but afore 1 begins a yarn 
 I allers makes a pint to make some filersojohical remarks as 
 may put me into talking trim, more especially since I have left 
 the sea. Howsomever, here goes for the story. 
 
 " A good many years ago, long afore I sailed in the sarvice 
 of the Cap'n, and when I were a young man, I was out in Ingee, 
 aboard of one of the cruisers as belong to the Injun seas. 
 
 "We had just left the .Island of Borneo, off which we had 
 been lying for several weeks at anchor, repairing rigging and 
 painting, ship, and getting water and fresh vegetables a-board. 
 At that time the seas of the Injun Archipelago were much in- 
 fested by Malay pirates, whose proas lurked in security in the 
 numerous hidden yet lovely nooks amongst the islets that inter- 
 sperse the Ingun Ocean. These 2 }roas were accustomed to 
 pounce out suddenly upon their unwary victims, and many a 
 merchant-craft which has never reached its port of destination — 
 never been heard of after it left its port of embarkation, and 
 is supposed to have gone to pieces on some coral reef, or to 
 have foundered at sea, has been attacked and plundered, its 
 crew murdered, and the vessel sunk by these most ferocious of 
 sea-marauders. 
 
 " Well, at last we got under weigh and sailed from the
 
 320 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 
 
 island ; it had been calm for the greater part of the day, and 
 Ave had made but little progress, so that asthe evening began 
 to close in we were still in close proximity to the land. How- 
 ever, towards nightfall a breeze sprang up, and our skipper 
 determined to take advantage of it, and stun' sails were set alow 
 and aloft, for we had heard a report that a fleet of proas were 
 away to the south'ard, making sad havoc with the vessels bound 
 from Sidney to Injee, and we determined to keep a look-out for 
 them, and if we could get a chance, to settle scores with them for 
 their devilish cruelty by sending them to Davy Jones' locker. 
 
 " As the moon rose many a glance was cast towards the land 
 to get a last glimpse of it, for we were now fast receding from 
 the shore, and the last vestige — the lofty mountain tops, 
 scarcely distinguishable from the sky above them with which 
 they seemed to commingle, — appeared to sink beneath the hori- 
 zon, just as the man at the mast-head reported a vessel on the 
 lee-bow. 
 
 " ' How far distant V asked the officer of the watch. 
 
 " ' I can only see her topgallant sails, sir,' replied the sea- 
 man ; 'we shall pass pretty close to her, if we continue our 
 present course.' 
 
 " ' Steady, quarter-master — steady,' said the officer, and then 
 turning to the seaman, he added, ' Let us know what she looks 
 like, when you can make out her hull.' 
 
 " Now you know, Cap'n, and I may tell you masters and 
 misses," said the old sailor, in parenthesis, " as a vessel at sea 
 is always an object of interest to the mariner. It's like meet- 
 ing with an old friend after a long absence, and everybody 
 hopes to hear some news, and therefore it's a great disappoint- 
 ment when two vessels goes by without speaking one another. 
 The officers therefore called for their spyglasses and pointed 
 them in the direction of the stranger ; but she was not yet vi- 
 sible from the deck of the brig of war. In the course of a 
 quarter of an hour the sailor again called out from aloft : — 
 
 " ' I can make out her hull now, sir, and she appears to be a
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 32] 
 
 full-rigged ship, with most of her sails set ; but she " yaws" 
 about strangely.' 
 
 " Again the officers clapped their spyglasses to their eyes 
 and although the hull was not visible from the deck, the masts 
 and sails were clearly defined, and it was apparent that the 
 sails were untrimmed and that she was either in distress or had 
 been abandoned by her crew. She was ; yawing 1 about in a 
 strange fashion and apparently was not under the control of 
 her helm in the slightest degree. 
 
 " Under ordinary circumstances our skipper might have been 
 satisfied with passing near enough to distinguish the rig of the 
 stranger, but her singular appearance determined him to make 
 a closer examination. 
 
 " ' Keep her a point more away, quartermaster,' he sung 
 out, 'and we will run down to her and see what she is made of. 
 Slack off a few inches of the main and jib sheets — so — so — 
 that's enough — we shall be up with her in half an hour, for 
 the breeze is freshening finely.' 
 
 " Well, at the expiration of the half hour we came up with 
 the vessel, which was in fact making no headway through the 
 water, her main and maintopsail yards being squared, while 
 her fore yards were braced close and her mizzen furled. 
 
 " ' There is something wrong here,' said the skipper to the 
 leeftenant. ' Steward, bring up my speaking-trumpet.' 
 
 " The trumpet was brought and handed to the skipper, who 
 hailed : 
 
 " '■ What ship is that?' 
 
 " There was no reply, although the hail was more than once 
 repeated:; 
 
 " ' Lower away the boat and board her, Mr. Jones,' said the 
 skipper to the leeftenant. ' Find out, if you can, what she is, 
 and what is the cause of this strange desertion.' 
 
 " The boat was lowered, and a crew of eight men besides 
 the officer in command, boarded the craft. I was not among 
 them; but shortly afterwards the leeftenant hailed the brig. 
 14*
 
 322 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 
 
 " ' There has been foul work here, sir,' said he. ' There ap- 
 pears to be no living thing aboard, nor any traces of the crew ; 
 but the cabin has been thoroughly ransacked and everything of 
 value carried off*. The vessel also has evidently been scut- 
 tled, for she has now four feet of water in her hold, and it is 
 rapidly increasing. Would it not be advisable to send more help 
 on board from the brig, so that we may unbend the sails and 
 secure everything that may be worth carrying off before she 
 settles down to such a decree as would render it dangerous V 
 
 " The captain replied by ordering another boat to be low- 
 ered, and proceeding himself to the vessel. I was one of the 
 second boat's crew, and on reaching the ship we found every- 
 thing in the confused state described by the officer. She was 
 a vessel apparently of French build, and of about three hun- 
 dred tons burden ; but there was actually nothing remaining 
 on board by which we could tell the name of the vessel or 
 judge of the country she hailed from ; everything capable of 
 being carried oft* from the deck, had been taken away ; even 
 the board on which the name had been painted was carried off*. 
 In fact nothing was left but the sails and part of the rigging ; 
 and the skipper came to the conclusion that the vessel had 
 been attacked and robbed by pirates, and the crew murdered. 
 We could only account for the sails being left, by presuming 
 that some vessel had hove in sight and alarmed the pirates. 
 Several barrels of tar had been cast loose from their lashings, 
 and had rolled about, discharging their contents on the deck, 
 which was covered with the black, sticky substance, and on 
 closely examining the decks, stains of blood appeared here and 
 there, as though a violent conflict had taken place. A child's 
 shoe was also found, and some remnants of female clothing, 
 sticking to the tar, and in the after-cabin there were also evi- 
 dences that there had been at least one female on board the 
 ill-fated ship. 
 
 " The sails were hurriedly cut from the yards and removed 
 on board the brig, and an hour or two was spent in making
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 323 
 
 farther search in every department of the vessel, in the hope 
 of discovering some token that might lead to her future iden- 
 tification, for she had been imperfectly scuttled, in the hurry, 
 probably, of the departure of the pirates, and she settled down 
 very slowly. 
 
 " At length it was deemed unsafe to remain on board any 
 longer, and the boats returned to the brig, the yards were 
 braced forward, and we were soon at a safe distance from the 
 sinking vessel. 
 
 " About twenty minutes after we had returned aboard the 
 brig, the ship plunged heavily once or twice, and then sunk 
 beneath the waves — the once trim vessel which had weathered 
 many a gale and visited many a clime, which had sailed from 
 her last port of embarkation, whenever that might have been, 
 with human beings on board, whose hearts beat high with the 
 anticipations of a safe and happy voyage, or joyous return to 
 their homes, had gone forever, and, in all probability, not one 
 remained of those who had trod her decks in all the pride of 
 health and strength not twenty-four hours before — all had 
 perished by violence and found an unwept and unhonored 
 grave in the ocean depths, there to lie — their funeral dirge the 
 hollow moan of the foam-lashed waves and the wild shriek of 
 the sea-bird as it flitted past above their watery tomb, as 
 though it were the spirit that directed the fury of the storm — 
 there to lie in that ocean grave until the sea shall give up her 
 dead. 
 
 " You may imagine it was a melancholy sight, and it cast a 
 gloom over the spirits of all on board. And now the ; 
 lustre of the tropic moonlight gave place to the brighter rays 
 of the morning sun ; the hands had been piped to breakfast ; 
 but scarcely had they arranged themselves for rtie meal when 
 the look-out man again raised the cry : — 
 
 " < Sail, h 
 
 " Most of the seamen rushed upon deck, and casting our 
 eyes in the direction pointed out from aloft, we saw, appa-
 
 324 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 
 
 rently within a mile of us, two large Malay proas, their white 
 latteen sails glistening like silver in the early morning sunbeams. 
 
 " The proas were ' lying-to,' and made no attempt to change 
 their position, although the brig was bearing down right upon 
 them. 
 
 "The skipper came up from his cabin, and it was the uni- 
 versally expressed opinion that these proas were pirates, and 
 in all probability had been concerned in the late outrage on the 
 ship we had boarded during the night. Still we had no proof 
 as yet to justify recourse to hostile measures, and we knew 
 right well that we were no match in swiftness with these fleet 
 craft, should they take the alarm and stand off. 
 
 "As we drew near, it became evident that they were full of 
 men, and were reconnoitering the vessel, uncertain whether to 
 make sail or to await our approach. The brig had been 
 painted, so as to resemble a merchant ship at Borneo, and 
 looked at least as much like one as she did like a man-of-war. 
 
 " ' They do not know what to make of us,' said the skipper ; 
 ' we must deceive them, if possible. Slacken the lifts, Mr. 
 Jones, and give the brig a careless appearance ; they take us 
 for a merchantman. Keep yourselves beneath the bulwarks, 
 men, and only show yourselves a few at a time. Gunner, see 
 the guns are all shotted and ready for use. We will overhaul 
 these fellows.' 
 
 "'The guns are all ready,' said the gunner, touching his 
 cap, ' they have not been unshotted since they were loaded on 
 approaching the island.' 
 
 " ' Then stand by, ready to fire if I give the order. See all 
 the crew at their stations,' said the skipper. He then took a 
 long look through his spyglass and said : 
 
 " ' There can't be less than forty men in each proa, and the 
 fellows are actually preparing to board us. The devils will 
 find they have caught a Tartar. Be ready, men ; wait until 
 they are close within range, and then give them the entire con- 
 1 "nts of the starboard guns. Boarders, have, your pikes ready ;
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 325 
 
 these fellows swim like fish and climb like cats. Now — wait 
 the order. 1 
 
 " The proas came on swiftly, until within some hundred yards 
 of the brig, when they stopped and held consultation together, 
 after which they both lowered their latteen sans, which were 
 in fact now of little use, as the wind had grown light, and one, 
 the larger of the two, pulled rapidly towards the vessel, the 
 other following at a considerable distance. 
 
 " When the foremost proa w r as within fifty yards of the ves- 
 sel, the captain gave the order : — 
 
 "'Let them have it — Fire!' and at the word the whole 
 broadside was discharged with a report louder than thunder. 
 
 " As soon as the smoke cleared away, it became evident 
 that not a vestige was left of the nearest proa, but some pieces 
 of floating wreck ; while the crew of the more distant one had 
 sprang overboard, the proa having, it appeared, been missed 
 by the shot. 
 
 " ' Lower away the boats, and pick up any of the men that 
 are in the water,' said the skipper, ' we can't leave the misera- 
 ble wretches to drown. Board the other proa and bring her 
 alongside.' 
 
 " The order was promptly obeyed ; but so desperate were 
 the Malays, that when picked up they sought to bury their 
 creeses in the bodies of the seamen who had taken them from 
 the water. 
 
 " Some were left to their fate ; while those wdio were al- 
 ready picked up were taken on board the ])roa and confined in 
 her shallow hold, beneath the bamboo decks, the hatches being 
 closed upon them. 
 
 "While this wat going on, the boats and the proa had 
 drifted a considerable distance from the brig, and while pulling 
 back, some of the seamen received dangerous wounds in their 
 feet and legs. The Malays confined beneath the bamboo deck 
 of the proa had provided themselves with fresh creeses, those 
 they had been armed with having been taken from their girdles,
 
 326 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 
 
 and they attempted to wound and drive the seamen overboard 
 by pushing the points of the creeses between the interstices of 
 the bamboo. It was found absolutely necessary to dispatch 
 them with pistols. Several of them were killed in this way, 
 and but one or two were brought on board the brig. 
 
 "The seamen were found to be so dangerously cut with the 
 poisoned creeses, that in most instances amputation was found 
 necessary, and I got a mere scratch on my right ankle which 
 laid me up for several weeks, my leg swelling as large as my 
 body, and even to this day I feel the effects of it. 
 
 " On searching the proa, after she was brought alongside, 
 we found crouching down in the after part of the hold, a young 
 woman, apparently not more than twenty years of age, who 
 spoke French-; but she had lost her senses with fright. We 
 could get nothing intelligible from her but the oft-repeated cry, 
 ' Mon enfant, mon pauvre petit enfant. lis avaient tue mon 
 enfant.'' (My child, my poor little child. They have killed 
 my child.) Every attention was paid to the poor creature ; 
 but the doctor declared her case hopeless. She, we presumed, 
 was the female, a portion of whose clothing had been found 
 on board the ill-fated ship, and the child's shoe, found in the 
 tar, had doubtless belonged to the murdered infant whose death 
 she so bitterly bemoaned. 
 
 " She was carried by us into Singapore, and proper care 
 taken of her by the authorities of that island." 
 
 " And Tom, did you never hear anything further respecting 
 the ship V asked my sister Fanny. 
 
 " Nothing was heard, Miss, for some months, that could fur- 
 nish any clue to the deserted vessel or the female who had 
 been found in the proa, and all that was ever known was that 
 a vessel called the ' Margueritte' had sailed from the Island of 
 Bourbon a few weeks previously to our discovery of the de- 
 serted ship. This vessel had on board as passengers a M. Du- 
 pont and his lady and child, and the insane lady was, I heard, 
 recognized eventually as Madame Dupont."
 
 TOM RICHARDS' ADVENTURE. 327 
 
 " I have told this story in Torn Richards' own language ; for 
 when excited or interrested in a narrative, Tom was accus- 
 tomed to use language quite different from that which was 
 habitual to him in common conversation. He accounted for 
 this by saying that when a youth he had received a good plain 
 education ; but he had forgotten the use of grammatical lan- 
 guage during his long life at sea, although when talking upon 
 any one long-continued subject, it seemed to come habitual to 
 him again to speak more correctly."
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 In almost every town of any size or note in England, a line of 
 narrow, confined streets or alleys are to be found, and in these 
 places, of course, dwell the poor, oftentimes the depraved por- 
 tion of the inhabitants. There they live and increase in ap- 
 parent proportion to the inconveniences with which they are 
 surrounded, so that it might be imagined that the want of space, 
 daylight and fresh air had a tendency to increase their mem- 
 bers and not to thin them by a heavy aud unequal tax paid to 
 the fates of disease, decrepitude and death. 
 
 In one of these doomed retreats of poverty and toil, and in 
 the midst of a small manufacturing town in the heart of York- 
 shire, there stood a dwelling, humble it is true, but distin- 
 guished from those around it by its better condition — its ap- 
 parent cleanliness and air of comfort. It once stood, I have 
 said; it exists no longer, but as a heap of ruins. How' I came 
 to know its secret history and that of its inhabitants, the fol- 
 lowing narrative will tell. 
 
 In the town of which I have spoken there stands a small 
 church, at the back of which the narrow range of streets 
 alluded to begins, and thence it runs down to the lower part 
 of the town, with many curious contortions broken into steeps 
 and inequalities, paved with rugged stone and very difficult 
 to traverse. In a little square space on the left, as you 
 descend, you observe this ruined house, which, however, ex- 
 hibits no mark of the mode of its destruction; it shows no
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 329 
 
 sisfns of having been burnt, nor does it look as if it had been 
 destroyed by decay, or the unerring hand of time. It stands 
 in the midst of others, which are full of the busy stir of life. 
 
 There still exists a sort of small court or yard, fronted by a 
 low wall, and behind there is an opening, which looks as if it 
 had. been a garden, where a few sickly and unwholesome flowers 
 may still be seen, reminding us of the tender hands which plant 
 and rear such frail and sad memorials, perishing before them. 
 Between them lie all that remains of a habitation once occu- 
 pied by those who are now no more ; but who are still remem- 
 bered with respect and sorrow. It is now a mass of blackened 
 and unsightly ruins stained with damp and overrun with net- 
 tles and moss, where long insidious weeds have crept into the 
 cracks and openings of the walls mantled from belor\ r , and hang 
 pendant from the little shattered casements. Nothing now 
 remains which would tempt even a child to seek a place to 
 arrange its playthings and to pass a happy, idle hour. It is 
 forbidding in its aspect, dreary and deserted — a shapeless mass 
 of weed-bound rubbish, broken tile and damp, discolored 
 stone. 
 
 Thirty years ago this habitation was the scene of events 
 which I will now relate. It was, at that time, inhabited by a 
 widow and two children — a boy and a girl of about ten years 
 of age. The father had been an industrious gardener, as his 
 father had been before him, though they had been born and 
 brought up m a manufacturing town, and to the little wealth 
 he had inherited, consisting of some patches of rough and stony 
 garden ground, he had managed to make some additions. 
 What he left at his death his widow had conserved with care 
 for her children, after denying herself, mother-like, many com- 
 forts of which she really stood in need. 
 
 At the time of which I speak, the boy had grown to lie a 
 man, and the girl had reached that age which usually decides 
 the fate of a woman, and marks her future course with happi- 
 ness or sorrow. Anna Bailey was doomed, as we so often
 
 330 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 say, when speaking of the destinies we make for ourselves, to 
 a life of sorrow and disappointment. 
 
 She had formed an attachment for a bold, bad man, a black- 
 smith by trade, but he seldom worked at his business, and, as 
 he always possessed more money than, in his circumstances, 
 could legitimately have fallen to his lot, it was suspected that 
 he was engaged in some unlawful pursuit. 
 
 He did, in fact, form one of a party of three young men who 
 lived by fraud and counterfeiting, although as yet they had 
 managed to evade the suspicions of the, at that time, very in" 
 efficient constabulary of the county. Andrew Casper, Isaac 
 Reynolds and Peter Bailey were the names of these three con- 
 federates ; the second was the lover of Anna, the third her 
 brother. 
 
 The attachment which had fastened itself upon the heart of 
 this poor daughter of Eve was of the purest and most devoted 
 kind. The object of it, it is true, was unworthy of her ; but 
 there was a circumstance in its favor — it originated before he 
 became so. Whether Reynolds ever returned her passion, or 
 only felt that liking which men naturally feel for an object that 
 pleases the eye, was ever doubtful to all, and upon some oc- 
 casions even to Anna herself; but the respect which her gentle 
 nature and real superiority ever inspired in the manner and 
 bearing of the man towards her was seen and felt, and perhaps 
 in the boundless charity of the passion, which above every other 
 " hopeth all things," might 'have stood in its place*. 
 
 The misgivings she now and then felt only tortured her heart, 
 without relieving it, or failed in giving force and stability to 
 resolutions which were, made and unmade with the same 
 celerity. 
 
 Perhaps Reynolds felt as much affection for Anna as he 
 could feel for any body, for his character was singular and ex- 
 hibited the union of two extremes — tenderness and ferocity. 
 He was an orphan — a misfortune which could in no way 
 be touched upon without moving his rugged nature to tears.
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 331 
 
 On this point lie had a sensibility which was lightly morbid, 
 but with regard to the villains of his secret trade, for which 
 he appeared to have a real and natural affection, he was a 
 block of the hardest and most unyielding stone. 
 
 His form was fine, and his look energetic and resolute, but 
 not fierce and savage. He was a tall, athletic man of five and 
 twenty, but appearing sometimes much older, sometimes much 
 younger, according to the mood of the moment, and in this 
 respect the winds themselves were more to be depended upon 
 than he. . 
 
 Whether joyous or sad, tender or savage, these contrary 
 moods sat so naturally upon him, that they appeared but as 
 the ingredients of one real, though singular compound. 
 
 There was a bold bearing in his carriage ; he walked like a 
 proud man, and spoke as a haughty one. He was marked 
 among his companions and all who knew him as a superior 
 sort of character, and he had been better educated than most 
 «of them. Many feared him, but among his acquaintances none 
 respected him. Peter Bailey had been and continued to be 
 his principal associate, and, whether true or false, he had the 
 credit of leading the brother of Anna from his honest vocation 
 as a gardener, and into many of the perils attached to his then 
 mode of life, and the acts of cruelty which followed upon his 
 eventual adoption of a still more wild and desperate career. 
 
 I have forgotten to say that the Baily family were Roman 
 Catholics, and Reynolds had been born and educated to that 
 profession of faith, though he followed the dictates of no 
 religion. 
 
 It was the hour when Anna usually gave way to the all- 
 absorbing subject of her heart and thoughts — it was the early 
 evening of a winter's night. There were a great many Catho- 
 lics in the town, and the church in front of the dwelling place 
 of the Baileys was a Romish place of worship. On winter 
 evenings the church was always open, and it was the custom
 
 332 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 for the young females of the Catholic persuasion to attend 
 church and chant their Ave Marias. 
 
 The Ave Marias had been chanted on the evening in ques- 
 tion, and the hymn to the Virgin had been sung by those as- 
 sembled in the choir, finishing its mournful cadence with the 
 closing day, and the priest who presided over this little band 
 of worshippers had pronounced the well-conned and well-known 
 oration. 
 
 " The holy sacrament be praised and thanked ! O brothers 
 and sisters, remember to say a Paler Noster and an Ave Maria 
 for just souls in purgatory; another Pater Noster and an Ave 
 Maria for all who are in deadly sin. To-day in the flesh, to- 
 morrow in the tomb ! Blessed is that body whose soul is se- 
 cured ! Jesus Christ be praised for evermore." 
 
 The last words had found a response in Anna's breast, and 
 as she crossed herself an aspiration passed her lips, which, if 
 not tainted by the name of him with whom it was coupled, 
 was as pure as ever escaped the heart of a woman. Anna re* 
 turned to her home. I have said that the house occupied by 
 the Baileys, though humble, and situated in a poor, low neigh- 
 borhood, was for superior to those amongst which it was lo- 
 cated, and the rooms were neatlv furnished. In fact, Anna's 
 bed-room, which was her favorite sitting room, was furnished 
 with a taste that would not have been looked for \>j a stranger 
 visiting the house — a proof of the refinement of the fair occu- 
 pant. It bore the marks of attention to neatness, and that 
 pleasing taste which always characterizes the affection, tender- 
 ness, and care of a true woman. 
 
 The door stood partly open, and a soft, low light was spread 
 over the well-preserved and pretty things that adorned it; at 
 the head of the neat, humble bed, with its smooth spread, white 
 linen and patch-work coverlid, was suspended a crucifix, and 
 by its side hung a rosary, and numerous showy colored prints 
 of saints, nuns, monks, and martyrs covered the walls. Poor 
 Anna had never known that cheerfulness and peace which a
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 333 
 
 certain set of wiseacres will have it are the never-tailing at- 
 tendants of pure heart and a virtuous life. From a child she 
 had been unhappy ; she had loved solitude, and her own 
 thoughts, in preference to society and -fellowship with those 
 of her own age and circumstances. She had never been known 
 either to dance or sing, though she could not account for this 
 indisposition to mirth, since she delighted to see others enjoy 
 themselves. 
 
 All the pensive feelings of her early life had strengthened 
 with her years ; and although she well knew at the present 
 moment many good reasons for the sorrow she endured, yet 
 she felt this night an overwhelming weight, which pressed 
 down her energies and subdued her fortitude and her natural 
 meekness even J;o tears. Pier work lay neglected upon the 
 table ; the spinning wheel by her side stood idle ; the little half 
 hour she usually allowed for repose after the toils of the day 
 had passed, but she found herself in no disposition to renew 
 her employment. She felt an anxiety for which she could not 
 account, and though bhe had no particular cause for sorrow, 
 she felt more wretched than she had ever done before. As she 
 sat near the little table, over which the lamp was hung, her 
 beauty, expression, position and costume made up a picture a 
 painter will rarely find either in reality or fancy — either in 
 real life or in those records of the eye kept by the memory, 
 which go under the false name of fancy. Like one awaking from 
 a painful dream, the poor girl suddenly started and pressed her 
 hands firmly together, and then raising one of them to her brow, 
 threw aside with a rapid motion a portion of her long black 
 hair, which had escaped from the bandage which confined it ; 
 then taking the lamp from the place where it hung, she stood 
 with it in her hand for a moment, as if irresolute — as if doubt- 
 ful whether she had taken it down to trim it, or with some other 
 intention. Her bewilderment, however, quickly passed away, 
 a softened expression came over her face, and turning with the 
 intention of seeking the sovereign solace ©f the wretched —
 
 334 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 prayer — she had made but one step towards her bed, when 
 her attention was arrested by a blow struck on the door which 
 led into the garden. A slight start and a look not easy to be 
 described were the consequences ; and placing the light upon 
 the table, she proceeded to unlifl the heavy fastenings. As the 
 door opened, the man we have described stepped briskly in. 
 
 " Oh, Reynolds," said Anna, " why have you come to-night V 
 
 " Do I come too often 1 If 1 am not welcome, I will go back 
 again," was the reply. 
 
 " No, not that — but — you know what I mean — I fear for 
 you," answered Anna. 
 
 " Then you do that for me, dear Anna," replied the young 
 man, " which I shall never do for myself." 
 
 " Are you sure, Reynolds, that no one saw you mount the 
 garden wall 1 You are too incautious. It is even possible 
 that some neighbors might have been here when you knocked, 
 and — 
 
 Here, taking her hand and smiling in her face, the lover 
 said — 
 
 " My darling ! I had ascertained that before I knocked. My 
 habits, Anna, my profession, requires caution — practice, you 
 know, Anna." 
 
 " Oh, Reynolds," said the girl, covering her eyes and shrink- 
 ing back, "do not — do not speak of it, pray." 
 
 " Well, well," said the man, " never mind, Anna, let us talk 
 of something else. Where is the good old lady, your mother ?" 
 laying a stress on the word good. 
 
 " Mother is out, Reynolds, attending the sick bed of a 
 neighbor." 
 
 " Famous ; then I shall escape her welcome to-night, and 
 get her benediction on another occasion." 
 
 " Alas ! Reynolds," replied the girl, with a sigh, " I can- 
 not expect my mother to look favorably upon you ; the wild 
 and sinful life you lead promises nothing to us but sorrow and 
 shame."
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 335 
 
 Then, after a pause, she added — 
 
 " I ought not to admit you here and continue an intercourse 
 of which my mother disapproves so much. I have sometimes 
 hoped that you would change, perhaps for my sake, and be- 
 come an honest — I mean be as you once were ; or at least I 
 hoped, Reynolds, that you would try and persuade my brother 
 to return, knowing how much we need his assistance and sup- 
 port. Mother, now, is old, and cannot see to our affairs, as 
 formerly. We want my brother at home. Oh, Reynolds, if 
 you were now what you once w T ere — " 
 
 " Bother !" exclaimed the man abruptly, " don't talk of what 
 I once was, Anna. Whose fault is it that I am what now I 
 am % Who is to bear the insults and oppressions of their fel- 
 low-men, because they are poor? Who that has the spirit of 
 a man? Must we lie down and lick the dust at the bidding of 
 such as happen to be rich 1 Is it not hard enough to labor 
 from sunrise to sunset — to endure heat and cold and wet — to 
 be badly clothed and badly fed — and out of the little gained 
 by toil and privation, to spare a portion for those who already 
 have too much ? This itself is not enough ; but every silly 
 law these tyrants make must be respected, or their cursed pri- 
 sons open and close their jaws upon you. You know I have 
 once been in jail, Anna. What was the crime that I commit- 
 ted % I shot, for food, a hare, a wild animal that G*od had placed 
 in the world to be free to all mankind ; but these rich have 
 themselves made a law that these wild animals and wild birds 
 shall be theirs alone ; those who already have a superabund- 
 ance of this world's goods. I was placed in jail for what I did 
 not consider to be a crime. I came from jail, resolved to be 
 even with the world, and to commit what I do think crime, 
 and yet avoid a jail." 
 
 " Dear Reynolds, poaching I have heard is generally the 
 precursor of more evil habits." 
 
 " And who has made it so but those who, without rightful 
 authority, choose to call it a crime ?"
 
 336 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 " It was hard, Reynolds." 
 
 " Hard ! Anna. Damnation ! you speak of it as if you were 
 one of them. Was I riot fined money that I could not pay, and 
 thrown into prison because I had got no money 1 I have had 
 money enough since." 
 
 " Oh, think no more of what is passed, dear Reynolds, and once 
 again be as once you were, and all will yet go well with us." 
 
 Here Anna laid her hand on that of her lover, and wiped 
 some bright drops from her dark eyes. 
 
 " Think no more of it," he exclaimed, starting to his feet 
 and clenching his fist ; " a curse on their stony hearts and stu- 
 pid laws ! When I forget it, the ravens shall want food and 
 the devil amusement." 
 
 " Oh, pray, Reynolds, you terrify me ; sit down — and — " 
 
 But Reynolds, as we have said, was a man who, when once 
 roused, was easily carried away by his resentment into a state 
 of frenzy, and who lost all control over himself. That livid 
 look, the sure sign of being deeply moved, spread over his face, 
 the firmly set teeth, the suppressed breathing, and the hand 
 employed as if seeking for some ready weapon of offence, gave 
 unequivocal evidence of what was passing in the mind of the 
 man as he stood foaming with maddening rage. At last the 
 storm vented itself in one long and terrible curse, which made 
 Anna shudder. The words, however, were less terrific than the 
 appearance of him she really loved, who stood before her, 
 changed, as it were, into an absolute demon. He ended with 
 some obscure mutterings. Resuming his chair, throwing his 
 hat upon the floor, and brushing the dark hair from his moist- 
 ened brow, he said, speaking as to himself — 
 
 "It does not matter. We have given them cause to recol- 
 lect us, if they have given us cause to recollect them. That 
 gray-headed old scoundrel ; he'll send no more poachers to jail, 
 and thus transform honest men into desperadoes. He" and 
 here, panting and pausing, he continued his mutterings in an 
 inaudible whisper.
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE 337 
 
 Anna, who had witnessed tliese paroxysms in her lover be- 
 fore, and whose heart really participated strongly in his feel- 
 ings, and with the townspeople generally, at the adoption of 
 such severe measures as had been put in force by the local 
 magistrates, suppressed her own emotions for the purpose of 
 quieting his, yet hearing the name of one victim indicated, she 
 could not help rousing and asking herself — 
 
 " Who, Reynolds 1 He /• — who is it you mean ?" 
 
 "0, no matter," he replied, in rather a mysterious manner, 
 " you'll know soon enough, Anna." 
 
 ' ; Holy Mother !" exclaimed the poor girl, pressing both 
 hands firmly upon her bosom. 
 
 " Few tears will be shed, I fancy," continued Reynolds, and 
 then drawing his chair close to that which Anna had taken at 
 some distance from him, as if seized with a momentary disgust, 
 he said — 
 
 " Anna, come, don't look upon the floor. There's something 
 I want to ask you." 
 
 Anna looked up hastily, but with some expression of fear 
 and dislike, and exclaimed — 
 
 " No, no, Reynolds ; pray don't, don't ask me." 
 
 With a stare which lasted for half-a-minute, her lover looked 
 upon her, and then assuming a laugh, he said — , 
 
 " The devil ! why, what has come to the girl ! What is it 
 do you think, I am going to ask ?" 
 
 " I know not," said Anna, with a sigh, " but I feared — " 
 
 " Feared what ?" 
 
 " Why, Reynolds, I thought you had brought me some more 
 of that money, and — those things you want me to dispose of," 
 and here, covering her eyes with her hand, she leant upon the 
 table and turned her head in another direction. 
 
 " No, Anna, it was not that I wanted to ask you about, but 
 
 something else. But, supposing it were, is it worth making 
 
 such a to do about 1 There is Harriet, who sells everything for 
 
 Peter, so that he gets three times as much as if they passed 
 
 15
 
 338 
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE 
 
 through the hands of a fence— those thieves who venture nothing 
 and take everything. There is Jane, too, Wilson's wife ; she 
 travels through the country and never fails to turn what she 
 takes into money, and to pass off a good deal of base money 
 into the bargain." 
 
 " Reynolds, I am not the wife of a forger or a robber, and I 
 
 never will be." 
 
 " Umph !" exclaimed Reynolds ; " who knows, Anna, what 
 you may be? However, it is not worth so many words and 
 such dark looks. Come, let me see you smile, Anna. I have 
 certainly brought you something, but it is not anything I want 
 you to sell. I believe it is worth a good deal of money ; but 
 it is such a pretty thing that I mean to make you a present of 
 it, Anna, and to ask you to wear it for my sake," and the man 
 begun to search his pockets for the promised gift. 
 
 Anna sat with her head reclining on her hand, but perceiving 
 the movement, she started hastily, saying — 
 
 " For God's sake! Reynolds, leave it — leave it where it is. 
 I do not wish to see it, and will not accept of it or wear it, be 
 it whatever it may." 
 
 Arresting the progress of his search, and with his hand still 
 where it was, he looked up with a savage expression and ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "Nonsense, Anna. It is but a small thing." 
 " Reynolds, I cannot and will not look on such things again. 
 The last you brought me — oh, Holy Mary !" 
 
 " Well, you sold them, and I gave the money, as you made 
 me promise I would, to the wife of poor John Carter, who was 
 sent over the seas for smuggling, six month ago — a "curse on 
 those who sent him — but what has that to do with it?" 
 
 " Heavens ! Reynolds, I tremble when I think of that packet. 
 The money might have saved Carter's family from starving ; 
 but to save my own life I dare never receive another such from 
 you, and never will."
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 339 
 
 " The devil take me, Anna, if I understand you. You mean 
 the chain and ear-rings I brought you ?" 
 
 " I do, Reynolds. Don't speak of them ; I can't bear to 
 think of them — the handkerchief they came in — " 
 
 " Oh, now I see it. Pooh ! There was a little blood upon 
 it. Is that all ? M 
 
 The poor girl groaned. 
 
 " Oh, now I recollect ; that clumsy fool Edwards, who 
 bungles at everything, could not unfasten them, and so he tore 
 them out." 
 
 " My God !" ejaculated Anna. 
 
 " Oh, it was nothing, Anna, she did not feel it. She was — " 
 
 " No more, Reynolds — I pray you say no more — but let us 
 say good night — and — farewell — forever. I beg of you never 
 to come again ; but let us part, as part we must, sooner or 
 later." 
 
 With the natural warmth of his temperament, Reynolds 
 started upon his feet, seized his hat, and said, in a sulky tone — 
 
 " Well, just as you like, Anna, so let it be. Open the door 
 and let me go. Fai'ewel]." 
 
 Anna had taken his hand, but she did not drop it at the word 
 farewell. She held it still. 
 
 " Well," continued her lover, " let us part, if you wish that 
 it should be so." 
 
 " Reynolds," the poor girl replied, sobbing, " what can I do ?" 
 
 " I ask myself the same question — what can I do ? Shall I 
 give myself up into the hands of the police? Would you like 
 to see me sent off to bear Carter company ; or — no, I have 
 been too great a bugbear to the cursed tyrants — would you 
 like to see my body swinging in the wind upon the common, a 
 scarecrow to man and beast ?" 
 
 " Leave this desperate life, Reynolds, I beg of you, and per- 
 suade Peter to do so, and — " 
 
 " Well, I have said I would, and I will — some day or other — ■ 
 when I can."
 
 340 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 After a pause, Anna continued — 
 
 " Tell me, Reynolds, tell me — it was not you who spilt the 
 blood upon the handkerchief?" 
 
 " No, certainly — I told you it was Edwards." 
 
 Anna breathed more freely and stood more erect ; at the 
 same moment Reynolds closed the door behind him. 
 
 " Have you anything else to ask, Anna'?" he said, in a sub- 
 dued tone. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " Tell me, Reynolds, Avhat was it that 
 you wished to ask me when I mistook your meaning just now ?" 
 
 " Oh, it's a long story, and I had better not talk to you about 
 it. I'll tell you another time, or you will hear of it without. I 
 have never anything pleasant to tell you. I wish some one else 
 had been employed instead of me." 
 
 " Then you were sent here, Reynolds, and something has 
 happened. For God's sake tell me! Has Peter done any- 
 thing ?" • 
 
 " Why, yes, Anna, something, but I wish you would not ask 
 me ; it's nothing at all. First tell me what I wish to know, 
 and then I will tell you all about it." 
 
 In a still anxious, although resigned and passive manner, she 
 said, " Well, be it so." 
 
 Then drawing his chair close to that of Anna's, he said — ■ 
 
 " I have often heard of a circumstance which occurred some 
 years ago. The old Justice, who lives on the hill yonder. He 
 once beat your brother Peter most unmercifully for something 
 he had done. What was it ?" 
 
 " I would rather, Reynolds, you would spare me the pain of 
 telling it; but as you wish it, I will not refuse you. It is 
 many years ago, Reynolds, just after my father's death, and 
 when Peter and I were but children. I think my brother was 
 about ten years old. I, of course, was younger. Poor Peter 
 had just taken his first service, and was engaged by Farmer 
 Davis to attend some sheep. It was near the stream that sup- 
 plies the mills at N that Peter was sitting amongst some
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 341 
 
 bushes, when a hare sprang up and passed him. At that mo- 
 ment a gun was fired from the other side of the stream, and 
 the hare fell. Starting up and looking from behind the bushes 
 that screened him, he observed that the sportsman who had 
 fired the gun was Justice Holliston. You know, Reynolds, 
 thai; few hold this man in any respect, but that most fear and 
 detest him. It was always so — " 
 Reynolds bit his lip and smiled. 
 
 " He had," continued Anna, " but to make a little round in 
 order to reach the spot where the hare fell ; but on arriving 
 there it was not to be found." 
 
 ' : The youth had taken care of it," interrupted Reynolds. 
 " Bravo, Peter." 
 
 " Say not so, Reynolds, but so it was. The Justice imme- 
 diately charged the boy with the theft, and I am sorry to say 
 Peter denied it to the last. The Justice said but little, and, 
 whistling to his dog, departed." 
 
 " And what followed, Anna ?" said Reynolds, who was lis- 
 tening with intense interest to the story. 
 
 " On the evening of the same day," she continued, " after 
 my brother had returned home, and just as he was preparing 
 to go to bed, some one knocked gently at the door. My mo- 
 ther opened it, and the Justice stood before her. 
 
 " "My mother knew nothing of what Peter had done, and she 
 invited the Justice to enter, which he did, and in a very civil 
 and gentle way, asked for the loan of a lantern. 
 
 " ' It is so dark to-night,' added he, ' that without a lantern 
 I run the risk of breaking my neck in these rough streets.' " 
 
 " What a pity he did not break his neck," interrupted Rey- 
 nolds. 
 
 "When the lantern was lighted," continued Anna, "the 
 magistrate commenced looking about the room. He said 
 nothing, and Peter affected to be or might have been asleep. 
 
 "The Justice continued his search until my mother asked 
 him what he was looking for. I don't know what reply he
 
 342 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 made, but after searching every closet and every corner, re- 
 moving and lifting several things, he at last pulled open the 
 door of the oven, and there — " 
 
 " He found the hare," said Reynolds. 
 
 " I am ashamed to say, indeed," said Anna, blushing and ' 
 bursting into tears, " that it was so. Without speaking, the 
 magistrate drew forth the hare and threw it upon the stone 
 floor : he then stepped up to the bed on which Peter was ly- 
 ing, seized him by the hair, lifted him up and dashed him upon 
 the floor ! 
 
 " The blood burst from his mouth and nose, and before my 
 mother had time to interfere, he again lifted the poor boy up, 
 and was again about to dash him down. This my mother pre- 
 vented ; but she could not stay the blows this cruel man in- 
 flicted upon him. Oh, how earnestly she begged him to spare 
 Peter, her favorite and fatherless child ! At first I was so 
 much frightened that I knew not what I did ; but hearing my 
 mother beg, as if asking for his life, I fell on my knees and 
 implored the monster to desist ; but Peter uttered not a word 
 nor a groan. Oh, Reynolds, it makes my heart bleed to think- 
 on the cruelty I witnessed. Never — never shall I forget 
 it. Peter was but a child ; he had done wrong, certainly, 
 but this was too much — it was savage — it was brutal. We 
 wore defenceless, friendless, fatherless — " 
 
 Tears had interrupted and broken the last sentence which 
 she uttered. Reynolds had not spoken, and when Anna di- 
 rected her attention towards him, she saw that he sat fixed 
 upon his chair, his head bowed down, and both hands grasping 
 the hair he had pulled down over his forehead. 
 
 Anna was moved by what she thought the effect of sympa- 
 thy for her brother, when in reality Reynolds had been deeply 
 and sensibly affected by having the chord touched on which the 
 tenderest affections of his nature hung, viz. : his own parent- 
 less and lorn condition. Anna was just about to show him 
 some marks of grateful tenderness, but before they could be
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 343 
 
 accomplished, the unhappy man had started to his feet, and 
 for a moment he gave way to strange and fearful emotions. 
 At last, gulping clown the sensations that threatened to choke 
 him, he stretched himself to his full height, and lifting his 
 clenched hand until it reached the ceiling, he exclaimed, in a 
 voice that Anna could hardly recognize — 
 
 " Eternal God ! that stab was worth the sun's licht. Water 
 will quench fire ; but a sea of blood is not enough. Curses, 
 eternal curses !" then raising his hand, as if in the act of stab- 
 bing, he muttered, with clenched teeth, and with a look that 
 struck horror to the heart of Anna : 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Peter, that was good — and that — and that — 
 and that. Ah ! the old devil is finished at last," and he 
 laughed, and panting with emotion, he flung himself into a 
 chair. 
 
 '' Anna stood looking in his face with hands clasped and 
 pressed upon her bosom. 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, Reynolds," she exclaimed, " tell 
 me what has happened. My heart misgives me, and my fears 
 will drive me distracted. For pity's sake explain to me what 
 you mean. I fear Peter " 
 
 "Sit down, Anna," interrupted Reynolds. "It's all finished 
 and can't bow be undone. I saw it, and another time I'll tell 
 
 you all about it. By there's not a man, woman or child 
 
 in. N that won't rejoice. You ought, Anna, and you would 
 
 if you were like other people ; but you are like no one else. 
 Many a woman would have liked to have been there, and some 
 I know would not have stood idle ; but you are so quiet, Anna, 
 you would submit to be trampled upon. No one is like you, 
 and I dare say, if I tell you, you would weep and grieve, and 
 I would rather see blood than tears — yours, Anna." 
 
 Meanwhile the poor girl had changed color several times, 
 and sat rocking herself to and fro on her seat, in a state of 
 great agitation. At last, as if unable to endure suspense any 
 longer, she seized Reynolds's hand, and pressing it between
 
 344 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 both her own, begged for love and pity's sake that he would 
 tell her all that had transpired. 
 
 " Well, well," said Reynolds, " let me breathe — give me a 
 moment. You must know it, and I might as well tell you ; 
 but, by Saint Mary ! if you look in that way, I shall hold 
 my peace. There is nothing very terrible in what I am about 
 to say." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad of it, Reynolds, pray go on — tell me,", said 
 Anna. 
 
 " I will tell you in my own way, then. He was a keen 
 sportsman, that old scoundrel of a magistrate. How many 
 years did you say it was since that affair of the hare V 
 
 Anna replied, " Between fifteen and sixteen, certainly." 
 
 "And it happened, you say, somewhere near the old mill 
 stream. Well, it was near that spot to-day that, as an old, 
 gray-headed man, with stern features and a haughty air, fresh 
 colored and clad in a velveteen hunting dress, and attended by 
 his clog, w r as met by a young man." 
 
 Anna looked anxiously at the narrator, who proceeded with- 
 out appearing to notice her. 
 
 "They encountered each other in a narrow path, and as 
 the young man did not pay the elder the compliment of makng 
 room for him to pass, they met face to face. The young man 
 appeared to have been running, for, in a fainting voice, he 
 said — 
 
 " ' So, ho, Mr. Justice. What sport have you had to-day ?" 
 
 " The reply came in rather a sulky tone. ' So, so, not verv 
 good.' 
 
 "'Have you killed nothing?' said the young man, still 
 panting. ' You have not shot a hare to-day, have you f 
 
 "'A hare,' said the sportsman, looking up with some sur- 
 prise and impatience; 'it is not the season for that sort of 
 game,' and he was about to bid him stand aside and let him 
 pass, when looking up he met the eyes of the youth, and im- 
 mediately faltered. He rested the butt of his fowling piece
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 345 
 
 on the ground, and supported himself by resting upon the muz- 
 zle. The dog, which until this moment had stood close to his 
 master's heels, suddenly retreated several paces, and having 
 turned, stood whining and looking back, with a strong expres- 
 sion of fear. For nearly a minute no word was spoken ; but 
 the old man quailed beneath the savage glance of the youth. 
 At length, in a faltering voice, he stammered out — 
 
 " 'I think I have seen you before.' 
 
 '"Not often — I have avoided you as I would the devil. 
 Still, we are neighbors, aye, and old acquaintances too ; but 
 I've kept aloof from you— lest — no matter. So you think you 
 have seen me before'? You have — I will help your memory. 
 Can you recollect the day, some fifteen years ago, when you 
 shot a hare near this spot, and afterwards could not find it? 
 There was a boy — a mere child — near, tending sheep, who took 
 the hare and concealed it — curse on the temptation. The boy 
 denied having taken it, and now, wretch, do you remember 
 the merciless chastisement you inflicted on that boy % He never 
 forgot nor forgave it. Behold him here.' " 
 
 '■Peter!" exclaimed Anna, clasping her hands in agony, 
 "Oh! what has he done?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Reynolds, "that he need be ashamed of; 
 but you interrupt me, Anna — I will proceed with my narra- 
 tive — 
 
 " ' There, is one who has never forgotten nor forgiven your 
 brutal treatment of a poor child,' repeated Peter. ' Behold 
 him here.' 
 
 " Dropping upon his knees, the old man begged for mercy 
 in the most abject tones — offered money that his life might be 
 spared, and begged again and again to be forgiven. 
 
 " ' Never, never !' said Peter, and then looking down, as if 
 enjoying the condition of the old man, and with a smile, that 
 struck terror into his heart — so cold, so chill it was — he 
 said — 
 
 " ' Was it thus, on my knees, I begged pardon and mercy of 
 15*
 
 346 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 you 1 You are a rich man — all bow their knees and their necks 
 to you. I have never done so. A word from you opens the 
 prison doors — fastens the wretch within or lets him loose. Me 
 you have never caught, and now you never will. You have 
 lived well and happy — enjoyed life, liberty and respect ; while 
 I have become an outcast, a despised wretch, living by the 
 sweat of my brow, afraid to visit my native place, or hiding in 
 miserable retreats on the outskirts of the town. I could not 
 enter the town and enjoy the society of my fellows lest I should 
 encounter you, and be called upon to lift my hat to the worthy 
 magistrate whom I had so much reason to respect, and who 
 had sown the seeds which had driven me to this life of wretch- 
 edness. Wretch ! see now, and feel the savage you have made 
 me.' 
 
 " ' Mercy, mercy !' exclaimed the trembling old man. 
 
 " ' Cowardly dog ! Was it thus the poor wounded boy, 
 whose tender flesh was bruised and bleeding, begged for mercy ? 
 His widowed mother and his sister did, but no word escaped 
 his lips. You were then, as you are even now, a strong and 
 powerful man. Your bare hands — your gripe was then enough 
 to crush the bones and drive the blood to the heart of a poor 
 child ; yet did he weep and cry for mercy 1 No, brute, you 
 brought blood, but no tears, /asked no parden, though they 
 urged me, nor have I ever done so ; but I have waited and 
 watched, still cursing you in my heart — not alone for what you 
 have done, but for delaying so long this sw r eet hour of ven- 
 geance which will settle all. But 'tis come at last.' he said, 
 starting forward and seizing the trembling wretch by the hair, 
 at the same moment drawing the terrible knife from his bosom. 
 ' 'Tis here, old wretch. Hell and eternal fire, you have lived 
 long enough — too long — make ready to die. There is no priest 
 or parson here.' 
 
 " ' O, God ! Peter, I beg of you to spare my life,' screamed 
 the wretched man. ' Do not — do not kill an old man.' 
 
 " ' Fool ! have I waited so long, do you think, to let you 

 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 347 
 
 escape at last? Prepare, I say, for by all the powers of hell I 
 swear you shall die.' 
 
 Before the last word had been fully pronounced by Reynolds, 
 Anna had fainted, and would have fallen to the floor, had she 
 not been supported. Reynolds, who had never seen such a 
 sight before, was probably more frightened than if the gun of 
 a police officer had been pointed to his breast, and while hold- 
 ing her in his arms, began upbraiding himself with having 
 caused her death, calling upon her to speak to him, to look 
 upon him, to forgive him. 
 
 " Holy Mother •" he said, " I knew she would be hurt, but 
 I did not expect this. What a fool I was ! and yet had I not 
 been the first to tell her there might have been a worse inter- 
 preter of the story 1 Anna, dear Anna, speak to me. What 
 shall I do for you ? I must call some one for help," and with 
 that intention he loosened his hold and placed her leaning 
 against the table. He then made his way to the door, and 
 after a moment lost in attempting to unfasten it, was on the 
 point of calling for assistance, regardless of all consequences to 
 himself; but Anna, though not entirely conscious, had caught 
 a glimpse of his purpose, and fearing to expose him to danger, 
 of which he appeared reckless, with a violent effort roused her- 
 self, and staggered to her seat. 
 
 " Reynolds!" she exclaimed, "oh, for Heaven's sake no, no 
 — I am better now — shut and fasten the door. Oh, my God I" 
 and again she fell back to the seat she had occupied. 
 
 Reynolds took her hand, and tried in his rough way to con- 
 sole her. Presently a copious flood of tears relieved her, and 
 soon after her mother's step was heard at the door. 
 
 " Now, Reynolds," she said, " go, I beseech you, and since 
 Peter must leave us, remember we have more than ever need 
 of a friend. Alas! where are we to look to? O, Reynolds, 
 Reynolds," and here again her tears burst forth. 
 
 The man was evidently strongly affected; he attempted
 
 348 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 to speak, and Anna thought she caught the word " to-mor- 
 
 row." 
 
 Hastily pressing her hand, but with much tenderness of 
 manner, he turned away, with the usual "goodbye," and be- 
 fore she could close the garden door she heard him leap into 
 the street. 
 
 The next moment Anna's mother entered, holding he*r apron 
 to her eyes, and sat down without speaking. It immediately 
 became certain that she had heard the terrible fact of the ven- 
 geance taken by her son upon the magistrate. Anna spoke 
 not, but placing her chair beside that of her mother, took her 
 hand, and leaned her head upon her shoulder. 
 
 Leaving the two unhappy women to their sorrow, let me 
 follow Reynolds, who, on leaving the cottage, found more stir 
 in the usually quiet streets than he expected. His own situ- 
 ation was perilous, although the laxity of the constabulary was 
 such that in the ordinary course of things little or no move- 
 ment was made, notwithstanding the most terrible and daring 
 acts of the band of poachers and subsequent counterfeiters 
 which had at length progressed into a band of desperate high- 
 waymen, were repeatedly made known and daily spoken of; 
 but in the present case, when the murder of the principal 
 Justice of the Peace was suspected, and his absence known and 
 unaccounted for, it was impossible to remain inactive, and 
 without making a show of doing something. Several persons 
 were consequently to be seen moving from place to place, 
 lighted by the usual torch, and at the door of the lost old man 
 four or five persons were standing, engaged in earnest conver- 
 sation. 
 
 The watch-house lay in the road Reynolds had to pass, and 
 though it was possible for him to have avoided it 2 yet, with the 
 fearless daring that characterized him, he passed so closely to 
 the watchmen that he actually touched one, who had to make 
 way for him. 
 
 He pulled his hat over his eyes with a careless air, but so
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 349 
 
 as to conceal his face, and then walked on with his accustomed 
 bold and rapid step. 
 
 He was soon free of the town, and had commenced ascending 
 a hilly road, when at the head of the first path, whence some 
 branching paths, although now indistinct, led off in different 
 directions, he stopped, and seated himself upon a block of rug- 
 ged stone, which every here and there protruded from the turf. 
 As if carelessly feeling about, he took up two small stones, and 
 striking them slowly together, listened with his ear bent to- 
 wards the ground, and after a moment's pause repeated the 
 signal, throwing the stones away. He sat still, and very soon 
 a rustling was heard among the twigs and leaves, and Anna's 
 brother stood before him. 
 
 " Reynolds," he said, in a subdued tone, "you have seen my 
 sister, I presume, and told her the whole affair ? rt 
 
 Without turning to look at the speaker, who stood a little 
 behind him, Reynolds replied — 
 
 " By my faith I have, and very little indeed shall I benefit 
 by being the bearer of such news. You might just as well 
 have let the thing take its course." 
 
 " It was only to save the feelings of my mother and sister 
 that I wished you to go and break the news, which, when it 
 arrives, will fall heavily enough." 
 
 " Then I am afraid I managed the thing very badly ; but the 
 devil take me if I can see the matter in the light you see it. I 
 told the tale as I felt it — as I enjoyed it — as, in fact, I do. I 
 wish I had been in your place, and so will many a man in the 
 town." 
 
 " Every man has not a mother and sister — such a sister as 
 Anna," replied Peter. Then in a desponding tone he added — 
 
 " I wish— I wish—" 
 
 " O, I see," rejoined Reynolds. " You wish you had never 
 done it. To rid the world of such an old scoundrel as that 
 must be a heavy crime, to be sure ! How many souls of better 
 men than himself has he crushed to the earth 1 ? How many
 
 S50 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 weeping widows and orphans, a,nd lorn, forsaken damsels, has 
 he made 1" 
 
 Peter stood musing and pensive. 
 
 " I wonder," continued Reynolds, " if the bunglers have 
 found the body yet. To-morrow there will be a grand hunt. 
 I wish you had brought away his gun, and, perhaps, he had 
 money about him." 
 
 Peter turned away, with an expression of disgust, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed Reynolds, " I see ; well, let us join 
 our comrades. Come, let us go." 
 
 The sequel to this horrible event is no less terrible than the 
 event itself. After three days' search the body of the old ma- 
 gistrate was discovered, and it was found to be covered with 
 wounds from head to foot ; but it was subsecptently known 
 that these wounds were not given by the perpetrator of the 
 murder, but by various members of the gang to which he be- 
 longed, who either searched it out for the purpose of gratify- 
 ing their impotent and brutal malice, or found it by accident, 
 and inflicted this indignity upon it, through exasperated feel- 
 ings. The terrible death of this man was followed by a num- 
 ber of events fully as dreadful, in which the desperate men 
 already named w r ere the principal actors. The gang of house- 
 breakers and highwaymen continued to increase, and at length 
 excited such terror and alarm that the Government was Com- 
 pelled to adopt some measures to put a stop to their sanguina- 
 ry career — at least, to show some marks of detestation at their 
 frightful deeds. It was known that the leader of the band had 
 oftentimes sought a retreat from justice in the house in the 
 suburb, described at the commencement of my story, and the 
 place had altogether such a bad name, that according to a sen- 
 tence, by no means uncommon, thirty years ago, the rookery 
 was ordered to be destroyed. This severe sentence — for many 
 honest though poor families resided there — was only partially 
 carried into effect. Many houses and hovels on the outskirts
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 351 
 
 were destroyed, and as the particular crime which had been 
 traced to Peter called for an especial act of vengeance, though 
 neither the perpetrator nor his accomplices could be found, the 
 once happy home and peaceful dwelling which, until the fatal 
 hour arrived, still served as a retreat for the gentle Anna and 
 her mother, fell under the ruthless denouncement, which stain- 
 ed, even the record of its existence, with blood, doomed it to 
 destruction, and left it for many years a memorial of crime 
 and a desolate ruin. 
 
 Two years after this decree had gone forth, which consigned 
 the abode of the widow and her daughter to ruin, and sent 
 them forth into the world wretched and destitute, and Avithout 
 a protector, a message was received at the Bow street police 
 
 office, requesting the attendance of an active officer at , for 
 
 the purpose of endeavoring to trace out the perpetrators of a 
 crime of a serious nature, which had been committed shortly 
 after the murder of the magistrate and the destruction of the 
 den of infamy and poverty mentioned above. I was selected. 
 It appeared that the county bank had discovered that their 
 notes had been forged to an unlimited extent, and had even 
 been passed in London and exchanged for notes of the Bank of 
 England. It was on this account, the Bank of England being 
 an immense loser, that the investigation had been determined 
 upon. The county bank officers would probably have rested 
 satisfied with such feeble demonstrations as were customary 
 in country places at that period. With the Bank of Ei gland 
 it was a different thing. The directors were energetic then, as 
 they are now, and they resolved to take private measures to 
 discover the counterfeiters. 
 
 I posted off to ; there were no railroad cars in those 
 
 days, and travelling by stage was considered vulgar, though it 
 subsequently for many years before the establishment of rail- 
 roads became prevalent even amongst the loftiest in the land. 
 
 My purpose was to assume the disgui-se of a man of wealth 
 and fashion, hence the object of travelling in a post-chaise. I
 
 352 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 arrived at , and took lodgings at the principal hotel. I had 
 
 money presented to me to spend judiciously, yet freely, and 
 as I marie a great show, it soon became bruited abroad that a 
 man of fashion had arrived. I received invitations to the 
 houses of the best families, and I accepted them freely, and 
 was urgent with the male members to accept my hospitalities 
 at my hotel. 
 
 Amongst the families I thus became acquainted with was 
 one which had become suddenly wealthy ; no one knew how. 
 It was given abroad that a relative had died in India, leaving 
 the head of the house a fortune of four lacs of rupees — about 
 <£S0,000. Certainly this gentleman had never realized a for- 
 tune from his business, for he was but a small manufacturer, 
 and as Great Britain was at this period in the midst of a most 
 expensive war, the cotton merchants were not the wealthy 
 men, the lords of merchandise they are at present. The agri- 
 culturists at this period were reaping their harvests, and the 
 farmers were the aristocrats of trade. 
 
 Mr. Jobson was, however, a man of great intelligence, and, 
 for his rank in life, of considerable acquirements. In those 
 days the middle classes did not place so much value on educa- 
 tion as they have done since and do now. Yet, I thought 
 there was a strange embarrassment about him — an absent- 
 minded thoughtfulness at times, an incoherency when the con- 
 versation took a turn upon wealth, which it often did, for Mr. 
 Jobson had, like many other wealthy men, many favorites, 
 who clung to him like leeches, hanging upon every word 
 he uttered, and trumpeting forth his praises, which to me 
 seemed very suspicious. Mr. Jobson had retired from busi- 
 ness, and if he really had received the legacy he spoke of, I 
 thought it strange he should be so discomposed when it was 
 alluded to. I resolved to watch this man closely. I don't 
 know whether it came to me by intuition, but somehow or 
 other, from the very first time I saw him, I suspected him of 
 being in some degree connected with the forgeries. Mr. Job-
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 353 
 
 son called upon me frequently at my hotel, and I was as fre- 
 quent a visitor at his mansion, which stood at the outskirts of 
 the city. It may seem mean and cowardly thus, in a manner, 
 to boast of accepting the hospitality of a man with the object 
 of bringing him to ruin ; but in doing this 1 was but doing my 
 duty to society, and certainly was no worse than the honorable 
 lawyer, as he is termed, who will plead a case against an inno- 
 cent party, knowing him to be innocent, and attach himself to 
 the cause of a guilty man knowing him to be guilty, and to do 
 his best to ruin one or save the other, in consideration of a fee. 
 
 Two or three times when entering Mr. Jobson's house, I met 
 a youg man, who seemed carefully to avoid me, stealing past 
 amongst the shrubbery when he could, and at other times 
 turning his face from me when he could not avoid passing close 
 by me. 
 
 If he were a visitor at the house, and he was a young man 
 of handsome form and fashionable exterior, and well might be 
 a visitor, what was the cause of this confusion on his part, and 
 why did not Mr. Jobson introduce him to me ? 
 
 One evening I said, while sitting in conversation with Mr. 
 Jobson in his study : 
 
 " By the bye, have you any visitors here besides your fami- 
 ly, to whom I have been introduced ? M 
 
 " Visitors — no," replied Mr. Jobson, and I noticed that he 
 appeared strangely disconcerted. " What makes you ask that 
 question ?" 
 
 " Because," replied I, " I have met several times a young 
 gentleman in your grounds, who seems to be a resident or a 
 constant visitor here, and who is strangely reserved, for he al- 
 ways avoids me when I happen to pass near him." 
 
 "Oh, ah, yes; you are alluding to Peter — to Johnson, I 
 mean, my late head clerk, who is now employed in winding 
 up my affairs. Yes, he is a strangely reserved young man — 
 very much so. He never likes to be in the company of 
 strangers."
 
 354 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 I said no more on the subject ; but the next day I made 
 some inquiries of my fellow boarders at the hotel, some of 
 whom were bagmen, and were consequently well acquainted 
 with the affairs and the persons of all the merchants and 
 all their head clerks in the neighborhood, and indeed in the 
 country. 
 
 Quite carelessly 1 asked one of these commercial travellers 
 to join me in discussing a bottle of port, an invitation never 
 extended to a bagman in vain. Indeed it is a portion of their 
 duty to cultivate the acquaintance of every respectable person 
 they meet, in the hope that it may prove of advantage to their 
 employers, and there is no better method of getting into a 
 man's good graces and taking advantage of his weakness than 
 when his heart is expanded and his brain a little clouded with 
 wine. The bagmen know this, and the gentleman in question 
 instantly joined me at the table. I spoke of the merchants in 
 the town, and among the rest I mentioned the name of Mr. 
 Jobson. 
 
 " Ah, a lucky fellow is Jobson," said my newly acquired ac- 
 quaintance. " He came into the possession of a pretty fortune 
 lately by the death of some relative in India, of whose existence 
 he appears not to have been aware, for he, I understand, even 
 now cannot satisfactorily state what degree of relationship ex- 
 isted between him and the defunct. All the townspeople know 
 Jobson's family, and none of /hem ever heard of this relative. 
 However, that doesn't much matter ; he left Jobson several 
 lacs of rupees — a funny name that, isn't it, lacs of rupees ! I 
 wish somebody would leave me a lac of money, for I have a 
 lack of it now. Excuse mo, sir, I am punning on the Hindoo- 
 stan word — do you take ?" and the facetious bagman nudged 
 me with his elbow. 
 
 " Did Mr. Jobson do a great business before this stroke of 
 good fortune happened to him?" I asked. 
 
 " Lor bless you, no, sir ! You see this war with Boney 
 plays the very devil — excuse the word, sir, plays the very 

 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 355 
 
 deuce, I should have said, with a greater regard to propriety, 
 in the presence of a gentleman and a stranger — with the manu- 
 facturing business, and we travelling gentlemen, sir, have the 
 utmost difficulty in getting orders for our London employers. 
 The farmers, sir, the farmers are the only folks who are making 
 money now, and they are coining it — actually coining it ; but 
 their time will come — but the wine is getting low, what say 
 you to a second bottle — a bottle apiece will do us no harm. 
 Waiter, bring us another bottle of port — do you prefer port, 
 sir V 
 
 The loquacious bagman hardly gave me an opportunity 
 to slip in a word edgeways ; but at length, taking advantage 
 of the moment when he was filling himself a glass of wine 
 from the second bottle, I said — 
 
 " You were speaking of Mr. Jobson's business — I think you 
 observed that it was not very remunerative before he met with 
 this stroke of fortune ?" 
 
 " Nor was it, sir, but — " and the bagman eyed me search- 
 ingly — " it might have been made a fair business as business 
 goes in these hard times, if Mr. Jobson had attended to it ; 
 but he was continually absent, sir, absent. Some think he 
 was all the time writing to his uncle or cousin, or whatever he 
 is, with an eye to the fortune, which it appears he has eventu- 
 ally gained. He turned up trumps, sir, and no mistake ; but 
 if you are desirous of taking up the business, I think it would 
 thrive under your management. You have a phiz, sir — ex- 
 cuse me, but I am not flattering you. I never flatter, but I 
 repeat you have a phiz — just the cut for doing a sharp busi- 
 ness. I have no doubt, sir — of course references and so forth 
 being all right — that the very respectable gents for whom I 
 have the honor to travel as a commercial agent, would be 
 happy to supply you, on reasonable terms, with any goods you 
 may require in our line. Muggs & Dubbins, sir" — handing 
 me a card — " that is the name of the very respectable firm 
 with whom I have the honor, and I may add the supreme
 
 356 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 pleasure, to be connected, and I assert fearlessly that a more 
 respectable brace of gents is not to be found in the city of 
 London. It's a nobby house, sir." 
 
 " Of that I have no doubt," I replied, "but I have no inten- 
 tion of entering into the cotton business on my own account. 
 I merely made the inquiry, because I once knew a young man 
 who was connected as principal clerk with one of the mercan- 
 tile firms in this town, and somehow or other it strikes me 
 that the name was Jobson &, Co." 
 
 " Jobson never had a Co., sir," answered the bagman. 
 
 " Perhaps I may have been mistaken," I replied. " How- 
 ever, it still strikes me the name of this young man's employer 
 was Jobson. You may happen to know the name of Jobson's 
 late managing clerk V 
 
 " To be sure I do ; know the name of every clerk and book- 
 keeper in the county. Jobson's clerk, and he only had 
 one, was named Wilkins." 
 
 " Peter Johnson was the name of the young man I alluded 
 to," said I ; "I find I was mistaken. Do you know the name 
 of Peter Johnson amongst the mercantile gentlemen of your 
 acquaintance ?" 
 
 " No such name in , sir," replied the bagman, "nor in 
 
 the whole county." 
 
 " I must be quite mistaken, then ; so Mr. Jobson did but 
 a small business ? It was not one that put him to a great 
 deal of trouble in winding it up ?" 
 
 " Lor bless you, no, sir. Jobson did a very small, cash 
 business ; he was considered to be of so little account that 
 he could not obtain credit." 
 
 "His affairs were soon settled, then, when he retired'?" 
 
 " Soon settled ! I believe you — why his bank was his vest 
 pocket, and his ledger was only a small memorandum book." 
 
 "He was then indeed a lucky man to meet with such a 
 windfall." 
 
 " Yes, sir," returned the bagman, and the second bottle of
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 357 
 
 wine being by this time empty, and a mercantile looking gen- 
 tleman having just entered the coffee-room, and having had 
 sufficient proof that nothing was to be gained from me in the 
 way of trade, the wide-awake commercial traveller rose from 
 his seat, shook me cordially by the hand, and by a series of 
 well-contrived and really amusing evolutions, very soon man- 
 aged to get into conversation with the new comer. 
 
 "So!" thought I to myself, when I was again left alone, 
 " so, this Mr. Jobson told me a falsehood when he said that 
 this mysterious, reserved stranger was his head clerk, and 
 that he was engaged in winding up his affairs ; and now it 
 strikes me he did not say his name was Peter, but the word 
 slipped out, as it were unintentionally, and he immediately 
 corrected himself and said the name was Johnson. Peter — 
 Peter — let me think — Peter Bailey is one'of the names that 
 have been on the ' Hue and Cry' in the Bow-street office for 
 the last six months, and he is suspected of being connected 
 with a gang of counterfeiters and forgers, and some say mur- 
 derers, although none of the gang have ever been caught. 
 Can I recollect the description of this Peter Bailey % Now I 
 think of it, I have a copy of the ' Hue and Cry' in my trunk," 
 and I stepped up to my room to procure it. I read the notice — 
 ' Siqiposed to be the leaders of a gang of des2)eradoes ioho have 
 
 established their head- quarters at . Andrew Casper, Isaac 
 
 Reynolds, and Peter Bailey.' " v 
 
 Then followed a description of the persons of these three 
 men. I passed over the other two, and read the description of 
 Peter Bailey, as follows : — 
 
 " Six feet high, erect and handsome, black, curly hair, and 
 dark gray eyes ; has the appearance of a person of better 
 condition, although his usual attire is that of a working me- 
 chanic." 
 
 " Humph !" I exclaimed, as I laid aside the sheet. " Six 
 feet high, erect and handsome ; black, curly hair, and dark 
 gray eyes. (I never saw his eyes, though j he has always hid-
 
 35S THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 den his face from me, but I should judge him to be handsome.) 
 Has the appearance of a person of better condition ! Why 
 the description fits this reserved stranger to a T, and although 
 he is said to dress usually after the fashion of a working me- 
 chanic, yet it is easy enough to alter the style of one's dress. 
 A man's fustian or broadcloth is not his skin. I must see 
 further into this. I have got a clue to this unknown relative 
 of Mr. Jobson's and to the identity of this confidential clerk 
 of his." And full of this idea I lit a candle, for the night was 
 growing late, and ascended to my bed-room. I undressed my- 
 self and soon fell asleep, and dreamed that I had- succeeded in 
 capturing the bank note counterfeiters, and that they had turned 
 out to be Jobson and Peter Bailey, and that I had been pre- 
 sented with a large fortune by the directors of the Bank of 
 England as a mark of their satisfiction at my success, and that 
 the city had resolved to appoint me to a high municipal office, 
 giving me my own choice, and I was in a great dilemma 
 whether to become Governor of Newgate prison or Lord Mayor 
 of London. 
 
 The following morning after breakfast I set myself about 
 devising some plan by which I could ferret out the secret which 
 I felt assured preyed on the mind of Mr. Jobson. I resolved 
 in the first place to get a glimpse of the features of the young 
 man whom I had so often seen in the grounds of the mansion, 
 and if upon inspection I was satisfied that he was the person 
 described in the Hue and Cry as Peter Bailey, cautiously to 
 have him arrested and privately conveyed to London, for it was 
 from London that the warrant for his arrest had issued, and then to 
 clean from him how he had become connected with Mr. Jobson. 
 
 But I was all this time building castles in Spain. The basis 
 upon which I had built my hypothesis was a somewhat inse- 
 cure foundation. It was pretty clear, to be sure, that some one 
 
 in had committed the extensive frauds, but I had no reason 
 
 especially to suspect Mr. Jobson further than the fact that he 
 had come suddenly into the possession of a large fortune that
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 359 
 
 nobody could account for, and as to the reserved stranger, he 
 very likely was not Peter Bailey. 
 
 I was invited to visit Mr. Jobson that evening. I had met 
 him in the morning in a pathway shrouded with thickly grown 
 shrubs, that led from his grounds into the town common, and 
 I was certain that just as I had come in sight the stranger had 
 quitted his side and had concealed himself amongst the bushes, 
 so I said loudly, in order that he might hear me distinctly, that 
 unexpected business would call me to Liverpool that after- 
 noon, and that I must forego the pleasure of his company in 
 the evening. 
 
 Nevertheless in the evening I was there, hanging just on the 
 skirts of the grounds. I had privately made my real charac- 
 ter known to the magistrate at , and on this occasion I 
 
 had engaged the services of two of the town Dogberrys. I 
 did not know that I should need them ; but 1 thought I might 
 possibly do so. They had their little staves of office with them, 
 carved sticks about eight inches long, having a gilded crown 
 on the top, significant of their being officers of the municipality, 
 subservient to the crown. 
 
 It was nearly dark when I met them at the appointed ren- 
 dezvous, and cautiously we proceeded together to the place 
 where I had parted from Mr. Jobson in the morning. I felt 
 very much as if I were bound on a fool's errand, 'nevertheless 
 something whispered to me that my adventure would not be 
 without its fruits. 
 
 Sure enough, as we approached the grounds of Mi*. Jobson, 
 we saw the retired merchant and a man whose figure I at once 
 recognized as that of the stranger, engaged in deep conversation. 
 I bade my attendants conceal themselves, and did the same myself, 
 and presently the stranger apparently wished Mr. Jobson good 
 night, and came dowm the lane by himself. 
 
 I came forth from my place of concealment and advanced to 
 meet him. He had no means of escaping me but by running 
 away, and I resolved to accost him.
 
 3G0 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 " Good evening, sir," said I, as I came near ; " I thought of 
 going out of town to-day, but after all I have not gone. I was 
 thinking of calling upon Mr. Jobson, but as now he does 
 not expect me, I will turn back. You will be company 
 for me. We will walk to the town together, if you have no 
 objection." 
 
 The stranger mumbled out some acquiescent reply, and I 
 turned back with him. The moon shone full in his face, and 
 the features were those described in the " Hue and Cry," as 
 appertaining to Peter Bailey. 
 
 Eight or wrong, I resolved to make a bold stroke, and ac- 
 cording to a previously concerted signal I whistled as I ap- 
 proached the ambush where the two constables were concealed ; 
 they sprang out, and before he was aware of it, secured the 
 young man. 
 
 " What means this outrage?" said he. 
 
 " You are my prisoner," said I. 
 
 " Your prisoner ! On what charge ? — there must be some 
 mistake." 
 
 " You are suspected of being Peter Bailey, for whose ap- 
 prehension a reward has been offered by the Bank of England," 
 I replied. "You perfectly answer to the description." 
 
 "My name is Johnson," said the young man. "I protest 
 against this outrage." But I noticed as he spoke that his voice 
 trembled and his frame shook violently. 
 
 " I hope you may be able to prove it," said I, " but feel it 
 my duty to arrest and convey you to London." 
 
 " Who and what are you V 
 
 " A Bow-street officer," I replied. 
 
 The young man fulded his arms, and without saying another 
 word allowed himself to be guided to the post-chaise I had in 
 waiting. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes I, my prisoner, and the two 
 village Dogberrys were rolling rapidly towards the great me- 
 tropolis.
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 361 
 
 In twelve hours from the period of our starting with our 
 prisoner, we reached London. It was night. Slowly — for, 
 though dark, the streets were thronged with carriages — we 
 wound our way to the Bow-street police office, and the prisoner 
 was ordered to alight from the carriage, and after a brief 
 examination by the clerk — for at that hour no magistrate was 
 present — he was placed in a place of temjoorary security, until 
 morning, when it was our intention to take him to the guild- 
 hall. To the questions of the clerk he had not replied, and the 
 clerk said it was obstinacy that made him keep silent, and a 
 dozen myrmidons of justice murmured in response to the 
 official "clothed in a little brief authority," forgetting, he and 
 they, that the prisoner, whose silence they united to condemn, 
 had previously been warned that anything he might say would 
 be used against him — warned not to criminate himself — so irre- 
 concilable are the perversities of the legal fictions of justice. 
 
 On the morrow, Peter Johnson, as he still called himself, 
 was carried before the Recorder, and, although he still pleaded 
 "not guilty," he was fully committed for trial on the evidence 
 of myself and the village constables. 
 
 Measures were taken to institute further investigations with 
 reference to Mr. Jobson, but without letting that gentleman 
 know anything of the suspicions that were entertained in regard 
 to him. 
 
 It wanted some weeks to the sessions, and during that period 
 the prisoner remained in the jail of Newgate. Meanwhile a 
 vast amount of evidence was obtained, all tending to implicate 
 Mr. Jobson as having been connected with the bank forgeries 
 and the counterfeit notes that had been issued. 
 
 The prisoner remained sullen and silent, speaking to no one 
 and hanging aloof from his fellow-prisoners. But, meanwhile, 
 the story of the arrest had got into the newspapers, in spite of 
 our efforts to silence the reporters, for we did not want Mr. 
 Jobson to get a hint of the arrest of his quondam friend. 
 
 But others had read the newspapers, in which my name was 
 16
 
 362 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 favorably mentioned as the officer -who had made the arrest, 
 and on the day after the report appeared in the Times, in which 
 the name of the town where the arrest was made was men- 
 tioned, as well as a description of the prisoner, who, it was 
 asserted, was, it was supposed, the identical Peter Bailey men- 
 tioned in the " Hue and Cry" though he endeavored to pass 
 under the name of Peter Johnson, a messenger came to my 
 room and told me that a young woman wished to see me in 
 the office. 
 
 I went down stairs, and found a pretty, pale-faced young 
 woman in waiting, in whom I recognized a strong resemblance 
 to the prisoner. 
 
 She shuddered and seemed ready to faint as she saw me ap- 
 proach, and, in fact, would have fallen to the floor, had I not 
 caught her in my arms and led her to a rude bench that ran 
 alonir the walls. 
 
 " Who are you, young woman, and what do you want with 
 me V I asked. 
 
 " My name is Bailey," she replied. " I have seen a report 
 in the police columns of the Times, in which it is said that one 
 Peter Bailey has been arrested, though it does not specify on 
 what especial charge. I have a brother of that name whom I 
 have not seen for a long time. Yesterday I called at the prison 
 and asked to see the prisoner, but they would not admit me. 
 Oh, sir ! if you can give me admittance, pray do. If it is 
 indeed my unfortunate brother, let me see him, and oh ! tell 
 me on what charge is he arrested V 
 
 " That, at present," I replied, " I cannot disclose ; but the 
 evidence against him is strong. I am sorry to say there can 
 be no doubt of his guilt." 
 
 While I was speaking, the unfortunate girl had fainted. I 
 procured assistance, had her carried into the inner office, and 
 by dint of using the customary restoratives, she began to come 
 to. But her features had assumed a haggard wildness ; she 
 cast her large blue eyes imploringly and yet fearfully upon
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 3G3 
 
 me, and said, as she passed her hand across her throbbing tem- 
 ples : — 
 
 " What did you tell me, or what horrid dream have I had 1 
 
 My poor brother suspected of the murder of Mr. , the 
 
 magistrate at ! Oh, God ! spare him. Good, kind sir, 
 
 spare him. He was driven to the commission of the crime by 
 madness. Oh, if you only knew how he had been ill-treated, 
 abused when a mere child, by that cruel man, you would pity 
 and forgive him. It was wrong — very wrong — dreadful to 
 think of — but he murdered my brother's soul, and well nigh 
 killed him by his cruelty," and a shiver passed over her frame 
 as she again passed into a state of insensibility. What had I 
 heard ! Peter Bailey the murderer of the magistrate whose 
 death had caused so great a sensation throughout the country, 
 but whose murderer or murderers had hitherto evaded every 
 effort made to capture them who were not even suspected ! 
 The charge on which I had arrested the young man on suspi- 
 cion fell into insignificance compared with this. I sent every 
 person out of the room with the exception of the female atten- 
 dant, who was endeavoring again to restore the young woman 
 to consciousness, and the clerk of the office, whom I wished to 
 retain as a witness. 
 
 The fit that had seized the poor girl was much severer than 
 the preceding one. She rambled incoherently, calling upon 
 the name of Reynolds, sometimes asking him to aid her, some- 
 times bitterly upbraiding him as her brother's tempter and 
 destroyer. 
 
 Reynolds ! the name was familiar to me. It was one of 
 those proscribed in the " Hue and Crv," and I learned the night 
 previous that a man suspected to be him had been arrested at 
 Camberwell, and was to take his examination at the guildhall 
 on that day. He, too, was suspected of being connected with 
 
 the counterfeiters — was he, too, one of the murderers of the 
 
 magistrate 1
 
 364 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 At length the unhappy young woman grew more composed, 
 still her cry was ceaseless — 
 
 " Oh ! take me to my brother. For God's sake procure me 
 an interview with my poor, unhappy brother," and I promised 
 her she should see her brother that day, and bade her compose 
 herself, and after a time I partially succeeded. But she would 
 not leave the office until I promised at once to take her to the 
 jail iu which her brother, as she and as I, too, supposed, was 
 confined, and 1 promised to do so. 
 
 It seemed cruel — it was cruel — thus to make a loving sister 
 the agent of her brother's destruction, but I felt that I was 
 doing simply a duty, although a painful one. I ordered a car- 
 riage. She and I entered it, and I told the coachman to drive 
 to Newgate. 
 
 The heavy iron doors of the prison swung open at my word, 
 and I and my unhappy companion entered the portals of the 
 gloomy pile, over which Dante's inscription might well have 
 been written : — 
 
 " Hope is shut out from those who enter here." 
 
 Leaving the young woman in an antechamber, in the charge 
 of one of the matrons, I proceeded to the Governor's room, and 
 demanded an interview with that functionary. To him I related 
 my story, and 1 received from him an order to the turnkey to 
 permit me to see the prisoner, Peter Johnson, alias Peter Bailey, 
 and as the Governor placed the order in my hand, he compli- 
 mented me highly on my diligence and success. I pitied the 
 poor girl so much that the compliment seemed to be a compli- 
 ment for the commission of a deed of cruelty ; yet it pleased 
 me — so selfish is the human heart. Here was I, under pretence 
 of kindness to an unfortunate, heart-broken girl, striving to 
 make her an accomplice in proving, with my assistance, a capi- 
 tal crime against a loved though guilty brother. 
 
 " He's a surly fellow, that Johnson, or Bailey," said the 
 turnkey to me, as he opened the ponderous gate which led to 
 the grating through which the prisoners were allowed to see
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 365 
 
 and converse with their friends. " Never a word can you get 
 out of him, though he's a devilish handsome chap, too. So the 
 girls are after him, eh !" glancing at my companion ; " well, 
 it does not surprise me. No matter how guilty these hand- 
 some chaps be, the girls will stick to 'em to the last. Come, 
 tit," addressing the prisoner's sister, "let's see if you can't 
 blarney him into speaking, for he's as silent as a mule." 
 
 " Cease this nonsense," said I, sternly ; " this — this — young 
 lady," for the life of me I could not speak of my companion in 
 less respectful terms, so strangely had she interested me, " this 
 young lady is, as I suspect, the prisoner's sister." 
 
 The turnkey seemed to be abashed ; he bluntly apologized 
 to the girl, and muttered, " Well, I didn't know as the prisoner 
 was a gentleman. These things does make a difference, and 
 sometimes gentlefolks, 'specially when they run wild, will get 
 into aw'kard scrapes. Pity, too, to see a gentleman up for 
 counterfeiting; it's a scragging matter, but may be money will 
 get him off. It can do a vast o' things at times." 
 
 We reached the grating, and Peter Johnson's name was 
 called. In a few minutes the prisoner made his appearance 
 behind the bars. 
 
 The girl did not at first perceive him ; her head was bent 
 down towards her breast, and she was weeping bitterly, all the 
 while endeavoring to control her agitation, but the prisoner 
 saw her. I watched his features. I saAV that he recognized 
 her, but at the same time I thought from the expression of his 
 face that it was his intention to deny any knowledge of her. 
 
 " Peter Bailey is here," I whispered to the girl. 
 
 She raised her head, gave utterance to a piercing shriek, and 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " It is he — it is indeed my unhappy brother," and she sank 
 on the chair that had been provided for her. 
 
 The young man stood motionless, his arms folded across 
 his breast. He sought to appear unconscious why his pre- 
 sence at the grating had been required.
 
 306 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 I saw that he was, indeed, desperately hardened, and I felt 
 a spirit of indignation rising within me. 
 
 I pointed to the half unconscious girl. 
 
 " Do you not perceive, prisoner," said I, " that your sister 
 is here? Why do you not speak to her?" 
 
 " My sister ! I have no sister," he replied. " There must 
 be some mistake." 
 
 But his voice had restored the girl to consciousness. She 
 sprang up from the chair, and her feelings finding vent in a 
 renewed burst of tears, she said — 
 
 ' : Oh, Peter, dear Peter, to see you here ! Do you not 
 know me, your sister 1 Speak, Peter, dear, speak to me, or 
 my heart will break." 
 
 " I have no sister," answered the young man. 
 
 " O, Peter," replied the girl, " have your misfortunes driven 
 you mad ] You are my brother ; speak to me, Peter, dear 
 Peter — our mother is dead. She died shortly after our house 
 was torn down. Peter," she added, in a whisper, loud and 
 thrilling, " she died of starvation. Poor, poor mother !" 
 
 J noticed the young man's breast heave with emotion. He 
 strove still to maintain his calm, composed demeanor, but na- 
 ture was too powerful for him. The stubborn heart within 
 him gave way, and he uttered, in a tone of agony : 
 
 " Our mother dead, Anna !" he said, gasping as it were for 
 breath, and a big tear rolled down his cheek. But suddenly 
 he seemed to recollect himself. " Anna," he asked, in an alarmed 
 tone of voice, " how came you to know that I was here ?" 
 
 " I saw the report of the arrest in the Times,''' she replied, 
 " and I feared from the description that it was you ; besides, the 
 name was mentioned. Oh ! thank God, that mother is dead ; it 
 would have broken her heart to have seen you here. But, dear 
 Peter, I have told this kind man." pointing to me, "that you 
 arc not so guilty as you may appear. It was a fearful crime, 
 but he knows, for I told him how cruelly the magistrate abused 
 and maltreated you."
 
 THE RUINED HOUSE. 367 
 
 "Of what crime do you speak, Anna 1 ?" asked the youth, his 
 face turning ashy pale. 
 
 " Of the murder of Mr. , Peter," she replied, scarcely 
 
 able to articulate her words. 
 
 " Anna, Anna, you have killed me," replied the young man, 
 pressing both the palms of his hands against his brow. 
 
 A sudden light seemed to open upon the girl ; she pushed 
 her hair back from her brow, and looked wildly at her bro- 
 ther — 
 
 " O, Peter, Peter, it is not then on suspicion o£ having com- 
 mitted that murder, but for some other crime, you are here. 
 O, my brother, what have I done!" 
 
 I saw that it was better the painful interview should termi- 
 nate, and I led the half-unconscious, bewildered girl away. 
 Like an automaton, she became a passive instrument in my 
 hands, and placing her in the carriage, and, with much difficulty, 
 ascertaining her place of residence, I carried her home. It was 
 a poor place — a single room in a villauous neighborhood; but 
 the room was neat and clean. Anna Bailey, I learnt from the 
 neighbors, had supported herself — starved herself, I had said 
 with more truth — by taking in shop needle work for the Jews 
 of Monmouth street, since the death of the unhappy widow, her 
 mother. 
 
 But little more remains to be told of the painful episode of 
 my experience. It was not difficult — the cue having been ob- 
 tained through the inadvertent expressions of Anna — to prove 
 the crime of murder against her brother. He was tried, con- 
 victed, and hanged and buried within the precincts of Newgate 
 within twenty-four hours after sentence of death had been 
 passed upon him. The charge of forgery and counterfeiting, so 
 far as he was concerned, was dropped ; but it was proved 
 against Isaac Reynolds, and the fortune of Mr. Jobson was 
 found to have its origin in his having been the moneyed man and 
 the cloak of the gang. 
 
 Reynolds and Jobson were sentenced to death, but the pe-
 
 368 THE RUINED HOUSE. 
 
 nalty was commuted to transportation for life to Norfolk Is- 
 land ; but still one more remained at large, and could not be 
 found. It was Andrew Casper, and after some time the affair 
 was forgotten, and it was supposed this man had evaded the 
 piercing eyes of justice. 
 
 Poor Anna ! She attended her brother in his cell the last 
 night of his life ; but when the turnkey entered in the morning 
 to lead him forth to execution, they found her a raving maniac. 
 Her fancy had conjured up the idea that she was her brother's 
 murderer. She was removed to an insane asylum, where she 
 died two years afterwards, not one glance of reason having ever 
 illumined her mind. 
 
 'tmr
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 A TALE OF ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 • 
 
 In a small house midway of a quiet street near Tottenham 
 Court Road, London, lived Mr. Algernon Hussey — Artist, &c. 
 — as a brass plate on the door told. Lord of himself, and 
 but little else, Mr. Hussey was here pursuing the profession of 
 a painter.. He had already been a few years in London, where 
 by painful diligence, and a solitary favor which fortune had 
 vouchsafed to him in the person of a sound friend, he had col- 
 lected a small stock of money and effects to boot, which had 
 enabled him to exchange his cheap lodgings in Whitechapel for 
 his present house and location, with the chance of letting off 
 any portion of it which was not immediately required for his 
 own purposes. 
 
 But his early struggles had been really serviceable ; for, on 
 his first arrival in the metropolis, a small black trunk compris- 
 ed his whole worldly wealth, chiefly the heterogeneous bounty 
 of his two aunts, whose eccentricities, though mixed up in al- 
 most everything they said or did, had still left the good inten- 
 tions uncompounded of any deleterious matter whatever. 
 
 These ladies being by no means affluent, were enabled only 
 
 to supply a more modicum for starting Algei-non on his race 
 
 in the world. His first attempts had been at Whitechapel, 
 
 where he had* painted anybody and for anything, and although 
 
 16*
 
 370 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 his practice might have been low. low also were his charges ; 
 sometimes so low as to be beneath the regard of those very 
 persons for whom they had been made. In fact he had taken 
 far more heads than crowns, and had caught likenesses where 
 he could catch little else. Gradually, however, his prospects 
 brightened. He entered on a new residence, was admitted an 
 associate of the Royal Academy, and was in time to hear Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds' last lecture on the genius of Michael Angelo. 
 
 It has already been observed that since Algernon's intro- 
 duction to the metropolis he had formed an acquaintance, as 
 valuable to one party as it was honorable to both, with a Mr. 
 Wilmington, a young gentleman of good family and fortune, 
 who on his first visit to London had quite accidentally become 
 acquainted with the young artist. 
 
 Wilmington subsequently made several visits to the paint- 
 er's studio, and so little time was lost in making acquaintance 
 that within three weeks they were the best friends imaginable. 
 
 As he could not fail to be aware of Algernon's circum- 
 stances. Mr. Wilmington soon saw how advantageous at this 
 moment would be a pecuniary loan, and this he offered, but in 
 the most considerate and delicate manner. 
 
 Suffice it to say, he lent him fifty guineas, a loan which was 
 accepted in the same manly spirit in which it was offered. 
 
 Wilmington was not only a man of the strictest probity, but 
 his notions of practical rectitude in others had been perhaps 
 too much put to school. The exigency of existing circum- 
 stances was a plea he could not for a moment admit. His 
 judgment certainly savored of dogma. In the little kingdom 
 of his brain he had set up a kind of Bentham, who, playing the 
 Procrustes with human actions, would stretch all alike on a 
 bed of rule, which, though of beautiful proportion itself, exact- 
 ed rather too severe a discipline. 
 
 To disguise he had so bitter a hostility that he would scarce- 
 ly allow his fellow-men the custody of their own thoughts, but 
 expected the prison doors to be thrown open and the inmates
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 371 
 
 to walk abroad in a state of moral nudity, which might some- 
 times induce any but philosophers to cover their eyes. 
 
 In the service of Algernon's advancement, Wilmington had 
 made so favorable a representation of him in the family of one 
 Colonel Malnern, a distant relative of his own, that he was 
 chosen to instruct his daughter Isabella in the art of painting, 
 for which purpose he had already made several visits to St. 
 James' Square. 
 
 The family of Colonel Malnern was a most pleasing speci- 
 men of English aristocracy. Himself of honorable descent, he 
 had married the daughter of the Earl of Derwent, a lady who 
 brought him a very considerable fortune, and who was so 
 famed for beauty of person that she had acquired the distinc- 
 tive appellation of the "Lily of the North." 
 
 Isabella's disposition was equal to her beauty. She was at 
 the time of her marriage nineteen years of age, and was still a 
 young woman. By all the members of this house Algernon 
 was treated with a kindness which rendered him happier, per- 
 haps, than ever he had been. 
 
 On a certain morning in the year 18 — , a double knock at the 
 door announced the arrival of the general post. The letter 
 bore the Leek mark, and was a joint communication from Miss 
 Martha and Miss Hannah Hussey to their nephew Algernon. 
 
 These ladies were of a truth the strangest women in the 
 whole county of Stafford. Tall, upright, and thin, they were 
 bv no means less remarkable for a rococo style of costume, to 
 which they had ever shown a positive preference. 
 
 Their manners were one, their thoughts in common, and 
 their accents vibrated by the same chord, on a kind of cata- 
 phonic sound, the one attuned to the other ; for Martha, the 
 elder by half an hour, invariably leading off in every sentence, 
 was reverberated by Hannah with the fidelity of Echo herself. 
 
 Their hats became dingy in the same month ; their cloaks 
 were bought and abandoned on the same day, while their very 
 laces failed in corresponding stitches. They were ever in diffi-
 
 372 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 culties by ever doing " all for the best," and nothing in their 
 opinion was done perfectly, unless it was thrown into confusion 
 by what they termed " an error on the right side." 
 
 With some misgivings, Algernon broke the seal and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Our dear Algernon — Delighted as we both are, that you 
 have taken up your residence in a fashionable neighborhood, 
 and knowing as we both do that the name and talents of a 
 Hussey can never fail, we are quite sure we may now con- 
 gratulate you on having attained the highest eminence in your 
 profession. 
 
 " We often think of you, and so anxious are we again to see 
 
 and converse with our nephew, of whom we are both so proud, 
 that we have made up our minds to leave Leek on Thursday 
 night by the night coach, and stay with you in London. 
 
 "As we believe you have a spare bed, we hope we shall 
 put you to no inconvenience. We have both been longing to 
 catch a glimpse at London, and hear your fame the great topic 
 of the leading circles. We shall arrive at six o'clock on Satur- 
 day evening ; so look out for us at the ' Old Angel,' St. Cle- 
 ment's Danes. With God's blessing, we are 
 
 " Your affectionate aunts, 
 
 " Hannah Hussey, 
 "Martha Hussey." 
 
 To forbear a smile on reading the letter transcribed in the 
 last chapter Algernon found impossible, but reflection gave him 
 some uneasiness ; for having been long forewarned of certain 
 peculiarities in bis aunts, he entertained some fears that in 
 " doing all for the best," some mischief was in reserve. How- 
 ever, it was too late to throw impediments in the way of their 
 coming, and had it been otherwise he was of too generous a dis- 
 position to attempt it. 
 
 Wilmington called.
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 373 
 
 "I am come, Mr. Hussey," said he, "to impose a fresh 
 trouble on you. You are no stranger to the state of my heart, 
 and I take this opportunity for telling you that my marriage 
 with Louise — with Miss Ellesmere — is at hand." 
 Algernon assented by a slight bow. 
 
 " I have therefore a favor to ask of you in your professional 
 capacity, which I know you will execute with judgment. See," 
 continued he, drawing from his pocket a morocco case, where- 
 in was deposited a miniature — " see, this is Louise — Miss El- 
 lesmere— painted before I had the pleasure of knowing you. 
 Now, look, could you not bring that raven lock a little more 
 the least in the world — over the— the face 1 You see what I 
 mean, Mr. Hussey — just to the point of my pencil." 
 
 Nothing could have been easier than to see what Mr. "Wil- 
 mington did mean ; but Algernon had been so struck with the 
 loveliness of the countenance that he was in fact compelled to 
 beg his friend's instructions a second time ; besides which his 
 sight was not a little dazzled by the setting of the miniature, 
 which was encircled by a cordon of diamonds of no ordinary 
 size. 
 
 With some diffidence he accepted the duty imposed, which, 
 though really of no great difficulty, yet was a responsibility 
 which rendered him nervous. 
 
 This commission, with two further visits to St. James' Square, 
 occupied Algernon until Saturday, the day on which he was to 
 wait the arrival of his two aunts at the Angel at Islington. 
 
 It will not be expected that I should bear these ladies com- 
 pany throughout a tedious journey of above one hundred 
 and fifty miles ; neither must I altogether leave them unno- 
 ticed. 
 
 Full an hour before the coach started they were at the office, 
 placed within a circle made by nine ample sized boxes ; for, 
 so determined were they to be on the right side as to articles 
 which London might not be able to supply, that they had pretty 
 well cleared the house of every commodity contained therein.
 
 374 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 The boxes were each legibly inscribed " glass," " keep this side 
 up," " with speed," &c, &c 
 
 In due course the vehicle approached the mighty metropolis, 
 when it took up a passenger, who, from his manner and cos- 
 tume, appeared to be a foreigner. He talked with fluency, and 
 was remarkable for that perfect ease so peculiarly character- 
 istic of the man of the world. 
 
 Miss Martha was greatly charmed, and so of course was 
 Miss Hannah. In fact, long before they reached Islington they 
 had entirely placed themselves under the protection of their 
 new friend, observing that, as London was so replete with fraud, 
 and imposition, it would be as well to be on the right side, and 
 embrace the services of one so evidently a man of honor. 
 
 Safely the party arrived at the Angel, where the two aunts 
 at one glance espied Algernon. 
 
 " Ah, Algernon — our dear Algernon !" cried Martha. " How 
 truly delighted we both are to meet with you again !" 
 
 " Bless us! we have had a world of trouble," said Hannah. 
 «' But thanks to this gentleman, it is all over." 
 
 " Chevalier de Bossy," whispered the stranger. 
 
 " Chevalier de Bossy," said Martha, and " Chevalier de 
 Bossy," repeated Hannah. 
 
 Algernon made his acknowledgments to the chevalier in be- 
 half of his relations ; and, on receiving an invitation to Charles 
 street for the next day, he quitted them with an air and grace 
 which never could have been acquired but at Paris. 
 
 On the arrival of the party in Charles street, the ladies once 
 again confessed the fulness of their hearts in their admiration 
 of their nephew, Algernon. But this torrent of affection was 
 suddenly diverted by a scream from Aunt Hannah, indicating 
 that one of the wine boxes was missing. They were counted 
 over and over again. 
 
 " One — two — three," said Martha. " Two — three," re- 
 peated Hannah. Still no more than eight could be made of 
 the number.
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 375 
 
 Algernon hurried back to the office ; but returned with no 
 favorable tidings. 
 
 The loss, however, was soon forgotten : inquiries were made 
 respecting the mansions which contained the splendid efforts 
 of their nephew's pencil, of the large sums he had received, and 
 the great lords with whom he consorted. 
 
 " My dear aunts," said Algernon, " your affection for me 
 leads you sadly into error. I am doing well, but not greatly. 
 My very existence is not known to above fifty persons, 
 and as to wealth I believe a guinea to be no other than the 
 Phoenix." 
 
 But when, soon afterwards, he represented the friendship 
 he really did enjoy in regard to Wilmington, and the pa- 
 tronage at St. James' Square, their congratulations were with- 
 out bounds- 
 Algernon's duties occupied him so much abroad, especially 
 those to his pupil, Isabella Malnern. Wilmington called about 
 this time in Charles street, and as he was accustomed, stepped 
 into one of the apartments unannounced, in which were seated 
 the two aunts. Conversation was soon entered into — the sub- 
 ject, Algernon — one always interesting to Wilmington, while 
 to Martha and Hannah it was the only one which could become 
 a subject of conversation at all. 
 
 " Ah !" said Martha, after a while, " Algernon is not a young 
 man to boast of these things, but ive know, Mr. Wilmington, 
 what must not be told, namely, that our nephew's success is 
 prodigious !" 
 
 " Prodigious !" exclaimed Hannah, in the same key. 
 
 " I certainly was not aware," said the visitor, coldly, " that 
 his success was so flattering." 
 
 " Algernon does not desire that these things should be talked 
 about," responded Martha, sententiously ; " but there is not 
 a day but some great lord is with him, and the sums of money 
 he receives are absolutely bewildering !" 
 
 " Absolutely bewildering !" echoed Miss Hannah.
 
 376 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Wilmington again expressed his surprise at this intelligence. 
 He made several attempts at diverting their conversation ; but 
 this was impossible; on no other subject would they converse 
 than that of their nephew and his successes, with which Wil- 
 mington was pursued till he took refuge in the open street. 
 
 It was late in the day when Algernon returned home, and 
 a further hour elapsed ere he made his appearance in the 
 usual sitting-room. His face was pale, and his whole frame 
 agitated. 
 
 " Our dear nephew !" exclaimed aunt Martha. 
 
 " Our dear nephew !" instantly uttered aunt Hannah. " You 
 look ill, unhappy. What is it 1 Your friend, Mr. Wilming- 
 ton, has been here this morning, and, I protest, we rung a 
 very peal upon your merits — enough to make your cheeks 
 burn." 
 
 t: You have destroyed me !" exclaimed Algernon. 
 
 " Destroyed you !" ejaculated aunt Martha. 
 
 " Destroyed you !" reiterated aunt Hannah, an octave 
 higher. 
 
 " See, read," continued Algernon, throwing a letter upon the 
 table and himself into an arm-chair, " read, read." 
 
 Aunt Martha took the letter and read : 
 
 " Dear Mr. Hussey : 
 
 " My love of candor may possibly lead me sometimes into 
 extremes. You have from time to time concealed from me 
 the true state of your professional prospects. That they are 
 cheering, I congratulate you ; but out of the abundance of your 
 pecuniary returns you might have been induced to acknow- 
 ledge vour obligations to me on the 26th of last month, by 
 an offer, at least more honorable to you than that which I now 
 discover to have been a subterfuge. I am still willing to re- 
 main your sincere friend, 
 
 " Henry Wilmington." 
 
 I will not dwell upon the scene which followed. Aunts
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 377 
 
 Martha and Hannah, to do them justice, were as much dis- 
 tressed as Algernon himself, but, still protesting that as they 
 had done all for the best, all teas for the best. 
 
 Algernon passed a restless night, and rising early he pro- 
 ceeded to the neighborhood of Brixton, Avhere he had some 
 professional engagement. 
 
 He had not been long gone when the Chevalier de Bossy 
 paid a visit to aunts Martha and Hannah. Anxious as they 
 were to repair the late mischief, they were rejoiced at the 
 prompt attention of one so familiar with the great and wealthy, 
 and desirous of turning this timely acquaintance to Algernon's 
 advantage. 
 
 The first subject of conversation was the loss of one of the 
 wine boxes, at which the chevalier expressed a horror so the- 
 atrical, that the ladies positively glowed with gratitude, and 
 at once entered upon the full history of the inadvertence of 
 yesterday. 
 
 " And though," said aunt Martha, in continuation, " Alger- 
 non receives astonishing sums from prodigious personages, yet 
 you must be aware, Mr. Chevalier de Bossy, that there are 
 times when the best gentleman in the land might require a 
 small matter of a friend. But Algernon is as proud as Mr. 
 Wilmington himself, we can tell him." 
 
 " And Eobert has directions, this very morning, to carry an 
 enclosure of fifty guineas to his fickle friend." 
 
 " Wilmington !" repeated the theatrical chevalier. " What ! 
 Mr. Wilmington, of — of — " 
 
 " Beech Park, Suffolk," said aunt Martha, quickly. 
 
 " I have the honor," proceeded the chevalier, " of possessing 
 this gentleman's confidence, and I am thinking, ladies, 'tis a 
 pity peculiarities of temper on either side should interrupt so 
 pleasing a friendship. I will, if you will allow me, be the 
 bearer of this letter myself. This misunderstanding I can 
 reconcile, and trust me, dear ladies, I will do so." 
 
 At this the gratitude of the two ladies was again in a state
 
 378 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 of sublimation, and the chevalier deposited the letter in his 
 pocket, with that peculiar sensation of delight only known to 
 them who have resolved upon a charitable action. 
 
 " And now," cried Martha, " you are, of course, aware, sir, 
 of Mr. Wilmington's approaching union with Miss Elles- 
 mcre 1" 
 
 " At one time I had reason to suspect it would have been all 
 off," said De Bossy, with remarkable self-possession ; " but, in 
 good faith, Wilmington is to be married at last." 
 
 " As you say, really, in good faith," responded Martha, 
 
 " and we fancy we car. afford you a little surprise, which 
 
 But did you ever see Miss Ellesmere's picture — her miniature, 
 I mean ?" 
 
 " Never," said De Bossy. 
 
 " Then we will, indeed, surprise you. Algernon is away, 
 and we jfchink would not be angry. Will you step into his 
 studio ?" 
 
 " With pleasure!" said the chevalier, starting up. " I have 
 just five minutes at your command." 
 
 Aunt Martha, with aunt Hannah close at her heels, now 
 descended to the lower apartment, and the chevalier followed. 
 
 " Yes, here it is, chevalier — here it is. The key is in the 
 lock of the esci'itoir. How very fortunate ! Here is the 
 miniature of Miss Ellesmere. Did you ever see anything so 
 beautiful 1" 
 
 " No — not in England," said De Bossy, as he received it 
 gently in his hands ; ' ; positively, not in England ! What be- 
 
 Avitching eyes! What brilliant dia Ah! charming — 
 
 charming !" and he tripped to the window, more minutely to 
 examine the treasure. 
 
 But his attention appeared to be suddenly drawn aside by 
 some half-finished work at the other end of the room ; to 
 which, having also drawn the attention of the ladies, he again 
 moved towards the escritoir, and turning the key therein, ex- 
 claimed in a kind of mock heroic —
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 379 
 
 " Fore Heaven ! we must consign the foil* a fiancee to her 
 solitary chamber. There — there ; and, believe me, dear ladies, 
 without scandal, flesh and blood would be sometimes safer under 
 lock and key too, in this naughty, naughty town." 
 
 Aunt Martha hid her face, and aunt Hannah did the same. 
 
 The two sisters quitted the house, and soon found them- 
 selves at the west end of the town. 
 
 "Bless us!" they cried, simultaneously, "here we are in 
 St. James' Square; and this is the residence of Lady Malnern. 
 How vastly fortunate ! Here is an opportunity for thanking 
 her ladyship for her attention to Algernon. 
 
 They mounted the steps and gave a double rap at the door. 
 
 In clue course they were ushered up the staircase and into a 
 small drawing-room. 
 
 Lady Malnern. who was occupied on some work of embroi- 
 dery, rose to receive her visitors, who at first were slightly 
 awed, but 'a smile from the mistress of the mansion restored 
 their self-possession. 
 
 " Lady Betty Malnern," commenced Martha, " we have taken 
 the liberty, as near relatives of Algernon Hussey- — our name 
 is Hussey, my lady — of calling to express how happy and 
 proud we feel at the favor which your ladyship, and indeed 
 your ladyship's whole family, have shown him ; and as Alger- 
 non never foils to mention this wherever he may be, we are sure 
 your ladyship must allow that he feels it." 
 
 " Your ladyship will be gratified to hear how greatly Alger- 
 non is in request. Were it not so, we know very well many 
 and many would be the half hours he would contrive to look 
 in upon your ladyship ; and Colonel Malnern, and your beau- 
 tiful daughter Isabella, nor think anything of it — we mean in 
 a professional light." 
 
 Lady Malnern here rose, and with a dignity which would 
 have become the brow of Juno, said : 
 
 " I may perhaps but imperfectly express myself on an occa- 
 sion which I feel to be so extraordinary. My surprise utterly
 
 380 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 disables me from that reply best befitting this occurrence. I 
 have at least to beg you will not consider it necessary to pro- 
 long this interview." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, Lady Malnern, the trouble is nothing," an- 
 swered Martha, not at all comprehending the personage before 
 her ; " ceremony with us must be quite out of the question. 
 To speak the truth, we both hate it." 
 
 At this moment a sprightly girl, lovely as Hebe, entered the 
 room ; her cheek slightly glowing with surprise at the presence 
 of visitors. 
 
 "Miss Isabella Malnern, we presume," said Martha; "how 
 happy ; we may, indeed, say how happy we both are in this 
 testimony to the truth of Algernon's assertion. She is beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "Miss Malnern," interrupted her ladyship, " you will find 
 me disengaged almost instantly. In the library, if you please,'' 
 and away tripped the young lady. 
 
 " Well, Lady Malnern, upon our words we both declare that 
 your ladyship — as a mother, we mean — must naturally feel 
 great interest in that child — and long to see her happily mar- 
 ried ; for that is the word, after all — happily married, we say. 
 It must be your great object on this side the grave ; and, al- 
 though w r e could never approve of a young lady of rank sacri- 
 ficing that rank by marrying positively below her, yet if, her 
 choice be a gentleman born — for that is the main question — 
 a gentleman born — he takes, as it were, his own natural posi- 
 tion—" 
 
 " My engagements," interrupted Lady Malnern, as she rung 
 the bell, " totally forbid any extension of this visit." 
 
 A footman instantly presented himself. 
 
 " Thomas," exclaimed Lady Malnern, as she addressed the 
 footman, in a tone of voice scarcely her own. 
 
 " Dear me ; dear me !" at this moment ejaculated Martha ; 
 " I protest it rains — rains like anything; but we must be go- 
 ing. How monstrous unlucky, Lady Malnern ; but stop —
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 381 
 
 stop !" Uttering which, she rushed to the drawing-room win- 
 dow, which was partly unclosed, and stepping into the balcony, 
 began to scream violently for a coach, as a hackney convey- 
 ance happened to be at the moment passing. 
 
 " Coach here ! — here ! at Lady Malnern's," shouted they 
 both in a breath. 
 
 Lady Malnern had quitted the apartment in dismay ; and 
 now, descending in precisely the same state of happiness they 
 had entered, the two aunts stepped into the vehicle, and pur- 
 sued their eastward journey. They reached Charles street, and 
 the exertions they had made during the day for their nephew's 
 advantage produced them much satisfaction ; so that they 
 retired to rest in pleasing anticipation of the morrow. 
 
 And the morrow came, and saw Algernon more composed, 
 and yet far from happy. He did not enter his painting-room 
 till the day was far advanced, and was about to proceed with 
 some work of his pencil, when Wilmington was announced. 
 
 " Mr. Hussey," said he, almost fiercely, " I present myself 
 here on an occasion which I at once declare has given me 
 greater pain than any occurrence of my life. The affront which 
 has been passed on a connexion of my own, by an act which 
 no ignorance can palliate, demands, sir, an atonement which I 
 fear might be matter enough for the remainder of your days." 
 
 " My words, sir, have reference to the family of Col. Mal- 
 nern. Is it necessary, sir, to name that visit — application— I 
 know not the term I should use — which took place yesterday 
 in St. James' Square, in your behalf, and I must conclude with 
 your sanction V 
 
 " You will still proceed, sir, if you please," said Algernon. 
 "As yet your address is quite unintelligible." 
 
 " The transaction to which I allude was the expression of a 
 familiarity on your part with the family of Colonel Malnern to 
 which the nearest relative could scarcely, with propriety, be 
 admitted — that you had an influence of no slight nature over
 
 382 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 the mind of the daughter, and actually advertised yourself as 
 her favored admirer." 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed Algernon, " what is this ? Mr. Wil- 
 mington, I implore you, tell me who — where is the enemy who 
 would thus destroy me 1 ?" 
 
 Wilmington was for an instant undecided. 
 " The visit," he said, " was from your relations. The ladies 
 now staying at your house." 
 
 " My aunts !" and Algernon almost screamed in his distress. 
 
 " Yes, Algernon — here we are," said Martha, as the door 
 suddenly opened, and discovered the indivisible sisters. " Here 
 we' are;- we knew the chevalier would make all things comfort- 
 able again." 
 
 " Women ! women !" vociferated Algernon ; " in mercy, 
 tempt me no further." 
 
 " Tempt you, Algernon ! What is the meaning of this," 
 asked the now sobbing aunt Hannah, " after the pains we took 
 to convince Lady Malnern how partial you were to the whole 
 family 1 Have we not done everything for the best ?" 
 
 Algernon groaned aloud. 
 
 " And can you behave with so much harshness, Mr. Wil- 
 mington, after the trouble the chevalier has had in returning 
 you that loan of fifty guineas, as he did yesterday V 
 
 "The Chevalier!" exclaimed Wilmington: "to whom do 
 these ladies refer ?" 
 
 " To whom 2 Why, to the Chevalier de Bossy himself," 
 cried the yet sobbing lady, " who undertook to deliver Alger- 
 non's enclosure into your hands. Surely our request was an 
 error on the right side ?" 
 
 Algernon could now be scarcely called himself, but gnashing 
 his teeth, he thrust his hands violently through his abundant 
 locks, and stared at vacancy. 
 
 Wilmington began to feel a spark of pity ; he also began to 
 suspect that poor Algernon had been the double victim of 
 chance and design.
 
 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 383 
 
 " Mr. Wilmington," said he, mournfully, " it is no longer 
 possible to contend against events which have so successfully 
 conspired to my undoing. The fact of my having lost your" 
 regard, renders me almost indifferent to what may else befall 
 me. 
 
 The aunts were now both sobbing aloud. 
 
 " Mr. Hussey," said Wilmington, " 1 sincerely hope I have 
 been in the wrong. Let me have an opportunity of seeing 
 you to-morrow. Come, and you shall know my opinion." 
 
 Mechanically rising, Algernon moved to the escritoir, and 
 unlocking it, passed his hand hastily over the various articles 
 contained therein. Suddenly, in a frenzied manner, he tossed 
 the articles on one side, and exclaimed : " Why am I tormented 
 thus? Merciful God, where is the miniature — the miniature 
 of Miss Ellesmere?" 
 
 " The miniature, Algernon V said aunt Martha. 
 
 " The miniature," repeated aunt Hannah. 
 
 " Free me from torture," cried Algernon, wildly. " Where 
 is the thing I ask ?" 
 
 Uniting in one piercing shriek, the two aunts dropped into 
 the same armchair. 
 
 " Is it then lost, Mr. Hussey ?" demanded Wilmington. 
 
 " Lost ! — all is lost," exclaimed Algernon, frantically. 
 
 " For goodness' sake, frighten us not so," said Martha, 
 " Miss Ellesmere's picture is not lost. We can tell that, and 
 the Chevalier can tell that ; for he locked it safely in the escri- 
 toir with his own hands." 
 
 ' : The what — the who?" screamed Algernon. " That ruffian 
 cut-purse — for such I swear he is. Hear them — see them, 
 sir — these women ! — tell them I am driven from home— from 
 country." 
 
 Wilmington, really apprehensive that something of a serious 
 nature w r as about to happen, felt himself called upon in pure 
 humanity to interfere. He could no longer doubt the minia- 
 ture had been stolen ; but the loss of it at another time would
 
 384 SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS. 
 
 have called forth what powers he had himself for playing the 
 madman, was now forgotten in anxiety for his friend. 
 
 " No, Mr. Hussey," he said, " your name, your reputation 
 shall be as spotless before the world as, I call Heaven to wit- 
 ness, I believe them to be." And he hurried Algernon, who 
 seemed scarcely conscious, from the apartment. 
 
 After some time Wilmington managed to compose and 
 soothe his friend and to bring him to his reason. All was soon 
 right again, except that the young artist could never be brought 
 to return to his duties in the Malnern family. On the day before 
 Wilmington's marriage Algernon breathlessly rushed into his 
 apartment, and forced into his friend's grasp the regretted 
 miniature. It had accidentally caught his eye in some shop in 
 Holborn, where it was exposed in the window for sale, whence 
 he instantly recovered it, and so truly rejoiced were both 
 friends, that they actually separated without any thought of 
 the missing diamonds. The two aunts arrived safely home at 
 Leek, without the loss of another box ; but in spite of what 
 happened, they continued to the day of their death "doing 
 everything for the best;" and at last, as in life, they had been 
 inseparable, they died on the same day, and were buried in the 
 same grave. 
 
 Nothing was heard for some years of the Chevalier de Bossy ; 
 but at last he was discovered to be one of the smartest swin- 
 dlers in the country. He was arrested, tried, and condemned 
 to be hung for forgery ; and in the confession he made before 
 his death, he boasted of the lucky hit he had made with two 
 old ladies, whom he had cheated into the idea that he was 
 a foreign nobleman, and whom he had robbed of a box of 
 clothing, fifty guineas, and a miniature set with diamonds, 
 which he had sold for £700. 
 
 Things happened to come right in the end ; but every reason 
 had Algernon Hussey to exclaim in after life — " Save me from 
 my friends."
 
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