FLORA MONTGOMERY.
mVAULDf/fi
ft EW YORK
IHARLES 8. ATTWOOD,
24 ANN STREET.
- .... . ■ ■ . ...—..
EWEST AND BEST
PAUL DE KOCKS”•FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
THE
FACTORY GIRL:
TALE OF THE LOWELL FACTORIES.
BEING A RECITAL OF THE ADVENTURES OF A LIBIDINOUS
MILLIONAIRE, WHOSE WEALTH WAS USED AS A MEANS
OF TRI JMPHING OVER VIRTUE.
• I	.	.
BY SPARKS.
New Uork:
CHARLES S. ATTWOOD.
24 ANN STREETFLORA MONTGOMERIE,
THE
f AQTOB¥ GIBI.
CHAPTER, I.
Introductory.—Misfortunes of Flora—Her entry into the Mill, and eacapa
from the Seducer’s snare
When the events vzhich are occurring every moment in our
midst, are recorded upon paper, they seem to many persons to be
mere romances—the creations of the brain of some starving au-
thor whose uen is the only means of subsistence open to him,—
and who imagines that the more monstrous his flights in fiction,
me more pleasing his endeavors will be.
Such, however, is not the case. Many scenes are daily trans-
piring amongst us, which far exceed in interest and startling ad-
any tiling which the novelist could imagine or depict in
the pages of his romance.
Toe visitor to Lowell or any large manufacturing town,
seeing the immense concourse of laughing, bright eyed girls
who issue from the factories as soon as the bell <nves them warn-
ing that their time of labor has expired, is immediately impressed
with the idea that those places are the mines of Industry.
The immense magnitude and height of the warehouses, the
neat and extensive mills, by whose side runs the silver tide of
the Merrimac, the deafening hum of the numerous machines,
which are neatly arranged inside those immense piles, too plainly
betray the fact that wealth is also there.
Industry and Wealth ’ The two magic words which produce
everything, and keep even life itself in existence. We have
placed industry first in importance in our opening; but do the
producers of all this wealth have even their share of the com
forts and happiness which accrue from their industry ?
Nowealth revo's in exciting pleasures, purchases every sort8	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
of gratification, from sensible to sensual—extinguishes virtue,
and laughs over ruined families, with the very money its victims
have earned for the possessor.
Henry Richards, wah now the sole proprietor of an extensive
and very successful Cotton Mill,, which had been left him by a
father, who had established it among the first of our manufac-
tories, and had amassed quite a competency for his son and
three daughters whom he left behind him.
Solely reliant upon his judgment, prudence and forethought,
his speculations were successful, when the cotton trade was com-
paratively young, profits large, and less competition in the market
than now; and he had raised a large mill, filled it with the most
perfect machinery, employed a large number of operatives, and
maintained considerable influence in the market.
Young Henry had received what his plain, industrious father—
whose whole soul was bound up in cotton, and spinning frames—
considered a good, education. He had not been sent to Yale
College or to the University at Cambridge, to learn to knock
down policemen, pull bells at midnight, and bring sleeping inno-
cence to the street door in winter from its warm couch. He was
not expected to’startle the inmates of the Commons, from quiet
slumber, by rolling barrels down stairs, or disturb the equanimity
of the learned and grave professor, by ushering into the lecture
room, while . that worthy was in the midst of a lecture upon
divinity, a poor, terrified cur, whose velocity of motion was at-
tributable to an enormous tin-pail attached to his extremities,
but such learning as can be acquired by those who are willing to
profit by an excellent system of common school education was at
his service. It was no fault of his father’s if he did not profit by
his advantages.
We regret to say he was no lover of books, and entertained no
respect for the honest merchant, who daily labored to acquire a
competency for himself and those whom an unseen power had
entrusted to his charge. For the diagrams of machinery, he had
an unaccountable aversion; and as for figures; they were left for
others to take care of—how well will be seen m our sequel.
He was no business man, had no time to calculate upon the
probabilities of a rise or fall in cotton brought on by the state of
■he crops and foreign demand, and he stood in his counting room,
which was furnished, at least the private part of it, in a most
sumptuous style, and saluted merchants and his follow manu-
facturers during business hours, more to conform to the establish-
ed custom of the establishment, than from any respect for the
trade, or those who visitol him.
He had been taught to think himself rich—that there was noTHE TACTO3.Y GIRL.
9
exertion necessary to retain those riches which an industrious
father, walking in the path of moral rectitude, bad accumulated.
He therefore left the care of his business to an old book-keepci,
who was acquainted with all its secrets, having been an old
servant of his father’s, well-skilled in the purchase of cotton ; an
engineer and .mechanic of no unenviable acquirements, and prac-
tically acquainted with the construction and management oi
machinery.
What then did the new owner of this vast mill, with its village
of human beings attached to it do ? will be asked. Was he wholly
idle ? Oh no ! his whole thoughts were divided between the ex-
citement of the race, gambling and pleasure with the female
operatives in his looms. After the dull, to him, routine of busi-
ness hours were over, he flew with eager steps to his mill, walked
through the rooms, ogled the female operatives, and slipping a
note into the hands of some one among them he at that moment
fancied, made an assignation for the evening at Belvidere oi
some other of the suburbs, where the hotel keepers were always
glad to welcome Mr. Richards, the affluent. So accustomed
were they to his visits, that even his step was known to them,
and his devil-may-care carriage, and jovialty, together with his
liberality in these visits, had made him, almost a household god
to mine host whom he honored with his visits.
Boniface cared little for the purse of his guest, and as little, wo
grieve to say, for the fate of those poor females, whom his wines,
and the villanous promises of Henry Richards had brought from
the oaths of virtue to vice. In fact, mine host had no more-hesi-
taiion i partaking of stolen pleasures with Henry’s outcasts,
than he had in aiding to accomplish their ruin.
At 'the end of the year, Henry Richards always found his
balance sheet in good order, with the profits of the mill in his
favor, so that while he passed his time in dalliance with his
female operatives, or in more gross pleasures in Boston or New
York, he really thought that his wealth instead of growing less,
was yearly accumulating, while he was only a drone in the
immense hive of which he was the master.
In person, he was of medium height—broad chested, and stout
but without any inclination to grossness. His hair was quite
black and curly, and he always wore a neatly trimmed mustache
and imperial, which were very becoming to him. His eyes,
which were of a dark hazel, flashed with uncommon brillancy,
and the thii compressed lips and well rounded chin gave evi-
dence that he was rather a man of decision of character and
firmness, than of indolent habits or vacillating in his tempera-
ment.to
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
This index was not false—for we venture to say that no man
ever pursued a given object so tenaciously to attain it, than did
Mr. Richards ; and we grieve to say it, the ends he aimed at were
his own sensual gratification.
These peccadillos, however, lie always contrived to cover under
the cloak of benevolence ; for he was exceedingly desirous to
stand well in the estimation of the world, and he always con-
trived to obtain the good will of the good man or the gratitude
of the poor, by bestowing his money in aid of the needy.
Mr. Richards had arrived home from a pleasure trip, and had
entered his factory for the purpose of seeing how things had
moved on during his absence, and to receive the congratulations
of his numerous hands.
The great wheel of his factory swept on in its revolutions,
turning the massive shafts with their almost innumerable num-
ber of large and small wheels, and these in their turn were car-
rying in their revolutions thousands of spindles, which were
twisting and stretching the prepared materials into thread ; while
it, in its turn, was being woven into cloth. As he gazed upon
this scene of industry, and received the smiles and kind wishes
of those who were directing all this machinery, and reflected
that all this was his own, his carriage was lofty and his self pride
was easily to be seen in his elated countenance. After having
inspected this department of his business, he went to the count-
ing house where the head clerk was preparing a statement of all
the transactions which had taken place during his absence.
We have said thus much of the principal male character m
our tale, and will now introduce to the reader Flora Montgomerie.
When Mr. Richards, the young, handsome and affluent owner
of the mill, had inspected to his satisfaction the accounts drawn
up for him by his head book-keeper, John Graves, he entered his
private office, where, as the latter informed him, a lady was wait-
ing to see him.	.	.
Flora Montgomerie had been reared in the midst of a happy
family, who until lately had possessed a handsome competency.
The knavery of a pretended friend who had swindled him out of
all lie possessed, had fallen heavily upon her father, and unable
to bear the prospect before his family, he had sunk down to his
last slumber. The two sons had gone out into the world to fight
the battle of life, and do what they could to support their widow-
ed mother. Flora, the only daughter, could not remain at home
a pensioner upon their bounty, and her present visit to Mr. Kicl>
ards, was for the purpose of obtaining honorable employment.
Air. Richards was struck with her beauty, and could not help
surveying her closely. Just nineteen summers had passed oveiTHE FAOTO3LT G1KL.
11
her, but so lightly, that at this time one would hardly think her
so old as that. She was of medium stature, with a light, graceful
form, and a commanding carriage, without being haughty, which
gave her a queenly appearance. Her hair was black as a raven’s
wing—her eyes, large and brilliant when in conversation, and
mild and soft as the gazelle’s at rest, were full of flashing fire
when heated by excitement—her countenance seemed cast in
Minerva’s mould and her neck and shoulders, white as marble,
gave a resting place for the profusion of curls which fell grace-
folly about them.
She was dressed in that elegant plainness of attire in which
the finished lady seeks to adorn her person, and which is more
really elegant than the expensive, gaudy trappings which vulgar
minds put on.
Mr. Richards was astonished when in the sweetest possible
manner she* informed him of her business there, and would at
once have made overtures to-her to lead a life of more luxury,
ha'd he dared. But he knew she was not one to brook an insult,
and he laid out a different line of operations to catch the pretty
bird, whom he felt determined should be his at any risk.
lie commiserated her upon her sufferings—applauded her for
her self-denial in choosing to earn her own livelihood, and
promised her the best situation in his power to afford her.
In a very short time, so intelligent and industrious was Flora,
that she was named as the best spinner in the mill, and so cor-
rect was she in her deportment, so affable, gentle and accom-
m ’	; . to -dl her companions, that each and all felt her to be
almost a sister.
Mr. Richards was particularly attentive and kind to her, and
made her frequent presents, which Flora accepted, because she
believed them dictated by a kind commiseration for her situa-
tion—the moiety of a generous heart, that used what of the world’s
goods a kind Providence had bestowed upon it, for the stood of Iris
fellow men.
By these little acts of kindness Henry Richards thought to in-
terest the girl in his favor, and pave the way by winning her con-
fidence, for the secure possession of that inestimable jewel the
poor girl can own in common with the wealthy. And so far he
had succeeded. Flora was touched at his kindness, and many a
time and oft, as she laid her head upon her pillow, she thanked
God for such a friend, and fell to sleep, innocent as an angel in
prayers for his happiness. She even dared to love him—this she
could not deny—he seemed to her to be the realization of a man !
Such as she had pictured to herself as one to win her love; and
with whom she could travel through, this world of tears and oj12	FLORA M 3NTGOMEEJS,
sorrows, without a murmer at misfortune, so long as her husband
was near, faithful and kind. She even hoped that one day she
might be happy in clasping him in a fond wife’s embrace.
But when such ideas came, like a bright angel, cheering the
rays of the future, the black demon of wealth followed in her
train, bearing his insurmountable obstacle to such a union, and
she wept, and the angel wept, at a cold world’s laws, which set
themselves up over the law of love.
And then her strong soul would come to her rescue, lighting up
her eyes with its intense fire, and she stood a majestic spectacle
of self government—cold and passionless, confident that wealth
could offer no impediment to her happiness with such a man as
she could unite herself with, and still more confident that ker
own adornments of mind and person, were of more worth than
wealth could give.
I lora had just received her third month’s pay, on a bright Sa-
turday in the month of June, 18—, and with it came an invita-
tion to an interview with her employer by a polite, carefully
worded note, which Henry Richards had slipped into a book de-
signed for a birth day present. And accordingly, having while
at home arrayed herself with her usual taste, she went to the
counting house, which she found unoccupied, save by the proprie-
tor. He received her with his usual politeness, and requested
her to be seated on the beautiful sofa beside him.
“ It is now some three months, Flora,” he said, addressing him-
self to her, at the same time taking her beautiful hand in his,
“ that you have been one of my family. I need not tell you that
nt first sight I was struck with your beauty—nor will I trouble
yoa by relating the gratification I have experienced in finding
you as good as you are beautiful. When all your companions
love you, and respect you, is it to be wondered at that I should
join them in paying homage at the shrine of your loveliness and
worth ? You have compelled me- Flora, to declare my love, and
in one word to express a wish that you are not wholly insensible
to the passion I feel for you.”
Flora’s heart was too full for utterance. The idol of her soul
was uttering sentiments so wholly in unison with her feelings,
and she was so insensible to all else save the happiness she felt
that the dream of her love was to be realized, that she heeded
not the fact that Henry had encircled her waist with his arm and
was closely drawing her to his breast, while her face, suffused
with pearly tears of* joy, reclined upon his cheek, and her luxuri-
ant curls, wantonly played upon by the hot breath of the liber-
Jme, hung loosely over his shoulders.
"Need I ask you, dear girl,” he continued, “ whether you willTHE FACTORY GIRI-
13
light my path of life with your smiles, or doom me to the dark-
ness of despairing love ? No! I see by the silence which has
crept over you that you are equally happy with myself in the
consciousness of mutual affection. But speak, Flora ; let me
hear from your own sweet lips an acquiescence in my desires”—
and Mr. Richards imprinted a kiss upon them, which she hall
unconsciously returned.
“Henry,” said Flora, “you have treated me with such kind-
ness, I might say generosity, since our acquaintance, that I do
not feel that I ought to play the prude with you. I will there-
fore frankly declare, that I have been taught by your demeanor
to love you, and by an instinct, as it were, to doat upon you as
the sole possessor of my heart. I have been mad enough to pray
for such a day as this to come—when I might hear from your
lips that you sometimes thought of the poor, unworthy object oi
your kindness. But when I have been reminded of the immense
gulf which lies between the poor girl, however worthy she may
be, and the affluent merchant, I have chased all thoughts of love
away, and thought I never should look to you as more than a
friend. The time was when I would have been a prize even for
you to gain, but now my love and an unsullied honor is all the
dower I have to offer.”
During this outpouring of a sincere and honest heart, the grasp
of the libertine had become loosened; even he, heartless as he
had become, in matters of this kind, was for an instant melted
by her recital, and resolved to give over the idea of her ruin.
But this soon passed away, to give place to a stronger determina-
tiha to succeed in his unholy pursuit.
Flora,” he continued, “I thank you for your words. They
have rendered sure my dream of happiness, and as I fold you to
my heart, and imprint the warm kiss upon your ruby lips, I feel
that you are mine. But, my dear girl, as you have said there
are obstacles to our union—at least for a time—we must pay
some respects to the opinion of the world. Think you I could
love you more if I was married to you, than I do now—or thiq|c
you I could ever forsake the being like you, who could confide in
me sufficiently to throw herself into my arms, without any of the
restraints of law to bind me to her. Consent, then, dear Flora,
to be mine, without urging me to displease my friends at present.
The time will soon arrive when I can make you mine by law, as
you are mine in love. Every luxury that my wealth can procure
shall be yours. We will choose some sylvan retreat, where the
eye of malice cannot reach us, and thither will I repair, after
busmess is over, to worship at the shrine of your beauty, and
spend th© hours in enchanting pleasures which love sliajjH	FLOHA MONTGOMERIE,
hallow. Consent, Flora, and I am your devoted and humbk
slave. Speak, and on this soft couch let us seal our contract,
made in love, by love’s caresses.”
XViU this temple of virtue yield to the unhallowed embrace of
the libertine ? Is the bosom, which lies exposed to his view,
heaving tumultuously, rising and falling in quick succession in
its pearly whiteness, to pillow the seducer’s head, whose hands
have unloosed her drapery, and whose eyes are now feasting on
its voluptuous swell ? Why is it that she allows him to recline
her budding form in licentious attitude upon Iris couch ? Is she
lost—will lie, as he bends over her, clasping her finely moulded
form in passion’s tight embrace, and lavishes his unhallowed
kisses upon the apparently pliant maiden, add another black
mark upon the already well filled page of man’s sins and wo-
man’s frailty ? No! virtue will triumph, and the angel who
stands weeping at the already too great success of the seducer,
and the too great peril of the lovely Flora, shall rejoice over the
chagrin of the tempter.
The baseness of Richard’s nature so plainly betrayed—and the
sudden fall from supreme happiness, at the apparent realization
of her hopes, to misery, at finding she had allowed herself to love
one who sought her shame, had for the moment completely un-
nerved her ; and although conscious of the gross liberties he was
taking with her, she had not the power fur a short time to oppose
him. But just as her destroyer thought he "was sure of success,
tier strength returned ; and with almost superhuman effort, which
woman can put forth when driven to desperation, she rose, and
fixed upon him such a look of withering scorn and defiance, that
the libertine paled before her? She would have spoken—but she
was too sick at heart—and her looks read more to the baffled
rake, than all the language she could have uttered. In fact, the
tone in which she bade him “ farewell,” and the withering glance
she turned upon him as she left his office, were to him volumes.
He had never before experienced such a rebuff, and in truth he
regretted his discomfiture, and the extent to which he had carried
his assault. She was, however, too rich a prize to lose, and he
ret about, with all the address he was master of, to win her back.
How well he succeeded our future history will develop.Tl-:a FACTORY GIRL.

CHAPTER II.
Lissis Jones and her intrigue with Richards—A trip to Boston—Life on the
Sound—The gallant Captain and the wide-awake Clerk—The New York
Sharper, and scene at Kate Ridgeley’s.
After considerable reflection, the hero of our tale concluded to
address a note to Flora, apologizing for his conduct, and promis-
ing, if she could so far forget his unmanly conduct, as to return
to her work on the following Monday, and allow him time to
prove his repentance sincere, that he would make her his wife,
at as early an opportunity as possible.
After satisfymg himself that his plan had succeeded, Mr. Rich-
ards set about arranging a little affair, as he denominated his ad-
ventures with his female operatives, with little Lizzie; a gay,
reckless girl, whose love of amusement and dress, had rendered
her an easy prey for the libertine’s wiles. It required no promise ol
marriage on his part to win her smiles, for she was an artful, de-
signing girl; having been brought up by a inpther who had no
hesitation in using her charms as a means of obtaining a life
of luxury and ease. At least report said so, and the frequent
visits of Richards to her daughter, and the gracious reception the
mother always gave him, together with the fact that she always
absented herself from the room during those visits, too plainly
told that she encouraged the ruin of her daughter, as a snare in
which to entrap the affluent manufacturer.
■ izzie Jones listened to his protestations of love with pleasure
—net that she care aught about the utterer, but because she
was in the market, having arrived at woman’s estate, and did
not think it amiss to take up with the offer to lead a life of gaiety,
so long as money was to be acquired by it.
It had been settled that Lizzie was to accompany Mr. Rich-
ards on a pleasure tour, during the summer, and she had accord-
ingly left the mill to arrange her plans. These were now ma-
tured and Mr. Richards thought that a short absence from his
mills and Flora, would conduce more than any uxe thing to the
healing of the breach he had made with the latter. Therefore it
was that Lizzie Jones was sent to Boston, ostensibly on a visit
to her aunt, while Henry followed her, in a later train on some
business to New York, which demanded his attention.
At the close of a beautiful summer day, our gallant, and his
bewitching cher amie, alighted at the-----Hotel, where Henry
Richards had engaged convenient apartments. Tliis house was16	FIX-RA MONTGOMERIE,
noted for its prayers'at table, and its temperance principles , but
sinners and saints, temperance advocates and fashionable tipplers,
morality and vice, found each a congenial resting place. ,
Wines were not to be had at theapublic table, and those who
were seated at them, male and female, were supposed to be men
and women of character. But the patrons of the house could
order wines in their rooms, and pay their devotions to Bacchus ;
while tjhose persons born under the planet Venus, (as Hoback
would say,) could bow the knee at her shrine, in neatly at-
tired apartments, without being too closely questioned as to whe-
ther the priest had given them the proper license.
It was at this house that our pleasure seeking couple were tc
pass the night, preparatory to their trip through the Sound on the
succeeding day.
After a stroll upon our beautiful mall, which Lizzie had never
before visited, and through some of the crowded thoroughfares
which afforded her the most intense and exciting pleasure, they
returned to their apartments at the hotel—Lizzie to prepare her-
self for initiation to a life of infamy—Henry to revel in pleasures,
sweet when sanctified by love and law, but ending otherwise in
bitter sorrows.
Having divested herself of her bonnet and shawl, Lizzie sat
down at the window, by the side of her lover, to catch the balmy
breezes of the summer eve. The noise and bustle which a few
moments since filled the air, had died away, and nature and
nature’s God were at rest. It was a holy calm, serene and beau-
tiful. Majestic in its silver light, the moon coursed through the
heavens, and the stars twinkled and danced merrily, inviting the '
pure to happy thoughts, and gratitude to the giver of good.
Everything about earth was lovely and full of joy, but man ! He
alone sins of all God’s handiwork, and he alone is doomed to
experience the truth, that the way of the transgressor is hard.
Lizzie Jones surveyed this scene, and felt she was the only
cloud in all this halo of beauty—it was the first false step, and
conscience told her to retrace her path—pictured to her the dan-
gers of the way—the terrible doom of the wanton, and a tear
gushed out of its hiding place. She was not wholly lost—and
had some kind friend been near to have strengthened the good
thoughts which had arisen within her breast, she might have
been saved. But the pleasures of the world before her, and the
step she had already taken with the prospect of wealth, should
she but succeed in enchanting her paramour/were too strong and
overcame her better nature—sire was lost!
Henry had watched her movements in silence, while he held
her hand in his, although impatiently awaiting the consummationTHE FACTORY GIRL.	17
of his lecherous desires, and was rejoiced to see herbrush away the
tear which had trickled down? her rosy cheeks, and supplant it
with a smile. lie would have drawn her to his bosom and
plucked the rose from its stem at once, but he remembered that
rudeness was a poor incentive to woman’s love, and accordingly
withdrew from the room after imprinting a kiss upon her cheek,
telling her he would return as soon as she had made her toilet
for the night.
While Henry is below, smoking and chatting with the land-
lord, let us remain, dear reader, in the lady’s boudoir. Lizzie’s
first manoeuvre, after Henry had left, was to raise her tiny foot
upon her knee, and with her taper fingers commence to uncovei
her pretty feet. Then her magnificent silk dress was unloosen-
ed, and fell upon the carpet, and in a moment more, Lizzie stood
before the superb mirror in the costume Innocence wore m Eden’s
groves.
God’s last handiwork, the most perfect of all his creation, be-
ing made in his own image, is at all times a fit subject for man’s
study. Let us then survey the picture, but not with lustful
eyes. The prettiest gem of a tiny foot, which even a Chinese
might envy, was surmounted by a slim ankle, which gradually
and gracefully swelled into a large and well rounded calf and
thigh, the dividing line between them being two pretty dim-
ples at the knee. Her form had never been pressed in fashion’s
mould, but her waist was naturally slender—not too slim, but
sufficiently so to set off to the best possible advantage her ample
hips ; and as it swelled to her chest, formed the most charming
bust, which beauty’s mould ever perfected. And ah ’ that
bosom—fit resting place for Cupid’s head! so.white, so seducing
in its plump, well-rounded proportions' Well may we sigh to
think it will soon pillow the libertine’s head, and be an alabas-
ter covering to a soul from which innocence has fled. And then,
those arms! firm and clear as Parian marble—their muscles,
tendons and coarser frame hid from sight by a faultless skin, and
terminating in the prettiest hand, with the most neatly tapering
fingers that ever Paris kissed !
How bewitching she looked as she unloosened her hair, and
let the finest golden tresses imaginable float lightly upon her
exquisitely arched neck and shoulders, a -brilliant setting fur the
most lovely picture of a face, with its ruddy glow of health,
pearly teeth, and merry, laughing eyes. Oh! she was alto-
gether lovely—the. most perfect specimen of blooming sixteen
poet ever dreamed of, painter pictured, or gallant knight extolled
with all his chivalry.
Lizzie herself, as she stood before the mirror* seemed well18
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
pleased with the picture—the light of pride flashed from her
eyes, and she determined her lover. should pay liberally for the
possession of her charms. At last she yawned; tired nature
sought the couch, and she fell into a light slumber.
More beautiful, if possible, was the maiden in sleeping inno
conce, as the cheerful breezes of summer played with her golden
tresses, and her face was lighted up by joyous smiles—dancing
fcunbeams from a happy heart which was reveling in dreams ol
childhood’s joys, than when she stood the waking picture wo
have described.
Life is not all sunshine—clouds will arise to obscure the
brightest summer sky, and man’s pleasure is never unalloyed
by pain. To Lizzie, the past had been all radiant with joy, and
the sweet dream of peace which lingered and played upon her
lovely face, told of those days of youth and innocence. It was a
beautiful picture—one vast panorama of pleasing scenes, lighted
up by the god of day.
And. here there was a resting place—the past had gone, and
the future was.now before her. Two roads led from the path
she had trodden.
At the entrance of one stood a comely youth, well laden with
wealth, and all else which could render life happy, inviting her
with winning mien to thread its wide path, which seemed to be
filled with gay companions. The other road was narrow, and
solitude seemed to have marked it for its own. No crowd
brooked its rugged path, but here and there a straggler toiled,
w-'ary and worn, with no smile to light his countenance, save
w sm with uplifted eyes he thanked God for the little pleasure
ce enjoyed, and struggled on with single eye to the haven of re>t
p! -wared for those who, amidst poverty and the jeers of a sinful
world, walk in virtue’s path.
She who kept this entrance to the gates of bliss wore a smil-
ing face, beaming with happiness, but was clothed in rags; and
the resting place she pointed to, was a long way off.
To one who loved pleasure, there was but one choice, and Liz-
zie chose to walk in the wide path, w’here gaiety and mirth
abounded. She-passed its portals, and with her, the young man.
She w’as happy now, and years passed as moments as each new
pleasure opened te view, ecch cup of bliss was tasted and thrown
fl way to make room for another. Ail went merrily on until age
came with wrinkled brow, and satiety, that despoiler of joy, and
the youth who had till now clung to her, left her for more exciting
scenes and untasted cups of joy. Clouds flitted angrily across the
sky, and the vista of the future, fraught with miseries, opened to
iew; and still further on was visible black ruin, and the end*THE FACTORY GIRL.

less night of moral death, leading to the harbor of despair. The
dreamer shuddered involuntarily at the picture, and the tears of
remorse rolled down her cheeks in torrents. She would have re-
turned, but those behind her, loving company in their misery,
thrust her back, and the tears of the penitent were dried by the
scoffs of a cold and heartless world. No helping hand was there
to snatch her from the path of sin, and she plodded on, each
step adding new sorrows and fresh remorse to the already too
well filled cup of shame. True, brazen-facedness at tunes
cheered her path, but only tarried with her sufficiently long to
render more scalding the bitter burning tears of regret On, on
she went, till all at once she reached a fearful precipice, filled
with sighs, and tears, and ruined hopes, on the brink of which
she paused affrighted, dismayed.
She turned around to find, if possible, some way of escape, but
there, heaping the cup of despair to the brim, stood Henry Rich-
ards, the seducer, ready to accelerate her journey to that awful
abyss, and laughing in scorching derision, at the misery into
which he had plunged her.
A heart-rending groan escaped from the dreamer—a look of
deep despair shadowed her lovely face, and she awoke, struggling
to escape her doom, but all powerless from fear. She opened her
eyes, and wildly gaz^d around. And there stood Henry Rich-
ards ! A smothered shriek escaped her lips, and she shrunk
from his gaze, fearing what seemed to her to be an apparition.
It was a singular coincidence.
Some time elapsed ere she became calm, and then she related
the horrid drcam. Her paramour laughed at the vagaries of her
fancy, and she at length laughed too. This prophetic warning
was lost, and with its remembrance, fled Lizzie’s virtue, and the
happiness of innocence.
Let us, then, dear reader, leave the seducer and the seduced
alone. The scenes in that night of debauch are no fit spectacles
for us to gaze upon.
When our hero and his fair, but frail companion awoke the
next morning, the god of day had well nigh completed half his
journey. He smiled gloriously as ever, dispensing his favors
with the same liberal hand upon the guilty pair, as on the vir-
tuous and happy Flora, who labored in honest poverty amid the
machinery of the mill.
Lizzie nestled in the arms of her seducer, her full orbs gazing
alternately at the glorious sunshine^ and the satisfied counte-
nance of her partner. But how different was the look she W20
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
stowed upon him now, to that with which she had previously re-
garded him. She now felt, that she had given up all for him •
that she was dependant upon him—his very whims and caprices
were hereafter to rule her life. More than that, she felt an in-
describable longing for him, and a yearning desire to be regarded
by him as something more than a plaything—she longed to bind
him with the silken cords of love, close to her heart. Such is
woman seduced—such her feeling to her seducer! Henry re-
garded her as a toy ; did not for an instant reflect that the poor
creature whom he had so basely robbed, had a heart, or dreamed
of such a thing as love. His baser passion had been appeased,
and he calculated, as a matter of course, after a few weeks of
such reckless pleasure, to leave this bankrupt bauble, in pursuit
of others to ensnare, enslave and ruin. Such is man, the seducer
—such his feeling for the victim of his lust!
In the neat little parlor adjoining the bedroom mine host hq. 1
spread a bountiful breakfast. Invigorating wines also were ju-
diciously at hand to renovate and exhilerate exhausted nature ;
and, after partaking of the delightful repast, Lizzie and her friend
seated themselves in a carriage for a drive among the suburbs, to
visit the various places of note therein. Lizzie had seen enough
during her intercourse with him, to know that he cared little for
her—more than that, she had fully satisfied herself that after
this little round of pleasure was over, and the bee had sipped his
fill of honey, the flower was to be left to droop and die. She
therefore determined to lead him a life of gaiety, while with him,
and to provide as liberally as she could for herself, from his re-
sources. She also determined to make the trip still more profits-
ble, by courting the smiles of such others as might be struck with
her dashing beauty.
With her mind fully fixed upon this point, the two started for
New York, and soon were quietly seated at table on board the
fine steamer-------, from Fall River, bound to the metropolis of
the new world. Lizzie and her companion were the objects of
admiration at table, and every attention was bestowed upon
them by the gay and handsome steward of the boat, and the po-
lite captain, whose reputation among the ladies, for gallantry,
was of the most enviable character. Among all the pretty roses
of female beauty that Mr. Richards had traveled with, Lizzie
seemed to be the most charming ; and the captain determined to
plan a little tete-a-tete with her, as lie had done with many of
Richard’s beauties heretofore. Captain B. was always exceed-
ingly polite and attentive to our hero, and when the supper was
over, as was his usual custom, invited him to partake a glass of
wine with him in his state room.THE FACTOR T GIRL.
21
Tims the Captain was at once introduced without having to
work his way into my lady’s good graces. To be sure it would
have been but a slight trouble for him to have introduced himself
but even that little was saved, and his suavity of manner, and
conversational powers soon won the confidence of the charming
girl, so that he felt sure of his mark, and took leave, promising to
visit them after he had attended to the duties of his office.
Other parties, who were in the habit of traveling upon the line,
were smitten with Lizzie, as well as Captain B., and all were
anxious to make her acquaintance. But how to dispose of her
lover, who had noticed the attention she attracted, and was now
seated on the promenade deck of the steamer, pointing out to his
fair companion the several objects of interest, clearly visible by
Mie light of a glorious moon, which lent its charm to the scene,
was a momentous question.
Finally, the captain, who was now at leisure, proposed a game
of whist in His room, to two friends, promising to find another to
make the party complete. This other was no one save Mr,
Richards, who had just conducted his fair charge to her state-
room, and was on his way to join his friend, the captain.
Seated at a whist table, we soon find our hero, tile commander
of the boat, Windy, a well known traveler on the line, and the
handsome steward. The last three are each intent upon the ac-
complishment of the same purpose, the initiatory step to which is
to get our hero “tight.” This each of the trio is satisfied he can
do. But, at the same time, each feels he has to fight in order to
accomplish the main object, for each suspects the other of enter-
taining the same idea as himself, with regard to Richard’s com-
panion. Everything, however, progresses finely as the game goes
on. Pvichaids is already communicative, which will pass for
half drunk, and proposes a bumper to the health of the fair sex.
Of course this is drank standing, and the wily captain finds he
has progressed just far enough in the play to propose the health
of Mrs. Richards.
“ Yes, by-----, that suits me, take care of the women,” shouts
Windy ; “ a woman and a horse, always ought to be taken care
of, especially when they are good ’uns to go Eh, Richards ?”
“Well said, old boy,” exclaimed Richards, “and I’ve got as
trim a craft, as ever flung her canvas to the breeze. Her mother
is a whole team, and the daughter allows no discount. Fill
again, boys.”
“ Give us an introduction, can’t you, Richards ?” chimed in tire
steward ; “ you ought to give your friends a chance.”
“ After me, Me ; you know one don’t like to beat the bush,
fbr his friends to catch the bird,” replied Richards, whose articu*
2£2	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
Latioii at this time was extremely thick, and broken now and
then by the drunkard’s hiccup. “But it’s late, boys^ let’s t.‘
bed,” and the speaker endeavored to move from the pier 1ubi<
upon which he had been leaning. In so doing he gave unmis-
takable evidence that wine was in the place which wit i.m
been driven from, lie, however, recovered‘himself, and aft.a
balancing and pirouetting about the floor in a manner only to be
attained by the inebriate, he stood firm, with one hand upon the
table. With the recovery of his position came the humiliating
reflection that his companions might think he was drunk. So in
order to dispel such impressions, if any such existed, he called, as
plainly as possible for “ one drink all round, for the very last.”
“ Tire very. Last,” echoed from the lips of the party. The
glasses were filled and emptied, and Richards was quietly en-
sconced, immediately afterwards upon the captain’s bed, in a
drunkard’s sleep.
“ One more drink for a night-cap,” and “ one more for the very
last,” went through the room, while each had his story to relate
ef adventure with some frail beauty, until the steward and Windy
were fast asleep at the table. The wily old salt had weathered
the storm, and now left the three graces as he termed his ine-
briated friends, for the room where Lizzie slept. The door was
locked, and Richards had the key—one more was in clerk’s room,
but on calling for it. our friend found it missing. Only one means
of effecting an entrance remained, and that was to awaken the
fair sleeper by accosting her through the window of her state
room, which looked out upon deck. Thither the captain mo. -	■
and after sliding it back, by means of a small whfsp from some
trees which lay upon deck, he commenced to tickle the girl’s feet.
Lizzie yawned and then looked up at the intruder, alarmed.
“ Open the door, Lizzie, and let me in—I’ve a bottle of wine
to drink with you,” said the captain.
Was ever poor girl in so embarrassing a situation ? When our
plot is developed, we think the reader will agree with us there
never was.
“ But, Mr. Richards! captain exclaimed Lizzie, alarmed and
confused. “ What if he should come back, and catch us here?
O do go away, sir, now; I will see you again.”
“ Never fear him, Lizzie ; he is asleep, sound as a rock ; a can-
non could not rouse him. Don’t keep me waiting, dear, as we
might be discovered, by the deck hands. Hell-fire, what is that ?”
continued the captain in amazement, as a second head raised
■ itself from the pillow, awakened by the noise! One glance sat
is fled the captain that the clerk of the boat had ingratiated him-
self into Lizzie’s society, while he had been getting her 1cTHE FACTORY GIRL.	23
intoxicated, ti nt he might cigjo^^ her. The recognition was
mutual, and the captain left the window as ti c clerk told him
this was merely paying him off for a similar transaction put upon
him. Tke captain was enraged, but still he dared not but laugh.
Each knew too much about toe other, for eithei to kick at such
a denouement as this. Soon after, the captain and the clerk met,
when, to soothe the captain’s feelings it was agreed to keep the
occurrence a secret between them, and turn the joke upon "Windy
and the steward. By the aid of this friendly couple, Mr. Rich-
ards was assisted to bed ; ascertaining which, the remainder of
the party retired. Thus passed a night on the Sound, and thus
passes many a night in those floating palaces of our world.
On arriving in New York the following morning, Mr. Richards
and his amiable lady were driven to the Astor House, where he
had already bespoke a suit of rooms. As they stepped from the
carriage, they Were met by a tall, spare man with a sneaking
countenance, rendered more striking by a small sized mustache
and whiskers of a sandy hue, and a small blue eye. This man
had just emerged from a house of ill-fame, where he had passed
the night with a poor girl whom he had enticed from a peaceful
home, to this den of iniquity, after initiating her in the prosti-
tute’s calling. For his services to the landlady in recruiting her
stock of ladies of pleasure, by supplying the places of the poor
unfortunates, whom diseases incidental to their calling had ren-
dered unfit for her house, by new girls, he reaped a pecuniary
reward ; and after having sold bis victim to the she-devil vender
of female virtue, he was allowed to install himself in the house
as the young lady’s lover. Thus he frequently,saved his lodging
money ; and with what his “ fancy woman ” gave him from the
fruits of her life of shame, he was enabled to dress well, dine
and sup at the most fashionable restaurants, and spend his days
in idle loiterings, or in the search for fresh stock for his employer.
Many knew him, for lie was always to be seen on the street,
or standing in the doors of the fashionable hotels, sporting a gold
mounted rattan walking stick ; and as he generally contrived to
keep a roll of bills in his pockets, many thought him to be a
gentleman. He had the impudence of the devil, and was quite
successful in bringing Madam the custom of Southern and
Northern gentlemen. Altogether, he was an accomplished petty
knave, just the person to make profitable the business of a runner
cr procurer of a house of prostitution.
He had been on the boat with our amiable pair, and as he
never allowed a good opportunity to escape him, he had “ spotted ”
our hero. But as he had failed to recognise fully the counte-
nance of his companion, he dogged them about until Mr. Rich24	FLORA MONI.’-OMERIE,
ards gave the word to drive to the Astor House, when he set off,
and reached the destination in season to have a full view of
Lizzie’s face.
“ It is her, by Jove,” he ejaculated ; “ the pretty factory girl I
met in Lowell. I failed to get her once, but now I’ll try again.”
He accordingly walked through the house to the office, and on
looking at the book of arrivals, read, “ Henry Richards and lady
from Boston.” “ A single gentleman and his wife,” he exclaim-
ed. “ Well, she’s just in time, for Bella Myers is sick and got to
leave Kate’s, and this Mrs. Richards will be a perfect gem to
supply her place. I must see her and make a fifty out of that
job, besides having a little fun myself.”
It may not be amiss in this connection, to enlighten our read-
ers more fully in regard to this leach upon society, this festering
sore in the moral body, this pestilent, poisonous reptile, who is
everywhere to be seen—alike where cities are located, and in
the country where virtue exists to be despoiled. We do it, also,
for that we have now in our very midst a living realization of
this picture—a thing walking about the streets with God’s image
on his brow, but possessed of so black a nature, that even the
fallen angel, who
“ Reigns supreme in hell, as God in Heaven,”
may well nigh tremble for the safety of his throne and sceptre.
He is a bird of passage ; without a local habitation, or a fixed
name. He inhabits one city until his rascalities eject him, and
answers to a name, until that name is a hissing and a bye-.
to the people, and familiar to the police. Then he migrates to
some place where former rascalities may be forgotten, to allow
sufficient time for new ones to be effaced, from the memory of
those on whom they were perpetrated.
On one of these occasions we find him located in Boston, os-
tensibly transacting the business of an intelligence office. This
gave him an elegant opportunity to act as procurer for his numer-
ous prostitutes in other cities, and cater to the sensual appetites
of friends who might be in quest of some tit-bit among the fair
sex ; and many a prostitute can date her ruin from his acquaint-
ance. Lowell was frequently visited by him, and from its mass
of pretty but frail girls, he replenished many a cyprians stock in
trade. It was on one of these excursions to our American Man-
chester, that he had caught a glimpse of Lizzie Jones, as she
tripped nimbly from the factory gate, on her way home. He fol-
lowed her, and as it is not uncommon for a stranger to accost a
girl in the streets there, he soon made her acquaintance, and
as she left him at the corner of the street where she lived,THE FACTORY GIRL.
24
ne slipped a ring upon her finger, asked her address, and gave
her a card inscribed “Prescott Fitzallen, Charleston, S. C.”
He regretted exceedingly that his business obliged him to re-
turn to Boston, but obtained Lizzie’s permission to visit her on
the following Sabbath. Protested in eloquent terms, his admira-
tion for her, and avowed his intention of selecting some factory
girl to make glad his home and heart in his sunny, native south.
Lizzie looked upon the meeting as a curious adventure, and
agreed to receive his visits and accompany him, with her mo-
ther’s permission, on an excursion at the time above named.
Factory girls had married rich planters, and might not she strike
such a streak of luck? Pvacing horses, and cotton, negroes and
hoe-cake were uppermost in her head the remainder of the week,
and the Sabbath did not seem to come fast enough to suit her.
Mr. Prescott Fitzallen also looked forward with some pleasure
to the appointment. But alas ’ how uncertain all things are in
this world. The grand inquest of the County of Suffolk, had
voted to restrain him of his liberty for a season, because, in
their opinion, said Fitzallen had been guilty of abducting a young
lady from her home, and introducing her into a den of vice, kept
by Clara Bridgman. Fitzallen did not care to plead to the
indictment, therefore he ingloriously cut stick, lost his fun
with Lizzie Jones, and cheated the Suffolk jail of a bright orna-
ment.
Lizzie sighed at her disappointment, but soon forgot all about
the occurrence' and the hero of the adventure. But Mr. Prescott
Fitzallen, had often thought of it during the five years his light
had been hidden under a bushel—of indictments, and he knew
the little factory girl at oi^e, although she had grown marvellous-
ly, since his adventure.
He considered himself decidedly' in luck, and felt perfectly
delighted, as he crossed Broadway, and sat down at the table of
mine worthy host of the “Live and let Live” Saloon. Here, by
accident, he encountered an old friend, and thinking he might
«id him in procuring his ends, he unravelled a most plausible and
pathetic tale of a charming young lady, who had been decoyed
away from her father’s house by a vile seducer, and whom he
wished to restore to her parents. His bait took, for the gentle-
man who listened to the story was a man ! ready at all times to
assist in raising the unfortunate, and he entered at once into a
scheme planned by Fitzallen, ostensibly for the purpose of snatch-
ing this brand from the burning. Fitzallen was a coward, there-
fore he dared not move in his schemes while Richards was about
It was necessary then for some one to make his acquaintance,
and induce him to accompany them to som£ place, while Lizzie26	FLORA MOXToOMLRIE,
was left at the hotel. While discussing the merits of a bounti
ful breakfast, this plan was adopted; the stranger was to engross
the attention of the seducer, while Fitzallen was to remain in
New York, secure the prize, and bear her to her home. Thus it
was that this man of all dirty work, often entrapped the respec*
able to aid him in his hellish schemes.
The matter of introduction was speedily accomplished by the
sharper, for, as we have already'said his stock of impudence was
unequalled, and matters of this kind were to him
“ Trifles light as aia.®
Richards was much pleased -with his acquaintance, as by it he
succeeded in effecting an entree to several cosy houses of
pleasure, heretofore unvisited by him. He thought him quite a
gentleman, moreover, as his pockets seemed well lined with
yellow boys,” which Fitzallen never lost an opportunity of dis-
playing. lie therefore -accepted the latter’s invitation to accom-
pany him on a fishing excursion to the village where his friend
resided, and where they proposed to pass some two or three days.
On the evening previous to setting out on their journey, the
three friends started on a tour among the fancy ; and as Fitzallen
did not expect to see Richards after, he determined to bleed him
in his peculiar style, in order to reimburse his purse for the trifling
expenditure he had made in forming the acquaintance. After
visiting several places of bad repute, the three found themselves,
at an early hour on the succeeding day, freely chatting and sip-
ping wine in Kate’s mansion. Fitzallen had the monop oiv ; f
his lady-love, and proposed to the other two to choose t’wir part-
ners for the night. To this proposition Richards assented, having
been smitten with one of the frail beauties of the house, and
forgetting Lizzie, who was at the hotel awaiting his coming.
The third prepared to leave, when Fitzallen whispered to him to
step into a saloon near by, where he promised to join him, as soon
as Richards retired. Then beckoning Richards into an adjoining
room, Fitzallen informed him that he had deposited his funds
in the safe at the hotel, it being customary with him to travel at
these houses with but little means, and bogged the loan of a few
dollars until morning, when he was to meet him at the boat to
start on the proposed excursion. Richards, without the least
hesitation, handed him a twenty dollar bill, and retired with his
new found female friend to her chamber, presuming that Fitz-
allen was to follow with his charmer. This he probably would
have done, had she not been obliged to rejoin a gentleman to
whom she was engaged for tire night, and whose couch she had
left at the landlady’s request, to entertain the patrons of theTHE FACTORY GIRL.
27
house. So, after being satisfied that his companion had retired,
Fitzallen departed for the rendezvous with the remaining one oi
the trio, well satisfied with his adventure—particularly with the
pecuniary part thereof. This was another of the means used by
this contemptible puppy to acquire a livelihood, and he always
felt particularly happy when he had succeeded in the accomplish-
ment of any such petty piece of knavery.
While the scenes related above were transpiring, Lizzie was
alone, wondering what detained her lover, and fearful that some-
thing ill had befallen him. Then she recollected that he had told
her of several females of pleasure, with whom he often passed
his time when in New York, and Lizzie became jealous. She
at first thought it impossible that her lover could have grown
unmindful of her charms so quickly, and endeavored to dispel
this check to her self love. But as the clock tolled forth the
small hours of morning, she felt positive that such was the case,
and muttered oaths of vengeance upon his head.
“ Does he imagine,” she soliloquised, “ that I am to be left
here alone while he passes his nights in a wanton’s arms ? Well
let him think so. Infidelity can be repaid in like coin, and others
can be enfolded by these arms, while he thinks he is the sole
possessor. I wonder what has become of my southern planter?
Will he not seek me to explain the reason why his meeting was
abandoned ? Ah ’ this is a lucky chance to repay an unfaith fin
lovor. And Henry leaves me for some days, as he told me, before
he went out. I’ll not be idle during his absence, and if, when
he returns, he finds his bird has flown her nest, he will see that
. is not to be slighted with impunity, however easily she
may be conquered.”
But even while uttering these vows of revenge, Lizzie felt
grieved. She was many miles from home and friends, and he
who should have been near to console her, had left. What
wonder, then, that woman’s tears, which flow so easily, should
gush from her eyes, while she bitterly regretted the position in
which she had placed herself. She did weep, and bitterly weep,
until she dried her tears by resolving to retrace the steps she had
taken. And then she feel asleep—but it was not that refreshing
slumber which innocence sleeps, for it was often broken by sighs
and nervous startings, while ever and anon she seemed to reach
out her arms as if to draw some one within their swreet embrace,
while her lips muttered sweetly the name of the base Henry.
At the appointed time in the morning the three friends met,
when Fitzallen informed them that some business he-had sud-
denly found it necessary to transact would deter him from accom-
panying them upon their pleasure trip, but he promised to join28	FLORA MONTv, OM ERIE,
them in the afternoon, or the next morning. On his earnest en*
treaty he was excused for the day, and Richards made him
bearer of despatches to Lizzie, informing her of his journey,
and apologizing on grounds of business for his absence from her
the preceding night.
Everything so far had succeeded admirably, and Fitzallen
doubled not the entire success of his detestable scheme. It was
with the best spirits, therefore, that at a suitable time he present-
ed himself at the door of the parlor occupied by Mrs. Richards,
and knocked for entrance. Lizzie had but just arisen and attired
herself, for she had passed a restless night. She thought it was
her runaway lover, who sued for admittance, and propo? cd an
ugly frown for his welcome. But as she opened the door and
stood face to face with her southern admirer, her frowns were
changed to smiles, and she bade him welcome.
He apologized for his early visit, but plead as an excuse for it,
the note from Mr. R. which he handed her, and was pleased to
see that it made no favorable impression upon her as she perused
its contents.
“ The brute!” she exclaimed, as she tore it into shreds, and
scattered them upon the floor, “ thus to leave me alone all night,
and then depart on a journey, without visiting me ’ Oh, sir,
why did you not keep your promise with me, and save me from
throwing myself away upon this wretch ?” she added, at the
same time throwing herself into lais arms.
“ Poor Lizzie,” he replied, “ how mysterious are the occur-
rences of life! When I first saw you, I marked you tor my-
own, hoped to win your affections, and bear you away to the
sunny South, and make you mistress of my home and heart.
The impression you created was my first love, and you have been
my only love. Important business prevented me from keeping
my engagement with you, but I wrote you a letter, to which I
received no answer, and supposed you had forgotten the ac-
quaintance of an hour. After two or three fruitless endeavors to
receive some attention froifi yon, I gave up all hope, swearing
never more to think kindly of woman. And now, since years
have fled: accident has thrown me in your arms, only to see you
wedded to another.”
“ Oh God ! sir, how your words burn—if I could tell you all—
but no, I dare not—you would despise me worse than you now
do. And yet, perhaps, you would not spurn me. I might be
your wife—your slave—anything, so that I could possess a loving
heart—”
“ Lizzie,” interrupted Fitzallen, “ what would you say 1 are
you not manned ? Say that you are not, and that you may yetTHE FACTORY GIRL.
29
6e mine. Say, too, that you have sinned but little—that you
have been deceived by this Richards, and we may yet be
happy.”
“ 1 am not married, but am to be, and have accompanied this
man, on this visit to New York, to be married here, where most
of bis friends live,” answered Lizzie, who well knew how to
deceive. She really imagined that the Southern planter, as he
termed himself, was enchanted by her, and that be had long
been under her spell. The dream she indulged in when he first
met her, seemed about to be fulfilled. Fitzallen knew that now
was the chance to bag his game, and to keep up the illusion was
his point.
“ Let us fly, then, at once, dear Lizzie,” he replied. “ I can
overlook this misstep, and we will soon leave the city. My
Aunt resides not far from here, and will rejoice to welcome the
dear girl of whom I have so frequently spoken.”
“ And will you promise to love and protect me : will you make
me your wife, or do you wish to deceive and ruin me—make oi
me a toy to beguile the tediousness of a few fleeting moments,
and then cast me forth, a withered flower, blighted by the cold
frost of neglect?”
Some men would have faltered in their steps, had they been
addressed in this manner by a weak, defenceless girl; but Fitz-
allen had passed through many such scenes, and his black heart
rather gloried in such deception as he was now about to practice
on Lizzie Jones.
‘you doubt me, Lizzie?” he replied, starting back with
all that look of injured innocence, which the rascal knew so well
how to assume. “ Can you think me so base, as to work your
ruin in this manner? Think you I sought this interview for
other purposes than your happiness, provided that sould be at-
tained by increasing my own ? No, Lizzie’ I will always be
your faithful friend, and as soon as time will permit we will bo
married.”
We do not care to expose to the vulgar gaze, all the little
promises of constancy and vows of love here protested and
sworn. Every reader has his or her experience in love making,
and will doubtless gladly relieve us of a task we do not feel
competent to undertake. Suffice it to say that Lizzie placed
sufficient confidence in the protestations of this miscreant, to
agree to leave her present protector, and' place herself in the
hands of Fitzallen. And soon we find her seated in a splendidly
furnished parlor in Kate Ridgeley’s hell, and the landlady wel-
coming her with the blandest smiles to make her house her home.
She* was also introduced to two young ladies, whose beauty and30
FLORA MONTGOMERIE

bearing would seem to better qualify them to adorn a happy
domestic fireside, than to doom them to such a life of shame.
Lizzie was bewildered at the luxury everywhere to be met with
in this house. Her feet seemed to sink in the soft velvet carpets
on which she trod; expensive mirrors, reaching from ceiling to
floor, pictured her form at every turn ; tables of splendid carved
work with marble tops splendidly polished ; couches of the most
exquisite patterns, and upholstery of the neatest and most
extravagant workmanship were scattered in profusion about the
rooms, inviting the visitors to voluptuous ease. This must be
either the abode of wealth, thought Lizzie, or of vice in its most
expensive and luxurious shape. But then the young ladies, the
neices of the landlady, were so affable and kind—so circumspect
in their deportment, so well educated, and seemed to take such
an interest in the new comer, that she could not imagine herself
to be in such a place. And even, thought she, if I have by
chance been lured into a house of pleasure, it will merely be a
page in my life, a little experience which may be worth some-
thing to me, and cheaply bought, as I can escape when I may
choose. Besides, it will be a sweet retaliation upon my seducer
and deserter, and as my old acquaintance is my friend in this
place, of course I can see what is going on without being a
guilty participant in the scenes of vice. He certainly cannot
think of deserting me here; and even if he should, I have 8.
home to go to, and no one will know of my adventure. By such
reasoning she at length overcame her fears and doubts as to the
character of the house, and busied herself in arranging to her
own satisfaction the pretty furniture in the room assigned her by
the landlady. This over, she accepted the proffered services of
one of the young ladies to make her toilet for the evening, as
Aunt Ridgeley was to invite a small and select party to supper.
This was her invariable custom whenever a novice was about
to enter a career of vice in her infernal den. And these select
parties were pomposed of some three or four gentlemen (heaven
save the mark!) who were the pillars of Madam’s mansion—her
best patrons—men who were always on the look out for the new,
choice tit-bits, and paid Madame liberally for the first introduc-
tion to a fresh importation. It is so delightful to ruin a girl,
such a choice bit of pleasure to plunge a human soul into the
black pit of degradation which incontinence digs! so delicious
a morsel to eradicate innocence and virtue from the habitation
where Almighty God has placed them, and place therein vice and
black despair, tire attendant demon on conscious guilt!—so grat-
ifying to chase away health and beauty from a too confiding
female, and supplying their places with fell disease and ca/s>THE FACTORY GIRL.
31
worn features—that the rich and gay seekers of pleasure always
pay liberally for the amusement! Oh ’ when shall the poet’s
words, —
“ Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless millions mourn,”
cease to be too true, and each strive to better the condition of
his fellows, instead of spreading grief and heart rending sorrow,
to desolate the garden of Earth ?
Fitzallen had been busily employed in arranging the details of
the evening party, and had invited Madam’s guests, a sort of
extra service or appearance for this time only, in consideration
for the liberal compensation Kate Ridgeley had given him for in-
troducing Lizzie to her house.
As the clock struck ten, that evening, a party of eight persons
were seated at table in Kate’s neatly furnished dining room.
Every luxury that the market afforded was there, to appease the
appetite; while the tinkling of knives and forks, and the pop ai
the champagne corks, gave evidence that ample justice was being
done to the repast. Lizzie Jones was the particular star on the
occasion, and had for her companion a handsome young man,
who stood high among the merchant princes of the city. Kate
was gallanted on this occasion by one of the partners in a well
Known furniture house, which had the reputation of owning part,
if not the whole, of the splendid furniture in this gilded gateway
to hell. This man was a church member of the Orthodox per-
suasion, and, while he would have blushed to have had his
frailties exposed, did not hesitate thus secretly to prove to the
world that religion, or its possessors, are among the worst, if not
the very worst, of men. The two young ladies, who hud been in-
troduced to Lizzie on her advent in tills house, were each seated
beside their lovers, one of whom was the teacher of a school for
young ladies, while the other held a prominent position in the
councils of the city. Thus we see the party was highly respect-
able—the elite of New York—and we wish to record its actions,
and give our readers a glimpse of what often transpires when
night throws its sombre mantle over the crowded streets, for we
believe, with the poet, that
“Vice is a monster of so frightful mein,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen.”
After the edibles were sufficiently discussed, wine began to
flow more rapidly, and all reserve vanished from those assem-
bled. Kisses and caresses were submitted to by the females, and
enjoyed by the males, of which Lizzie had her share. She knew
now where she was: although such a scene was new to her, she
could not, or thought she could not, retire from ibFLORA MONTT VERIE
S2
for she could not withstand the mockery of her companions in
vice. Besides, wine had emboldened her, and imparted a
strange glow to her cheek, the index of heated blood, and pas-
sion vehemently aroused. She therefore resolved to follow suit
in any game which might be proposed, although she was at
some loss to conceive how the remainder of the night was to be
passed, and had some misgivings regarding her conduct.
The room was cleared of all furniture save four magnificent
couches, one of which was placed at each side of the room, in
convenient niches in the wall, and a small stand at the head
of each, which occupied a position, on which was placed some
sparkling wine. These couches were hidden by costly lace cur-
tains, which dropped in folds from an exquisitely carved Cupid,
which seemed to smilingly invite the occupants to Venus’s joys.
While this metamorphosis had been going on in the upper
room, Kate and the three beauties had retired to a dressing
apartment connected with it. And here Kate’s connection with
the party was to cease, the other business of the bouse demand-
ing her attention. She therefore kissed Lizzie, told her that this
ovation had been gotten up for her benefit, and added that she
was glad to perceive that she enjoyed herself, and did not exhibit
that foolish reserve which some young ladies showed on these
occasions. She told her to follow the examples of the charming
girls to whose care she had entrusted her, and then left, usher-
ing into the room, as she departed, another of tne frail inmates,
who was to supply her place in the scenes which were to follow.
And what was the example which these young women, who once
mingled with the virtuous and good, and enjoyed an unsullied
reputation, with its attendant happiness, were to set to the novi-
tiate ? Let us see. The girls had become familiar with the ways
of vice, and exhibited none of that timidity which Lizzie felt at
each new scene in its walks ; and as each had been present at
similar orgies, it required but little time for them to disrobe them-
selves. The novice blushed at this operation, and shrank back
from such an example ; but her companions laughed at her
modesty, excited her imagination and her passions, by picturing
to her in glowing terms the gallantry of her companion and his
liberality to such young ladies as acquiesced in his caprices and
returned his passion. Thus, gradually, every spark of modesty
in Lizzie’s bosom rapidly died away, and she allowed herself
to be unrobed, and finally enjoyed the compliments lavished upon
her by the frail girls, who stood really admiring, as -well they
might, her beautiful form.
However Lizzie was not at ease. She wished herself
back to her room in the hotel-—anywhere but here, for sheTHE FACTORY GIRL.
33
dreaded the next step in the debaucheries of the night. Still she
mingled in the frolics of the wantons, as they danced around
the room, or arranged themselves in classic groups, imitative of
some celebrated creation of the sculptor’s ait and skill, and as
her companions, perceiving her bashfulness, had' induced her to
partake freely of the wine-cup, she’ soon became as merry as the
rest, and frisked around with as much licentious gaiety and
abandon, as though such scenes were not uncommon to her.
While the four girls were thus acting their base impulses, their
gallants had been watching them from concealed apertures, and
greedily devouring every extravagant motion of limb and feature,
at which less respectable members of society, but more honest
ones, would have blushed with abhorrence. Satiated with this
feature in the pleasures of the night, and longing for more sub-
stantial joys, they opened the doors which separated them, and
requested the young ladies to rejoin them. Lizzie was caught
in the arms of her three frail companions, and borne by them to
the arms of her gallant, who waited to receive her with the lib-
ertine’s caresses. Each then repaired to her destined couch, ex-
pecting to pass the remainder of the night in guilty pleasure.
Is the giddy, thoughtless Lizzie lost ? Is she completely aban-
doned to a life of shame by the guardian angel who received her
infant smiles as she prattled in the cradle, and h.as since attended
her, to keep, if possible, her feet in virtue’s paths of peace ? No.
One more effort remains, one more warning will Lizzie receive,
against continuing in the path she has entered. And that warn-
■vlii. be a terrible one, and will not fall powerless upon her
heart.
Lizzie’s lover on this interesting night, as we have before said,
was a gay, dashing younganan, of good standing as a merchant
in the city. Though not destined to occupy a very protracted
part in our little episode of life as it is, we shall in this connec-
tion feel obliged to give his name a place in our pages. Harry
Ashland, ever since his advent to man’s estate, bad been a seeker
after irrational pleasure ; and, we regret to say, had at this
time established a reputation as a roue, which made him shun-
ned by the virtuous in the humble walks of life, while high-born
maidens called him a sad fellow, whenever any of those indis-
cretions (the name they gave the despoiling of female virtue)
which ruined a fresh victim, and sent sorrow to the happy fire-
side, became known to them. He was a fascinating young man,
and his large experience as a libertine, in the art of winning wo-
man’s love, made him a much sought after companion.
Bella Myers, whom we have before spoken of as about leaving
tliis gilded sink of iniquity, and whose place in its unhallowedFLORA MONTGOMERIE,
51
vocations Lizzie Jones was to occupy, had courted his friendship
to her sorrow. When first he met ner, sne was pure and unsus-
pecting, and did not dream that the young man, whose attentions
she received, and who represented himself to be a poor clerk,
souglit the industrious, virtuous seamstress, to despoil her. But
sucn was the case—and Le succeeded too well. The too confid-
ing girl was seduced in a moment of blind confidence and pas-
sionate love, and learned too late that man’s promises, made to
women in order to obtain their favors, are false in the first in-
stance, and forgotten at last. Thus she became his mistress
when she (bund she could not be his wife, and when he had
revelled in her charms sufficiently, she cared not what became
of her, the deceived, betrayed, ruined girl. In fact she was reck,
less ; and, as many a foolish girl has done before her, resolved to
throw herself away in the vast maelstrom of vice, instead of re-
tracing her steps, and becoming, as she might have become, an
ornament to her sex. It was thus she went to board in the fash-
ionable house of vice, and soon became one of its most reck-
less and bold inmates. No licentious action was too depraved
for her, provided it did not shock the modesty of her admirers.
In the parlor she dressed with elegance, but in a peculiar style ot
abandon, which enabled her to captivate many of the other sex.
Her swelling bosom was always visible, and when she v/fs in
converse with any of tire visitors of the house, it would rise and
fall like waves in the sea of passion, her eyes beaming with
lustful fire, her ruby lips inviting kisses, and her faultless bust
the caresses of her companion.
She had been conquered, had been a victim to man’s wiles,
and she determined to be deeply revenged on the family of man-
kind. And well in her brief career had she kept her word.
Families by her had been broken up; the husband, who had be-
come enamored of her, led on to ruin, and then scorned, finding
too late, his property had been wasted, as well as his love, on a
wanton. Young men had become dissipated through the power
of her fascination, squandered their property on her, and at last,
when dire poverty stared them in the face, had wasted the re-
mainder of their days by draughts from the drunkard’s cup, or
resorted to suicide in their desperation.
She hoped one day to see her seducer follow in their train, but
he was not the man to be conquered by a woman’s wiles, or to
be ruined by the wine-cup ; so she determined to live ever near
him during the short career she well knew the prostitute must
ran, and when she left the world, that he too should accompany
her, was with her a fixed idea. For some time past Bella had
been suffering from a 'virulent fever, and her constitution, weak-THX FACTORY GIRL.
S3
ened by dissipation, was not strong enough to master the disease.
Added to this, she had contracted a frightful disease, consequent
upon her mode of life, and her dissolution was daily anticipated.
Her heartless seducer had not once visited her sick room, nor of-
fered to pay the expenses of her sicknei.s, or in any way shown
a disposition to conduce to her comfort. He knew that the mis-
tress of the establishment, contrary to her usual custom, and the
custom of most such women, had allowed her to occupy her
room, instead of thrusting her into the pauper’s hospital, for Bella
had been a star wanton, and had contributed largely to the suc-
cess of the house. So he concluded she was comfortable, and
that he could do nothing to serve her. She knew of his visits tc
the house, but never once asked him to visit her. She did
not do it for the reason that, as she knew her life was short,
she felt that her time of retribution was at hand ; and did not
wish to see’him until that night, when she had been informed
a grand festival was to be given in honor of Lizzie Jones' s entree
to supply her place, and that her seducer was to be one of the
participants in the pleasures of the evening. She lingered on, in
spite of the predictions of her physicians, who expected every
moment would be her last, living on the prospect of revenge
which was more powerful in combatting death than nature ex-
hausted, and the prescriptions she had taken.
That evening had arrived, and she had gleaned the intelli-
gence from her attendant that her seducer was there, and was
the chosen instrument to introduce a new victim to the horrors
of the life she had been leading. I shall be doing a double ser-
- ,	;.'it she, by visiting him this night. I shall obtain
sweet satisfaction for my injuries, and perhaps save a thought-
less, deceived girl from a horrible fate. My time is short, and
this very night shall he feel that it is a terrible thing to trifle
with woman’s love and invoke her hatred. Summoning her at-
tendant to her bedside, she bade her bring her a dress—the same
she wore on the fatal night when her seducer triumphed over
her, and requested her aid in arraying herself therein, to the
great amazement of the girl. Bella saw this, and quieted her
by telling her that she had a presentiment that this night
her last, and that she wished to die in the apparel she had worn
ere misfortune had set its mark upon her.
“You may lie down now,” she said to her companion, after
she had finished dressing her, “ and take a little rest. I shall
not need you yet—besides I wish to be alone for a few mo-
ments, that I may better settle some little affairs, whicn demand
my attention, ere I bid adieu to life.”
The poor girl hesitated, not wishing to leave alone her whom36
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
she had watched over many a wearisome night; but Bella wa?
so positive in her commands, she dared not disobey, and as sleep
had long been driven from her eyelids, she was scon uncon
scions.
Bella sealed herself at a small writing table, occupying the
time it had taken her nurse to glide calmly into the dream land,
in writing to her sister, and giving directions for the disposal of
her wardrobe and jewelry, and had just finished a letter to the
mother of her seducer, explanatory of what she was about to do,
and her reasons for doing it. She then arose, with a strength
which charmed while it astonished her, and took a small and
richly ornamented dirk knife from her dressing case, and stole
noiselessly from her chamber.
In a few moments she stood in the room where lay her seducer
and his companions in vice, revelling in unhallowed pleasures ;
and in another she stood at his side, pallid white, which rendered
the unnatural fire which lighted up her eyes perfectly demoniac
to the beholder, who exclaimed, “ for God’s sake, Bella, what
brought you here ?”
“I will tell you, Harry, speedily,” she answered ; “but first,
young woman,” adressing herself to Lizzie, “ get up from thia
bed of shame—it is no fitting couch for you to rest your limbs
upon. Get up, I say, and quickly, but do not attempt to stir
from this room, or make the slightest outcry, unless you wish to
visit with me and my lover that undiscovered country, the en-
trance to which is through the gate of death.”
Lizzie clung to her-companion, terrified, and implored protec-
tion.
“ He cannot protect you, girl, nor will I injure you. I come to
save you from a life of shame and sorrow. He will only seek
your ruin as he sought mine. It is with him I would converse ;
so arise.”
Lizzie did as Bella bade her, for she knew she was not to be
trifled with, and shrank back to the other inmates of the room,
who, fearful of being discovered, were awaiting the denouement
of this scene, anxiously concocting means of escape, should it
terminate in a disagreeable manner.
“ Harry Ashland,” exclaimed the dying girl, addressing herself
to the lone occupant of the couch, “ I need not ask you if you
know me—anguish of mind, and the ravages of sickness, have
not entirely obliterated the features of charming Bella, as once
you used to call me. But I will ask you if you remember the
costume I have now put on for the first time these three long
years. This satin dress, which you used so much to admire be-
cause it displayed so finely my voluptuous form, as you told moTira FACTCRY GIRL.
37
'—this chain and locket, which contains the miniature of you, who
promised to become my husband, never was taken from my
trunk since your promise was broken—never looked upon since
you deserted me and plunged me into this hell of degradation.
Is not my hair as silky and soft and glistening as a raven’s wing,
as y®u used to say when you smoothed it in days gone by, plait-
ed as in those days I loved to please you? Have my eyes lost
that “flashing lire you ascribed to them, when you stormed the
weak castle of woman’s heart, which contained all that can
ever be dear to her, and succeeded in capturing it by treachery ?
Have you forgotten the rapture- with which you received the
caresses of these arms, murmuring dearest Bella, as your .soul
commingled with mine in transports of joy—and how you often
wished to die in my embrace, as I fondly folded you to tlii
bosom ? Harry, those were moments of delicious joy, the pure
outpourings of a maiden’s love on my part, and I would have
given my heart’s best blood to have served you. I knew of no
better heaven than a life with you, no paradise except a cheerful
acquiescence in your wishes. Our home was the world to me—
your smiles the sun which lighted it—your sorrows the clouds
which alone could darken its fair face. I did not dream you
would ever desert me, or that the vows you had sworn proceed-
ed from a black heart, which would one day glory in my down-
fall.
But such was the case! You at first grew cold toward me, and
when I demanded the fulfillment of your pledges, for the sake of
the being which was soon to break the mystic spell which bound
it m a mother’s womb, and leap into life, bone of our bone, and
flesh of our flesh, you brought me to this house of prostitution,
where our child was born, telling me it was the residence of a.
confidential relative, who would take care of me. Here you
visited me, until the day which ushered into being the token of
your guilt and my shame—and when the pains of labor were
over, and my darling boy smiled in its mother’s face, she could
not return that smile, for by a note from you I learned that you
Lad deserted me! Oh, God—all the torments which hell can
measure out to you can never compare with the agony I suffered
at that moment. I will not attempt to portray my despair. A
mother’s heart was broken—a woman’s tears refused to flow to
zny relief—delirium closed the scene, and raging fever; and after
six weeks, during which time I only spoke of you, and that to
call you back, I awoke in time to see my infant die ! Then I
smiled—it will never know it’s mother’s shame, or father’s base
ness thought I, and I saw it consigned to the tomb without regret
And with it, Harry Ashland, I buried my love for you. Then38
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
deep hatred and disdain for you and all mankind filled the
vacuum, and I abandoned myself to a life of degradation, feeling
that I could never again smile on nature, or nature’s God on me,
and that no life was too bad for me to live. Instead of the infant
I Lad nursed, and which nestled in my bosom, black revenge has
lain coiled a frightful monster in my breast, and I long fhice
decreed your fate.
He shall not die in peace, I cried—he shall not be surrounded
by weeping friends—no wife or mother’s arms shall hold his
aching head ; but dog as he has lived, so like the brute he shall
die, and by my hands. My time is short—this night my sand
runs out, and although it was refused me to tread life’s thorny
paths with you, you cannot and shall not hesitate to walk arm
in arm with me to eternity ! There the poor girl will carry as
valuable a soul as the rich man—caste is not known, and noble
blood is among the things that were. Everything finds its level.
The seducer and betrayer of woman’s love meets his just re-
ward, and the murderess who avenges her wrongs, expiates her
little crime. I say little, for he who robs life of honor and virtue,
and, consequently of happiness, is worse than she, who, being
robbed of all this, takes the seducer’s life ’.
I would say more, but death has fast hold upon me, Harry,
and my strength fails me. The grim tyrant lias waited for me
and for this festival full long, and now demands his own. Come
with me, Harry Ashton. It is fit that we go together.”
So saying, she drew from her bosom the fatal dirk—and Harry
Ashton, the affluent libertine, expired with but one groan. So
suddenly had she moved, and with such fatal precision had Bella
Myers reached her mark, that not a struggle was seen.
“Now, Harry, I can kiss you once more, for I am avenged,”
faintly gasped Bella, “ my destiny is fulfilled—the cup of my
fate is full, and: I resign myself into the hands of the Unknown
God.”
And Bella Myers fell upon the couch beside her destroyer, and
with him passed the portals of the grave.
Terror and consternation took possession of that party, who one
by one silently left the fatal chamber, not wishing to be caught
there. Lizzie Jones escaped from the house, and by the assist-
ance of a hackman, found her way back to the hotel, frightfully
sick of such a life as she knew a prostitute must lead, and horror
stricken at the death she may die.
For the present we leave Kate Ridgeley’s mansion, merely
remarking that the sensation created by this terrible event soon
passed away, and vice still rears its brazen head and revels in
splendor there.THE FACTORY GIRL.
39
CHAPTER III.
The rctv r Lizzie Jones and Richards to Boston—Their Separation—Again
1» Lowed, he renews his attack upon the virtue of Flora Montgomerie—
The Marriage.
That very morning Richards arrived from his jaunt of pleasure,
and found Lizzie where he left her. Explanations and apologies
were made to her, and she received them without a frown, which
pleased him, for he knew he merited reproach. He did not dream
the real reason which prompted his paramour to receive him with
open arms, and Lizzie was not fool enough to acquaint him with
her adventure. He proposed returning home, and Lizzie, too
glad to leave a place where she feared to remain, lest exposure
should come upon her, acquiesced in his wishes. That very
afternoon was appointed lor their departure, and in due course oi
time the pair arrived in Boston, where they separated : Lizzie
to make a visit to a relative in an adjoining town, and Richards
to repair to Lowell and attend once more to his business there.
But the one great object for so speedy a return on his part was
his desire to renew his attack upon Flora Montgomerie. Lizzie
Jones had served to overcome a sort of ennui which bad fallen
upon him, but he well knew she was not a girl with whom a
long flirtation could be pleasing—not that sort of a female to
enchain one’s heart for a long period. In fact, this trip had only
served to kindle more brightly the flame of his passion for Flora,
whom we are inclined to believe he really loved. And had she
been possessed of fortune, instead of a poor operative in his fac-
tory, we have no doubt he would have been glad to have made
her his companion for life. But he entertained such exalted ideas
of wealth and good 'family, that such a thought was repugnant
to him. Besides, he regarded the honor of a poor female in the
light of an article of merchandise—to be bought and sold for gold.
He was not willing to marry her, but would gladly pay liberally
for the possession of her charms, and when he had done with her
would provide for her future support; and he was determined
such should be the case. He did not dare, however, to propose
anything to her but marriage, lest he should lose her altogether,
as he had nearly done before. He decided therefore upon a sham
marriage, which should satisfy her at the same time that it would
afford him a chance, whenever the opportunity for contracting a
suitable alliance should offer itself, to cast her off with a simple
support. He was not insensible to the meanness or treachery ol
such a deed, and long halted between two evils—one of which40
FLORA MONTGOMEN E,
was a marriage with her, the other to let her alone altogether,
should she refuse to become his mistress. Ilis passion lor hei
was too strong, however, for him to choose the latter course, and
pride would not allow him to adopt the former. So, after he had
greeted her on his return, he busied himself in perfecting such a
marriage as we have spoken of. But first of all it was neces-
sary to obtain Flora’s consent. She had received him kindly,
which was to him evidence that she had forgotten the insult he
had heaped upon her, and when she accepted an invitation to
ride out with him, he felt convinced that she still entertained an
ardent passion for him. She always evinced, moreover, the most
tender interest for his welfare and happiness, and after a few
rides with her, he felt sure that he was but to ask her hand to
receive it. The flower was within his grasp, and his passion for
her would not brook longer delay.
It was on a beautiful evening, some two weeks after his return,
that Flora accompanied him on an excursion among the green
fields of the surrounding country. The bosom of earth teemed
with all those bountiful gifts with which God repays man’s labor
—the golden apple hung in tempting clusters upon the stalwart
tree—peaches, like the blushing maiden’s cheek, were bending
to the ground the well filled branches—corn waved its ripened
ears to the light breeze, and the air was redolent with the per-
fume of the new mown hay. Everything seemed lovely, and to
invite man to love.
Richards chose this opportunity to break to Flora his inten-
tions, and she readily accepted his proposal of marriage, and
promised, with all the fervor of an honest woman’s heart, to
make him happy, if it was in her power to do so. And when
he left her at her boarding house that night, he commenced his
operations to deceive her.
“ I must have friends in this matter,” he thought, as he wended
his way from Flora’s residence. “ I cannot do it alone—but who
can I get ? Whoever they may be, they will possess a secret
which might one day be dangerous to my peace, and enable
them to destroy my reputation and happiness. I have it—Tom
Bullock and Ned Gray are just the fellows for me—dashing,
reckless libertines, men of character, too, who would suffer as
much as myself by an exposure. I have been on many a spree
with them, and aided them in many a scheme of love. I will
search them out at once, and enlist them in my service.”
Jo saying he hurried to the American House, where he was
sure of meeting them, and was soon engaged in a seen? of con-
viviality with the two friends.
•‘Boys,” said ftiehards, after the stpnm was well up, “ I haveTHE FACTORY GIRL.
41
a very nice love affair on the carpet, in which your assistance is
necessary. I have often played into your hands, and now wish
you to aid me.”
“ All right, Harry,” said Toni; “ anything you ask shall be
done, and well done too. Eh, Ned?”
Ned ghve his assent, and asked what his plan was.
“ I will tell you,” answered Richards. “ I have in my Mill
an angel in woman’s shape, whom I have sworn to possess.
Tall and commanding in figure, beautiful as Minerva in feature,
and passionate and loving as Venus, but as chaste as Diana—
“ Whew, Harry ! what an apostrophe—in love, by my soul ’
Has woman at last turned your wits, man?” exclaimed Ned.
“Well, I confess I am smitten. But how to get her I know
not; she has refused a brilliant offer to become my mistress,
preferring to work honestly for a living in the factory, to living
in splendor by the loss of her reputation.”
“Well, what a hussy!” exclaimed Tom. “A poor factory
girl talking nonsense about virtue ! She deserves to be punish-
ed for this.”
“ No, not punished, Tom,” answered Richards, “ for by my sou]
1 respect her, and I would not injure her for my fortune. But
these false notions she has about virtue and that kind of stuff,
must be eradicated, and I have no doubt she will thank me for it
hereafter, when she finds that I have liberally provided for her
which I intend to do.”
“ Here’s a cool hundred that you marry the hussy, Harry/
said Ned, pulling out a corpulent purse. “Put up the stuff, my
boy.”'
“ Can’t do it, Ned, for that is exactly what I have got to do,
in order to call her mine, boys. But a truce to this joking. 1
mean to marry the girl, but am not particular as to who or what
the parson is. Any one who can mumble the marriage service
will do. You will be the witnesses. Ned is accustomed to
wearing woman’s apparel, and I propose he shall be the brides-
maid ; while Tom, who for this occasion shall act the brother, will
personate the bridesgroom. That is all right, is it boys ?”
“Capital, ’pon my honor, I swear,” exclaimed Ned, who was
struck with the idea of wearing woman’s apparel. He always
prided himself upon his famous counterfeit in this respect, and
was always gratified at any chance of this kind.
“ But where is the parson ?” said Ned.
“ That is the sticking point,” answered Harry, “ and I must
have your aid here. Three heads are better than one—who is
the chap who married you, Ned, in Providence?”
“ I was just going to tell you, Harry. He is a capital felkrw12
FLOHA MONTGOMERIE,
and will do it up brown. His charges are not high either, for he
is a poor rummy cove, and a fifty spot will help him on mighti-
ly-”
“Then you must find him, Ned,” answered Richards. “My
purse is at your disposal to defray expenses. I have agreed to
marry the girl next Sabbath, as she calls it, and we must be oil
and to work about it.”
“ Agreed, Harry ; Tom shall go to Providence to-morrow, and
fix things there, and then write you about it, and await your ar-
rivel there. I will take on my ladies’ wardrobe, and your girl
shall never know but what I am of her own sex. I shall enjoy
the sport mightily. But tell us, Harry, who is this beauty—
what is her name?”
“ Flora Montgomerie,” answered Richards. “ But what makes
you start so, Tom ; do you know her ?”
“ No ; I used to know a girl by that name, but it cannot be
her.”
“ Perhaps it is, for Flora was once an heiress, but reverses in
her father’s fortune have reduced her to her present situation.”
“ No, it is not her,” answered Tom, with some difliculy, for
he felt satisfied it was the very one he knew. But he had mo-
tives for not knowing her in this particular instance. ‘ ‘ I used
to know a girl by that name,” he continued, “ but she was a
woman of the town in Philadelphia.”
“Then she is not the one,” said Richards ; “so let’s to work,
boys, and here is success to our undertaking.”
“Success!” reiterated Tom and Ned, as they drained their
wine cups, and then they separated.
True to his word, Toni Bullock left for Providence; but the
errand he was on was distasteful to him, for he did not like to
assist in the ruin of the daughter of an old friend, which Flora’s
father had been to him. Besides this, he respected the girl, had
seen her since her residence at Lowell, and half suspected that
some intimacy had sprung up between Richards and Flora, which
would prove her ruin. He was, therefore, glad to learn of her
purity from Richards’ lips, and also glad to find that Richards
respected and loved her. One day, he said to himself, Flora will
receive justice at the hands of the despoiler of her father’s for-
tune, and bo as wealthy as Richards. Flora will render him
happy, reflect credit upon him, and the marriage to come off
shall be as sure a one as can be contracted. By so doing, he
reasoned, he would do Richards a service and benefit an old
friend ; and his mind was resolved. Instead, therefore, of seek-
ing out the broken-down, dishonest attorney, who had assisted
him in such a service as Richards now wanted, he repaired to aTHE FACTOR? GIRL.
43
regularly constituted justice of the peace, and disclosed to him
the whole affair.
This latter applauded Tom’s scheme, and entered into the pro-
ject with zeal. Tom immediately sat down and wrote Richards
that his plans were all perfected, and requested his immediate
attendance.
Richards received the intelligence with glee, and at once
sought out Ned Grey, to whom he imparted the news.
“ Now, Ned,” said Richards, “just to see what sort of a brides-
maid you make, suppose you put on your toggery and take a
cruise with me.”
“ Agreed, Harry, and we’ll call at Mother------and see her
stock of pretty waiters, and if they can’t detect me, why, it’s
dead sure your Flora won’t.”
“ Yes. that’s a true bill, for I’ll venture a good wager there is
not one of her pretty waiters but has passed many a night in an
agreeable tete-a-tete with you.”
“ Harry, you flatter me. I was not aware that I was such a
lady-killer as to be intimate with all the little dears, though I’ll al-
low I have had some experience in love matters,” replied Ned,
as he stroked his chin with complaisance.
“Your sins of commission will greatly outweigh your sins o{
omission, Ned, I’ll warrant; but a truce to talk—where are your
dresses ?”
“ Here,’" said Ned, as he opened a trunk well filled with
ladies’ dresses of the most costly material. “ That dress,” he con-
tinued, “ enabled me to win the affections (and here he gave a
significant ahem) of the most jovial, light, sprightly, bewitching
creature, that ever tripped, fawn-like, over the green fields. I’ll
tell you how it was, Harry. You see, I passed last summer in
the country, hunting, fishing and the like. I didn’t mind if in a
day’s cruise I bagged a female bird of my own species—such
things, you know, seem to enliven one’s stay in the country, and
corn-fed lasses are a delicacy to one whose appetite has been
satiated with liaisons with married debauchees and loose factory
girls. Well, I can’t complain—I found the girls quite charming,
and disposed to make themselves agreeable, and I began to fear
that I should leave with a fair prospect of somebody’s reaping
a beautiful crop of little Neds in due course of time. Really,
Harry, I almost shed tears at the ‘ cause of regret,’ to quote
Joseph Surface, which I had given many worthy men and
women. Still I did want to accomplish one more victory, and
that over Kate------, who was all I have described her. But
she wouldn’t look at a man for any other purpose than to crack
a joke at Iris expense, or get him heels over head in love with44
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
her, and then away went my lady in a pace that a full-bred
racer might envy, leaving her gallant musing despairingly upon
the fickleness of women. 1 didn’t care to harness the hussy in
such a way, so I hit upon the following expedient. I always
rather slighted her than otherwise in company—at any rate,
sufficiently so to give her to understand that I didn’t care ad—n
about her, which vexed her very much, for I knew she enter-
tained a high opinion of me.”
“There you go again, Ned,” said Harry; “you entertain a
shocking high opinion of yourself.”
“ Now don’t interrupt my story. Confound it, where are my
false bosoms and patent bustles ’ Haven’t got establishment
enough of that kind myself to forego the use of them, Harry.
Oh ! here they are. Well, as I was saying, I was bound to shine
in that girl’s arms, and I felt sure that she wouldn’t cry much
if she should tumble into mine some night, provided nobody
knew of it. At all events, I felt so sure of it that I did not
hesitate to enter my name as a lady boarder in the same house
with Kate, and this very dress I wore when I was introduced to
her as Estelle May. Kate thought me a charming companion
aad invited me to share her room, which was large enough for
both of us, she said. I thought so too, and my trunks were duly
deposited therein.
That night I learned Kate was a minister’s daughter from her
own lips, and several other points in her history. When she
had finished she wished to know mine. I put a bold face on,
and my arms around her—pressed her to my bosom, and told her
I was—Ned Grey ! Kate gave a scream, which aroused the
landlady and brought her to the door; but she was kind enough
to tell her she was only fooling, and begged her pardon for dis-
turbing her.”
“ Accommodating girl, that Kate,” broke in Harry.
“ Oh ’ Harry, she was all that man could wish ! Well, the
landlady flared up the next day, and I left in high dudgeon, be-
cause she would not allow me to continue to room with Kate.
Poor girl! the last I knew of her was, that she was mad because
I would not marry her, and went to Boston to pick up the flats.
There, how do I look now, Harry?”
“ Charming, by my soul. In fact, I never saw a finer girl than
you mike.”
In fact Ned did counterfeit the part so nicely, attired as he
was in a splendid robe of black satin, with a superb lace chemi-
sette and under-sleeves, neatly fitting gaiters, and a “love of a
bonnet,” that he attracted much attention on the promenade that
. veiling from the young men, who wondered what new tit-bitTHE FACTORY GIRL.
43
Richards had picked up, and swore themselves ready to die for
an introduction, as well as from the ladies, who were equally
curious to know who the fair one was whom he honored with his
escort.
“ Oh! she is such a beauty exclaimed a young lady who
answered calls at Mother--------’s confectionery saloon, and who
was on the most intimate terms with Ned ; and all the other
attendants vied with each other to catch a close glimpse at the
beautiful lady. Not one of them, however, recognized her as the
noted Ned Grey, with whom they had held many a flirtation.
“ Now, Ned, let us call upon Flora, to whom I will introduce
you as my cousin, for from what I have seen of you, I am
sure she will not suspect your sex ; and it will be well for yon
to make her acquaintance before starting for Providence, that she
may not suspect our intentions.”
Ned acquiesced, and ^accompanied Richards to Flora Mont-
gomerie’s abode. The latter was, as usual, bland and courteous,
lady-like and agreeable, and seemed well pleased with her lover’s
cousin, not suspecting the treachery which was everywhere
around her. After a desultory conversation, which invariably
ensues on a first acquaintance, the subject of marriage came up.
“Flora,” said Richards, “I have informed my cousin respect-
ing the intimacy which has for sometime bound us together, and
also of my intentions respecting our future. She knows your
goodness of heart, and is not a stranger to the unsullied purity
of your character, and does not wonder that these and your
matchless beamy combined should have captivated me. I have
no secrets from my little cousin, for we have always been to-
gether since childhood ; and I have obtained her consent to act
as your maid in the interesting ceremony that will unite us. She
also understands the motives which prompt a secret marriage,
and will be true to us until I can publicly call you mine.”
I am sure, Mr. Richards, that I ought to thank you for your
kindness, and your good cousin for her interest in our welfare;
but I hardly know how to express my happiness or my gratitude
to both of you. However, my conduct to you shall express both,
and satisfy you that I am truly grateful and feel supremely blest.”
“ I have no doubt of it, Flora,” said the pretty cousin, “and
think that. Harry has cause to thank heaven and its attendant
fortune, that he met with you as he did.”
“And I trust, Madam, that lie will never have reason to think
otherwise, or regret his marriage.”
It was a happy though brief interview for Flora, but not un-
alloyed with regret to Richards. However, it was arranged that46
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
on tbs following Saturday the party should proceed to Provi-
dence, where the ceremony was to take place.
Let us skip over those days which intervened betwixt this
black interview and the day when Flora Montgomerie was t»'
be sacrificed to the depraved libertine, by treachery most foul
and deceit most shameless and abominable, and place ourselves
at once in a suit of rooms at the----House, Providence, where
this sacrifice was to take place. These had been engaged by
Tom Burgess for Mr. Richards and lady, and there we find these
three, Ned Grey personating the pretty cousin, and one other, the
man whom Richards supposed was a base miscreant, ready to
perform a sham marriage.
“ Is everything right, Tom,” asked Richards, in an undertone.
“ It is,” was the laconic reply of Tom Burgess, who, though
as depraved as Richards himself in some respects, could not act
the traitor to a woman, and that woman the daughter of a friend.
“ Well, sir,” said Richards, addressing himself to the Justice,
“ my friend has informed you of the object of our visit, and we
are ready to proceed to the fulfillment of that object.”
“ I await your pleasure, sir,” he replied.
And in a few short moments Harry Richards and Flora Mont-
gomerie were pronounced man and wife. The ©rdeal was passed
fcr which Richards had steeled his heart against all its noble
warnings and remonstrances, and he slipped a fifty dollar note
into the hands of the Justice, who, on receiving it, congratulated
the bride upon the happy life he trusted she was destined to lead,
and took his departure. As he left, Richards’ face assumed £
Bneqring aspect, and he cursed the man, whom he pre tounced a
base wretch in his own bosom.THE FACTORY GIRL.
47
CHAPTER IV.
Rapid glances at the occurrences of two years. Desertion and disappearance
of Flora. Marriage of Richards, and re-appearance of Flora.
Two years have elapsed since the occurrences ‘related in our
last chapter took place ; and those two years had wrought quite
a change in the prospects of all concerned. Flora Montgomerie,
the loving and the betrayed, had, after her marriage, enjoyed one
year of sunshine. Believing she was the wife of Henry Rich-
ards, and being surrounded as she was by all the comforts and
some of the elegancies of life, she felt herself one of the happiest
of mortals, and awaited with patience and blind confidence the
arrival of the time when her husband had promised her that her
marriage should be made public. Her home was a heaven of
tranquil delight, where order, harmony and beauty held supreme
rule. Alas, how soon was the spell destined to be broken!
Lizzie Jones had gone back to the busy hum of the mill, and
was engaged in fresh intrigues, one of which was with a clerk
in the employ of Richards. Finding she could not enchain him,
she was content to receive, now and then, a visit from Richards,
and thankful for the presents he made her in order to quiet her
so that his liaison with Flora should remain with her a secret,
with which he had been foolish enough to entrust her.
-Long before the rumor reached the ears of Flora inlier suburb-
an retreat, it had become a known fact in town that Richards
was courting the favors of an heiress, accomplished and beauti-
ful, from a neighboring State. But at last the truth reached her.
Some friend had penned her a note, setting forth the fact of such
a rumor being current. Flora was at first astonished, then en-
raged, as she read its contents—tears followed, and then she felt
vexed with herself that she had for a moment given credence to
such a report. No April sky ever shew such alternate cloud
and sunshine, showers, and blasts of angry wind, as did the
countenance of Flora, which mirrored the movings of her heart.
She longed for Richards to present himself, that she might tell
him her tale of sorrow, the first which had shrouded the sun of
domestic bliss, for she felt sure that he could and would chase
away the frightful monster, and then the sky would be all the
brighter and more clear, for the temporary storm. Would that it
had been so, for thy sake, Flora, and for thy happiness, Henry
Richards ! But, alas '. that mystery which rules the world, and
shapes the course of man, had otherwise ordered it. The ways48	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
of Heaven are beyond our comprehension, and we are at a Ic-ss
to know why He “ putteth one up, and setteth down another.”
It is not, however, with the reason why such occurrences Iran
spire, that we have to do—we simply record these occurrences.
Look at that angel wife, as she welcomes Richards with a
kiss; and after the neatly spread supper is-partaken of, see with
what a smiling confidence she accosts him, and. pours out to him
in simple, affectionate tones the tale of her distress. He should
soothe the gentle woman, and kiss away the tear-drops which
dim the lustre of her eyes, now watching his to read such a re-
sponse, as will chase black doubt away. He, however, is silent
and thoughtful, and Flora’s fears are increased.
And what are those thoughts now running his mind ? He sees
in this a fitting opportunity to disclose his baseness and to break
the bonds which bind him to her, and although he would gladly
shrink from the task, and fears the consequence of his guilt and
duplicity, yet to gain wealth and honor by bringing about a
marriage with Fanny Burleigh, the heiress, he felt the deed must
be accomplished. It is not much to break a woman’s heart, lie
reasoned ; soon it will heal, and money will exert a mighty in-
fluence to assuage the wound. How little he knew of the wo-
man lie was dealing with.
“ Why don’t you speak,'Henry,” anxiously gasped Flora, “ and
tell me at once that this report, this. letter, is false ? Am I not
your wife? and how foolish it is that I mistrust you.”
“ Flora, it is well that we come to an understanding at once,”
answered Richards. “ I am not your husband'----------
He would have continued, but Flora was so shocked at this
announcement, that she swooned and fell upon the floor. Rich-
ards saw he had been too abrupt with her, and regretted it.
However, he thought it may end as well—this swoon over, she
will talk calmly and reason with me, and I can settle with her
at once. Restoratives were applied, and soon the heart-stricken,
deceived girl, awoke.
“ Oh, God she cried, “what a horrid dream I have had.
Henry, are you here, and will you not calm me ? Not my hus-
band ! It cannot be that you are so false to me—speak, and tell
me it is only my disordered imagination that has invented the
lie.”
“ Flora, it is too true—I have deceived you, and you are not
my wife. Determined to possess you, and not being able to ac-
complish my wishes in any other manner, I procured a false
marriage. I know it was base in me to ruin you by such a
scheme; but what amends I can find it in mypowr to makeTHE FACTORY GIRL.
49
yon, will be made. Circumstances 1 cannot explain will prevent
my seeing you more, aud^it is my wish that you leave this place.
I hav : made arrangements to settle upon you an annuity winch
will support you handsomely, for 1 wish to make you amends
for my baseness. Say that you will consent to leave me with-
out further explanation or trouble, and this package is yours. It
contains the certificate of a life annuity for six bundled dollars a
year, and has drawn largely upon my fortune to obtain it for
you. Take it, Flora, and let us part—friends we will be, but we
can never more live together.”
There was a pause, during which Richards had thrust the
package into Flora’s hand, who convulsively grasped it, not
knowing the reason why. She eyed him at length intensely.
The storm was over and a calm ensued—she collected her shat-
tered thoughts, in reply, though she scarce could speak. She
was not one of those who, after discovering that a friend had be-
trayed her, would seek to renew the friendship. If she loved
Richards, it was because she respected him, and thought him
faithful and true. That spell broken, she would as soon have
tried to win his love and confidence, and have endeavored to
remain with him, as the murderer would court the acquaintance
of justice, or the thief keep company with the officer, whose port-
folio contained a warrant for his arrest.
“I have but few words to say, Mr. Richards,” she replied,
‘4 you have proved yourself to be a wretch, fit only to be despised
and shunned by woman or man—you have triumphed over
me by deception, falsehood and treachery—your point is gained,
buVmy honor remains unsullied. I will leave you, sir, and will
not annoy you, upon one; condition, for I would never live with a
man who has proved himself so base. That condition, Henrv
Richards, is that you remain a single man so long as 1 five.
Will you do it?
“But, Flora”-----
“ You have only to answer yes or no. I wish no farther par-
ley with you. If you do it, it is well—I shall keep this docu-
ment to use until I find means to support myself, and will never
speak of you. I shall watch you, however, and if Henry Rich-
ards ever marries, so sure will Flora Montgomerie, (that is my
name now, and a more honorable one than yours,) expose youi
villany.”
“ And just so sure will Henry Richards,” said the latter, “ ex-
pose you to the world, and my wealth will give me the odds
against you.” •
“ Not at all, sir, for woman is always entitled to sympathy,FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
50
and will be sure to receive it. You have my terms, and now,
sir, farewell,” answered Flora, and fixing a witliermg look of seem
upon the dumb betrayer of woman, she left the room.
Richards left the house, rather congratulating himself upon
the ease with which he had rid himself of his companion. He
had expected the usual amount of woman’s tears, which are
more difficult to combat than anger, and he flattered himself
that, when the excitement had worn off consequent upon so sud-
den a disclosure of her supposed situation, and she found herself
iberally provided for, she would recant her threats of exposure,
inasmuch as the fulfillment of them would bring her before the
public, as well as him. From this house therefore, which was
soon to be deserted, he repaired to that of a friend, at which his
intended bride was paying a visit.
Flora soon departed from Lowell—whither she went was a
mystery to Richards, which alternately gratified and alarmed
him And how prospered he in his business during these two
years ? Neglecting it for pleasure and dissipation, what wonder
that the old adage, “When the cat’s away, the mice will play,”
proved true in this case, and that those to whom he entrusted
its care, knowing every part of it, should use his absence for
their own advantage.
One of these, John Graves, to whom in a previous chapter ws
have introduced the reader, had used his situation for his own
emolument to such an extent, that He was well nigh as wealthy
now as young Richards—for, while the latter’s property had de-
creased in amount and his debts had increased, John Graves
had risen from poverty to the possession of several little houses
and lands, while his list of debts exhibited no balance against
him. He had accomplished this by sales not registered, and pur-
chases registered, which were never made. Besides this conve-
nient way of accumulating property, without incurring any
Josses, his pay roll was another profitable source of income. Mr.
Richards always prided himself upon paying high prices to his
help, and actually supposed for some year or two that such was
the case. But John Graves knew better, for he had a very nice
method of his own, whereby he paid less than he obtained re-
ceipts for; so that while Mr. Richards, in looking over his pay
rcll, found the amounts charged his help were full up to the max-
imum of high prices, the real fact was that the operative received
the minimum price, the difference between the two being for the
private purse of John Graves.
And the workmen and -workwomen dared not disclose the facts
to Richards, fur John Graves was his right hand man, and hold-
ing their receipts for the amounts on the respective pay rolliTHE FACTORY GIRT>.
61
who would belies e them ? Besides the head clerk was a pious
man, attending church regularly now, as he had done for years
past. His pious, sepulchral voice was often heard in prayer
meetings, exhorting the aged to prepare to die, and the young to
walk in wisdom’s paths. Who could suspect ■ John Gravesol
dishonesty ? But this was not the only sin which the devout
Christian, who was often pointed at as a model of a man by the
Christian part of the community, was in the commission of. He
was a bachelor, and frequently had indulged in little intimacies
with some of his female friends. But latterly he had taken quite
a liking to Lizzie Jones, and she was frequently to be seen in his
company. By means of this liaison he had been made acquaint-
ed with Richards’s adventure with Lizzie, and determined to use
the power it gave him to silence any complaints which his em-
ployer might have against him. He very well knew that his
double dealing would one day be made known, and that the facts
113 had become, master of would enable him to quit the concern
without fear of exposure.
He had been led to believe that his time was short, from cer-
tain hints thrown out by his brother clerk, Mr. Small, who did
not think he had a fair chance in the plunder. Such, in fact,
was the crisis to which things had arrived in six months after
Flora Montgomerie had left Richards, that John Graves was
heartily rejoiced when he learned the fact that his employer was
about to be married. And when he was invited to the wedding
of Richards and the accomplished and wealthy Fanny Burleigh,
his ecstacy knew no bounds ; and among all the friends who evu-
tribiited their congratulations on the occasion, none were more
complimentary than the head clerk and confidential man of the
bridesgroom. But when Mr. Richards and his worthy bride had
fairly got settled, and well into the honeymoon of connubial
bliss, this man, whom Mr. Richards considered as his best friend,
informed Flora Montgomerie of his marriage, thinking that while
Flora was ready to wreak her vengeance upon Richards, he,
( ves, could take advantage of the circumstance, and leave his
employ without fear that any of his dishonest transactions would
be made public and the cqnsequence be visited upon him. He
had amassed sufficient property to retire upon his income, and
now wished to enjoy it.
Gratified as he was at his marriage, he was still more gratified
to b arn that Flora Montgomerie had received his epistle, and
had returned to Lowell, and was there in the mills. But when
Lizzie Jones informed him of the circumsffi.ee, ne seemed very
much alarmed, notwithstanding the innate pleasure he felt, and
wold her to inform Mr. Richards of the fact.52	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
Lizzie Jones, therefore, entered his private room, and stood
face to face with her seducer! It was the first time she had
ieen him since his marriage, and she could not nmet his glance
lest she should betray -her feelings. She therefore hung her head
as though her face were not pretty enough to be seen.
“Ah! Mr. Richards,” she exclaimed, “I suppose I am for-
saken now. You are married, and all your love for me has
vanished. You taught me to respect and love you, and you
made fair promises to me and my mother, which you have
broken. I may say good bye to your company now, although
you know the situation in which you have placed me.”
“ Well, Lizzie, you know that when I took a wife I had to se-
lect one from among those of my class and situation in life. I
do not think you can say otherwise than that I have been kind
to you, and have amply repaid you for those little moments of
pleasure each of us have enjoyed.”
“ Ah, sir, I should have known that, to be sure ; but then you
certainly should not have promised that you would always pro-
tect and love me, Mr. Richards.”
“ Lizzie, I made no promises that I remember.”
“ Did you not make promises to me, sir? or is your memory so
short that'you have forgotten them?”
“ I certainly cannot remember making you any more promises
than those I have kept, Lizzie.”
Richards intend id to say more, and to have settled forever
with Lizzie Jones ; but just at that moment two girls, who bad
seen them m close confab, from a sheer love of deviltry, entered
the room and wished Mr. Richards “much joy”—whet h ci Ims'
ioy was desired on account of his recent marriage, or his tete-a-
tete with Lizzie, was not mentioned. He, however, thought it
best to understand it as having reference to his marriage, and
answered “ I thank you girls.”
“ Do you not recollect telling my mother when she once said
something to you about my keeping your company, that it was
all right, and that one day, you would make us all merry at a
wedding party ? You should have a care, sir, how you ruin
young girls, and then Leave them.”
Lizzie Jones wept—not because she loved Richards, but her
pride was wounded at his desertion, and this the more because
she had been foolish enough to inform one of her female ac-
quaintances that she was bound to become Mrs. Richards. Rich-
ards, on the contrary, was dumb and speechless, for he saw in
his conduct a case of heartless seduction and desertion, and his
situation with her, now that he was married, was altogether em«THE FACTOR! GIRL.
63
barrassing, for he knew that she had it in. her power to cast a
stain of infamy upon him.
‘•If I did make you such promises, Lizzie, it was wrong in
me, and passion is my only excuse. I regret sincerely the injury
inflicted, but if we keep the secret, no one will be able to chide
us, and no one can scandalize you. I am now married, it is
true, but I can do something to alleviate your distress, and
render you comfortable, and a pretty girl like you ought soon to
get a good husband from among her own rank in life, to whom
a few dollars will render invisible your indiscretion.”
Thus speaking he threw his arm about her neck, thrust into
her hand a gold eagle, and imprinted a kiss upon her forehead.
“ Oh, Mr. Richards, how 1 thank you,” said Lizzie, whose
temper had become softened, either at the receipt of the kiss, or
the piece of gold—probably the latter. “But what would your
wife say, sir, if she could know how liberal you are with your
kisses ?”
“ Mrs. Richards does not know it, and that is sufficient. She
is not robbed at all, for kisses are manufactured at will, and I
have many more both for you and her, Lizzie. Of course you
won’t tell, and we may have many a pleasant evening together,
Lizzie, yet, and no one but ourselves be the wiser for it. You
yet live where I last saw you, Lizzie ?”
“Yes, sir, and shall be pleased to see you there, sir.”
“ Then I shall call ujxm you soon, Lizsie. But be precious
careful how you speak of me to any one in the mill or out of it.
God knows people love to talk, and always make the most of all
an in such matters, and scandal will ruin us both,
Lizzie. Even these girls, who just now broke in upon us, may
be talking bad things of us, so you had better be cautious how
you call on me here.”
• “ This is very true, sir,” answered the yielding Lizzie. “ They
may be talking about us both. But there is somebody in town
looking for you, who maybe saying more perhaps than they can,
and who can do more than they, and for that reason I called
upon you, and wish to tell you about it.”
“ What do you say, Lizzie? some one talking about us, who
can say and do more than any one else ? Why, what can you
mean, Lizzie ?”
“ I mean, sir, that Flora Montgomerie has come back, and was
m Ui* aill yesterday. She says she has heard of your wedding,
ana nas come back to be revenged upon you. And you know,
sir, she is a woman of terrible temper, when ill-used.”
Had a thunderbolt been hurled from Heaven’s batteries at his
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
feet, Richards could not have started with such amazement as
he did this announcement. “Flora here,” said he, “and yester
day ! Can it be true?”
“ It is indeed true, sir. She has been here almost a month, and
swears she will work your ruin, now, as you worked hers a short
time since. I cannot exactly understand what she alludes to,
sir, but I don’t think I could injure you, sir, although I am sure
1 have as much cause to complain as she can have. She could
never have loved, you as I do, sir, to injure you—could she ?”
“No Lizzie, I think not. But she can’t injure me. Did she
get into the mill, did you say ?”
“Yes, sir—into the mill.”
“ What in God’s name was the people thinking about to let
her in ?”
“ Why sir, she was known to all the people in the mill, and
they all knew she used to be intimate with you—and then she
was always such a lady, sir—so good and kind to all of us, that
we were all glad to see her. But when I found out the object of
her visit, of course I could not help telling you of it, sir.”
“ Certainly not, Lizzie. I thought she had left me for good,”
muttered Richards, as though he was alone. “ Not hearing any-
thing from her, except that she drew the money with which I
endowed her, I concluded she had left me to myself and enjoy-
ment. According to our bargain, she was to trouble me no more;
and now—but my marriage has done it! She has learned that,
and is stung to the heart by it, and will assuredly expose me to
my wife, to satisfy my slight of her. She is capable of redress
ing her wrongs, and nothing but my ruin will satisfy her. Ske
is passion itself, whether in love or hate, and I am no match to
cope with her. Oh, fury !”
“ Yes, sir,” said Lizzie, who had caught every word of this
speech, “ she was very furious, and threatened you much,” and
Richards for the first time knew he had been speaking in hez
presence.
“ Where does she live, Lizzie-^-do you know?”
“Yes, sir, she lives in Billerica' and looks as well as ever—the
same lady, sir, she always was, though her countenance seems to
kok as though she was sorrowful and troubled.”
“ Lizzie, say nothing to any one about this or her Find out
exactly where she lives, if you can, and if you hear of her doing
or saying ar. _ thing a out me, let me knew of it immediately.”
“ Yes, sir ; and when may I expect to receive a visit from you ?”
replied Lizzie, eyeing him archly, an.I determined to bring things
to her own advantage.
*• very soon, Lizzie; find out all you can, and I will callTHE FACTORY GIRL.
53
at your house to-morrow night to learn what you know.”
“I shall be glad to see you once more, Mr. Richards’. 1’11
find out all I can for you and Lizzie tripped nimbly out of ti e
hall.
Richards w*?s terrified and alarmed. He knew he was guilty
of abase wrong on Flora, and that she could redress that wrong
in a terrible manner, could she but find by whom the ceremony,
which he still thought was a mock marriage, had been perform-
ed. If she sought redress in a legal tribunal, she could obtain
it—and otherwise she could blast him and render his present mar-
riage a mockery and disgrace to him. Then, too, she would Lave
aid, for the friends of his present wife would not brook such an
insult, or allow their daughter to be allied to,so base a miscreant.
Even his wife, he knew, would spurn him, should Flora make
out her case in proof against him. And then he also knew that
Flora was a more fitting companion for him than the one he now
had, and he felt he had cast off a golden treasure for one of
lesser value to him. This rendered his situation the more em-
barrassing ; and truly, so black was the cloud which tin eatened
him, that a long life at that time would have been quickly bar-
tered for a short respite from the evil. He would have given
much, could he have seen at that time his accomplices in the
fatal marriage, Ned and Tom; but they were away, he knew
not where, and there was no one else in the wide world to whom
he could impart his secret, and of whom he could ask advice.
While thus gloomily occupied, the hands in the mill were
wending their way in procession to his office. Tire bell Lad
” T. jiing for supper, and they had chosen this opportunity to
present their congratulations to their employer on his marriage.
What a mockery! Little knew they of their master’s heart at
that time, or what an effort it would be to him to receive them,
and how really he felt that the compliments they were about to
offer were wholly unmerited.
Although totally ignorant of the object of the visit to his office
of the operatives who had entered it, Mr. Richards welcomed
them, for it was a pleasing end to his soul-harrowing thoughts,
at least for one moment, and he inquired in his most bland waj
what was the occasion of their visit.
“Only a little kun, sir, quite harmless, or I should not Have
countenanced it,” said John Graves, who but a few moments
previous had been chuckling over the discomfiture of his em-
ployer, for he knew that his own evil hands had caused the de-
spondency. “They are happy, sir, because you arc, and wish to
congiatu: ate you upon your marriage.”
One of the little band of operatives then appeared, supportedFLORA MOVIGOMSRIE,
56
by a committee, chosen by them, and presented an address, felici
tatmg their employer upon his happiness, and wishing him a
prosperous, pleasant and long life. This was received with coup
tesy, for, to say that Mr. Richards did not feel grateful for thia
mark of respect and love, would be doing him injustice. He felt
moved by it ; but he also felt that all their sincere and fervent
prayers would avail him nought so long as Flora Montgomerie’s
wrongs were unredressed, and she was in his very midst lor the
purpose of meting out to him his just merits. The sky was
dark and cloudy, threatening storm, and no trace of sunlight
could be seen fringing its borders, or lighting up the blue sky
beyond. So lately married, and so -early doomed to shame !
His confiding wife, who regarded him as a faithful husband and
an honorable man, deceived—her hopes shattered—her confidence
gone—her love changed into loathing for the man who could as
coolly plot the destruction of one of her sex as he had done—the
pride and rage of her friends seeking retaliation—his own friends
estranged from him, and the finger of scorn pointing at him—
all these thoughts flitted before him, seeming to be the shadows
of events which were written in the book of his destiny, and
which would roll upon him and overwhelm him in a flood of
misery. What a mighty effort it cost him to smile with them,
and appear cheerful before the crowd of eager listeners. How-
ever, lie did accomplish it, and appeared before them. Cheers
greeted him, which seemed to him like the scoffs of so many de-
mons ringing in his ears ; but as soon as silence ruled the hour, he
returned thanks as best he could, the listeners mistaking his choked
utterance from emotion of pleasure which burst from a full heart.
The machinery was then ordered to be stopped for the day, and
suitable presents were directed to be made to each, when Richards
retired.
The full moon ruled a lovely night, and the stars in the realms
of space glittered with almost unwonted splendor, as Henry
Richards wended his way to the very house where he and Flora
once resided, to meet his new found wife. He had mechanically
arrived at the gate, and did not until his hand touched the latch
to open it, reflect that this scene of Flora’s downfall might prove
to be his own. But as he opened it, the thought flashed upon
his mind, and the gate was closed, and Henry Richards with-
drew from the spot. Gladly would he have flown altogether
from it, for he feared lest misery had flown on swifter wings than
he, and was even now prepared to greet him there. But the
voice of his bride, who bad been watching his arrival in the
garden, reached him, and told him that he had nought to dread
there. The gate was once more opened, and he passed its portals.THE FACTORY GIRL.	4**
A large and merry party were assembled there to meet him
The parents of his bride, her brothers and sisters, proud of thcii
new found relation, were there conspicuous, pledged lor that
evening, at least, to render its moments, moments of happiness
to the noviciates in marital life. Many of the young friends of
both, of both sexes, were there also, and no doubt fondly hoped
that a knowledge of the happiness of this newly mairicd | air,
would accelerate their own union with their loves. Ml.at si.ad
we say of Richards ? He seemed totally lost to all this scene of
joy and gaity about him. True, he had informed his visilois of
tue delivery of the address, and brought to his now happy bi ide
their wishes for a continuance of her pleasure. But ot the vi-.t
of the cast off, deserted wife, who was such in Leaven’s ej e,
though he thought she was not in man’s, Richards was silent,
morose and thoughtful, and in-vain tried to appear chceiful—so
much so that his wife, who sat beside him, perceived it, and
affectionately inquired the cause of his dullness. Others repeat-
ed the queries thus put, and tried, and tried in vain, to charm
him and impart to his soul, the hilarity which ruled the hour.
The piano gave forth its most cheerful sounds, and sweet voices
accompanied its music ; but the master of the house was as though
encased in ice, and could not feel the genial warmth of those
around him.
Suddenly the door bell rang, and Pvichards as suddenly started
to his feet. But a moment elapsed and a tall, imposing female
figure walked gracefully into the room, and lifting her veil, stood
motionless as a statue in the midst of the company. Richards
at once comprehended the fact that the threatening clouds which
had so harrowed his soul were about to burst, and like the fright-
ened deer iii the midst of the tempest, strove to hide himself from
its fury.
The visitor saw the consternation and confusion her appear-
ance created, and as, of all the people there assembled she wished
to speak to but one, she fixed her eyes upon him. The wife
ching terrified to her partner, and the whole company were
mute. Flora advanced towards Richards, pointing to him with
her finger, and exclaimed in slow tones, “ Henry Richaids, well
may you shrink from the sight of one whose ruin you have
caused, but you cannot elude my vigilance. I am your bane ’
The herald of evil and the messenger of misery to you. The day
of your happiness lias fled. In vain may youY eyes flash with
indignation, and your passion tear you, at my intrusion into this
house, and among this joyful assemblage. This house, which
was once my house, and should be so now—and these guests,
which siould have been my guests! But your fury I heed not.FLORA MONTGOMERIE.
©8
and I defy your threats ! You are in my power, and shall nevci
enjoy the nuptial bed. We shall meet hereafter. Farewell!"
Flora moved majestically from the room, leaving the. guests in
amazement and full of sorrow. The pleasure-was ended, and
the assemblage broke up. Bid ever the golden light of joy gild
the wings of the angel of peace and love there more? Ko,
never !
An occurrence of this nature could not fail to produce its effects
upon his domestic life. The wife had good cause for suspicion,
and the natural consequence was that she should demand an ex-
planation, at least. The dissolute life Mr. Richards had led was
now beginning to assume a tangible form, and produce its sure
fruit, wnich not only threatened to engulf him in ruin, but also
to drag into the vortex, his newly found bride, who was perfectly
innocent, and whose sure fall in the eddying whirlpool, roused
into fury by her husband’s vicious career, was too apparent.
Surely no case of simple entanglement with a female, tne freak
of an hour, in which passion had obtained the mastery over a
man, could so affect him. Society would be inclined to lock with
a forgiving eye upon such a little peccadillo, and stand ready tc
embrace him with open arms, and rather laugh at the occurrence
and call him a “jolly dog,’’or a “sad fellow.’’ The ravages
which such a case commits are little thought of by society.
They only affect the victim herself, and her friends. But his
friends did not know all—there was a certain something hidden
in the inmost recesses of his heart, which he knew stamped him
with more than ordinary guilt, and the personal appearance of
his victim, he knew, was calculated to make a powerful impres-
sion upon his friends. They were startled at the apparition of
Flora, and could not tell why he had betrayed such a paralyza-
tion of his energies ; nor why his indignation at her presumptu-
ous menace, and horrible, revolting charges, had not burst upon
her, to abash and confound her.
He knew these must be the ideas which would run through
their minds, and after, at a later hour in the evening, hinting to
Lis wife that she was an old factory girl who'was inflicted with
insanity, and had for a long time imagined she had some claim
for his hand, he said, “ Avoid all uneasiness upon this subject, my
dear Fanny. Believe me there is nothing serious in this occur-
rence. As soon as morning dawns, I will seek out the poor
creature, and if it turns out as I think it must, that she is now
indicted with incurable insanity, I will use every endeavor to see
that she is placed under proper restraint, and medical treatment,
m order that she may alarm us no more.’’
“ You say she is mad, Henry; but if she is, it is a calm, methoTHE FACTORY GIRL.
63
dical insanity, such as I never heard of before. There is a force
in all her language which, it seems to me, must have a mean-
ing,” answered his wife, her eyes gleaming with incredulousness,
which told too plainly that she regarded her husband’s reasoning
as an evasion -f truth, and was determined to ascertain whether
it were false or not.
“ All that may be, Fanny, and yet her insanity be deep and.
confirmed.”
“ I do not understand you, Henry.”
“What I would say, Fanny, is this; that lunatics possess a
cunning which sane persons cannot attain, and often deceive the
most experienced keepers. For a length of time they will act
and reason as rationally as though lunacy had ever been a
stranger to them. But those intervals are short, and the next fit
of insanity is more severe for the calm. The woman was evi-
dently in one of her most dangerous attacks, to-night, and care
must be taken that such another does not trouble us.”
“ Henry, I am not convinced by your reasoning. I feel confi-
dent that that woman is perfectly sane.”
“ Great God, Fanny ! you do not believe me !” exclaimed her
husband, his face flushing, and betraying the disappointment
which his wife’s reception of his explanations occasioned—“ you
do not think, do you-----”
“ That you have wronged her, you would say. I most assured-
ly do,” interposed his wife, with a forced calmness, which over-
wheljned in destruction his theory and his hopes of Its reception
by his wife,’but also with a bitterness of spirit which told how
sincere she was in this belief, and how deeply she felt her
misery and his misconduct. “ There is a calmness in that wo-
man’s manner more dreadful than any paroxysm of rage which
could have been brought to bear against you, and beyond that
there is evidently a steady, settled determination, to punish you
for trifling with her affections, which, if I mistake not, will ac-
complish its end, and cover you with shame and disgraceful ex-
posure. Why, when you were conscious of having gained the
affections of another, did| you cast them off, and draw me into
woman is evidently not my inferior, in birth or
rcittcdtion, and undoubtedly has the best right to your lieart.
You have drawn me into misery, I repeat, for when confidence
is once broken, when others claim you for their own—and those
claims are prior to mine—and here in your very house, before your
friends and mine, charge you with heartless seduction, we can-
not think that happiness" and peace can remain the guardian
angels of this house. No, no, Henry; this night my heart has
been crushed, my hopes blighted—my young hopes killed by tha60	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
cold, chilling frost, engendered by the thought that the heart
which was to have been mine—the sun which was to have
lighted up and kindled warmth of love in my heart, ought to
have made cheerful the soul of another. My husband is dis-
graced. and just as I have crossed the threshold of married life,
1 am a cast off, blighted, heart-crushed bride.”
Tiie husband was astonished at the warmth of her language,
and felt how truly dreadful was his situation. It was some mo-
ments ere he ventured a reply, during which time he might have
been seen striding up and down his chamber floor, his eyes cast
down and suffused with tears. At length he said, “ Believe me,
Fanny, when I tell you that I have not seen or heard from that
woman for a year, and 1 affirm before God, that I had not even
the knowledge of her being alive, much less that she was here
in my very neighborhood.”
“I do not dispute this assertion, Henry.”
“ Well, if you have no cause to dispute me in this particular,”
continued the husband, with some little ray of hope in his breast
rekindling, “may I not trust that my wife will suspend her judg-
ment of me in this particular, until I can clear away all suspicion
of my conduct in the affair?”
“ That is all I ask, Henry ; take away my grounds for suspi-
cion, and return to me the confidence I felt in you, and I am
again happy.”
“ To-morrow, Fanny, give me till to-morrow; but until then, be-
lieve me to be what I was before this unfortunate affair.”
“I grant your request, Henry, in the hope you will be abln to
succeed in setting this matter aright. But, believe me, I shall
myself investigate the mystery which enshrouds that noble look-
ing and apparently deeply wronged woman. If you have de-
ceived me, we shall both lament it—if you have told me the truth,
we shall both be more happy after.”
Here we leave them for the night, and close this chapter for tha
development of new scenes in our tale.
CHAPTER V.
The Strike in the Mill.—Appearance of Flora and conversation with Richards.
Who shall say that the evil we do in this world does not also
meet its recompense here, or that vice goes unpunished during
life? The prisoner in his solitary cell pays the penalty of his
»intrages upon society, and S.; his disobedience to the laws ofTHE FACTORY CTRL.
61
his maker, misery reigns in his heart, nursed by the all powerful
sting of conscience. Sickness follows all our excesses, and pre-,
mature death closes upon us.
Let us see how Mr. Richards’s course of life was hastening
disgrace and death. In the first place, let us observe that mis-
fortune never comes singly upon us. Flora Montgomerie Lad
opened the ball which was to roll on and finally overwhelm him,
and now came a second trial, the result of inattention to his
business affairs, which was destined to render more black the
threatening cloud which hung over him. He Lad received his
work people in so kind a manner, when they came to felicitate
him upon his marriage, that it had emboldened them to ask for
an increase of their wages, which they supposed he must know
to be less than those of other operatives about him. This pres-
ent time they thought was the most favorable of all for the ac-
complishment of their object. Therefore, on the very night when
Flora denounced him to his friends, the operatives had organised
and chosen a committee to represent their situation.
John Graves had been made acquainted with this resolve, on
their part, and when Richards had finished looking over his pri-
vate letter, on the following morning, he requested to have a
few moments conversation in private with his employer. To
this, the latter made no objection, and the two adjourned to the
private ofiice.
“ I wish to inform you, Mr. Richards, of a conspiracy now
afloat in your mill among the operatives to procure an advance
of ages. They think those you pay them are too small and
■ chosen the present time as a fitting opportunity to press
their claims. In a few moments they will present you a peti-
tion, and expect you to return an answer.”
“ This is indeed news, Mr. Graves. When did you learn
this?” returned Richards, evidently surprised and embarrassed.
“Only this very morning, sir; and I have taken the first op-
portunity of acquainting you with the fact.”
“ -A nd how did you come to the knowledge of this ?”
“Lizzie Jones, good girl she is, told, me of it. I thanked her
for the information, and told her you would undoubtedly reward
her for it. She is a good girl, sir—a truly virtuous girl,” said
John Graves, who did not wish Richards to suspect that he
knew anything that had transpired between them.
Richards did not heed this encomium upon bis victim, but re-
mained silent a short time. Then looking intently at his head
clerk he exclaimed—“Is it not a little curious, Mr. Graves, that
such a thing as this should take place, when but a few months
ainco I raised tneir wages to the highest mark paid in our fac*62
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
tories, and they know that business is getting dull ? They must
be careful how they repay my kindness—there is such a thing
as riding a free horse to death, sir, and they may repent of this
movement.”
“ It is truly strange, sir,” replied John Graves, to whom it was
not strange at all ; “ shall I prepare an answer to their petition?
These men care for nothing but the furtherance of their own
ends.”
“ Let us see, first, what their petition is, and how far it is sup
ported by the operatives. The water will soon be turned off and
we must be ready. But, John, did nothing portending this
movement take place while I was away ? It seems that it must
have been decided upon before.”
“ Not to my knowledge, sir. You see your liberality to-them
yesterday encouraged them. Give such people an inch, sir, and
they will take an ell, is very true. They are a grasping set, and
think to obtain their desires by threatening not to work, if you
refuse.”
“ Well, let us see how they succeed.”
While this conversation had been going on in the private
room, the under-clerk had been examining the wages book and
cash accounts of the concern. This he was enabled to do for
the first, time, for, as under-clerk, he had no business with those
books, and never dared to look at them while Graves was in the
o lice. And when Graves went out, he always put them in the
safe, and took its key with him. This operation, for a long time
noticed by the under-clerk, had at length excited his curiosity, if
it had not raised a suspicion in his mind, that all was not right.
But on this occasion John Graves had to prepare the mind of his
master to receive the operatives as he wished them to be re-
ceived—in anger, and he had forgotten to lock the safe. “ Glori-
ous exclaimed Small, and he went to the safe and took up the
pay book, anti hastily adding up two or three columns, he found
the sum total larger than the items warranted, so that the con-
cern was credited on the cash book with a larger amount than
was paid dut, the difference going into the private pocket of
John Graves.
Satisfied, on this point, he returned the books to the safe, and
accidentally heard some of the conversation which was going on
in the private office, between Richards and Graves. “ So, so,”
said he, “there are two pay books kept, according to this talk—a
true one and a false one—to suit any emergency.” And then he
deliberately went to work cogitating how he could best manoeuvre
io make his discovery beneficial to himself.
While he was yet cogitating upon this important point, as hoTHIS FACTORY GIRL.
63
thou.ght it, the work people assembled, according to John Graves’s
prediction, around the counting-house, and a party of five, who
had been selected to present the petition, entered, and requested
an interview with Mr. Richards. This granted, the foremost of
the visitors, opened and read a paper, the contents of which we
will content ourselves with giving in brief.
It set forth the fact that they received less wages Than hands
in the other mills—that they considered themselves as cfiicieiit
workmen as any in the trade, and that they thought they de-
served as high pay. At the conclusion they requested their em-
ployer to acquaint himself with the rates of wages paid by him,
and compare them with those paid by others in the same busi-
ness, and then to raise theirs to the same rates paid by other
manufacturers.
Richards was not, at best, in a pleasant humor, and he felt
assured that, paying as high wages as anybody, this act was
presumptuous on their part. The address had wounded liis
pride. He turned to the men and said—
“You are bold, gentlemen, very bold, in asking roe for an in-
crease of wages, when you know that I pay as high rates as
any person in the trade, and pay with the same promptness. I
was not aware, till to-day, that I was thought an unkind em-
ployer, or that I have been -used to grind down the wages of those
in my employ. Your language, therefore, is very uncivil. As
for asking what prices others pay about me, it is useless, for I
already know; and I also know that my scale is fully up tc
theirs. You cannot bully me, or compel me to increase your
wages.”
“ You are mistaken, sir, when you accuse us of incivility, or
of ingratitude for favors received. As for wages, we are confi-
dent that you pay less than anybody around, for we have already
inquired, and it is our duty to ourselves and families to ask you
to pay as much. We only wish you to ascertain the fact, and
We are content to abide the issue.”
“Very well, gentlemen, you shall have a fair hearing. But
how long a time do you give me to inspect other peoples’ books,
or allow them to inspect mine, for one or the other will have to be
lone?”
The committee smiled, but said nothing.
‘ Well, you smile, but this has got to be done. Hand me the
j ay roll, Graves.”
The perspiration stood thick on John Graves’s brow, as the
order was given, for he now recollected, for the first time, that
he had left the safe open; and he trembled lest his brother clerk,
suspecting, as he knew he did his trickery, should have beenFLORA MONTGOMERIE,
64
there. However, he found the right book there, and handed il
to his employer. After looking over several of its pages, he
came to the conclusion, aided by the clerk, that the men in hia
employ had no cause for complaint, and continued—“It is all
nonsense, men; I have before me the book containing accounts
of money paid every one in the mill, and I cannot, when I know
that I am paying as high price as any one, but consider your de-
mand as a wanton insult.”
John Graves was triumphant, and his peculations were still
andiscovered. The men left the mill'cogitating on what it was
best for them to do in view of the circumstances.
All, save one, had left the yard. That one, unperceived by
Richards, had taken a stand amid the throng, patiently await-
ing the clearance of the yard, so she might be alone with Rich-
ards. The triumph she knew she was about to gain over
him, she felt would amply repay her for waiting her time. And
now she was alone in the yard, and him she sought was alone
in his office. On the next moment Flora Montgomerie, the
abused and discarded wife, and Henry Richards, her base be-
trayer, stood face to face. Her long, dark hair hung in cluster-
ing curls, her noble countenance beamed with light and intelli-
gence, but the lustre of her eye was dim and its gaze unsettled.
Still her commanding figure and neat attire drew forth admira-
tion, although a cold shiver ran through the frame of Richards.
He had intended to hunt her-up, and propose some means of set-
tlement with her—to do anything she proposed in the way of pe-
cuniary recompense, provided she would leave him to peace and
his own inclinations. But she had come to him, as cool and .s
determined as on the evening previous she met him. She could
not wholly mask her womanhood, and yet her sex seemed in her
changed. From the fond and yielding, affectionate being she
was when she thought she was the wife of Richards, she
seemed to have changed to the malignant fiend, bartering away
her angel heart, and supplying its place with delight at deeds of
a malignant nature, and a thirst for vengeance on her seducer,
wholly foreign to her good nature.
“ Why do I see you here, poor, deluded woman ?” at length
stammered Richards ; “are not the evils you did me last night
sufficient to satisfy your vengeance, that you again thrust your-
self before me?”
As he spoke he passed through a door, into a sort of store-
room, where he thought to be more private He was followed
by Flora, who, when he had stopped, boldly confronted him.
“Isay again, why do you torment me thus?” he resumed,
ahrinkiug at the intensity of her gaze. “ What do you wantTHE FACTORY GERL.
65
here ? Is it money ? You know you can have it by asking—
then why wreaK your vengeance on me, when it is not me alone
you cause to suffer, but also render the life of one miserable who
never injured you.”
“ You know what I seek here, Henry,” she muttered with a
sneering, contemptuous laugh. “You are not ignorant of it, and
t is useless for you to play the hypocrite with me.”
“Hypocrite, Flora
“Yes, hypocrite, Henry. Yon ask me why I seek you here,
as if you did not know. Is not this hypocrisy?”
“ You may call it so, but in truth it is not so. I ask you why
you wish to torment me thus. You solemnly agreed that so long
as you received the annuity I settled upon you, you would re-
main at a distance from me, and trouble me no more—have you
done so, I ask ? No. But as soon as I form new and sacred
connections, you burst forth among them, openly assail my char-
acter, and threaten me with penalties I know not of. And all
this from malice. What better motive you can have I cannot
see. You may make my life miserable, it is true, but will it add
one jot or tittle to your own happiness ?”
“ My happiness, Henry ! As if I had not long ceased to be fa
miliar with happiness. My happiness! Where has it beet
since I knew you? Alas ’. where has it been?”
“ Could you torment me alone, Flora,” he resumed with oner
getic expostulation, seeing that she had softened, and hoping t<
prodiice an impression on the until now cold heart, “was it we
alone who had to suffer, I could not blame you, for in truth I
have wronged you ; but reflect—your conduct, while it banishes
peace from my heart, and deservedly, robs one of peace and
comfort, who is not responsible for my sin, and whose kind heart
would rather bless than curse you. Flora, you must forget the
past, and forgive me.”
“Never, never, never, Henry Richards—never
“ Then be warned, Flora; you may inflict misery upon me
and my wife, but the selfsame Sampson who causes it will also
pull the temple upon herself, and ruin will stare you in the face.”
“You are in no position to threaten me,” replied Flora, with
scorn. “ One word from me in the ears of a magistrate, and
one glance from his eye upon this paper, Henry Richards, and
you are banished, self banished from home.”
“ Flora, you are mad ’ Why did you leave your retreat to
nestle here in misery—to open afresh wounds which time had
healed in your breast, and which would soon have refused to
show a trace of themselves ? Return, Flora, and demand what
- ou wish fipru m© for your support, and your desire shall be65
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
granted. Give me assurance that I shall peacefully enjoy my
marriage, and I will beggar myself to enrich you. For heaven's
sake do not plunge into such a vortex of misery her who has
never harmed you.”
“Hush, Henry—no more!” she cried, drawing'herself up
proudly to her full height, and extending her right band as if to
enjoin obedience. “Hush—let me speak, and you listen to me.
I came to Lowell, from a formerly affluent family, whose honor
had never been sullied, except by poverty. In spirit, in educa-
tion, in nobleness of mind, I was far your superior. You were
spoken of to me by a mutual friend, as a man of honor, and
charitable—one who always sought to lift the poor, not to crush
them. Pride would not allow me to earn my bread in many ways
which were open to me. I might have entered a wealthy family
as governess ; but that would too often remind me of my formci
position, and how these very people once courted my society. I
chose to enter a factory, to earn what I could there, and during
my leisure hours, while others slept, I could add to my wages,
such other means as I could derive from my skill in embroidery
and painting. You know how you were struck with me—how,
day after day you loitered by my frame, and night after night
met me on my way home. No dog ever followed his master
with such fawning glee, as you did the very being you now
seek to put awaj from you. You heaped presents upon me,
flattered me, sympathized with rile, and I finally, from respecting
you, loved you. Then you saw the impression you had made,
and saw me seeking your society, as once you sought mine, in
all the ways which are honorable for a female to practice, and
then for the first time you dared to insinuate in equivocal lan-
guage your base designs. That was the first foul blow you gave
me. Your heart was bared before me in all its pollution, and I
aoubted that love ever dwelt there, unswayed by passion. But
you put on the garb of repentance, and much as I feared insin-
cerity, I did not discard you at once. Pride upheld me, and
nerved me, and I thought I could .make you love me ; so I fled
not from the contamination of your society, or the pollution of
your passions. You were baffled in your attempts, because I re-
sisted the tempter. To what measures did you then resort to
possess me, and undo me forever ? Base as you are, you would
shrink into nothing, if that blessing were vouchsafed at the bare
mention of your heartless villany. You offered, me marriage—
not public, open marriage—but led me, after confidence in you
wps restored, to a distant place, followed by two of your friends-
where, as you said, we were married. I went because you de,
Glared to me, and I believed you> that certain property dependedTKE FACTORY GIRL.
67
upon your njt contracting marriage before a certain age—in part,
because you did not wish to meet the wrath of friends who were
proud, and would upbraid you for marrying a poor factory girl,
just then.”
“But why recapitulate all this, Flora?”
“ My reasons are good. Well, in this distant city, in the pres*
ence of your friends, and by a person said to be a justice of the
peace, we were pronounced man and wife. Thus far, success*
fully had you carried out what you considered a farce. Oh,
what a farce ! But poor me, the fond, simple, confiding fool that
I was, believed it all real, and trusting that ere lon^ a public
recognition would take place, lived with you in private as your
wife—your wife in every respect; in attachment, in fond ca-
resses, in untiring efforts to please you, and to rivet the bonds of
love more fast than ever, while at the same time I twined them
with roses, sparkling, bright, beautiful and fresh from the well-
tilled garden of a warm, loving heart, that you might easily wear
the fetters, and rejoice that they bound you. One year this fond
dream lasted, and then came the awakening. That year was
like to balmy June, when fields are clothed in rich verdure, trees
decorated with luxurious foliage and ripening fruit—when flow-
ers dance in the light air, catching the sunbeams with which
God’s own hand lights them up, and throwing back their vary-
ing, brilliant colors to that Giver of every good and perfect gift,
to make Him own they do their duty well, and are not ungrateful
for the showers of April or the suns of May. I asked for no other
heaven than that I was living. But then came chill winter,
shifting the scene so suddenly ! my blood curdles and freezes, as
I think upon that change. Your base friends, and my foes, ex-
posed the farce, made me loathe myself, and threaten never to
rest until I had washed out my wrongs in your destruction, and
inflicted upon you all the injuries which woman’s love, turned
to implacable hate, could devise or suggest. Marriage ! never
did we reach that golden, hallowed state, or even a legalized
place for such performances ; while a dressed-up villain, more
base than yourself, if possible, bribed by your gold, went mock-
ingly through the service. Yet I believed you true. And now
you ask me why I pursue you, shrinking back like a coward
from my vengeance. Hero I am, the cast-off, deluded wife of
Henry Richards, and here I will remain. You can never shake
me off.”
“ This is folly—worse than that—it is madness, Flora,” ex-
claimed Richards, terrified and wringing his hands in agony.
“ If it is madness, it is the madness of reason, determined andS8
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
persevering in its course of action, heedless alike of every
obstacle, and overcoming every one but death.”
Richards knew that the only weapon he could combat this
woman with was supplication. Iler course was just, and she
was one who would defend it at all hazards. Jle was also aware
that the certificate given her after her marriage, whether it was
a pretended marriage or a true one, was in her possession, and
that with this she could blast his prospects, and cau^e a separa-
tion between him and his wife—hunt him from all respectable
society, while he for revenge, which she declared could only end
with her life, would cause her to follow him like a curse, wher-
ever he went. Accuse her of wronging him he could not, for she
-had right on her side ; and he could not reply to his impassioned
speeches, for he was conscious of having played the villain, and
knew that he richly merited her censure.
“ Was it not agreed, Flora,” he humbly asked, “ that so long
as you received such moneys as should support you handsomely,
you were to leave me alone and remain at a distance from me?”
“ Such was our agreement, Henry.”
“ Why then have you broken it?”
“ Because it was first broken by you. You set me the ex-
ample, by rendering our contract void and worthless.”
“ Me, Flora? You are mad, woman,” exclaimed Richards, a
smile of-pity and co ‘gmpt being forced into his face. But the
keen glance of his to.mentor dispelled it, and the contemptuous
arrows which darted from her eyes retorted back-with double
interest his pity and his smile.
“ Did I not agree,” she cried, “to absent myself r:
long as you remained in the condition in which you then were ?”
“ Certainly—that was our bargain.”
“We were husband and wife, and as such agreed to live sepa-
rate, did we not?”
“ You know it was so.”
“ When you, therefore, ray husband, whom I once loved, and
on whose breast I pillowed my weary head, thought fit wholly to
repudiate me, to cut me off fore ver, by marrying another, thereby
proclaiming to all, that we were never married—I say, when you
acted thus, was not the contract broken ?”
“It certainly was not; for we were never married.”
“ It is false ! In the sight of man and of God we became one,
in a certain limited society you acknowledged me as your wife,
and I was your wifj, Henry, in everything which makes up
that hallowed name. But you tired of me, and now again you
have taken a wife. She is rich, affectionate, beautiful—but
we in the former point, I am her equal My poverty alone iaTHE FACTORY GiRL.
69
the difference. But mark me, Henry—that house where she
now dwells should have been mine ; all her comforts and priv-
ileges mine also, and mine alone should have been the wretch
she calls husband—the cold, heartless monster that you are, should
have shared with me his luxuries and his joys. She shall not
enjoy what is mine. For the present, Henry, farewell—we shal
soon meet again in the presence of your second wife.”
Majestic she' walked out of the room, leaving her husband,
as she called Richards, more than ever perplexed and tortured at
the dilemma in which she had placed him.
CHAPTER. VI.
Meeting of Flora and her Brother.—Flora restored to affluence.—The Mar-
riage declared legal by Tom Bullock.
Our triumphs do not always bring to us good cheer. Indeed,
it frequently happens that defeat is succeeded by or contemplat-
ed with more real pleasure than our triumphs. In the hour oi
strife our evil passions are kindled, to burst with fury upon those
we once loved and respected. We regret that circumstances
should have occurred to bring strife where peace should have
dwelt and victory has to us no charm. We have lost, we find,
old friends and acquired new enemies.
Thus it was with the noble spirited Flora. Conscious of hav-‘
ing achieved a great triumph over her seducer, or her husband,
as she determined ever after to call him, there was a pain at her
heart corroding the joys of victory, and detracting from them,
while it bowed her with broken spirits to the earth. She felt
how horrible it was to hate, and to have that hatred directed
against the object she once ardently loved. By nature she was
formed for love, and mildness and submission—for drawing forth
admiration by those qualities, commanding respect, and when
met by the object of her regard, with a like love, to pour her
whole soul on the altar of affection and at the shrine of holy
love. And now that she had chosen a different path to walk in,
had forsaken her proper nature, and drowned every spark of
tenderness, with the bitter gall of hate, assuming the character
of the avenger, and commenced to destroy him she once de-
lighted to caress, she felt sick at heart, dissatisfied with herself,
and cursed the mischance which had so changed her. Could
she have given vent to her distracted heart in tears, her relief
would have been great. But those cheering messengers never70
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
came to her relief, and the intense excitement under which she
labored threatened to shatter the frail tenement of clay, or to
become a wreck more terrible in its ruin than in death.
Every act or circumstance which tended to palliate the crime,
the victim of which she was, had been carefully balanced in het
mind, that she might, if possible, transform herself again into
the kind creature she once was. But all she could think of,
weighed but a feather in the scale against the enormous iniquity
perpetrated on her. And when his friend announced to her, by
letter, his marriage with Fanny Burleigh, the last remnants of
affect'on fled her heart, although they lingered long, as if loth to
leave that shrine, and hate and despair filled up the vacuum.
She was now, she felt, alone in the world. When she had
first arrived at Lowell her friends knew of her residence and
corresponded regularly with her; and even after the marriage,
which she afterwards was taught to believe a false one, letters
passed between theifi ; but the secret of her living was never
known to them from her letters. After the fatal truth came out,
and she found herself the victim of a hellish plot, all correspond-
ence ceased—the blighted flower resolved to blush in secret, and
shed unseen her tears. She was now the foot-ball of destiny.
But, amid all this misfortune, she knew that her fair fame had
never been sullied, and that she was pure as when she first
knew her destroyer.
Sh6 now resided with a poor widow, and occupied a small
apartment, not richly furnitured., but neat with all ' k of
poverty, and here she now sat, resting her aching I mad upua
hand, when her landlady entered.
“ So you have returned, Miss Brown,” for that was the name
she was known by now, “ and I trust you are better for the walk
you have had,” said the mistress of the house.
“ Indeed, I am not. My poor head is nigh bursting with pain,
and my heart is sicker now than ever.”
“Your eyes are more bloodshot, Miss Brown, certainly, and
that, as I know by experience, is a sign of a terrible achmg head.
I am often troubled with the headache,” and here the good
landlady began to prescribe for the ill. Herbs and tonics were
strangely mixed up in her practice,., au’d Flora wished to be left
alone.
“ You know what headaches are, but yours come not from a
mind shattered by grief—you know not what it is to have the
brain burning with more than fever’s fire, and the eyes refuse
to shed a tear at sorrow,” replied Flora, throwing herself into a
chair and removing her bonnet, the very action put forth to do
this showing that her heart was' ready to break*.THE FACTORY GIRL.
71
“Gracious me, no!” exclaimed the landlady with astonish-
ment. “ When I grieve, I can always find tears, and that re-
lieves me. Try to weep, Miss Brown, if you are distressed.”
“ There are griefs which lie too deep to excite our tears to
flowing, madam.”
“But I do not know—mine always come when they are
needed.”
“ But does not the spring in summer’s heat dry up, and the
rivulet cease to flow sometimes ? My tears have gushed out—
the fountain is dry, like the spring in burning summer’s heat, and
the heat which once could give forth moisture to assuage the
parching thirst of grief, has dried up, and is nothing now but a
barren wilderness. The withered tree, blasted by lightning, is
no more destitute of life and foliage, than is my heart, blighted
by misplaced affection, destitute of one ray of joy, or prospect,
or hope of happiness.”
“ Why, how you do talk, Miss Brown ! I am certain—”
“ Stop! Mrs. Nourse!” cried Flora, rising in a violent par-
oxysm of grief, and wildly tearing her hair, “call me not Miss
Brown, longer. That is only a false name, which for particular
reasons I have assumed. My real name is Flora Montgomerie—
it should have been Mrs. Richards—the first is my maiden
name, the second that of my husband. I am a widow with a
living husband ’ I am alone, and my heart is flint—it has no
mercy for others, no consolation for me.”
“ How strange! But perhaps it is not so bad as you think.
Do you know that just after you left to-day, a young man called
for a Miss Montgomerie ? Well I told him, of course, that no
lady by that name boarded here. He described her then, and it
so corresponded with you, that I told him I had one female, a
Miss Brown, who lodged here, but she was out. He went away,
promising to call again, because, as he said, he felt sure you
were the person he was seeking.”
Here was a new phase in her case, and Flora was astonished.
So penetrating was her gaze, and so striking her wonder, that
the landlady, although she met it calmly and with the air of a
person who tells the truth, exclaimed—“ Do you not believe me ?”
“I do believe you, Mrs. Nourse; but do you know the man?”
“I never saw him before, that I recollect.”
“ But his appearance—can you describe him ?”
“Yes. He was very much like yourself; tall, straight, with
black hair and whiskers. And what a sharp, piercing eve he
had!”
“ Oh, God ! deliver me from this meeting. Mrs. Nourse, it was
my brother. Oh. that death would spare me the pain of seeing72	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
him. I had supposed my name was blotted from their memory
it is so long since I wrote them about myself Is it not enough
mercifitl God, that I should suffer ? Must I drag my friends to
the pit of misery into which I have fallen ?”
“ Why how you do rave, Miss Flora,” cried the landlady, sit-
ting down beside her boarder. But, as she did so, she cast f
glance out of the window, and exclaimed, “Ah, there comes tin
visitor.”
Flora sprang from the bed upon which she had thrown herself
and, looking out of the window, saw her brother approaching.
Had she more warning of this, she would have endeavored r
escape, but it was too late now, for he was already at the doo>
Now that the knowledge that she could not prevent an inter
view was plain, Flora adjusted her curls, and tried to calm liei
self, and, with apparent humility, stood awaiting his approach
She had determined to treat him with reserve—did not intend t
unbosom herself to him, or greet him as once she would havt
greeted her brother. But her brother bad always loved her, and
now that he saw her for the first time for some three or four
years, and that under full knowledge of her misfortunes, although
she knew it not, his man’s heart became melted into the
woman’s, and his lips quivered as he pronounced the much cher-
ished name, “Flora.”
Seeing this, her heart, which had been as adamantine, and cold
as the frigid zone itself, was melted by the' remembrance of
brotherly and sisterly love, and this unsealed the fountain of her
tears, and they gushed forth, like the long pent-up str
it dashes to pieces the bounds which man put to it, and, half
shrieking, she exclaimed, “ Francis and fell into his arms.
The good landlady, unlike many of her sex, when she saw
they were together, wisely concluded to leave them alone, that
they might the better explain to each other what had taken place
since they had been separated, and make those mutual explana-
tions, which she saw were needed. When she had gone, and
the tears which each shed had calmed the frenzy of their min-
gled sorrow and joy, at her brother’s request, Flora gave him a
detailed account of all that had transpired to her during their
separation. Part of the story her brother already knew, but he
shuddered as he heard her relate her wrongs.
“ Had you but told us—your own brother and friend of your
hopes—had you but let me into your confidence, “observed her
brother in a tone of soothing consolation,” these black passages
in your life might have been prevented, while now they must
ding to you, I fear, forever.”THE FACTORY GIRL.	73
“I put confidence in him, Francis. I believed him true, and
acted at his request, too happy to be able to please him/’
“But, then, Flora, how could you place so much confidence in
one who had, previous to this proposal of marriage, used every
means to ensnare you and cause your ruin'? Is not the sore mis-
fortune which has befallen you a recompense for your lack of
confidence in your friends, and the just effect of a lack of pru-
dence on your part, which a woman ought to exercise, when her
honor and virtue and happiness, as well as those of her relatives,
are so deeply concerned ? Do not construe this into a reproach,
for I assure you I believe you free from voluntary guilt, f lora.”
“I thank you, Francis, for this assurance. Weakness is, you
know, the failing of our sex, and even one of strong mind is not
free from its presence. Its effects may seem to some closely al-
lied to guilt, and sometimes is considered as guilt; but still, in my
ease, not one can charge it upon me. In concealing from my
friends my situation, I acted from motives of consideration of
him, who least of all, deserved a thought. Yet, though I believed
him fond, faithful, and wholly devoted to me, I did not madly
leap into his arms—but pondered well ere I did it. At first, I
was suspicious—thought there was a serpent in every word or
plan of his—but he progressed little by little in my good graces,
until the change was complete, and I promised to marry him and
to keep that marriage a secret to ourselves. I performed the first
part of the contract, and could I break the other without cause?
If I was wrong in the course I took, have I not suffered greatly
for it?”
i^You have suffered, Flora, and grievously suffered. But when
he cast you off, brute that he was, like a blighted flower, had you
returned to us, you would have found some consolation, and, par-
don me, much of the shame which attaches to your misfortunes
would have been averted.”
“And who,” she calmly but proudly asked, as she drew her-
self up, and assumed an attitude which spoke her to be every
inch a queen among her sex; “who attaches shame upon mv
character? Who charges the betrayed, discarded wife with
guilt?”
“ I know not, Flora, whether any one does so ; but people know
you have lived with Richards as his wife, that you left him, and
were living, and are now living upon his bounty. That you have
lately returned to the very city where he resides, and that peo-
ple, knowing no more than these facts, and prone to crush one
another, can hardly fail to view these circumstances in an unfa-
vorable light,”74
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
“ And docs my brother look at me in this way ? Does he
think my character blighted as well as my affections ?” mur-
mured Flora, as fresh tears gushed forth ; “ then indeed is my
cup of sorrow full. 1 had not looked for that.”
“ God forbid, Flora, that your brother, who eveX loved you,
who ever shared with you his heart and his joys, bis pastimes
and his troubles, should look upon you thus. But others, Flora,
are not sb charitable; those who do not know you, as I know
you, will not be likely to strain much to be able to put a favora-
ble construction upon your case.”
“ Francis, I stand before you a heart-broken, joyless woman,
bankrupt in all I held most dear, worth living for—my hus-
band’s heart and love. But, believe me, when I swear before
God and man, that, betrayed as I have been, deserted as I have
been, when my hopes of future happiness were the most spark-
lingly brilliant, never has my virtue been sullied, or my honor
received a stain. My injuries have made me curse the sex he
belonged to, and, as for him, I have sworn to give him no peace
—to blast his character as he would have blasted mine, to turn
his cup of joy to bitter remorse—to make him an object of loath-
ing and disdain—him, the petted lordling of an aristocratic fam-
ily.”
Her brother stood transfixed with astonishment. He knew
her strength of mind, her determination of character, but he
was wholly unprepared to find her so capable of hating.
He knew that she would pursue with remarkable warmth and
tenacity any object she loved to cherish, bitt he could no* before
imagine, that she could harbor such revengeful d jsigns. or pos-
sess such a strong determination to pursue the object of her ha-
tred, as she now evinced.
“Flora,” by this you unsex yourself; leave him to me—let
me ferret out the brute, and inflict punishment upon him ; and,
rest assured, it shall be more severe than any you can inflict.
You, Flora, you will at once return to our old home, now restored
to us. (Flora started with astonishment.) Yes, it is ours once
more. Return to it, and to the happy life we once led, now ours
again, for all our wealth, and more than we ever had. is ours
again. Your mother yearns to clasp her absent chilli to her
arms ; your sisters await to receive you with a sister’s love; you,
the pride of our family; and need I say that the same brother,
who has searched you out, after months of patient, bur, nearly
hopeless efforts, will not fail to cherish the jewel lie has found
and redress its wrongs. You will leave me here to do it. while
you go to those who can soothe your wounded heart, heal you/
anguish, and pour the balm of peace where sorrow dwells.’’THE FACTORY GIRL.
75
Flora once more wept, and relief, great relief, did those tears
give her, for it wa& a long time since she had enjoyed the luxury,
and her whole nature was melted by them. Still she could not
without effort give over the darling pursuit of her heart, revenge.
She sought it her own way, too. The law was too tardy in its
serpentine meanderings to afibrd her a glimpse of comfort. She
wished to expose him at once—to ruin his domestic joys, and
publicly proclaim his shame. But there was a momentous ques-
tion connected with this—it was whether th e marriage was true
or false, and it was discussed between then?.
“ Flora,” said her brother, “how do you know that the certifi
,cate you hold does not make you the lawful wife of Richards ? 1
have not told you why I think it does ; but now feeling assured
of your purity, I will inform you. You doubtless recollect Tom
Bullock, formerly clerk for our father, who would have become,
associated with him in business, had he not been a dissipated
fellow. Still he was not wholly devoid of every principle. Our
father was his friend, and when his own relatives treated him
with coldness he sought to reclaim him, but failed to do so. Two
years ago Tom came back, and materially aided me in mj en-
deavors to reclaim our property. I often spoke of you, but he al-
ways changed the subject. But at last he was taken sick, and
on his death-bed, he spoke of you and of your marriage in Provi-
dence, and said he was present at the ceremony. By what we
gleaned, when his articulation failed him, from his broken sen-
tences, we first became acquainted with the fact that Richards
sought a mock marriage with our dear sister, and, as near as we
cnuld^wd er stand, that he was sent to assist in the affair.”
“Brother, is this a dream?” exclaimed Flora, “or am 1 really
listening to your voice?. I am astonished. Yes, it was Tom
Bullock I saw there—now I recollect him ; then I could not tell
who he was, although the face was familiar to me. Goon—I am
satisfied this is true.”
“ Well, he knew you, and knew that you loved Richards. He
thought that Richards also loved you, and while he assisted him
in his base plan to obtain you, he says your marriage is legal,
and muttered the name of the lawyer by whom it was per-
formed. As near as I could understand him the name on your
certificate is the one he gave. If this be so, your revenge is sure,
and Richards’s damnation equally so. Then leave.to me the task
of finding it out. You shall go with me to his mill—arm in arm
we will walk there—fend, when I have identified him, we will gc
home—you to remain there, until I have thoroughly sifted tbo
affair.”
Flora clianged her dress, and with it box countenance—fur itFLORA MONTGOMERIE,
FC
seemed as though the glow of youth and health beamed theie, as
it used to-do. No waters of Lethe e’er renovated the bather as
did the consciousness that she had a friend and brother to redress
her wrongs, change her spirits. With calmness and a light
beaming countenance she took her brother’s arm and walked
with him to the mill.
Richards was in the factoiy, chatting with Lizzie Jones, when
a stranger presenting himself before him, saluted him coldly with
the words—“ You are Mr. Richards, I believe?”
“ That sir, is my name.”
“ I have visited your mill for the purpose of having a private
interview with you, sir; and when you have concluded your
conversation with this young lady, I shall be happy to explain to
you the object of my visit.”
“ Indeed ! Then come with me, sir,” said Richards, as he lead
the way from the counting room to a store room, where he thought
their conversation might be more private. With the instinct pe-
culiar to men in his situation, he mistrusted the nature of the
stranger’s business, and did not wish an interruption.
“ Now, sir,” said he, “ if your business with me is of a private
nature, we are in a capital place to discuss :t.”
u Well, sir, in the first place, it is proper that I should acquaint
you with the fact that my name is Charles Montgomerie, the
brother of a young lady, who was once an angel of purity—the
soul of honor and virtue—beautiful, and still not too proud—kind
and pleasant to all around her. She was once rich; but mis-
fortune fell upon her family, and she became poor. For reasons
best known to herself she consented to enter a mill, ai
object of regard to her employer. After every artifice hud died
him in his attempts to min her, he resorted to a private marriage,
and gained her consent to become his bride. Thus he despoiled
her of all that was herself; and when he at length became weary
of her, he told her the marriage was void—a farce which he had
played in order that he might make her his mistress. Let me
ask you, sir, if you think such villany should go unpunished?”
Richards shrunk from the gaze of the speaker, lor never had
the eye of human being so pierced him, if we except that of
Flora Montgomerie. And then his face, beaming with intelli-
gence, as it did, gave to his speech a power before which the
dastardly manufacturer trembled. Annihilation at that moment,
could it have overtaken him, would to him have been a wel-
come friend, and it was long ere Richards could break the silence
to answer the question put to him. At length, however, with 9
quivering voice, he said—“ Why do von put such a question t'THE FACTORY OIRL.
77
“ Because, sir, this affair occurred in your mill, and you are
the villain who played so base a part in it.”
“ And if I am the man, what then?”
“Then, sir, it follows that your villany shall not go un*
punished.”
“ And who shall administer the punishment, sir?” demanded
Richards, who began to put on courage, and warm in the dis-
pute.
“Her brother, sir, who stands before you—the ministers or
the law, whose sanctuary is on yonder hill—and your own re-
proving conscience!” replied the stranger.
“ Then, it seems, you come first, and all the other administra-
tors of justice are but your servants,” replied Richards, with an
attempt at a sneer.
“ We need no useless words, sir,” rejoined Charles, “no mus-
tering of mock courage, no futile attempts at laughing down this
matter, sir. You will find me no braggart—simply a man of my
word. Read this, sir,” and he handed him a slip of paper.
“ Ma .k the signatures to this, and toll me, is not this the record of
yor r marriage ?”
‘But this cannot render a mock-marriage legal.”
* A mock-marriage! Suppose, sir, it should turn out to be a
legal, binding contract?”
“ It cannot, sir. Flora herself knows it was not a legalized
affair. The person who executed it was not a proper officer.”
“ Then, sir, there is proof of a conspiracy to seduce a poor
woman,” replied Charles Montgomerie. “But, sir, let me en-
lighten you upon this subject, for I am better acquainted with
the details of the affair than you are, perhaps. Your friends
have forsaken you, sir, and now tell me that this signature is
that of a regularly constituted justice, empowered by law to
execute marriage contracts. They also tell me, sir, the marriage
is as genuine as the one you lately contracted.”
Richards’s face and lips turned ashy pale. ’ He stood rivete/
to the spot, speechless.
“Now, sir,” continued the brother, “you can judge how true
my threats may prove. This very day I shall start for the scene
of this marriage, which you pronounce a mock one. I shall ferret
'Hit the person who performed it, and if my information proves
gue, I shall return with sufficient evidence to eflect your speedy
punishment.”
Thus saying, he departed ; and shortly after, Richards, whoso
mental agony was extreme, followed. To his utter consterna-
tion, he soon overtook Charles and Flora Montgomerie, walking78	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
arm-in-arm in the street, and that too, in the direction of his own
house, whither he was going.
CHAPTER VII.
Second meeting of the two Wives.—Recognition.—The House of Rich ar dj
desolate.
We left the second wife of Richards smarting under the con-
sciousness that she had been made the dupe of a worthless
thing, although she had given him that day to prove to her that
his conduct had not been so base as she thought, and that the
poor girl, who accused him of working her destruction, was in-
sane. She did not believe this assertion of Richards, and was
determined to ferret out the truth for herself as early as possible.
It was not because her husband had seduced this girl, that she
felt bo acutely, for with his previous life she felt she had little to
do, so long as his heart and hand were clean to her. But she
felt assured that he had contracted some stronger alliance with the
strange girl, than that of keeper and mistress—something told
her that the manner and bearing of the apparition, which had
so suddenly broken their dream of pleasure, on that fatal night,
was not that of a prostitute, and that in accepting her hand
Richards had laid himself open to the law.
That Flora was insane she did not for a moment believe, and
she knew from her manner when she entered the house, as well
from Richards’s reception of her, that she had some power over
her husband, which he could not gainsay—else would he have
allowed her so boldly to confront his guests, or to utter the lan-
guage she did ? Thus her mind, filled with the events of the pre-
ceding night, and- cogitating upon it, was more morose and
gloomy, while the burden which hung upon her husband pressed
him down, so that when he arrived at his house, he could not
rally her spirits by an infusion of his own. Her song was mute,
the piano silently occupied its appropriate niche, and time rolled
heavily and slowly. A few persons visited the bride to present
their congratulations, but so icy cold was the conversation, kept
up at so much cost, that they departed, wondering what cloud
had so obscured the happiness of the honeymoon. Whenever
Richards attempted to speak, to break the cold silence which
prevailed, the form of Flora Montgomerie appeared before him,
and the ideas ho would have advanced were blotted from hil
mi miTHE FACTORY GIRL.
79
At last, evening wore away, and morning dawned—notaword
had been spoken by the husband and wife to each other, and
they breakfasted alone. Richards hung round his house, for he
dreaded to visit the factory, and the hour of twelve still founa
him at home. It also brought tin unwelcome visitor, at that
time, although Richards appeared delighted to see his new
brother-in-law, and greeted him with a well assumed cheerful-
ness, when in truth he wished him in Heaven, rather than there.
“ What, James, so soon here!” cried Richards. “ We could
not have expected so early a visit. You have breakfasted, no
doubt?”
“ Why to be sure, I have. You do not think I started so late
in the day from the house to breakfast with you at twelve ?”
replied the visitor, somewhat coldly, and as if he were not de-
cided whether to speak to Richards. “ Where is my sister?”
“She complained of being unwell,” replied Richards, who saw
that something was wrong, by his manner; “ but sit down, and
I will inform her you are here, and she will join us. Shall I tell
her you wish to speak with her immediately ?”
“ If you please, Mr. Richards, for there are strange rumors
afloat concerning her.”
“You alarm me, James,” remarked Richards, eyeing him
closely, “is there anything of trouble in them ?”
“ There is, if the rumors be true.”
“ Some failure in business, I presume, remarked Richards, at-
tempting to smile.
“Not ■ all, • —it is something more serious than that—it is
r-o than a bankruptcy of honor.”
Richards had not yet announced to his wife that her brother
was awaiting her entrance to the parlor; but had been endeav-
oring to become possessor of the strange ill-news of which her
brother James had spoken, although he dared not directly ask
him of it. Her brother had been pacing up and down in the
room, expecting her appearance; but at length, weary of wait-
ing, he exclaimed—“ My sister should not keep her brother
waiting so long—speak to her again, Richards, and tell her that
I am in a great hurry, and have much to accomplish, before I go
home. ’
Richards summoned a servant, and hade her acquaint her
mistress with her brother’s presence. No sooner had he done
so, than the brother confronted him and said—“ Richards, I can
keep this matter a secret no longer. My parents wish Frances
to return home, until it can be seen how this affair terminates.”
“ Affair, James ; what do you mean, my good friend ?”
“Do not affect ignorance of my meaning, Richards. YouBO	FLORA MONTGOMEB E,
know who it was that broke into this room the other night, and
drove yon and all of us from it with her words. You knew her
then, and know her i ow, and need not ask the cause of her
Jh rents against you. We, at home, do not think it proper that
our sister should tarry under this roof, the second living wife of
such a villain as you, to be fooled by you.”
“ These accusations are hard, Janies, and should not be made
without cause,” said Richards, as lie staggered to a chair.
“ But they are true, Richards, and are made because I know
that you are twice married. Once, to a daughter of an old friend
of mine—her name, Flora Montgomerie—whom you have de-
ceived, cast olF, and ruined perhaps forever. The second time,
to my own sister. This latter marriage you will not dispute;
read this as proof of the former.”
So saying he handed him a letter from Ned Gray, whom our
readers will recollect as one of the witnesses at the marriage of
Richards and Flora. On the death of Tom, his partner, the lat-
ter had imparted the secret to Ned, in order that he might rec-
tify the wrong done to the poor girl who was so basely victim-
ized.
Richards read, and seemed thunderstruck as he read. But at
length he exclaimed, “False as hell is this document! Do you
believe this story, coming as it does from so worthless a party ?
and am I to be a victim to such malice?”
If you despise the authors of this startling news, is there no
corroborating evidence to support them, let me ask you? What
did Flora want at your house the other night? why did she visit
your factory, and why is her brother here? Why did he start
for Providence yesterday, if there is no truth in this story ?”
“ He does not know that his sister is insane. She has been
absent so long from home that her friends do not know of her
malady. He will soon find it out, James, and then all will be
right,” was the reply Richards gave to the shower of questions
flung at him.
“Is it not you, yourself, Richards, who is insane? Such sub-
terfuge will avail you nothing. Flora, as I said before, is an old
friend of mine. I have seen her, this very day, and have heard
from her own lips the story of her wrongs. You can never come
off victor in this cause. My sister must know all, and leave
you.”
“ But why must she leave me—the affair can be settled ?”
“ Because you can never be a husband to her. It might be sei
tied, it is true, for I saw Flora this morning, as I said before, and
$Le, with that angelic purity of soul which always characterized
her, said she would no longer stand in my sister’s way, a, rival
THE FACT )TtY GIRT.
81
wife, but would explain all, that her own character might not
suffer, and leave you forever. She would not have inflicted the
blow she did, but that, in the midst of all that company, sac
failed to recognize her old schoolmate.”
“ Recognize her !” cried Richards ; “are they then known U
each other ?”
“ Yes, for a long time they were friends—brought up together,
attended the same school, they are u ell known to each other.”
“ What can I do ?”
“ I know not, Richards. Her family arc rich and powerful,
and not all your wealth would sudice to deter them from inflict-
ing the punishment upon you which you deserve. Flora can
never forgive you herself-—and your own fr.ends will hate you
for the outrage. And, sir, let me tell you. that 1, before the
Montgomeries were robbed of their estate, was a constant visitor
to the house, as well as my sister—that I was sincerely attached
to Flora, though she knew it not, and that long after she had
come to Lowell, I tried in vain to find her, that she might know
my feeling towards her; but failed to learn her whereabouts. By
the untiring exertions of my family and Tom Burgess, whom you
well know, their property was restored, and we at almost the
same time received some inkling of her situation. At length we
were enabled to trace her return to Lowell, and now we have
found her-----”
Richards was stupified, and groaned in agony. No former
knowledge or representation of his villany had ever wrought so
powerfully upon Him as this. The color fled from his cheek, Dis
lips quivered, his eyes lost their lustre, and he seemed aimos<
lifeless. But still bis tormentor continued :-
“ What, then, think you, are my feelings towards you? . Can
I pass over the matter lightly, or easily forgive you for the wound
you have inflicted upon me, or the injustice and injury done ny
sister? When I first learned your baseness. I swore to plant a
dagger through your heart—for you do not deserve to live. But
now, after calm reflection, I feel that the worst punishment lobe
inflicted upon you, is, that you shall live ; the stain your viEan-
ous conduct will bring i pon you, being worse for you to bear ti an
a sudden death. Here is my sister.”
“Brother,” she said, as she entered, “your conversation a*.s
been loud, and 1 fear you have had trouble with Henry ; but I
hope if you have been angry together,- it is now over.”
“ It is proper that we should drop our strife when you airive.
.We were talking over the affairs which have clouded our huppi*
ness the past two days.”
Richards vouchsafed no answer, and his wife, after waitingFLORA MONTGOMERIE,
for him to offer an explanation, observed—“I knew there was
more truth in that story than my husband would acknowledge
It has never left my mind since, but has haunted me in sleep,
and been in all my thoughts when waking. The woman her-
self has been continually before me, and her form and figure and
her beautiful countenance has grown familiar to me. Tell me,
Janies, have I not seen that woman before ? and pray have this
mystery solved, both of you ; for I feel that my happiness, as
well as that of my husband, depends upon it.”
“ Frances, you have seen that woman before, and under very
different circumstances. She was then younger than now, and
had nut ripened into womanhood—still she was in those times
beautiful, and moved in the first circles.”
Richards saw that the explanation which he should have given
was to come, and knew that it would end his connection there.
So he commenced dressing himself to go out-r—took his hat in his
hand—when his new wife, who saw from his hurried and con-
fused action, that all her fears were to be realized, turned to him
her mild eyes, already dim with starting tears, and, after gazing
upon him for a moment, in order to stifle the sobs which threat-
ened to break out, said—“ So, Mr. Richards, you leave us here,
that my brother may explain the fatal mystery? Ah ' it is as I
feared—we must part—but let us part, not as enemies, but
friends,” and she extended her hand to her husband.
Richards seized it spasmodically, and, bending over her, he
imprinted a kiss upon her cheek—he could not speak, for misery
had closed the gates of his heart. And still he lingered, his head
.bowed upon her forehead prostrate and full of despair, until her
brother, who stood looking at him, could not repress his words,
and muttered “villain.”
This started the husband and he turned and faced his de-
nouncer, angrily.
“ Do you remember Flora Montgomerie, sister,” said James,
as he turned with an expression of contempt from Richards, “our
dear-friend, of whom your brother has so frequently spoken, that
you accused him, playfully, of being in love?”
“GreatGod ! how strange. Yes, I do well remember her, and
now that you speak of her, how like to her is the visitor we saw,
who was so unwelcome a guest. How I should like to see our
old school-mate, Flora.”
“ You will soon h ivo that pleasure, Frances,” replied her
brother, at the same time looking full at Richards ; “ she prom-
ised to call upon you at noon, to-day, and I expect her here
now.”
Just as he finished the sentence, the keys of the piano in theTHT FACTORY GIRL.
83
drawing-room, tombed by some apparently skillful hand, gave
forth the most delicious harmony, and, as the air of ‘‘Home,
Sweet Home,” vibrated upon the air, touched as by a master’s
hand, whose soul felt the music, and was poured, as it were, into
it, our trio were attentive listeners. And then a voice of angelic
sweetness mingled its moving tones with the instrument, and
Richards started, for he recognized the voice. His wife knew
not who it was, but conjectured that it was some of her husband’s
friends come to surprise them, and looked inquiringly, first at
Richards, then at her brother.
“ I believe I can solve what seems to perplex you so, Fran-
ces,” said the latter, again glancing at Richards. “Let us go
and see what ghost or apparition has now appeared, and if it be
insane or not.”
Accordingly, they started for the drawing-room, the wife lean-
ing upon the arm of her brother, while Richards mechanically
moved behind, drawn with them by his destiny, though he would
gladly have escaped.
The notes of the piano continued to sound as they opened the
door of the room, and Flora Montgomerie was seen seated at the
piano. She was dressed in exquisite style, and, as she turned
around, the recognition between the two women was sudden and
mutual. Flora arose from the instrument and soon was in the
I embrace of Frances, who rushed towards hex, glad to welcome
her old acquaintance, forgetting the position which each occupied
towards the other now.
Richards, though he had prepared to make a speedy retreat,
should it prove to be Flora, yet there he still stood, riveted to
the spot by the scene—fascinated to his own discomfort. When
the two wives were disengaged from their embrace, Flora turned
to Richards, and said, “ You will, sir, I am sure, think me rude,
or wanting in respect for your family, for coming uninvited by
you to your house, and making thus free with the rooms and the
instrument. I did not think I was committing a trespass here,
for this furniture is well known to me, and this piano has often
felt my touch. I feel that I am perfectly right in taking any
freedom in the^iouse of Henry Richards.”
She gazed upon him after she had concluded her remarks, and
he at length awoke from his stupefaction, and cast a defiant
glance upon her. Then he left the house.
With his sxit, her anger left her, and she sank upon the sofa
and buried her face in her hands. But, through this covering, the
tears which gushed forth protruded themselves. Her heart was
opened in the presence of her old friend and sister-victim to Rich
ards’s villany ; the passion struggling so long in her bosom folj>4	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
chance to vent itself, had subsided ; and when she became calm,
and reflected as to her position—the knowledge of whose house
she was in, and the irreparable evil, which, by discovering herself,
she had brought upon one she regarded near as a sister, she lost
her self-command, and in the bitterness of agony exclaimed—
“ Forgive me, Frances! forgive me—I knew not what 1 did !
I was resolved on vengeance, when I heard of Richards’s mar-
riage, and determined to wreak it upon him ; but little did I
imagine I should draw into the whirlpool, an old friend and com-
panion. Had I known who his wife was, or who his other victim
was, the secret of my wrongs should have perished with me, ere
I appeared in your presence to denounce him and over-shadow
your life with gloom.”
Each of the women wept, as woman can only weep, andagai’r
and again they embraced each other. At length they seatea
themselves upon the sofa.
“ Forgive you, Flora,” said Frances, “ forgive you, my deai
friend—of what have I to pardon you ?”
“ Much have I done to ask pardon for, Frances, and I fear you
will not forgive me. My phantom-like appearance in your mar-
riage assembly—to-day so strangely greeting you. But if you
do not forgive, do not curse me, until you know my wrongs
Much has taken place since we last met to render life to us botl
a curse.”
“ Flora, do enlighten me in regard to this awful mystery—keep
me no longer in suspense, but tell me what injuries you have to
complain of at the hands of my husband.”
“ Alas ! I do not feel able—you, James, you can explain to her
the cause of my action, for to your sister I cannot, although I
did so to you.”
“ I, Flora! I would make but a poor substitute for you in
giving this narrative of your cruel sufferings.”
“ My Gori! can it be,” exclaimed the sister, “ that you, Flora,
have been the victim of my husband ? Why should I have been
so blind after we met to-day?”
She had partly divined the affair, but not altogether; she
bought it now to be a case of heartless seduction, but the whole
truth was not known to her.
“ Yes, Frances, it is thus we meet. I have been the victim
of Richards’s passion and cruelty ; but there is still more than
this, which you must not know. Would to God I had no such
revelation to make—but justice to you and to myself, now that
the affair has progressed so far demands that’I should do so.
How will you regard me, Frances, when I tell you that this very
house, into which you, a young and -trusting wife, have but jus*THE FACTORY GIRL.
65
entered, should be an empire belonging to us both ?—that I, as
you have done, have stood at the altar, and pledged my faith to
Henry Richards?—that I have lived with him as his wife, and
was after this laughed at—discarded? Yes, Frances. Henry
Richards is my husband as well as yours !”
“ Your husband 1” shrieked the astonished wife, springing up
and grasping her friend by the arm. “ Your husband, Flora
Oli God ! 1 was not prepared for this.”
She relaxed her grasp upon Flora, and fell back upon the sofa
Flora and James used every exertion to resuscitate the fainting
girl, and as she showed signs of returning animation, Flora ex
laimed—“ Ob, that 1 had been apprised upon whom my stab
was to be fixed, ere I commenced to wreak vengeance upon
him.”
“ You have but done your duty, Flora. It is right you should
unmask the villain, and allow us to cast him away from us.”
“ But Frances, James—her peace is gone forever, and by my
hands, who would have delighted to have been able to add to
her happiness.”
“ Flora, it is better that my sister should pass through the
world a widow, than that she should harbor such a serpent in her
liosom, or my family receive him as her husband.”
By this time the poor wife had recovered her consciousness,
and the two wept and mourned their wrongs together.
“ Frances,” at length said Flora, “ bad I known upon whom
the bolt of my wrath was to fall, the secret of my marriage
would have gone to the grave with myself. It was a secret,
until my retreat was known to others. My heart had grown
callous—I. c softness of a woman’s temper bad turned to flinty
hardness ; and pride being aroused, I determined to avenge my
wrongs, and crush the author of them. Little did I think the
weightiest blow would be borne by you.”
“ I have no fault to find, Flora. It is better that he should be
unmasked, and I know him for what he really is, even though
my heart be withered in the discovery.”
“ How strangely have wc been linked together since child-
hood. Then, it seemed as though nothing could befall one of us,
without the same misfortune overtaking the other, and the spell
has not been broken since we have each arrived at woman’s
estate. If your heart is withered, so is mine. For from him
whom I have loved, I have suffered cruel neglect, scorn and con-
tempt, and at last bad been driven from my husband, who pro*
nounced our marriage a farce.”
“ And now, Flora, as I purpose remaining here for a few days,
let us still keep up the mysterious tie which binds us, nor seek
6S6	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
to break it. You shall remain with me until I leaze this housa
never to return.”
L living the two wives together, receiving and giving consola-
tion to and from each other, let us follow the guilty husband,
and see how well vice metes out its own punishment to its vota-
ries. Restless and agitated with a thousand contending emotions,
lie wandered through the streets, his eyes cast to the ground,
noticing no one, but seemingly muttering to himself of some
great disaster. Ever and anon he would strike bis forehead
violently, as though his head was ready to burst with aching.
At every hotel lie encountered, he would stop, and toss off glass
after glass of brandy, which, owing to his great mental excite-
ment, had but little of the intoxicating effect, which at other
times it would have exhibited. He drank to drown conscious-
ness, but it seemed as though every additional draught imbibed
but increased his acute mental agony, and rendered more vivid
His sins. Guilt, when held up before one’s eyes by the powerful
sting of conscience, which makes the man see its enormity, puts
scorn, contempt and hatred in the countenance of every one the
guilty person meets. And thus Richards fancied that every
passer-by knew of his troubles and loathed him. After wander-
ing through the city, seeking rest, but finding none, he determin-
ed to leave Lowell for the night, and seek in Boston some ex-
citement to drown his troubles, and endeavor if possible to avoid
meeting with any one who could speak of the occurrences of the
past few days to him. Accordingly we find him seated in the
cars, and using every means to avoid being seen by any one who
knew him. But, as if sent just at that time to increase his punish-
ment, we find the only surviving witness of his marriage, Ned
Grey, and James Burleigh, the brother of his second wife. Go
where he would, it seems he was to be met by those most deeply
connected with him in his base designs and those most interested
in his punishment.
“ What 1 Richards ! Glad to see you, old boy,” shouted Ned,
as he arose from his seat, and, approaching Richards occupied
the remaining portion of his seat. “ First time since your
happy marriage that I have seen you. What a jolly dog you
ought to be, to be sure. But how leave your wife so soon, my
boy ?”
Richards’s only answer was a groan, and a wild stare at Ned;
after which he hung his head.
“ For God’s sake, Harry, what’s the matter—are you unwell ?”
asked Ned, alarmed at his woe-begone appearance.
‘ No, no—not unwell, Ned, but mis-------” he would have said
miserable, but as he was about to utter the word his eyes metTV'' F.AC'iOK" GHKL.
87
those of Janies Burleigh, and this unwelcome surprise chained
his tongue.
Ned comprehended at once the state of affairs, for he had
already had an inkling of the unhappy occurrences which called
James B. from his home to his sister, and nothing more was
said by him. He saw that there was trouble between the
brothers-in-law, for they preserved the strictest silence towards
each other, not even so much as the slightest act of recognition
passing between them. Thus the two journeyed on to Boston,
and at last reached their journey’s end.
“ Ned, come with me,” said Richards, in a melancholy tone,
when his brother-in-law had left the car. “ I am glad at last,
that I have met you. I am in a terrible predicament, and want
your advice. Let’s go at once to the Tremont House.”
“Are we not better acquainted at the Marlboro’, Richards? and
shall we not be more at home there?”
“ That is the very reason I can’t go there. Damn it, man, I
am pursued—everybody knows the dashing Harry Richards, and
every one by this time, has heard of his misfortunes. We must
go to some place where there are not too many familiar faces.”
“ Well then, to the Tremont be it, Harry ; but the news can-
not have reached here.”
“ Then you know the news, Ned, do you ?”
“ I was told it at Burleigh’s this very morning. Little did they
think, however, that I knew it all before.”
Conversation, which had been suspended while riding to their
dpstmation, as, now that they were seated in a private parlor
at the Tremont, resumed.
“ Tell me, then, what they said about it, Ned, and advise me
what course to pursue.. I must meet it in some way, you
know.”
“ I pity you, Harry ; but it is impossible for one to give you
any advice. What they said would not aid you, for they merely
spoke of taking their daughter home again. Were 1 in your
circumstances, Harry, I do not know how I should act, but it
seems to me I should close up my business here, and go away
from the scene of the trouble until it had blown over and been
forgotten. You certainly are in danger here, for as I am told
your first marriage was a legal one, planned by Tom. If such
be the case, you know you are open to a suit for bigamy, which
Is aseripus affair; and you may rest assured that James Bur-
leigh and Flora’s brother will do all they can to bring you to
justice.”
‘■‘Well, then, if it must be so, Ned, let’s have one good jolly
night of it, for the last time, in memory of past pleasures, and88	FLOHA MON iOO.'llLilK,
let not the past or t-o Giicre throw themselves in to mar out
revelries. Ring the bell, Nod, and let’s replenish our wine.”
And a jolly night the parties did have of it, if dissipation can
be called pleasure. But we do not purpose to follow them in
their rounds, for the space allotted to us is already too short. Let
us now glance at the mill, and its worthy manager, John
Graves, now that Richards is away. He had planned everything
for a speedy departure, for he well knew that Richards’s allairs
were approaching a crisis, and that he must ere long be com-
pletely ruined. Then his peculations and frauds would be dis-
covered, and he be obliged to make restitution to the greedy
creditors of hi-s employer, or sutler the consequences of his delin-
quencies. Lizzie Jones was to accompany him. She had, of
course, lost all hopes of becoming Richards’s wife long since, and
as the head clerk was well to do in the world, and withal a
comely man, and one whom she imagined she could handle to
h'-r heart’s content, she had accepted his proposal to fly with
him. She intended to leave him as soon as she could make her-
self mistress of his strong box, for she knew he was to convert al)
his property into gold before he left. Then she could leave poor
John, and return to her mother with his ill gotten gains, without
the slightest fear of the ex-clerk and her paramour disturbing
her. This was the scheme Lizzie Joaes and her mother had
planned. Let us see how well the three succeeded each in their
different operations.
In the first place, John Graves, like all persons in his situa-
tion, did not think he had gotten quite enough, and, as Riehaixls
had some notes, which matured at Boston, he concluded to draw
the funds from the bank, and bid adieu with his fair Lizzie, to
the mill, ostensibly to pay these notes, but in reality to put the
funds in his own pocket, and suffer the notes to return. Had it
not been for this grasping dissatisfaction with his already large
accumulations, John Graves might have succeeded in escaping
with his booty. But when the notes came back protested, the
counting-house was beseiged by the creditors, who had looked
for some days past with suspicion upon the house. The underr
clerk could only answer their inquiries by stating that his senio-
had started with the funds to pay the notes, and that there were
no further funds in his possession, adding at the same time his
suspicions that John Graves was not the most honest man in the
world, and hinting that it would be for their interest, as well as
that of his employer, to look the matter up. Subsequent inquiries
left no doubt in the minds of the creditors that the sub-clerk was
correct in his suspicions. The sale of John Graves’s property,
end no possible clue-being found as to what he had done withTHE FACTOR! GIRL,
$9
the proceeds ; the mysterious disappearance of Richards, and the
(light of Graves, who, it now became known, had left in com-
pany with Richards’s former mistress, left no doubt as to the
swindling intentions of the confidential clerk. Tn this state of
the case, Mr. Small, the sub-clerk was despatched early the next
morning, together with one of the police officers of the city, to
look him up. Passing the post oilice on their way to the cars,
the officer noticed Mrs. Jones, the mother of the companion of
Graves, with a letter in her hand about to leave the office, when
he accosted her.
“Good nn ruing, Mrs. Jones. I’ll be bound now that this
early visit to the post-office, is to get a letter from some rich
widower, tired of his widower’s life, and anxious to share his
heart and hand with so charming a widow as yourself.”
“ Why—yes—that is—you’re correct,” stammered the widow,
choosing the least compromising one of the two evils, for, as the
officer expected, the letter was really from Lizzie, and explana-
tory of her success thus far with her “ dear good Mr. Graves,” as
she sneeringly called him. The officer noticed her embarass-
ment, and also by a sly glance at the superscription, for the
widow had not had time enough to hide it, saw that it was a
woman’s writing.
“That looks like a lady’s hand, Mrs. Jones—bless me, how
tender lie must feel towards you to have to write so delicately—
let me see.”
The. widow was more and more confused. How strange it is,
she thought, that this letter should betray us. I hope Lizzie has
not written to me of her intended route of travel.
“ Mrs. Jones,” said the officer, as he held out his hand to re-
ceive the letter, “we are in search of Mr. Graves, and we think
you may furnish us some clue to his whereabouts—if you can-
not, that letter may enlighten us, and, as no harm can come to
you or your daughter, you will of course let me see its contents.”
“ No, sir—you have no right to a woman’s letters, and I shall
not let you have this,” answered Mrs. Jones, alive to the danger
of her situation, and donning a look of insulted pride.
“Then, madam, I must arrest you as a party to a conspiracy
to defraud Henry Richards. It is well known that his head
clerk lias eloped with your daughter, carrying with him a large
amount of money, belonging to his employer. You can choose
between the two. But your choice must be quickly made.”
Mrs. Jones was unused to legal matters, and had never before
been placed in such contact with an officer. She trembled and
hesitate!, undertook to comply with his request, and then know*
that, by so doing all her dreams of wealth acquired, wouldW	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
be banished, dispelled as it were like morning clouds before the
majestic march of the God of day, she hesitated again
“Quick, Mrs. Jones ; the present case admits of no delay, and
however much I might on other occasions respect a woman’s
feelings, my duty will not allow me to tamper or trifle with you
now. You do not wish me to arrest you here, do you, in the
public streets ?”
Reluctantly the widow handed over the letter to the officer,
who broke the seal, and read it, after assuring himself it was
from the daughter.
“This is as I suspected, Mrs. Jones, and, as the possession ot
the letter by you would be detrimental to my interests and that
of my employers, I will retain it, until I have accomplished my
mission. Please excuse me, madam, for any seeming roughness
in my demeanor towards you, which my duty as an officer ren-
ders necessary sometimes. Good morning.”
Thus saying, the police officer departed with his friend, leav-
ing Madam Jones, now that her fright was over, with clenched
hands, and eyes darting fire,’muttering all sorts of oaths of ven-
geance upon them. Thus she stood for some minutes, an object
of astonishment to the passers by until her paroxysm of rage
passed away—then she hurried home, her eyes streaming with
tears all the while, until she reached her domicil, when they
flowed more copiously, and, in a short time, she was relieved.
Recovering from his excesses, Richards concluded to visit his
mill once more, close up his business as speedily as possiffie, with
a friend, who he doubted not would purchase his effects, and
then bid adieu to the scene of his discomfiture forever.
An hour after the officer, and the clerk, Mr. Small, had left the
city, Richards stood within his counting-room. He was haggard
in look, and his raiment wore not its accustomed look of neat-
ness. He stared vacantly at the assemblage of his creditors, who
were still there, industriously examining his books and effects,
for as yet he knew not of the terrible explosion which had taken
place during his absence.
When this was opened to him, and he understood that the
sheriff had, at the suit of his creditors, taken possession of his
premises, his dependency cannot be imagined. “Evil upon evil
comes upon me,” he moaned piteously, “ like wave upon wave
of the tempest tossed ocean, each wave more terrible than its
predecessor ! How can a simple man withstand all this ? No
friends come near me now, none but enemies,” and the heretofore
reckless, dashing Harry buried his face in his hands and sobbed
aloud—they were the tears of utter, hopeless, helpless despair,
“ But Graves,” he stammered, “ he that was an old servant o|THE FACTORY GIRL.
91
my father’s; I rought up from childhood’s innocent hours with
and by him— how could he turn against me, to rob me ? Alas!
all, all is lost to me.” Here he was interrupted by the arrival
of a third party, more terrible to the eye of Richards than all the
others. This party consisted of none other than Charles Mont
gomerie, James Burleigh, and the head of police.
Richards gazed wildly from one to the other, but said not a
word. He felt this to be the last blow which his iniquities could
inflict upon him. He knew that his brothers-in-law had been fer-
reting out the fatal marriage, and their arrival at that time, ac-
companied by an officer, told him that his worst and their highest
hopes had been realized, and that public exposure in the halls of
justice was awaiting him. For the first time his stupor and fear
left him—his eye resumed its wonted boldness, and his lips were
compressed tightly. The utter hopelessness of his case deter-
mined him, and he was once more a man.
“ Well, sir,” said he, addressing himself to Charles Montgom-
erie, “ what news bring you from Providence?”
“ I have kept my word, and come here to prove to you that I
am no such vain boaster as you jeered me with being a few days
aincc. I told you, sir, that I would make the place of your .tri
amph over my poor sister, the scene from whence should pro-
ceed your total destruction. My task is accomplished. Your
marriage at Providence was, as poor Tom Bullock averred, a
genuine one, by a proper person to make such contracts, and here
is the copy of the register he made of it. The gentleman him-
$elf is now here who married you to attest to the truthfulness of
Hie ceremony. The warrant for your arrest is in the hands of
this officer, who stands ready to serve it.”
“ This is an unpleasant duty, Mr. Richards,” said the officer,
■' and I trust you will be able to explain the matter satisfactorily.
Nothing remains for me but to serve this warrant, and take you
alto custody.”
The bravado Richards put on when he first met the officer and
Aiis brothers-in-law had gradually oozed out, and he stood the
neart-stricken, terrified, despairing picture of an utterly hopeless
man that he did when they came in. The young men looked at
him, and really commiserated his situation.
“ All is now over,” muttered Richards. “ The dream of life is
ended, and I am lost forever. Oh, my father ! had I but walked
in the path you pointed out to me, a long life of quiet peace and
happiness would have carried me calmly to a blissful eternity
Nuw Villain, is the only epitaph suitable for my tombstone.”
' vVhy, Richards, could you not have shown this contrition
wlr.s I first spoke to you ?” said James Burleigh. “ Then affairsFLORA MONTGOMLRIE,
02
might have taken a different turn with you. You cannot blame
Charles here for doing what he has done, and now that you are
in the hands of the law it cannot be undone.”
“ It is well as it is,” replied Richard, “I chose my own course,
and I have now to meet the consequences.” As lie said this lie
became ashy pale, staggered and fell into a chair—blood was
seen trickling down his legs to the floor, and now oozing fast
On'examination it was found that he had severed an artery in
his thigh, and was fast bleeding to death. “All is over now,”
he continued, “and I am out of the reach of my enemies—my
wives are free from me by my own hand, and the hand of the
law. flora, your wrongs are fearfully redressed, and ”---
The door of the oilice opened, and Flora and Frances hurriedly
entered it. One glance told them that he had attempted his life.
“ Henry Richards, what have you done?” exclaimed Flora,
rushing towards him—“Speak, Henry; Frances and I have
wins to save you from the law, and to tell you that we will for-
give you. Oh ’ my God, what have I done ? This is all my
work—speak to me, Henry, and forgive me as I forgive you,”
Continued Flora', whose woman’s forgiving, yielding nature had
come back to her again.
Richards placed his hand upon her head, and a faint smile
lighted up his pallid countenance, but he spoke not, although it
was plain he used every endeavor so to do. It was a heart-
rending scene to see the two wives kneeling at the feet of their
betrayer, bathing his hands with their tears. Such is woi inn, the
choicest gift of God to man, when untainted by vice—too
abused, too little regarded—her happiness too little consulted—
loving, tender woman ’ most kind when most abused—most
faithful when most deceived. What would earth be without the
sunshine from your eyes, or the rays of love and mercy from your
heart!
All eyes in the room were suffused with tears at this touching
spectacle of forgiveness, love and devotion, and not one stirred,
until Richards sighed and bade them all “adieu.” Just as he
passed from life to the unknown world, his power of articulation
came co him, and he gave directions to have what remained ol
his property equally divided between his wives. Thus ended tlio
•ife of the libertine.THE FACTORY GIRL.
S3
CHAPTER VIII.
Escape and Arrest of lire dishonest Book-keeper and his Paramour.
According the limited notions of John Graves, everything
tonuected with his escape had been arranged in such a manner
as to present no possible chance whereby he could be detected
and taken. Thus far—and lie was now in New York making
preparations to leave for the Western States—he did not dream
of the possibility of detection, or of being taken back to the
scene of his frauds, where punishment awaited him. So deep
was the trust reposed in him by Mr. Richards, that he concluded
it would be some days ere suspicion of foul play would be enter-
tained against him; and he thought his employer just enough
entangled in the meshes of his net, woven by himself, that his
attention would be required, undivided, to extricate himself from
those private evils and threatening dangers in which he was now
involved, and leave him for a few days comparatively at ease
to mature his plans. Thus himself and his companion, Lizzie
Jones, would safely journey to a haven of rest, unmolested,
where, with the ready means at his command, no doubt prosperity
would smile upon them
Thus ran the stream of thought in the bosom of the abscond-
ing clerkrand, in the same bright visions did the fancy of his
companion roam. Her mother and herself had contributed
largely to stimulate Mr. Graves to this step, and had it not been
for the imprudence of Lizzie, and her too much confidence in the
idea that they had nothing to fear from Richards, which dictated
the letter to her mother, it is probable their plans would have
succeeded.
But the trap Graves had set fcr Richards proved too strong—
much more disastrous in its punishment than they intended.
They thought that by the payment of a few dollars, the affair
between him and Flora would be settled, and tb.cn they knew
he would never trouble himself to bring them back, knowing as
he must, that they wore fully acquainted with all his delinquen-
cies, which he would not wish brought to light.
Nor did Lizzie’s mother know how fatally had terminated
Richards’s career, else she would have been apprised of the
danger of.tne fugitives, and leave communicated it to them in
some way. Now that the letter from her daughter had been
taken by the officer, all hope had vanished, and Mrs. Jones
dared not move a step to apprise those who so much needed in-04	FLORA MGNTGQMEKIE,
formation, of their danger, lest she should be made equally re- ,
sponsible with them for the robbery.	?
Lizzie and Graves were, therefore, gaily enjoying themselves
in the metropolis of the new world. They had visited all the
placed of note and attraction, preparatory to leaving fur their des-
tination. This feeling of security was the very means of their
ruin, for, while thus engaged in dissipation, the under-clerk and
the officer were fast journeying towards them. By the letter
they had taken from the widow they learned that the gay couple
were occupying rooms at Florence’s Hotel; and on their arrival
at New York the pursuers established themselves at a hotel near
by, in order to watch more fully the operations of their victims.
To accomplish their arrest it was necessary, in the first place, to
ascertain whether Lizzie had told the truth concerning their
stopping place, and as it was not likely that Graves had traveled
under his own name, the under-clerk, after rigging himself in a
suit of clothes befitting a Broadway gent and attaching to his
face a heavy pair of whiskers, with an elegant mustache to
match, was despatched to the house to examine the register and ,
detect the hand-writing of his brother clerk.
“ Samuel Jones and lady ” was the address written on th a*
book too plainly by the hand of John Graves to leave one doubt
n the mind of Wm. Small, regarding the truth of Lizzie’s letter;
and after inquiring whether Mr. Jones was still at the house,
and receiving an answer in the affirmative, he left 'to Communi-
cate the intelligence to the officer.
“ Thon it’s all right, and we’ve treed the coon without much
trouble,” said the officer. “ Well, the next thing is to obtain the
plunder, for our reward depends upon that, you know.”
“ That is easily done, for wherever John Graves or Mr. Jones
is, there will his money be.”
“We are not sure of that. We have treed the coon, but the
nest we have not found. It is not likely that he has this
large sum of money in the hotel, but rather has deposited i*
somewhere for safety ; and if we make the arrest without the
property, why somebody else comes in and gets the latter we
beat the bush and they catch the bird.”
“ Well, what plan do you propose* then?”
“ We must see Graves, and talk with him—find out where he
is going, and make the arrest, after he has quietly embarked for
his journey. Then he will have the ‘stuff’ with him, and we
can got both, and all the reward is also ours.”
“ But suppose he discovers us, or mistrusts us and will not be
os communicative as we desire?”
“ Discovers usWhy, man, your own mother might marryFACTORY THE GIRL.
95
you and live a year with you without finding out who you were,
unless she pulled your whiskers off in some connubial squabble ;
and as for me, did you ever see me in such a rig? “Why with
these clothes on, strapped up and strapped down, the devil him-
self wouldn’t know ,ine. Devilish uncomfortable fix to be in
though. Let’s see if I can sit down,” answered the oflicer, and,
suiting the action to the word, he drew a chair towards him, tc
carry out his suggestion. But when his ample — dimensions
struck the seat, his knees, forgetful of all regard for modesty,
popped through the breeches. “ D n the straps—I never did
wear them, and curse me if I do—but look at that. Bill, I haven’t
another pair of breeches here, and these are done for. What
shall I do?”
“ Do as the man did that had but one shirt, and had to lie in
bed to have it washed. Get into bed and I’ll take the rent
breeches, and see if I can pattern your size.”
“ Capital! Be quick, Bill, as we’ve got a great deal to do
to-day.”
And off the under-clerk started, while the officer waited in
his buff for the very important part of his wardrobe, which he
had been so cruelly bereft of.
While all this transpired at the lodgings of the hounds who
had scented the prey, John Graves was busy aiding Lizzie pack
away numerous purchases she had made on the day previous, of
dry goods and trinkets, preparatory to their journey for the West.
Jlbcyliad satisfied themselves with the sights in the great city,
and concluded to spend that part of the day which remained to
them in New York in quiet.
When the officer and his companion, therefore, entered the
Florence House, they at once perceived the object of their pur-
suit, sitting at a large table in the reading-room, totally absorbed
in reading the news.
Provided with cigars, our two friends seated themselves by the
side of Graves ready to open a conversation with him as soon as
opportunity presented. It was list haig before it came, for
Graves had by chance stumbled upon a paragraph in a Boston
news paper, which announced the death of the wealthy Lowell
manufacturer, Mr. Richards, and vaguely hinted that it was
caused by some difficulty with a woman.
“ Good God! Richards dead !” exclaimed Graves, in an au-
dible voice, which startled the new comers. On the instant,
however, he perceived his mistake. At the same time the oflicer,
taking advantage'of the exclamation, spoke to him.
“ I think you said some one were dead, and the name sounded
very familiar to me. Shall I beg of you to repeat it ?”ee
FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
“ A. Mr. Richards, sir,” stammered Graves, “ with whom I aia
slightly acquainted.”
“ Richards ! Dues it say what Richaids? Allow me to look
at the paragraph. Oh ! it’s a Boston paper. I thought you
were reading from the Sim.”
“ No: it’s the Times—Boston. Richards was one of oui
Lowell manufacturers,” rejoined Graves, greatly relieved to tied
that his interrogator was not acquainted with his former em-
ployer.
“ In business in Boston, sir. if I may be so bold ?”
“ Yes, sir; in the dry goods line,” answered Graves, because
he wanted to make it appear he was in some employment, and
that he was somewhat acquainted with him.
“ Glad to hear it, sir. I’m in that line myself. Can I not do
you some service, sir ? Beautiful stock of goods, if you are in
want. Perhaps you have purchased ?”
“ Yes, sir; I made the last of my purchases yesterday. Sorry
I did not see you before.”
“ Well, perhaps some other time. Allow me to hand you my
card,” said the officer, who by some streak of luck had taken up
the card of an enxtensive dry goods house that morning, and
made some memorandum upon the back of it.
° Thank you, sir ; I shall be pleased to see you when I next
visit New York,” remarked Graves, all suspicion as to the char
acter of his companions vanishing, on reading tn min es upon
the card.
“ Do you go by the New Haven line, or through the Sound,
sir ?” inquired the officer.
“ I am going to Albany, sir, to see the city—thence over the
Western road,” replied Graves.
Thus was the object of their visit accomplished ; and the officer
and the clerk departed, after a brief interview, quite elated at
their prospects thus far.
“ However,” remarked the officer, “ we must not be too sure
of our bird, for he may have told us a falsehood as to his route
of travel. Let us, therefore, watch the dry goods dealer. If he
does take the boat for Albany, it is all in our way, for the money
ora draft for it will be on board, and we shall ‘bag our game.’ ”
The fears of the officer, as to his having given them the
wrung destination, were not realized, and as the “Hendrick
Hudson,” the inpst magnificent boat which then plied the North
River, shot from her pier, John Graves and Lizzie Jones appeal
ed upon the promenade deck, while the officer and Wm. Small,
eeemg that the objects of their search were safe within theirIDE FACTORY UlRU	97
grasp, entered a state room, to exchange the disguises they had
assumed, for their own habiliments.
This done, they returned upon deck, where Graves still sit*
with Lizzie Jones, admiring the beautiful scenery which opened
to view upon the banks of the Hudson, as the boat glided swiftly
and gracefully over its surface.
Lizzie was the first to recognise the officer; but ere she could
convey to her companion the alarming intelligence, he had
tapped him on the shoulder.
“ Good afternoon, Mr. Graves ; we are well met.”
It was the same voice, but slightly altered, to which he had
listened in the forenoon, the owner of which on that occasion
representing the dry goods merchant. Mr. Graves instantly re-
cognised him as the smartest police officer in Lowell, and, start-
ing to his feet, he hurriedly stepped back to a close proximity
with the wheel-house, shaking off as he did so the grasp of the
fair Lizzie, who clung to him, terrified, followed by the officer,
and some of the passengers, whose curiosity prompted them to
follow up for the purpose of learning the particulars of so sudden
an adventure.
“ It is in vain for you to think of escaping, Mr. Graves; so do
not attempt it. Come, let us adjourn to our state room and talk
the matter over. Resistance is useless.”
“ You shall not take me alive, sir—not alive. Stand ba»’h !”
exclaimed the entrapped thief, pushing back the crovrd with that
almost superhuman exertion, which despair gives man. “ Stand
backfall of you, or your blood be upon your own heads.”
And then, to the surprise of all, the infuriated, baffled clerk,
drew from each pocket a pair of pistols, and levelling them at
the officer and his assistant, dared them to approach. Nothing
but a slight railing intervened between Graves and the foaming
river, lashed by the revolutions of the great wheel. With one
simultaneous rush they endeavored to seize him. One of the
party missed his foothold and fell, and Graves endeavored to kick
him ; while with his loaded pistols he struck at the othe* ■' who
were aiding in the arrest. Excited beyond measure, and not
aware how near he was standing to the water, his movement
was careless, and he lost his balance and fell backwards over
the low railing. At the same moment, the trigger of one of bis
pistols became entangled in his clothing, and the charge exploded
with a sharp, cracking report, while the flash cast a lurid glare
upon the participants in this scene, and around the disturbed
features of the book-keeper, as he sank into the seething caul
dron!
“ Man overboard,” sounded ver the boat The engines uera98	FLORA MONTGOMERIE,
stopped, the boats lowered, and every exertion made to recover
the drowning man ; but amid the darkness which had now set-
tled over the bosom of the deep river, all'search was found to be
in vain, and the boat proceeded to its destination. John Graves
had found a watery grave, thus adding another to the vast mul-
titude which the sea will cast forth on that awful day when the
dead shall rise again.
'X?	•t’c	'A*
By the assistance of the terrified and Sinfortuntae Lizzie Jones,
most of the money stolen from Richards was found. The bal-
ance of Graves’s property was delivered to Lizzie, as she pro
duced a certificate of marriage in New York with the deceased
book-keeper, consummated upon the preceding evening.
She was taken back to Lowell with the officer; but as there
was not sfficient proof to implicate her in any of the schemes* of
Graves for the robbery of his employer, she was allowed to join
her mother. Shortly after, the two, considering the city of their
birth not so congenial to them as heretofore, left for parts un-
known.
=& % % % % % #
The pleasant groves and the most beautiful flowers are often
won only by toilsome travels over rugged paths. Heaven was
only won by the pilgrim’s tears and sighs, painful struggles and
heart-rending disappointments. So the greatest ills which befall
mankind in this world, and those which they imagine seal for-
ever a gloomy future to them, are often overruled by a kind
Providence for their greatest good. The very stur n which .' ■ eat-
“.oco to engulf them, has proved to be the wings of some kind
ir~ssmger of peace, bringing sunshine to the gloomy soul, and
S.xm io we wounded heart.
The death of Richards, which Flora Montgomerie had charged
upon herself with good cause, operated for a while upon her
tender spirit, and she regretted that she had ever followed him,
or ever endeavored to blast his happiness. But time had effaced
those misgivings from her heart, and she again looked upon him,
or remembered him, as the base betrayer of her love and con-
fidence, and the sorrow which had preyed upon her from the
moment of his terrible end had well nigh worn away.
We must confess that the sympathy of Frances Burleigh,
which was for her friend Flora, had much to do in assuaging her
grief; but to the kind attentions of James Burleigh, who, now
that Flora was restored to her mother’s mansion, was her con-
stant visitor, may in the main be ascribed to the dispelling of
that cloud which at one time threatened to obscure forever the
- gonial influences of the sun of joy from her heart.ttt: factory gir_.
9S
Charles Montgomerie, too, had become quite a constant visitor
at the house of James Burleigh, and on more than one occasion
the latter had observed his sister Frances in close and apparent
happy interviews with him. Talking over old associations was
the excuse which Frances always gave her brother when he
ventuied to make a sly remark to her concerning these private
confabs.
But something more than this James felt assured was passing
between them, and he was pleased that it was so.
About a year after the unpleasant occurrences related in our
previous chapters had transpired, an unusual amount of bustle,
denoting preparation for some grand festival, was observed at
the Burleigh estate. Numerous visitors had arrived, and were
preambulating the grounds about the mansion, now and then
casting a glance at the street, as if in expectation of some ar-
rival. Nor were they to be disappointed, for soon the gate to the
spacious grounds was opened, and two carriages entered, the
occupants of which received ’ the congratulations of the visitors
who crowded about the path.
And presently strains of sweet music proceeded from the par-
lors, until all the guests assembled had seated themselves. Then
ihe doors opened, and Frances and Charles, Flora and James,
(the twe brothers and sisters, whose fate had been so curiously
interwoven; entered, and the venerable clergyman pronounced
each man and wife.
Pleasure ruled the hours of that night. Music and dancing
had each, their votaries, and happiness was depicted upon every
countenance.
The brothers and sisters still live, and not a cloud lias arisel.
over the pathway of their love.
Although our space is short, we must beg leave to mention
Fitzallen. He still prowls around the country, without home ci
fiiends, procuring a precarious livelihood by petty swindling.
THE END.Flora Montgomery.
DeKock, Charles Paul.
New York:Attwood, Charles S.
Museum of American Textile History
No. Andover, MA
Condition On Receipt: The volume was housed in a
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Treatment: The inks were tested for solubility. The
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Northeast Document Conservation Center
May 1987
SO:SH/SBNow Ready and for Sale by
CHARLES S. ATTWOOD, 24 ANN STREET, NEW YORK.
Cts.
■Fanny. Colored,	plates................... 50
Eliza Mead.................................. 25
Fighting Jules.............................. 25
Marianne, the Beautiful Intriguante; or, The
Private Sins of a Lovely Woman............ 50
The Fancy Man ; his Amours, Adventures and
Love Scrapes...................—........50
La Tour De Nesle; or, the Amours of Marguer-
ite Burgundy .........................  50
The Amours of a Quaker ; or, the Voluptuary 50
The Loves of Byron ; his various Intrigues with
Celebrated W omen.  .............  ........50
Charles the Second, Earl of Rochester, and
Buckingham’s Intrigues.....................50
Confessions of a Lady’s Waiting Maid; or, the
Veil Uplifted...........................   50
City Crimes ; or, Life in New York and Boston 50
Jack Harrold, by Greenhorn. 16 Illustrations 50
The Criminal; or, the Adventures of Jack Har-
rold...................................    25
The Outlaw; or, The Felon’s Fortunes, a Se-
quel to the Criminal..-----------------25
The Hoad to Ruin; or, Felon’s Doom—the end
of the series..........................  25
Aristotle. Illustrated.................—1 00
Complete Masterpiece-----------------------
Isabel of Arragon; being Intrigues of the Court 25
Adventures of a Sofa ; or, Drawing Room In-
trigues__________________________________25
Marie de Clairville ; or, The Confessions of a
Boarding School Miss.................... 25
Flora Montgomery; or, The Factory Girl’s Ad-
ventures.......................  i.......25
The Bridal Chamber and its Mysteries.......25
The Intrigues and Amours of Aaron Burr-----25
The Mysteries of Bond st. fashionable dissipation 25
Private Life of Lola Montez—enough said..... 25
Harriet Wilson ; or, a Woman of Pleasure.... 25
Madeline, the Avenger; or, Seduction and its
Consequences_______________________________25
The Adventures of a Libertine______________25
Evil Genius; or the Spy of the Police------25
Sharps and Flats ; or, The Perils of City Life. 25
Cts,
Zizina.....................................    25
Female Beauties. Plain plates........-_______25
“	“ Colored plates................... 38
The Lame Devil; or, Asmoc eus in Boston------25
Demon of Gold; or, The Miser’s Daughter. ..25
Dashes of Life, by Our Ned.................... 25
The Wedding Night; or, Advice to Bride-
grooms. Plain, five plates............	.....25
The Wedding Night; or, Advice Bride-
grooms. Colored, five plates.................38
Secret Passion; plain, five plates___________25
“	“ colored, five plates------------38
Ladies’ Garter. Illustrated. By Greenhorn.. 25
Fanny Greely; or, Confessions of a Free Love
Sister_____........_________________________ 25
The Gay Girls of New York. By Greenhorn.. 25
Kate Castleton^ the Beautiful Milliner........ 25
Harry Glindon, the Man of Many Ctimes........25
Adolene, the Female Adventurer...............  25
Julia Maxwell; or, The Mysteries of Brooklyn.
By Greenhorn.............................   .25
Alice Wade ; or, The Seducer’s Fearful Doom. 25
Asmodeus; or, The Iniquities of New York.
By Greenhorn..........—......................25
a lew York Life; or, Mysteries of Upper Ten-
dom Revealed. By Greenhorn.----------------25
The Coquette of Chestnut Street....----------25
The California Widow._________-__—————— " *
The Life of Kate Hastings......................25
The Channing Young Man. By P. DeKock— 25
Mysteries and Miseries of Philadelphia........2 >
The Secret Habits of the Female Sex. Plain plates 25
“	“	“	“ Colored “ 38
Venus in the Cloister. Plain plates..........	25
“	“ Colored plates............3C
Marriage Bed. Six plates, colored____________38
“	“	“ "lain_____________________25
Advice to Husbands -.uu W -’cs. 4 plates, plain 25
«	“	“	co. -ed 38
Broussais Self Preservation. 6 plates, coloreu. .
Tom Brown’s Jest Book.—... ------------—— 13
Female Policy Detected........................ 13
WRKS OF	KOOK.
The Adventures of a Musical Student. Ulus.
The Mysteries of Venus; or, Lessons of Love “
The Amours of Lady Augustus Clayton.... “
The History of a Rake——__________________“
The Secret Amours of Napoleon............“
Don Pedro in Search of a Wife____________“
The Bar Maid of the Old Point House   “
The Intrigues of Three Days..............“
Tales of Twilight —..................    “
The Child of Nature Improved by Chance.. “
Julia; or, Where is the Woman that Wouldn’t “
The Loves of Cleopatra.................. “
The Two Lovers ; or, Fred in a Fix_______“
Cerisette; or, The Amours of an Actress... “
Memoirs of an Old Man of Twenty-five.... “
Memoirs of a Man of Pleasure___________— “
The Gay Grisettes________________________“
Melting Moments; or, Love among the Roses “
Gustavus, the Don Juan of France_________“
Venus’ Album ; or, Rosebuds of Love-----“
Rosette and Rosine; or, Cousins’ Bedchamber
Gossip.................‘-------------- “
( John, the Darling of the Ladies-------a “
Andrew, the Savoyard...................  “
penny; or, Nine 'Months with the Women. “
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The Student’s Girl....................Hlu«.
Marietto; or, The Female Go-Between......“
The Fickle Mistress..................... “
The Mysteries of an Actress’ Dressing Room “
My Neighbor Raymond.....................  “
The Milk-maid; or, I«ove in Country Bowers “
Grisettes of Paris......................-	“
Mons. Dupont ; or, The Married Maid-... “
The Magic Night Cap; or, Loves’ Paradise. “
The White House.......................... “
Handsome Cherubino....................— “
” Miller, the Lady in Flesh Colored *
Fanny J
Tights--------------------------------
Mary Annie Temple...................- —-
Amelia Morton ; or, Gay Life in a Fashion-
able Watering Place.............— —.....
Simon, the Radical________...— --------
The Gay Deceiver.......................
Anna Mowbray........................—-
Delights of Love ; or, The Lady Libertine.
Julia King; or, The Follies of my Life— —
The Countess; or, Intrigues with the Bloods
The Irish Widow; or, The Last of the Ghosts
The Merry Wives of London... .... ——...
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_______________________“ 50
Moustache; or, The Three Students of Paris “ 50
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