CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY STEWART H. BURNHAM FUND Cornell University Library PS 2224.L3B4 The belle of Washinaton.A true stofv of "■3 1924 022 064 376 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022064376 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. %xn Storg of i\t %itduM, BY MRS. K. p. LASSELLE. " Her form was fresher than the morning rose, When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd, and pure, As is the lily, or the mountain snow." Thomson's Seasons, "I had so fixed my heart npon her. That wheresoe'er I fram'd a scheme of life For time to come, she was my only joy, With which I used to sweeten future cares ; I fancied pleasures, none but one who loves And doats as I did, can imagine like them." (Xway's Venice Preserved* |Jljtla&«l|)l)ta: T. 3. PETEESON AND BEOTHEES, 806 CHESTNUT STREET. /j 7^3 ry^ Entered according to Act of Congress, iu the year 1858, by H. LASSELLe\ In the Clerk's Office of the District Conrt of the TJnited States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. TO SKrs. (£;iiristi«nii Snigit, A LADY EMINENT FOE PIETY, INTELLIGENCE, AND EVEHY TIBTOB THAT ELKTATBS AND BEAUTIFIES THE FEMALE OHAEAOTSB, THIS BOOK IS aESFECTFULLY DEDICATED, BT THE AUTHOR. PEEFACE. "When we commenced putting together the incidents narrated in the following pages, we did not dream of mar king a book. The scenes portrayed, are not fancy sketches, but pictures drawn from life ; the truthfulness of which, persons, fa- miliar with "Washington Society, will at once recognize. In portraying them, we have endeavored to impress upon the young mind, the danger of giving the heart up to a love of pleasure and outward display. And if the perusal of this book, shall lead any to a true appreciation of, and the practice of early piety, it will have accomplished the object for which it was written. (7) CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. ^AdB. Distribution of Premiums ■ 5 CHAPTER n. The Three Friends 15 CHAPTER HI. The Birth-Night Party 23 CHAPTER IV. The Warning. ^ _ 33 CHAPTER V. The Sleighing Party 42 CHAPTER VI. A Visit of Charity 52 CHAPTER VII. Manoeuvering of a Washington Belle 61 CHAPTER VIII. A Home-Scene 68 CHAPTER IX. A New Character 77 CHAPTER X. Life's Changes 86 CHAPTER XI. Blighted Hopes 94 CHAPTER XII. The Heart's Struggle 103 CHAPTER XIII. The Spirit's Release 112 CHAPTER XTV. . Trials of the Poor 121 CHAPTER XV. Jenny's Description of City Life 131 CHAPTER XVI. Frederick meets a Friend of his Childhood 141 CHAPTER XVII. A Dinner-Party 151 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVIII. P'^^^- The Broken Engagement 158 CHAPTER XIX. The Levee 166 CHAPTER XX. The Rejected Proposal 176 CHAPTER XXI. A Visit to the Springs 184 CHAPTER XXII. Life in the West 193 CHAPTER XXIII. ThePic-Nic 203 CHAPTER XXIV The Declaration 213 CHAPTER XXV. An Election Day in Illinois 220 CHAPTER XXVL Visit to the South 230 CHAPTER XXVII. The Sustaining Power of True Piety 238 CHAPTER XXVIII. The Will 246 CHAPTER XXIX. Frederick Leroux at Home 254 CHAPTER XXX. Life in the South 263 CHAPTER XXXI. A Fashionable Watering Place 271 CHAPTER XXXII. Life's Contrasts _. 277 CHAPTER XXXni. The Banker 287 CHAPTER XXXIV. National Honor and National Justice 297 CHAPTER XXXV. A New Will Discovered 306 CHAPTER XXXVI. The Fruit of Vice is Bitterness _ 316 CHAPTER XXXVII. Virtue Rewarded 327 CHAPTER XXXVni. Conclusion _ 335 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER I. DISTRIBUTION OF PREMIUMS. "Angelic! beautiful! surpassingly beautiful!" was the ex. clamation that fell from many lips. . And it was indeed a tableau of rare beauty that called forth these exclamations. The room, in which the distribution of premiums to the pupils of the Academy of Visitation, in Georgetown, annually takes place, was filled to overflowing with visitors, pupils and teachers. The President and his lady were among the dis- tinguished visitors present. Several young ladies had received premiums from the hands of the President, when upon his calling the name of Annie Grayson, a fairy child of about five summers presented herself and threw herself at his feet in a position of such infantile grace, which, united with her surpass- ing beauty, caused the above named exclamation to drop involuntarily from the lips of every beholder. She was dressed in a slip of pure white muslin, the loose sleeves .looped up with ornaments of pearl, exposing an arm and hand so exquisitely formed, that even the refined and fastidious taste of a Powers might be content with them as a model. Her soft silken hair hung in ringlets, falling upon, without concealing, a neck and shoulders white as Parian (5) 6 THE BELLE OF WASHIXGTOJT. marble, and formed in nature's perfect mould. As she sank gracefully on one knee, clasped her tiny hands across her breast, and inclined her head slightly forward, methought I had never looked on aught on earth so beautiful. And when the President took, from the stand upon which the premiums were deposited, a wreath of pure white roses, and placed them on her fair young brow saying : "This is awarded to Annie Grayson for her extraordinary attainments in vocal music," I could almost fancy the wreath of flowers a halo of glory, typical of the purity and innocence of the fair being, whose brow it encircled. When she rose from her kneeling position, she stepped back a few paces, and raising her eyes towards Heaven, she sang, in a voice that vibrated on the ear, soft and sweet as wind-harps, when breath- ed on by Eolus' gentlest breath, the following song, which had been composed and arranged to music, expressly for her, by one of the sisters : Our Father, I thank thee, Because thou hast given, To me, thy own creature, A gift meet for Heaven. Permit Saint Cedlia My patron to be, Like her I would yield, Perfect homage to thee. Let sin never sully This young heart of mine ; Impress on its tablet, Thy precepts divine. My heart's adoration PlI pour forth in song, Until thou shalt call me, To join that bright throng Of angels who ever. Are found near thy throne ; Singing strains of sweet mnaio, To mortals unknown. Even now, my rapt vision, Beholds the bright baud ; And I hear the soft musio, Of that blessed land. DISTEIBUTION OF PREMIUMS. 7 Whilst singing, she seemed forgetful of the crowd around her. She seemed as if she were in the actual presence of God, and the gushing melody which flowed from her lips, filling the room, and thrilling every heart with rapture, was of such unearthly beauty, that, I was ready to believe, angel minstrels had, by Bome mysterious communication with her spirit, taught her these tones so seemingly soft and low, yet distinctly heard, to the most distant corner of the room. Often, long years after this event, would the memory of this scene wake an echo in my heart like a strain of sweet music. However, it is not of myself I would speak, but let us follow the fortunes of this fair child. She was the only child of wealthy parents. Her mother was a gay woman of fashion whose greatest ambition was, to create a sensation in society, by the elegance of her dress, the splendor of her parties, and the dashing style of her equipage. Her fa- ther was a man of superior intellect, and sober common sense views of life. He had been so entirely captivated by the rare personal beauty of her mother, that, he did not discover her only enjoyment was derived from gay society, until she had be- come his wife. She was endowed by nature with a fine mind, and had she received proper training, and moral culture when young, she would have become something infinitely superior to a brilliant woman of society. But the praises of injudicious friends, and the gratification of every wish, fostered a spirit of vanity and self indulgence, which took such possession of her bosom, that the better feelings of her nature were almost destroyed. She married George Grayson, because he was the most distinguished gentleman of her acquaint- ance, not because she appreciated those noble qualities which he possessed, and which were calculated to inspire, with the deep- est and purest love, the heart of a noble-souled woman. When the gayety, which succeeded the marriage of the talented law- yer, and the admired belle, had somewhat subsided, and they were permitted'to spend one evening in the quiet of their own drawing-room, uninterrupted by visitors. Judge Grayson, for he had even then been appointed to that responsible office, laid his 8 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON'. hand caressingly on the glossy curls of his fair young wife, saying — " Now, darling Annie, I trust we may be permitted the quiet enjoyment of each other's society, and taste the joys of do- mestic life, I have lived a bachelor so long, that my heart yearns the more earnestly for tke pure happiness, which is only found at the domestic hearth." " Why, Charles," said the spoiled beauty, " you don't suppose I am going to settle down into an old woman, at once, because I married a man ten years older than myself." " Certainly not, my love ; but after so much gayety, the quiet of home is necessary for the restoration of both the men- tal and pjiysical faculties to a healthful tone ; such constant and unnatural excitement is injurious to both mind and body." " Domestic happiness ! quiet of home ! Why, my dear, these are old phrases — obsolete in this age of progress and refine- ment. As for me, I think life scarcely worth possessing were it not for the pleasures of sfD.ciety." Judge Grayson made no reply, but mentally exclaimed, — " Ah, I fear I have made a mistake, and my bright dreams of domestic bliss will not be realized." Ere six months had passed away he was convinced that it was too true, that the only enjoyment of his wife was derived from society. When he fully understood her character, instead of remonstrating with her on the weakness and folly of her opinions and pursuits, he resolved, like a sensible man as he was, to place at her disposal the means of gratifying all her wishes and tastes, whilst he turned his attention to politics, de- termined to find in gratified ambition a solace for the disap- pointments of his anticipations of conjugal felicity. His success in obtaining political honors exceeded his most sanguine expec- tations ; and at the time we present his daughter to our readers he was an honored representative in congress, and so faithfully did he perform his duty, that, after the expiration of a second term of his service as congressman, the legislature of his native state elected him to the United States Senate. When Mrs. Grayson became a mother, her husband fondly DISTRIBUTION OF PREMIUMS. 9 hoped it would effect a change in her character ; but in this he was disappointed. It seemed that flattery and love of display, had deadened in her bosom that holiest and purest emotion of woman's heart, maternal love. True, when little Annie was about four years old, and was remarkable for beauty and intel- ligence, the mother's vanity was gratified, and she then had her beautifully dressed and presented to the distinguished visitors who were attracted to the house by the elegance of her enter- tainments and the distinguished position occupied by her hus- band. The expressions of admiration which the beauty of the child called forth, was music to her ears, but not so to the father : he feared it might have a hurtful influence upon the heart of his child ; and to avoid this danger, he resolved to have her educated at the Academy of Visitation, in Georgetown. She had been about six months at this institution at the time of which I speak, and the character of the instruction she there received, may be inferred from the song that was sung by her on the day of the distribution of premiums. Her extraordinary personal beauty and mental endowments was such that her teachers, with every precaution, could not prevent such remarks as the following from meeting her ear. " She is beautiful as a picture !" " She sings like an angel !" " She is the most gifted child I ever saw !?' The pious Sisters, to prevent feelings of pride and vanity Aom arising in her heart, taught her to feel grateful to her Heavenly Father for the gifts He had lavished on her. She was the idol of her father's heart, and her presence was (ike a sunbeam in the household, yet he kept her most of the time with the Sisters, that their teaching and example might be so deeply impressed upon her mind, that no intercourse with the heartless and gay could efface it. When she was about ten years of age, her father purchased an elegant mansion in Wash ington, over which his beautiful wife presided with grace and dignity. They generally remained in the city nine months out of Welve, and Annie usually spent three months at home during the, year. At these times she frequently annoyed her high-bred 10 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. mother very much by what the mother termed her ignorance of propriety and a want of self-appreciation. One day she was telling a lady friend, in Annie's presence, of her strange tastes. " Why," said she, " would you believe it, the child would, just as soon take for a friend the daughter of some poor, obscure individual, as the daughter of the President 1 She is never better pleased than when spending a day with my washer- woman." " I would not tolerate such low associations," replied Mrs. Parkinson. " Mrs. Stanmore is refined and lady-like in manner ; and although she is under the necessity of laboring with her hands to support her family, there is nothing common or low in her mind or manners. Annie seems so fond of her, that I cannot refuse her the pleasure of spending a day with her occasionally ; yet still, I would be pleased if her taste was different." " But, mamma," said Annie, putting her arm around her mo- ther's neck, "you know Ella Stanmore is such a sweet little girl I cannot help loving her dearly, and Edwin is so kind — ^he tells us stories, and makes us boats, and hauls us on his wagon, and then, when we are tired of playing, he teaches Ella her lesson. I wish I had a brother like Edwin. And then Mrs. Stanmore prepares us such nice dinners ! When it is ready, we all sit at table so nicely : Mrs. Stanmore sits at the head of the table, Edwin at the foot, Ella at one side, and I at the other. Oh, I think poor people are so happy ! they have no servants to vex them and make them scold like rich people do." " Don't you think Mrs. Stanmore would be happier if she were rich enough to send Ella and Edwin to school ? Every mother is anxious for the education of her children," " Oh, no, mamma, she wouldn't send them to school ; she teaches them herself; and she says it is so much pleasure to hear them say their lessons. Edwin never went to school a day in his life, and he reads French beautifully, and he is just commencing Spanish." " And does his mother teach him ?" asked Mrs. Parkinson. " Certainly," replied Annia. DISTRIBUTION OF PREMIUMS. 11 " But how does she find time 1" " Oh, she teaches them of evenings when the day's work is done." "It seems to me," said she, addressing Mrs. Grayson, "you have a very accomplished washerwoman — one who is capable of teaching her children Spanish and French." "Why, Mrs. Stanmore was, at the time of her marriage, very wealthy, but her husband was extravagant, and fond of high living. He became intemperate, and, in time, dissipated all his property. He was an old friend of Judge Grayson, who used his influence, and procured him a situation in one of the departments with a salary barely sufficient to support his family. When he had been in office about six months he died, leaving his wife and two small children here in a strange city, without any means of support. She had barely money enough to defray the funeral expenses. The day after the funeral, my husband called upon her, and offered to transact any business for her, telling her if she needed any money, just to draw on him. She thanked him for his kindness, and said she would accept of his offer to arrange her business, but as to accepting money, that she could not do. " ' You know, Judge,' said she, ' I belong to one of the proudest families of our State, I can work for my children, but cannot receive charity. If your wife will give me employment, I can support my family. That will be a favor, for it will prevent me from being obliged to seek work, which I otherwise would have to do.' " In a few days, she disposed of her furniture, moved into a amall house, and entered upon her hard task. When she called upon me a few days after for work, I gave her some sewing, she took it, and told me, if I put my muslins, laces, &c., out of the house to have them washed, she would like to do it for me, as it was more profitable than sewing. Thus she, who was reared in luxury, became my washerwoman. " There are many strange histories in the city of Washington, could we have them all revealed to us. " The way Annie became so much attached to her was this : 12 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. about a year after the death of her husband, Annie had a severe attack of ilhiess, her life was despaired of, and I believe we were more indebted to the kind and careful nursing of Mrs. Stanmore for its preservation, than to the physician. She lay several days unconscious of existence. During that time, Mrs. Stanmore never left her, and when a change for the better took place, she recovei-ed very slowly, and Mrs. Stanmore remained with her, soothing her when restless with fever and weakness, by some strain of music, or an interesting story. Since that time, Annie has been devoted to her, and as she is refined and amiable, I permit the child to visit her frequently." " Well, were she my daughter, I would not let her visit them." "Why not?" " Impressions might be made that you will, when it is too late, regret." " I do not fear that." " Well, I am really glad I never had any children, for I should always be in an agony about them, for fear they would form as- sociations unworthy of themselves." But I suppose our readers would like to know who Mrs. Parkinson is. Well, she is the wife of a gentleman of wealth, who has his country seat, and town house. She is now one of the leaders of ton, but she did not always occupy this position. She had previous to her marriage been a servant. Her beauty cap- tivated a rich old widower, who made her his wife, but his friends refused to recognize her as an equal. This mortified her pride ; she was ambitious as well as beautiful, and she de- termined to leave no means untried to gain an entrance into a circle above the former friends of her husband. She was shrewd and keen-sighted, and she had, in the situation of ser- vant, studied human nature thoroughly. She knew that wealth, with perseverance and well timed flattery, would in time open the doors of the most aristocratic. She went to work determined to succeed, and she did succeed. We see her on terms of intimacy with Mrs. Grayson, one of the most aristocratic ladies of the Union. To be invited to her DISTRIBUTION OF PREMIUMS. 13 house is a passport to the most exclusive society. Mrs. Park- inson is introduced to the most distinguished persons of the na- tion. Her triumph is complete. Senators, Congressmen, and distinguished strangers, partake of her elegant dinners, and praise her husband's superior wines. She presided with as much elegance as if she had always occupied this position, but she is in constant fear that some of her new-made friends may know something of her former history. Though so amiable and gentle in society, to her dependents and those who work for her she is imperious and tyrannical. And whilst she would expend hundreds to pamper the appetites of fashionable visitors, it was with the greatest reluctance she paid what was justly due to those who labored for her, and she is a true representative of hundreds of this class, as many a poor washerwoman and seamstress can testify. When Mrs. Parkinson had left, Annie said : " Mamma, I don't like Mrs. Parkinson." "Why, child 1" " I do not think she has a good heart." " I am sure she has always treated you kindly." " Yes, but—" "But what ■?" " I do not believe she would be so kind, if I were poor and needed her kindness." " What put that notion in your head ?" "I do not know, mamma; it just came of itself." " You are a queer child ; I like Mrs. Parkinson very much." " Yes, and she likes you, but it is because you live in a fine house, and give parties." " Now, you are judging uncharitably ; you should not do so, it is wicked." " I am sorry, mamma, but I cannot help my thoughts." " Then you should not speak them." " Only to you, mamma." " Not even to me." " Well, I will not do so any more ; but, indeed, I do not think Mrs. Parkinson has a good heart." 14 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. The truthful heart of the child had rightly divined the cha- racter of the visitor. It was true, she only loved Mrs. Grayson because she was distinguished and fashionable. And that there is much such love as this in fashionable life, all who observe society can plainly perceive ; and in no city is it more apparent than Washington, as we shall have many instances ere we con- clude our story. THE THREE FRIENDS, 15 CHAPTER 11. THE THREE FRIENDS. "Oh! sister, sister, see what lovely flowers Imogen Dela- croix has brought us," was the exclamation of little Lucy Catron, as Inaogen entered, bearing in her hand a basket filled with Flora's loveliest children. "Sister Angelique," said Imogen coaxingly, placing the flowers on the table, and putting her arm around the neck of the nun, and imprinting a kiss upon her fair, calm brow, " do let me decorate the altar of our dear little chapel this morning, that's a dear, good sister." " Why not let Sister Marguerite attend to it as usual." " Because I want to arrange the flowers myself. See, here I have brought the blush rose, which represents Annie Grayson, so modest, yet so queenly, and a bunch of oak leaves, which is typical of Emma Carlton, and the white lily, which is the em- blem of our lovely, pure-minded Ella Stanmore. Sister, do let me help Sister Marguerite, and I'll pray for you, every evening for a month." " Well, well, child, go along, and have your way, for you will never cease coaxing till you do." As soon as permission was given, she bounded gracefully from the room, and as Sister Angelique gazed upon her re- treating form, she ejaculated, " Bright, joyous, happy creature, may thy heart never be less gay than now." The decoration of the chapel is completed, Imogen surveys it with a satisfied look, and turning to Sister Marguerite, says : 16 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON-, " This is to me a sacred spot, it always disposes my mind to calm and holy thoughts." It is a bright, quiet Sabbath morn, and as the gentle breath of summer swept over the altar, playing with the fresh flowers, then floating through the chapel and filling it with fragrance, it did truly seem one of earth's calmest, holiest, fairest spots. And the gentle footfall of the pious sisters, as they moved from place to place, putting a finishing touch to its arrangements, reminded one of ministering angels, whose mission on earth, is to do good to suffering mortals ; and indeed it is the vocation of these devoted females, to perform deeds of kindness and charity. But, why is the chapel decorated with such unusual care this ■morning 1 Ah, the sacrament of baptism is to be administered. Three of the pupils have become converts, and after the sacrifice of the holy mass, they are to be baptized, and that is the reason why Imogen Delacroix, who is a perfect little devotee, is kissing so rapturously the three dearest friends of her heart, Annie Gratson, Emma Caelton, and Ella Stanmore. But, exclaims the reader, how came Ella Stanmore, whose mother is a washerwoman, to be a pupil at the Academy of Visitation? The daughters of Senators, Congressmen, Commo- dores, Generals, and the most distinguished persons in the nation, are educated at this institution, and it takes money to enable one to get an education here. Stop a moment, and we will tell you. One evening about two years previous to the time of which we are speaking, when the labors of the day were done, and Mrs. Stanmore was seated in her small and humbly furnished room, giving the usual evening instruction to her heart's only treasures, Edwin and Ella, a rap was heard at the door. Mrs. Stanmore rose and opened it, when a tall, foreign looking gentleman entered. He bowed to ner, saying, " My name is Belmont, 1 believe I address Mrs. Stanmore." "You do," replied the lady. "Will you be seated," conti- nued she, offering him a chair. XilJli LnJXJliJU £ Al^X^ x/o. 17 He took the proffered seat, and regarding her a moment, he said, " You have forgotten me, I believe." " I do not remember having ever seen you," replied she, '' I knew a family of that name in Ohio, but you bear no resem- blance to them." " Don't you remember Charles Belmont, who worked for your husband, on his farm as a day laborer four years, and then took charge of, I might almost say, the fleet of flat boats that carried the surplus products of his farm, with that of the ■whole settlement, to New Orleans, the only market, which, at that time, was accessible to the farmers of the fertile valleys of the West." " I remember him perfectly." " I am he." "Is it possible," said she, advancing and grasping his hand cordially, " that the dark-browed, foreign looking gentleman before me, is my favorite and noble-souled Charlie V " If you doubt it, I can give you some more of his history, that will prove his identity. You remember when I returned from New Orleans, having made, what was called an unusually good trip, that is, sold my pork and corn high, and brought home a large amount of money, and your husband gave me a thousand dollars, saying, I had too much enterprise and busi- ness tact to remain a mere laborer, that, I should take this, and engage in business for myself, and when I offered to give him my note promising to repay it when I should be successful in business, he replied : ' No, no Charley, when you are success- ful, which you surely will be, if I, or mine should need it, you can repay it, and should we never need it, which I trust we never shall, you will give it to some Industrious worthy young man like yourself I have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams, and to you, Mrs. Stanmore, I am indebted for all I have, and all I am. It was the kind instruction given by you, during the long winter evenings, to the ignorant but knowledge-craving farm boy, that enabled me to transact business so successfully for Mr. Stanmore, and was the means of giving me a start in the world. 18 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOX. " When I left Ohio, I went to New Orleans ; I remained there about two years, and made money. At the end of that time, I was induced by a Spaniard, with whom I had become acquainted, to go to South America and engage in the mercantile business. " I went to Rio Janeiro, and since that time, nothing but good fortune has attended me. Every venture in which I en- gaged brought me gold. For a time, my extraordinary success made me forgetful of every thing, save the acquisition of wealth. At length, I had more than enough to satisfy the desires of the most grasping mind. I had merchant vessels upon the seas, and warehouses upon the wharves, filled with the merchandise and products of every land. I was a welcome and honored guest in the halls of the high-born and wealthy. Bright eyes looked on me approvingly, and sweet strains of music warbled by lovely lips fell on my ear. But, now, a yearning to look again on la Belle Riviere, as the early French settlers poetically named the Ohio, rose in my heart. The memory of the humble cabin home that sheltered my early years, came over me, and my mother's low and gentle voice, indicative of suffering and patience, was again murmuring in my ear. Then came the remembrance of your kind teaching of the lowly, ignorant, not orphan — but worse than orphan boy, for my father had been degraded by the use of rum, until his presence, which should have shed joy and gladness on our humble home, brought only dread and fear. Day after day, the desire to visit my child- hood's home grew upon me, although but few pleasant associa- tions were connected with it, save those years spent beneath your roof. Did the wealthy and educated know what an in- fluence kind words and encouragement from them exercise , upon the lowly, they would not be so rarely given. When I determined to revisit my native land, I soon made arrange- ments to leave my business in the care of trusty agents, and sailed for New Orleans. After remaining a few days in the city, I proceeded to Cuicinnati. From there, I went in a car- riage, which I had purchased for that purpose, to my boyhood's home. When I arrived there, I found, of those whom I loved, but my mother, one brother and a sister. Some had been re. THE THBEB FKIEXDS. 19 moved by death. Others had sought new homes. My father nad been dead many years, and my brother occupied the old home. It was much improved, but still humble. My mother looked happier than I had ever known her. Her joy at seeing me was unbounded, and you may imagine, but cannot know, the joy and pride I felt at being able to render her independent and happy in her old age. My first inquiry, after seeing my relatives, was for you. They told me you had removed to this city. I now, had no lack of friends who vied with each other in paying attention to the rich South American, as I was called. I re- mained only long enough to purchase a comfortable home for my mother, see her settled in it, and have my sister placed in a school where she would be well educated. I then came im- mediately to this city. I arrived here this afternoon, and after I had partaken of some refreshment, I called on Judge Grayson to ascertain your residence. From him I learned death had, also, visited your household. Without returning to the hotel, I hastened to find you, and happy will I be, indeed, if I can in any way serve you. And I think it is now time I should repay you the money which was the foundation of my prosperity." " Yes, Charles, you may repay it, for our circumstances are sadly changed since I saw you : we are now poor, and labor for our support, but I have not murmured." " You are poor no longer ; I will to-morrow deposit ten thou- sand dollars in bank to your credit, and then my debt to you will not be half repaid." " Oh, mother, won't that be grand !" exclaimed Edwin ; " now Ella can be sent to the Academy of Visitation, and be brought into social . intercourse with that society, which is her birth- right." " Yes, my fine boy ; and you shall go to school too." " Oh, I do not wish to go to school. My mother has in- structed me, and I am more advanced than boys of my age who go to school. Besides, I am now learning to be a printer in the office of the National Intelligencer, where I have oppor- tunities of acquiring practical knowledge more useful to me than College lore." 20 THK BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " Spoken like a man ! You will be a congressman some day." " That is just what I intend to me." Mr. Belnaont remained till a late hour conversing with Mrs. Stanmore, and she perceived his naturally fine mind had been polished and improved by intercourse with the world, so that he was now a very superior man, fitted to grace the most refined society. When he left, Mr^. Stanmore felt happier than she had done since the death of her husband. He deposited the money in bank the next day as he said he would ; and thus it was Ella Stanmore became a pupil at the Academy of Visitation. But we have made a long digression, and it is time we should return to the quiet precinct of the convent. The chapel is filled to overflowing : the priest has just finished the sacrifice of the mass, when three maidens, clothed in white, with white veils thrown over them, advance and kneel beside the sanctuary. They bow their heads as if in prayer. A few notes from the organ steal upon the ear, tlien it ceases, and a gush of music, from the lips of the maidens, fills the chapel. The music . is thrillingly beautiful, and the following words are distinctly heard as their voices, blend together in melody : Our Lady most blessed, Shed on us a ray Of thy own pure devotion, And teach ns the way To keep our spirits Unspotted and pure From every vain fancy Which young hearts allure. Our Lady most blessed, Before thee we bow, Give us grace, Holy Mother, To keep our vow ; To renounce every folly That dazzles to win The hearts of poor mortali To error ar.d sin. THE THKEJi Jf. '' I thought if you had only kept a boarding-house, as so many ladies do when deprived of their means of a support by the death of their husbands, I should not have felt thus humbled." " Listen, Ella," said the mother, "and I will tell you all my thoughts in the sad hour of my bereavement, and why I did not keep a boarding-house. As soon as my mind was sufficiently calm for reflection, my first thought was, How shall I support my helpless children 1 The idea of a boarding-house occurred to me, but as I looked on your fair young face, I said, Ella will be beautiful. In a boarding-house I cannot have her always under my own eye. She will be petted and praised ; and ere her judgment is matured, her young heart will be filled with vanity and a love of admiration, which will render her a heartless creature of the world, instead of a true-souled woman. " This consideration induced me to endeavor to earn my sup- port by my needle. I tried it, and found I could only earn a scant living by devoting every moment of my time to my occu- pation. " In the days of my prosperity, I had always washed and done up my own muslins. It now occurred to me, that I would offer to do such work for a few ladies, knowing I could earn more in one day, by doing such work, than I could by the use of my needle in a week. I succeeded beyond my expectations, by de- voting two days in the week to washing and ironing muslins, which was not laborious, and the balance of my time to sewing, I was comfortable and independent. My mind was free from anxiety, and I had the entire evenings to attend to the moral and mental cultivation of yourself and Edwin. Never have I known happier hours than those pleasant evenings when my day's tasks were done, and I would note the gradual unfolding of the mental faculties of you and Edwin beneath my watchful care. I was happy in observing the purity and truthfulness of your cha- racter, whilst the manly independence and honorable aspirations of Edwin, gave promise that he would be all a fond mother's heart could wish. I thought not of the opinions with which the outer world regarded my occupation. I felt my children were secure from all injurious influences. When your lessons were BLIGHTED HOPES. 101 conned, and you knelt at my knee and said your evening prayers, I looked upon your innocent faces and was thankful that I had chosen a path which enabled me to attend to your moral training and imbue your young hearts with early piety." " You were right, mother, you chose well for us. How selfish in me to reproach you. But you will forgive me. Yet. you cannot know with what a crushing weight those scathing words fell upon my spirit, blasting every bright hope that was budding in my heart, promising blossoms fair as those that bloomed in Paradise. Your kind words and gentle voice have recalled me to myself. But I am weary, undefined thoughts press upoi> my brain, I will go to my own room and ask of my Heavenly father, strength to sustain me in this dark hour of sorrow." "Stay with -me, my child, that I may soothe your troubled spirit." " No, mother, God alone can be my solace. Go to your own room, mother, pray for your child, and then sleep calmly. Rest assured, your early teaching will now be of service to your stricken child. How fortunate are those who have a mother, whose instruction in childhood teaches them where to turn in the hour of trial." Kissing her mother's cheek, she left the room. Mrs. Stanmore looked after her retreating form, and as she contrasted her pale sorrowing face, with the bright beaming crea- ture that she was a few hours previous, she groaned in agony of spirit — " This is anguish beyond all I have known," and then her thoughts went back to the almost forgotten past. The memory of her own betrothal and happy marriage passed before her. The maternal happiness with which she had watched over her angel Ella, in infancy. Thus far all was bright. But now a slight shadow rests upon her pathway. Slight indeed at first, but deep- ening and growing more dark, till no ray of light rests upon her heart, save that which gleams from the bright eyes of her two fair children. Her husband had become the slave cf the wine cup. His broad lands pass from him. His family is reduced to beggary, and worse than this, he himself to the level of a brute. 102 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. A reform and removal froiii the scene of his degradation, brings hope again to her bosom, but death follows ere he has retrieved his fortunes, and she is left destitute, obliged to labor for her loved ones. And this is the cause of her darling daughter's pres- ent anguish. As her thoughts thus ran over the past and its present conse- quences, she exclaims passionately : " Oh ; had all endured vchat I have done, the tempting wine would be banished from every household. It would no longer sparkle on the tables of the prosperous and happy, luring to wretchedness thousands who have not strength to withstand temptation." Absorbed in sorrowful reflections, the hours crept slowly by. Morning came, and sleep had not visited the pillow of Mrs. Stanmore. And Ella — but of her in the next chapter. THE heart's steuggle. 103 CHAPTER XII. THE heart's struggle. As soon as Ella found herself alone in her own room, she threw herself on her knees, and poured forth her heart in prayer. "When she rose, the wild, troubled expression had left her counte- nance, and in its stead there was a calm, sad expression, denoting resignation and sorrow. Her face was colorless as marble, and as she rested her cheek upon her hand, you could have deemed you looked upon a beau- tiful statue, so unmovable, so absorbed was she. But, oh ! how painfully active the spirit within, although no manifestation of it was apparent. She sat thus at least an hour, and during that time she had lived again, as it were, her whole life, from her in- nocent, happy childhood, to the present hour. First, her mother's low, sweet tones fell on her ear, as she taught her the evening lesson and nightly prayer. Next, the memory of her school- girl days, the quiet study room, the hours of recreation, with the bright hopes and anticipations of that period. She was again in that dear chapel, where, with a heart overflowing with pure and holy emotions, she had knelt at the altar to receive the sacrament of baptism. Music was gushing around her, but its notes were not glad and exulting as then, but sad and low, as if it were chanting the requiem of a broken heart ; and flowers, fresh, blooming flowers, were there, shedding fragrance around. But tne chapel was in mourning, indicating death, but this soon passed. Then words of impassioned love were poured into her willing ear, sinking into her heart of hearts, filling her soul with a dream of happiness too bright for earth, and yet, although all 104 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. of life, save this happy scene, was shut out from her vision, it brought no color to her cheek, no light to her eye. Every func- tion of life seemed suspended, save that of thought. Lastly, came the remembrance of the conversation in the conservatory, and the deep, deep anguish of the last hour. She now raised her hand to her brow, and rose from her seat. After standing thus a moment, she clasped her hands over her heart, as if to still its painful beatings, and sighed forth, in tones touchingly mournful : " I know why this deep sorrow was permitted to fall upon my spirit ; I had given the love, which belongs only to the Creator, to the creature. Yes, I loved Fred with a depth and devoted- ness bordering on idolatry ; but 'tis past, past, forever past." As she uttered the last word, she sank again in the chair, and, placing her hands before her face, tear-drops were soon glistening between her fingers. They were the first she had shed since the shattering of her bright hopes, and when she removed her hands from her face, the rigid and death-like immobility of her features had disappeared. She now rose and divested herself of her party attire. When she took from her brown curls the white Japonica, which was the only ornament she had worn in her hair, she gazed on it a moment, then a sad smile passed over her face, and she went to her writing-desk, took from it a sheet of paper, enveloped the delicate flower within it, and deposited it in a drawer, saying as she did so : " This I will preserve, for Fred praised it, and said its delicate wax-like petals, were emblematic of the purity and beauty of the wearer. I know 'tis weakness to cherish it thus, but I will keep it as a memento of happy hours, and when its freshness and beauty shall have departed, it will be emblematic still, for it will be an emblem of my blighted hopes, and the withered flowers of happiness that were budding in my bosom." Her eye then rested on a diamond ring that encircled her taper finger ; she raised her hand as if to remove it, then, letting it drop, as if she changed her mind, she said : " No, no, it may remain where Fred placed it, until I see him, and then I will return it to him, when I release him from his THE heaet's struggle. 105 vows, for never can I be his, even would he desire to wed me. Oh, no, my pride would not permit it, for I have pride, although I have been deemed wanting in that quality." Leaving the ring upon her fing,er, she retired to rest, but not to sleep, for during the weary watches of that long night, her thoughts were busy with the future as well as the past, and she had, ere the morning light, gained strength to go through the trials that awaited her with unwavering firmness. Just as the day dawned, exhausted nature yielded, and she sank into a calm, sweet sleep. When her mother came into her room, she found her thus, and, ejaculating a prayer of thankfulness, that her darl- ing child was for a time forgetful of sorrow, she quietly left the room. Ella, when she awoke, rose, and went immediately to her mother's sitting room, whose first salutation was : " How is my darling, this morning 1" To which she replied : "The wild tumult that raged in my bosom has subsided, and I feel that I have strength to endure the disappointment which has fallen upon me. I sought strength where it is to be found, and I am now calm." " I feared the rude shock would be more than you could bear, and you would sink under it." " No, mother, I will henceforth devote my life to the perform- ance of acts of kindness to my fellow creatures, who are un- fortunate ; and, from witnessing their happiness, learn to forget my own sorrow." "You are right, my child, if you would drive sorrow from the heart, be active in the .performance of benevolent deeds." The breakfast hour soon came, and Ella forced herself to take some, knowing if she did not, it would give pain to her mother. When breakfast was over, Mrs. Stanmore, to divert her attentior. from herself, proposed that they should visit some poor families, who had been pensioners on her bounty during the winter, but Ella said : " Not this morning, mother, Fred will call, and I would see him, and tell him myself, that the happy future we had anticipated, can never be realized." 106 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON". " Have you strength to do so ; would you not better defer it 1" " No, mother, I shall feel better when it ^s done ; I would have it ended at once." As Ella had anticipated, Fred called belore the fashionable hour for visitors. When the bell rang, her heart beat wildly, and she trembled like an aspen, but ere the servant came to say, Mr. Leroux was in the parlor, she had recovered her self-possession. When she entered the parlor there was just the slightest tinge of color on her cheek, and the calm holy light that beamed from the mournful depths of her soft blue eye, added to her beauty, and she seemed a being too pure and lovely for earth. Fred rose from his seat, and taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips, saying : " My own, my beautiful one, you must excuse me for calling so early, but when cousin Annie told me you had retired on account of indisposition, I was so anxious I scarce slept during the night. It was so unkind that you did not permit her to call me, to see you home." Then seating her on the sofa he placed himself beside her, and gazing tenderly on her fair face, he imprinted a kiss upon her marble brow, and continued : " I fear you are not well yet, you look so pale. But it will soon be my privilege to watch over your welfare ; would it were so now, for you really look ill." " Never can it be your task to watch over me," was the reply of Ella in a voice sad as the wail of a breaking heart. These were the first words she had spoken since she entered the room, and her mournful tones smote painfully upon the heart of her affianced husband, and looking at her earnestly, he said : " You talk wildly ; I fear your reason wanders, and you speak the vagaries of a fevered brain." " Would it were a vagary." " What mean you V " That I can never be your bride." " And why not 1 What have I done to pain or offend you, that you speak such cruel words," THE HEAET'S STRUaOLE. 107 " Nothing ; you are all that is noble, generous, kind ; but fate has placed a barrier between us." " In -what form 1 There can be no barrier that my love ■will not remove, unless you have ceased to love me." " Ceased to love you ! that were impossible while life ani- mates this bosom." " Then no other barrier can exist. My own bright one, are you not the light of my existence ? Life without you would not be life. And do you suppose I will suffer any thing to hinder me from uniting my destiny to yours." " Your own words have done it." " What were those words'?" " Did you not say to Clementina Wilkie, last evening, that you would abandon your bride, even at the foot of the altar, should you learn that she was the daughter of a washerwoman ?" "I did." " And when she said, ' If you loved her deeply, you would overlook that circumstance,' you declared you would tear her image from your bosom, even if your heart-strings were sundered by the act." " Yes ; but what has that to do with your becoming my wife r' " I am a washerwoman's daughter." " You, Ella, you ! 'Tis impossible ! The dignified, intelleo- lual, and refined Mrs. Stanmore, could never have occupied that humble station." " Yet she did it." " Why did she do it 1 Her attainments are such, that even if necessity obliged her to earn a support for her family, she could have done so by engaging in some less degrading pursuit." "It matters not to say why she did so, for the fact of her having done so cannot be changed, and that precludes a possi- bility of my becoming your wife." "Ella, I cannot give you up; pride in this instance must yield to love." "I cannot become the bride of one whose brow would be mantled with the blush of shame for my sake. You will soon 108 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. forget the dream of love that flashed for a time across your path." " Never," said hs, vehemently; theii^ rising, he walked the floor with much agitation. Suddenly stopping before her, he said : " And can you cast from you the bright hopes of the future without one emotion of regret ?" " Ask your own heart, if such a thing be possible.'' " Then, why do you sit there so calmly, and say we must be separated through life V " The struggle is past. Look upon me ; see the change one night of suffering has wrought. No, no, when I heard your re- plies to Clementina's questionings, in the conservatory, I felt that my heart strings would burst. None know, but God and my own spirit, what it has cost me to acquire this calmness." " Ella, do not decide hastily ; I will leave you now, and call again to-morrow." " 'Tis useless, I have decided." " Say not so, Ella, say not so ;" and taking her hand, he pressed it ta his lips, and then left her, saying : " I will see you in the morning." When he had left, Ella, who sat absorbed in her sorrowful thoughts, noted not the lapse of time, till her mother came in, and roused her from her reverie. She then observed the ring upon her finger ; she had fr"gotten to return it, and she said to herself: "I shall be obliged to see him to-morrow to giveit'to him. I will converse with him, and hear the music of his voice once more." The day passed slowly by, and Ella exerted her- self to converse with her mother, that that dear friend might not perceive the sadness that weighed upon her heart. Early in the evening she retired to rest, and when her mother, before going to her own, called at her daughter's room, she found her sleeping heavily, and her cheek, which had been so colorless during the day, was slightly flushed. As the mother gazed upon her sleep- ing child, she invoked heaven's blessings upon her head, and then turned and left her, with a heart lighter than when she entered, for she did not know that the heavy sleep and flushed cheek were indications of serious disease. But when she wen THE heart's struggle. 109 to call her in the morning, the fever had developed itself; the overtasked nerves had given way, and she was perfectly delirious. A physician was immediately sent for, and, in answer to the mother's anxious inquiry, he told her the disease was induced by mental excitement, and there was danger of inflammation of the brain, but he would endeavor to prevent such a termination. Who can tell the anguish of that lone mother's heart as she watched beside her stricken child, and listened to her wild ravings; but even when reason was dethroned, that same gentle- ness, which had ever characterized her, was still apparent. She was not furious or ungovernable in her madness, but in sad and touching tones would speak of the past, and the injustice of that public opinion which had dashed the cup of happiness so sud- denly from her lips. At other times, she would beg her brother to come and take her to his new home in the west, where labor was not considered degrading, but persons were respected in proportion as they were useful members of society. And that cherished brother was on his way to the city ; he had been writ- ten for at the commencement of her illness, and he hastened to come, but it required many days ere he arrived. Yet the mother did not watch alone beside the sick bed during that time. Annie Grayson gave up the gayeties of the season, that she might soothe the lonely mother, and minister to her sick friend. There was another too, upon whose ears the sounds of mirth fell discordantly, and the gay word and light laugh smote pain- fully upon his heart. Yes, Fred Leroux, instead of being a visitant at the nightly parties to which he was invited, was at home in his own room, a prey to the deepest anguish, or when his feelings became so excited he could remain there no longer, he would go to Mrs. Stanmore's and^wander through the rooms like one bereft of reason. Sometimes he would go to the sick chamber, when Ella lay quiet, but if she commenced in her piteous tones to repeat some of the disconnected thoughts that rambled through her brain, he would be so much overcome, that he would be obliged to leave the room at once. Two weeks slipped by without any perceptible change, only she grew weaker. There was not the slightest indication of returning 110 THE BELLE OP WASHISTGTOIT. reason, and Mrs. Stanmore feared her daughter would pass from earth without being able to recognize her more. It was the fifteenth day from the commencement of her illness : she lay more quiet than she had done, but still she did not know those around her ; she would call for her mother, but when she answered her call, she did not recognize her. The evening shadows were deepening over the earth, and sor- rowing friends. were preparing for another night of lonely watch- ing ; the door-bell rang, and soon the brother's form cast a shadow in the room. In a moment he was beside his sister's bed : he gazed upon her pale face, and caught a glance of her eye, in which the fire of insanity gleamed, then stooping, he kissed her : she did not know him, but sighed forth, — " Oh, why don't Eddy come — why don't Eddy come 1" " 1 am here, my dear sister," replied her brother. She took no notice of him, but continued, — " 'Tis no use to wish for him — he could not restore the light of happiness to my heart, nor remove this burning pain from my head, which scorches my brain. Oh, I am so weary ; I would rest — even were it the rest of the grave ! But then poor Eddy, he would miss me ; and mother, she would be lonely without her Ella. Who would sing for her when the evening hour closes round her ? I must stay ; but yet my spirit craves rest." Whilst she thus ran on, the brother's thoughts went back to the bright, blooming creature he had left, three years previous, and then to return and see the wreck before him. It was too much, and he bowed his head and wept ; yes, the strong man wept like a child ! Soon a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice, whose tones thrilled his heart, even in that sad hour, said, — " After three years' of absence, have you no word of greeting for your mother, and the playmate of your boyhood V He turned and saw Annie Grayson ; her dark eyes beaming with sympathy, met his own ; he grasped her hand, and said, — " Yes, I have both greeting and thanks for you, who have been so kind as to come and watch beside the bed of sickness, in the hour of loneliness and darkness. And you, my mother, I am THE HEAET'S struggle. Ill here to comfort you in this hour of sorrow. But when I looked on Ella I forgot all, for the moment, save her. 'Tis too much that she cannot even realize I am by her side. And how strangely she talks, as if life were a burden that she would gladly lay down. What does it mean, mother I" " To-morrow I will tell all that you would know, but not to- night." The physician now came in ; he seated himself beside the bed, took her hand, and, after feeling her pulse and examining her closely, he turned to Mrs. Stanmore, saying, — " There will be a change to-night. If, toward midnight she grows calm, and falls into a quiet slumber, hopes may be enter- tained of her recovery. But if, on the contrary, she becomes more restless as the night advances, it is probable when the morning dawns, her pure spirit will have passed from earth." Oh, how an.xiously did they await the midnight hour ! and when she sank into a quiet slumber, what joy came to their hearts ! they felt she was saved, so implicit was their confidence in the skill of the physician. As soon as it was ascertained that she really slept, Annie proposed to Mrs. Stanmore that she should also take some rest, whilst she watched beside her friend. Edwin joined his entreaties to Annie's, saying he would watch with her, that she might not be lonely. To this Annie objected, thinking he was too much fatigued after his journey. But he insisted he felt no fatigue, and would remain beside his sister. Thus we see those two friends, in whose hearts a warmer feeling than that of friendship existed, after an absence of three years, watching the bed of sickness ; and as they conversed in subdued tones in the hush of that room, who can tell the emotions that thrilled the bosom of each 1 Ella slept calmly during the night, and when she awoke in the morning, reason was restored. The joy and gratitude that swelled the hearts of Mrs. Stanmore and E4win, 1 shall not attempt to describe. 112 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XIII. THE spirit's release. When Ella unclosed her eyes and saw Annie seated by her, she said : " I had a pleasant dream ; I thought Eddy had come home." " He has come, darling." " Oh, where is he V " Here by your side," said the brother, coming from a distant corner of the room to which he had retired, fearing if her eye rested on him when she fiist awoke, it would startle her. As he approached, she attempted to rise, but had not strength to do so ; ceasing her effort, she remarked : " I must have been ill ; I am so weak, I cannot raise my head from my pillow." " You have been ill, very ill, but thank Heaven, you are much better," said the brother, stooping and caressing her ; " I trust you will soon be well, and ere I return to my Western home, I shall see my precious sister, the bright, joyous, gentle being she was when I left her." " No Eddy, I can never be again the joyous creature I was when you left me. Your Ella's experience of life, since you saw her last, has changed her, sadly changed her. But I am weak and weary, and cannot speak of it this morning," said she, closing her eyes, and a tear glistened on her pale cheek, like a dew-drop on the lily. In a few moments the physician came in and examined her long and critically ; he went to her brother and said, " All that she now required was careful nursing and quiet, the disease was THE spirit's release. 113 removed, but so slight was her hold on life, that the least agita- tion might prove fatal." The third day after the return of her brother, he was endeavor- ing to interest her by telling her of his new home, and how she would enjoy the new scenes and kind friends she would there meet. She listened to him some time, then looking into his face, she said : " No, Eddy, I shall never look on that new home ; do not flatter yourself that I shall get well, I feel it here," said she, placing her hand on her heart, and added, " Were it not for you and dear mamma, how gladly would I rest me in the grave, for brother dear, all the bright and happy hopes of youth have been crushed in my bosom." " 'Tis weakness that makes you talk thus, darling ; when you recover your strength, you will not feel so desponding, and there is one beside, those you have mentioned, who could not give you up ; he seems to live only to make inquiry for you, and you cer- tainly would not let expressions drawn from him by an artful woman, separate two hearts so united." " They have told you all ?" "Yes; and I have witnessed the anguish the noble-hearted young man feels on your account. And were it not for the strict injunctions of the physician, 1 could not withstand his earnest entreaties to be permitted to see you." '• Well, I would see him, but not to-day : I have already exert- ed myself as much as I am able. Yet, I could not hear you in- dulging in those bright anticipations, without telling you they could never be realized. When I am gone, you will supply my place to our dear mamma, that she may not feel too heavily my loss." " Dear Ella, I cannot bear to hear you talk thus. Why should such thoughts take possession of you ? I am sure you are much better than you were." " It may be so, but do not hope too confidently ; I would sleep, now ;" and, closing her eyes, she looked as if the spirit had al- ready departed. As the brother gazed upon that calm, pale brow, his heart, which had hitherto cherished hopes of her recovery, 114 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Ettisgave him, and he felt the words she had just addressed to him "were prophetic. When Annie Grayson came to watch beside her, as she did some portion of each day, Edwin went to his mother's room with a sadder face than he had worn since the first evening of his arrival. His mother observed it, and rising from her seat, said hastily : "Is Ella worse?" " She does not seem so, but I have no hope of her recovery." "Why sor' " Her body is too weak, to bear up under the mental depres- sion that weighs upon her." He then related to his mother the conversation that had just' passed between them, and told her, he thought it would be better to permit Frederick Leroux to see her, as it might have a good effect upon her. To this, his mother assented, and when Ered, as was his custom, came in the evening to inquire how Ella had passed the day, Mrs. Stanmore told him, he might to-morrow, if she grew no worse, see her himself. " Oh," said he, " I cannot sufficiently thank you for your kind- ness, you cannot conceive what I have suffered. If I can only hear Ella say, she forgives me for what she has suffered, and will permit me to devote my life to her happiness, then I will be truly blest." In the evening, the physician gave Ella a composing draught. She slept calmly during the night, and the next morning was much refreshed. She took some breakfast, and when Frederick Leroux came at nine o'clock, she told her mother she wished to see him. When he approached her, he was so overcome with emotion, he could not utter a word. He took her hand, which was white as the snowy counterpane on which it rested, and pressed it to his lips, whilst a scalding tear-drop fell upon it. She regarded him kindly, saying, in a voice sweet and low : " Do not give way to such emotion, it is painful for me to witness." " Then I will repress my feelings, for I have given you pain enough already. Henceforth it shall be my study to make your THE spirit's release. 115 life happy — no sorrow shall come near you, if doting, watchful love can avert it." " I know you love me, but not long will I tax that love — my hold on life is slight ; I may pass from earth any day. I feel it — 1 know it ; and that is why I wished to see you, and, that you might not grieve too deeply when I am gone, to tell you how bright the dream of happiness your love shed over a portion of my existence. It was a foreshadowing of that pure and unal- loyed happiness to which I am hastening ; for heaven is perfect love, where no evil or discordant feeling may come to mar its pleasures." " Ella, I cannot bear to hear you talk thus ; you are so young, and life is all bright before you." " Yes, 'tis now bright, but lately a shadow rested on my spirit dark as night, and nothing but my near approach to heaven hath dispelled it." " Oh, speak not so ! — live for me — for the friends that adore you t Life to me would have no object, no aim, unless blessed with thy presence — thy love. You are my angel — my star of hope — my all of brightness in life. Oh, it cannot be — it cannot be !'' he exclaimed, with passionate energy, " that like a bright meteor you have crossed my path, ennobling, elevating, purifying my nature, by the holiness ,and purity of your own, and thfen to be so quickly removed — shutting out all hope from my heart !" " No, no, Frederick ; let it inspire you with a higher, nobler hope, — that of performing the duty you owe to your country and your God, that you may look forward to a blissful reunion in that world to which my spirit is so near. Be no longer a trifler in the saloons of fashion — listen not to the siren voice of pleasure, that would lure you to follow in her train, which would enfeeble and finally destroy those nobler qualities of heart and mind which, if properly directed, will win the admiration of man and the approbation of God. When poor Ella Stanmore' rests in the quiet of the grave, will you remember her love and her adjurations 1" As she thus addressed him, this pale, fragile being of earth, resembled some guardian spirit sent to counsel the wayward, 116 THE BELLE OF WASniNGTON. ardent, and gifted Leroux. As he looked upon her spiritual beauty, and listened to her impassioned words, he trembled with emotion ; and when she had concluded, he exclaimed, — " Oh, heaven ! do not torture me thus ! — yes, yes ; when you shall have passed from my sight, your memory will form a part of my existence : it will cling to me like my own shadow — but, oh, God ! I cannot believe the bright hopes of life are thus to be blighted in the bud. You will live for my sake. The thought of losing you drives me to madness." " Calm yourself, and let us say, '. God's will be done.' " " As well bid the ocean be calm, when the wildest storms have dashed its waves into fury, as bid me calm the tumultuous grief that rages in my bosom." " The wildest storms are succeeded by a calm ; and grief, the most violent, must yield to the soothing influence of time." " Yes, but the cruel wrecks, with which the ocean is strewn during a storm, bring sadness and despair to many an aching, anxious heart, that no future sunshine can gladden, and the hopes that have once been crushed, can never bloom again." " But in their stead may spring those immortal hopes, that only become brighter and stronger as the disappointments ot earth weigh more heavily upon the weary spirit. I have realized that Such is the case, and I now feel calm and happy." When Fredericlc Leroux had gone, and Mrs. Stanmore came to sit beside her daughter, Ella said to her mother : " I feel strong to-day, and I would tell you a wish that has taken possession of me." " What is it, my darling ?" " That my funeral services may be performed in that little chapel, where I received the sacrament of baptism. I know good sister Angelique, and our Right Reverend Archbishop will per- mit it, when they know it is my dying wish." Whilst she was conversing with her mother, Annie Grayson came in. When she saw her, she looked up into her face, with a bright smile, saying : " I was just wishing to see you. I Icnow your kind, generous heart ; I have tested your unchanging friendship, so unlike the THE spirit's EELBASE. 117 ordinary friendships of the -world, therefore, would I tax it still further ; when I am gone, you must comfort my dear mamma in her hours of loneliness and sorrow. Ere the bright spring flowers shall have unfolded their petals, I shall have passed away, and I trust all who have loved me, will endeavor to cheer her, when Eddy has returned to his western home." " I will he to her as a daughter, not only for your dear sake, hut for the love I bear her." Several days passed away, without producing a perceptible change in Ella. Watchful friends were ever round her, whilst she seemed to be more and more assimilated to the blessed spirits above. Emma Carlton, who had been the cherished friend of her heart from childhood, having now to toil for a sub- sistence, could seldom be with her during the day, but she would ever, during the evening, steal an hour from her labors to spend ■with her friend, and the intercourse of those quiet evening hours, strengthened her to perform her daily tasks with cheerfulness and hope. The last evening Emma spent with her, Ella took from her finger a ring, and placed it upon that of her friend, saying : " Wear this for my sake ; and if, in your journeying through life, sorrow dark and deep should threaten to overwhelm you, look upon this little circlet of gold ; and let it say to you, for her whose lips will be silent in death, and who has known heart- grief, — ' The heart that trusteth in God, will be comforted and sustained.' " " Yes, Ella, I will never forget the many kind precepts you have impressed upon my heart since you have been confined to a sick room, and I trust in every trial, 1 may be enabled to emu- late your patience and resignation." When Emma rose to depart, she was led by an irresistible impulse to take leave of Ella more tenderiy than was her wont, and when she had repeatedly kissed her pale cheek, she left her, feeling more sad than she had done on any previous evening. The next morning was one of those bright spring days, which sometimes visits us during winter here in Washington. Ella dsked her mother to put back the curtains, that the sunbeams 318 THE BELLE OP WASHIJSTGTOX. might enter her chamber. When she had done so, and the glad rays flashed into the apartment, she exclaimed with animation : " Oh beautiful, beautiful ! We must be confined to a sick room, and have the glorious sunlight shut out from it for a time, if we would appreciate it truly. I feel that my spirit could be borne to heaven on a beam of light. And my dear mamma, do not be startled, if as the sunlight fades from earth this coming eve, my soul should take its departure to that realm where no shadow of nifrht ever comes. 1 dreamed during the past night such would be the case." " God's will be done," said the mother, meekly. " And now I have some little remembrances 1 wish you to give to my friends when I am gone. In the drawer of my toilet bureau, you will find enwrapped in a sheet of paper, the japonica 1 wore in my hair the night of Annie's party. Give it to Fred, and tell him to keep it, and when he looks upon it, to remember that earth's brightest hopes may in one short hour be withered as utterly as that frail flower. You will, also, when I am dead, remove from my finger this diamond ring; it was placed there by him ; you will return it to him, he will prize it for the associations connected with it. Give my Bible to Eddy : tell him to let no day pass without reading some portion of its contents. Give my cross, that I have worn ever since it was presented to me by dear sister Angelique, to Annie; tell her to let it remind her of the sufferings our Saviour endured on the cross for our redemption, and if sorrow should ever overshadow her path, to look to Him for comfort. And to you, dear mamma, I would leave as my special gift, the locket which was presented me by Eddy, con- taining his miniature and mine. I would retain a place in the memory of those I have loved, when death shall have claimed me. This is the last weakness of earth. You will do as I wish you?" " Yes, my angel child, every wish of yours shall be sacredly performed." " Now I would sleep. Shut out the bright light." Mrs. Stanmore did as requested, and then seated herself beside her. Ella sank into a quiet sleep, from which she did not awake THE spirit's EELEASE. 119 till late in the afternoon. When she unclosed her eyes, the friends she most loved were around her. A sweet smile passed over her features and she remarked : " This is as I would have it, how calm, how happy I feel. Gh how lovely, how beautiful," said she, pointing upward, "but listen, oh listen, the angelic choir is coming." And in a voice, such as we might fancy belonged to the Heavenly choir, she warbled forth : What soft, Bweot strains of rausio Are o'er my senses stealing, • And angel voioes near me, Are Heaven's joys revealing. They say, Come sister spirit. Though thy youthful hopes were riven, A purer joy than aught of earth, 'Will soon be thine in Heaven. A golden harp awaits thee, With rohea of snowy whiteness. A crown of glory is prepared, Surpassing noon-day brightness. We oome to bear thee home. Each earthly tie to sever, And God's eternal love, Will give thee joy forever. As she ceased, a smile lighted up her features, and her spirit 'lad passed to heaven, without a struggle, leaving upon her face the impress of beauty almost divine. Of all the friends who had loved her, none felt so utterly miserable as Frederick Le- roux. When her mother, who was seated beside her, said calmly ; " The pure spirit is released." Frederick Leroux came to her side, and, looking sadly upon the beautiful inanirnate clay, he said, in tones of deepest an- guish : " Oh, God ! the light of my life is darkened forever !" and, stooping, he impressed a kiss upon the pale brow ; then, without uttering another word, he left the room. Nor did he ever look on that sweet face again. When her funeral took place in the 120 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. little chapel, two days after her death, it was not attended by a long train of distinguished persons, for she was not one of the celebrities of Washington. But true and loving hearts were there, and when the low, solemn notes of the organ filled the chapel, and the voices of the nuns chanted a requiem for the beautiful departed, it fell upon the heart of Frederick Leroux with a softening influence, and the despair and hopelessness which had benumbed every faculty, passed away, and he was enabled to look forward to a reunion in that realm, to which she, who was too pure, too gentle for earth, had gone, and he mur- mured : " It is ever thus ; whom the gods love, die early." TEIALS OF THE POOK. 12] CHAPTER XIV. TRIALS OF THE POOR. In the ■whirl of fashionable life at Washington, the death even of a President, is scarcely thought of a week after the funeral, and, of course, when an ordinary individual passes away, it is not even known, save to the bereaved ones, that death has been among them. Assemblies, levees, receptions, and balls, with other amusements, occupy the time and thoughts of the votaries of pleasure, leaving no time to soothe the sorrowing heart, or administer relief to the unfortunate. But Annie Grayson was not one of those. Although her position was such as made it necessary for her to receive and give much of her time to society, yet she suffered no day to pass without seeing Mrs. Stanmore. Edwin remained in the city several weeks, being unwilling to leave his mother, until time should have enabled her to feel less severely the loss of Ella. Occasionally, when Annie had an evening that she was not engaged with those fashionable friends who thought they had au entire claim to her society, she would spend an evening with Edwin and his mother ; and happier was she in those quiet even- ings than when surrounded by the gay and fashionable, and listening to the unmeaning compliments which were poured into her ear by the crowds of admirers which were ever in her train. Some were attracted by the reputation of being the possessor of great wealth, and the high position she occupied in the world of fashion; whilst others really appreciated her noble character and were charmed by her graces of mind and' person. Among 122 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. the latter class was the Marquis B., and he remained in Wat ington, with the hope of winning her to be his bride. ****** The elite of the federal city are all excitement and anticipation, for the lady of the French minister had sent out cards for a grand ball in honor of the Marquis, her nephew. The Melvina Janes, Ophelia Anns, Cecilias, and 'Amelias, who consider them- selves the beauties and belles of their set, are all deeply engaged in shopping, giving orders to dress-makers, looking at jewellery, and discussing the manner in which they will have their hair dressed, with as much earnestness as if these were the most im- portant matters in life ; and indeed they do regard them as such, for each thought at the coming ball she should make a conquest of the Marquis, and secure to herself the most desirable match to be met with in Washington. The day preceding the ball has arrived, and' heaven have mercy on the dress-makers, for their sister mortals have none ! After having scarcely taken time to eat or sleep for the past week, and thinking they will soon put the finishing touch to the beautiful dresses that are to render the wearers conspicuous at the coming ball, for elegance and taste,- some capricious beauty, who never knows her own mind two hours at a time, after hav- ing her dress made and trimmed precisely by her direction, when it is sent home finds it does not look so becoming as she fancied it would ; therefore, it is sent back with a message some- thing of this import : That she is surprised any one with the least pretension to good taste, should send such a piece of work from her shop, and unless she will alter it according to a direction she sends, in time for this evening, she will never give her another bit of work as long as she lives, and she will prevent her friends from giving her their custom also. The mistress of the shop looks at the dress, then at the over- worked and wearied-looking girls in her employ. She is on the point of returning the dress with an indignant message, but the thought, that she is dependent on such as she, for employment for herself and girls, obliges her to repress her indignation, and say to the servant in a bland tone : TEIAL3 OF THE FOOK. 128 " Tell your mistress, we -will make every possible exertion to hajge it as she wisnes it, by eight o'clock." Emma Carlton, who, the preceding winter, had been one of the mos,t admired in the world of fashion, is now, as well as others, engaged in the same occupation, obliged to toil at un- reasonable hours, and put up with the whims and caprices of those spoiled children of fashion, who, it seems, are not aware that those who are obliged to labor, possess any sensibility, or can ever become wearied. Emma endures it all with the fortitude of a stoic, when it affects only herself; but when her mother and those whom she at times hires to assist her, are oppressed by It, it weighs heavily upon her heart. She, during the past week, with a little French girl to whom she had given employment, had sat up sewing till twelve and one o'clock every night, and yet, she, on the morning preceding the ball, has just commenced a beautiful satin she is to make for Annie Grayson ; but the others are all finished and sent home, and she looks up at her mother with a cheerful smile, saying : " Well, mother, we have a good day's work before us ; but dear Annie will not find fault, if we are a little late : Eulalie and I can finish it by half past eight o'clock this evening, so you need not assist us, to-day." " Oh, I am so glad ; for my head aches so severely, I am almost blind, and if you can get it done, I will lie down till I feel better." " Do so, mother dear, and be sure you give yourself no un- easiness about the work, it will all be done in good time, for I will have every thing ready for Eulalie by the time she comes, and then we will both go to sewing, and we will soon finish it." Although Emma spoke so cheeringly to her mother, her own temples were throbbing with pain ; her overtasked energies were just ready to give way, but they were sustained by a determined will. She had cut all the trimmings and prepared everything for work, but Eulalie had not yet come. " I fear that she is sick," said she to herself: " she is very deli- cate ; and I, who am blessed with such good health, am almost exhausted. Oh ! did the daughters of fashion know with what aching heads, as well as hearts, their elegant dresses are some- 9 124 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. times prepared, they would not he so exacting ; and if a fold or a pufF did not just suit their taste, they would not insist that it should be changed, when there was no time to do it." She went to the door, to look if she could see her coming. Just as she opened it, Eulalie stepped on the door-sill, looking as if she would faint ; and had not Emma caught her and sup- ported her to a chair, she would have fallen. Emma snatched up a bottle of Cologne which was on her work-stand, for she had been using it for a headache, and bathed her face and temples. In a few moments color returned to her lips, and she smiled faintly, saying,— " Nothing has so strengthening an effect on me as Cologne, when I feel weak and faint. I told mamma this morning if I only had some Cologne to bathe my face, I would be able to take some breakfast — then 1 should not have felt so faint.'' " You should not have come out when you were too unwell to take any breakfast,'' said Emma, looking with compassion on the pale, delicate creature before her, and forgetting her own per- plexity in commiseration for the sorrow-stricken face before her. " I often feel so, and a walk in the fresh air revives me : I knew how much was to be done to-day, and that my assistance could not be dispensed with." " But, my dear child, you are not able to sew." " Oh, yes, I shall soon be well — I was only overcome with fatigue." " Well, you must lie down on the lounge and rest, whilst I prepare you a cup of coffee ; then, if you feel strong enough, we will both go to work, and we will get through by the time it is needed." Eulalie did as Emma desired her, for she really felt perfectly exhausted, although she tried to persuade herself and Emma that she would soon feel as well as usual. Emma brought her a nice cup of coffee. When she had drank it, and partaken of a bit ot ham and a fresh light roll that Emma had insisted she should taste, she felt much refreshed ; and the two girls had just taken their seat beside the work-table, when a rap w as heard at the TEIALS OF THE POOR. 125 door. It was opened; and the maid of Miss Wilkie entered, bearing a bandbox. Emma, with a look of anxiety, said, — " What is wanted, Chloe ?" " Why Miss .Clementina says as how she don't like the puffs on the skirt of her dress. She wants them taken off, and plain folds in their place." " She ordered it to be trimmed in that manner." " But she changed her mind since, 'case Miss Jennys got puffs on hers, and my young missus is mighty 'fined in her idees ; she can't bear to wear nothing like that poor uncultivated white gal." " Did she tell you so V " No, but I knows it ; she just told me to tote it here and have it changed ; but I's so used to young missus, I knows her thoughts by the cut of her eye." "Well, Chloe, go back to your mistress, and tell her my mother is so unwell, she is unable to assist me to-day ; Eulalie is scarce able to sit up, and we have just commenced a dress that is wanted for this evening. If she can wait 'till to-morrow to have the trimmings changed, it will be a great favor." "But laws, she wants to wear it to-night." " Yes, but when she knows how I am situated, she would per haps wear it as it is for one evening." " I don't believe she will, but I'll go home and ax her." Chloe returned in a few minutes, saying, " Miss Clementina must have the trimmings changed. When I told her your mammy was sick, and Miss Eulalie looked as pale as a sheet ; Miss Jenny tried to persuade her to wear it as it is, telling her, she thought it was wery handsum, but this only made her more unreconciled with it, and she was agoing to box my ears for having the impidence to ax her to wait 'till to-morrow, and she said people what had to work for their living, had no business to give up for every little pain and ache. So I just run back to tell you she must have it fixed right this evening." Whilst Chloe was telling"' what her young missus said, Annie Grayson came in,- and Emma said to Chloe : " You may go home and tell your mistress, it shall be done.'' 126 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON". Without giving any further attention to Chloe, Emma turned to Annie, and told her what trouble she was in. Annie said, " she should give herself no uneasiness, but put her dress away, she was perfectly indifferent about having it for the ball. It would give her far more pain to know any one worked upon it when suffering, than it would to do without it." " Oh, Annie, were there more such as you, how much would the sufferings of the unfortunate be lessened. When every nerve is throbbing with weariness and pain, how greatly is it increased by the reproaches and fault finding of many of our employers ; and we are tempted to sin by wishing for the rest and quietness of the grave." " I trust you have never been tempted thus far." "Not yet, but I sometimes fear when I look on others, I may be.'' As she uttered this remark, a slight moan fell on her ear, and looking toward the window where Eulalie was sitting, she saw her leaning on the window sill almost gasping for breath. She ran to her, took her hand and spoke soothingly to her, telling her she must lie down, and not attempt to work any more during the day. " But you will not be able to retrim that dress without my assistance." " Give yourself no anxiety about that,'' said Annie, approach- ing her. " I have two or three hours to spare, so I will send the carriage home instead of making some calls as I designed doing, and I will assist Emma in your place." " Oh, you are an angel of mercy. I have oflen heard your name coupled with 'the prayers of the unfortunate ; may sorrow never cause a tear to stain thy fair cheek." Eulalie was prevailed on to lie down, and Annie sent the car- riage home, telling the driver to return for her at three o'clock. This done, she went to work to assist Emma in arranging the trimmings on Clementina's dress, and before three o'clock they had it nearly completed. When the carriage came to drive her home, she insisted upon driving round and setting Eulalie down at her mother's ; for the poor girl was really not, able to walk TRIALS OF THE POOR. 127 three squares, -which was the distance she lived from Mrs. Carl- ton's. When Annie arrived at home, her mother was quite in- dignant that she should be obliged to attend the ball without a new dress for the occasion. But Annie was so happy in the reflection that she had been the means of giving some comfort to a sorrowing heart, that the regrets of her mother did not affect her. And that evening, if she was not arrayed in a dress of the latest style and most costly material, she was adorned with that which gave her a beauty surpassing that which is derived from the taste and art of the dress-malcer. A pure and gentle spirit invests its possessor with charms almost divine. The elegant mansion of the representative of France, is crowded with fashion and beauty. His accomplished lady, with a grace peculiarly her own, receives her guests, and, with a tact which belongs to the French, makes each feel that the evening's enter- tainment would have been incomplete, without his or her presence. Musio^alls the young and joyous to the dance, whilst the light jest and gay laugh speak of happy hearts ; yet even in this brilliant assemblage, where all wear so fair an outside, there are some in whose hearts the feelings of envy and jealousy mar the pleasure they otherwise might enjoy. Clementina Wilkie, as usual, was the centre of an admiring crowd. Near her was a lady who was not remarkable for talent or beauty, but she had the good fortune to be a favorite of Miss Wilkie's, and thus was brought into observation, by being ever near that star of the first magnitude. And it was whispered by some, that the secret of her being regarded so kindly by the beautiful and accomplished Clementina was, that she was ever ready to" depreciate, by some unkind remark, the merits of those who possessed qualities likely to render them rivals of the peerless belle. Be that as it may, she was very much disposed to make remarks of not the most amia- ble character. Clementina was engaged in an animated conver sation with the Marquis, on the exquisite taste of French ladies in dress ; when Annie passed, dressed in a plain simple white dress, with no ornaments on her person, save a necklace of pearl, and a white rose in her hair. The eye of the Marquis rested on 128 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. her admiringly as she passed, -whilst the shadoir of a frovra flitted over the fair brow of Clementina, which Miss Coats, her friend, observing, remarlced : " I think Miss Grayson might have condescended to honor our hostess, by dressing with a little more elegance for her ball." " She could not have dressed more becoming to her style of beauty ; she looks like an angel in that pure white robe, una domed with jewels." " Perhaps some of her admirers have whispered something of that kind in her ear," said Miss Wilkie, " and that is the reason why she is so plainly attired ; it is a very pretty conceit, an angel among us common mortals." " I know. Cousin Clem, why she hasn't got on a new dress," said Jenny Lumpkin, who happened to be near, and heard the above conversation, " she is an angel of goodness.'' The shadow of a frown upon Miss Wilkie's brow, darkened to a reality,- as she turned to her cousin, and said : " I presume. Miss Lumpkin, it is of no interest to the gentle- men to know why a lady wears a certain dress at a party." " Oh, yes," said one of the gentlemen, "do, let us hear it." Jenny then related the incidents of the morning, as they oc- curred in Emma Carlton's sewing room, which had been witness- ed by Chloe, and repeated by her to Jenny. When she had con- cluded, the Marquis remarked : " I hope the lady who so unfeelingly persisted upon the change in the trimmings of her dress, will derive as much pleasure from the opportunity of exhibiting herself thus attired, as she inflicted pain upon the poor overworked sewing girl whom she obliged to change it. — 'Tis strange,'' said he half musingly, " that vanity and love of admiration will make ev'en gentle woman forgetful of her better nature." At this moment, a gentleman came to claim Clementina's hand for the dance, and the Marquis, turning to Jenny, entered into conversation with her, for her praises of Annie Grayson was music to him. He soon discovered, that although her language had not that elegance and refinement which captivates the listen- er, she had a kind and generous heart, and he listened to her TRIALS OF THE POOB. 129 remarks with pleasure. After conversing with her some time, he asked her to promenade with him, and we see our plain coun- try girl, who does not make any pretension to the airs and graces of city life, receiving attention from one who has been an honor- ed guest in the saloons of royalty itself. Annie Grayson could not enter into the spirit of the gay scene about her, for her thoughts frequently reverted to the sad and suffering countenance of that fragile looking creature she had met at Emma Carlton's. She determined to call in the morning, and offer her every kindness in her power, and much was it needed. Por whilst all was music and mirth in the mansion of the French Minister, the mother of Eulalie was watching, almost broken hearted, beside her daughter, who was tossing in a burning fever, which had been brought on by over-exertion, in assisting to prepare the elegant dresses, the presence of whose wearers added bril- liancy to this gay scene. Very many such pictures of suffering may be seen in Washington, by those who will take the time to look beyond the glittering surface of society. Whilst in one square is reverly and feasting with a profusion amounting to waste, a few doors distant is sickness and sorrow with the most abject want. The child of poverty craves the grateful juice of the orange to cool her fever-parched lips, which the mother has Eot the means of procuring, whilst the pampered child of wealth will fret because its appetite is satiated, and it does not enjoy the delicacies spread before it. Eulalie Duprfe, towards morning, fell into a short slumber, and when she awoke, she said : " Oh, mother ! I had such a pleasant dream; I thought we were again in our sunny southern home, and I was picking oranges fresh from the trees, and they were so grateful to my taste." "To-morrow, you shall have one, if I do without my breakfast to procure it for you." " And do you suppose I could taste it, when I knew it was procured at such a sacrifice 1" " 'No, darling, that is the trouble ; you have sacrificed your health, and would sacrifice your life for my comfort; and yet are unwilling for me to deprive myself of anything for you." " Mother, I am young, and can endure hardships ; fflit it would 130 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOIT. be too hard for you, now when you are old, to be deprived of every comfort." " Ihave one blessing of more worth than the wealth of India. I have an affectionate, generous-hearted child ; and whilst heaven spares me my child, I will endeavor to not repine at the losses 1 have sustained." In converse like this, the weary watches of the night wore away ; and just as day dawned, both mother and daughter slept, forgetting for awhile their cares. jenny's DESCEII^TION OF CITY LIFE. 131 CHAPTER XV. jenny's description or city life. The sun was shining brightly into the humble apartment occu- pied by Madame Dupr6 and her daughter, when Eulalie unclosed her eyes. Her mother still slept ; and as she looked upon the beautiful but care-worn features of that idolized mother, she murmured, scarcely audibly,- — " Yes — oh, yes, I have been tempted to commit that great sin of wishing for the rest found in the quiet of the grave, not realizing in the anguish of my heart the wickedness of murmur- ing at the dispensations of divine goodness." Then casting her eyes on a small painting which hung at the foot of the bed, representing Mary and the child Jesus, she extended her hands towards it, and ejaculated, with much fervor, — " Oh, thou Saviour of mankind ! who descended to earth and endured all the sorrows that hurpanity suifers, give me grace and strength to bear, with a spirit of resignation, the trials that may be mine, feeling they are sent to chasten and purify the , spirit, fitting it for heaven. Thou hast promised to care for the widow and ci-phan, and I will trust in thee." As she uttered the last sentence, a smile indicating a peaceful confiding spirit passed over her beautiful features, for Eulalie Dupre was exquisitely beautiful. When Madame Dupre awoke, she was happy to find the fever which had raged so fearfully during the night, much abated, and Eulalie suffering slightly in comparison to what she had endured. She arose, and of the small stock of fuel with which she was sup- plied, she made a ohee^-ful fire, making the room comfortable. 132 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. She then prepared a cup of tea and some toast for herself and daughter. Eulalie, although she had no appetite, forced herself to take something for her mother's sake. After partaking of some refreshments, she attempted to rise, but found herself too weak to do so. She sank exhausted on the pillow, saying : " Mother, I will have to lie in bed to-day, but do not be anxious, I shall be well to-morrow ; the effects of one night's fever will not last long." Poor child, it was not one night's fever that had reduced her thus. It was the constant unwearied exertion of months ; she had overtasked her energies, and now they had given way. The mother, as she pushed back the raven hair from the fair, pale brow of her child, and gazed into her dark loving eyes, ex- claimed : " Oh, my precious, my only one, I have permitted you to wear cut your young life for me ; the rose of health has faded from your cheek, and the elasticity which belongs to youth, has given place to the languor of debility. I noted it day by day, and yet was unable to shield you from the constant exertion that was thus wearing your young life away, and now you are laid upon a bed of sickness ; what is to become of us !" " Let us put our trust in our heavenly Father : He, who sent the ravens to feed his prophet, will not forget us, if we*put our trust in him." • " I know not from whence help will come." " Nor I ; but I know dear, kind-hearted Emma Carlton will be to see me, and I will ask her to send me work whilst I am unable to go to her room to sew." " But, my dear child, you are unable to do anything, if you had the work in the house ; you cannot even sit up." " I will be better to-morrow, dear mother ; I prayed for a trusting spirit whilst you slept, and God in mercy gave it to me. I feel assured he will not permit us to be tried beyond what we are able to bear." Whilst she was endeavoring to infuse into the heart of her mother the same faith that sustained her own, Emma, accom- panied by Annie Grayson, called. Annie, with that grace and jenny's description of city life. 133 kindness which springs from the heart, addressed Madame Du- pr6 with a.% much respect as if she had been mistress of the proudest mansion in Washington. After speaking to the mother, she approached the bed where the daughter lay, and as she looked upon the pale high forehead on which intellect sat en- throned, she took deep interest in that lone girl. Turning to Madame Duprc, she said in a low tone that Eulalie might not hear her : " Madam, having met your daughter at my friend Emma Carl- ton's, where she was quite ill, I took the liberty of calling to in- quire after her health. I am happy to find she is much better ; yet her appearance indicates extreme delicacy of constitution, and I fear exposure and exertion might bring upon her that blight of the beautiful — consumption." " Ah, my dear young lady, it is that thought which makes me wretched ; but should that be the case, I will not be the first un- fortunate mother who has not been able to shield her child from such a fate. And who, with a breaking heart, has watched day by day, her heart's only treasure engaged in those tasks, which she knew would bring her to an early grave. God only knows the sorrows of the unfortunate." " I would avert such a fate from your daughter. I have rarely met any one in whom I felt so great an interest. I have no sis- ter or brother ; permit me to be as a sister to your beautiful daughter, dnd supply you, until her health is perfectly restored, with those comforts which she supplied by her labor. The boun- tiful giver of all good, has lavished on me the gifts of fortune, and I would manifest my gratitude, by administering to the wants of those who are less fortunate." So kindly and gracefully was assistance offered, that the proud Madame Dupre felt that she could receive it without a feeling of humiliation. When Annie left, she placed in her hand her purse, saying : " Accept this for your daughter's sake, and tell her she must permit me to be her friend." " She will be too happy to accept your friendship, for 'tis but few who seek the friendship of the poor." 134 THK BELLE OF "WASHINGTON. When they had gone, Eulalie, who had been conversing with Emma whilst her mother was engaged with Annie, said : " Mother, dear, did I hot tell you our Heavenly Father would care for us 1 See here ! Emma brought me three dollars, and says I shall have work in the house. So dismiss your fears ; we shall not perish for want of fuel to warm us." " And see here !" said the mother, displaying the purse left by Annie ; " this will procure for you some of the delicacies a sick person needs, and will enable you to let sewing alone until you regain your strength. Oh, she is an angel of mercy, sent to drive away the feelings of despair that was gathering about my heart. And she said you must give her your friendship." " Her generous kindness would win all hearts to love her ; she is one of the noble beings sent upon earth, that we may not lose our faith in human goodness." Whilst Annie Grayson is soothing the sorrows of the unfor- tunate, by gentle words and generous deeds, Clementina Wilkie is wasting the morning in slumber ; and when she does arise, she makes every one within her influence, uncomfortable by her fret- fulness and discontent. The voice of Annie, which was naturally full of music, seemed to become more sweetly musical, from her habit of speaking in gentle tones to soothe sorrowing hearts, and a more elevated and soul-speaking beauty sat upon her features. Nature had been equally kind to Clementina, in be- stowing upon her a voice attuned to sweetest melody, with beauty of the highest order ; and she had cultivated the art of conversation, giving to every word a perfect enunciation, and in the blandest tones, giving the most elegant intonation to lan- guage when, in society, sh e was conversing with senators, secre- taries, and gentlemen distinguished for literary and scientific attainments. Yet, her constant indulgence in fault-finding, in harsh, imperious tones, when not in society, was having its effects on her voice ; for, sometimes, when excited, she would, unawares to herself, utter a sharp, discordant sentence, which was the more noted from its striking contrast with her usual low, silvery tones. Let us look in and see how Clementina is engaged the morning after the ball. She had risen about twelve o'clock, and JElSnsrY'S DESCBIPTION OF CITY LIFE. 135 after rating the servant, for not divining just what moment she would choose to rise, and having her breakfast prepared for her at that moment, she declares she will not eat any thing, if she had to wait for it. " Laws, Miss Clementina ; I'll have you a good cup of coffee in five minutes." " That is just five minutes too long ; you ought to have had it ready." " But you knows. Miss, if it ain't right fresh, you won't drink it, and I did not know jest what minit you'd git up." " Well, and if I have to wait five minutes, I won't drink it," saying this, she left the dining-room and proceeded to her aunt's room. When the cook was assured she was out of hearing, she turned to her fellow-servant and said with a low chuckle : " Now, I wonder who Miss Clem spites, 'case she don't eat nothing, not me I'm shore ! I likes to please people, but when they won't be pleased, I'm not a gwine to fret myself." " I'll tell you what it is," replied the other servant, "I likes Miss Jenny a sight better than I does Miss Clem, and she's more of a lady, if she don't look so grand and palavering like before company." " Yes, indeed," answered the cook, " I calls them ladies what's always the same thing and knows how to treat servants." Whilst the servants were discussing the qualities of the two young ladies in the kitchen, Clementina was venting her ill- nature by complaining of Jenny's rudeness and want of polish. When Clementina entered her aunt's room, after leaving the dining-room, to her aunt's inquiry, how she felt, she replied : " Oh wretched, wretched in both body and mind ; I cannot endure the annoyance of being accompanied by that rude, unpo- lished niece of yours. Whenever I go to a party, it destroys every particle of my enjoyment." " Why, my dear niece, she does not seem to intrude herself upon you ; I observed last evening, she scarcely came near you the whole evening V 136 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " But her very presence in the same room mortifies me, be- cause it is known such a rude creature is my cousin." " I thjnk, niece, you are rather prejudiced against poor Jenny, and cannot do her justice ; last evening the nephew of our ac- complished hostess, paid her the compliment of promenading with her, and you must admit, he is one of the most refined gentlemen to be met in Washington society. And, our hostess herself remarked, there was a simplicity and freshness about her that was very interesting." " That was only a refined way of saying she is an ignorant fool." " I also overheard Annie Grayson telling a gentleman, who inquired who she was, that she was a young lady from the west, and that she possessed many amiable qualities." " Who cares for Annie Grayson's good opinion 1 She could find amiable qualities in a street beggar." " Well, it was the attention we received from Mrs. Grayson, that enabled us to get into good society." " Ah, Mrs. Grayson is a very different person from Annie. But it's no use talking, for I am determined in future, if Jenny goes to the parties, I will not. So, somethhig must be done to prevent her from going, or I stay at home." " Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Anythhig to make you satisfied." " I do not know what you can do with her unless you send her to Georgetown to school : there she would be kept close enough." " I will send her there with pleasure if she will go." " If she will go? I'd make her go !" " That is easier said than done. She has ^n independent spirit, and a will as unyielding as yours when she determines on a thing. But she has been kind and afTectionate to me,' and com- plied with every wish I have expressed. I will propose it to her." After having made her aunt thoroughly uncomfortable, she went into the parlor, where she found Jenny seated at the piano, jenky's description op city life. 137 amusing herself by thumping upon its keys and singing as loud as she could. Clementina, -who was in no amiable humor before, was now almost furious ; and, in an angry voice, she exclaimed, — " It is more than human patience can bear to have a coarse country bore like you stuck up in the parlor to annoy me with your boisterous screeching." Jenny, who was very quick to observe everything, had caught many of Clementina's elegant phrases, and could imitate her manner and voice precisely. Without leaving her seat, she turned towards her with a look brimful of mischief, and said, — " Is it the lute-toned voice of the starry-eyed Miss Wilkie, that greets me I" " I believe you are an imp of the devil !" " What exceedingly beautiful language ! it vibrates upon my spirits-chords like soft, sweet music." " If I had my way, I would turn you into the street." " I have not the least doubt but you would, fair lady ; but that would be no great hardship either, for I learn, from the daily conversation of our lady visitors, that good servants are scarce in the city ; and as I learned to do all kinds of house- work when at home, I am sure I could soon get a good situation as servant, and would not that be a good subject for gossip — the cousin of the accomplished Clementina Wilkie a servant !" " That is all you are fit for ; and I do wish you were at home milking cows, feeding pigs, and such other employment suited to you." " Thank, you, Miss Wilkie, for your kind wishes : I would love dearly to see my cabin-home — there is kindness and love there, if not elegance. I believe you are passionately fond of music, fair lady, and in return I will favor you with some ;" and, turning to the piano and beating its keys violently, she commenced singing : So you wisli I was in Illinois, A milking of the kine, Toting the calves to pasture, Or feeding of the swine ; 138 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Or himting of the hen's nests, In the stable, 'mong the hay, I've performed these tasks right blithely, In my merry childhood's day. I've plucked the prairie flowers, In the joyous months of spring, And chased the painted butterfly, That gayly spreads its wing ; When voices of glad music. Were heard all o'er the plain, — I dearly love my humble home ; Would I were there again. As she sang the last stanza, her voice became softened and subdued, as if the memory of a happy picture were called up. The spirit of mischief and mocking died out in her heart, and in her eye a tear glistened. Eising, she approached Clementina, saying : " Cousin Clem, I would love you if you would let me ; my heart yearns for love and kindness. I know I am uneducated, and in that respect vastly your inferior ; but when you remind me, in taunting words, of the immeasurable difference between us, it rouses the quick spirit in my bosom, and I use taunting words in reply, but I regret it as soon as it is passed. Let us in future avoid such things. I admire your beauty, and when I listen to your conversation with the gentlemen who frequently visit here, I am delighted. If you would only cultivate the heart as well as the intellect, what a peerless, glorious creature you •would be." " Your compliments and advice are as annoying as your taunts," was the reply of th^spoiled beauty. . Jenny, without saying any thing more, went to her room. She naturally possessed a fine mind, as well as a good heart, and she had improved much, by her short association with culti- vated and intellectual society. When the deep emotions of her heart were touched, she expressed herself with elegance, con- sidering her want of education. But she was full of mischief, and when her cousin provoked her too far, she would retaliate, by assuming the manner and language of the most ignorant booby. ^ jenny's description of city life. 139 As she had remarked, her heart craved love and sympathy. She threw herself into a seat, and a train of thought something like this, passed through her mind. " I would not exchange my own humble home, with its sweet affections, for the elegant man- sion of my aunt, with the heartlessness and want of generous sympathies of its inmates. True, I covet knowledge, and its refining influences ; but if, by acquiring it, I lose the generous impulses that are now swelling in my bosom, I would not pos- sess it ; for the most ennobling passion of earth, is sympathy for, and a desire to make our fellow-beings happy. But it is no use to sit here thinking and moping. I will go and write a let- ter home." " Mr DEAR Brothers, — I promised you, when I left home, to describe everything I saw in Washington. I have not kept my promise very well, but I will endeavor to do better in future. I am growing very wise since I came to this city, where the wise men of the nation assemble every winter. I have learned more of life and human nature^ during the few weeks I have been here, than I would have done at home in 'an age. I have tested the truth of the adage, that, " All is not gold that glitters." f There is much tinsel, which one at the first glance, would beliwe to he gold, but it would not bear a close examination. Yet, there is much true goldl However, I sat down to describe, not moralize. ^ Well, I will commence by describing a party I attended at the French Minister's. " Astonishing !" I fancy I hear you exclaim. " It can't be possible that our sister, was at a party at a Foreign Minister's house." Well, it's the tii^h, and what is more, I ac- tually promenaded — that means walked — through the rooms with a real nobleman. I reckon you are very curious to know what nobility are like. Well, I'll tell you, they are just like other people. I always had an, idea that if I were to see a nobleman, I would feel kind of scared, and .would not know what to say, but I'll declare, last evening I felt more at my ease, while the Marquis was talking to me, than I do when in the society of most of the people I meet in Washington. — He talked to me about the prairies in Illinois, the Mississippi river, and all such things. It 10 140 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. seemed like he knowed I could talk much better about them than anything else, and asked about them on purpose. I've found out what true politeness is, it is to make those in your society feel easy and comfortable, and that is what the French people do, and that is the reason why they are called the politest nation in the world. Now, a great many of our people think the way to show politeness, is to take on themselves grand airs, as much as to say, see, how polite and genteel I am, but I've found that is not true politeness. Oh, I've learned sights of things since I came here. The real lady never takes any airs on herself, it is she that pretends to be something, and even a country girl like me, can see the difference between those that think they are ladies, because they have got money to buy fine clothes, and those what are true ladies. Law, I have written my whole letter and have not described anything ; well, next time I write, I'll de- scribe the Senate and House of Representatives. Give my Icve to papa and mamma, and all the children. ar loving sister, " Jenny Lumpkin." ■* Jen^ had just finishe^her letter when her aunt came into the room. ^After speaking about the ball of the preceding evening, she proposed to Jenny to go to school. Jen^^ieard the pro- position with pleasure, and Clementina will sOTn be ridl of her annovance. I FREDERICK MEETS A FRIEND OF HIS CHILDHOOD. 141 CHAPTER XVI. FREDEEICK MEETS A TRIEND OF HIS CHILDHOOD. It was one of those bright wintry days, that makes the heart bound with animation, and which calls forth the beauty and fashion of Washington, when Annie entered the parlor, equipped for a walk. She observed her cousin leaning upon the centre- table, seemingly absorbed in painful thoughts. Approaching him, she said : " Come, cousin Fred, I will not permit you to indulge in sad and gloomy reflections this bright mormng|; you must go out and make some calls with me." %^ " No, no, dear Annie, my heart is tte sepulchre of blighted hopes, and I cannot mingle with the glad and gay." " It is not theBlad and gay I design visiting, but the suffering and un&rtunate^ Come with me, and by alleviating their suffer- ings, ytu will lighten the load of grief that waighs upon your bosom.j ^P " Here, take my purse, and use i^ contents for the relief of the poor, but do not ask me to acco^any you ; for, the bright- ness of the day, by its contrast with the darkness of my spirit, seems a mockery rff my feeKngs." " I insist upon your accompanying me this once. I am going to call on a poor widow and her daughter. I met the daughter at Mrs. Carlton's ; they once resided" in the south. Eulalie, the daughter, is one of the most spirituelle looking creatures I ever met." . ^i '" ,/;. "In m^HthoJ'd, I had a playmate of that name; well*!©'!'' remembewhSr, We were much together, for she was the god- 142 THE BEiiLE OF WASHINGTON. child of my mother ; she was dear to me as a sister. I was a wild wayward boy, and she was a sweet gentle being, with thoughts and feelings beyond her years. I remember, as if it were yesterday, how, at the sweet sunset hour, when I would be ■'rolling my hoop, or bouncing my ball, she would call to me, saying : " Come, Freddy, do come sit by me, and let us talk about the beautiful sunset." Sometimes, I would do as she wished me, and when the rays of the departing orb of light would tinge the clouds with purple and gold, she would ask me, if I did not think God sent his angels to paint the sky, to give us an idea of the beauty of Heaven, and make us good children, that we might go there. Frequently, I would make some light reply, and she would gaze on me with her dark dreamy eyes, as if she would read my heart, and say : " Oh, Freddy, I am afraid you are a naughty boy, and do not think enough about Heaven." I have not seen or heard from her for many years. After the death of my mother, her father sold his plantation, removed to New Orleans, and engaged in mercantile business. For a time, we kept up a correspondence, children as we were. At length, I became negligent ; finally, our correspondence ceased, and I have never heard anything from her since. If she be living, she must be beautiful and gifted, and an ornament to the society in which she mingles." " Well, will you accompany me V " Yes, for the name of your protege has slightly dissipated the stagnation that was gathering'" round my heart, and called up memories of by-gone years, with something like a pleasurable emotion." " Let us go immediately, and when you see her, you will feel some interest in the present." It had been several days since the ball, and Eulalie was able to sit up. When Annie and her cousin called, they found her alone, her mother having stepped out to^see a sick child. As «ntered,*Eu]alie raised her eyes, ^^H^ Annie had time to t her cousin, he was by her side, ha^^ized her hand, and 3d if her name was not Eulalie Dupre " It is," she replied._,^^j^ ' FEEDEEICK MEETS A FEIEND OF HIS CHILDHOOD. 143 " Have you forgotten me, Frederick Leroux, the playmate of your childhood V " Oh no, the memory of that happy period often recurs to me. But so changed are you, I should not have known you." " And you too, how changed you are ! But your eyes are the same: I recognized you the moment you raised them to my face." " I did not know you were in the city." " Nor did I .dream of meeting you. But you have been un- fortunate. How is it that I see the daughter of the wealthy planter occupying this mean abode V " The old story — fortune lost by abused confidence." " But why did you not apply to me ? I have wealth more than I can use ; and who has so good a right, as my mother's god- child, to share it with me V " Had my god-mother lived, I should have felt no delicacy in applying to her, when misfortune came upon us ; but to you I could not apply. With my father's loss of fortune, came estrange- ment of friends. I am happy to learn that fortune has been propitious, and no shadow has darkened the pathway of the play- mate of my childhood." " Ah, my cherished friend, there are other sorrows beside the loss of fortune, that cast a shadow dark as night on the future ; but of thai we will not speak. I am alone in this dreary world ; you must, for my sainted mother's sake as well as my own, per- mit me to be a brother to you. You and your mother must accompany me to my home in the South, and time may enable us to forget the sorrows we have enmlred." " Oh, that will be happiness, to see my dear mother pleasantly situated in the sunny clime, where the happiest hours of her life were passed ! It was seeing her deprived of all the comforts to which she had been accustomed, that made me feel so keenly our losses.''' "Whilst they wer^gj^ersing, Mrs. Dupre retur»ed, and *Fred insisted that she sMJ^^^ive him the privilege of acting as if he^ were her own s^Knd she should permit him to procur^flMI boarding until t]^H|^Id return -to his home in Louisiana. Sb» 144 THE BELLE OF WASHIJSTGTON. told hini she could accept much from the son of the most che- rished friend of her youth ; but she felt that that would be taxing his kindness too far. However, she was prevailed on to accept his offered kindness ; and in compliance with her wish, that he should procure a situation in some quiet private house, he got his cousin to call upon Mrs. Stanmore, and ask her to give them a home in her house during the winter. Mrs. Stanmore said she would be happy indeed to do so, for Edwin wished to return to his western home, and yet remained on account of his unwilling- ness to leave her alone. Mrs. Dupre and her daughter removed immediately to Mrs. Stanmore's, and ere a month had passed, Eulalie had recovered her health ; and her amiability so won the heart of Mrs. Stanmore, that she told Annie she felt dis- posed to claim her as her own. And Frederick Leroux, who could not be prevailed on to mingle in gay society, was fte- ■ qiieirtly' a visitor at this quiet mansion. EuJalie, who had for him the regard of a sister, endeavored to rouse him from the deep melancholy that preyed upon him, by every means she could devise. When she would speak to him of the future, and what his native state expected of him with his educat||n and talents, he would reply, with a mournful voice, — ^^0^0 not know how heart-broken I am." " But, you should not yield to such despondency," urged she : "it is uij^nly — unworthy the proud, high-spirited boy, who was ,the playmate' of my childhood. Do you remember the high aspirations! thlit swelled in your boyish bosom 1 — how you used to t^l me of the high positions you meant to attain in the coun- cils of the-nation V " Yes, I remember them ; but a brighter dream than that of fJime 8'rossed my spirit. Now that the vision of beauty and goodness that called it up has passed from earth, I can only brood, oyei! the past. You have never loved, or you would kuoN^how I feel." A slight blifth suffused her cheek as she replied : (.. 'JjYes, I have loved; and the dream that, for a time, le warmer, brighter hue to life, was destined, 'like your own, leave me with an aching, hopeless, b'^art. Would you hear th| FBEDEBICK MEETS A FRIEND OF HIS CHILDHOOD. 145 incidents of my life since we played together beneath the orange groves of your own beautiful home ? It will perhaps while away an hour." " Yes, Eulalie, tell them to me : I feel more interested in you than any other human being, for you mingled your tears with mine over the grave of my mother — the first real grief that ever fell on my heart. And the second was the loss of my little playmate when your father moved to New Orleans ; and who could then have imagined our next meeting would be in the Federal city, under circumstances so changed ? But tell me how that change came about." " When my father moved to New Orleans and engaged in the mercantile business, for a time success crowned all his under- takings, and he was considered one of the wealthiest men of the city. When I had completed my education, and was presented to society, I was surrounded with admirers, for my father was wealthy. I listened to their compliments^and fine speeches with indifference, for none of them came up to my ideal of the being upon whom the deep love, of which I knew my heart capable, was to be bestowed. " Whilst at school, I had contracted a friendship with a girl about my own age ; she was an orphan, both her parents being dead ; she had an only brother, who though poor, edu- cated his sister, by denying himself every recreation and plea/- sure that the young are fond of indulging^'n. . Julia Ppyton and I, completed our education at the same time. The evtening pre- vious to our leaving school, I was enumerating the Taffl^ *Klea- sures I anticipated, and asked Julia if she did'fe^t reiaE jnJih e prospect of being emancipated from school. 'W^^Bj "'No,' she replied, 'for whilst we are in the confestWUKmft the distinctions which the world makes between the r;ch and poor are not felt. But when we go forth in society, then must the pathway of the rich merchant's daughter, and the pocr clerk's sister, diverge widely. It will be painful for me t» give up*that intea-course, which for the past two years, has given me so much pleasure. You will not miss the society of poor Julia Peyton,' for friends wil] crowd around the beautiful, accomplished and 14:6 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. wealthy Eulalie Dupr6. Whilst I shall have none, save my brother, to speak a kindly word to me.' I replied to her, * And do you think me so heartless as to let the want of wealth be a barrier to our friendship. No, indeed, I will visit you more frequently than I do any other friends.' " She gave me her address ere we parted, and true to my pro- mise, I called on her in a few days. She and her brother occu- pied a sweet little cottage surrounded by a garden. The jasmine was trained over the window, the rose and sweet briar were beside the door, shedding their perfume on the gentle breezes, that made music round the eaves of that lowly home. Though the home was lowly, its inmates were possessed of a lygh order of intellect. Charles, the brother, after the toils of the day were passed, devoted himself to study ; he was a severe student, pre- paring himself for the bar. But I will not describe him, suffice it to say, in him I found my ideal, and poured out my heart's deep affections on him. Summer glided by and winter was ushered in. It was one of unusual gayety. Ere its close I had several offers of marriage, but to the surprise of my father, I re- fused them all. Among my numerous suitors, was one of the partners of the house in which Charles was employed. One evening, just as the sweet spring flowers were bursting into bloom, I called to see Julia ; when her brother came in, he seemed sad and dispirited. I laughingly asked, 'how it was possible to wear so gloomy a face in the joyous spring time?' " ' When the heart is sad,' replied he, ' a shadow will naturally rest on the brow.' " ' But 'why should your heart be s^d V " ' I have learned to regard your visits to Julia, as the bright spdis of my monotonous life.' " ' Then, why look so grave at finding me here f " I scarce know what was his answer ; but before I returned home that evening, he had declared his love in burning words that found a response in my own heart. A few days after, Mr. Beekman, his employer, urged his suit : I refused him ; he ap- pealed to my father, who was desirous to see me united to him. My father wished me to reconsider the matter, and probably I FREDERICK MEETS A FRIEND OP HIS CHILDHOOD. 147 would give him a favorable answer : I told him it was useless, that my heart was already engaged. He insisted upon knowing upon whom I had bestowed my affections, and whenifce learned it was a clerk in the employ of Mr. Beekman, he was perfectly furious. He forbid me visiting Julia again, saying*he had toler- ated our intimacy, because he thought his daughter too proud to be in any danger of falling in love with a clerk. I told him, although fortune had acted the step-dame toward Charles, nature had bestowed on him her choicest gifts. However, my father determined I should not see him again, for, in a few days, he an- nounced to me his intention of spending the summer in the North. I called and bade adieu to Julia and her brother ere we departed. Sad indeed was that parting, for my father had called and heaped reproaches on Charles for stealing the affections of his daughter. His proud sensitive spirit was deeply wounded. We parted sadly, I to mingle in gayeties for which I had no relish, he to en- gage in the duties of his station. When we returned in the fall, I resolved to see my friends again. I called at the cottage, but found it occupied by strangers. To my inquiries respecting its former inmates, they could give no answer. Not long after our return from the North, the commercial and fashionable circles of New Orleans were startled by the announcement that my father was a bankrupt. Large speculations, entered into by his partner during his absence, had turned out unfortunate, and they were obliged to suspend payment. My father gave up everything to his creditors. My mother had a small estate ; this she disposed of, and we were persuaded by a friend to come to Washington, and he would procure a situation for my father in some of the public offices. But before leaving the Crescent City, I was sorely tried. Mr. Beekman again sought my hand. My father, whose spirit seemed broken by the unlooked for misfortune that had reduced him from affluence to poverty, begged me to accept him, saying I was unfit to brave the trials of poverty, but was formed to grace the position I had occupied, and which might' still be mine. It was hard for me to resist the earnest entreaty of my father, and the mute appeals of my mother's sorrowful faoe ; yet, I had courage to be true to myself, and not sacrifice* the better 148 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. portitm of my nature for gold. My father finding me inflexible in my determination, we came to this city. The friend who had induced myjiithei- to come, wrote to the Secretary of State, who was a relation of his, that a situation given to my father would be esteemed f personal favor. My father, immediately afler our arrival in the city, called at the Secretary's residence, but was told that it was not the hour that the Secretary received visitors. The next day he called at the State department, and had the extraordinary good fortune to be permitted to see the Secretary. He presented the letter to him, and as it was from a particular friend, he actually read it, which, we afterwards learned, was a great act of condescension on his part. When he had finished reading it, he turned to father, telling him to call again, as he was very busy to-day, but he would be happy to oblige his friend by serving him, and he should be attended to at his earliest con- venience. My father returned with a lighter heart in his bosom than he had felt shice his failure ; he was confident, ere a week should have passed, he would be provided with a situation, which, if it did not enable him to live in the style to which he had been accustomed, would keep his wife and child from actual want, and for this he would be thankful. The week passed, and he called again on the Secretary. This time he did not see him. He called again and again, but with the same success ; he was always engaged, or out, or some other excuse. At length my father became thoroughly discouraged, and would call no more. The money we had brought with us, was fast disappearing. Some- thing must be done ; so I called myself upon the wife of the Secretary, stated our situation, and asked her to interest herself for us ; she promised to do so, telling me at the same time, she doubted whether any thing could be done for us. " My father now wrote to the Secretary, asking for a carjdid answer, whether he would receive a situation or not. He 'vns assured he would receive one. Week after week passed by. It has been said, ' Hope deferred, makes the heart sick ;" in this instance, it made the body sick too, for my father was now pros- trated on a bed of sickness, bx'ought on by anxiety and care. He lingered a few weeks, and then died ; and the day before his FEEDEEICK MEETS A FEIEND OF HIS CHILDHOOD. 149 death, we received a communication notifying hiui of his appoint- ment to a situation, with a salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. I felt indignant, and might have been unjust, for I fancied the Secretary, and those having patronage, considered it a kind of stock belonging to them, to trade on, and attach as many political friends to themselves as possible. I imagined they knew that my father was at the point of death, and they had sent him the appointment, knowing he could not live, to satisfy the friend who had recommended him, as he possessed much influence with his party in his own State, and when my father died, they could use the appointment to bestow upon the protege of some other politician, thus adding another to their list of supporters. Now, I do not blame those having the appointing power, for not giving office to all that apply, for ♦'hat would be impossible, as the num- ber of applicants is so great ; but when they have no situation to give, they should say so candidly, and relieve the applicant from that suspense and uncertainty which wears the spirit out, and prevents him from seeking other business. But I am di- gressing from the incidents of my own life. After the death of my father, when we had defrayed all the expenses attendant upon i his sickness, our stock of money was very small, and the shock''^ of grief fell so heavily on my mother, that she was incapable of attending tft any thing. " My first thought was to lessen our expenses, the next to procure work. Before the expiration of a week, both of these were ac- complished. I rented the poor tenement you found us in, pur- chased the scant supply of furniture you saw, and removed im- mediately from our boarding house, telling the ladies in the house, I would deem it a favor if they would permit me to, do any sew- ing they wished to have done. They gave me sewing ; but it was making of shirts, and I soon saw, that, at the prices paid, we could not keep actual want from the door ; consequently, I sought employment with a mantua-maker, and wftj|S0 fortunate as to be employed by Emma Carlton, who was considerate and kind, al- ways paying me extra, when we were crowded with work. Not- withstanding my exertion, we had to deny ourselves many of the comforts of life ; and sometimes, when I would look on my mo- 150 THE BELLE OF WASHINGtOK. 'ther, who had been accustomed to life's luxuries, deprived of its comforts, my heart would reproach me with selfishness, that I had not sacrificed myself, by marrying one whom I did not love, thus securing her a comfortable home. In time, another anxiety was added to the many that already oppressed me. I felt that my health was failing : the exertion I was obliged to make was more than my constitution was able to bear ; and the thought of what would become of us when I was unable to earn the pittance that sustained us, haunted me day and night. I would endeavor to reassure myself, by saying, God will not forsake those who trust ill him ; but my heart was sad. However, the event has proved that, in the hour of need, he did not forsake us, but sent us succor, by the hand of yourself and cousin. And I now feel that I have n'uch to be thankful for, notwithstanding the bright dream of love that glowed in my bosom has ended in sorrow. I will endeavor to manifest my gratitude by an active, useful life ; and I trust you will not be found to possess less strength of character than a girl, but will shake off the lethargy of grief that is paralyzing your energies, and devote the talents, with '^■^MBbich you are so eminently gifted, to the service of your coun- " Eulalie, you have taught me a lesson that I will profit by, and no longer brood over my heart's blighted hopes. But there is a difference between us : my happiness was dashed from me by my own folly." " Or rather by the art of a cunning, heartless woman." " I trust, she may suffer the pangs I have endured." " That is an unchristian sentiment, and should not be permitted to dwell iu your bosom. Think not of the past ; but look to the future." " Henceforth, that shall be my motto. As I cannot love again, I will woo fame ; and you shall see me occupy a high place iu the councils of my cc^try." A DINNER-PAETT. 151 CHAPTER XVII. A DINNER-PAETY. " Cards for a dinner-party at Mrs. Parkinson's," said Annie Grayson, handing an invitation to Fredericlt Leroux : " you pro- mised you would overcome the morbid melancholy that is steal- ing over you. Shall I say accepted for you 1" " I would rather it had been any other place than there. It is . exceedingly unpleasant for me to be in the society of Clementina Wilkie. However, you may decide for me." " I think it will be better to accept, as it will be a gratification to mamma, and I love to give her a pleasure when I can do so consistent with my notions of right." " You are, dear girl, a true:SOuled woman, and I will be guided by your counsel whilst I remain in the city. Had I done so sooner, I would not now — But of that I will not speak. Hence- forth, the past will be buried deep in my bosom, and the present and future shall constitute my life. I will mingle in society, practice all the graceful courtesies of life, without any heart, for that is what passes current in Washington. Mere externals, a fine display, without any regard to moral elevation or, purity." " Nay, nay, cousin Fred, you should not say the society of Washington. They to whom you allude, are the trading politi- cians, adventurers, and fashionable ladies, who are drawn to the Federal city during the sessions of Congress. But, among the true society of Washington, you will find as high a standard of morals, and as much Christian charity, as in any other city in the world. But these virtues do not meet the eye of the visitor and stranger : they are quiet and unobtrusive, whilst the frivolity 152 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. and vain show of the heartless and pleasure-seeking crowd, attract the attention of all." "I know, cousin Annie, you are all that is noble, generous, and kind, with a heart to feel for, and a hand to alleviate the sorrows of your fellow creatures ; but where can you point me to another like yourself?" " There are many who devote as much to ameliorating the sorrows of the unfortunate as I, but you must go into abodes of misery to recognize them." But we will look in on Clementina Wilkie, who is seated be- side the centre- table receiving the answers to the invitations that had been sent out. When she received a note from Annie Gray- son, containing an acceptance for all the family, including her cousin, something like a flush of triumph passed over her fea- tures, as she mentally exclaimed, — "I feared Frederick Leroux would avoid me, but, fortunately for my plans, he has accepted my aunt's invitation. Let me but get his society, and I can fas- cinate him. 1 know all his tastes and preferences, as well as his weak points. He is a great admirer of personal beauty, and has a keen appreciation of fine language — these are mine ; and now that death has removed Ella Stanmore, I can attach him to my- self." But she forgot in her calculations, that a true woman's heart was above all else, and in that she was wanting. The day of the dinner-party has arrived, the guests are assem- bled, the table is spread with every luxury that wealth can pro- cure to tempt the palate of the sated epicure. Wine sparkles in the cup, and ere the close of the banquet, not only gentlemen, but fair ladies, had partaken of the juice of the grape, until they were scarcely aware of what they uttered. Annie Grayson looked on with pained feelings, resolving, as far as her influence would extend, to repress that tendency to dissipation, which seemed to be increasing among those who should be above the indulgence of such degrading appetites. She has seen the bril- liant orator, and elegant scholar, reduced to the lowest state of degradation, by intoxication. And this love of drink had been acquired at these expensive banquets. Whilst many of the guests were boisterous, Clementina, who A DDTNEE-PAETY. 153 was seated beside Frederick, was busy with the thought of en- grossing his attention. After conversing with him some time, she remarked, as if casually : Mr. Leroux, we have seen but little of you in society of late ; I thought you were perhaps about to turn recluse, and renounce the pleasures of life." " No, I only withdrew for a time, that I might renew, by com- muning with my own spirit, the purer, better feelings of my na- ture ; for, by being constantly engaged in the pursuit of light pleasures, the soul naturally loses that purity which assimilates man to the heavenly beings, and that elevation of sentiment which calls forth the highest aspirations of his nature, and he becomes the slave of debasing appetites and ignoble passions." As he concluded his remark, he cast his eyes around the table, as much as to say, here is a proof of the truth of what I have said. Clementina understood his glance, and replied : " It is to be regretted that those who belong to the best society, should so far forget themselves as to indulge in excess ; but yet that is no reason why persons should deny themselves the pleas- ures of society, because some who mingle in it, fall beneath our standard of what society should be. But we will not discuss this matter now ; call to-morrow evening, and let us have a game of chess. There is something rational in that." " You will excuse me, but I have become indifferent to chess playing." " We will have some music." " Even that cannot attract me." " What does interest you ?" " Reading, study, thought." " You are about to turn philosopher, I presume." " I have some such thought, and the first subject I intend to investigate and analyze, will be the heart of a woman of fashion." " That will be an intricate subject ; and if you should be able to thoroughly understand it, you will rival Solomon himself in wisdom." Ere the dinner had come to a close, Clementina, with her quick 154 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. perception of character, was convinced that she could never again exert an influence over the aristocratic and rich Southron. She could not divine the cause, for she was not aware that her utter heartlessness and want of feeling were known to him. Although she knew not the cause, she was convinced of the fact, and re- solved to waste no more smiles and fine speeches on him. When they returned home in the evening, Mr. Grayson ob- served his daughter was more than usually thoughtful. And to his inquiry as to the cause, she replied : " I was thinking of asking a favor of you." " What is it, my darling 1 you know I never refuse you any- thing." "But this is something more than common." " It shall be granted, cost what it may." " It will not cost anything." "Well, what is it?" " That you will dispense with wine at your next dinner party." "That is an uncommon request; but what put such an idea into your head ?" " The witnessing of an indulgence in wine drinking to such an excess, that it amounted to actual intoxication, at the dinner parties of these who are deemed the first in society. We look upon the poor drunken loafer in the street, with loathing. And is drunkenness less debasing, because it is occasioned by sipping wine at a gentleman's table V "But custom has rendered it necessary to have wine; it is considered an indispensable part of the feast." " Yet, is it not better to violate a custom that has so injurious an effect, than to conform to it?" " True, it would be much better, but then to do so would sub- ject one to unpleasant remark." " To remark it might subject you ; but the usages of society are such, that how much so ever our guests might be surprised at the absence of wine on your table, they would not betray it by word or look. I am sure you are not one to be deterred from doing what you conceive to be right, on account of what a babbling world may say. I look upon this wine drinking as a A DINNER-PAETY. 155 very great evil, and the more so because it is so insidious in Ita advances. 1 have myself observed gentleman, who came here from different parts of the Union as members of the national legislature : when they first came here, they would scarcely take a glass of wine ; but in time, by being frequenters of dinner parties, they would contract a fondness for wine, and I believe to this cause is to be attributed those disgraceful scenes that some times occur in the halls of Congress, among those who should shed honor upon their positions, instead of bringing disgrace upon them. Every debauch a man indulges in, lessens, in some degree, his self-respect, and his respect for his country. And what is worse still, it is at these dinners ladies also take so much wine, that they descend from that purity and sacredness that should characterize our sex." " Why, my little daughter should turn temperance lecturer ! She is really eloquent." " Father dear, do not ridicule me, I am seriously earnest in what I am saying." " Well, my darling, I feel the truth of what you say, but am reluctant to grant your request." However, Annie with her earnest persuasion, prevailed on her father to discard wine from his table, and he gave her the money he designed spending for its purchase, to distribute in charity. And how much better its use. — If woman will only be true to ber better nature, how unbounded her influence for good. If she would listen less to the promptings of vanity, a weakness said to belong peculiarly to her, many of the foibles that now mar the beauty of her character would be avoided. Whilst Annie was ever busy in alleviating the distress, and soothing the sorrows of others, her own heart grew sad in her bosom, for she had heard through various channels, tjiat Edwin Stanmore, who was regarded as one of the most promising and talented young men of the West, was about to wed an apcom- plished and beautiful lady of St. Louis. She loved Edwin wit}i a depth and devotedness, such as only the good and true are cap- able of feeling. Yet, she had never permitted herself to aria}yzp the feelings with which she regarded him. But when she hpard 11 156 THE BELLE OF "WASHINGTON. htWf he was about to wed another, she was made aware that e^ bright hope of the future had been interwoven with thoughts'! hitn. It was like a rude awakening from a pleasant dream, but she did not faint, nor yield to frenzied despair, according to the most approved manner of novel heroines. Yet, when she retired to her own room, she recalled the past, with its happy memories and sweet associations, then looked to the future, breathing a prayer for strength to bear her crushed hopes without despond- ency. Despite her efforts, there were times when an overpow- ei-ing sadness would creep over her spirits ; but instead of yield- ing to it, she would visit some suffering fellow creature, and lose a sense of her own sorrow in sympathy for the woes of others. But let us leave Washington for a time, and transport our readers to the sanctum of the Quincy editor. He is absorbed in a deep reverie. Of what is he thinking 1 Perhaps of some bril- liant editorial that will add to the reputation he has already ac- quired, as a superior writer. Or, it may be, he is meditating some political manoeuvre that will advance the interests of his party, and secure to himself political advancement. No, no, it is not of these he is thinking. But let us listen, for he gives ut- terance to the thoughts that are passing through his mind : " I would that I had breathed my love to Annie when I last visited Washington ; perchance, if she knew my heart's long cherished deep devotion, it would call forth a corresponding sentiment in her bosom. But my pride restrained me ; I wished to attain a position that, even her vain, haughty mother might not look down upon. I trust another year it will be attained. 1 have every reason to believe I will be chosen to represent my district in the halls of Congress. That has been the aim of my life since boyhood, and it was love of Annie that nerved me to pursiie it so untiringly. " Yet, ere that time, she naay be the bride of another, and then success would scar.ce be worth possessing. Oh, how I have worshiped her, and she is worthy of the noblest heart's adoration. She l)*s been the leading star of my life. And with what kind- ness her sympathy hg,s been given in every sorrow. With such ^n angel ever by nay §}de, earth wpuld be a paradise." fA DINNEE-PAETY. 157 US, we see, whilst Annie was endeavoring to efface his image her heart, because she thought his love was given to another, every hope of happiness, that was cherished by him, centered in her ; and, could she have known it, she would have been spared many sad hours. Her step became less elastic, and her cheek grew a shade paler, but none noted it, save Eulalie Dupr6. She noted it, and divined the cause ; for she had observed, during the few days that Edwin had remained at home after she became an inmate of his mother's house, that, in his presence, Annie's cheek assumed a brighter glow, and her voice a softer tone ; and, having loved herself, she knew how to interpret these symptoms. Had Annie trusted herself to speak of Edwin with as much freedom as she had formerly done, she would have been undeceived with regard to his rumored marriage. But she never breathed his name ; and Mrs. Stanmore, who supposed she had ceased to feel an interest in his success, did not as she had been in the habit of doing, read his letters to her. This, Annie supposed, was caused by the letters refering to his marriage ; and she was glad that Mrs. Stanmore did not read them to her, for she felt that she would not have endured to listen to the reading of such a letter. Notwithstanding her true piety, and her endeavor to keep her- self actively engaged, she, at times, felt that life was a weariness, and she would gladly sleep in the quiet of the grave, beside Ella, the playmate of her childhood. Although she did not entertain these thoughts willingly, the deepest remorse would seize her, that she had permitted them to enter her heart, for she deemed it a murmuring against the dispensation of God. How much of unhappiness, in this lifa, arises from misapprehension. us lile, ari3 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XVIII. THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT. It is a drear, cold morning. The fast-fallitig snow almost darkens the light of day, whilst the chSl wintry winds sweep through the streets and avenues, sending a feeling of sad for- boding to the heart of the toil-worn widowed mother, as she looks upon her thinly-clad children, and scant supply of fuel. Winter, which is the time of trial and suffering to the poor, is the season of mirth and pleasure to the wealthy. Mrs. Parkinson and her two nieces are comfortably seated in her luxurious parlor, discussing a party they had attended the previous evening. Clementina, who happened to be in an amia- ble mood, actually condescended to chat pleasantly, when she had no auditors but the members of her own family. It is a singular fact, but nevertheless true, that many of those angelic creatures, who nightly assemble in the brilliantly-lighted saloons, making them almost a paradise, with their sweet strains of music, witching smiles, and softly-murmured poetic thoughts, use their entire supply of amiability^aj^iese occasions, leaving Done for home consumption. Fatherg^^^miothers are regarded by them as mere conveniences to furnisrWhem with money, and keep their French-worked finery in visiting order. As for younger brothers and sisters, they are annoyances that have no right to an existence ; and if they happen to intrude themselves into that part of the house sacred to Miss and her visitors, they receive a box on the ears that sends them reeling, and perhaps squealing from the room. Clementina belongs to this class, but on this morning she was in an unusual mood. What has had such a- ^1^ THE BEOKESr ENGAGEMENT. 159 ^^Hdly influence upon her? Let us listen to her conversation ; perhaps we may learn. " Aunt, how did you like the appearance of the gentleman who waited on me at supper last evening ?" " He is a fine-looking man." " I have made a conquest of him ; he is perfectly fascinated.'' " Who is he ?" "Judge C , a new member from one of the Western States ; and I see, by Mrs. Eoyal's notice of him in her last week's paper, that he is unmarried and very wealthy. So, upon the whole, I think it quite a feather in my cap, to make a con- quest of him. Eich, intellectual, and a member of Congress." " A member of Congress," repeated Jenny. " It seems to me, you Washington people think nobody but members of Congress are worth a thought. Well, well, we have hundreds of men at home, just as good as those we send to Congress, and perhaps better than some of them ; for, it is not always the man who possesses the most merit that comes to Congress, but he who has the gift of electioneering to the most advantage ; and sometimes they stoop to little trickery that a real gentleman will not de- scend to. Now, just fancy one of your finely dressed, dignified Congressmen, who makes such a display as he promenades the Avenue, seated in a rude log cabin, with a dirty-faced, ragged youngster sitting upon each knee, he pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, and brushing a little of the dirt from about their chops, so that he can kiss them without its producing the effect of an emetic, declaring all the time they are the sweetest little darlings he ever saw ; or, in canvassing the district, he may, toward night fall, happen* upon some comfortable farm house, where there are two or three grown up daughters, sprightly, industrious, sensible girls, and the father, of course, very proud of them. Our would-be Congressman, who wants the vote of the old man, sets about playing the agreeable to the daughters, as the surest way of securing it. But he does not play the •agreeable by quoting poetry, going into ecstacies over the last new song, or almost expiring with delight at the recollection of the latest polka, as he would do were he addressing a city belle. i60 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Oh, no, this is not the mode to be pursued here. He would be considered an upstart, conceited jackanapes, unworthy the vote of any sensible man. But, if one of the girls happen to be par- ing a basket of apples for sauce, for the next morning's meal, he will call for a knife, and assist her ; and, instead of discussing the merits of the last new novel, he will ask her how many yards of cloth she can weave in a day, how much butter and cheese they make during the summer, with other such topics of con- versation. When the hour for milking arrives, he will accom- pany them to the cow lot ; and when the calves have obtained their quantum of milk, he will seize the calf by the ears, and drag it into its own pasture. A fine tableau, to see one of these starched gentlemen dragging a calf by the ears, whilst the farm- er's daughters, who understand the philosophy of penning a calf without any effort, stand by, much amused at his violent exertion. Nor are they so unqualified to converse upon intellectual sub- jects, as the conversation he_addresses to them presupposes. You must not always judge by appearances, in these backwoods places. You may see a girl dressed in her home-spun dress, the product of her own industry, yet her mind is stored with useful knowledge ; she is . acquainted with the current literature of the day, which she gathers from newspapers, besides being familiar with all the incidents of ancient and modern history, that are worth noting. However, there is a good reason why it should be so ; for there, reading is a recreation, and the mind becomes interested in the acquisition of knowledge. Whereas, here, in the city, there are so many things to divert the mind from its at- tainment, that, as a natural consequence, the girls grow up light- minded, and deriving pleasure from trifling pursuits. " One evening, it is the theatre, the next, a concert, or a party, a ball, or something else, keeping the mind in a constant whirl of excitement, leaving not a moment to anything, but dress and .amusement." " Bravo," exclaimed Clementina, " you have made quite a speech, but ere its close you deviated considerably from the sub- ject on which you commenced." " That Is true, but when I speak of the West, it always calls THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT. 161 up pictures of simple quiet enjoyment, that makes me forgetful that others do not take the same interest in them that I do." The usual mocking spirit seemed to possess Clementina, for she replied : " Your representation of the mental cultivation of your country lasses, does not correspond with what you were, when you came to the city. But to do you justice, I must admit you have im- proved marvelously for the length of time you have been here." The quick blood mounted to Jenny's cheek, and she was about to reply in a hasty manner, but repressed the angry words that rose to her lips, and answered : " I possessed less opportunity for improvement than the daughters of the better class of farmers. We were poor, and father never took anything but a political paper. Most farmers throughout the West, take a literary paper.'' Just at this moment the bell rang, and as Jenny did not feel any interest in the visitors who usually called upon her brilliant cousin, she quietly slipped out of the room. The visitor, on this morning, happened to be Judge Call, the new member, who had been so much pleased with Clementina the previous evening. And the morning's call increased the admiration with which he already regarded her. She exerted herself to please, and she seldom failed to do so when she wished. Oh, that some guardian spirit would whisper into his ear : — Beware ! Did you but know the life-enduring desolation her wiles have caused in one heart, you would tremble for your own future happiness. Judge Call is a noble-souled, honorable-minded man. After his election, ere his departure from his Western home to attend to his new duties in the federal city, he had obtained the promise of a gentle girl, whom he had long wooed, to become his bride immediately after his return. They had long loved each other with the most devoted attachment, but the haughty mother, who was a widow, would not suffer her daughter to receive his ad- dresses ; because she thought her great beauty would enable her to make, what she termed, a better match. The fair Helen was exceedingly beautiful, and her mother would frequently re- mark, when her companions rallied her on the devotion of the 162 THE BELCE of WASHINGTOHr. Judge, that her daughter must marry some one whose position would enable him to introduce her to Washington society ; for, she had no idea that her beauty should not be known beyond the precincts of a country town. These words being repeated to the Judge, he resolved he would obtain a seat in Congress, if that was to be the terms on which he would obtain the hand of her whom he loved. He became an active politician, was elected to the state legislature, where the course he pursued was so popular, that he succeeded in getting into Congress much sooner than he anticipated. He now felt, that he had a right to claim the hand of Helen. Now that fortune commenced smiling on his efforts, she seemed inclined to shower favors on him ; for, a ricji old uncle, who would not render him the slightest assistance whilst he was struggling to obtain an education and his profession, now determined to make him his heir, and actually made a will in his fevor, just in time to accomplish this design. For he died of apoplexy a few days after it was signed and sealed. He was now deemed one of the best matches in the state, and Mrs. Jones was proud to have it known, that he was the acknowledged suitor of her daughter. This was the state of things when he left for Washington. He was first attracted to Clementina by her resemblance to his Helen. This resemblance was only in personal appearance, for his affianced was all that was artless and pure minded, whilst Clementina was the most consummate actor. It seemed the very contrast of character fascinated him, for ere the close of the ses- sion, she had drawn from him an avowal of love ; notwithstand- ing, the image of Helen still lay nestling in the depths of his heart. As the time approached for his return home, he grew restless and miserable. Waking and sleeping, two images seemed to haunt him, that of Clementina mocking and trium- phant, that of Helen touchingly sad. When he arrived at home, he called immediately at Mrs. Jones', hoping the smile of Helen would restore to him those happy feelings which he had always experienced in her presence. To his surprise, he learned she was absent on a visit to some distant friends. She was sent for im- mediately ; but several days elapsed before she arrived, and dur- THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT. 163 ing that period, his friends observed that he acted strangely, but supposed it was caused by disappointment at not finding Helen at home. When he called on her after her return, he was strangely agitated ; there was a wildness in his manner bordering on insanity. She had felt for some time, from the tone of his letters, that a change had come over him, and when she met him she was convinced her surmises were true. It at once occurred to her that in his associations at Washington he had met some lady whose charms and accomplishments had caused him to wish to be free from his engagement to her, and, with that straight forward simplicity which always characterized her, she said to him : " For some time past, I have been unhappy ; it seemed a spirit voice whispered to my heart that your love, which was the light of my life, had been withdrawn from me. If it be true, you are released from your engagement." " I do not wish to be released from my engagement ; I am here to fulfil it. Let our marriage be consummated imme- diately." Helen gazed into his face with a penetrating earnestness, as if she would read every emotion of his heart, whilst she said : " Your answer does not content me. You say, ' Let our mar- riage take place ;' but if there is a voice whose tones make sweeter music to your ear, and an eye whose glance seems brighter, then would I not wed you for worlds. A voice whispers me such is the case. I entreat you to speak frankly to me. Show rne your heart as was your wont to do in happy days gone by. I feel that there is something in it that I do not know." " Oh, Helen, I am wretched, miserably wretched ! I have not ceased to love you ; but I labor under some strange hallucination. In Washington I met a lady, the counterpart of yourself in ap- pearance, yet all unlike you. She is gifted and accomplished beyond any person I have ever met. She exercised over my senses a kind of bewildering spell, that I cannot comprehend." " 'Tis true — I knew 'twas true !" exclaimed Helen, " and no phantasy, produced by lowness of spirits, on account of your absence. Go, wed this beautiful and accomplished being, and 164 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. be happy. I will learn to forget the bright dreams I had cherished." " No, Helen, that cannot be. At the bare -thought of aban- doning you and uniting my destiny to hers, I feel as if fiends were searing my brain with red hot iron. No, no ; let us be mari'ied immediately, and then I shall regain that quiet happi- ness which your presence ever casts around me.'' " Not so ; the dream is past — I can never be your bride," was the low reply, in a voice so full of woe, you would deem it the wail of a breaking heart. But Helen's heart did not break, for she was a strong-minded woman ; yet, the sudden blighting of those long cherished hopes, caused her a fit of sickness that brought her near to the grave, and from which she recovered to learn that Judge C. was the inmate of a mad-house. The rose never bloomed again on her cheek, nor did she ever get married ; but she lived to be a blessing to the poor and suffering. Wherever you heard of sickness, there you vVould see Helen Jones, holding the cooling draught to the parched lips, or bathing the fevered brow of the sufferer. Seldom was she heard warbling glad strains of music to gratify the joyous and gay, but often was her ex- quisite voice heard chanting the sweet and comforting hymn be- side the sick and sorrowing. She was an angel of mercy on earth ! This course chafed the proud spirit of her mother, and there were not persons wanting to say it was a judgment on her, for her opposition to Helen's marriage with Judge C. ere he attained wealth and station. When her mother would reproach her for wasting her youth thus, she would reply gently — " Mother, the youth of my heart has passed away, and the only pleasure I enjoy is derived from imparting solace to my fellow beings : do permit me to indulge in this pleasure." Thus adjured, she would leave her to pursue her own wishes. Judge C. died in the lunatic asylum to which his friends con- signed him. He perished in the opening of a brilliant career, a victim to the wiles of an accomplished and heartless coquette. It is much to be regretted that such sirens are sometimes still to be met with in the gay society of Washington. And they MIB BROKEN ENGAGEMENT. 165 cast their witching spells around any who may come within their circle, perfectly indifferent whether the gentlemen are married or unmarried so they elicit their admiration and secure their atten- tion, to wait upon them to balls, assemblies, and other places of amusement. 1.66 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOS. CHAPTER XIX. THE LEVEE. When Jenny retired to her own room, she thought of her cousin's words with something like bitterness in her heart. She thought of Clementina's easy graceful manners, her extraordinary mental attainments, which fascinated all who came within her influence ; and a feeling almost akin to envy, for the first time, arose in her bosom. Communing with herself, she said : " Why should I feel thus ? Would I exchange with her, tak- ing her heartlessness and selfishness, with her accomplishments and intellectual superiority 1 No, no, I do not covet the admi- ration of the crowd ; I would rather have the love of one honest, noble heart, and be worthy of that love, than the mere admira- tion of all the distinguished men of Washington. There is a heartlessness about it, that is like a sealed book to an untrained country girl. And I am glad it is so. This exchanging of com- plimentary phrases without feeling what you say, is not in ac- cordance with nature. Oh, it is a blessed thing to live in the country, and have the heart expanded and made capable of lov- ing with truth and earnestness all that is worthy of our love, by looking on the beautiful face of nature as it came from the hand of its Creator ! But in the city, from infancy, children are taught, that the great end and aim of life is to attract admiration ; con- sequently, they become selfish." This train of thought was interrupted by the entrance of her aunt, who sat and conversed with her some time ; for her unself- ish and self sacrificing disposition was making its impression on TBE LEYEE. 167 Mrs. Parkinson. She found it very pleasant to hear Jenny say, in her sweet affectionate way, when she came in from calling or, shopping, and felt warm or fatigued s " Aunt, sit in this easy chair, and let me take your things and fan you." Or, when she read anything that interested her, she would take the book or paper into her aunt's room, saying : " Dear aunt, here is some- thing so interesting, do let me read it to you." When Mrs. Parkinson entered the room, she observed Jenny looked more thoughtful than usual, and placing her hand on her head, she said : " Child, what makes you look so grave V " 1 was just thinking of the difference between Clementina and myself. I don't wonder that she thinks I am rough and un- couth." " Never mind, you know I promised you to send you to the Academy at Georgetown, and you will have an opportunity of becoming polished as she. But I do not know that it is best for girls to get too much knowledge ; it makes them regardless of every one, unless it is some learned person like themselves. Now, here you will fan me and read to me, or go and take a drive with me whenever I propose it, whether you feel like riding or not. But if you were learned like Clementina, you would be like her, unwilling to wajte your time in driving about to gratify an old woman's whim." " Never fear, aunt ; I think if I were indebted to your kindness for an education, I should feel under the greater obligation to de- vote my attention to you, to repay you for your generosity." " You think so now, but you will change." " Try me." " Well, I'll do so. You may go to school as soon as yoii please." " Then, let it be next Monday." " If you wish it, we will go to-morrow and see the sisters, and make the arrangements." " That is a dear good aunt," said she, kissing her affection- ately. As the rays of the sun falling on the ice will, in time, melt it, 168 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. so Jenny's constant kindness was melting the pride and selfishness from about Mrs. Parkinson's heart ; and she kindly returned the caress, and left Jenny alone. When her aunt had left her, she took out her writing materials, and wrote a letter home ; and, as some of her notions are somewhat original, we will give the letter for the amusement of our readers : Mt dear Brothers, When I wrote you last, I said, in my next, I would write to you about the Congress, and so I will ; but I must tell you, first, that I am going to school, and I will learn to play on the piano, and all these fine things that are considered necessary to make a lady. I think I hear you exclaim : " Oh, fudge ! what will our Jenny do with such fine lady notions and learning, when she gets back home? I suppose she will be taking airs on herself, and turn up her nose at us and our plain neighbors.'' But, if you think so, you are altogether mistaken. I have seen enough of this turning up of noses since I have been in Washington, to find out that it does not add to the beauty of the lady, or the dignity of the gentleman. Why, here you will see some young jackanapes, who has rubbed his back against college walls, and whose person is cloth- ed in fine broad cloth, perhaps at the expense of the merchant, with his dainty hand encased in white kid gloves, making a dis- play of himself on the Avenue, and if he happens to meet an honest industrious merchanic, or tradesman, who is a useful mem- ber of society, and possessing every attribute that constitutes a gentleman, yet, he will turn up his nose, and perhaps level his quizzing glass at him, as if to examine what kind of a being he is. I have become so perfectly disgusted with such airs, that there is no danger that I will ever take any upon myself. But I suppose you think I will finish my letter without saying anything about Congress. I am going to tell you about that, now. The first time I went to the Capitol, I went to the Senate, and was very much interested' in looking at the grave Senators, as they sat in their seats, and in listening to their speeches. My next visit was to the House of Representatives. TIIK LEVEE. 169 Wlien I took my seat in the gallery and looked down on the floor, it put me in mind of a school of big boys when the Master ■was absent, for they seemed to be engaged in anything but making laws for the government of a great nation, judging from their appearance. One man, I supposed was making a speech, for he stood in one place and gesticulated violently. The others were some of them, walking about, talking to each other, whilst some were writing, and a small number were reading the news- papers. I could not hear a word the individual standing on the floor said, save, when he bawled at the top of his voice, " Mr. Speaker," and I presume no one else did, for no one seemed to try to hear but myself The ladies in the gallery were chatting to the gentlemen by whom^they were accompanied, or smiling and bowing to members on the floor. These speeches made in the House of Representatives, are seldom listened to by the members themselves, or visitors ; but they are printed and sent through the country for the enlightenment of the constituents of the honorable gentlemen, to let them know what giant statesmen they are. My private opinion is, that it would be a great saving of time, money, and lungs, if they would just have the speeches printed, and sent round through the country, without speaking them in Congress. And then, it would be the means of prevent- ing these quarrels and fights, which sometimes take place in the Hall of Representatives ; which is setting a very bad example to the people, to say nothing of the pulled hair, and slapped jaws of the honorable gentlemen themselves. However, I'll not say any more about Congress in this letter, but say something about the levees at the President's. I believe, I told you in a former letter, that the house of the President was thrown open once every week, and every one that wished, had liberty to go there to see the President and his family. A great many persons go there, but not so many to see the President as to show themselves. After speaking to the President, visitors generally go into the east room and promenade round it. Those who do not wish to pro- menade, can take a seat on the chairs and sofas, that are ranged along the sides of the room, and watch the gay crowd . as they pass before them. 1 usually take a seat and amuse myself by 170 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON. noting the different styles of dress, and different expressions of countenance of the crowd as they move round before me. For the life of me, whenever I look at them marching round the room, time after time, I cannot help thinlsing of Tom Pilte's old brown horse, moving round in the same path all day, to propel the machinery to grind tan-bark for the use of his tan-yard. Speaking of tan-bark, puts me in mind of leather, and that re- minds me of an incident that is said to have occurred at a levee some years since. A very worthy gentleman, a resident of a neighboring city, whose occupation was that of shoemaker, by his industry, honest integrity, and excellent moral character, so ■won the confidence and respect of his fellow citizens, that they elected him mayor of the city. One evening whilst he was mayor, he and his family attended a levee. The son was a fine manly youth, full of energy and enterprise. The daughter a beautiful interesting girl that had just burst into womanhood. They had been promenading, and were standing at one side of the room, observing the brilliant throng, when a lady who made great pretension to gentility, gave her head a toss, and cast a supercilious glance at them, saying in a tone sufficiently loud to reach their ears, which she intended it should do. " Don't you smell shoemaker's wax !" The brow of the young girl crimsoned, for she felt it was meant as an insult; but the lip of the brother curled with con- tempt, and his eye flashed fire, whilst he said : " Do not mind her, sis ; our father earns a competence by the honest labor of his hands, and has the respect of all who know him ; whilst hers is enabled to deck her in satins and jewels, by pursuing an avocation in which no high-minded honorable man will engage. But never mind, if I live, I will attain a position that will place me on an equality with the proudest." And Ije has made his words good. He is now one of the wealthiest bankers in the city. Foreign ministers, members of the Cabinet, with the scientific and intellectual, sit at his board. He is the patron of the fine arts, and paintings of the most cele- brated masters decorate his walls ; but the same good sense which marked the course of his father is a characteristic of his THE LEVEE, 171 career. His urbanity of manner wins the respect of all who have intercourse with him, and his liberality in relieving ihe poor is proverbial. The most aristocratic ladies in the city are happy to mingle in the dance beneath the light of his chandeliers, and invitations to his parties are sought with avidity. The lady who made the remark that wounded the feelings of his sister and roused his spirit, the first time she met him at the President's, still mingles in, and strives to be a leader in fashionable society. He meets her frequently at the houses of mutual friends. She is very assiduous in courting the attention of the rich banker ; he is exceedingly polite to her, but has never invited her to his house. She asks one of her friends, who is very intimate with the banker, to procure her an invitation to a large party which is to be given by him during the month. The request is made by the friend, and the invitation sent, but it is enclosed in a note of the following import : "Fair Lady, " A mutual friend intimated to me, that you would condescend to honor my mansion with your presence, if you should receive an invitation to my next party. Enclosed you will find the in- vitation. You would have been an invited guest at my house, long ere this, but knowing the delicacy of your olfactory nerves, I feared they might be offended with the ' smell of shoemaker s wax.' " Yours, with profound respect, When the lady read the note, she crushed it in her hand, ex- claiming : ' " I wish my tongue had been blistered ere I made that unlucky speech; but I've got the invitation, and I'll go. Nobody ^will know any thing of the ungracious note accorapanying it, and it will make some of my dear friends half die with envy, to know that I was at this great party, which is looked upon as the party of the season." So you see some ladies are not very particular how aii invi- tation is procured, so they get it. 19. 172 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON " I must stop writing, for I have made my letter too long already ; but I know you will not tire in reading a letter from your affectionate sister " Jennt." When Jenny had finished her letter, she went about preparing her things for school, with her heart full of happy thoughts of home, and bright anticipations of the future. She noted not the lapse of time, until she heard the dinner bell ring. She then hastily brushed her hair and arranged her dress, for her aunt was very particular about her appearance at the dinner table, and was hurrying through the hall to the dining-room, when she heard the following words in tones piercingly sorrowful : " Oh, for mercy's sake, do not drive me away without per- mitting me to see some of the family !" " Clear out. Missus never encourages beggars,'' was the reply of the servant, and she was about to close the door, but Jenny stopped, saying : " What is it, Ann 1" " Why, here is a poor white child, wants to be troubling Missus." Jenny stepped to the door and saw standing on the steps a little girl about twelve years old, thinly clad, and almost per- ished with cold. She did not stop to ask her any questions, but took her by the hand and led into the parlor, where a cheerful fire blazed in the grate, telling her to sit down and warm herself, and then tell her what she wanted. Jenny did not think what her aunt or proud cousin would say, to see a miserably clad child in this elegant parlor; nor did she think of her dinner; she only thought of the little sad, pale face, that looked so beseechingly into her eyes. When she had warmed her almost frozen hands, she asked her what she wanted. The child raised her eyes to Jenny's face, saying : " Indeed, indeed lady, I never begged before. When father was alive, we had a nice house and everything we wanted, but when he died, we had to leave it, for mother and sister Lizzie could not earn enough to pay for it, so we had to go to a poor THE LEVEE. 173 little house that we get for four dollars a month. Whilstmother kept well, we got along well enough, and always had the money to pay the rent at the end of the month. But mother has beea sick this winter, not able to sew, and sister Lizzie works every night till midnight. When our rent was due yesterday, we had no money to pay it. Our landlord said we might stay till to- morrow, and if we had not the money then, he would turn us out of doors. Mother begged him to let us remain a few days, but he said his tenants seemed to think because he owned houses, they must be allowed to live in them rent free, and if he would listen to their complaints, he would soon not have a house to cover his own head. If such should ever be the case, I trust he will find a landlord with more generosity than is found in his bosom. This morning, Lizzie went to her employer and begged him to advance her enough money to pay our rent, but he re- fused, telling her if she troubled him to advance money, he would not give her any more work. When she came home and told mother, she said, ' Let them put us into the street, for the chill blasts of winter are not so cold as the heart of man to his fellow being.' But she looked so sorrowful, and Lizzie cried as if her heart would break, so I slipped out and thought I would try if I could not beg some money. This is the first house I have stopped at. Oh, do give me something ; if the rich only knew how much the poor suffer, 1 am sure they would not drive them from their doors with unkind words." " What is the amount of rent due V asked Jenny. "Four dollars." " Only four dollars ! and for that amount a wealthy man would turn a sick woman and her orphan children into the street, to perish with cold ! Surely, no one bearing the image of man can be so heartless." " Mother says, money is his God." " I fear it will not serve him in t\he hour of his greatest need ; he will perhaps, then, learn what it is to beg for money, and be refused. Here are two dollars, all I have, but you are welcome to it." The children took the money, saying : 174 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. *' Oh, you are an angel of kindness, to not only give me mo- ney, but to speak so kindly to me. May you never know what it is to want." " Tell me where you live, and I will come to see you ; I may be able to assist you more." The child gave the required direction, that she might find her home, and then left, thanking Jenny with tears in her eyes, for her generosity. Jenny then went to her dinner, but could eat nothing, for thinking of the poor child, and its sick mother. When they had finished their meal, and gone into the parlor, Jenny told her aunt of the poor child, to whom she had given her two dollars, and asked her aunt to add two more to it, and let her go and take it to them, that they might be able to pay their rent, when the landlord called again. Mrs. Parkinson, though not much inclined to exercise the vir- tue of charity, was prevailed on by Jenny to give her some mo- ney for the relief of this suffering family. In the joy of her heart, she carried it immediately to them. When she arrived at their humble and scantily furnished abode, and saw the sick wo- man lying on a poor bed, whilst the daughter was seated by a few coals, that barely sufficed to keep her fingers from becoming stiff with cold, sewing busily, she mentally exclaimed : " Is it possible, there exists a man so devoid of every feeling of humanity, as to use harsh and threatening words to these suf- fering women, for the paltry sum of four dollars ! If that is the effect of riches on the heart, may I continue as I am." At the sound of her footfall, the little girl to whom she had given the money, and who was also engaged in sewing, raised her head, and a smile passed over her pale face, as she said : " Oh, Lizzie, this is the kind lady who gave me money to-day." Lizzie, a pale, delicate looking girl, rose from her work, and offered her a seat, saying : " Fair lady, you know not from what despair your generous gift has raised us. Although it is not the whole amount due to our landlord, I think when we pay him that sum, he will permit us to remain two weeks longer ; and, by that time, if my mother THE LEVEE. 175 grows no worse," and her voice sank to a whisper, and a tear moistened her cheek, " I trust, I shall be able to pay hini the full amount." " I have brought you the amount, and someting more, to pro- cure some comforts for your sick mother." " May Heaven's choicest blessing rest on your head. I am sure my mother will soon be well, when her mind is relieved from the dread of being thrown in the street, and she has some- thing to nourish her ; for the disease has left her : she is only too weak to sit up." Jenny approached the bed, and found it was true. She was suifering more from debility than disease, and what she needed to restore her, was a mind at ease, and wholesome food. She remained some time, and conversed in a che-jrful manner, pro- mising to call frequently. When she left, she had implanted a feeling of hopefulness in the hearts of that oppressed family, to which they had been strangers for many a day. And Jenny ex- perienced a feeling of truer happiness than the hard hearted landlord could even conceive of. This is no fancy sketch ; such incidents are of frequent recurrence in Washington, and, no doubt, in other large cities, where the desire to possess immense wealth is so great, that it chokes up every generous feeling of the heart. 176 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XX. THE REJECTED PEOPOSAL. The winter, with its gayeties, had passed away ; and the gentle breezes of spring, laden with the perfume of flowers, steal through the window, and fan the cheek of Annie Grayson, as she sits in her own chamber, in a musing mood. She had been so absorbed in thought, that she had not noted the lapse of time, and was not aware the shades of twilight were gathering round her, till a servant rapped at the door, bringing a message from her father, saying, he wished to see her a few moments in the library. She immediately went to him. When she entered the library, he said : " Come, darling, take a seat by me, and listen to what I have to say." She drew a footstool to his feet; and, seating herself on it, looked affectionately into his face, saying : " Father, I am all attention ; what is it you have to say ?" He placed his hand on her curls, as he had often done in child- hood, and continued : " Would you like to be married 1" " What a singular question, father. Are you tired of your daughter V " No ; but I have had a proposal for your hand to-day, from one who is worthy of you.'' "Who is it, father?" « The Marquis of B " " I am sorry for it. I esteem the Marquis, but — " THE KEJECTKD PROPOSAL. 177 « But what, my child V " I do not love him." "It is not expected you should give your love unasked : it would be unmaidenly. He asks the privilege of wooing and winning you." " Father, say to him I appreciate the honor he does me, but I am so happy with my parents, I would remain with them." " But, my daughter, you will not always remain with us ; and the Marquis is not only possessed of those intellectual and moral qualities that would make him a worthy companion, but his rank would place a coronet on your brow, and give you a place among the highest nobility of France." " Father," said Annie, in a voice almost reproachful, " I am surprised to hear you, an American by birth, and a Senator by your own merit, which honor was bestowed on you by your generous countrymen, on account of that merit, mention title and rank, as recommendations that should have any weight with your daughter, in her choice of a husband. I could have expect- ed such a thing from my mother, but not from you. It is this weakness that makes foreigners ridicule us. They say, and with too much truth, that whilst we are always boasting of our re- publican institutions and our democracy, there is no people in the world who run after titled foreignei-s with so much eager ness." " There is too much truth in what you say, and I stand re- proved of my folly in mentioning rank and title as an induce- ment to prevail on you to regard favorably the suit of the Mar- quis. But he possesses qualities that render him worthy of you, independent of these, and he loves you devotedly." " I regret that it is so, for if ever I wed, it will be one of my own countrymen." " Well, my daughter, I only wish to see you nappy ; I know your affections will not be bestowed on one unworthy of you, and whomsoever you may choose will be approved by me." " Thank you, my father, for your confidence in my judgment : you -shall find it is not m:splaoed. You will speak to the Mar- quis, and tell him I decline the honor he >vould do me." 178 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. When Annie left the library, she went to the parlor, where she found her cousin Fred awaiting her. " Well, cousin," said he, " have you forgotten your promise to go round with me, and spend the evening with Mrs. Stanmore and Eulalie V " Oh no, I have not forgotten it, for it is such a relief to spend a quiet evening in rational conversation, after the constant excite- ment of mingling with the gay and pleasure-seeking crowd with which I am brought constantly in contact ! And the pleasure they seek, what is if? — the gratifying of their own selfish tastes, regardless of the feelings of a fellow-being." " Well, coz, do not stop to philosophize, but let us go to see our friends." In a moment, Annie was ready to accompany her cousin, and they were soon seated in the parlor of Mrs. Stanmore. When Annie had thrown off her shawl, she exclaimed : " I feel when I get here as if there was an influence about me which tends to restore me to my better self. For, although I do not really enjoy the society to be met in the gay world, yet a "-onstant association with those whose only thought is fashion and dress, will have its effect upon any heart." " They say," remarked Eulalie, " there is a certain titled gentle- man in that gay throng, who has affected your heart very serious- ly. Is it true ?" " There is about as much truth in it, as is usually found in the rumors of They say." " Then if it be not true, we may hope to prevail on you to go with us to your cousin's beautiful plantation in Louisiana. Oh, how happy I am at the thought of visiting again the bright sunny South !" " Yes, cousin, you must accompany us ; we have planned a de- lightful tour. We will leave about the first of June, go up the Hudson, from thence the Canada, visiting the beautiful scenery of the St. Lawrence, and that wonder of nature — the falls of Niagara. When we have sufficiently admired the beautiful and sublime scenery of this vicinity, we will cross the lakes and visit Quincy, Illinois, where, as Mrs. Stanmore accompanies us THE REJECTED PEOPOSAL. 179 we must spenc!r«ome days. And, judging from Edwin's descrip- tion of the warmed-hearted hospitality of the citizens of the State of boundless prairies and beautiful rivers, we shall not be able to leave there for, at least a month, thus making it Autumn, be- fore we shall reach our own home. Is not that a route sufficiently attractive to induce you to accompany us 1" " Nothing would give me more pleasure than to form one of your party, but as this is the long session, and Congress may not adjourn till August, I fear my parents will not be willing to permit me to leave them. "If you will go, I will procure the consent of your parents," said her cousin. "You must not refuse us," said Mrs. Stanmore. "Edwin writes me, he has purchased a beautiful home, and he wishes me to come and talce charge of his housekeeping. It will be so pleasant to have you, the dearest friend of Ella, visit me in my new home. Had Ella lived — But I will not murmur." At the name of Ella, an expression of pain passed over Fred- erick Leroux's face, and he became silent and thoughtful. He had striven hard to bring himself to think of her loss with calm- ness ; her memory was ever in his thoughts like a haunting spirit, yet he could not hear her name mentioned without betray- ing emotion. Eulalie, who regarded him with the solicitude of a sister, noted his abstraction, and her thoughts turned to her own withered hopes, causing her also to forget the present, so busy was she with memories of the past, thus, leaving Mrs. Stanmore and Annie to continue the conversation. And so in- terested was Mrs. Stanmore in speaking of her noble boy, as she called Edwin, and Annie in listening to her praises, that the evening passed rapidly away. Annie had concluded ere she left, if her parents did not object, that she would accompany her friends on their anticipated tour. The consent of her parents is obtained, and it is but a day or two previous to the one fixed for their departure, when Annie, with a heart in which there was a mingling of sadness and joy, went to make her farewell visits. And where do you suppose those visits were made 1 Not to the houses of the wealthy, oli 180 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. no, but to the humble abodes of those whose sufferings she had relieved during the cold winter months. Whilst she listened to their expressions of thankfulness for her kindness, and regret that' she was about to leave the city, her heart was filled with emo- tion, and she said within herself, to a generous heart there is much to live for, even if our brightest dreams of life should not be realized. When she had bid adieu to all her other friends, she called on Emma Carlton, and told her of the pleasures she anticipated during the summer, expressing a wish that it were possible for her to accompany them. " For once," replied Emma, " I almost feel tempted to mur- mur at my lot. Oh, it would be so pleasant to get away from the dust and din of the city. To ramble beneath wide spreading oaks, and listen to the music of the forest warbler in its native groves, whilst the breath of the wild flower makes the atmosphere around redolent with sweets. Yet, I will not murmur, for that would be sinful. Rather should I be thankful that we are all in health, and able to earn a comfortable independence. However I will be with you often in imagination. By-the-by, does a cer- tain French Marquis whom I have heard frequently discussed by my fair customers, accompany you." " Certainly not ; why do you ask 1" " The gossip indulged in by ladies, whilst awaiting the fit of a dress, implied that ere another winter passed, you would be the bride of the titled Frenchman. And, I supposed it probable, he would form one of your party." " He will not belong to our party, nor will I ever be his bride." " I am glad of it." " Why so 1" " If you must know, I have always fancied you and Edwin Stanmore were just suited to each other, and I should like to see that fancy realized. If he has not nobility of title, he has nobility of soul, which is far better." Whilst Emma was speaking, a bright glow suffused Annie's cheek ; but when she had ceased, she replied : " I did not know you were such a dreamer ; but I am sorry to THE REJECTED PROPOSAL. 181 tell you, your fancy with regard to Edwin and myself can never be realized." " Why not 1 you are certainly not one of those who regard Edwin as beneath you, because he has been obliged to earn a place among men by his own unwearied industry and energy. And if he has not had the time to cultivate the elegant accom- plishments that please the fancy of the vain belle, nature has bestowed on him an innate politeness, and native grace, that renders him superior, even in that respect, to the polished fop- ling, who spends his time in loitering in drawing rooms, and making silly speeches to giggling girls, whose minds are vacant as his own." " No, Emma, I do not regard Edwin the less, because he has been the artificer of his own fortune. Notwithstanding I have been reared in this city, where there is a class of persons who regard those as inferior who are the useful members of society, and contribute to the wealth of our country by their labor, I have none of that littleness about me. But, has gossip not in^ formed you that the talented young editor is to wed an accom- plished heiress in St. Louis 1" " It has not ; but I should not have believed it, had I heard it." " And why not believe it ?" " Because, Annie, I noted Edwin closely when he last was in Washington, and he loves you with all the devotedness that a noble heart is capable of feeling." " No, Emma, Edwin regards me as a sister, and has ever treated me as such." " He has ever treated you as such, 'tis true ; but the feeling with which he regards you is warmer, deeper than ever glowed in bosom of brother for sister. But, although he feels himself equal to any, he knows the world would say you had wed be- neath your station were you to become his bride. Therefore, he will never breathe his love, till he attains a position that the world will deem him a fitting match for the peerless Annie Gray- son. He has a strong will, and well disciplined mind ; he can control the expression of his feelings : but the glance of the eye and the modulation of the voice when he addresses you, betrays 182 THE BELLE OF -WASHINGTON. him to one who observed him as closely as I did when I last savr him." " Well, well, I shall see him during the summer ; so I shall watch for those symptoms you describe, and if I can detect any of them, and he seems too diiEdent to woo me, I shall ofier my- self to him." "You may jest about it as you please, but you are the idol of Edwin's heart, and a nobler heart never beat than his." " None know it better than I, and I do full justice to his noble qualities ; but we will not speak of him any longer. I came to bid you good-bye, this evening. To-morrow I shall be occupied, and we leave at six o'clock next morning ; so I shall not see you again ere I leave." " I am almost selfish enough to regret your absence, although I know you will enjoy your tour so much. Of those who were my friends when fortune smiled on me more propitiously, none, save yourself, seem to recognize me as the same being I then was. Whilst Ella lived, she was unchanged ; and when you were absent from the city, I still had a friend to call and greet me kindly, and encourage me when I sometimes felt life's tasks were heavy on my young shoulders. But now when you leave, I shall be all alone as it regards a friend of my own age. I am not superstitious, nor disposed to have faith in presentiments ; but at the thought of your leaving, there is a weight at my heart and a feeling that I shall need your friendship ere you return to the city." " If you need a friend in my absence, my father will be ever ready to serve you, for he has a kind heart. I must see your mother and Leila before I go. How does Leila advance in her studies ]" "Eapidly; she is the day-star. of my existence. Let me be ever so weary and despondent, when I hear her happy childish laugh, it steals over my spirit like refreshing music. Oh ! I shall never murmur whilst I have that angel child, in her inno- cence and beauty, to shed light on my pathway." At this moment, Mrs. Carlton and Leila came into the room, and Annie bade adieu to her friends and returned home. Often, THE REJECTED PEOPOSAL. 183 during the evening, she was repeating to herself '• So, Emma thinks he loves me." The thought that this might be true caused her to look forward to her journey with a much happier heart than she otherwise would have done. For, notwithstanding all the blessings fortune had showered on her, she felt her happiness would be incomplete without Edwin's love. 184 THE BELLE Of WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXI. A VISIT TO THE SPRINGS. The rays of the morning sun had not fallen on the sleeping city, gilding, spire and dome with its glad beams, when Annie arose, and habited herself in her traveling costume, that she might be in readiness for her journey. After having performed her morning devotions, she threw open her chamber window, and looked upon the quiet scene. As her leye rested upon it, she in- voluntary exclaimed : " How quiet, how still ! It seems the spirit of rest enwraps the entire city. The politician rests from the excitements and busy schemes of ambition, with which his brain is busied during the day. The gay belle and woman of fashion no longer think of practicing the most graceful attitudes, that they may acquire an easy grace, that will enable them to win the admiration of all beholders. The weary toil-worn laborer also rests, and it may be, to him is vouchsafed the sweetest and most refreshing rest. No exciting and harassing themes trouble his imagination, play- ing him wild fantastic tricks, even in slumber. He sleeps, and, perchance, he dreams of that better land, where, the inspired writer says : 'The weary rest from their labors,' of that land where there are no rich, no poor ; and he rises strengthened and refreshed to engage in the tasks of the new day." Just at this moment, a wild bird, from the branches of a tree beside her window, hymned forth its morning carol of gratitude and praise ; she raised her eyes reverestjy to Heaven, and ejacul. ated : A VISIT TO THE SPRINGS. 185 " Oh, God ! how beautiful, how perfect are all thy works ; and earth would be a paradise but for the stormy, unbridled passions that rage in the breast of man ; and it seems, in cities, those passions acquire a vehemence undreamed of by those who dwell among the quiet and purifying influences of the country.'' Ere the bird had finished its matin song, the sunbeams fell upon the topmost branches of the tree in which it had taken shelter, and signs of active life were astir in the city. Annie turned from the window and descended to the parlor, where she found her father already awaiting her. As she entered, he rose from his seat, and drawing her to his bosom imprinted a kiss upon her brow, saying : " My own darling daughter, you are about to leave us for a long time, and did I not prefer your happiness to my own, I would not permit you to go. My heart will be lonely in your absence." " Oh, no, father, your public duties will keep you so much occupied, you will have no time for loneliness." " True, my daughter, I shall be much occupied with my public duties, but the strife, heartlessness, and intrigue, which I fre- quently have to encounter in public life, make me need the more, the society of my daughter, that I may in her, look upon the fairer side of human nature, and not become disgusted with my species." The usually glad countenance of Aunt Susie, , the cook, now appeared at the door, but it wore a look of sadness, and with a voice tremulous with suppressed feeling, she said ; " Miss Annie, come honey, and take a nice cup of hot coffee afore you goes. I's bin to Master Fred's room an he'll be down in a minit." " And my mother ?" " I's been to her room, but she says, if she's 'sturbed so airly, she'll have the headache all days, so you kin jist come to her room and tell her good-bye afore you goes." Annie felt a pang shoot through her heart, at the thought, that her mother felt so iudiiferent about her departure. And old 186 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Susie shook her head, as much as to say : Missus aint worthy such a child. Mr. Grayson took Annie's hand and led her to the table, but her heart was so full, she could scarcely swallow a mouthful. Aunt Susie bustled about, poured the coffee, and begged her to take some ham, saying : " Laws honey, you must eat, 'twill be a long time afore you'll drink a cup of coffee I makes. Oh dear, oh dear, it will seem like all the light has gone out of de house when you is gone." Annie, to gratify the faithful creature, who was so devoted to her, forced herself to drink a cup of coffee ; then rose from the table, leaving Frederick and her father to finish their breakfast, saying, she would now go to bid adieu to her mother. When she had .taken leave of her lady mftther, she returned to the dining-room, where she found all the servants collected to bid her farewell, and they manifested more emotion at the thought of her departure than her mother had done. At the period of which we are writing, there was no shrill locomotive whistle, to announce to the traveler, who was about to set out on a journey from Washington, that he must hurry his movements, if he would not be left. But the mellow note of the old fashioned stage-horn, floated over street and avenue, as the driver sprang to his seat upon the box, and blew a blast upon this, his inseparable traveling companion, to give notice to those who were to be his passengers, that they should make their adieus, and not detain him a moment when he came to their doors. This sound now fell upon Annie's ear, and she had barely time to get through with the ceremony of leave taking, before the stage coach with four glistening bays dashed up to the gate. The trunks are placed in the receptacle for baggage, and the tra- velers step into the coach, when, at a word from the driver, the spirited steeds, which have been pawing the ground with impa- tience at this slight delay, bound away with a speed that soon takes them out of sight of the city. Instead of arriving at Balti- more within the space of two hours after leaving Washington, it was a day's journey, and Annie with her friends arrived there about night-fall, much fatigued. A night's repose rested them. A VISIT TO THE SPRINGS. 187 and they made no delay in Baltimore. The next day they took passage in a vefsel bound direct to New York, at which city they arrived without accident. Having spent a few days in the com- mercial emporium of the Western continent, and viewed its wonders and wealth, they proceeded up the Hudson, stopping to visit its most famous places and beautiful scenery. From the Hudson they passed over lake Champlain to Montreal, where they remained several days. The objects that most interested them in this city, were its churches, monasteries and convents These they visited with a pious reverence, and, as Eulalie looked upon the placid content depicted on the countenance of the nuns, she could not forbear remarking to Annie : " Who would not prefer passing their lives within the shade of the convent walls, devoting their time to prayer, and the per- formance of deeds of charity, to mingling in the world, where all the more tumultuous feelings of our nature are aroused, some- times almost making us fear our spirits may not be fitted for the pure and quiet joys of Heaven." Leaving Montreal, they ascended the St. Lawrence, deriving from the contemplation of its rich scenery, that exquisite plea- sure, which is ever awakened in the heart of the lover of nature, by looking on such scenes. Their next stopping place was at the falls of Niagara. They arrived late in the evening, and, with much difficulty, procured rooms at the best hotel in its vicinity. It was crowded with fashionables ; and as our party was traveling to enjoy the scenery, not to make a display, or attract attention, they were very plain- ly dressed. Having arrived late, they went to the supper table in their traveling costume. When they entered, the table was nearly filled, and they had to pass almost the entire length of the room ere they could procure seats. Many a side glance was cast at them by the polite portion of the company, as they walk- ed up the brilliantly lighted room, whilst several impertinent Misses actually stared at them, and made simpering remarks oa them, as they passed. Our party passed quietly along, not in the least disconcerted by the rude behavior of those, whose dresa would bespeak for them the name of lady, whilst their conduct 13 183 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOiSr. proclaimed their true character. When they were seated, Eula- lie observed that a young girl of ahout eighteen summers sat at her right hand. She was covered with jewelry ; her dress was of the most costly material, and made according to the latest style. She had just taken a cup of tea in her hand, as our party became seated ; she put the sugar into the cup. After stirring it some time, she took a sip or two, and then balancing her spoon on the edge of her cup, she took a leisurely survey of the new arrival. When she had satisfied her curiosity, she turned to a grinning, smiling thing which sat beside her, that resembled a monkey more than a man, and said : " Well, I declare, Mi*. Wiggleton, this is the third season I have been here, but never met quite so plain a looking set as our left hand neighbors. It used to be, nobody came to the springs, but tip top people ; but I should not be surprised, from present appearances, if before long, as many of the common people would be found here as any where else : so, that having been to the springs will be no test of gentility." The thing addressed raised an eyeglass to his face, and survey- ed Annie and her friends for some time, and then remarked : " I wondaw who they are." "Some nobody, you may be sure. And see, they are eating their supper as unconcernedly as if they were attracting no ob- servation. They don't even seem to be aware that the eyes of almost every one at table are gazing on them." Eulalie, who, before her young life had been shaded by disap- pointment and sorrow, had been brimful of mischief, always ready for fun, felt some of the old spirit revive in her bosom as she listened to these remarks, and turning to the young girl at her side, she said : " Indeed, Miss, we do know the people are looking at us, and it is what we expected." " What you expected 1" said the bejeweled young lady, look- ing at her with contempt. " Yes, what we expected," reiterated Eulalie. "And pray, why?" asked the young lady, being impelled by A VISIT TO THE SPBINGS. 189 a feeling she could not resist, to ask this question, notwithstand- ing her supreme contempt for her plainly dressed neighbor. " Laws, Annie and me was always reckoned the prettiest girls in our neighborhood up home ; and when strangers happened to come to our meeting house, they always looked at us more than anybody else. So, as a matter of course, we expected folks would look at us when we came here. But if they're so taken with us to-night, I don't know what they'll think of us to-morrow, when we get our Sunday gowns on." " Why, you must be an idiot." " Oh no, indeed, you're mistaken in that guess. When I went to school, the schoolmaster said I was the smartest scholar he had." " I pity the rest then." '• Well, you need'nt ; they are all well to do in the world. There is Nannie Tompkins ; she was the biggest dunce in school, and she's married to Jake Hawkins, and they have a forty acre tract, with a double log cabin on it ; he's made a snug clearing, and planted out a young orchard, and has a nice piece of meadow, and a clover patch. When they went to house-keeping, the old folks set them up right well. Her mother give her a bed, a cow, two sheep, a couple of pigs and a dozen laying hens. And would you believe it ? she raised nearly a hundred chickens from them hens the first summer. His father give him a horse and plow, a yoke of oxen, an axe and a hoe ; so, you see, they were mighty well set up, and, as they are both saving and industrious, the neighbors prophecy they'll be rich before little Nannie — that's their oldest daughter — is twenty." " Where, in the name of mercy, did you come from ?" " From the West, to be sure." Annie looked up at Eulalie with surprise ; but when she saw the spirit of mischief gleaming in her dark eyes, she made no remark, but a quiet smile passed over her face, and she con- tinued eating her supper. Mr. Wiggleton, observing that his companion was rendering herself conspicuous, by her seeming interest in her left hand neighbor, although the conversation was not heard by any but 190 THE BELLE OF WASHIXGTON. himself and Eulalie's own party, proposed, as the evening was delightfu], they should not loiter at the table, but promenade on the balcony. A few moments after, they left the table ; Annie and her party also rose and retired to their own parlor. For, although the house was well filled, Frederick had managed, by paying a double price, to secure a parlor for the use of the ladies who accompanied him. After escorting them to the door, he left them, saying he would look around to see if he could meet any acquaintance among the crowd with which the house was filled. After being absent about an hour, he returned accompanied by two friends, who were also acquainted with Annie. They were presented to the other ladies composing the party, and very soon, as little restraint was felt as if they had known each other for years. They had been at the springs for two or three weeks, and one of them, Charles Deveau, being from New Orleans, and very wealthy, was quite a favorite with the ladies, and he knew the most of them. Annie described to him the lady who set next Eulalie at the supper table, and asked him if he was acquainted with her. " Oh, very well," replied he ; " I am her especial favorite. But why dp you ask of her particularly?" Annie then related the conversation that passed between her and Eulalie, which caused a roar of laugher. " But," continued Annie, " I cannot conceive what imp of mischief prompted Eulalie to address her in that style." " Well, I will tell you. It was not so much mischief, as a desire to teach her a lesson how to treat strangers. I did not care anything about her impertinent remarks as regarded myself, but I thought it possible, at some future time, she might treat some plainly dressed person who was more sensitive in this respect than I, in the same manner, thus wounding and mortify- ing them seriously. I was aware, when it was known that I belonged to the party of a rich Southerner, and the daughter of a distinguished senator, the company I was in would give me some consideration, and she would be taught not to judge by appearances, but to treat all with respect." " That is a capital idea, And we will help the joke along A VISIT TO THE SPRINGS. 191 Her desire to be acquainted with persons of distinction, amounts to a passion. I will, to-morrow, mention to her, that among the arrivals of this evening, I met a party of friends, and among them I recognized a lady who had, for two winters past, been the reigning belle of "Washington, and also a French lady of New Orleans, who belongs to a family of the highest nobility of France, and I will propose introducing her to my friends." " Oh do so," said Eulalie, " we will have some sport, and at the same time, teach her a lesson, that may be useful to her in after life." The next morning after breakfast there seemed to be quite an excitement among the young lady visitors at the springs, and when they met each other, questionings and replies, something in this style would be heard : " Did you know, that among the arrivals of last evening, there was a young Southerner of unbounded wealth, and he is accom- panied by his cousin, the daughter of a distinguished senator, and a French lady, who is actually related to the royal family V " Mercy no, where are they 1" " In their private parlor ; but Charles Deveau is acquainted with them, and he says he will prevail on them to promenade with him on the balcony about an hour before dinner, so we may all have an opportunity of seeing them." About the time they supposed the new comers would be seen on the balcony, you may be sure a goodly number of bright eyes were looking out to get a glimpse of them. At length a chatter- ing of French, with great volubility was heard, and Mademoiselle Dupr6 leaning on the arm of Charles Deveau, was seen to step upon the balcony. Charles' manner, the more to impress the beholders, was exceedingly deferential to her. And she was indeed a splendid looking creature, one that would win the homage of all hearts. Annie, who entered into the spirit of the joke,' had insisted upon arraying her most elegantly, and com- pleted her toilet, by decking her with her own expensive jewelry, that her appearance might correspond with her imagined rank. For Charles had told them, it was already noised through the house, that she belonged to the royal family. 192 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOIf Among the most interested beholders of the elegant French woman, was Jemima Stapleton, Eulalie's neighbor at the supper table the previous evening. But she did not recognize in this superb lady, the plain looking country girl whom she then looked upon with contempt. LIFE IN THE WEST. 193 CHAPTER XXII. LIFE IN THE WEST. We left Eulalie on the balcony, promenading with Charles Deveau ; and others, beside the young girls, were observing her with admiration. Several of the gentlemen were loitering about ; and you could hear, in undertones, such expressions as the follow ing: " Splendid eyes — She moves with the dignity of a queen — What a foot — Deveau is a lucky fellow, to be acquainted with her." Whilst the gentlemen were expressing their admiration, the ladies were criticising her closely. " No great beauty," says Cora Colville. " I think her lovely," replied Mollie Clinton. "I don't see in what her beauty consists," said the first speaker. " In her eyes, in her hair, in every feature of her face, every movement of her form. Her form is symmetry itself, and all her motions perfect grace." " Well, I cannot perceive it." "I bet you a sixpence the gentlemen will. And I suppose they will all be running wild about her, so that the rest of us will scarcely be able to receive that attention from them, which common civility demands, whilst she is here." " Then, I hope her stay will be short. For I do think a water ing place is the most stupid place in creation, unless you have about a dozen beaux, striving for your smiles, to keep you in a state of excitement." 194 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOlf. " Now, I differ from your opinion entirely. I thinlc it much more amusing to watch the flirtations of others, than to get up a flirtation of your own ; indeed, that is all that induces me to visit watering places." " I do not doubt it, for I presume you never had a beau of your own." " No, indeed ; and I am so much more comfortable than those who do have them, that, I hope, I never may have one, especially at a watering place. Now, I am not in a panic every new face I meet at table, for fear my beau may neglect me, and pay court to the new comer. But, what do you think of Miss Grayson V " Why, I think if she is the belle of Washington, all the beauty of the nation is not concentrated in the federal eity. But I sup- pose she will create quite a sensation here, because she is a senator's daughter. Give us your opinion of her." "I am much pleased with her appearance. There is a repose and quiet dignity of manner, that indicates a superior mind, and—" " Ha, ha, Mollie, to hear a rattle- brain like you talk of dignity of manner. It is really laughable." " If I am a rattle-brain, it does not follow that I cannot ap- preciate the opposite qualities in another ; though it would be ridiculous for me to assume a character that nature never design- ed me for." The conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of dinner. And, as Mollie had predicted, the gentlemen were so occupied in observing the "movements of Eulalie and Annie, that they almost forgot to escort the ladies to the dinner table. Mollie, with a countenance of great gravity, had just said to Cora : "Miss Colville, I presume, you will have to accept of my escort to the dining room,'' when a gentleman approached them, saying : " Ladies, shall I have the pleasure of waiting on you." " Certainly," replied Mollie, " and thank you for thinking of us ordinary mortals, after having been dazzled by looking on tht brilliant French girl." Cora bowed stiffly, not condescending to utter a word. LIFE IN THE WEST. 195 Although Charles and Eulalie had never met in New Orleans, many of their acquaintances were the same, and as he had just come from the Crescent City a few weeks previous, she was much interested in hearing from the friends of her glad girlhood. When dinner was over, and the ladies had retired to their own rooms, to indulge in a siesta, discuss the occurrences of the day, or plan the arrangement of their toilet for the evening's dance ; the gentlemen were collected in groups, indulging in ecstatic ex- clamations with regard to the two accomplished and beautiful girls who had just arrived. When Annie and Eulalie were alone, Annie remarked to her friend : " I see plainly, you are destined to be queen of hearts, whilst you remain. Did you observe the admiring glances of the gentlemen during dinner !" " No, I did not, for I was listening to the conversation of Mr. Deveau, who was telling me of the friends of my childhood, and my thoughts were busy with memories of bygone days." " And you forgot the royal bearing you were to assume, yet, you sustained your supposed character well. In what costume will your ladyship choose to array yourself this evening 1" " I will array myself, as becomes one, who is dependent on the kindness of a friend for all life's comforts. I feel that I have done wrong, in giving a false impression as to my true position. I, who have ever condemned such things, to be guilty of such a folly, not to say, untruth. Sister always taught me when at school, that it was just as debasing, to that high standard of moral purity which should govern me, to act a falsehood, as to utter one. I feel humbled in my own estimation." " I had not thought of it thus, but 'tis true, and I am equally culpable for having assisted in the deception. However, it only shows how easily we may be led to commit an error when giving way to the excitement of society." In the evening, Eulalie appeared in the ball room robed in a simple white dress, with no ornament save a white rose in her raven hair. The admiration she had excited at dinner was in- 196^ THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOX. creased. The gentlemen said at dinner her appearance was queenly, but now it was divine. Many gentlemen sought the acquaintance of both Annie and Eulalie. Among the number were some of intellect and refine- ment, thus making the time spent at the springs very pleasant. Having remained about two weeks, and visited every object of sny interest in the vicinity of Niagara, they embarked on one of the floating palaces of the northern lakes, and proceeded to Illinois. When they arrived at Quincy, it was about eight o'clock in the evening. Having inquired for the best hotel, they proceeded directly to it. When they came there, they found it a large frame house, with a porch running along the whole front. Upon the porch were several men collected, and from the few words that fell upon the ears of our travelers, they inferred they were the village- politicians, discussing the probability of some favorite candidate's success in a coming election. They were shown into the house by one of the number, whom they soon discovered to be the landlord, for he introduced him- self by saying : " Will the strangers have anything ?" "We would like to have some supper," replied Frederick Leroux. " Well, I'll go see the old woman about it." He stepped into the next room, but returned in a moment, ac- companied by the " old woman." She was an old lady, seeming- ly, about fifty years of age, with a pleasant countenance. Ap- proaching Mi's. Stanmore, she said : " Well, marm, my old man here, says you want some supper. Now, ef you'll put up with a cup of tea, some cold ham, with bread and butter, and sich like, I can soon have it ready for you; but, I raly dont believe I could go and git a whole fresh supper for you, for I'm tired down. Me, and my hired gal is both run off our feet, for there's bin a convention here, in Quincy, to-day, to appint a candidate for Congress, and the house has bin chuck full of customers all day." " My dear madam," replied Mrs. Stanmore, " we would not desire anything better than you propose giving us." LIFE IN THE WEST. 197 " Well, then, I can have it ready in a minute," said she, leav ing the room. When she had left, Fred turned to the landlord, and said : " I suppose, you are acquainted with Mr. Stanmore, the publisher of a newspaper in this town." " Well, now, stranger, I'd like for you to find anybody in these diggins, that don't know Squire Stanmore, and like him, too." Frederick stepped to a table, upon which a lighted candle was placed, and took from his pocket a small slip of paper and pen- cil, and, writing a few words, he folded the note, and addressed it to Edwin ; then, turning to the landlord, he said : " WSl you allow a servant to carry this note to Mr. Stan- more?" " Stranger, we haint got any sarvants out here ; but I have a hired man, that can carry it for you ; or, if it is anything that will give pleasure to the Squire, any of the boys out here on the porch, will be glad to take it to him, for he is a mighty favorite." " I presume, it will give him pleasure, for it is to let him know his mother is here." "I guess it. will, and he shall hear of it in no time;" and, taking the note. from Frederick, he stepped on to the porch, and said : " Boys, one of them women in there, is Squire Stanmore's mother. Who will take this bit of a letter over to him, to let him know she is here V ' I," said at least a dozen voices. When he had dispatched the note, he went to the kitchen, to let his " gude wife " know for whom she was preparing supper. " What's that you say 1 One of 'em's Squire Stanmore's mo- ther ?" "Yes, indeed." " Well, I guess she shall have something better than a cold bite for supper ;" and turning to the girl, who was preparing to draw the tea, she thus addressed her : " Jerush, you run to the coop, and kill a couple of chickens, while I get the water ready to scald them. And whilst I am getting them ready to brile, you can beat up some eggs, ajid mix 198 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. some batter to bake wafles. Now, see that you put plenty of eggs in them, and take good rich night's milk to make them with, for 1 want them nice." When our hostess of the best hotel in Quincy wished to treat any one particularly well, she always ordered wafles and " briled " chicken. The host seeing things were taking about the right turn in the kitchen, went back into the room occupied by the travelers, well satisfied that the whitest honey-comb, the nicest ham, and most choice preserves would be forthcoming on the present occasion. This was just what he wished, birt would not have dared to order it upon any account, for Madam Helvenstein was a stern stickler for " Woman's Rights." But poor simple- minded woman, her ideas of " Woman's Rights " were very un- like those entertained by the ladies who now meet in conventions to establish and advocate the rights of our sex. ' In her opinion, it was the right of woman to have the entire management of her household affairs, without any interference on the part of man, and to cook just what she chose for her guests, without any orders from mine host. And believing this to be her right, she maintained it. But had any one have told her that it was woman's right to vote, to have her pi-oportipn of the public offices, and that it was her duty to go about delivering public lectures, attend conventions, and make speeches, for the purpose of securing to herself these rights, she would have thought they had taken leave of their senses, and she would have told them, pretty quick, she guessed if they minded their own business, attended to the putting up of pickles and preserves, took care of the children and kept their clothes in order, she would not have much time for gadding about to conventions or making speeches. Poor old Mrs. Helvenstein, she was altogether behind the times in this age of progress. But we digress. When our host returned to the travelers, he addressed Fred- erick, saying : " Well, stranger, you were speaking about sarvants before I went out. Now, they are a critter that d-^a't graze on the rich prairies of Illinois." "What did you say?" LIFE IN THE WEST. 199 " Why, I say on our rich prairie of Illinois, there is nobody so poor, that they are under the necessity of being sarvants. We have our hired help ; but I guess they would not stay and help you long, if you were to call them sarvants." " I have often heard of the independent spirit of the western people. My friend Edwin Stanmore thinks there is not another such a set of noble hearted people to be found, as his friends in Quincy and its neighborhood." , " And I guess they think ditto of him. We have nominated him to-day as our candidate for Congress, and we'll elect him too." " Well, he has fine talents, he will not be a discredit to you." " Yes, and he has not only talents, but he has principles and a soul too. You see, there are a tarnal sight of smart fellows sent to Congress, who have not one mite of principle. And when they get there, all they do, is to manage and bargain for their own advancement, never thinking of their constituents ti^ they want their votes to re-elect them. Now, the Squire is not one of these, he has gumption and principles both — But here he is to speak for himself." In a moment he had clasped his mother's hand within his own and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek. After greeting Frederick and Annie, he was presented by Frederick to Eulalie and her mother, and he, in turn, presented his friends individually to honest John Helvenstein, the host. When he had grasped the hand of each and given it a cordial shake, he said, addressing Edwin : " Well, Squire, your friends and me have had considerable chat, and feel smartly acquainted, but I 'spose it is well enough to be introduced, to make these city folks feel at their e^se." " I knew my friends would like to feel the grasp of an honest man's hand ; I suppose they had not taken the liberty of shaking hands with you before I came." ' Taken liberties, no indeed, they behaved mighty well, but we would not expect any thing else from friends of yourn." " I did not shake hands with him," remarked Frederick, " but 200 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTOK. I felt very much like doing so, on account of the kind words he> spoke in your praise." " Ah, yes, I have a true friend in honest John Helvenstein," " Well, you have that," was the response of our host. He had scarcely finished the sentence, when a voice was heard to sing out in front of the door : " Three cheers for Squire Stanmore and his friends." And immediately such a hurra rose upon the night air, as cau only be heard in a western town, from hearts honest and true. It had scarce subsided, when the voice of the hostess was heard distinctly, holding the following language : " Shame on you boys, to come afore my door and show your country raising, when there are city ladies in the house. Now jist make yourselves scarce." They were about to leave, feeling much abashed, when Edwin stepped out and said : " Dear Mrs. Helvenstein, the cheers were given on account of kindly feeling, and should be received in the spirit in which it was given." Then turning to his friends he said to thern : " Thank you, my friends, for the tribute of respect you offer me, nor do I find fault with the manner in which it was given." " You're the man for us, Squire," exclaimed several voices ; " you always seem to understand a fellow, and know just where his heart is." " Well, if the Squire is satisfied, I'm sure I am," said Mrs. Helvenstein. " You kin stay ef you want to, and when the Squire and his friends are done their supper, any of you that want a cup of tea or coffee kin come into the dining room, and I will give it to you. You know, the Squire wont allow us to treat you with anything stronger than that." " No, Mrs. Helvenstein, I would not tempt a fellow creature to intemperance by offering him a cup of liquor, if I knew by that means I could secure to myself the highest office within the gift of the American people." " You are right. Squire ; and it is because you have done so much good in persuading drunken husbands to become sober, respectable men, that you have all the women in your favor* LIFE IN THE WEST. 20i' and a man that has all the women on his side, never loses his election." ' " Thank you {)r your kind opinion ; but come in, and let me introdijce you to my friends." " Not till I have their supper ready, Squire." Saying this, she disappeared, and her voice was heard giving orders to Jerush. It was but a few minutes till her pleasant face was seen at the door. " Come, Squire," said she, "bring your friends out, to eat a bite of supper." Edwin conducted his friends to the dining room, introduced them to Mrs. Helvenstein, and in a few minutes they were seated at the table, upon which was placed a supper that would satisfy the palate of an epicure. Broiled chicken, with a rich gravy of fresh sweet butter, such as is found only in the west, with ham of the most delicious flavor, for Mrs. Helvenstein always attended the putting up of her own bacon. The bread was of the whitest and sweetest, the wafles incomparable, and the coffee clear as amber, with its rich cream ; the honey-comb was rich, the preserves and other etceteras were all of the best. And never was banquet of a king partaken of with higher enjoyment than was this supper, beneath the roof of John Helvenstein. Whilst they were at supper, Edwin pro- posed to his mother, if they were not too much fatigued, that they .should go to his own house, which was near by, when they were through with supper. And in the morning, he would send for the woman he had engaged to assist her, and they would be at home without any farther trouble. " Pity, but it was daylight,'' remarked Mrs. Helvenstein, " so you could see what a pretty place it is. I have been telling him he ought to get married. He has such a pretty cage, he ought to get a bird to put in it." " I am in no hurry about it, two or three years hence will be time enough." " Well, I'll give you fair warning that if you go to Washington and marry a stuck up city gal, and bring her here, we won't hev anything to say to her." 202 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " If ever I bring a wife among you, she will be one who will win all hearts to love her." In such light badinage, the time passed whilst they were eating supper. When it was ended, Mrs. Stanmore and her friends bade a liindly good night to the host and hostess, and accom- panied Edwin to his own home, where we will leave them to enjoy a night of refreshing slumber. THE PIC-NIC. 203 CHAPTER XXIII. THE PIC-NIC. Annie and Eulalie occupied the same room. Sweet and re- freshing had been their slumber. The bright rays of the newly risen sun had just fallen on the flowers to kiss away the dew drops that rested on their petals, like tears upon a maiden's cheek, when Annie was roused from her slumbers by the mellow note of the stage horn. Eulalie still slept ; Annie rose quietly, that she might not disturb her. After arranging her glossy hair, and putting on a becoming morning wrapper, she threw up the window-sash, to look out upon the village, for Quincy was, at that time, a village. As she did so, the fresh morning breeze, laden with the perfume of flowers, kissed her cheek, giving her a sensation of exquisite enjoyment. She glanced over the vil- lage, but her eye was immediately attracted to the grounds sur- rounding the house of Edwin Stanmore. Possessing a keen perception of the beautiful, she at once perceived it was deserv- ing of the praises bestowed on it by Mrs. Helvenstein. The grounds were laid out with taste ; in them were planted choice trees and flowers, with many of those beautiful plants that grow wild on the prairies, but which are much improved by cultivation. A wild rose was trained over the window at which she was standing, and as she looked upon its beautiful clusters of flowers, now in bloom, and containing in the same cluster roses of every tint, from the most delicate pink to the deepest red, she exclaimed : " Beautiful ! exceedingly beautiful !" And then the remark of Mrs. Helvenstein, that now the squira 14 204: THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. had the cage, he ought to get the bird to put in it, recurring to her, she involuntarily murmured : " Glad and gay must be the songs of the lady-bird who inhabits this cage with such a noble mate as Edwin Stanmore ! How he attaches to himself all with whom he has intercourse !" She had not been standing long at the window, when she saw Edwin and his mother walking through the beautiful yard in front of the house. They approached a moss rose-bush, which was filled with buds and flowers. Mrs. Stanmore stopped to admire it, and Edwin naturally oast his ejies towards the window of the room in which he supposed Annie was sleeping ; but see- ing her at the window, he saluted her by raising his hat, and she acknowledged his salutation by a smile. Mrs. Stanmore observ- ing she was up and dressed, approached the window, and asked her if she would not descend and enjoy with them a promenade in the garden, and inhale the sweet breath of morning as it swept over the flowers. Annie threw a scarf over her head, and joined them immediately. If she had admired the garden from the window, she was perfectly enchanted with it when she descended. The most beautiful feature, in her estimation, was a rustic sum- mer house, which was covered with the wild rose and honey suckle. The wild rose, being in bloom, did give it a beautiful appearance. Annie looked on it with admiration, and ex- claimed : " Surely the bowers in the vale of Cashmere, are not more lovely than this !" " Nor more pleasant,'' said Edwin. " Come, let us enter and enjoy its pleasant shade, for the warmth of the sun-beams are beginning to be felt." They entered and found it furnished with seats. " Come, mother, let us be seated, and talk of the past, and I Ian for. the future," said Edwin. " No, my child, we will neither talk of the past, nor plan for the future, but enjoy the present." " As you will, mother dear, for the present is full of joy to me." " I trust it may ever be thus." " If it is not, it shall be no fault of mine, for I will ever do / THE PIC-NIC. 205 what is honorable and just. Nothing shall ever tempt me to swerve from the path of rectitude and duty, and acting thus, I have no fear but I shall be happy." They had been conversing thus some time, when Mrs. Stan more rose, saying : " It is indeed very pleasant in this rose-covered bower ; but I must leave it and attend to breakfijst, our guests will need some- thing more substantial to subsist upon, than the fragrance of flowers." " True," said Annie, " but I was so much interested, I had forgotten such a thing as breakfast was needed, but I will assist you in preparing it." "There is no need of that, I presume it is already prepared. Edwin, last night sent a message to Keziah Kester, the "help," he had engaged to assist me, and she was here to assist me before the sun had risen ; and, whilst we were considering what we should do to procure something for breakfast, for there is no market here, the neighbors relieved us of all trouble. One sent me a nice bowl of cream, with coffee parched and ready for making ; another, a couple of chickens ready for the gridiron, and others with eggs, butter, honey, and everything you could men- tion in the line of eatables, each with the message : " Mother thought you might not know, as you are a stranger, where to send to get things for breakfast — will you accept some- thing from her 1" " It is very pleasant to receive such kindness at the hands of strangers. Indeed, I do not feel as if I were among strangers." " I should love dearly to live among such kind hearted people," said Annie. " Do you really think you could be content to live in the West 1" said Edwin, his manner betraying how much he was interested in her answer. " From what I have seen of the country and the people, I am sure I would be delighted if my home were here. There is such a generous, frank-heartedness about the people ; and the country is beautiful as well as fertile. I can comprehend the pride and 206 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. attachment that the Western people feel, when speaking of the great valley of the Mississippi." When they went into the house, they found the table neatly spread for breakfast, and everything in readiness for the morning's meal. Soon, the guests were all assembled, and seated at the breakfast table. When Edwin had placed upon the plate of each some chicken with a bit of ham and egg, Frederick surveyed the table, saying : " Well, Squire, I must say, you are an excellent host. But, by-the-by, how is it that you have the title of Squire 1" " The people have bestowed it upon me, as a token of their respect and good will." "You have succeeded admirably in winning their favor. Only to think of it ; you have been among them so short a time, and now they are going to. elect you to represent them in Congress. That is getting up in the world rapidly." " I am not elected yet." " No ; but judging from the enthusiasm of your friends, there is no doubt, but you will be." " The friends of a candidate for public favor, are always en- thusiastic in their belief of his success. But to form a correct opinion of his prospects, you must hear the opinion of his op- ponents, as well as those of his friends. However, I believe I shall be elected." " I am truly glad I was induced to come to visit you, for see- ing the esteem in which you are held by your neighbors has de- termined me to waste my time no longer in trifling; but I will go home, and endeavor to make myself useful in my neighbor- hood, and I too, in time, may be deemed worthy to have a seat in Congress. Yes, I will henceforth be a useful member of society." " I am truly glad such is your determinaljon, for with your talents, you may attain any position you seek ; and your great wealth will enable you to do much good for your fellow crea- tures." "I will remain a month or two, and learn of you how to win ■he hearts of those with whom I have intercourse " w.. E PIC-NIC. 207 " That is easily done. Always do right ; do not let any selfish motive prompt you. Be just and generous fropa principle, not from a desire of winning popularity, and you will win the esteem of your fellow men. They will understand and appreciate your character. That is the course I have pursued, and no man can have more devoted friends than I have." " And none deserves them more." " Thank you, for your kind opinion." When the breakfast hour had passed, Edwin told his mother and her friends that they must excuse him from devoting the day to them, as the duties of the office demanded his presence, and he would be obliged to leave them to attend to it. Frederick accompanied him, and the ladies were left alone. But they did not remain alone long, for several ladies called during the day, to welcome Mrs. Stanmore and her friends, and to tender them the hospitalities of the village. When Edwin returned to dinner, he was pleased to hear that the day had been spent so pleasantly in receiving the visits of his friends. "How were you impressed with their appearance?" said he to Annie. " I was much pleased. I did not expect to find them so re- fined and intellectual ; some of them were equal to any lady you meet in Washington society." " It is true, you will find no better society anywhere than in our Western towns, for they are composed of the most enter- prising citizens from the older States. Many gentlemen whose families have received the highest mental culture, who have moved in the best circles, and visited in the most refined society, become citizens of our thriving Western towns ; thus, although our society is limited, it is of the best." " Among others who visited us was Mrs. Helvenstein, our kind landlady. Now, I had rather formed my opinion of the ladies of Quincy from her, and therefore I was the more sur- prised when I saw Mrs. Selden and her daughters, who are truly refined and intellectual." " Almost every Western town has its Mrs. Helvenstein, who has kept the village inn since the first store was opened to draw 208 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. m customers from the surrounding country. As the town increased in size and acquired sufficient importance to bring travelers to the inn, the innkeeper would prosper, and in time become wealthy. But the wife, in the meantime, was so much engaged in keeping up the character of her house for giving the best enter- tainment, that, although she has increased her store of wordly wealth, and the humble tenement which was the tavern when she first commenced that occupation, has given place to a fine build- ing, with furniture of the latest style, she still retains that sim- plicity of manner which characterized her when she was mistress of the humbler tenement. She knows and is known by every one in the town, and is respected by all for her kindliness of heart. If a strange young lady or gentleman comes to the town, she is the first to become acquainted with them, and give a party for the purpose of introducing them to the other young folks of her acquaintance. She is such a general favorite, that her blunt, plain manners are never observed or commented on, and you will meet her at the houses of the most elegant and refined citi- zens of the village. And the parties given by her are always attended by all who enjoy a social pleasant evening." We have said this much of the character of Mrs. Helvenstein, the kind-hearted hostess, and her,position in Quincy, because the first party to which the friends of Edwin were invited after their arrival at Quincy, was given by her. It came off about a week after they had arrived, and both Annie and Eulalie declared, when they returned home, they had never enjoyed a party more. If there was not that elegance and conformity to etiquette which characterize the parties of secretaries and senators in Washing- ton, there was a freedom from restraint, and a social spirit which is infinitely more agreeable. After Mrs. Helvenstein, several other of the prominent citizens gave parties, and so pleasantly did the time pass, that a month went by and they scarce noted the lapse of time. Several ex- cuMions to visit different places of interest in the vicinity, had been projected, but Edwin's time had been so much occupied that he could not accompany them, consequently, they were THE PIC-NIC. 209 waiting till he could find a leisure day for that purpose ; because it was his motto, never to neglect business for pleasure. At length a spare day was found, and a party went out to a beautiful grove Six or eight miles from Quincy, to enjoy the plea- sures of a pic nic. The morning was lovely, and each heai t beat high with anticipations of a day of real enjoyment. Every carriage in the village was called in requisition, yet still there were not enough to convey all the company to the grove, and it was determined that some of them should ride on horseback. Among those who preferred this mode of conveyance, were Edwin and Annie. The ride over the prairie was delightful, and the grove was reached about ten o'clock. All were in the gayest spirits. Songs, wit and sentiment, gave wings to time, and it was one o'clock ere they had deemed half of that time had • elapsed. Finding it so late, the gentlemen went to the carriages and brought forth certain baskets. The ladies took therefrom, table linen of snowy whiteness and spread upon the bright green turf, then arranged thereon, with much taste, the delicacies that were to furnish the repast. Whilst they were thus engaged, tripping gracefully about with merry jests and joyous laughter, Frederick Leroux, who was seated beside Mary Selden, upon the trunk of a fallen tree, looking with much interest upon the group before him, remarked : " A beautiful tableau, Miss Selden. We have such pleasure parties frequently in the South, but there, we always take our servants to arrange the refreshments. Yet I believe it is enjoyed with a truer zest when the ladies spread it themselves. Just see, they flit about as gracefully as if they were the wood nymphs themselves, holding a high holiday, and preparing a banquet for us mortals." " Why did you allude to anything calculated to call up in my mind the horrid subject of slavery V said Miss Selden. " Then you have been to the South and witnessed the horrors of slavery ?" " No, thank God, 1 never was in a slave state in my life. I have only read of the horrors of slavery, and that was enough to make my heart ache with compassion. I should love dearly to 210 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. visit the sunny South, to look upon its bright skies, and breathe its perfumed air, made fragrant with the breath of the orange flower. But, all the pleasure I would derive from looking on the fair face of nature, would be destroyed by being obliged at the same time to witness the degradation of the poor down-trodden African race, crushed to the earth by my fellow beings." " Perhaps, if you would visit the South, and look upon the condition of the slaves, you would find that slavery was less hor- rible to look upon than to read about." " Oh, no, that cannot be ; only think of it : one class of human beings obliged to labor for, and wait upon another, because their skins are black ! What injustice !" " I believe you came from the city of New York V " Yes ; that was formerly my home." " I suppose, there all are equal, each waits upon himself, and one class does not labor for another ?" " Oh, no : the poor work for the rich, of course." " It seems to me there is injustice in that." "Injustice or not, they are glad enough to get the work to do." " So I have been told ; and in many cases the compensation received for the labor performed is so trifling, that they are un- able to procure a sufficient quantity of wholesome food for their families, and comfortable clothing. And in some instances, being unable to pay reasonable rents, they are obliged to live in cellars, where the fresh air of heaven can scarcely penetrate ; and in these wretched abodes, sickly overtasked females are obliged to labor from early dawn till past the midnight hour, to earn a meagre pittance, that barely suffices to keep them from perishing." " It is unfortunately too true." " Now, it seems strange to me, that people who have so much sympathy for southern slaves, as the citizens of New York ex- press, should suffer such wretchedness to exist in their midst, and not relieve it." " Yes ; but they are free." " Free ! Yes, free to toil and suffer. But it is useless to dis- cuss those things. However, 1 would be happy, indeed, if you could be prevailed on, to accompany my cousin and Miss Duprfe, THE PIC-NIC. 211 and spend a few months in the south, with us, that you may yourself see the condition of the African race in the south, and judge how much worse their condition is than that of the poorer classes in the city of New York." "I should enjoy a visit to the south in company of such esteemed friends, for, I must confess, 'I feel a friendship for you, as well as your cousin and Miss Duprfe, notwithstanding you are that odious character, a slaveholder." " Thank you for your kindness, in not regarding me with ab- horrence. Will you accompany us ]'' " 1 will consult my parents ; and if they will consent, I will avail myself of this opportunity of visiting the south." Just at this moment, Louise Hinton, a merry gypsey, camo skipping towards them, saying : " Come, we have the dinner all arranged, and nice cool water from the spring, so hasten along, before it loses its freshness." But, observing that Mary, who was usually the life of every party, looked so serious, she added : " What, now, you and Mr. Leroux both look grave as owls ; what mighty subject are you pondering 1" " We were speaking of slavery ; and you know how I feel upon that subject." " Oh, pshaw ! don't bother your brains about the slaves ; but let their masters and mistresses take care of them. I dare say, they are a great deal happier than many persons who are always talking about their unfortunate condition." Notwithstanding Louise's merriment, Mary remained thought- ful, whilst she was partaking of the repast spread before her. But it was not the thought of the condition of the slaves that occa- sioned it, but the recollection of a scene she had witnessed a short time before she left New York, which was indelibly im pressed on her memory, and the words of Frederick had called it up. In our next chapter, we will present to our readers the scene, the remembrance of which chased the smiles from Mary's lips j also, the incidents of the return of this gay party to Quincy. 212 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXIV. THE DECLARATION. Wb promised, in our last chapter, to place before our readers the scene that caused a shade of thought to rest on the brow of the mirth-loving Mary Selden. It was a bright day in March, and Mary had gone out to make a few calls. She had not proceeded far, when she saw approach- ing her a little, girl aged about ten years, whose apparel denoted extreme poverty. When she came near her, she looked up into her face appealingly, and said, in a voice piercingly sad : " Oh, fair lady, Eddy is dying ; mother and I have not eaten anything for two days, for mother cannot leave Eddy, while he is so sick, to earn money. Give me something to buy a little bread. I never begged before," said she, " but I am so hungry ! Mother is so grieved about Eddy, she does not think of eating." Prompted by an impulse for which she could not account, she replied : " I will go with you to see your mother." " Oh, do ! may be it will make her less sorrowful to see some- body." Going a short distance, the child turned into a street inhabited by none but the miserably poor. Here she entered a cellar. Mary lelt some misgiving about following her ; but as she had come this far, she resolved to see the suffering inmates. When she untered, her eye rested upon a scene which left an impress that lime will never efface. Lying upon a straw pallet in one corner, was a boy of about eight years of age. He was wasted to a mere skeleton, but a THE DECLARATION. 213 sweet smile was on his countenance, and his large hazel eye beamed with an unearthly lustre, as he lovingly gazed into the pale face of his mother, who was kneeling by his side, with his tiny hands clasped within her own. "Mother," said he, in a voice strangely sweet, " I know I am dying, for I see the good angels you have often told me about, ready to carry me to heaven. Mother, ask God to let you and Minnie die too, and then we will all be so happy in heaven, where there is no cold, nor hunger, nor suffering." "No, darling,'' murmured the mother, "it would be wicked for me to ask God to let me die, till it is his own good pleasure to take me home." "Then, mother, when I go to heaven and am in God's own presence, I will ask him to give you a nice room where the blessed sun can shine in, for you and Minnie to live in, and plenty to eat, like we used to have before papa went to heaven. That won't be wicked, will it?" Before the mother could reply, the spirit of the child had passed from earth. She laid his little hands upon his breast, and clasping her own, she raised her tearless eyes to Heaven, and ejaculated : " Oh, heavenly father ! I thank thee, that thou hast taken my heart's cherished one to thyself, where he will no more feel cold, hunger or want !" Mary now stepped to her side, and said : " Dear madam, can I do anything for you ?" " Yes : bury my darling." Then, looking at her earnestly, she added : "But how came you here? It is not often we see such as you in the abodes of misery." Mary told her she had met her daughter in the street, and her simple story had interested her so much, that she accompanied her home. This seemed to bring to the mother's mind, the recollection that she had still a living child, and, turning to Minnie, who stood sobbing by her side, she clasped her to her bosom, saying : " Heaven have compassion on you, my poor suffering one." And the mother, who had no tear for the dead, wept over the 214 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. living child, as if her heart were breaking. Mary, feeling iiat she could do nothing herself, said : " I will send my father, and he will have your Eddy buried." " Heaven's blessing rest on your head, for the ray of comfort that your words have given to a heart that has dranlt deeply of sorrow's bitter draught." As Mary promised, her father buried Eddy ; he also removed the mother and Minnie to a bright cheerful apartment. But sorrow and want had done their work : in a few days, the strick- en mother slept beside her darling Eddy, and Minnie was cared for by Mr. Selden's family. The words of Frederick had recalled this picture vividly, and Mary did not regain her usual vivacity, until they were about returning home. A train of reflectrons was called up in her mind, that had never found place there before ; and she came to t'he conclusion, that it might be possible, whilst the citizens of the northern states were expending so much sympathy upon a class, whose condition could not be materially affected by them, they were neglecting those who were suffering in their midst, and who certainly have some claims upon their compassion. But when the repast was ended, and they begai to make pre- paration for returning home, her usual spirits returned. The remembrance of the slave in his southern home, and the poor seamstress in her dismal cellar of an eastern city, both passed from her mind. She felt the pure fresh arr, as it swept over the broad prairies of the west, fanning her cheek ; the merry voices of her companions made music in her ear, driving away the un- pleasant recollections that had for a time been called up. The day had been passed pleasantly by all. For in a western village, there is no party where there is so much enjoyment as a pic-nic. When they started home, Annie and Edwin took the lead. Annie's fine horsemanship elicited much admiration, and remarks something like the following, were heard : " Why, she sits on her horse as fearlessly as any country maiden. See with what ease she manages her horse." " It is well she is a bold rider," remarked another. " 1 know the horse THE DECLARATION. 215 she is riding, and although his paces are ju^t such, as the ladies like, if anything should put it into his head to move at a more rapid rate than he is now traveling, she would find it not an easy matter to restrain him." On went this merry party toward Quincy. From some of the carriages might be heard snatches of song, whilst from others bursts of laughter were borne on the breeze, frequently attracting the attention of those who were on horseback, and who were not^ so boisterously gay. But, Edwin and Annie were not attracted by it, they were speaking of the past : of the incidents of their childhood, reminiscences connected with Washington, and so occupied were they, that they did not observe a drove of wild young horses, which 'had never been tamed by bridle or halter, feeding quietly near the road-side. As they approached these untamed animals, they threw up their heads in the air, looking at the approaching company a moment, and then darted off over the prairie at a rapid gait. Their moving off so rapidly, seemed to inspire the horse upon which Annie rode with a similar incli- nation, for quick as thought he bounded off at the top of his speed. Annie, finding she could not cause him to slacken his speed by holding a tight rein, felt somewhat frightened, but Edwin reassured her, by telling her there was not the slightest danger, if she would sit steadily in the saddle, and continue to hold a tight rein. He kept by her side, speaking words of en- couragement,, and they had gone over about two miles at this rapid rate, when they came near a little stream that wound its way through, the prairie. The horses continued to move with the same wild speed'at which they had started, and Annie said : " I very much fear I shall not be able to keep my seat when we go down the bank of that little stream, and if I should be thrown from my horse, whilst he is going at this rapid rate, I should certainly be killed." " Do not be alarmed," replied Edward, " he will slacken his pace ere he crosses the stream." On, on they go — they are within a few paces of the stream. Annie's courage is fast giving way, but, just on the brink, her horse stops as suddenly as it started. She loses her equilibrium 216 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOST. and falls. The shock of the fall, and the excitement she had endured, caused her to faint, and by the time Edwin had stopped his own horse, dismounted and approached the spot where she lay, the pallor of death was on her countenance, and she looked as if life were extinct. He snatched her wildly from the earth, and bore her to a spot where the grass grew so luxuriantly, that by pressing it down, it almost made a bed. Here he laid her down gently, then ran to the brook and brought therefrom his hat full of water, and com- menced bathing her face and hands. It was so long before she showed any signs of returning animation, that he began to fear she was really dead, and imprinting on her cold pale lips a burning kiss, he said : " Oh, merciful God ! am I destined to see all to whom my heart's deepest, holiest love is given, perish prematurely, taken from earth in the freshness and beauty of youth? When Ella, my almost idolized sister, slept in the quiet of the grave, I did not feel entirely lonely, for Annie, the playmate of my childhood, whispered words of comfort in my ear, and I fondly dreamed that she might be the bright star that would shed radiance o'er my pathway in life. How earnestly have I striven to attain a position, that the world might deem me her equal, that I might ask that boon. Now, I feel that it is almost attained, and hero she lies upon my bosom like a crushed flower." Having given utterance to these exclamations, he put back the silken curls, that the breeze had blown over her face, and kissed her beautiful brow, upon which the seal of death seemed set. It seemed the very intensity of his anguish recalled her to conscious- ness, for she slowly unclosed her eyes ; but, when she observed the look of devoted love, with which Edwin was regarding her, she closed them again ; yet, the quick blood mounted to her cheek, giving it a bright glow, and Edwin said in a voice of tender entreaty : " Annie, dear Annie ! look up, and say you are not seriously hurt. Oh, you do not know how I have suffered during your • insensibility !" She raised herself up, and said : THE DECLABATION. 217 " Oh, I believe I am not hurt at all ; it was only flight, that overcame me." " Thank God, that it is so ! for had any serious injury befallen you, I should have been wretched. Listen to me, Annie, I can no longer hide the deep love that I bear you. It seems a part of my very existence. When I looked upon your pale face, and thought you might be dead, life seemed not worth possessing. Your image has been shrined in my heart since boyhood. To win your love has been the bright dream of my life, and may I hope, when I shall have earned a name among men, that I may then ask it, and not be rejected." "Edwin, you may deem me forward — but no, you know me too well to misunderstand me — when I say you need not wait till you gain a name among men, to ask my love. Think you I could have known you, as I have done, since early boyhood, with- out feeling more than an ordinary interest. I know too well the value of worldly greatness, to base my hopes of happiness on anything so uncertain and fleeting. I have associated, all my life, with those whom the world calls great, and some who are thus regarded, are base counterfeits, whilst others are true coin. Sometimes, situations of honor are procured by means that would mantle with a blush the cheek of an honest man. Know- ing this, I do not attach too much importance to these honors. Therefore, when I do bestow my hand, it will be upon one in whose bosom beats a true and honest heart." " Thank you, Annie, for those kind expressions. Women are so liable to be won by position and outward appearance, even against their better judgment, that I feared you, whom I knew to be superior to most of your sex, might be^ somewhat influenced thereby." " It is with mortification, I admit, that it is a weakness belong, ing to most of our sex, to be attracted by high sounding titles, and outward display, regardless of intrinsic merit. But you should have known me better, than to have supposed I belonged to that class." " I had seen but little of you since we were mere children, before you were the admired belle of Washington soqiety. 1 218 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. know the character of young girls sometimes become strangely changed by mingling in the gay world, and there is no place in- the world where a pure simple taste is more likely to become perverted than in Washington circles. But the cause is very evident, for there is such a looking up, and so much attention paid to those holding the higher oflRoes in Government, that it naturally has a tendency to destroy a simple republican appre- ciation of merit." "Well, Edwin, let me tell you, that my intercourse with fashionable society, instead of making me in love with it, has enabled me to see more thoroughly its hollow-heartedness. Such a life is perfectly wearisome. I have no love for it. There is more true, heartfelt enjoyment in one such day as this, than in all the formal parties you may attend during a winter in Wash- ington." " Leaving out the race and fall from the horse, I suppose you mean." " Oh, no, that is the best part, for it has been the means of showing me your true feelings with regard to myself" " Thank you, Annie, for that kind admission. I have many friends who would go any lengths to serve me, and for whom I would undergo any trouble to render them a service, yet, I have but few heart-treasures. No sister, or brother, only my mother, and I believe that is the reason I have loved you with such in- tensity. But, see, our friends are coming, I will go and get our horses." By the time Edwin had brought their horses, that were quietly cropping the tender prairie grass at a short distance from the road side, their friends had come up to them, and when they as- certained Annie had received no serious injury, a shout of joy aotuaHy rang out upon the prairie. They had watched her re- ceding from their sight, as her horse skimmed over the ground with the rapidity of a bird upon wing, with anxiety and dread, and when they no longer saw her, they feared when they looked upon her again, that it would be upon her mangled corpse. The song and jest were hushed, the smile faded from their lips, upon each countenance was depicted fear and anxiety, whilst THE DECLAEATIO]Sr. 219 words of apprehension were breathed in sad low tones. And when they came within speaking distance, and ascertained she was unhurt, such a sense of relief was experienced, that they could not repress the shout of joy that rose to their lips. Mary Selden insisted that Annie should take her seat in thp carriage, and she would ride her horse. This arrangement being made, the gay party soon arrived at Quincy. And the pic nio at which the Washington belle took such a wild ride was spoken of for years afterwards in Quincy, by some who were present on that day. 15 220 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXV. AN ELECTION DAT IN ILLINOIS. The day after the pic nic, the house of Mrs. Stanmore was crowded with visitors, for Annie had won the hearts of the citizens of Quincy, by her affability and kindness. And they called to inquire if she had received any injury by her fall of the preceding day. Even Edwin, who was usually so much occu- pied, found more time than usual to loiter about the house, and enjoy many quiet conversations with Annie, which, though very interesting to themselves, would not sufficiently interest the reader to bear a repetition. As the time for the election approached, Edwin's time was much occupied with politics, and it was necessary it should be, for his opponent resorted to every means to secure votes. The rum-sellers were all opposed to Edwin, on account of his advocacy of temperance, irhish at that time, was more unpopular than it is now. His opponent had given them instructions to treat every man that loved a dram, whose vote was considered doubtful, and thus secure it for himself. This game had been played for some- time, and the generosity of Walton, and the niggardliness of Stanmore, was spolcen of throughout the district, giving much uneasiness to Edwin's friends. About two weeks before the election, several of them as- sembled at the tavern of his honest friend, J. Ilelvenstein, deter- mined to fall upon some plan to counteract this unfavorable im- pression, which they feared would be the cause of losing his election. After talking over the matter some time, they finally concluded that they would, without consulting Edwin, take AN ELECTIOIT DAY IS ILLINOIS. 221 Walton's plan, and charter the rum-sellers to treat for their can- didate also, well knowing that those who are engaged in this traffic, care but little for whom they treat, so they put money in their own purse. Whilst they were talking the matter over, the good landlady came into the room, and hearing Edwin's nanie, she loitered to hear what was said, for she felt a warm interest in his success. When she understood what they proposed douig, she turned to them and said : " Now, gentlemen, I would jist advise you to do no sich thing, without askin' the Squire's opinion about it, for his notions some- how or other always seems to be jist right, and I tell you now if he objects to it, you would best let it alone." " I don't know but Mamma Helvenstein is about right," re- plied Joe Jenkins, a substantial farmer, who was an active poli- tician, and a warm friend of Edwin's. "Yes, but something must be done or we're beat, that's certain ;" was the remark of another, " chances seem against us just now." "Well, suppose we send for'the Squire, and talk to him about it," said Joe Jenkins ; and, turning to Mrs. Helvenstein, he asked if she had any one she could send. "Oh, yes; Dick is just at the pump watering the horses, and I'll send him down to the Squire's office, and he'll be with you in less than no time." True enough, Mrs. Helvenstein's messenger soon did his errand, and Edwin was with his friends in a few minutes. But, in the meantime, it had got whispered, among the frequenters of the grog shops, that Edwin's friends were getting alarmed at the course Walton was pursuing, and had met at old Helvenstein's to devise some plan to counteract it ; and the consequence was, a goodly number of them had dropped into the tavern, to see what was going on. When Edwin arrived, Joe Jenkins gave him a cordial shake of the hand, saying : "Well, Squire, we're going to be beat, unless we treat as Walton does ; and we've sent for you, to tell you this is our 222 THE BELLE OF •WASHINGTON. honest opinion, and get your consent to fight him with his own ■weapons." " You know, my friends, I would sooner be beaten, than be elected by offering the intoxicating cup to one of my fellow citi- zens." " Oh, we know your scrupulousness. Squire ; we don't want you to treat, but let us do it." " That would be worse still, to consent to let my friends do that which I would not do myself. No, no ; if I am beaten, let me feel that I have stooped to no means to secure votes, that would degrade me, not only in my own estimation, but in the opinion of all good men. It is my firm conviction that the man who will resort to such means to secure a seat in Congress, will, when that seat is attained, for a consideration, sell his vote and influence to any measure, regardless of the interests of his con- stituents. The true patriot and statesman knows that the stability of our government, and the prosperity of our country depend upon the sobriety, intelligence, and virtue of the masses ; and never, to promote his own personal ambition, will he consent to pander to that appetite, which, more than any other, has a tendency to degrade and brutalize his brother man." " Squire, don't use quite such strong language," said Joe Jen- kins, in an undertone ; " see, yonder sits Jim Johnson, and a parcel of fellows, who take their dram daily, down at Smith's, at Walton's expense, and, you know, he's rather a hard customer, when he gets fairly set against a body.'' "I cannot help it," said Edwin, looking toward Jim Johnson and his associates, " for it is my opinion, honestly entertained, and independently spoken ; and I would no more seek to procure votes by concealing my sentiments, than I would purchase them by intoxicating draughts." " Then, you will not consent to let us treat." " Certainly not." " Then of course we will not do it, but I fear we work to a great disadvantage, yet we honor you the more for your integrity and uprightness of principle." " I trust I shall ever continue worthy of that esteem, whether AN ELECTION DAY IN ILLINOIS. 223 I attain or not the position to which I aspire, and to which your kindness would elevate me." Jim and his associates, seeing it was decided that the friends' of Edwin were not to treat, left the tavern. When he got out side of the door, he said to his companions : " I tell you what boys, the Squire talks like a hook, and what is better, he practices what he preaches. I've seen sights of poll ticians make mighty fine speeches, but not live up to them them- selves. I tell you now, I like his straight forward independent way." " But you don't intend to vote for him," said one of the boys. " I have not said who I'll vote for, nor do I intend to, till the morning of the election, when I go to put my ticket in the ballot box. Why, you see. boys, politicians are something like a young feller courtin' a gal, as long as he is dubious whether he can get her or not, he's all perliteness and attention. And it is just so with a politician, as long as he is doubtful about your vote, he is mighty perlite. He will walk clear across the street to shake hands with you, ask after the old woman and the youngsters, and before he leaves you, he will ask you to step into the nearest drinking shop and take something to quinch your thirst. But promise him your vote once, and, not but what he'll treat you just as well when he does see you, but then he's not half so sharp sighted at spying you out in every crowd, and at every corner as he used to be. I tell you now, this child has seen so many election days, that he has cut his eye teeth." " But you'll vote for Colonel Walton, of course ?" " I haven't told any man who I will vote for, nor I don't mean to, not even my old woman." " But you take your daily bitters down at Smith's, free of charge ?" " Sartingly, you would not expect a chap like me, that pride'a himself on his manners, to be guilty of such imperliteness, as to refuse to imbibe when he is kindly invited to do so." " But we all know it is at Col. Walton's expense 1" " We have no business to know anything about it. I'm asked to take a drink, and do it, asking no questions. On the day of 224 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOK. the election, I mean to deposite my vote for the man I think Vill make the best representative, and I want you all to do the same. ■ But let us step round to Smith's, and tell him what the Squire and his friends have decided on." Jim Johnson was a specimen of humanity peculiar to the West. He was fearless, generous, and independent, possessing but little " book larnin'," as he himself expressed it, but a good stock of native shrewdness, which was so improved by observa- tion, that he was enabled to judge of the character of those with whom he came in contact, with much correctness. He was fond of a dram, but never took enough to reduce him to the pitiable condition of a drunkard. His bravery and social qualities, made him a great favorite with the class with whom he associated, hence he was much courted by politicians on account of the in fluence he possessed in controlling votes. After Edwin had fully impressed upon the minds of his friends his unyielding determination to permit no treating on his account, he returned to the office. When he had gone, Joe Jenkins said : " Well, the Squire's right in his notions ; but it is mighty hard to act up to them, when you think you are going to be beat by it. However, we will do all we can for him." In the excitement of the canvass, the days flew rapidly by, and the day that is to decide the contest is finally ushered in. It is a warm August morning ; and the principal friends of the two op- posing candidates had marshalled their forces ; and crowds are collecting in the public square around the court house, prepar- atory to depositing their votes. But where is Jim Johnson? He is not among the crowd. The polls will open soon, he ought to be here ; it is not customary for him to play laggard on election day. Young Hampton, an active partizan ofCol. Walton's, slips round to Jim's house, to ascertain the cause ; but not finding him there, he goes to his shop, but neither is he there. He returned to the court house ; and he had not been there long before Jim made his appearance. Hampton approached him, and, grasping his hand, said : " Ah, where shave you been, Jim ? I have been looking foi you." AN ELECTION DAY IN ILLINOIS. 225 " I have been taking a little trip through some of the settle- ments, to have a little private talk with the boys." "That's right," said he, slapping him approvingly on the shoulder ; " we all know the efFect of your eloquence." A bystander observed a queer twinkle in Jim's eye, as he repliea : " I have not been making any display of eloquence, merely telling them a few plain truths." " All right. Let us go and deposite our votes, then we will be at leisure to look after our friends." They walked off together, and just as they approached the ballot box, Hampton offered Jim a ticket, remarking : " I suppose, you have not had time to procure a ticket, since •you returned?" " Yes, I provided myself with one, before I came to the court house." " Where did you get it 1" "At old Helvenstein's tavern." " Thunder and blazes !" roared Hampton, with a look of blank dismay ; "ain't you going to vote for Col. Walton?" " No ; I've made up my mind to vote for Squire Stanmore." " Haven't you been taking your bitters free, down at Smith's, for nearly a month ?" " Sartingly : they asked me to drink, and, you know, I never refuse." " But didn't you know that it was at Col. Walton's expense V " I had such a hint, but they did not tell me that I was to vote for Col. Walton on that account. I've read, in an old fashioned book they call the Bible, about one Esau, who sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. Now, I kin tell you, I'm not such an Esau as to sell my glorious birthright, which is the privilege of voting for the man I please to make our laws, for a drink of grog. I did think of voting for Col. Walton, till, the day you sent me down to the tavern, to listen to the conference of the Squire and his friends. Well, I did listen, and the upshot of it •was, I determined to vote for the Squire." " Why didn't you say so then?" 226 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOIT. " That's agaia my policy." " Well, I tell you now, Jim Johnson, it's a real mean trick for you, to be swilling down liquor every day, at Col. Walton's ex- pense, and vote for his opponent." " Laws a massy ! I'm willing to pay for the licker ; but I heard so much bragging about the Colonel's ginerosity, that I thought the drinks were given free, gratis, for nothing. — Howsomever, if they were given to buy votes to elect him to Congress, he was not so mighty ginerous, after all. So, you can just tell Smith, when he makes out the Colonel's bill, to charge my drinks to me, and I'll pay for them ; for my vote is not to be bought for any such consideration. I would rather pay for them twice, than not vote for the Squire, for I believe as he does : that a man who will buy votes by treating, will, if he should get to Congress, sell his own vote and influence to promote his own personal interest, even to the injury of his constituents, and Jim Johnson's vote shall never help him there. So, here goes for Squire Stanmore," eaid he, depositing his ticket in the ballot box. Whilst this conversation was going on, the friends of Col. Walton looked much crest-fallen, and those of Edwin elated in proportion. Before the closing of the polls, it was very evident that Jim's private talk with the boys had produced its effect ; for nearly every one, whose vote the friends of Col. Walton sup- posed they had secured for him, when they were offered a ticket by them, declined it, saying : " You can jist tell Smith to charge my drinks to me, 'cause I goes for Squire Stanmore." It was several days before the returns from all the districts came in, but when they were received, they showed a handsome majority for Edwin. And his friends, who had advised him to sacrifice his principles, for the sake of catching votes, were heard to say : " The Squire was right ; we now see it proven, that honesty is the best policy, even in politics." Frederick Leroux, who, when he came to Quincy, intended to spend but a few weeks in Illinois, had become so much interested in the election, that he could not leave until the contest was de- cided. Now, that it is over, and it is ascertained that his friend AN ELECTION DAT IN ILLINOIS. 227 ■« is member elect to Congress, he will leave in a few days. As Mary Selden has concluded to visit the South in company with Frederick and his friends, Mrs. Selden insists, that they, with the young follcs of the village, shall spend the evening preceding their departure at her house. The Mansion of the Seldens was one of the largest private residences in the village, surrounded by beautiful grounds, laid out with much taste, and planted with trees, shrubs and flowers. The evening preceding Mary's departure has arrived ; the house is filled with glad young hearts, filled with high hopes of happiness. It is a quiet moon- light evening, and many are tempted to stroll forth in the beau- tiful grounds ; and, for aught we know, more than one love tale was whispered on that evening. But, this we do know, that, in a retired walk, there are two conversing so earnestly, that they were forgetful of the gay scene from which they had strayed. But let us listen, perhaps we may learn the import of their con- versation. "Ah, yes, Annie," we hear in the deep earnest tones of Edwin, " the last month has been a dream of happiness too perfect for long continuance on earth, but I can now witness your departure with less regret, that I shall meet you next winter in Wash- ington." " And, you cannot conceive how much I shall enjoy your triumph, in seeing those who once looked with contempt upon you, courting the attention of the young Congressman, who has raised himself to that position by his own merit." " For that triumph I care not ; yet, the thought that it brings me nearer the realization of the hope, which has been the guiding star of my life, does fill my bosom with glad emotion." But let us leave them and return to the parlor from whence music and merriment is borne out on the night breeze. Mary moved among her guests like a mirth-inspiring spirit, with a gay jest for this, and bright smile for that. She was standing near the piano, from which she had just risen, chatting merrily with Frederick, when one of her friends approached her, saying : " So, Miss Selden, you are really gcftng to leave us, to visit that laud of oppress) :)n and abomination, the South." 228 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " Oh, yes, but I go on a mission of mercy ; I have no dcubt, but, before I return, I shall, by my eloquence, prevail on Mr. Leroux to liberate all his slaves, and send them to Liberia." " I promise you this much. Miss Selden, before you go," said Frederick, " that every slave you find on my plantation, who •wishes to go to Liberia, shall be sent there at my expense." " And you give me free permission to set before them the ad- vantages and privileges, that they and their children will derive by going, without letting me be imprisoned or mobbed as an abolitionist V " Certainly, you will be my guest, and as such you may say what you please to my people, and no one will say aught against it." " Mind now, I'll hold you to your promise, you shall not get out of it, by sa.ying you were joking." " I am in sober earnest, and will not only send every one who wishes to go, but will give them the means of support for one year after they get there." " See how much good I will do by going South." " If you do not, it shall not be for want of opportunity." " Take care, you will find yourself without a servant." "I will risk that, you have no idea of the feeling that exists between master and slave, until you go to the South. The im- pression you get from reading articles written by persons, who, perhaps, never saw a Southern plantation, is utterly false ; but, ere long, you will see and judge for yourself." So pleasantly passed the hours, that it was long past midnight ere the guests took their leave. After their departure, as this was the first time Mary had left the paternal roof to be absent for any length of time, there was much advice and admonition to be given, and the last words spoken by her father before she re- tired, were : " Now, be careful, and don't take it in your silly head, to fall in love with any of those Southern slaveholders. I know they are high dashing fellows, well calculated to captivate a simple maiden's fancy ; but I trust your principles are so well established, AN ELECTION DAY IN ILLINOIS. 229 that you will never give your affections to one who can hold his fellow being in bondage." " Never fear for me, father," said she gayly, and kissing his cheek, she left the room. Although our young friends retired so late the previous night, the next morning they were up betimes, and ere ten o'clock, they had taken leave of their friends, and were gliding down the Mississippi on board of one of those floating palaces, that so proudly ride upon her bosom. 230 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON.. CHAPTER XXVI. VISIT TO THE SOUTH. The steamer Sultana, the boat on which Frederick and his friends had taken passage, is dashing rapidly forward ; the next day will bring them to their destination. Twilight had deepened into darkness ; but, in the saloons of that boat, all was brilliancy, mirth and gayety. The passengers had assembled in the ladies' cabin, and strains of delicious music issued from the windows, and wakened the echoes on the silent shores. The trip had been very pleasant ; the intercourse of the passengers had been social and agreeable ; and, as this was the last evening they would spend together, each feels disposed to contribute all in his power to the amusement of the others. Several songs had been sung, when Eulalie approached Mary Selden, saying : " Come, give us one of your mirth-provoking songs." " No," replied she, " for once I will sing something sentimental, just to show the folks, before I leave them, that I can sing some- thing besides comic songs." Taking her seat at the piano, she sang a sweet little song, that had been a favorite 'of Ella St&nmore's, and which Ella had often sung for Frederick Leroux. When Mary had finished, she look ed up, and saw Frederick, a short distance from her, with a shade of deeper sadness on his brow than she had ever witnessed there before. Rising from the music stool, she went to him, saying merrily : " Comie, ' cast that shadow from thy brow,' and give us a song. You know, each one has to contribute something to the entertain- ment of the company, this evening, and you, as well as others." " I seldom sing." VISIT TO THE SOUTH. 281 "That is admitting that you do sometimes sing, and this evening must be one of the few times." " I suppose I must attempt it, if you insist upon it." Then, taking up a guitar, he ran his fingers over its strings, and brought forth sounds almost as soft as the tones of an ^olian harp. Having played a prelude as it were, he sang the following, in a voice full of melody : Tea, lady, I will sing a strain. Bat, fear 'twill be more sad than gay. For I am thinking of the scenes. Through which I've passed since boyhood's day. When 'neath the orange groves I played, Ere sorrow had my young heart wrung. And dreamed my own dear home more fair, Thau Persian vales, by Poet's sung. A father then was by my side, And counselled oft his wayward boy, ' And ah, a mother's gentle smile, Sent to my heart a thrilling joy. And over, when the day was past. She in the quiet hour of even, Would call her darling to her side, And speak to him of God and Heaven. And then she'd clasp my tiny hands, And teach to me my evening prayer. When e'er I think of those past hours. It seems her spirit hovers near. Death, o'er that homestead rudely passed, Father and mother both are gone, Though 'tis unchanged, it seems less fair. For I'm alone, ah, all alone. When he ceased singing, the wild hilarity which had prevailed during the evening, was somewhat subdued, and the voice of more than one, was modulated to a softer tone as he spoke of his mother, and recalled some incident connected with her care and training of his early childhood. Among this number was one, who had been the life of the party during the whole trip. He had traveled much, not only in the United States, but, in foreign lands, and was now returning to his boyhood's home, 232 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. where a gentle mother awaited his coming. He was seated beside Annie, and before Frederick commenced singing, he had been telling her of the mischievous frolics, that he and his tra- veling companions had been engaged in on the continent. He ever being the leading spirit. When Fredericli commenced singing, he became silent, and by the time he closed, his counte- nance was expressive of deep feeling, and his fine dark eye was humid with a tear. Turning to Annie, he said : " I can truly sympathize with your cousin. Fortune has showered on me many blessings, but that which I esteem the greatest, is a pious gentle mother, who also taught me in early life my evening prayers, and in mercy she is spared to bless me still, with her kind counsels and gentle admonitions. I have been a wild and wayward wanderer, engaging in many mad ad- ventures, from the love of mischief; but the remembrance of her pious teaching, ever restrained me from falling into gross vice, or yielding to debasing appetites." To train the young mind thus, is woman's holiest mission on earth, her noblest right, a right, nature has clearly defined and established. And when we see her attending conventions, and making speeches to establish her title to other rights, which she fancies should be hers, we feel that her character is somewhat divested of that sacredness which is now attached to it — but we do not intend to read a homily on woman's rights, so wo will return to our story. The evening passed pleasantly away in interesting conversa- tion, and when the hour for i|ptii-ing arrived, each felt something like regret that this was the last evening they should spend together. The next morning, they had arrived in that region of the South where the rich sugar plantations stretch along the banks of the Mississippi. The breakfast hour had just passed, when Frederick asked Miss Selden to step on the guards with him, as his own plantation would soon be in sight. True enough, the acres he called his own, soon met his riveted gaze. The family mansion, which reared itself proudly in the distance, was plainly visible. YISIT TO THE SOUTH. 233 A Jew more revolutions of the ponderous machinery, wnich pro- pels the swift traveling Sultana, and the humbler whitewashed dwellings, which are inhabited by the slaves, are also seen peep- ing from the shade trees by which they are surrounded. Ere long the point where boats land is in view, and on the bank is seen a carriage ; whilst the driver sits on the seat, holding the lines, beside it stand two individuals, looking earnestly towards the boat. They both look to be about Frederick's own age. One is a white man, the other a negro. They had not looked thus long, when the colored man turned to his companion, saying : " Yes, there is Mass Fred, shure enough." " Where ? I do not see him." " Jist on the guards, with a lady on hisarm." " I see several gentlemen on the guards, with ladies on their arm, but do not distinguish, at this distance, Fred from the others." " Laws, Master Collingwood, I can tell Mass Fred among a thousand, as far as I can see him. That's him, pinting towards us." " Ah, yes ; I recognize him, now." Perhaps our readers would like to know who Master Colling- wood is ; so, let us hear what Frederick says of him, as he points him out to Miss Selden. " See, awaiting us, on the shore, Francis Collingwood, one of the dearest friends I have on earth. I know you will admire him. I have never spoken of him to you, although he has resided with me for the last three years ; and^as I am rather disinclined to business, and have been much from home during that time, he has taken charge of my people and plantation during that time." "Or, to express it in phrase more homely," said Mary, "he is your negro driver. I am determined to hate him." " I doubt whether you will be able to continue in that deter- mination, when you know him. He is amiable, elegant, intel- lectual and refined." " Then, his occupation and character are strangely inconsistent." 234 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " The occupation you apply to him exists only in your imagin. ation, whilst his noble, generous qualities are real." " Did you not say he had taken charge of your plantation and people for the last three years 1" " I did." " Well, we, of the north, know well enough what that means." " At least, you think you do." " I am sure we do." It is evident, from Mary's remarks, that she thought Francis Collingwood an overseer on Frederick Leroux's plantation. But in this she was mistaken. At this moment, the boat touched the shore ; the plank was put out, and Francis Collingwood was on the boat, with the ha,nd of Frederick clasped in his own. Fred had barely time to reply to his hearty " God bless you," and present him to Miss Selden, when the other, who had watched the approach of the boat so eagerly, was by his side, his face beaming with happiness. Frederick grasped his hand, saying : '' How have you been, Charley, during my absence V " Right well, Mass Fred, and mighty glad to see you." " Well, how is mammy, and Hannah, and Aunt Gracey, and Uncle Harry, and all the rest of them ?" " All well but mammy ; she had the rheumitiz. But when she heard you war coming, she got up well right strate, and has been moving about the house as spry as if she was only twenty." Whilst this colloquy was going on between Charley and his master, Mary looked on with surprise, wondering Frederick was not ashamed to talk so faimliarly and put himself upon such equality with a negro, in such a crowd. She did not understand the warm feeling of friendship that exists between master and slave, and thought he should treat him as the wealthy man of the North treats the poor man who serves him faithfully, scarcely deigning to speak to him civilly, for fear of compromising his dignity. After Frederick had inquired after his people, he said to Charley : " Now, you go look after our baggage, whilst Collingwood and I see the ladies in the carriage.'- VISIT TO THE SOUTH. 235 Then turning to his friend, he said : " Let us be getting on land, and not detain the boat longer than necessary." In a few moments, our traveling party, with their baggage, was on shore, and the Sultana moved gracefully off, on her way to the Crescent City. They remained a short time on the bank, watching the boat as she moved proudly forward on the broad bosom of the Mississippi, whilst a many delicately 'broidered 'kerchief was waved, as an adieu, from her guards. When Fred- erick had assisted the ladies into the carriage, and saw them seated, he told the coachman to drive on, and he and his friend ■would walk to the house. When the carriage had started, he turned to Collingwood, and said : " I feared you might possibly not be at the landing." " You need have given yourself no uneasiness on that score ; for, from the time we received your letter, saying you would be home on the Sultana, mammy, who, you know, says she knows every boat on the river before it comes in sight by its puffing, has kept her ears wide open that she might tell us when the Sul- tana was coming. This morning, sometime before you came in sight, she ordered David to bring out the carriage, and go down to the landing, for you would soon be here. I doubted much whether it were so ; but, to please her, came down, and it turned out she either does know the boats by their puff, as she calls it, or, in this instance, she bad guessed very shrewdly." The ladies had just alighted from the carriage when Frederick came in sight. Mammy was standing at the gate to receive the ladies, and do the honors of the house with becoming dignity ; but when she saw Frederick, she forgot ladies, dignity, and every thing else, but her darling child, as she always called him. She ran to meet him as fast as her old limbs would carry her, and when she came near enough, she seized his hand, and cover- ing it with kisses, said as soon as she had sufficient breath : " Lord bless you, honey, so you is got home at last. 'Deed, chUd, you does mighty wrong to go away and stay so long and give poor old mammy so much uneasiness about you. You knows there is nobody to care for you now, like I does." 236 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON And the faithful creature wiped a tear from her eye, on the corner of her smoothly ironed white apron, as Frederick replied : " I know it marnmy, I know it, and regard your faithful love, as one of the few blessings now left me on earth." " Then honey, don't go away and stay so long agin." " I have come home with the intention of staying with my people, and trying to make them happy." " Oh, they are happy enough, all they want is to see your Hessed face among them. Master Collingwood is as kind and considerate as you can be, and they all love him next to you." Just at this moment it occurred to her that she had forgotten to attend to the ladies, but Hannah, more thoughtful than her mother, had conducted them into the drawing-room, where Mary was now standing beside one of the windows, observing with much interest the look of devoted affection manifest in mammy's countenance, and the kind attention with which Frederick treated her. When they entered the drawing-room, mammy welcomed Annie kindly, and then courtesied to the other ladies without speaking, as if waiting for an introduction. " Have you forgotten little Eulalie Dupre, that used to play with me, and who was so great a favorite of yours ?" Mammy looked into the face of each. As the eye of Eulalie met her searching gaze, a smile passed over her countenance, and the old woman recognized her immediately. Having ex- pressed her pleasure at seeing her again, she turned to Madame Dupr6, and taking her hand respectfully, she said : " I know this is Madame Dupre, 1 shall never forget her, for she was such a dear friend of my mistress, who is now a saint in Heaven." Frederick now stepped to Mary's side, saying : " Miss Selden, permit me to present to you my faithful nurse, of whom you have heard me spealc so frequently ; I know you will find her all I have represented her." Mary, from her northern education, not having been accus- tomed to treat the blacks with that genuine kindness and cor- diality, which characterize the intercourse of the Southern people ■with their faithful and attached house servants, scarcely knew VISIT TO THE SOUTH. 237 how to receive this introduction. But when mammy approached her with a respectful courtesy, she extended her hand to her which she toolc with much respect, saying : " I hope Miss Selden, you will enjoy your visit to ' Happy Valley.' " Frederick, when he first read Easselas, had given this name to his home, and it had retained it ever since. Mammy, after having attended to every thing necessary for the comfort of the ladies, still loitered as if unwilling to lose sight of her dear child. Finally she left the room, but soon ap- peared again at the door, and beclconed to Frederick, unseen as she supposed, by any but himself. Mary had observed it, for there was something about this old woman that interested her exceedingly, and caused her to note all her acts. Frederick stepped out, and to his inquiry of what she wished, she told him, " the people who were not in the fields had heard of his return, and were all anxious to come and see him, but did not know if he would like for them to come up, as there were strange ladies in the house." " Certainly they can come, and when the field hands come to dinner, they need not return to work, but have a holiday, and I will call and see them all during the afternoon." Soon after mammy's message was sent, at least thirty persons, young and old, had collected in front of the family mansion, to welcome Frederick home. As Mary looked on this scene from the window at which she was seated, and heard the hearty " God bless you, Master Fred," of the old men and women as they gathered round him, and saw the looks of gratification with which even the children listened to the words of kindness ad- dressed to them by their master, she said within herself, " This is certainly a different picture from what I anticipated looking upon. These people look cheerful and happy — But I will not form conclusions hastily — this is the first day, — I have only seen the surface, but before I leave, I will make myself thoroughly acquainted with the feelings of these people, and ascertain if their cheerfulness be affected or real." 238 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXVn. THE SUSTAINING POWER OF TRUE PIEIT. Let us leave, for a time, Annie and her friends to er joy the j'feasure to be derived from their pleasant social intercourse with t!ie warm-hearted citizens of the Sunny South, whose manners are as genial as their clime. Let the imagination of the reader go back some years. We will look again upon the scene where three figures, in the inno- cence and beauty of young girlhood, are kneeling before the altar to receive the holy sacrament of baptism. Of these three, one, whose meek and gentle spirit unfitted her to battle with life's stern realities, had passed from earth. The second is in the possession of every enjoyment prosperity can give, whilst her heart is filled with bright hopes for the future. And the young life of the third is overshadowed with cares and trials that must have overwhelmed her, but for the pure light of religion which illumined her path when the dark clouds of sorrow rested upon it, and soothed and strengthened her anxious and wearied spirit, when there was no earthly friend to speak a word of comfort. Yes, dark and deep were the waVes of affliction that swept over the spirit of Emma Carlton. During the summer, whilst hope and happiness grew brighter in the heart of Annie Grayson, sick ness, which is ever a sore trial to those who earn a support by the labor of their hands, had entered the pleasant abode of Mrs. Carlton, and not only had it entered, but it lingered long. It was the latter part of August when Mrs. Carlton was seized with a violent attack of fever which lasted sometime, and brought her near the grave: But Emma procured for her the best medi cal attendance to be had in the city, and. that, with watchful THE SUSTAINING POWER OF TRUE PIETY. 239 nursing, saved her from death, but left her weak and helpless as an infant. The expenses incurred by her mother's illness, when defrayed, left her without money. Added to this was the loss of the worlt of her best customers ; for having come to get their work for the fall and winter done during her mother's illness, when she could not attend to it, they had made engagements to have it done elsewhere. The winter was just at hand, her money all gone, and no certainty of procuring work, whilst her mother was still Very weak, needing those delicacies which the sick crave. Emma scarce new what course to pursue, but she did not remain in doubt long ; for, with that prompt energy which was a striking trait in her character, she at once decided what she would do, and as soon as her plans were formed, she set about executing them. She sold all her furniture, save enough to furnish one room, and then procured a single room, in a portion of the city where rents were cheap, and had the furniture removed to it. Having arranged it in a neat and tasty manner, which gave an air of comfort to the humble apartment, she had her mother, who was still very feeble, brought in a carriage to their new home, as she called it. It was the twilight hour, when she had completed all her arrangements, and was ready to assist her mother from the carriage, as it drove up to the door. Oh, it was beautiful, to look upon the smile that illumined her face, as she arranged the rocking chair, which she had retained for her mo- ther's comfort, saying : "Sit down, and rest yourself, mother dear, whilst I prepare you a cup of tea." "I think it is you that should rest," said the mother sadlv, " you have been on your feet since morning's light." " Yes, but I am young and well." " True ; but those who are young and in health may be worn down by incessant toil, such as you have endured for some time past." " Our heavenly father has promised he will give strength to those who put their trust in him, equal to the trials he permits to fall upon them." " I am glad you can feel thus," said the mother, with a sigh. 240 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " When you drink a cup of tea, you will feel less despondent," said Emma, arranging the tea things on a little table, at one side of the room, and placing several delicacies on it, that she had purchased to tempt her mother to eat. When they had partaken of the evening meal, Emma washed and put the tea things away, listened to Leila say her. evening prayers, put her in bed, and tucking the clothes about her, to make her comfortable, she gave her a good-night kiss, saying : " God keep you, my darling." She then knelt down beside her mother, whose countenance still wore a troubled look, and, taking her pale attenuated hand within her own, she pressed it to hei lips, saying. : " Mother dear, do not look so sad, we have still much to be thankful for." " Much to be tkankful for !" repeated Mrs. Carlton, in a fretful tone. " I suppose I must be thankful for being reduced from living in genteel style to be the occupant of one small room, and that but scantily furnished !" " No, mother, but thankful that we are not reduced to positive destitution." " If we are not positively destitute, we are precious near it,- and if you do not get work, it will not be long before we have nothing to eat. And I'm not thankful to barely have something to eat, and that procured by incessant labor, whilst I see others, who spend their time in idleness, living in fine houses, furnished in the most costly style, and pampering their appetites with every delicacy the market affords. No, no, I will not be thankful, when I see such an unequal distribution of the goods of this world, for the small pittance that falls to my share." "That is the spirit with which too many in this city look upon life. Possessing everything requisite for comfort and convenience, still they will not enjoy it, but indulge in a spirit of repining, because they see others, in possession of more wealth, and sur- rounded by luxuries and elegances which their means will not justify, and which are not necessary to happiness, but to the gratification of vanity and foolish pride. Although but young, my lessons of life have taught me, true happiness does not de- THE SUSTAINING POWER OF TEUE PIETY. 241 pend on the mere external circumstances by which we are sur- rounded, but upon our own spirit. I venture to say, there is many a proud beauty, surrounded by all that wealth can pur- chase, who does not feel half the happiness that swells my bosom, as I look around this humble room, and feel that I can contribute, by my exertions, to the comfort of my mother." " You are a dear good child, and I do feel thankful for your love and untiring patience." " Now, dear mother, I have talked so much, I fear I have wearied you, let me sing something for you. You know you always say my voice hath a spell to drive away discontented thoughts, and make you forget, for a time, the change of fortune that has fallen on us." " I feaf such would not be the case to-night — I should miss the tones of your guitar which you touched so lightly, and that would fill my mind with the thought of the poverty, which had obliged us to sell even that." " Better the guitar should be gone than the voice." " You could not sell your voice." " No, but I might be afflicted with some disease that would destroy the voice, so you see, if we look at things aright, we can always find something to be thankful for." " You reason strangely, but I wish I could look upon things as you do. It would make me more content." " Indeed it would. And mother, you can see things as I do if you will try. Whenever you feel an inclination to repine, just reflect that this world is only a state where the spirit is prepared for the next; and it may be the trials sent are necessary to purify it, and fit us for the enjoyment of that perfect bliss pro- mised the pure in heart." " Well, child, sing your song, I'll think of it." Emma rose from her kneeling position, and imprinting a kiss »n her mother's pale cheek, sang in a voice attuned to sweetest melody : Give me, oli God, a grateful heart. For all the gifts Thou'st given, Bat most, that Thou hast taught my soul, Its treasures ore in Heaven. 242 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. This life is but a span, a breath, That quickly flits away. Bearing along the pure in heart, To joys, that ne'er decay. I'd rather have a spirit meek, Without a sinful stain. Than all tjie wealth that ere was borne Across the Spanish Main. Not all the precious gems of lud, Can soothe an aching heart ; Nor cast one ray upon our path When we from life depart. I will not covet things so vain, But ask for heavenly love To guide my footsteps here on earth, And lead my thoughts above. Then, when this form of earthly mould Lies cold beneath the sod. My spirit shall triumphant rise, To sing the praise of God. When Emma had finished her song, a tear-drop glistened in the eye of Mrs. Carlton, and looking on her daughter, she said : " I have been ungrateful, that I have not been thankful for the love and kindness of such a child as you. Yes, I will learn to look upon, life as you do, and not regard riches as the greatest blessing bestowed upon mortals." " The greatest blessing, which is the grace of God, is bestowed upon all who will receive it, both rich and poor. Oh how often the heart becomes perverted in the pursuit of riches and becomes unfitted for the reception of that Divine grace that gives, even upon earth, a perception of the joys of Heaven. Yet, I would not condemn riches, for when it is possessed by a kind and generous heart, it is a beneficent gift from the Creator, enabling its possessor to do good to his fellow creatures. But when it is regarded only as a means of gratifyijjg our own vanity, and tyrannizing over those less fortunate than ourselves, it becomes a curse, because it makes us forgetful of the Giyer of every good and perfect gift." THE SUSTAINING POWER OF TEUE PIETY. 243 « That is the light in which I have ever regarded it, but as you were singing, whilst the tones of your voice fell soothingly on my ear, the words you uttered crept into my heart, and I felt how utterly false was the estimate I had placed upon wealth, and how greatly I had mistaken the purposes of life. I realized the worthlessness of those vanities and pleasures I had so much coveted, but which pass so quickly away, and I resolved to culti- vate that spirit which will fit me for the enjoyment of 'joys that ne'er decay.' " " Do so, dear mother, then we shall be happy indeed. For, if we have peace and sunlight in our own hearts, we are strong to bear the buffetings of the world from without." " Yes, yes, it must be so, or how could you have borne so patiently with my querulousness." "Speak not of it dear mother, you have been so ill." " I will not speak more to-night, for I am weary and would rest." Emma undressed her mother, as she had been in the habit of doing since her illness, and when she had got into bed, drew the cover around her with as much care! as if she had been an infant. Wearied with the excitement of the day, Mrs. Carlton soon sank into a gentle slumber. When Emma was assured she slept, she stepped forth into the soft moonlight, and casting her eyes toward the blue arch of heaven, gemmed with myriad gtars, and poured forth the emotions that swelled in her bosom, in the fol- lowing language : " Oh, heavenly father, I thank thee for the mercies and gifts thou hast bestowed, but particularly for the gift of song, if, by that means, I win the heart of my darling mother from its devo- tion to the trifles and vanities of life, to seek that pearl of great price compared to which all else is dross. I shall regard all the privations we have endured as blessings, if it cause my mother to seek for happiness from that source from which true happiness is only found. Ah, yes, j could pass through even greater trials, were it required of me." , ■ Could they, who had called her gloriously beautiful, when in the pride of prosperfty as she moved a bright star in the gay and 244 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. fashionable throng, charming all by the sweet warbling of her songs, have looked upon her now, with hands clasped and face upturned to heaven, and illumined with the high, pure and holy thoughts with which her heart was filled, they would have deemed her divinely fair. One could almost fancy she was some being from a higher sphere as she stood thus, with the moonbeams fall- ing upon her pale pure brow. Ever, when she was deeply moved, she loved to turn her gaze upon the star-gemmed heavens, and as she poured forth the aspirations of her heart, she felt as if she were in the very pre- sence of God, and holding intercourse with him as with a familiar friend ; and it was this that sustained her under all her trials. After communing thus, when she entered the humble apart- ment, she noted not its lowliness, for her soul was filled with happiness, and her thoughts were of that bright home which is destined for the pure-minded. And she herself proves the truth of her own words, that happiness does not depend upon external circumstances, but upon the spirit within. As a farther proof of the truth of this remark, let us take a peep into a luxuriously furnished apartment in one of the proud- est mansions of the city. Clementina Wilkie is walking hur- riedly to and fro, as if too much excited to remain quiet. Her features, which are cast in nature's perfect mould, are distorted by the evil and ungoverned passions that rage in her bosom, till not one trace of beauty is discernible;- and her dark eyes, whose glances are so soft and languishing when she wishes to captivate some unsuspecting heart, now gleam with a fiendish expression. At length, she stops in the centre of the room, and stamping violently, gives utterance to the following words : " What ! I, who have ruled her since a mere child, permitting her to have no will but my own, to lose my influence now ! No, no, I have never yet failed to accomplish anything when I willed it. Jenny shall be sent home. Why, the minx, fi-om rivaling me in the affections of my aunt, she will next rival me in society ! I committed an error in proposing to my aunt to send her to school, for these nuns have managed to give her manners a polish that makes her almost equal to those who have THE SraTAINlNG POWER OF TBUE PIETY. 245 been in society all their lives. But she must go home, that I have resolved upon," Having said this, she threw herself into a seat, and you could perceive, by the play of her features, that angry and vindictive feelings were raging in her bosom, and all the luxury by which she was surrounded gave her no pleasure. 246 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXVm. THE WILL. We left Clementina Wilkie, the beautiful, the acccomplished and intellectual, greatly excited, by yielding to her own un- governed passions. We will now go back a kittle, and let our readers know the cause of this excitement. Sickness had, during the summer, visited the proud mansion of which she was a resident, as well as the humbler home of Emma Carlton, and death, whose approach gold cannot stay, had also entered. Mr. Parkinson, the wealthy merchant, had paid the last debt, the debt of nature. Ere he died he made a will, and, having no relatives for whom he had any affection, he devised the whole of his immense wealth, which consisted in houses, stocks and money, to his wife, to dispose of as she chose at her death. Money could not stay the approach of death, neither could it purchase relief from suffering. His illness was long and severe. Although Mrs. Parkinson had never loved him in the deepest, truest sense of the word, yet gratitude to him for hav- ing raised her from poverty and placed her in affluence, and his constant indulgence of all her extravagant whims and caprices, caused her to regard him kindly. And when she saw him stretched upon a sick bed, suffering intensely, and felt that her presence was a gratification, she was ever near ; and if his voice feebly moaned her name, she was by his side. Some unchari- tably disposed persons attributed this unwearied attention to in- terested motives, saying it was to secure the making of a will in her favor ; but we will do her the justice to say such was not the case. THE WILL. 247 She did not feel the effects of the fatigue and excitement sna had undergone, until after the funeral was over ; then it was ap- parent she had overtasked her energies, and ere a week had passed by, she, too, was prostrated on a bed of sickness, from which she did not rise for weeks. During this time, Clementina, who had anticipated a brilliant season at Saratoga and other fashionable places of Summer resort, was seldom in the sick room, and when she was there, it was to utter discontent at hav- ing been obliged to remain in the city, when every person who was anybody was absent. But Jenny was ever beside her aunt. When tossing restlessly in fever, it was her hand that raised the cooling draught to her parched lips, and when her temples were throbbing with pain, it was she that re-arranged the pillows, and placed upon her burning brow the cloths dipped in ice water. She would not leave these offices to be performed by a hireling nurse. Finally, the violence of the disease had passed, and she became convalescent; but Jenny was still near her, that she might not be alone to indulge in sad thoughts. As Mrs. Park- inson grew stronger, Jenny would read to her, to make the time hang less heavily on her hands ; or, if she tired of that, she would talk to her of little incidents that had occurred in Aunt Parkinson's childhood, that she had heard from grandmother; thus calling to mind, vividly, scenes long past, and almost for- gotten. For when she was in the pride of health, and in the pursuit of wordly pleasure, her thoughts never rested for a mo- ment on the humble home of her childhood. Now sickness had chastened her spirit, and she called up the reminiscences of that period. Many salutary reflections now passed through the bosom of Mrs. Parkinson. She no longer looked on life through a false medium. While in this state, she was led to contrast the cha- racter of her two nieces, and she was forced to acknowledge to herself, that, although in time of health Clementina had been her pride, in the hour of sickness Jenny had been her ministering angel, and she determined,, as soon as she had sufficient strength to arrange her business, she would make a will dividing her pro- perty equally between her nieces. The day upon the evening of which we see Clementina so much excited, she had sent for an 248 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON'. attorney, and ordered him to draw up a will to this effect, and when it was ready for her signature, to bring it to her ; also to bring witnesses with him, that she might sign it, "For," she said, " I feel that I hold life by an uncertain tenure, and I would have it arranged." The lawyer for whom she had sent, was a young man who had often transacted business for her husband, and in whom she had the utmost confidence. But she did not know that young Ailing- ton, who was more shrewd and far-seeing than many who were older in the profession, and at the same time wanting in that strict probity which should ever be found in gentlemen who be- long to the bar, had sometimes thought that, when a few more years had slipt by, and the charms of Clementina were on the wane, that he might then become a suitor for her hand, and appro- priate to himself the belle and the fortune. When he left the room of Mrs. Parkinson, he stopped in the parlor, where Miss Wilkie was alone practicing a new song. She motioned him to be seated, and without deigning to notice him farther, went on practicing her music. He was a poor and undistinguished law- yer, and she thought it useless to waste smiles and fine speeches on him. He sat patiently till she had finished her song, and then said quietly : " Miss Wilkie, your aunt summoned me to attend to some business." "So I supposed; knowing you transacted business for my uncle before his death, I presumed she would continue to patronize you, on account of your being a son of an old friend of his." " She wishes me to write a will." " There is nothing strange in that, as her health is not very good." " No, but the disposition of the Parkinson property will be somewhat different from what I supposed it would." " Did you expect to be the heir V " Certainly not, but I supposed the entire property would be- long to Miss Wilkie ; but I have directions to write a will divid- ing it equally between you and Miss Lumpkin. Would it not be well enough for you to speak to your aunt about it, this even- THE WILL. 249 ing ? and I will call again, in the morning, before writing the will : she may change her mind. I know it was her intention, before her mind was weakened by sickness, to devise the whole prop- erty to you." Without waiting for a reply, he rose, and bade her good even- ing, knowing his words had made just the impression on her that he wished. He knew well enough she would not speak to her aunt about it, but was impressed with the belief, that she would make a proposition to him, in the morning, to write a will to suit her purpose, -and have it signed by her aunt, without knowing its contents. It was this knowledge of her aunt's intentions, with regard to the disposition of her property, that threw Clementina into the excited state in which we left her. In the first burst of indignation, she determined Jenny should return immediately to her friends, in Illinois ; but, upon reflection, she changed opinion, and devised another plan for the accom- plishment of her purposes, as the following conversation with young Allington will show. That he might not be interrupted, in the confidential conference he expected to hold with Miss Wilkie, he called immediately after breakfast, Clementina was already in the parlor, awaiting him, and to his inquiry if she had spoken to her aunt, she replied : "I did not think it worth while to trouble her. As you, yes- terday, remarked, her mind is very much weakened by sickness ; in fact, I think it quite deranged ; therefore, I thought it would be well to write the will, making me sole heir to her estates. I presume you have heard her, as well as my uncle, say, I was to be heir to all they possessed ?" " I have." " If she should wish to hear the will read before signing it, you can read it as if it were written as she directed it yesterday." " I will do as you wish me. Miss Wilkie, for a consideration." " Of course ; name the amount, and it is yours when 1 come into possession." " You deem me sordid. 250 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON. " 1 Kno-w, money, to a young man just beginning life, is very necessary to his success." " The love of money is the absorbing passion of the 'old; but in the hearts of the young, other passions strive for mastery." " Speak plainly." " The meanest creature on earth covets the sunlight." " Well." " And I have dared to look with admiration, aye, love, upon her, who is, among the ordinary beauties by whom she is sur- rounded, as the sun among the stars." Clementina started as if an adder had stung her, for she felt she had put herself into the power of an unprincipled man, beyond recall. Without seeming to notice the effects his words produced, he continued : " The proposition I would make is this, that if, five years from this time, you are still unmarried, I may claim your hand. Pro- mise me this, and I am yours to do your bidding." " I can promise that without hesitation, but would notify you, at the same time, that the proposition you have made is rather an unprofitable one on your part, as I design leaving the state of single blessedness ere that time." " Then, the loss be mine." Saying this, he rose to leave the room ; but, when he got to the door, he turned, and fixing his keen eyes upon her face, said : " Miss, we understand each other V She almost withered beneath his glance, but had sufficient self control to seem unconcerned, whilst she replied in a steady voice : " We do." She felt something like a sense of relief, when he left her pre- sence, but she was still uncomfortable. She felt that she was no longer independent, but in the power of another, and that other, a most unprincipled knave. The head of the proud Clementina was bowed in deep thought, for a presentment of evil and ex- posure rested upon her. True, it was dim and distant, but it rested upon her like a shadow that she could not shake off. She tried to reason herself into the belief that she had no cd,use for feeling thus, that she THE WILL. 251 ■was only causing to be executed, by a little strategy, the wishes of Mr. Parkinson, and also those of her aunt, when in her sane mind ; for she actually strove to bring herself into the belief that her aunt was not sane. The work of this morning caused Clementina many a bitter regret in after years. When AUington left the parlor, he went to Mrs. Parkinson's room, told her he would come the next day, prepared to have the business she had commissioned him to attend to, completed. Punctual to his appointment, he, accompanied by two gentlemen as witnesses, was at Mrs. Parkinson's the next day. As Clementina had anticipated, her aunt requested to have the will read. AUington read it ; and to his inquiry if it was as she wished, she replied it was. She then put her signature to it, as did also the witnesses ; and when AUington had sealed it, and been requested by Mrs. Parkinson to keep it in his possession, he felt that his fortune was secured. Ere leaving the house, he took the opportunity of speaking a few words to Clementina. Showing her the sealed package, he said : " My part of the compact is completed." To which she replied : " And so will mine be, when the time stipulated arrives ; but until that comes, let not a word upon the subject be spoken be- tween us." " Your will shall be my law, my lips are sealed." She would now gladly have ordered him from her presence, but the imperious Clementina was obliged to repress the haughty words that trembled on her lips, and address him in courteous language. Turning to him, she said : " The transactions of the past two days have excited me. I would be alone." He rose from his seat, and instead of his former cringing ser- vile manner, he bowed with something like stateliness, saying : " I will no longer annoy Miss Wilkie with my presence." She watched him till he passed from her sight, and theii throwing herself on a sofa, she thus soliloquized : " I feel as if I were in the toils of a demon. What a pity wa 17 252 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Cannot use such creatures to accomplish our purposes, without putting ourselves in their power. Already, he assumes a triumphanb bearing towards me. But I will disappoint him in one respect. Ere he shall have the privilege of claiming my hand, I will wed before the expiration of five years, even if it be the commonest laborer who earns his bread by the sweat of his brow." But, starting suddenly up, she placed herself before the mirror, and contemplating her superb figure, she continued her soliloquy. " But why should I talk thus ; have I lost the power of making conquests 1 No, no, I will queen it over hearts more proudly this coming winter than I have ever done before, and at its close I will make my selection from among those who offer incense at my shrine." Whilst the bosom of Clementina is filled with undefined fears of she knows not what, the heart of Jenny is the abode of con- tent. The generous and pure sentiments that dwell in her bosom, are reflected in her face, giving to her beauty a charm that wins upon the heart far more than the brilliant Clementina. At least so thought a medical student, who had nearly com- pleted his studies, and who sometimes accompanied the attend- ing physician, when he visited his patient. Indeed so interested was he, that often when sitting in the office with an open book before him, instead of deciphering medical terms, he was dream- ing of a home in the West, whilst the tones of a soft sweet voice fall musically on his ear. Take care, Charley Danforth, your heart is irretrievably snared in the meshes of love if you indulge in such reveries. Could your mamma, who thinks life not worth possessing, unless it be passed in a city, read thy heart's imagin- ings, she would not sp often say to you : " I cannot conceive, Charley, what has put it in your foolish head, to think of going way out to Illinois, where you will have to encounter wolves, bears, Indians, fevers, ague, and every hateful thing that makes life horrid V ' And Jenny, as she sits beside her aunt, watching, often, while sjie sleeps, does she not too, sometimes, wonder, whether the young piedjcal student ^jll settl,e in their vicinity, for he ha> THE WILL. 253 told her he intends going West, to practice his profession when he has completed his studies. What Jenny's thoughts are we will not say, but we can tell what her acts are. Her aunt, instead of recovering her health, remains feeble, so much so, that she seldom leaves her room, except when she goes out in her carriage to take an airing. The fever has left her with a cough, which causes the physician to look grave whenever it falls upon his ear. Jenny notes this, and whilst Clementina is spending her time in shopping and- pre- paring for the gayeties of the winter, she remains with her aunt to attend to all her wishes ; and it may be, that the certainty of seeing the young medical student almost every day, and enjoy- ing with him a conversation about Western people, their man- ners, modes of thinking, and independence of character, was sufRcient compensation for this self-denial. 254 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXIX. FREDERICK LEROUX AT HOME. The long, bright, sunny, sultry, summer days have passed, and the elite of Washington, who, to avoid the dust and heat of August, went to Shannondale, Warrenton, Piney Point, or some other place where the votaries of fashion do assemble, have re- turned to their city homes, and are busy in making preparations for the enjoyments of the gayeties of the coming winter. Among those who have returned is Mrs. Grayson. Winter is almost here, but Annie is still absent. What detains her 1 She lingers in the sunny South, reluctant to leave those friends whose frank social manner is so entirely in accordance with her own feelings, and return to that heartless ceremonious intercourse, which cha- racterizes the fashionable society of cities. But this reminds us we promised to give our readers Miss Selden's opinion of slavery, after she had been sometime on a plantation, and made herself acquainted, by actual observation, with the condition of the poor oppressed Africans. But to do so, we must go back and present to the reader some of the scenes that she witnessed on the plantation. One morning, about a week after his arrival at home, when Frederick descended to the drawing-room a little earlier than usual, he found Hannah still there giving a last polish to the furniture in the room. After finishing it, she lingered as if she had something to say ; Frederick observing it, said : "Well, Hannah, what do you wanti" " Why, Aunt Susie would like to have you take dinner with her, seeing it has been so long since you eat a bite in her cabin, FEEDEEICK LEEOUX AT HOME. 255 and she did not know if it would be proper to ask the strange ladies too." " Certainly, tell her to ask the ladies by all means. " She said, would it be convenient for you to dine with her day after to-morrow 1" " It will be convenient for me, and I presume the ladies have no engagement for that day.'' " Shall I run over to Aunt Susie's cabin and tell her so V "Yes." Hannah had not left the room long, before Annie and Miss Selden entered. " I have just reoeivea an invitation to dine out day after to- morrow," said Frederick, " and have accepted it, provided you ladies do not object!" " Of course we will not object." « So I thought." " But who is it ? Where ?" burst from the lips of each. A smile played over Frederick's face, and he turned to Miss Selden, saying : " You remember the cabin among the shade trees, and your admiration of the neatness and taste observable in all its sur- roundings V "Perfectly." " Well, it is there, and the invitation is from Aunt Susie, its occupant." " Quite complimentary, I'll declare, to be invited to dine with an old negro woman." " I promised you should have every opportunity of becoming acquainted with the feeling that exists between master and slave, therefore, I accepted the invitation, provided you did not object." " Of course I do not object, but there is something odd in the idea of receiving a ceremonious invitation to dine in the cabin of a negro slave. May I expect this honor from the occupants of the many other cabins, I see on your plantation." " None I presume will honor us thus, save Aunt Susie. She, you must know, is a sister of my old nurse, and filled the place 256 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOK. of cook, until Judy our present cook, who is her daughter, was sufficiently initiated in the culinary art, to take charge of the kitchen. My father then had the cabin where she now lives built for her, that she might, as she was growing old, be relieved from constant labor, and yet sufficiently near, to s^e to getting up dinners for extraordinary occasions. I had always been much indulged by her, and after she moved to her cabin, if Judy did not gratify my whims by cooking anything I chose to desire, I went to Aunt Susie to make my complaint, well assured that the dish coveted would be prepared by her own hands. " When I came home, after my first term at college, it was beneath my dignity to go to Aunt Susie to make a complaint if my favorite dish was not on the table, but she, thinking some extra attention was due me as a collegian, would occasionally prepare a dinner that she knew suited my taste and ask me to dine with her. Thus you see it is her custom to manifest her regard for me by giving me a dinner party, particularly when I have been absent from home and have just returned." " Oh, it will be delightful to make one of the guests at a dinner party in Aunt Susie's cabin ; I have no doubt but I shall enjoy it as much as I should a dinner in the White House, at the invita- tion of the President of the United States." " And I shall enjoy it much more, taking the word in its true sense. In dining at the President's, I feel the invitation is given as a mere matter of ceremony, but when invited to dine at Auul Susie's, I know the invitation is a manifestation of her devoted attachment." " Well, I shall enjoy it because it will be a novelty." " Then ladies, with your permission, I will call during the day and notify Aunt Susie, her invitation is accepted." " Oh yes, do so by all means." About an hour later in the day we see Fred seated on the portico of Aunt Susie's cabin, and the face of this faithful old house servant gleams with a smile of gratification as she gazes fondly on the fine form of her young master, as she still calls Fred, although the old one has been dead some years. But let us hear what she says : FEEDBRICK LEBOUX AT HOME. 257 " So, the ladies will all come 1" " Yes ; they will all come with pleasure." " I knew well enough Madame Duprfe and Miss Eulalie would have no objection, for I was well acquainted with them, in dear Missus' life-time, and tliey're raal born ladies, no upstart about them. And as for Miss Annie, is'ent she Missus' own niece, jist like her, for all the world ; so kind and thoughtful, would'nt hurt nobody's feelins for nothing. But as to that lady from the north, it seems like she kind of keeps herself distant, as much as to say, I don't want to be too sociable with the niggers." " You are altogether mistaken in your impressions ; she takes a great interest in the condition of the colored people." " Well, well, may be she does, but still the northern ladies don't seem like our own raal ladies. May be, when I know her better, I won't think as I do now." When Frederick rose to leave, he said : " You know. Aunt Susie, if there is anything you want to complete your dinner, you only have to send up to the house, and get it." "Yes, yes. Mass Fred, I know my privilege; but thanks to you and my own industry, I has everything I want. I'll be bound, I'll give you a dinner that you needn't be ashamed to ax that northern lady to set down to, and without sendin' to the house for anything either." " I have no fear but you'll give us a first rate dinner, Aunt Susie." " Well, I guess you needn't. I've cooked too many grand dinners for company, in old master's time, not to know what a dinner ought to be." " That is true ; for the house was always filled with company during the life-time of my parents, and that is why it seems so lonely now." " Not now. Mass Fred, I's shure there's company enough in the house, now." " True, there is company in the house, but my dear mother is not there, and my heart is lonely." " Laws, honey sposen you git married, then you won't feel so." 258 THE BELLE OP WASHINGTON. " No, Aunt Susie, I'll never get married." " Laws, Mass Fred, don't talk so nonsensic ; sposen you and Miss Eulalie make a match." " Or Miss Selden." " Well, honey, make your own choice ; but, I know, if I was to choose for you, I'd take Miss Eulalie. You know, she was your dear mother's god-daughter, and how fond she was of her, when she was a child." " I know it, and I love her as truly as if she were my sister." " And a little better, may be," said Aunt Susie significantly. " No, only as well." " We'll see." " I must not sit here talking any longer. I promised Miss Selden I would ride over the plantation with her to-day, so I must away." Aunt Susie, looking after him, as he moved toward the family mansion, soliloquized something after the following manner : " Well, now, I do wonder if Mass Fred has a notion for that Miss Selden. Well, I should have thought he would have wanted a wife more like his mother : he was so fond of his mother ; but goodness knows, I don't b'lieve Miss Selden's a bit like my dear missus, what's now an angel of glory. But that's what comes of going to furrin parts. If he'd stayed at home, he'd never a seen her, and then, in cour^, he'd never a taken a notion to her. Well, well, what is to be will be, so it's no use a frettin." While repeating this piece of sound philosophy. Aunt Susie turned, and went into the house, to make arrangements for her proposed dinner party; and never did senator's wife, who had sent out cards for a large party, feel more anxious that every- thing should go off in the most perfect order, than Aunt Susie was that the arrangements of her dinner party should be faultless. The first thing she did, she went to her chest, to overlook her table linen, and see if it had not lost its snowy whiteness by lying so long unused. Taking from the bottom of the chest a beautiful damask table cloth, and half dozen napkins, a gift from her mistress, therefore much prized, she examined them carefully ; <'and, being satisfied that an extra washing could not make it FREDEEICK LEEOUX AT HOME 259 whiter, she laid it back again, and went to look over some crock- ery, which had also been a present from the same hand, and which was only used when Mass Fred dined with her. But we will leave Aunt Susie to make her preparations, whilst we ac- company Frederick and Miss Selden in their morning's ride. When Frederick returned to the house, Jim, the groom, had the horses in readiness, and Miss Selden was standing on the piazza, whip in hand, already habited for a ride. Having lifted her into the saddle, with a grace becoming a knight in the days of chivalry, he sprang upon his own steed, saying : " Whither away V " To the quarter, of course. I have heard, and read so Citich of the slave quarters on the Southern plantations, that I am dying with curiosity to see one." * " Well, by taking a ride of a few minutes, that curiosity may be satisfied, and, if you choose, we will alight and visit the cabins." " Certainly, I wish to visit the cabins, for I could learn nothing of the condition of those who inhabit them, by merely looking at them, as I rode past." Jim had already opened the gate of the avenue leading to the quarter, and, in a moment, Frederick and Miss Selden were can- tering toward the dwellings of the slaves. When they were in the vicinity, Mary expressed great surprise, that she perceived none of the marks of that squalid wretchedness which she had been taught to believe pervaded these localities. In her imaginary pictures of southern life, she had bpen accustomed to place in the foreground, the splendid family mansion, with its gay parterres, through the floyer bordered walks of which, in the twilight hour, when the air was laden with the rich perfume of the jasmin and orange flower, might be seen promenading the noble cavalier and bright belle, whilst from the stately drawing room gushes of music and mirth floated out on the quiet air, adding to the exquisite sense of enjoy- ment that pervades the being at this dreamy hour. After dwelling on this scene of beauty, how dark the shadow that rested on the picture in the back ground, where were clustered together the mi- serable hovels ; where, when the daily task was done, the toil-wom 260 THE BELLK OF WASHINGTON' slaye crept, and stretched himself upon a bunch of straw to rest his weary limbs, and forget for a time the hardness of his lot ! This was the picture she had often dwelt on in imagination, until her heart grew sad in her bosom, and a tear drop glistened in her eye. But how unlike the reality ! Instead of the wretched hovels she had pictured, she beheld neatly whitewashed dwell- ings dotting each side of the avenue, presenting the appearance of a village of cottages. In front of each was a plat of ground carefully cultivated, whilst beneath the shade trees she saw troops of children gamboling, and amusing themselves with merry antics. When she had been there a few weeks, she learned their manner of spending the evening hour was as unlike what she had pictured as were their dwellings. Instead of'creeping to a miserable pallet, as she had faf^ied, with a feeling of sullen dis- content tugging at their hearts to seek the forgetfulness of sleep, they would collect in groups beneath the soft moonlight, whilst the joyousness of their hearts, and their freedom from care and anxiety, was manifested by the quaint and merry songs poured forth in voices of deep, rich melody, whilst the soft tones of the banjo, in the hands of some skilful performer, forms a fine accom- paniment. Or the plantation musician brings forth his fiddle, and gay groups of dancers trip the light fantastic toe to his strains of music, with as much zest, if not with as much grace, as the beautiful belle who glides languishingly through the polka or quadrille in a brilliantly lighted dancing saloon. When Miss Selden had looked for some time on this scene, Frederick called one of the children to hold the horses whilst they would alight and enter some of the cabins, that she might see the interior as well as the exterior. She was as much sur- prised with the comfort of their dwellings within, as she had been with their outward appearance, and she could but note the res- pectful affection with which those who were considered too old for field labor, received the salutation of their master. Having visited several of the cabins, they again mounted their horses, and went on to the sugar house, that Miss Selden might witness the process by which the saccharine matter was extracted from the cane and converted into sugar. JHere again she could but rSEDEBICK LEBOUX AT HOME. 261 observe the cheerful alacrity with which they performed their labor, whilst their looks of perfect content was an indication of their freedom from care. When she had satisfied her curiosity, by looking on this scene for some time, they returned home. To Eulalie's inquiry as to her impressions of slavery after having visited thera in their dwellings, and seen them at their work, she replied : " Their condition, in reality, is as unlike what I had imagined it, as day is to night. If the countenance be an index of the heart, they are a very happy set of people. But I suppose there are not many plantations where the slaves are so comfortably situated as they are on this." " I think you may take this as a fair criterion by which to judge of other plantations. True, you will sometimes find a hard, cruel master, who treats his slaves harshly ; but such a man is never respected by his neighbors : he is generally considered an unfit associate for gentlemen. But, however, I trust you will have an opportunity of visiting other plantations, and drawing your own conclusions before you return to Illinois." When Mary returned to her room that night, and thought over the events of the day, she could but admit, if what she had seen was a fair sample of the condition of the slave, the horrors of slavery had been greatly exaggerated and overdrawn. How- ever, we will not stop to give her reflections on the subject at this time. The next day, at the appointed hour, Fred and his friends were at Aunt Susie's to partake of the dinner prepared for them, and soon they were seated at a table upon which was placed a dinner that would satisfy the most fastidious epicure, for Susie had held the situation of principal cook in her master's household so long, that she knew how to serve a dinner in the most perfect manner, and it was the greatest pleasure of her existence to have Master Fred occasionally to partake of dinner beneath her own roof. After the dinner had been partaken of, and much praise be- 295 " I will be but too happy to have you do so, for I must admit I am somewhat lonely. Edwin is so much occupied, that he is often obliged to be absent of evenings, as well as during the day." The bridal day at length arrives, and Charles Belmont, who, during the week, had bought a beautiful pair of horses and an elegant carri3ge, this morning asked Mrs. Wainright to honor him by taking a drive with him. Whilst they were out, he told her he was to be married to Emma Carlton, and asked her tp accompany him to church at six o'clock in the evening, to wit- ness the marriage ceremony, but, in the meantime, not to men- tion it in the house, as he did not wish to elicit any remark. When the carriage again drew up at the door at six o'clock, and Mrs. Wainright and Charles Belmont, both attired with much elegance, stepped into it and drove off, it elicited consider- able remark among the young ladies, and some of them of not the most amiable character. "I do think," exclaimed Miss Keldon, petulantly, " that widows beat the Old Harry, to lead men by the nose. I suppose Mrs. Wainright thinks that carriage was bought for her particular accommodation. I always do despise to board in a house where there is a widow, for some how or other, they always contrive to monopolize the attention of the most eligible gentleman." We will leave Miss Keldon and her companion to their gos- siping remarks, whilst we go to the church, and see the fair young bride, simply robed in a dress of pure white muslin, with no ornament, save a sprig of orange blossoms. Beside her, as bride's maids, are Annie Grayson and Mary Selden, similarly attired ; whilst beside the noble, manly form of Charles Belmont may be seen Edwin Stanmore and Francis Collingwood, as groomsmen. At a short distance, arrayed in her widow's weeds, kneels the mother, and beside her stands the soft eyed Leila. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, Mrs. Stanmore and Mrs. Wainright are the only persons present, beside those we have named, to witness the marriage. When the ceremony was finished, the benediction given, and the bride had received the congratulations of her friends, Mrs. Stanmore insisted they should all accompany her 296" THE -BELLE OF WASHINGTON. home, and partake of an entertainment she had prepared for the occasion. Her invitation was accepted, and soon the small but happy bridal party, were seated in her drawing room. So mer- rily passed the hours, that it was past twelve before the guests departed; and when Mrs. Wainright arrived at her hotel, Miss Keldon and her friends had retired, notwithstanding their anxiety to learn where she had spent the evening. NATIONAL noXOR AXD NATIOXAL J0STICE. 297 CHAPTER XXXIV. NATIONAL HONOR AND NATIONAL JUSTICE. It is about ten o'clock, the morning after Emma Carlton's marriage, and Miss Keldon is sitting alone in the drawing room, wondering why Mrs. Wainright and Charles Belmont had nei- ther of them been at the breakfast table. She was not at all pleased with the appearance of things. She feared her specu- lations, with regard to the wealthy South American, for such she termed Charles Belmont, would not be realized. Whilst absorb- ed in these reflections, the servant ushered in a visitor. Upon looking up, she saw it was Miss Wilkie. The visit was intended for her. Although she had not been long in the city, she and Miss Wilkie had contracted a close intimacy ; I will not say; friendship, for it was not the love they had for one another that drew them together, but each thought to use the other to advance her own interest. Miss Wilkie, by her great power of reading the thoughts and motives of others, was fully aware of Miss Keldon's wishes, with regard to Charles Belmont, and the salu- tations of the morning were scarcely ended, when she said : "Were you not surprised at the marriage of Charles Belmont, last evening ?" " Charles Belmont njarried !" exclaimed she, in a tone of sur- prise, and stretching her small gray eyes to their widest extent. "Impossible ! you must be mistaken." " No, I'm not mistaken ; it is a truth." " To Wainright, I suppose V " No." "To whom, then?" 29b THE BELLE OF 'WASHINGTON'. « Guess." " Annie Grayson V " No ; guess again." " I never heard him speak of any other lady -with admiration, BO it is useless for me to guess again." " I presume it is one of whom you would never dream, so I Vfill keep you no longer in suspense. It is Emma Carlton." " Emma Carlton ! Oh, no ; you are jesting." " No, indeed, 'tis no joke." " Well, that beats anything I ever heard of. A gentleman of his position and wealth to marry a dress maker ! At this rate, there will soon be no such thing as distinctions in society." " After all, there is nothing incongruous in this marriage : he commenced life as a farm hand somewhere in the west, and, you know, early associations can never be entirely eradicated." "That is true. Now, I remember, I used sometimes to fancy there was someting low and common about him." " 'Tis strange," said Mrs. Wainright, who had entered the room unobserved, " that as soon as a gentleman is married, ladies, who had before deemed him the heau ideal of all that was elegant and refined, suddenly discover in him a thousand imperfections." " Well, there is one thing you must admit, it is rather awk- ward to be brought into social intercourse with your dressmaker. And I, for one, will not condescend to notice Mrs. Belmont as an equal, if she has married a man of wealth." " That will not be policy," replied Miss Wilkie. " Why so ?" " I have no doubt but she will be one of the brightest stars in the world of fashion during the winter." " What ! a poor seamstress a star in the world of fashion ' Strange notions, you Washingtonians haye." . " She is no longer the poor seamstress, but wife of a millionaire. I know Emma to be really gifted and accomplished, calculated to adorn any society ; but, even were she one of the most ordinary of mortals, and bride of a man possessing so much wealth, she would be courted and caressed. Whereas, on the other hand, ehe might be possessed of all the gifts and graces, but, wanting NATIONAL HONOE AND NATIONAL JUSTICE. 299 the charms of the almighty dollar, she would be unsought and uncared for. This is not only the case in Washington, but the •world over." " I cannot admit the truth of your assertion, for I know some families in New York, so exclusive, that mere wealth will not gain you admittance to their circles." " Once in a while, such are met with, but these are exceptions to the general rule." " Suppose you and I affect this exclusiveness ; you are regarded as a bright star in the fashionable circles of the city, and if you refuse to meet her as an equal, it might induce others to treat her in the same manner." " No, that would not answer. Three years since, Emma Carl- ton moved in the highest circles of this city, and was greatly ad- mired. Misfortune came upon her, and she was forgotten. But now, fortune has smiled upon her, those who were the first to neglect her, will now pay her the greatest attention. I see you have not studied society as thoroughly as I have done." " I would give half my fortune to be able to put this Emma Carlton down." " Yet, it will not do to attempt it. And that the world may not guess at your disappointment, I would advise you to be among the first to offer her your congratulations.'' The winter was an unusually gay one, and as Miss Wilkie predicted, Emma was one of the bright stars of the season. A few d'iys after her marriage, as a matter of course, a party was given by the bridesmaids, which was gotten up in Mrs. Grayson's usual superb style. This was followed by others, all vieing in brilliancy of display, and costliness of entertainment. But as all large parties are very similar, and we have heretofore describ- ed them, we will not tire our readers with a repetition. Mary Selden, who, in the beginning of the season, entered with such zest into the pleasures and gayeties of the city, ere its close, became sated with its frivolity and heartlessness. The following letter from her to her sister will give the reader an idea of her impressions of Washington society, its legis- lators, &c. : on 300 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Dear Effie, You reproach me with my want of punctuality in replying to your letters. I acknowledge you have just grounds for com- plaint, but could you conceive how completely I am occupied, you would excuse me. Pleasure is an exacting mistress when we give ourselves up to her dominion. She keeps the mind in a continual excitement, never allowing a moment to the' sober, quiet duties of life. At least, that is the effect it has upon me. To-day, feeling disposed to look upon the shadowy side of life, my thoughts turn from the gay scenes by which I am constantly surrounded, and I have withdrawn to my own room, determined to devote this day to writing to you, and the dear home. friends. For, how much soever the imagination may be captivated by the gayeties of Washington life, when the heart wants rest, it is not in the halls of pleasure it finds it. After all, life's true pleasures are found in the performance of some kindly act to a fellow being, and in the domestic circle. We are happy in pro- portion to the happiness we confer on others. All else is a mere painted bubble, that vanishes as we grasp it. Methinks, I hear you exclaim, " What ! our merry Moll moralizing !" I do feel in that mood to-day ; but instead of indulging in it, I wiU reply to the inquiries contained in your last letter. First, you ask me how our young Congressman stands among older members 1 He bids fair to win himself a name that will be second to none. Already, he is pointed out to strangers as " the talented young member." I can assure you, I am very proud to point him out as our representative, and I really believe I acquire some consequence from being intimately acquainted with him. You next ask me, how I am impressed by the assembled wis- dom of the nation as I look down from the gallery upon the halls of legislation 1 There are many whose appearance wins from me involuntary respect, and I feel they are noble representatives of a free people ; but there are some very mSdiocres specimens of humanity. It is said here there is a great deal of bribery and cciTuption NA.TIOXAL HONOR AND NATIONAL JUSTICE. 301 in Congress. I do not know if there is any truth in such re- marks. Speaking of bills being passed by management and bribery, puts me in mind of saying to you, that our old schoolmates Clara and Minnie Moreland are here. Their father lives in splendid style, and they are much admired. I fancy I hear you exclaim, how is that possible, for, only three years since, when we left New York, he was perfectly bankrupt, not possessing a dollar to call his own. He is now here as agent — I do not know if that is precisely the term to apply to him. But I will define the posi- tion he occupies. He is furnished with money by wealthy capitalists of the Eastern cities to live in this style, and, if deemed expedient, to give entertainments to members of Congress every day during the session. Thus, he becomes intimately acquainted with them, and learns how each may be influenced, in case those capitalists may wish to have some bill passed that will materially advance their interests. In truth, he may almost be said to keep open house. You know it is not etiquette to remain at the President's on the evening of the levees later than ten o'clock. On these even- ings, there is an elegant supper prepared at the mansion of Mr. Moreland, and members of Congress who wish to prolong their evening's amusement, have a standing invitation to call and par- take of his delicate viands and delicious wines. When the sup- per has been partaken of, and a few glasses of wine have produced an animated and genial flow of spirits, they return to the drawing room. Here his beautiful and accomplished daughters are pre- pared to entertain with soul entrancing music or sprightly con versation ; and the spirit is either wrapped in dreamy Elysium by listening to songs of tender sentiment warbled by lips of beauty, or roused to boisterous mirth by sparkling repartee. You unsophisticated dwellers on the plains of the West, with your simple tastes and notions, would deem this could have no effect on legislation. But it has. You should be awhile in Washington to judge of these things. When a bill is before the House where Mr. Moreland wishes to use his influence, no day 302 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. passes but he gives to some "of the honorables a dinner party. And it is said that the fumes of wine so becloud the faculties of some, that they are sure to take his view of matters ; and, although they make speeches by the week urging the necessity of economy in the expenditure of the public money, yet, as this particular measure will add to the national honor — which is more to be prized than national treasure, — it will not do to withhold appro- priations to advance this particular project, even if it requires a million of dollars. Now, no one is a greater advocate for sustaining the nation's honor than myself; but at the same time, I would not see national justice neglected. One of those memorials, petitions, or what- ever it may be called, asking appropriations of large amounts of money for the encouragement of some splendid project, that is to add wonderfully to the national honor, and make immense fortunes for private individuals (but this latter clause is not in- serted in the memorial), rarely fails to be urged through Con- gress. But let some poor old white-haired man, who gave his service to his country at a time when she was struggling for a national existence, and when she had no national honor, save brave hearts and true, ask for a claim of a few hundred dollars justly due him, and ten to one his request is neglected,, and he is made to wait until in want and weariness of spirit, he breathes , forth his last sigh ; and all he receives from that country to whom the service of his manhood's prime, and the hard earned savings of his youthful labors were freely given in her hour of need, is the privilege of mouldering to dust beneath her sod. "I will give you a case in point, I had it from our friend Annie Grayson, who seems to know all who need a friend. A poor old lady — I suppose according to the world's notion of things, I should not use the word lady in speaking of her, for she was both poor and uneducated. Well, I will say woman, for that is the nobler and more expressive word. A poor old woman, widow of a revolutionary soldier, who had died of wounds re- ceived in service, learned just before the close of the session a year or two since, that she was entitled to a pension. She en- quired how she should get it. She was told to go to the Pensioa NATIONAL HONOR AND NATIONAL JUSTICE. 303 Office. Up(.ii going -there, they told her, her papers were not just in order, but she would better put them before Congress, and they would fix it all right, and she could draw her money. Now she was in a difficulty. How was she, a poor lone woman, to get them before that august body. She was awed at the thought of approaching one of its members. A lady, who look an interest in her, presented her to a senator, who was chairman of the committee, before which her business would go. He was a very kind-hearted man, and he assured her, he would endeavor to have it acted upon speedily. She was delighted by the kindly manner with which she was received, and in the simplicity of her heart, thought, she would be able in a few days to get her money. Eeturning to her friends, she was eloquent in praising the condescension of this great man, who treated a poor old woman like her so kindly. Perfectly elated with her brilliant prospects, she exclaimed, ' Now won't I cut a swell ; why I'll buy me a silk gown, when I get all that money.' This was two or three weeks before the close of the session. The last week came, and she was told it would be impossible to get her busi- ness through this session, but it should be attended to early the next. She was now as much depressed as she had been elated, and she said in a despondent tone, ' Ah, but I'm a very old woman, and I may die before next session, and then it will be of no use.' " However, she lived until the commencement of the next session, and day after day, with her tottering feeble steps, she would walk from the Navy Yard to the Capitol — she was too poor to pay omnibus fare — to watch the progress of her bill. Finally, it passed the Senate and went to the House, and now her anxiety concerning it increased, for here she had no one to take any interest in it. Whilst watching for its passage in the Senate, she was sustained by a recognition, and words of encour- agement from the Senator, to whom she had entrusted her papers. Still, when her strength would permit, she was in attendance at the Capitol. The last day of her watching, when the House ad- journed, and she, with the crowd, issued from its marble portals, it was raining. She looked at the lowering clouds, there was no 304 THE BELLE OF ■WASHINGTON'. probability of its ceasing, she must go to her home at the Na*7y Yard, and she had not the means of paying for a conveyance in an omnibus. Heart sick and weary she trudged sadly homeward, thinking her prospects were dark as the sky above her, and her briny tear-drops mingled with the falling rain. When she arrived at home, she was so overcome with fatigue tfiat she could scarcely divest herself of her wet clothing. Usually, when weary, she would sit and rest herself by the wayside, but this she could not do when it was raining, consequently, her' strength was completely exhausted. The next morning she was quite indisposed, she had taken a severe cold ; her indisposition in- creased, and she never again left her room till she was carried forth a corpse. I tell Annie, our statesmen are so occupied with national honor, that they have no time to attend to national jus- tice. But hark, the bell summons me to dinner, I will finish my letter when I return. " Since returning from my dinner, I have read what I had written, and really it looks more like a chapter for a novel than a letter. However, I will send it, for it is only a leaf from real life in Washington. When I commenced writing, I intended to give you a description of some of the noted belles in the world of fashion, but my thoughts took a graver turn, and my letter is already strung out to such a length, that I must close by asking you to give my love to all the dear ones at home. " Your loving sister, " MOLLIE." When Miss Selden had finished her letter, she arranged her toilet, and descended to the drawing-room, with a face unusually grave for her. Ere long, the door bell rang, and Francis Col- lingwood, accompanied by Edwin Stanmore, was announced. Instead of meeting Edwin with some merry jest, as was her wont, she sat quiet and thoughtful, which he observing, said: " What has caused so grave a mood, with our usually mirth- loving friend V " It is enough to cause any one, who loves his country, to wear a grave face, to note the course pursued by you great men of the nation." NATIONAL HONOR AND NATIONAL JUSTICE. 305 " What, turned politician !" " No, thank goodness, I was raised with a proper abhorrence of female politicians.'' " Pray tell me what act of mine has caused your disapproba- tion 1" " 'Tis not you partioulaJiy, but the body of which you are a member." " Give us the reason for your unfavorable opinion ?" " That I can do with a good will, for I just feel in the mood of doing so." She then related the incidents of the old lady referred to in her letter. When she had concluded, Edwin said : " Ah, had I known it in time, you may be assured I would have interested myself in her behalf." " I always tho ugh you had a kind heart." " You may rest satisfied of one fact : my voice shall always be heard advocatin|; the cause of the obscure and friendless, when I know they need a friend. The wealthy can always buy friends, in Congress halls, as well as private life." "Yes, I am sure we have had proof enough of that, this winter — but let us talk of something else, I become indignant and ex- cited when I speak of it." The evening was spent in pleasant conversation, and Mary declared, when the gentlemen rose to depart, that she would not give one evening passed thus for all the parties of the season. 306 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON'. CHAPTER XXXV. A NEW WILL DISCOVERED. Supported by pillows, in a room furnished with all the ap. plianoes of wealth, may be seen a middle aged woman, in the last stage of consumption. Beside her is seated a fair young girl, reading from that book whose teaching smooths the rough pas- sage to the grave. She had been reading some time, when the invalid looked up into her face, saying : " Now, Jenny, close the book, I know you must be wearied. I fear I tax you too heavily." " Nay, dear Aunt, it is a pleasure to do anything that will, in the slightest degree, alleviate your suffering." " I know you are a kind, dear child, but to keep you beside me, night after night, when you might attend those parties and places of amusement, which the young enjoy so much, is a severe trial to your patience, and yet, you never suffer even a look of disappointment to cloud your face." " Nor is it a disappointment. My early impressions and as- sociations are such, that I do not desire to engage constantly in those gayeties, which ladies who have been brought up in the city deem so necessary to their happiness." " Happiness !" said the pale, and almost dying woman, " what a misapplication of the word." " So it seems to me ; yet they, who engage nightly in a round of gayety and dissipation, call it happiness." " Y€s, yes j I once deemed it so ; but oh, how changed are my feelings now. And I am convinced that the lingering sickness I have endured this winter, and from which I can never recover, A NEW WILL DISCOVERED. 307 was, in mercy sent to fit me for that change, which I must soon realize." She had just finished this remark, when Clementina, arrayed with much elegance, and glittering with jewels, entered the room. Never had she looked more magnificently beautiful. Amid the dark braids of raven hair, gleamed costly pearls ; upon her finely formed arm, shone the brilliant diamond, whilst from her large dark eye beamed a look of triumph. She approached the bed- side of Mrs. Parkinson, and taking the pale hand that rested on the snowy counterpane, within her own jeweled fingers, she said : " Dear aunt, I would stay at home to-night, but I had promised Capt. Ballew that I would permit him to wait on me this evening, and were I now to decline going, he would be offended. But the gay season will soon be over, and then I will give you my whole attention." " Ah, child, ere the gay season closes, I shall no longer need the attention of any." " You only feel a little low spirited ; when the warm weather returns, you will soon regain your strength." " I shall never feel the warm breath of spring fan my brow, but it matters not, I am even ready now to go." The conversation was interrupted by a servant, who said to Miss Wilkie : "Captain Ballew awaits you in the parlor." Turning from the bedside, she said : " I will not remain late this evening, and I will call again to see you when I return." Jenny's eyes followed her with admiration, as she passed from the room with a queenly air. Then addressing her aunt, she said : " Cousin Clementina is exceedingly beautiful ; yet, I do not know that such rare beauty is to be coveted. It has a tendency to make one forgetful of all save self." " Nay, darling, I am much to blame for the manner in which Clementina treats me. When in the enjoyment of health, I taught her by precept and example, that the great aim of life 308 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. ■was to gain admiratioD, and to become a leader in the warld of fashion, I am now reaping the fruits of my false teaching." " No doubt but that has its influence ; but it is her great beauty and accomplishments, which draw around her a crowd of admirers whenever she enters a drawing-room, and this makes her desire to be constantly amid such scenes." " No, it cannot be that. Is not Annie Grayson equally beauti- ful and admired ? yet, how often does she turn from scenes of pleasure, to visit the poor and suffering." "It is seldom you see one like Annie Grayson." " True, from a ■♦ery child, she was unlike others." Mrs. Parkinson was now seized with a violent fit of coughing, which seemed as if it would suffocate her. When it had passed, she was so completely exhausted, that she gasped for breath. Jenny gave her a few drops of medicine, meant to strengthen and revive her. She then pushed the mass of dark hair from the pale brow, and wiped from it the large drops of perspiration that weakness had caused to collect there. When her aunt had somewhat recovered, she imprinted a kiss upon her cheek, saying : " Oh, it is too much to see you suffer thus, and not be able to do anything for you." " Yes, you have done much, and you will see, when I am gone, that I have appreciated your self-sacrificing spirit." " It has been no sacrifice, but a pleasure for me, to watch be- side you." We will leave the sick room, and look upon a far different scene, though but a few doors distant. Glad strains of music are echoing through brilliantly lighted apartments, and forms of grace and beauty are moving to its measure, whilst soul-lit eyes are gleaming with a language that the lips dare not utter. But we do not see the peerless Miss Wilkie among the dancers. It was to attend this party that she left her almost dying aunt. Where IS she 1 Captain Ballew has drawn into the conservatory, osten- sibly to show her a tropical plant of great beauty, but, in reality, to whisper in her ear a tale of love. Captain Ballew belonged to the Navy, and he had not been A NEW WILL DISCOVERED. 309 long returned from a cruise in the Mediterranean. In person, he is commanding and noble looking. His expansive forehead denotes a high order of intellect, and his dark hazel eyes bespeak a soul adorned with all the nobler qualities of our nature. This is his first winter in Washington society, but he had mingled much in the best society abroad, and his manner was that of the most polished gentleman. He received the most flattering at- tention from the ladies, which he returned with that graceful courtesy, which is so attractive. The first evening he met Miss Wilkie, he was perfectly fascin- ated with her great beauty and brilliant conversation. This she observed, and determined to exe'rt all her powers of pleasing to make a conquest qf his heart. She had succeeded ; and mid the rich fragrance of flowers, she is listening to .a passionate declara- tion of love. When he had breathed his wild hopes and wishes, he gazed earnestly into the depths of her dark eyes, as if he •would read there his fate ere she had spoken, and said : " Oh, do not deem me presumptuous, that I have dared to aspire to the love of one so beautiful and gifted. I have that within me, that assures me I will_ win a name worthy of you." " The happiness of my life is in your keeping," replied she, in a voice soft and musical, as the lute's sweetest tones. " I have learned to love you with a devotedness, that only passionate natures can know." " What a priceless treasure is mine. Henceforth, it shall be the effort of my life to make you happy." Then, placing a curiously wrought ring upon her finger, he continued, " Let this be the betrothal ring." A look of proud triumph swept over her features, but, it was soon succeeded by one of mortal paleness, for it seemed the ap- parition of Ella Stanmore was palpably before her, and the following words fell distinctly on her ear : " It was mid such a scene as this, you dashed the cup of hap- pmess from my lips, and not long shallyou enjoy your present triumph." When Captain Ballew noted the paleness on her brow, his arm stole lovingly around her waist, and he whispered in her ear : 310 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " My own beautiful one, thy sensitive spirit is overcome with emotion ; how my heart blesses thee for it !" ^ " 'Tis but a momentary weakness. But let us return'to the company, our absence may be noted." When Clementina again mingled with the gay crowd, her usual vivacity seemed to have deserted her. Unpleasant memories of the past were haunting her, and with them, seemed strangely mingled, undefined fears for the future. Captain Ballew attributed her subdued thoughtfulness to an exquisite sensibility that caused her to reflect with true womanly timidity on the events which had just transpired. As he gazed upon her fair face, she grew every moment more dear to his heart. She retired from the brilliant scene at an unusually early hour, giving as an excuse to the hostess the situation of her aunt. When they were seated in the carriage. Captain Ballew took her delicate hand and pressed it to his lips, saying : " My heart's idol, how I thank you, that you so soon lefl the gay revel, for I would be in the quiet of my own room to think over the great happiness that the future has in store for me." "You are enthusiastic." " How can I be otherwise? Since I have known you, life has new beauties ; and now thjt you have promised to be mine, it seems bliss too exquisite to last. I almost fear 'tis a dream from which I may be rudely awakened." Having arrived at home, he assisted her from the carriage, and wrapping her shawl carefully about hei*, he said : " My own love, for the sake of one to whom you are dearer than life, be careful of your health." With these words of fond endearment still sounding in her ear, Clementina threw herself into an easy chair, within the luxurious drawing room of her aunt's proud mansion, and gave way to a fit of musing. She had sat thus some time, when looking at her hand which was resting on the arm of the chair, she said aloud : " Well, here is a ring of bethrothal upon my finger ; but I do not love him, no, I have never met but one whom I could love, and he — But, pshaw ! what were hearts made for tut play-things ! A NEW WILL DISCOVERED. 311 Let a person once love, and they are a very slave. Just see the proud,^ brave Captain Ballew. He is ready to obey my slightest wish. My pride is gratified ; and as to love, bah ! 'tis a childish folly !" As she had promised, she called again in her aunt's room, and to her surprise, found a great change had come over her since the early part of the evening. She was convinced that she could not last many days longer. And did no feelings of self-reproach arise in her bosom for having paid her so little attention during the winter 1 Not the slightest. She only thought she would soon be sole , possessor of her great wealth. How the love of this world's goods deadens the better feeling of our nature ! Th^. next morning, Captain Ballew called on Miss Wilkie, and, finding her alone, he made a call of unusual length, portraying the bright pictures of happiness the future presented to him. When he rose to depart, he asked her permission to wait on her to a concert in the evening. This she declined, on account of th^ serious illness of her aunt. And he treasured it up, as another evidence of the amiability of her character. It was time she should give up going into society, if she wished to avoid the imputation of heartlessness. The angel of death was hovering over the house, and ere a week had passed, Mrs. Parkinson had ceased to suffer. Jenny, who had watched un- tiringly beside her during the dark winter hours, now that the last struggle was over, retired to her own room, and gave way to a passionate fit of weeping. She had learned to love her aunt fondly ; and how lonely and sad she now felt ! Clementina also retired to her room. But it was not to weep, but to collect her thoughts ; for it seemed there was a kind of presentiment of evil hanging over her for which she could not account. The funeral had been over perhaps a week, and nothing had been said by either of the nieces as to the probable disposition of her property. Clementina took upon herself the ordering of everything about the household; whilst Jenny remained most of her time in her own room, determining to return home the first opportunity. Things were in this position, when Alllngton, in ■whose possession was the will of Mrs. Parkinson, called upon 312 THE 3ELLE OF WASHINGTON. Miss "Wilkie. He was shown into a room next to the parlor, vi^here she received persons who came on business. She seemed deeply absorbed in thought, when the servant announced him. In truth, her thoughts were occupied -with the subject of the will. When she met the sinister expression of his glance, she almost shrank from it. It seemed to say : " Ah, Miss Wilkie, you, who are so proud and imperious, are completely in my power." After conversing a short time, he said to her abruptly : "It is rumored that you are to wed Captain Ballew. Is it truer' " You have no right to ask such a question." "Do you remember our contract with regard to the will?" " I do." " Under those circumstances, do you not think I am somewhat interested in knowing the truth. of this rumor?" " It was your own proposition." " I now have another to make." "What is it?" " Give me five thousand dollars for the service I have done you." " 'Tis too much." " As you please. But unless you give me that amount, I will destroy the will in my possession, and leave you to come in for your share with the legal heirs." " I shall have to yield to your exorbitant demand. I am com- pletely in your power; but I do hate imposition and injustice." " You, Miss Wilkie, you hate imposition and injustice ! Ha, ha, ha ! now that is rich ! I wonder you are not afraid the dead will rise from the grave to reproach you." " I have said I accept your last proposition. Now, leave me." This was said in an authoritative tone, for his mocking laugh and taunting words had roused her to fury. Rising from his seat, the young lawyer said : " I obey your commands, fair lady. Shall I call this afternoon to make known to your cousin and yourself the contents of this will?" " Yes, do so ; but now. begone !" A NEW WILL DISCOVEEED. ' 813 " When you have signed this note," said he, drawing one from his pocket that he had prepared for this purpose. How her spirit chafed at being obliged to do as she was bid ! But she felt that she had placed herself in the power of an un principled man, and the quickest way to rid herself of his presence was to write the required signature. This being done, he left the house and proceeded to the office of one of the oldest lawyers of the city. He knew him to be an intimate acquaintance of Mr. Parkinson, for he had often met him at his house. He told old lawyer W. that he had in his possession the will of Mrs. Parkinson, and requested him, as he was an acquaintance of the family, to call with him at four o'clock in the afternoon, to make known its contents to her two nieces. The old lawyer told him he would accompany him with pleasure. At four o'clock precisely, the . gentlemen called, and the will was read to Clementina and Jenny. It gave all the possessions of Mrs. Parkinson to Clementina, save five hundred dollars, which was to be paid by her to Jenny. In the unselfishness of her heart, Jenny thought this a very just disposition of the pro- perty of her aunt. She thought,' as a matter of course, Clemen- tina should inherit her property. But not so the old lawyer. Bending a searching glance upon young Allington, he said : "Are you sure you wrote that will precisely according to Mrs. Parkinson's dictation 1" " Why, of course ! how could I make a mistake 1" •' True enough. What is the date it bears i" Upon the date being read to him, he said : " Are you sure that is the date V ' " Certainly ; just examine it yourself" The old gentleman drew his spectacles from his pocket, and lifter looking at it carefiilly, he said : " You are right, that is the date. Well, I have a will in my possession executed just one day later." •■ " You must be mistaken ; she never said anything to me about having made another will." " No, I presume not." 314 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " It is very strange ! I cannot conceive what caused her to make another will so soon after having executed the first." " Well, I can tell you why she did it. The morning after she had executed the will in your possession, she called to spend the day with my wife, saying she had some business she wished me to attend to. She told me she had made a will the previous day, dividing her property equally between her two nieces ; but during the night, she dreamed she had been deceived, that the will had not been written according to her dictation, but her entire pro- perty had been bequeathed to Miss Wilkie. She then awoke, and the dream was so vividly impressed upon her mind, it seemed that some one had actually told her such was the case. After thinking of it some time, she fell asleep, and the same dream was again presented to her. When she awoke the second time, she thought it strange, and determined to execute another will. She requested me to write it according to her dictation. I did so. When it was written, she read it herself. When she had done so, she said it was all right ; I called in the witnesses, and she and they signed it. After they had left the room, she said to me : ' My dream of last night may be a phantasy engendered by" weakness and disease ; yet it impresses me so strangely, that I am impelled, by a feeling for which I cannot account, to* make another will. When I shall have passed from earth, do not ex- hibit this will until the contents of the one in AUington's posses- sion is known to you, and if by it my property is equally divided between my nieces, say to Jenny I wish her to give to Clemen- tina the half of my possessions. I know' her generous nature : she will hold my wishes sacred. But if my dream of last night should prove a true indication of what has been done, I make no such request.' " Having made them acquainted with the cause of her making this will, he drew from his capacious pocket a sealed package ; and breaking the seal, he soon made his auditors acquainted with its contents. When he had finished reading it, Clementina rose to her feet, and in a voice shrill with passion, almost shrieked : " You are a vile plotter ! and the paper in your hand is a base forgery ! You would see me reduced to beggary, because I re- A NEW WILL DISCOVEEED. 815 ceive more attention in society than your own daughters. It is not probable that my aunt would disinherit me, of whom she was so proud, and leave her immense wealth to that ungraceful booby !" pointing to Jenny. " I trust. Miss Wilkie, my course through a long life has placed me above such vile imputations; but having stooped to base plotting yourself, you accuse others." " Leave the house ! I will not listen to such insulting language beneath my own roof." " It is the roof of Miss Lumpkin." " What! impertinence added to insult! Jenny, order him to .eave the house, if my request is not to be heeded." Jenny was so much overcome with surprise and agitation, that she was unable to speak. And Clementina seeing that she re- mained silent, said to the old lawyer : " Must I retire to my own room, to relieve myself from your presence V " As you please," replied he. Clementina, wild with disappointment and passion, darted from the room; Allington disappeared about the same time, leaving the old gentleman and Jenny alone. Mr. W., perceiving she waS so much surprised that she knew not what to sa/, ad- dressed her as follows : " Miss Lumpkin, you have heard the reading of your aunt's will. If you wish to retain me as counsellor to attend to your business, signify your wishes, and they shall be attended to." "1 am so bewildered, I really don't know whether 1 am awake or dreaming." " True, child, you are too much agitated to give any directions now. I will call again," said he rising to go, " at any time you may designate." " Call to-morrow at twelve ; I will then have collected my thoughts, and you will advise me what to do." "Certainly, child, certainly;" and with these words on hia lips, he left the room. 21 816 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FRUIT OF VICE IS BITTERNESS. When the old lawyer, whose name was a by-word for upright- ness and honesty, reached his office, he threw himself into a seat, and sat for some time in a musing mood ; then, addressing a young man who was in the room, he said : " Well, Charley, the longer I live, the more convinced I am that ' Honesty is the best policy.' " " What has occurred to-day, to strengthen your conviction upon that subject?" " You know the rich Mrs. Parkinson is dead 1" "Yes, sir." " You remember her beautiful niece, Miss Wilkie ?" " 1 do ; and she is as haughty as she is pretty." "I think it likely her pride will have a fall." " But what has that to do with your maxim, that ' Honesty is the best policy V " " That is just what I am going to tell you." He then told the young man the circumstance of the two wills, with which the reader is already acquainted. When he had con- cluded, the young man said : "That is just what she deserves; I am glad she is reduced to beggary." " That is a wrong spirit, Charley, a wrong spirit. You should rather pity her, that she listened to the suggestions of the evil one, and caused a will to be written contrary to the wishes of her aunt, which is the cause of her being cut off without a dollar." " Pity ! Did she ever pity any one 1 Why, they say it was THE FRUIT OF VICE IS BITTEBNESS. 317 her wicked machinations that caused the early death of sweet Ella Stanmore. Wrong spirit or not, I would be glad to see her crushed to the very earth with misfortune." " Stop, Charley, it is wicked to suffer such a feeling to rest a moment in your bosom." We will leave the old gentleman to lecture Charley, whilst we return to Clementipa. When she left the drawing room, she hastened to her own apartment, locked the door, and then com- meiiiped walking up and down the room, at a furious rate, as if action were necessary to throw off the violence of her excitement. Occasionally, she would stop, stamp her foot, and mutter in a voice indicating the very concentration of rage : " 'Tis past endurance, to have my designs thwarted by the superstition of an old woman, and the arts of an uncultivated girl." Finally, in the blindness of passion, as she moved across the room, she struck her foot against a beautiful mahogany sewing chair, which had been the gift of her aunt about a year previous. Seizing it with both hands, she dashed it violently against the hearth, and shivered it to pieces. Looking upon the fragments of the chair, she exclaimed : " Ha ! that is capital, would that I could thus destroy all her possessions." The smashing of the chair seemed to have wrought a change in her mood, for she threw herself upon a lounge, and clasping her hands upon her brow, she gave herself up to thought. Having remained thus twenty minutes or perhaps half an hour, she took her hands from her brow, rose from her recumbent position, and thus communed with herself : " Well, it is fortunate I am affianced to Captain Ballew ; he is wealthy and holds a high position : as his wife, I will still queen it in the best circles. But I could strangle that creature, who has come between me and my aunt's possessions. I ought to have crushed her, ere she got such a hold upon my aunt's heart. But who could have dreamed of such a result. Oh, bitterness, to be thus humiliated !" At this moment, a rap was heard at the door. 318 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " Can I not be left quiet in my own chamber ! What do you want V " Miss Jenny says — " " I do not wish to hear what Miss Jenny says." " Well, but Miss Jenny says — " " If you repeat Miss Jenny's name again, I'll break your thick head." Nannie did not doubt, but she would be as good as her word, for she had often felt the effects of her temper when angry. So, she concluded it would be her wisest plan to leave, without de- livering Miss Jenny's message. She had just returned, and told Jenny Miss Clementina would not let her come into the room, nor listen to the message she bore, when the tea bell rang. Jenny descended to the dining room, thinking she would tell Clementina what she had been thinking of since she had learned she was an heiress, and the conclusion to which she had come respecting it. When she entered the dining room, she found Clementina was not there. After waiting sometime for her ap- pearance, she sent Nannie to say tea was waiting for her. Nannie went doubtfully, for she feared her head might not be safe, if she disturbed Miss Clementina again. But Jenny had so attached the girl to her, by gentleness and kindness, that she would perform her requests more readily than Clenientina's commands, even at the risk of receiving a blow across the skull. She again rapped at the door. " Did I not order you to not disturb me V " Yes, Miss, but tea is ready, and Miss — " She was going to say, Miss Jenny is waiting for you, but, remembering the threat that had been made, if she spoke that name again, and having no doubt, but it would be executed, the word was arrested on her lips, and she concluded the sentence by saying : " And Miss Clementina, won't you come down, while every, thing is nice and warm ?" " When I want tea, I can order it. And I bid you not to ap- proach my door again, at the peril of your life, unless I ring for you." Nannie returnod to Jenny, telling her Miss Clementina did not THE FEUIT OF VICE IS BITTERNESS. 319 want tea. With a heavy heart, Jenny sat down alone to the tea table, and although she did not feel like touching a morsel of food, to prevent remarks from the servants, she forced herself to take a cup of tea, and a bit of toast. As she passed Clementina's room, in going to her own apartment, she thought to seek a few minutes conversation with her cousin. Stepping to the door, she tapped lightly, and hearing no voice from within, she waited a moment. The key was turned, and the door opened, and Miss Wilkje, with upraised poker in her hand, became visible. She was so blinded by passion, that she did not observe that it was Jenny instead of the servant, and exclaimed : " You black fiend, I will teach you to obey my wishes," and brought down the poker with a violence that would have stricken Jenny to the earth, had she not stepped quickly aside, in time to escape the blow. When Clementina perceived her mistake, she closed the door hastily, saying, in a voice hoarse with passion : " Miss Lumpkin, you are in haste to take airs upon yourself; not content with sending the servants to obtrude upon and annoy me, you must come yourself." "Nay, Cousin Clementina, I — " " Call me not cousin, you viper." " I do not wish to annoy, but comfort you by — " " I want none of your comfort." " By telling you my intentions — " " I will not hear them." " I just want to tell you — " " Do you wish to drive me to madness ? Leave me." Jenny, finding her attempts to procure an interview with her cousin but exasperated her the more, passed on to her own room. Her first act was to kneel and ask of her heavenly Father, wis- dom to perform her duty aright. After this simple act of devo- tion, she rose, feeling less lonely and sad, with thoughts of the past and future busy in her heart. Had Clementina listened to Jenny's intentions, she would have spared herself considerable anxiety. As soon as Jenny's surprise at finding herself an heiress had sufficiently subsided to enable her to think calmly, she determined to divide the possessions of 320 THE BELLE OF WASHLNGTOIir. her aunt equally between herself and cousin. It was to tell her this, that she sought an interview with her. After Clementina had not only refused to receive her message, but to converse with her, she determined she would not insist upon any conversation untiL Clementina herself sought it. She was as proud-spirited as Clementina, and what made the dif- ference in their characters was, that Jenny had a kind and feel- ing heart, alive to every generous impulse, and all her acts were governed by correct principles ; whilst Clementina was not only unprincipled, but perfectly heartless. Whether it was nature, or the training each had received, that made them thus different in character, we will not pretend to say. And how differently passed the night with the two maidens. Jenny, who felt con- scious of having committed no wrong, not even in thought, slept sweetly. Whilst Clementina, as she reflected on the strange and almost supernatural manner in which her designs had been frus- trated, was almost ready to curse the fates. There was but one subject upon which her thoughts could rest with anything like complacency, and that was, that she was affianced to a man of wealth, belonging to one of the best families in the country. The family to which Capt. Ballew belonged, particularly on the mother's side, had ever been remarkable for their abhorrence of aught that was unworthy and ignoble. Towards morning nature became exhausted, and she fell into a troubled sleep. I say troubled, because her pillow was visited by unwelcome dreams. She dreamed the hour of her bridal had arrived. She was standing before the altar, with her hand clasped in that of Capt. Ballew, whilst his gaze rested upon her with love and admiration. The clergyman had just commenced reading the marriage service, when AUington snatched her from the side of her lover, saying: "You are mine, did you not sell yourself to mel" Consternation and astonishment seemed to reign for a moment, when Capt. Ballew pushed the intruder vio- lently aside, saying : " I will chastise you as you deserve, for daring to lay your hand thus rudely upon my bride." To which AUington replied : " Nay, Capt. Ballew, you are an hon- orable man, and would haye a contract sacredly complied with " THE FKUIT OF VICE Id BITTEEXESS. S21 " Assuredly, but what mean you ?" In answer to this question, AUington placed in his hand her aunt's will, and a written con- tract with her signature, wherein she agreed to become his wife at the end of five years, if she remained single till that time. When the eye of Capt. Ballew rested upon this paper, he turned upon her a look of anguish and reproach, saying : " Is this your writing 1" Ere she could reply to him, she awoke. Turning restlessly in bed, she exclaimed petulantly : " Another dreaming farce, but I shall not be so silly as to give it a second thought." She strove to sleep again, but the drowsy god would not heed her wooing. The remembrance of her dream impressed her un* pleasantly, despite efforts to shake off the weakness. The sun- light was peeping through the shutters, and she rang the bell ; for Nannie, in obedience to her commands of the previous evening, had kept from her room, consequently her morning fire was not kindled. Nannie answered the summons immediately. When she made her appearance, she ordered her to kindle the fire im- mediately, and then go to the kitchen and prepare her a cup of coffee, some toast, and an egg, and bring it to her room im- mediately. " I 'spect you is hungry," said Nannie, " 'case you did'nt eat no supper." " Shut your impertinent mouth, nor dare to utter a word save replies to my questions." , " Yes, Miss," responded Nannie, looking much frightened, and busying herself about kindling the fire. Having made the fire, she proceeded to put the room in order, for it was sadly disar- ranged from the effects of Miss Wilkie's excitement of the pre- ceding evening. Stooping to pick up the fragments of the beautiful chair Miss Wilkie had shattered, her astonishment overcame her fear, and turning toward her with eyes stretched to twice their usual size, she exclaimed : " Why bless me, Miss Cle — " Her exclamation of surprise was suddenly brought to a close. For Clementina, who had been closely watching her as she moved S22 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. about the room, had almost divined her thoughts. And when the astonished servant turned towards her with this exclama^ tion on her lips, Miss Willcie seized a pillow and threw at her head, which coming unexpectedly into Nannie's face, stopped her mouth and caused her to lose her balance and measure her length upon the floor. When she had risen from her prostrate position, she did not finish the sentence, but proceeded to pick up the pieces of the broken chair. When she had done so, fearing to speak, she held it in her hands, and cast a look upon Miss Wilkie, as much as to say, what shall I do with it. Miss Wilkie understood her mute inquiry and replied : " Toss it into the fire, and bring me my breakfast as soon as It ' can be prepared." Nannie did so, and left, not waiting to be bid the second time. The fire soon diffused a genial warmth through the apartment, and Clementina arose and made her toilet, thinking action would dispel the unpleasant feeling that oppressed her. By the time she was in readiness for her breakfast, Nannie appeared, bringing it in nice order, and in addition to what she had ordered, was a beef steak prepared in a manner to satisfy an epicure. This Miss Wilkie noted, and said : " Why did you bring that beef steak, I did not order it." Nannie gave a blink with her eyes, indicating a fear that a brush Miss Wilkie held in her hand, might light upon her head, and then replied : "Mammy made me fetch it, case she thought you would like it." " Very well, put my breakfast on the table and leave me. When I desire your service I'll ring for you." Having partaken of her breakfast, Nannie was summoned to make the bed and carry away the breakfast things. As she was leaving the room. Miss Wilkie told her if'any one called during the day, and wished to see her, she must bring their card before she told them shei was at home. When Nannie had left the room, she arranged her toilet with unusual care, for she supposed Capt. Ballew would call during the morning, as she had not seen him the previous day, and it was the first time since he had THE FKUIT OF VICE IS BITTEBNESS. 323 made a declaration of his love, that he had failed to call some time during the day, if he remained but a moment. As she had expected, about ten o'clock, Nannie brought her his card. She ordered Nannie to return and say to him, she would be in the drawing-room in a moment. Nannie has just delivered her mes- sage and left the room, when she entered in all her glorious beauty, and approaching him held out her hand to him, expecting he would seize and carry it to his lips as was his wont. He took it within his own, which was as cold as if the angel of death had already stilled the pulsations of his heart. And indeed, its pul- sations were almost stilled with anguish. When Clementina felt its touch, she cast a searching glance upon his countenance, and its expression startled her, for it was so like it had appeared to her at the close of her dream, that she said hastily : "You are ill f " Not ill, but heart sick." " What should give you heart sickness V " I did not see you yesterday." " You could have done so, by calling." " I did call in the morning ; the girl was standing at the door, and told me you were engaged in business with your lawyer, and did not wish to be disturbed." " You are not jealous, that I should give a portion of my time- to business 1" " Nay, but hear me to the close. I told her I would take a seat in the drawing-room, and when you had finished transacting your business I would see you. With what bright dreams of happiness was my heart overflowing when! entered that apart- ment; but how darkened was every earthly hope when I lefb it. " I took a seat near the door that opens into the adjoining room. The door was slightly ajar, and I became an uninten- tional listener to a conversation between yourself and lawyer. Language cannot convey an idea of what I felt, when I learned from that conversation, that my heart's idol, she, whom I deemed but little lower than the angels, had sullied the purity of her nature, for the sake of securing to herself the entire wealth of her 324 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTOST. aunt. A blindness fell upon my vision, all external objeota faded from my sight, and I saw nothing but the blighted and crushed hopes of my own heart. As soon as I was sufficiently self-possessed I left the house. For I could not bear to see you until strengthened by reflection. I came this morning to release you from your betrothal, and say to you, although your image is ineffaceably engraven on my heart, I will never wed one, whom I cannot respect." As Clementina listened to the above recital, the smile which rested on her face when she entered the room faded from her lips, and at its close, she was pale and motionless. She was per- fectly disconcerted. But soon recovering herself, she said : "A pretty romance you have entertained me with this morn- ing, Capt. Ballew." " Nay, Clementina, speak not thus mockingly, I would it were romance. But it is a stern, incontrovertible truth, that has shattered as bright a dream of happiness as ever nestled in a human heart." Overcome by emotion, and unwilling to betray what he deemed his weakness, he rose to depart, saying : " Miss Wilkie, let us part in kindness, and may the wealth- you possess, bring you happiness and satisfy all the cravings of your heart." Miss Wilkie had also risen to her feet, and knowing she could not justify herself, she drew herself up proudly, and said, in a tone cold as an icicle : " Thank you for your kind wishes, Capt. Ballew, and as neither of us will derive any pleasure from a prolonged conver- ■ sation, permit me to bid you good morning." When Capt. Ballew had left the house, her proud mien forsook her, for she remembered, with all her imperious notions, and ex- travagant tastes, she was penniless, and entirely dependent upon Jenny, whom she had ever treated with rudeness and contempt. Sinking upon the sofa, from which she had risen at the departure of Capt. Ballew, she rested her head upon her hand, and mur- mured to herself: • " Had I known this last night, I would have met the advances THE FEUIT OF VICE IS BITTEENESS. 325 of Jenny differently. But I'll not humble myself to her. I -will rule the household as entirely as I have done. I presume she will not have the spirit to hinder me." Rising, as if some thought had just occurred to her, she went to her own room, and a violent ring of the bell, brought Nannie to her. As she entered, Miss Wilkie said : " Did Capt. Ballew call yesterday V "Yes, Miss." « Why did you not tell me?" " You had given me orders, if any one wished to see you, to say that you were engaged with business, and could not see company." " But he took a seat in the drawing room ?" " Yes, Miss, he said he would wait till you were through with your business." " Why did you not come and tell meV\ " 'Case I was afeard you would — " A violent box on the ear sent Nannie reeling against a ward- robe, leaving the sentence unfinished on her lips. When she recovered herself, she stood rubbing her ear, with mouth agape, fearing to speak, lest she should offend. Miss Wilkie cast upon her -a look as if she would annihilate her, and then said : " Leave my presence instantly, and do not let me see your face again to-day." . As Nannie descended the stairs muttering, the following words were distinguishable : " Gracious knows, I'd be glad if I never seed her face agin, so I didn't lose my eye-sight." / When she got to the kitchen, she gave vent to her indignation: "I raly 'bleve Miss Clem's agwine crazy." " Why 1" queried two or three voices. Nannie commenced a recital of the indignities she had received, mentioning the broken chair. But, the ringing of the door bell obliged her to leave her curious auditors, before she had com- pleted her story. Upon going to the door, she found an* old gentleman, who asked to see Miss Lumpkin. Asking him to be seated in tho 826 THE BELLE OF ■WASHINGTON'. drawing room, she took his card to Jenny, wondering what he could want to see her for : it was so unusual for any one to ask for Miss Jenny. After Jenny had descended, and the drawing room door was closed, Nannie determined to learn what was the object of his visit. And, for this purpose, she slipped into the adjoining room. Having remained there some time, she ran to the kitchen, exclaiming : " Good news, mammy, good news : we doesen't 'blong to Miss Clementina." VIETUE BEWAEDED. 827 CHAPTER XXXVIL VIETUK REWARDED. That our readers may understand the cause of Nannie's ex- clamation, in the last chapter, it is necessary to make them slightly acquainted with the situation of Mrs. Parkinson's affairs. Although her property consisted chiefly in houses, and stocks, yet, some years previous to her death, finding it difficult to hire good servants, she had bought the mother of Nannie, with her family, which consisted of two girls and a boy. Nannie was the youngest, and Mrs. Parkinson ha3 taken her for her own dressing maid, and treated her with much indulgence and kindness, for Nannie, with a tact peculiarly her own, had learned to adapt herself to the whims and caprices of her mistress, and she was seldom found fault with. However, we must do Mrs. Parkinson the justice to say, that although a Jiard woman in many respects, she treated her servants kindly. In truth, she had that kind of selfishness, which made her think they were better than other servants, merely because they were hers. But Clementina had ever treated them harshly. It seemed she tyrannized over the servants, in proportion to the amiability she assumed in society. When Mrs. Parkinson died, her servants grieved sincerely. They, as well as every one else, supposed, as a matter of course, that they would pass into Clementina's possession, and they had spoken of it among themselves with regret. But Nannie, more than any, felt the change : Clementina had taken her for her own maid, and all her ill temper and disappointment was vented upon Nannie. When, in listening to the conversation between Jenny and the lawyer, she learaed she did not belong to Clementina, 32S THE BELLE OF WlaHIJTGTOX. she was so much overjoyed, that her desire to communicate it to her mother, so overcame that curiosity, which is a characteristic of her race, that she did not remain to hear the close of the con. versation, but ran to tell the good news. We will leave her to impart what knowledge she has of the state of affairs, whilst we describe the interview between Jenny and the lawyer. When she entered the room where the old gentleman was sitting, she said : " Oh, I am so glad you have come, I need counsel and a friend so much. You will tell me just what I must do, and how I must do it." " Certainly, child." "I can scarce realize that I am the possessor of so -much wealth. It seems so strange that I, who expected nothing from my aunt, should be her heir, whilst Clementina, who was brought up by her, and upon whom I thought she would bestow all, is left without anything." "It is the hand of an overruling Providence, who, sometimes, very mysteriously, overthrows the best laid plans of the wicked. It is but a punishment for her wickedness and ingratitude in neglecting her aunt during her last illness, whilst you, unselfishly, devoted yourself to her. You are worthy of the fortune that has fallen to your lot." "But I cannot conscientiq^sly retain it. I will divide it equally with my cousin, as it was the intention of my aunt to do. I wished to tell her so last evening, but she would not hear me." " It is well enough. You need be in no hurry to commit your- self, as to what you will do. At any rate, you cannot make a conveyance to another of any of the property to which you have fallen heir, unless you are of age, which, judging from your ap- pearance, I presume is not the case." Nor was she of age. Something more than a year must elapse ere she could legally transact business. Before the close of the interview, it was arranged that he should be her guardian during that time, and take the entire management of her business. At his request, she consented to communicate to no one her inten- VIRTUE EEWAEDED. 329 tion with regard to the division of the estate, " For," said he, "you may change your mind; or, if you should not, it will be well enough to teach Clementina a lesson in life she has not yet learned. Hitherto, she has been admired, followed, and caressed, as the wealthy beauty. Now, let her see how she will be esti- mated when it is known she is dependent upon the generosity of her cousin." We will now turn from Jenny, and her affairs, to the pleasant parlor of Mrs. Stanmore. Emma Carlton, now Mrs. Belmont, had just placed in the hand of her husband a letter, and was tell- ing him she had received it just before her marriage, when her circumstances were such that she would have yielded to despair but for unfailing trust in the kindness and protecting care of .her Heavenly Father. When she had told him how it contained one hundred dollars, which enabled her to pay fifty dollars which she had borrowed, and yet leave her in possession of a sufficient sum to make her feel perfectly independent, she looked fondly into his face, saying : " Now, will you examine it closely 1 perhaps you can assist me in discovering who wrote it, that I may express my thanks for the delicate manner in which assistance was rendered." " I can read your thoughts in your ingenuous face, but it was «ot I who wrote it; yet I think I know who did." "Who?" " I saw Annie Grayson place a letter that resembled this in the hands of a boy, on the morning you received the one I hold in my hand." " Just like that dear girl ! She knew I would hesitate in re- ceiving so large a sum from her, were she to offer it in person, and she took this delicate mode of obliging me to become a reci- pient of her generosity." Emma had scarce concluded this remark, when Annie Grayson entered the room. Mr. Belmont placed the letter in her hand, saying : " Can you tell us who wrote that letter ?" She glanced at it, and returned it, remarking . " It is useless to waste time in trying to discover the writer, 330 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. particularly as I have just called to ask Emma to go a shopping with me, that I may have the benefit of her fine taste in making my purchases." " Certainly, my time is entirely at your service for the next month, not only to assist you in making purchases, but in pre- paring the bridal robes, if you will accept my service. If fortune has smiled on me, I have not forgotten the use of my scissors and needle." " Nay, I will not tax you thus heavily," said Annie, a bright blush mantling her cheek at Emma's allusion to her approaching marriage, which was to take place a few weeks previous to the adjournment of Congress. Yes, Annie Grayson, who has passed the ordeal of mingling in Washington society, followed by a crowd of admirers, yet retain- ing that purity and simplicity of character which won all hearts to love her when a child, is soon to wed one worthy of that price- less gem, the love of a true-hearted woman. Edwin Stanmore has asked of Mr. Grayson the hand of his daughter ; and not only he, but the proud mother deems it an eligible match for her daughter. The reputation he has acquired for eloquence and superiority of intellect during this his first session in Congress, gives promise that he may, in time, aspire to any office he may desire. Mrs. Grayson thinks only of the position of her future-' son-in-law, whilst her husband reflects that he commits the hap- piness of his child to one who can appreciate her, and whose noble qualities will command the respect of his fellow-men, whether his station be a public or private one. Annie's heart is filled with quiet happiness ; and whilst her mother is making preparations for a splendid wedding, her thoughts often wander to the quiet home awaiting her in the West, and the true-hearted, though un- polished friends of him who is to be her husband, and she is well assured she will receive a kindly welcome from them. Had Annie consulted her own feelings, she would have pre- ferred having the marriage ceremony quietly performed in the presence of a few friends ; for she regarded marriage as one of the most holy sacraments of the Church, and she felt that she would enter into it with serious thought, sui rounded by a few TIRTUE EEWARDED. 331 friends, instead of being in the midst of a gay and thoughtless crowd. But she yielded to the wishes of her mother, who said, as she had but one child to give way in marriage, she should have a wedding worthy of the name she bore. How many young girls there are who, when about to be married, think only of the elegant bridal robes, and the brilliant parties which will be given her as a bride, without giving one thought to the duties which will be imposed upon her ! When the parties are over, and the gloss is worn from the beautiful dresses prepared for the occasion, and she is expected to settle down quietly into her new sphere, she finds she has no taste for §uch a dull kind of life ; and her husband learns with regret, that she has none of those qualities which shed a charm over the domestic circle. Not one of those was Annie Grayson. She gave not a thought to the brillian': parties which were sure to succeed her wedding ; but how she should perform those duties which her new relation would bring, was frequently reflected on. The bridal eve arrives. The mansion of Mrs. Grayson is crowded with the most distinguished persons in the city. The clergyman is awaiting the appearance of the bride, and every eye is turned toward the door. At length, the bride-maidens, with their attendants, enter, followed by the bride, whose hand rested lightly on the arm of Edwin Stanmore, as he proudly led her forward. As she passed toward the centre of the room, whisper- ed exclamations, similar to those which her appearance called forth, when we first presented her a fairy child to our readers, were again heard. And, indeed, she was surpassingly beautiful, as, with a slight blush mantling her cheek, she stood before the clergyman, to take upon herself the marriage vows. She had insisted upon consulting her own taste, with regard to her dress, and, instead of being robed in costly satins and delicate blondes, with a sufficient quantity of jewelry upon her person to dower a bride, she was simply attired in a pure white muslin, with no ornament, save .a wreath of orange flowers encircling her fair brow, and a white rose-bud, about half blown, upon her bosom. The entire arrangements of her dress bespoke purity and refine- 22 332 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON ment of sentiment, and a total absence of that love of display which indicates a low and unrefined mind. When the marriage ceremony was ended, and friends crowded round to congratulate the newly wedded pair, there was one who could scarcely speak the wishes for their happiness with which her heart was swelling. It was Mrs. Stanmore. As she looked upon the face of her son, which was radiant with happiness, she thought of her gentle daughter, whose blighted hopes had hurried her to an early grave. These thoughts were made more vivid by a letter from Frederick Leroux, which had been received a few days previous. It was a reply to one Edwin had written him, urging him to come to his wedding. In his answer, he says : " No, no, my heart's dearest friend, although I wish every joy that earth can give may rest upon the pathway of you and my cousin Annie, I could not bear to be present and witness the consummation of your happiness. It would contrast too painfully with my own crushed, withered feelings, and crushed, too, by my own weakness and folly. Never again can a dream of love lighten the weariness of my heart. — Henceforth, I will devote myself to my country, in compliance with Ella's last injunctions to me. I will not visit Washington again, unless it be to take a seat as a member in the National council. It is not often I in- dulge in the weakness of intruding upon others the desolation of my heart ; but you, the brother of Ella, who knew all her gentle virtues, can appreciate my feelings and excuse me, for what some would term a morbid, effeminate indulgence in grief I have laid my heart thus before you, that you may fully understand why I refuse to be present at your wedding. May you be as happy as you deserve, is the wish of one upon whose heart death has cast a shadow that time cannot remove. F. Leroux." And was every heart in that gay assembly, save that of Mrs. Stanmore, as perfectly joyous as the smile on the lip would in dicate 1 That such was the case, we cannot positively assert. But this we do know, fair yjung forms moved gracefully through the VIETUE KEWABDED. 333 mazy dance, and soft eyes rested lovingly upon manly forms, as if questioning, why life should not be ever thus bright. Among those v?ho thought thus, was Mary Selden. She was first bride's- maid, and Prancis CoUingwood was first groom's-man. He had devoted himself to her during the evening, and, as she listened to his earnest tones, she said within her heart : " Why could I not retain him ever by my side ? I know he loves me : his eyes have said so a hundred times, although he has never permitted his tongue to breathe a syllable of what his feelings are. Well, well, the tongue often speaks a language the heart does not dic- tate, but the eyes, never. So, I will e'en content myself that, in time, I shall listen to the language that will be as music to my ear." And she did listen to that language, even sooner than she anti- cipated. Ere the wedding guests had departed, he had told her of his love, and learned from her, that the loss of his property, which had kept him silent so long, instead of preventing her from accepting his hand, was, in fact, the removal of a hindrance, as she had promised her father never to listen to the addresses of one who was the owner of a slave. It is strange how much the full heart can utter in a short time, for although Mary and Francis CoUingwood were but a few mo- ments from the side of Edwin Stanmore and his bride, it was arranged that, instead of leaving for the south in a few days, as he had intended doing, he would become one of the party, who were to accompany the newly married pair to their western home. Of the many glad hearts together assembled on that evening, none were more truly blest, or contributed more to the entertain ment of the company, than Mrs. Belmont. During the evening, Annie drew her to the harp, saying : " Dear Emma, it may be long ere we meet again beneath the roof of my father, and you must give us a farewell song, that, when years have past, and my thoughts turn to this evening, the dearest friend of my happy chilhood may have a conspicuous place on memory's tablet. Your music ever lingers about my heart, leaving a pleasant impress." 334 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. Emma ran her fingers over the harp's strings, drawing forth a sweet strain of melody, and then sang : A farewell song 1 Speak not the word, When hearts are heating glad and gay ; But as I gently touch these strings, Let me thy future lot portray. Life's fairest promises are thine : Thou'rt going forth a happy bride, With one who knows thy heart's true worth, To steer thy hark, adown Time's tide. May every hope that swells thy heart, Be more than realized by thee ; The past for thee hath no sad thought, And may thy future brighter be. If purity of heart can give Exemption from each earthly care. Thy brow, which is so sunny now. No mark of grief will ever wear. Or, if the prayers of grateful hearts Can bring thee blessings from on high, Thou art secure from every harm, Where'er thy future pathway lie. The memory of thy generous deeds, And kindly words to sufferers given, Will cause them to remember thee. When they address their prayers to Heaven. Emma's song was prophetic of the future of her friend. That same kindliness of heart which had won her so many friends in Washington, attached all hearts to her in the home to which her husband bore her. Had she been ambitious of wordly honors, her proudest aspirations would have been satisfied, for his talents secured for him offices of the highest distinction ; but it was not this that constituted her happiness. Edwin Stanmore was as much beloved in private life for his virtues, as he was distinguished for his talents in public. She found him, like herself, ever ready to relieve the suffering, and comfort the sorrowing. Now, having disposed of our heroine in marriage, we should, according to the most approved mode, conclude our story. But we think our readers are sufficiently interested in Miss Wilkie, and some others, to read another chapter, and learn what fate has in store for them. CONCLUSION. 335 CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION. Eke twenty four hours had elapsed after the last interview re- ferred to between Captain Ballew and Miss Wilkie, he had left the city. Had he remained until it was publicly known that, in- stead of being a wealthy heiress, she was left penniless, his noble generosity of spirit might have brought him again to her side. At least, that she hoped such would be the case is evident from the feeling she manifested upon reading the following paragraph in one of the morning papers, about two weeks after she had parted from him with so much hauteur : " Captain Ballew, who, during the winter, has been a favorite in Washington society, has again left the shores of his native land, to be absent on a three years' cruise. The vessel to which he belonged sailed from the Norfolk Navy Yard yesterday. We doubt not but many a fair lady's heart will experience a feeling of regret as her bright eye scans this paragraph. He was deci- dedly a favorite with the ladies, for he is a fine specimen of that true-souled, noble class to which he belongs." After reading the above, she laid the paper down, and as an anxious look passed over her face, she said : " I deemed his generous sympathy would bring him to me when he heard how I am situated ; but 'tis too late to indulge such a hope." She sat for a few moments seemingly in a musing mood ; then rising to her feet, she swept proudly across the room, and placing herself before her mirror, she contemplated with complacency her faultless form and rare personal J)eauty. Then, turning away she continued : 336 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. " But fate shall not crush me ! I have lost none of my charms ; I have the same determined will that has enabled me, since a child, to cause others to yield to my wishes, and I will make Jenny and her fortune subservient to me. In the first place, I will array myself in the most becoming st}^e of mourning. Hi- therto, my style has been brilliant, sparkling, fascinating. Now, it must be gentle, subdued, appealing, in accordance with my changed circumstances and my mourning robes. And as it is not etiquette to appear in large and gay assemblies whilst wear- ing mourning, I will give entertainments at home, inviting a few select and distinguished persons." Having come to this conclusion, she ordered the carriage, and went out to do her shopping, without saying anything about it to Jenny. The first store at which she called was one at which she had been in the habit of making her purchases for the last two or three years. When she entered, the proprietor and all his clerks seemed to be engaged in waiting on customers. In- stead of hastening to her, as usual, with : " Miss Wilkie, let us show you some of our beautiful goods to-day," they left her until others were served, and then approached her, saying, with an air of great indifference : " What will you have to-day ?'■ Al-though somewhat indignant at the lack of that obsequious- ness which she had been accustomed to receive when she for- merly came to make purchases, she called for the most expen- sive mourning goods, and having made a bill of about a hundred dollars, she ordered them to be sent home ; and turned to leave the store, when the gentleman, who had waited on her, said : "Miss Wilkie ; 1 am sorry to detain you, but we have a note in bank that we are obliged to pay in a few days, and conse- quently we have to make it a rule, to send out no goods this week until they are paid for, therefore, if you will settle for the purchases you have just made, you will do us a great favor." She cast on him a look as if she would annihilate him and replied : " If that is your rule, you can just place those purchases oa your shelves again, for I do not suffer myself to be asked for a CONCLUSION'. 837 bill. I have traded with you thousands of dollars, but I'll never spend another cent with you." " Sorry, Miss, to have offended you, but that was my orders." Without deigning to reply, she left the store with the air of a princess. When she had taken her seat in the carriage, she ordered the coachman to drive to another store where she had sometimes dealt. Here she found no customers. To her inquiry for mourning goods, one of the young men in the store replied : " They had no mourning goods, but those of a very inferior quality, such as he was sure would not be worn by her." There was something in the tone and manner of the speaker that convinced her that he uttered an untruth, and it flashed across her mind, that it was the knowledge that she was not the heir of the wealth, which it had been supposed would be hers, that had caused her to receive such treatment. She returned home very indignant, but realizing that she was perfectly de- pendent on Jenny, consequently she would be obliged to treat her differently from what she had hitherto done. Jenny was ready to receive advances from Clementina, and when she pro- posed to her that they should make some addition to their ward- robes, Jenny readily assented. They went together to the stores, Clementina selecting the goods and Jenny paying for them. This was extremely mortifying to the imperious spirit of Clementina, but there was no avoiding it. She solaced herself by reflecting, that if the loss of money rendered her a person of less conse- quence with shop-keepers, a class with whom she had no inter- course save in trading, it would not have that effect in society, where she was admired for her graces of mind and manner ; and, as she still retained these, she could continue to draw around her a crowd of admirers. But it was not long till she learned, that the higher class, the world of fashion, which had been her idol, placed just as high an estimate upon the " almighty dollar,'' as those whom she termed the ignoble herd. In pursuance with her determination, she gave dinner parties, inviting a select few stars of fashion and distinguished persons ; but great was her indignation and surprise, to observe, that, in- stead of receiving all the attention herself, Jenny was treated 888 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. with quite as much consideration and attention as she who had been the belle and beauty of Washington society for the last four years. She was perfectly furious, but dared not vent her ill temper on Jenny, for since she had treated her as an equal, and found it to her interest to study the character of her hitherto despised cousin, she discovered she had firmness of character, that she had not given her credit for. When she remembered the insult and contumely she had formerly heaped upon Jenny, she trembled for the consequences, fearing she might retaliate. She judged Jenny by herself; the nobler traits of her character she could not comprehend. Being obliged to put a restraint on her violent temper, even in her intercourse with Jenny, the paroxysms of rage and indignation to which she gave way when in the privacy of her own room, were almost fearful to behold. She cursed the fates and the silly weakness of her aunt, that had placed her in this humiliating, dependent situation ; not remem- bering it was only the frustration of her own duplicity and wicked designs against another. Thus it ever is with the unprincipled, when fortune which for a time seemed to smile upon them at last abandons them, they curse the fates. The heart of Jenny yearned to look upon the humble home of her childhood, and the faces of those dear ones, who had loved her so truly. She made her arrangements to go home in com- pany with Mrs. Stanmore and her party. In the early part of the winter, whilst it was presumed Miss Wilkie would possess great wealth. Miss Keldon had extorted a promise from her that she would pass the summer months at the country seat of her fother on the Hudson, which she described as being almost an earthly paradise. When Jenny bade Clementina adieu, she placed in her hand a sum of money and told her, that if during her visit to Miss Keldon, she should need more, to write to her and it should be furnished her. But, Clementina did not visit Miss Keldon, for the very good reason, that she was not asked by her to fulfil the engagement she had urged her to make. Miss Keldon left the city without even calling to bid her adieu. Others too, who had always insisted upon Miss Wilkie's forming one of their party in visiting some watering place during the CONCLUSION. 839 summer, treated her with like neglect, and she was left to spend the long, -warm summer months in the city, whilst all the world of Washington, whom she thought anybody, was absent at dif- ferent places of amusement. The lonely wearisome summer has passed. Congress has re- assembled, the gayeties of the winter have commenced, but Miss Wilkie is no longer pointed out to strangers as the reigning belle, the impersonation of all that is elegant and beautiful, conse- quently, she is passed by without attracting any particular atten- tion. In truth, a great portion of the admiration and attention, that a reigning belle in Washington receives, is not elicited so much by her superiority over others, as from the circumstance, that her name is upon every lip ; and the crowds of strangers who visit the city, as a matter of curiosity, wish to have her pointed out to them, and the next desire is to be introduced to her, that they may have it to say, that they have been intro- duced to, and received a glance and a smile from the celebrated belle and beauty. Crowds are thus drawn constantly around her, pouring compliments and flattery into her ear, till she really believes she is something more than ordinary mortals ; this adu- lation becomes necessary to her, and life seems a dreary blank without it. Thus it was with Miss Wilkie. Although, by the generosity of her cousin, she was in possession of all that was necessary to make her happy, she was perfectly miserable. Those who had envied her, could they have looked into her heart, might have pitied her now ; for in her bosom raged every feel- ing, which the Evil One implants in the hearts of those whom he wishes to torment. And yet upon her lip plays the blandest smile, and her voice is modulated to the gentlest tone. Thus passed her life. When Jenny attained the age that she could legally transact business, she, as she had always intended doing, put her cousin in possession of the half of her aunt's estate. Cle- mentina now supposed she would regain her lost position, but in this she was much mistaken, the magic of her name had passed away. She gave entertainments, they were well attended, for the crowd is ever willing to be entertained. She dressed with more than usual magnificence and elegance, displaying herself 840 THE BELLE OF WASHINGTON. constantly in society, hoping to lure back the worshiping crowd, but all her efforts were vain. Although many years have passed, she still mingles much in society, and as time moves on, she seems to covet more anxiously that admiration which once she received. At levees, receptions and assemblies, you will see her faded face, glossed over with an artificial bloom, derived from paints and cosmetics, whilst the furrows worn by the footprints of time, are attempted to be concealed by a preparation procured for that purpose. She has cultivated none of those virtues which shed a charm around the declining years of a true woman. Life, for her, has no pleasure. She is constantly recurring to the vanished dreams of the past, making a darker shadow rest upon the present by the contrast. Thus ended all the proud aspirations of her youth, in the overthrow of her ambitious projects, and the endurance of cold neglect, which, to such a spirit as hers, is the greatest punishment she can endure. We will turn from Clementina to Jenny, who is a loved and honored wife. When she had finally settled all her business, she became the wife of Doctor Danforth, the student with whom she became acquainted during the illness of her aunt, to whom she had been engaged for some time, only waiting till she could execute what she supposed was really the wishes of her aunt, by putting Clementina in possession of the half of her estate, before she made him her guardian and husband. The wealth she pos- sesses enables her to dispense blessings, not only to her own family, but to many others. Her name is mentioned with love and respect by ail who know her. Life, to her, is a long bright season of joy, for in her bosom flourish those virtues that give happiness. Among those who cherish her name with love, is Nannie and her family, to whom she gave freedom, and enabled them to procure comfortable homes in Illinois. Soon after the return of Mary Selden to Quincy, there was a wedding . party assembled at the mansion of Squire Selden. Francis Collingwood, although a Southron, won the respect and fidmiration of Mary's family ; and, as he was not the actual owner of slaves, her father overlooked the misfortune of his being the CONCLUSION. 341 son of one who, during his life time, had owned them, and gave him his daughter. Thej' remained during the summer in Quincy. In the fall, he received a letter from his sister, urging him to bring his young bride, whom she would love dearly for his sake, and spend the winter with her. " Do not refuse me," wrote she, " my health is very delicate, and I may not see another winter, and I beg you, by the memory of the love you bore me when a child, to come and spend this with me." Thus adjured, he complied with her request. When he arrived at her beautiful home, he found her health even worse than her letter had led him to believe. She was confined to her room. When he presented his young wife to her, and witnessed the af- fectionate manner with which she imprinted a sister's kiss upon her brow, he was glad that he had overcome his reluctance to becoming an inmate "beneath the roof of his brother-in-law, and ^ad complied with her request to spend the winter with her. But he could scarce restrain his tears, when, a moment after, she threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming: "Oh, Frank! dear Frank! how could you remain so long absent from me, your only sister, who loved you so much 1 But now, that you have brought a sister to my heart and home, it will compensate me for what I have suffered from your seeming indifference to my love." By a strong effort, he mastered his emotion, and replied play fully : " I was seeking for the sister to bring you ; and now, I trust, you two will be happy together." " Ah, indeed, will we : her very name is music to my ear. How I love the name of Mary !" And they were happy together. The sprightly cheerfulness of Mary cheered many an hour that would have been passed in weary loneliness, but for her. It was as Mrs. Watson had an- ticipated : this was her last winter on earth. Ere the long, bright summer months had come, she was with the angels. Her husband had sought her for her wealth, but her gentle amiability had made her very dear to him, and he loved to gratify her every wish. Just before her death, he was seated 34:2 THE BELLB OF WASHINGTON. beside her. She had lain sometime with her eyes closed as if sleeping, but suddenly she unclosed them, and, looking fondly into her husband's face, said : " Dear Henry, I have been thinking I would like to have my brother remain with you, when I am gone. I know how he loves the home of his childhood. Let me ask him to stay 1 He can not refuse my dying request." " Yes, Carrie, I would gladly have Frank to stay with me. And, as heaven had denied us children, at my death, I would leave all our possessions to him." " Thank you, Henry, thank you ; you cannot know the pleasure your words have given me." It was but a few days after this conversation till the form of Carrie Watson was borne to the tomb. And not long did her husband remain behind her, although in perfect health at the time of her death. He was suddenly attacked with a violent illness, which carried him off in a few days, but not before he fulfilled his promise to his wife, by executing a will making his brother- in-law his heir. Thus, Mary Selden found herself the wife of one upon whose plantation there was at least a hundred slaves. When the business had been all arranged, and Francis Colling- wood was recognized as possessor of property which, by right, had always been his, knowing the sentiments of his wife's family in regard to slavery, he told her he would be guided by her wishes altogether in the disposition of his slaves. For his own part, his impression was that he would be doing them no kind- ness to give them their freedom, but yet he would in this matter be directed by her. After some reflections, she told him, al- though her opinion with regard to the injustice of slavery was unchanged, yet her residence in the South had convinced her that it would be doing no kindness to those people to emancipate them at once, and oblige them to leave the home where they always dwelt. Therefore, they must do as others did, who were so unfortunate as to be the owner of slaves : take care of them, until some reasonable plan was devised to rid the country of this curse. And before she had resided many years in the South, CONCLUSION. 343 and witnessed the kindly relations that existed between master and slave, she even ceased to think of it as a curse. Presuming our read-ers would like to hear something more of Frederick Leroux, we will again refer to him. When he returned home with his hopes crushed, and his heart made desolate by the death of Ella Stanmore, he determined to devote himself to the service of his country, for his was a temperament that would not suffer him to remain listless and inactive. As, when he was a frequenter of the salons of fashion, he was ever a favbrite of the ladies ; so, when he entered the arena of public life to contend for its honors, success ever crowned his efforts. As soon as he attained the age that rendered him eligible according to the Con- stitution, he was honored by his native State with a seat in the United States Senate. And this position hs has continued to occupy ever since, save when he was sent a representative of his country to a Foreign Court. In this, as well as every position he has occupied, he won the admiration and respect of all with whom he had intercourse. His political course has been so far removed from anything like management or intrigue, that his most violent political opponents can find nothing to bring against him. All admit his public acts indicate the purest, noblest love of country, and a desire to make her great and prosperous. No thought of self-aggrandisement and personal advancement, as is the case with too many politicians, seems to enter his mind. The word politician does not apply to him : he is a statesman, and one whose name will go down to posterity unsullied by aught that can cast a shadow upon his fair fame. Whilst his public character is above reproach, his private character miglit serve as a model to those occupying high places. In manner, he is grace- ful and dignified ; in conversation, intellectual and refined. He is addicted to none of the dissipations and fashionable vices that sometimes attach to those who have mingled long in the fashion- able society of Washington. Indeed, it has been regarded as a matter of surprise with some, that, being unrestrained by a wife and family ties, he should retain that purity and elevation of character which so strikingly distinguish him. But could they look into his heart, they would cease to wonder. The image of 84^ THE BELLE OF ■WASHINGTON. Ella Stanmore, like a sacred thing, is shrined in his bosom, and the memory of her gentle virtues exercises a purifying influence upon his spirit. Though many years have passed since she, the bright star of his early manhood, faded from his sight, yet, often in the quietude of his own room, after having devoted the day to the discussion of important national aifairs, may he be seen gazing on a faded flower, the Japonica worn by Ella on the evening her bright hopes were so suddenly blighted, and bequeathed to him as a memento to remind him that earth's pleasures are perishing. As he looks upon this faded flower, memories of the past are vividly called up, and he renews his determination of keeping his spirit unsullied by aught that is debasing. Little deem they with whom he is in daily intercourse, of those passages of his heart's history which have so much influenced his destiny. Yet, this is life. Often beneath a cold, grave exterior, beats a heart over- flowing with the kindest sympathies of human nature. Now, I presume the reader wishes to know something of Eula- lie's destiijy. When Frederick Leroux came to Washington as Senator, she accompanied him. Here, she again met Charles Peyton. He had struggled successfully with adverse fortune, and attained an honorable position among men. He was a re- presentative in Congress from one of the South- Western States. Each had remained true to the memory of their early love, and, now, they were wedded. The uninterrupted happiness of their future lives compensated them for their early trials. Having disposed of our principal characters, we will say a few words to our readers. The little story we have woven is not purely fiction, but is in most cases real descriptions of life in Washington. Clementina Wilkie is a living embodiment and the representative of a class who actually may be seen in Wash- ington, who, in youth, cultivate only those external graces which attract an admiring crowd ; and when the charms of youth have fled, and they are no longer admired, having no resources within themselves, and no taste for domestic pleasures, they may still be seen at all those places where fashionably dressed and vain women love to exhibit themselves. Annie Grayson is a picture CONCLUSION. 345 fi jm life of one whose position and relations obliged her to mingle constantly in frivolous and fashionable society ; yet the active principle of piety with which her spirit was imbued preserved her from becoming vain and heartless, whilst it enabled her, against all adverse influences, to imitate the example of her Divine Master, by administering to the wants of her fellow crea- tures. Emma Carlton shows the sustaining power of religion ia life's most trying hour ; whilst Ella Stanmore is an exemplifica- tion of the power of religion to triumph over man's last enemy — ieath. If this little story will induce our young readers to ap- preciate the beauty of early piety, and to cultivate it in their hearts, we shall feel that it has not been written in vain. We have endeavored to show that, although duplicity and falsehood tiay seem to prosper, its fruit is bitterness ; whilst the practica t f virtue brings pleasantness and peace. 7HK BlffD.