NORTHWESTERN
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
EVANSTON
ILLINOIS
HEW WOIEIEl
By s. BABCOCK, New Haven.
THE YOUNG LADY'S READER; arranged for Exam¬
ples in Rhetoric, for the higher classes in Seminaries and
Schools. By Mrs. Louisa C. Tuthill.
From Mrs. Sigourney.
The " Young Lady's Reader," a varied, and tasteful selection of prose
and poetry, arranged on rhetorical principles,—is admirably calculated to
supply a deficiency which has long been felt to exist, in the higher de¬
partments of Education.
Mrs. Tuthill, by making her own extensive acquaintance with English
literature, available to the good of' others, merits the thanks of both
teacher and scholar. L. H. S.
From J. P. Brace, Esq,. Principal of the Hartford Female Seminary.
I have been highly gratified by an examination of the " Young Lady's
Reader," which I have just finished. Ifï mistake not, the arrangement
and the plan are entirely unlike any of the reading books now in use, and
will, certainly, be well calculated for the object in view,—to teach and
illustrate rhetoric, and the principles of style, by examples.
The selection has been made with judgment and taste, and must be
serviceable in strengthening the judgment, and improving the taste of the
reader. J. P. BRACE.
Hartford, Feb. 2, 1839.
From the " Southern Pose,^' by Mrs. Oilman.
Those who scan the pagdfe of a school book carefully, rarely think of
the call that is made on the author for intellect in the selections, and pa¬
tience in the arrangement. A slight examination of the Young Lady's
Reader, will suffice to show how extensive a range- of literature Mrs.
Tuthill has embraced; and how admirable is the disposition of the vari¬
ous branches of style. It contains nothing objectionable to any sect,
class, or party, and is, therefore, particularly well calculated for general
circulation in schools. It is also a valuable home book, as it offers selec¬
tions from authors who'se works are not attainable by every private family.
THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME : by Mrs. Louisa C. Tuthill.
A MANUAL OF USEFUL STUDIES; for the instruc¬
tion of Young Persons of both sexes, in Families and
Schools. By Noah Webster, LL, D.
LOYELL'S RHETORICAL DIALOGUES ; or, Dramat¬
ic Selections, for the use of Schools, Academies, and Fam¬
ilies : designed to furnish exercises, either for Reading,
Recitation, or Exhibition. Selected from the most popular
productions, and beautifully illustrated by thirty-six en¬
gravings.
REALITIES OF LIFE
SKETCHES
DESIGNED FOR THE IMPROVEMENT
THE HEAD AND HEART.
BY A PHILANTHROPIST.
NEW HAVEN.
PUBLISHED BY S. EAECOCK.
1839.
0^/3,3
72 2?S'
ENTERED,
ACCORDING TO THE ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1839,
BY SIDNEY BABCOCK,
IN THE OFFICE OF THE CLERK OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF
CONNECTICUT.
CONTENTS.
PART FIRST.
Intemperance, 9
Gambling,
Consumption, 57
Broken Engagement, - 65
Failure, -..-.73
PART SECOND.
Temper and Madness, 85
Forgery, 95
Sudden Death and Disappointment, - - - - 123
Indolence, 135
Instability of Earthly Attachments, - - - 151
Loss of Friends, - 191
807081
REALITIES OF LIFE.
PART FIRST.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
PART FIRST.
INTEMPERANCE.
" How sad a sight is human happiness,
To those whose thoughts can pierce beyond an hour!"
Young.
" The spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie
On earthly bliss ; it breaks at ev'ry breeze."
" Beware what earth calls happiness; beware
All joys, but joys that never can expire.
Who builds on less than an immortal base,
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death."—Young.
" Whatsudden turns,
What strange vicissitudes in the first leaf
Of man's sad history ! To-day most happy ;
And ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject!
How scant the space between these vast extremes."
Blair.
If ever the prospects of mortal were bright, they
shone in the destiny of Edith Germaine, on her bridal
morn. Not a shadow flitted over the horizon of futurity,
as thé eye of affection, in anticipation, wandered over its
vast expanse ! Not a tear seemed to dim the brilliancy
of its sunshine! Gratified friends crowded around, to
congratulate her on the happy choice she had made of
2
10
REALITIES OE LIFE.
INTEMPERANCE.
her partner and.guide! Parental satisfaction was ex¬
pressed,—a blessing was pronounced,—and all was joy !
Sixteen summers had scarcely rolled over the head of
the lovely bride. The home of childhood had sheltered
her from the very name of care, and a new world appeared
to be opening upon her, filled only with scenes of bliss !
Just i^e.Mlled from the restraints of a school-room, she
V enförcd'^th pride upon the important duties of a house-
•í,^tfe"Spwií&ffla wife. United to one whose talents, man¬
ners, statip\i, and appearance commanded admiration,
how could she be otherwise than pleased ? He seldom
gave her time to frame a wish, before it was gratified.
Her home was stored with all that the hand of affection
loves to place around those we value, to add to their
comfort and enjoyment. Not a shade rested on their
domestic life, and they were pronounced enviable. Such
is existence !
A few short months sufficed to reveal to Edith, that
her hopes of wedded joy had been based upon a sandy
foundation. Too soon harsh words and harsher looks
crept in, to whisper that some change had taken place
in the heart of her husband.
" Can this be temper ?" thought Edith, after an ebulli¬
tion of anger. "No,;" the placid brow, in general; the
gentle voice, at times ; the refined and polished man¬
ners, which were habitual, all denied the charge. " Does
he love me less ?" was the painful question that presented
itself. " No," was again the reply. " Daily attention to
my comfort—pride in my appearance—anxiety for my
pleasure, forbid the idea !"
REALITIES OF LIFE.
11
INTEMPERANCE.
" What then Î"—And she paused in horror.—" What
then ?" She marked him closely, to discover if her
dreadful surmise was correct. Alas ! she soon, awfully
soon, observed his altered mein and tone occurred after
dinner; the time when that fatal poison, which sinks so
many immortal spirits into the abode of misery, and
blights so many of the fairest blossoms of hope, that bud
upon the destiny of woman, is unsuspectingly quaffed ; un¬
dermining the health, the peace, the reputation.
Let me draw a veil over the heart-withering sorrow of
that hour. None but those who have passed this fiery
ordeal, can ever imagine its desolating influence. To
see that being, upon whom we have fixed our purest
and most devoted affections—whom we have set up on
the altar of our hearts, as an object of veneration—to
whom we expected to look for aid, for guidance, for
protection—whom, in every scheme we have permitted
ourselves to sketch of future happiness, we have placed
as the moving-spirit of the scene—degraded in the eyes
of the world ; and oh, anguish unspeakable, in our own !
To see him unfitted for social or domestic intercourse !
To feel that his hand, which we had fondly hoped would
have shielded us from every grief, has sent the barbed
arrow of despair to ranlde in our bosom ! To anticipate
nothing but a life of disappointment and disgust! To
find in the present no ray of joy; to expect in the future
no peace! And, oh, above all other pangs, to dread an
exclusion from the sanctuary of the blest, of that ethereal
part which is to live in bliss or woe forever ! These,
these are afflictions into which no eye may gaze,—which
no mind can estimate,—which no consolations reach.
12
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INTEMPERANCE.
Long did Edith strive, with a studious self-delusion,
to chase the fearful phantom from her view. Long did
she cling to the feeble hope that these things were only
occasional. Alas ! evening after evening, night after
night, closed in, and found him lost alike to conscious¬
ness and shame. The world suspected not, and she stiU
smiled, to blind its prying curiosity. But the habitual
drunkard soon himself discloses, what those who love
him would anxiously conceal. Day, hroad day, beheld
his self-indulgence ; and as he sunk, step by step, lower
into the abyss of vice, his poor wife felt her affections
sinking too. Impatience (much to be excused,) on her
part, frequently breaking out into reproach, only aggra¬
vated a temper rendered violent by perpetual excitement,
and their domestic intercourse was a burthen upon each.
The more she blamed, the less he checked his passion ;
and the busy multitude full soon proclaimed to friends,
as well as foes, their tale of misery.
A few short years dragged on in wretchedness, and the
sequel was known to all. He sunk into the grave, with
manhood's bloom upon his cheek, and his name was
banished as a blot upon his kindred's household record.
He died unpitied, unlamented, and unwept! Awful,
though brief history ! Ah, if it was the history of the
few, we might have hope ; but the many wear the degra¬
ding crime upon them. Our country blushes for her de¬
generate sons. The land of patriotism and virtue, upon
whose tablets are impressed with pride, the names of
men whose greatness is rivalled only by their goodness,
to be the fellow-citizens of those whose only fame is the
REALITIES OF LIFE.
13
INTEMPERANCIA
fame of disgrace ! Whose only inheritance is shame !
Whose only destiny is woe eternal !
Is this the country of a Washington, a Jefferson, a
Monroe, a Madison 1 Is this the birth-place of a Cal¬
houn, a McDuffie, a Hamilton, a Hayne ? Is this the
land of a White, a Hobart, a Bavenscroft, a Dehon, a
Cobia ? Men whose virtues and talents dignify human
nature ; whose memories are enshrined in the hearts of
the wise and the good ; whose whole business is and was,
to advance the cause of God, or elevate the condition of
man? Impossible! The same clime surely never can
claim as her own, the degraded, the debased follower of
a worse than heathen deity, Impossible ! Upon the re¬
flection,
" Peace bleeds, and hope expires !"
Happy is it that such men live, and have lived, as can
rescue our country from the contempt of other nations,
With the Bard of Avon, we are led to exclaim,—
" Oh, that men should put an enemy
In their mouths to steal away their senaes ;
That they should with joy transfonn themselves
Into brutes,"
and with Prior,—
" Unhappy man I whom sorrow thus, and rage,
To different ills alternately engage ;
Who drinks, alas! but to/orgei; nor sees
That melancholy sloth, severe disease.
Memory confused, and interrupted thought.
Death's harbingers, he in the draught ;
2*
14
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INTEMPERANCE.
And in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl,
Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll."
But from this revolting picture we hasten to depart. It
is our object to trace out the progress of Edith through
her weary existence. Did she turn from her disappoint¬
ed expectations to the one sole fount of unchangeable
happiness ? Did she realize the truth of what so many
before her had declared, that there was no peace beneath
the skies ? We fear not. Still, still endeavoring to
slake her thirst for bliss, at the broken cisterns of this
world's unsatisfying streams. Desolate in heart—^uncon¬
nected with any of those domestic ties which had bound
her—the husband of her youth lost to her forever—her
children reposing in the tomb—what had earth to give
her ? Nothing ! And she felt the dreadful truth, noth¬
ing ! Friends pressed around to offer consolation ; to
cheer, to aid ; but there is a blank in the affections,
made by the destroyer's rude touch, which friendship
cannot fill. And time dragged heavily along, without a
joy in life, and with but few and feeble efforts to secure
the hojies of a renewed existence.
Human happiness ! A bubble—a vapor ! Dashed
upon the iron shore of disappointment, the bubble bursts ;
borne upon the blast of sorrow, the vapor vanishes,
and leaves the trusting soul to wonder at the wretched
cheat that bears the name. How long will man, immor¬
tal man, consent to fix his thoughts on expectations of
human happiness ?
REALITIES OF LIFE. 15
INTEMPÉRANCE.
" True happiness is not the growth of earth ;
The search is fruitless, if you seek it there ;
'Tis an exotic of celestial birth,
And never blooms but in celestial air.
Sweet plant of paradise ! Its seeds are sown
In here and there a breast of heavenly mold ;
It rises slow, and buds, but ne'er was known
To blossom here,—the climate is too cold."—Sheridan.
These things are true, painful as they seem. And
when such is our conviction, how strange is the propen¬
sity for desiring ''lengthof days." We ask,—
" What then is life What but a vale
Of wretchedness and tears 1 What are the charms
Which make us cling to its pomp, its grandeur,
Its vanity, and glare? Not enjoyment.
Few taste its sweetness, and fewer still find
Happiness. Happiness! it is a plant
Whose growth is not of earth ; it flourishes
In courte above, and none have ever culled
Its fruits, tho' many hands have plucked its buds.
' Vanity and the spirit's deep vexation,'
Is written upon all beneath the skies I
And this is life.—To this we cling.—For this
Are willing to unbind the fragile chain
That links our souls to heaven, and drag out
A tedious term of years, unblest by joy,
And unconsoled by hope. The life,
How short! The happiestliie, how fuU of tareV^
Such is the quickly told history of Edith Germaine's
wedded bliss and misery. How many heart-stricken
wives may see their own destiny reflected in this faithful
mirror ! Let me add one whisper to the numbers which
16
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INTEMPERANCE.
speak to the conscience, in the story before us. If the
fate of Edith Germaine be thine, oh, wretched wife ! be
warned by her conduct, and soothe by forbearance and
patience, the irritated temper of him who inflicts thy
sorrow ; and although thou mayest not reform his habits,
thou securest to thyself the satisfaction of knowing thou
hast not aggravated his passion, and increased thine own
care. Turn not to earth for consolation, lest the prop
fail, and thou shouldst sink unaided and alone.
GAMBLING.
" Oft when fond mortals thinlî themselves securer
In height of bliss, they touch the brink of ruin."—Thomson.
" Oh, happy you! who blest with present bliss.
See not, with fatal prescience, future tears ;
Nor the dear moment of enjoyment miss,
Through gloomy discontent, or sullen -fears.
Foreboding many a storm for coming years.—
Change is the lot of all. Ourselves with scorn
Perhaps shall view, what runo so fair appears ;
And wonder whence the fancied charm was born
Which now, with vain despair, from our frail grasp is torn."
Brilliant was the sun that rose on the morning of
Agnes Howard's marriage. Cordial were the congratu¬
lations of her family and friends. Joyous was the brow
of the beautiful girl, who designed that day to bless the
home of William Melbourne. Gaily rang the church
bells, as the carriage drove from the door of Mr. How¬
ard's mansion, with its four prancing steeds. Light-
hearted were the happy couple and youthful party, who
sat out for Egerton Place, the future residence of the
new-made bride. The cloudless sky of April beamed
upon every budding flower and luxuriant shrub—^merrily
sung the forest songsters—softly blew the breeze of
spring—fit emblems of the brightness that seemed to
hover over the destiny of Melbourne and Agnes.
The tall poplars threw their long shadows across the
avenue, as the coach turned from the public highway to
approach the house. On each side of the road, jessa-
18
REALITIES or LIFE.
GAMBLING.
mines and roses clustered in wild profusion, pleasing tke
eye and gratifying the senses with their beauty and fra¬
grance. Soon the commodious, though old-fashioned
mansion, with its white chimneys amid the oaks, its large
windows and columned piazza, burst upon the view, as a
sudden angle in the path brought the travelers up to the
garden, which extended from the steps to the gate of
entrance. In the center of it stood an arbor filled with
cages of birds, and the trellice work was almost hidden
by the multifiora and Indian creeper, which were twined
around it. Every thing looked inviting, and as William
Melbourne handed his fair companion from the carriage,
he whispered, " you are mistress of all." She gratefully
pressed his arm, and thanked him with a smile. Nothing
which wealth could procure was wanting in that home
of love, and the early days of Agnes Howard's married
life glided swiftly and joyously on. Her husband never
wandered from his fireside to seek amusement. It was
happiness enough to meet his wife's look of welcome,
after his absence about a planter's business. Books,
conversation, music, social intercourse, varied the time :
and a thought of change never crossed, even faintly, the
mind of either.
"We are very happy, dearest Melbourne," said Agnes,
one evening, after he had been projecting a tour to Vir¬
ginia, the succeeding summer. "We are very happy,
dearest Melbourne, and why need we go from our own
blessed home for pleasure 1"
"We are so, my Agnes ; but I think you require an ex¬
cursion of some Idnd, to amuse and benefit your health ;
REALITIES OF LIFE.
19
GAMBLING.
three months have passed since we came here, and you
have been nowhere yet."
"Oh, ray husband, I want nothing more to interest me
than your affection ; nothing to affect my health, but
your attention. Let us remain where we are ; I dread
to break in upon the tranquility of this dear place."
But William Melbourne unfortunately disregarded the
desire of his wife, and visited the springs that season,
He was delighted to see the pleasure she felt at the nov¬
elty of the scenes through which they passed, and he
was never weary of pointing ottt those objects worthy oi
her notice, as they journeyed onwards.
There are few countries which present more to inter¬
est the traveler, than Virginia. The sublimity of the
rqountains ; the luxuriant vegetation of the valleys beneath
which look, as you gaze down upon them from some vas
eminence, like fertile gardens filled with fruits and fiow-
ers ; the verdure of the trees and shrubs ; the delicacj
and richness of the plants ; the beautiful waterfalls ; thi
wonderful caverns and mines, which recall to the memo¬
ry our infantile tales of genii and fairies ; the eviden
signs of comfort and peace on the one hand, and of in
dustry and enterprize on the other ; the luxurious waters
the combination of r,ural with more civilized life ; the
strange commixture of the fashionable with the natural
in those who crowd those scenes, all awaken the mine
to pleasure and amusement.
While with Mm, every thing afforded satisfaction, anc
Agnes thought she had wisely chosen when, to gratifj
her husband, she had relinquished her wishes and con¬
sented to the excursion.
20
EEALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
Every body who has ever been to the springs of Vir¬
ginia, knows it is a land of temptation. Idleness leads
to dissipation, and dissipation ends, too often, in misery,
perhaps disgrace ! Tedious hours of week-day employ¬
ments ; neglected Sabbaths ; pernicious companions ; de¬
structive pursuits, under the mask of amusement,—^what
can be their end 1
" Going out again, Melbourne 1" was the inquiry of
Agnes to her husband, as he threw aside the book he had
been reading to her, one warm afternoon. " I am very
dull when you are away, dear William."
" I shall not be gone long ; but I promised to meet a
few young men at Douglass' cabin, to take a game of
wliist. I shall be back by the time you have made your
toilette."
" My dear husband, you did not care for cards at home ;
why do you indulge in them here 1 I fear you will
imbibe a taste for them, which I dread."
" Oh, no ! not at all ! Time, you Imow, passes slowly
where we have no employment. When I get to Egerton
Place I shall not require amusement."
Agnes felt uneasy, but believed what she hoped would
prove true. But weeks flew on, and instead of a couple
of hours in the afternoon, Melbourne spent almost the
whole day, and frequently the most of the night, at the
card and faro tables. The agony of his wife was in¬
tense. He saw her sorrow and cursed himself for occa¬
sioning it, yet had not power, or rather, would not exert
it enough to burst the fatal spell, and be himself again.
He saw his gentle companion bathed in tears, when he
REALITIES OP LIFE.
21
GAMBLING.
returned to her solitary apartments, and her pale cheek
and lusterless eye were a perpetual reproach to him ; but
Yieï'lip never breathed a murmur.
"Will you accompany me to church, this morning 1"
asked Agnes, one Sabbath ; " you know I did not go last
week." (Agnes had learned, in the bitter disappointment
of her life, to find repose and consolation, and strength
to forbear and to endure, in those privileged exercises
which draw us to the compassionate Redeemer in our
afilictions.) She looked anxiously at the flushed counte¬
nance of her husband as she spoke.
" I cannot, dear Agnes, my head aches ; but you can
do so."
" Oh no ! I will remain at home, and listen to a ser¬
mon from you, or read one ; my thoughts would wander
from the sanctuary to you, dearest William."
" I prefer your going, Agnes," said Melbourne hurried¬
ly ; "I think perfect quiet and a little sleep will restore"
me, and I should be worried to know you were detained
from the services you value."
Silently, but tearfully, Agnes prepared for her depar¬
ture ; she did not reprove, she did not contend, for sever¬
al time^, recently, had an opposition from her called forth
an impatient remark—and she could not endure it.
Melbourne walked with her to the door, aiid then re¬
turned to his cabin. As soon as he thought she was en¬
gaged in her duties, he resorted to the dissipated com¬
panions who were violating the obligations of the Sab¬
bath by gambling and drinking ! And this in a nominally
3
22
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBUKG.
Christian community ! Where are our laws ? What are
our securities ?
His heart smote him as he left the room. It was the
first time he had deliberately deceived his still beloved
wife. He paused as he crossed the threshold, and re¬
flected on the pangs he would inflict—and his resolution
almost yielded to her uncomplaining gentleness. But
the Evil One was too near to let his prey escape. He
went !—:and resolved to be back and reclining on his
sofa as an invalid, when she returned ! Oh temptation !
Oh virtue ! How swiftly do we tread the path of ruin,
after the barrier is overstepped, which divides rectitude
from error !
Could this be the high-minded, honorable Melbourne,
who was pointed out as an example for the imitation of
the young and the great ? Oh, how fallen !
Agnes entered her apartment with that quick step which
bespeaks agitation. Her mind had been tranquilized by
the sweet consolations of the gospel; and a sermon from
that blessed text, " Come unto me all ye that are weary
and heavy laden, and I will refresh you," had robbed her
bosom of half its wretchedness. She needed comfort
as she entered the room ! She did not find the being she
expected to meet—she felt that he had deceived her !
"Oh colder than the wind that freezes
I'ounts that but now in sunshine played ;
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom when betrayed."—Moore.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
23
GAMBLINS.
She sunk upon her knees and wept, and prayer sooth¬
ed her. Hour after hour rolled on, and Melbourne came
not. Agnes sat with clasped hands, bending forward to
catch the first sound of her husband's footsteps ; but it
did not meet her ear. Yet she could not, for an instant,
imagine he had' forgotten the holy day, and polluted it
by sinful and forbidden pursuits. Oh no. Her's was the
pang of feeling herself forsaken. She never dreamed
he had sunk so low in the scale of ruin.
Noon came and passed ; the shadows of evening gath¬
ered on the brow of the mountain, and fell as a curtain
over nature's brightness. Night closed in, and Agnes
still kept her dreadful vigil. Midnight struck, and her
agony knew no bounds. The supper her attendant had
brought, was untouched beside her, and she remained
almost unconscious. There are moments when even the
devout are so heart-stricken by some overwhelming sor¬
row, that the consolations of religion are hidden ifrom
the eye of faith j and our God is too merciful not to pity
and forgive the wèakness.
She had lost the power of praying,—of weeping.
Alone ! filone with her anguish, in a strange land,—with¬
out a friend to sympathize,—her only prop in the world
rudely torn from her,—is it wonderful she suffered ?
The grey light of morning broke through the half-
curtained window ; but Agnes sat unmoved, her eyes
stedfastly turned to the door, her lips apart, her breathing
short and quick. A footstep approached—the latch was
lifted, and ere it fell again, one wild delirious scream rang
on the silent air. Melbourne hung in terror over the
'24 REALITIESOFLIFE.
GAMBLING.
ghastly form of his wife, as she sunk at his feet and
clung to his knees in agony. Her insensibility would
have, been a relief to him ; but the fixed and dreadful
gaze ; the livid cheek ; the cold, damp brow, deprived
him of fortitude. " Agnes, my beloved Agnes," exclaim¬
ed he, " my own Agnes, speak to me for God's sake."
She could not speak. " My wife, oh my wife, forgive
me, and do not leave me thus." His voice recalled her
to herself ; she spoke ; but the horror of that tone ; its
calm, unearthly sound ; its awful distinctness !
" You have left me, William, for a long, long time ;
when are you going again?" and she passed her fair
hand through his disheveled hair, as if her senses were
wandering. Melbourne shuddered, and it glanced over
his mind, " if she should be a maniac !" Ah, did his un¬
hallowed pleasures render that hour less torturing ? Did"
his dissipated companions crowd around him then to quiet
the stings' of conscience ? No ; he was alone in his
misery.
But Heaven, ybrJeanng- Heaven, averted this dreadful
calamity. He was not yet beyond the power of refor¬
mation, and God paused in his righteous anger, to give
him another opportunity of securing his grace ; and she
was not yet so purified from earth's dross by her trials, as
to have her, probation closed in unconsciousness.
The sun rose upon the haggard coimtenance of the
unhappy Melbourne ; he sat beside the pale form of his
now calm and weeping wife, holding her hand in his.
Neither spoke. There are sonie emotions too powerful
to admit of expression. Her unreprqaching suffering
REALITIES OF LIFE.
25
GAMBLING.
Stabbed bim more severely than the most cutting lan¬
guage would have done. But day advanced, and with it
the necessity for exertion. At such a spot as a crowded
watering-place, there is but little time or inclination for
retirement and meditation. We must lay aside the salu¬
tary exercise of thought, and appear amongst the frivo¬
lous, the careless, the gay, if the heart bleeds. And
William Melbourne's horror at the consequences of his
night's adventure wore off, as he saw his uncomplaining
wife rouse herself from her distress, and strive to hide
from the world, by assumed cheerfulness, her present
and anticipated troubles. She learned where he had
spent the day and night ; the/izro table had been his re¬
sort, and she endured a grief surpassing words, at the
conviction of his being so much infatuated by its attrac¬
tions, as to forget the duties of that sacred day, which,
from infancy, he had been taught to respect. ' But such
is a Sabbath at the Virginia Springs ! While many go
there to benefit by a fount which the providence of God
has provided, as a blessing to the sick and the enfeebled ;
while many a wife, or child, or companion, or friend is
receiving, through its aid, " a new tie on life," and their
hopes for the future brighten, as they behold it gilded
with the hues of returning health—fathers, husbands,
brothers, are blaspheming and insulting the gracious Ben¬
efactor who bestows his bounty, by their unhallowed and
degrading practices. Shame upon the proprietors who
permit—upon the visitors who uphold a vice so hateful
as this, which stains the fair reputation of that land of
noble hearts, and exalted intellect! Virginia, renowned
q*
26
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
for her patriots, her sleeping heroes, and living states¬
men ; the birth-place of Jefferson; the home of the brave
and the free, bears upon her front the debasing brand,
" Encourager of gambling, and promoter of vice and
degradation !"
Virginia ! beautiful Virginia I oh, hold not in one hand
the cup of blessing, (health,) while with the other thou
presentest to those who draw near to taste its sweetness,
the poisoned bowl, that scatters death and desolation
upon all who come within its influence ! Pause, oh
pause and think I ere eternity compel thee to account
for the souls lost forever through thy negligence, or worse.
A SABBATH AT THE SPRINGS.
—How painful 'tis to see
This holy day so idly pass'd ! And souls
Immortal, living as if forever
They were to tread this busy, changing scene—
As if the world no grave contain'd, and Heaven
No judgment-seat. Oh, what a sad account
At that dread day, of these churcMess Sabbaths!—
These sacred hours thus wasted, or perhaps
Farworse,profan'd, lost, perhaps Jhrgotten,
By the giddy throng who confidently tread
Onivards, on the brink of that precipice
Where ruin lies; where one false step may lead
To death eternal ! And is there a God
To please, a Heaven to win, a darker
Realm to shun ? Is there a soul to exist
In never-ending happiness or woe.
Which may be sav'd or doom'd by man's own deed?—
It cannot be ! or wherefore this reckless
Daring of the Deity? His holy
REALITES OF LIFE.
27
GAMBLING.
Laws despised, his threateniugs unheeded,
And his love urwought? Strange, alasi but yet
Too true, that mercy is the cause. That Fount
Which flows uncheck'd, though careless man may slight
And scorn ; far as from east to west its brow
Extends ! Archangels in mute wonder gaze
On its length, and height, and breadth ! and seraphs
Tremble as they view the sinner heedless
Of securing this unmeasur'd love. Give^
Oh give us, Father, the seraph's grateful '
Soul. Teach us to worship thee for thy gifls
Unnumber'd, in strains of holy rapture,
Such as angels sing. And for this thy day
Of rest, when from the careless world retir'd,
We may sweet communion hold with thee,
Our God, let our thanksgivings rise in notes
Of sacred praise ; and let thy blest spirit
From realms celestial come, these wretched hearts
To change, which cannot, or which will Twt bow
In reverence before thy majesty.
It was Siloam's pool of old, which made
The blind to see ; like that, oh, bid thy streams
Of grace their darken'd bosoms bäthe, their eyes
To sight restore, ere thou callest them hence
The scrutiny of Heaven's unclouded light
To bear. . Ere thou shalt ask a strict account
Of ev'ry privilege improv'd or scorn'd.
Forgive their guilt, oh God. Cleanse their dark souls
From sin's pollution, and make them like thee,
Jehovah! spotless and undefil'd.
We return to the afflicted Agnes. For several days
her husband abstained from those fatal indulgences which
had absorbed him. He felt her wrung spirit needed
soothing, and he resumed the affectionate devotion of
28
REALITIES or LIFE.
GAMBLING.
earlier hours. He was happier himself. Virtue had
only slumbered on her post ; she had not left it forever ;
and he determined to keep away from evil society, and
cling the more closely to the guardian angel who watch¬
ed beside his path, and never led him wrongly.
Idleness, that inventor of so much misery and crime,
is Üie fiend's most active agent in procuring the downfall
of his followers. At the Salt Sulphur Springs, there are
few ol^ects'to divert the attention from weariness. Books
fatigue, and fashion sickens, and too often the faro table
invites the idler to lose alike his ennui and peace at its im-
hallowed shrine. Many a one who has gone to its haunts
■ to gaze upon the success of others, and pass away the
time, has himself alforded, in his turn, food for specula¬
tion ; and hours, days, weeks, have been witnesses of
his folly and his guilt. Many a happy wife has returned
from a summer's excursion broken-hearted and forsaken.
Many a child has been rendered dêstitute by the father,
whose hand should have provided for its helpless years,
instead of himself squandering the support it needed.
Many a winter of domestic sorrow has succeeded a
" pleasant season, amongst the mountains of Virginia."
Virginia! Virginia! rouse thee from thy fatal lethargy
and redeem thy name.
" Gome with me to the faro table," said Mordaunt Las¬
celles, as he saw Melbourne sauntering idly by the spring
one afternoon, when he had exhausted his stock of books,
and began to feel the tedium of home.
" I cannot," replied Melbourne firmly ; " I have prom¬
ised my wife never to play again."
REALITIES OF LIFE.
29
GAMBLIFO.
" Promised your wife ! psha ! how is she to know it 1
Besides, I do not ask you to play ; only go and look on ;
I have a large bet impending."
"I cannot," less resolutely answered Melbourne.
" What folly, William ! Why if this is the style of you
married folks, it will scare matrimony from my noddle.
What harm can it do ?"
" It distresses Agnes, and I do not wish to give her a
single pang. You don't know her affection to me, Lascel¬
les, or you would not expect me to forget her desires,
even in trifles."
" It is indeed a trifle; dear Melbourne, and you should
view it as such. What difference can it make to her Î
She will not be a bit the wiser, unless you tell her your¬
self ; and you will be back long before she wakes from
her afternoon's nap."
" I have no objection to walking as far as the door
with you," said Melbourne ; " but I will not go in."
Alas ! experience might have whispered that the ßrst
step in base compliances should be avoided.
At the threshold Lascelles said, " only look in for a
single moment. ^ I hate to stroll alone to these places, as
if I was ashamed."
, " Well, I cannot stay, remember," répliedthe vasciUa-
ting Melbourne ; " only a moment, recollect."
The shades of twilight enveloped the moimtains, and
night's dewy veil was descending fast over the fair
scenes around, inviting the footsteps to go abroad and
enjoy the soft breeze and brilliant moon of that delight¬
ful climate ; but William Melbourne was still in the
30
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
heated and suffocating atmosphere of a crowded gambling-
room. Bet after bet upon his friend's cards, led to his
taking part in the game ; and virtue—Agnes—the past—
the future—were all forgotten.
Agnes sat by her window sighing for the arm of her
husband, in the promised walk upon the mountain before
her ; but ha came not ; and her heart sunk at the thought
of the possibiliîfr of his having forgotten his solemn
promise to her,\nd of his renewed indulgences; but
she could not believe it. Some companion had invited
him to ride or walk, and they had gone too far. Or some
acquaintance had just arrived, and detained him with in¬
quiries and information. Any thing except the truth pos¬
sessed her mind.
At length he entered ; his eyes blood-shot—^his man-
neivgjicited.--" Agne8-,"'8aid hG impetuously; " Agnes, my
wife, take me away from this place, or I shall be lost to
Í you and to Heaven."
" My dearest Melbourne, where have you been, and
what can be the matter ?"
" I have been to the gambling-table, and squandered
what would have made you comfortable ; I am miser¬
able."
" Oh Melbourne ! how could you do what you had as¬
sured me you would not ? Did you not pledge your
word to avoid cards ?"
" I did, but Lascelles drew me on, until I went with
him and joined in the game. I must go from this hateful
spot to-morrow."
REALITIES OF LIFE.
31-
GtMBLlWG.
" I will do so most gladly, dearest William, and you
must not grieve for the gold you have lost. This is our
least consideration ; only be as you once were, happy
with me, my husband, and I shall be blest." .
" You are an angel, Agnes ! and I do not deserve such
a wife." She perceived he was not altogether himself,
and forbore conversation on this subject ; but strove to
amuse his mind by arranging and packing their things,
so as to admit of no delay in their movements. ' She had
endured too much anguish of spirit there, to desire to
stay a single day longer.
She sat beside him until he had fallen into a deep
slumber, and then flew to the refuge of prayer, as p.'con¬
solation for her overburthened heart, and was comforted.
Delightful privilege of the unhappy! When the world,
and those we love best, desert and afflict us, a benevolent
Redeemer opens his arms to receive, and overshadows
us with his wing from every ill.
When Melbourne awoke from a profound sleep the
next morning, he found Agnes with her riding-habit on,
prepared for a journey, and the carriage at the door with
their baggage fixed, so as to expedite their departure.
He looked disappointed, for he had hoped to linger a lit¬
tle longer ; and intended excusing his doing so, by plead¬
ing indisposition. The excitement of the previous night
only redoubled his desire for play. But when he remark¬
ed to Agnes that she was in haste, and he hardly cared
to go, she urged him to get ready ; and feeling ashamed
to yield to his own motives, he complied, and they de¬
parted.
32
REALITIÈS OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
Every mile they rode, lighter and lighter felt the load
on his wife's heart. She trusted that an absence from
the dissipated society he had been with, would restore
his fluctuating virtue, and hope sprung up in her deso¬
late bosom at the thought.
On their arrival at the Sweet Springs, that lovely, ro¬
mantic spot, all seemed to promise tranquility. Its undis¬
turbed stillness was refreshing ; after the bustle and heat
and crowd of the adjoining spring, it was delightful.
The season for its fashion had not yet arrived, and for a
time, at least, nature's charms alone were to be enjoyed
there.
Removed from the evil example of idlers and gam¬
blers^, Melbourne was " himself again," and Agnes be¬
lieved the spell was forever broken, which had so fatally
enchained him.
The settlement is at the foot of a mountain, whose
thick underwood, verdant grass, and lovely flowers, in¬
vite the lover of the beautiful to rpam, when the heat of
the day has given place to a cool twilight. From its
summit, " hill upon hill rising," seem to encompass the
country, and cultivated valleys meet the eye on every
side, full of busy life and comfort. Within an enclosed
building are cold baths, whose waters, clear as crystal,
are perpetually bubbling to the surface, looking like some
mirrored lake ; and shaded walks amidst the foliage of
the forest, are charming. Often did Agnes wander
amongst the delightful scenery, happy in the society of
her husband, and obtaining real enjoyment from his sen¬
sible and interesting conversation. There are many
REALITIES OF LIFE.
33
GAMBLIMG.
pleasant rides in this neighborhood, and pacing on her
little pony, by his side, she experienced much of her
former peace. The spot most frequently visited, was
the Beaver Dams, three or four miles from the Spring.
After following for some distance a narrow path-way, a
sudden turn in the road leads to a picturesque water-fall,
so far in the woods as to render it necessary to dismount,
and walk through the thick shrubbery ; beneath the
stream are large caverns, which, tradition asserts, were
the work of beavers, where spars and stones of various
shapes and colors may be gathered.
" How beautiful," said Agnes, after a pause in their
remarks, while they silently contemplated the foaming
waters, " How very beautiful is water ! Yiew it as we
may, rippling in the stream, or roaring in the cataract,
we cannot look upon it and be indifferent ! It seems to
bear upon it the impress, ' God made me,' so plainly, that
none can mistake the language. There is a companion¬
ship in it. It soothes the desponding spirit to watch the
smooth tide as it softly glides to the shore, or murmurs
in the wave that dashes against the beach ; and as one.
and another, and another rolls onward, each bearing a
close resemblance to the next, the mind is exercised with
thoughts of the Deity whose mighty hand framed them,
and we wonder and adore ! Particularly in a cascade, we
see his touch divine. How perfect the symmetry of
every drop, as the stream into atoms breaks, by its im¬
petuous rush over the rugged rock, radiant and bright
with the hues of Heaven's own light ! Take it in what-
4
34
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
ever aspect we may, water is inexpressibly beautiful ;
and we cannot gaze upon it and not remember God !"
" Very true, Agnes, and I feel in this calm retreat, far
from the confusion and excitement of active life, as if
we should be virtuous ! And the wild rage of passion ;
the indulgence of forbidden pursuits ; the unhallowed
usages of the world, seem to be of ten-fold importance
in the scale of man's accountability, as I see so plainly
the presence of Jehovah; Art may produce much to
please the eye and gratify the senses, but the Omnipo¬
tent alone could form the glorious water ! He appears to
speak in every echo of the torrent, and bid us fear, and
yet adore the mighty Architect ; to remember that the
same hand which bade the stream glide tranquilly along
to fertilize the soil and cheer the husbandman, directs
the overwhelming cataract, which, in its unchecked
course, oft sweeps to ruin the fairest scenes of industry
and joy ! And thus He, in a moment's wrath, can crush
them to the dust with his righteous vengeance !"
" Encourage such emotions, my William, and they
will elevate your spirit, and make you scorn to yield to
the temptations of this world of vanity, and learn to
tread it beneath your feet, as He does who framed it."
Agues turned from the lovely spot, with a renewed
assurance that his heart was cleansed from sin, and that
the sunshine of her existence would remain unbroken.
Joyously she conversed, and hung upon the words of
sweet and solemn instruction Melbourne uttered. He
had been early taught the path of rectitude and piety ;
nrid tbniio-b no nrofessnr of relicrion. its restraints Larl
REALITIES OF LIFE.
35
GAMBLING.
not been altogether neglected, and he, therefore, was able
to speak with feeling on the subject. The impression
made on his mind, by the beautiful scene he had been
contemplating, did not wholly leave him that evening,
and the day ended in rational and improving conversa¬
tion. But,
" Love has no home so sacred, that change
May not creep in to mar its beauty !"
The third week drew to its conclusion, since their so¬
journ at the Sweet Springs, and our hero and heroine
still continued to enjoy themselves in tranquility and
peace. Agnes suffered not a shade to dwell upon her
bright anticipations, and a future, full of satisfaction,
stretched itself before her brilliant imagination.
That evening a party drove up to the hotel, and asked
for lodgings. Another and another followed, and before
the third day's close, the place was thronged with the
butterflies of fashion, who flutter from one scene of pleas¬
ure to another, to exhibit their gaudy trappings awhile,
and then fly away to other regions, there to make a sim¬
ilar display. Who does not know, that has ever been
at the- Springs, how often the almost total solitude of the
morning has been succeeded by the bustle and commo¬
tion of an over-crowded night ?
Carriages with their out-riders, and wealthy travelers
within ; vehicles of every shape, and name, and size ;
some with the gay and joyous ; some with the pale and
sick ; some with the speculating and the vicious ; all
flnd accommodation ; and the rural beauty of the place
36
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLIMG.
is soon lost in the giddy whirl of folly and noise, while
the invalid languishes in vain for the quiet and repose of
the delightful country !
" Mordaunt Lascelles has come !" was the joyful ex¬
clamation of Melbourne, as he entered his cabin one
afternoon. Agnes was not superstitious, but she felt a
presentiment of evil as she heard it. She had associa¬
ted him in her thoughts with her husband's errors, be¬
cause, of all the idle wanderers about that realm of in¬
dolence, he had seemed the most idle I And unable to
find resources within his own vacant mind, he often
tvearied her patience by his lounging at their rooms,
when she desired retirement ; and too often his invita¬
tion allured Melbourne from her society. She did not
reply when he spoke, and the subject was dropped.
It was her wish to leave the now no longer attractive
spot ; but her husband would not consent, and she could
only strive to interest him at home as before. The
troubled eye and restless manner of Melbourne, after an
absence of a few hours from her, rendered Agnes unea¬
sy, and his redoubled affection at such times, only added
to her anxiety. It seemed to be a sort of peace-offering,
for some unrevealed wrong he had done her ; yet she
dared not intimate her suspicions. Time went on, and
at last she could not forbear to speak.
" Dear William, you are not as happy as you were a
week ago," said the tearful wife, as she pressed her quiv¬
ering lips to the flushed brow of her husband, on his re¬
turn from a visit to Lascelles ; " Do you love me less, my
husband ?"
REALITIES OF LIFE.
37
GAMBLING.
Melbourne did not reply, but arose and walked in the
piazza; yet it was not in anger. Her melancholy tone
had touched his heart. She followed him, and gently
putting her arm through his, placed her hand in his own.
Melbourne raised it, and impressed a kiss which was min¬
gled with tears, upon it. They both wept, for it was the
first sorrowful moment they had felt for weeks.
Lascelles called and asked Melbourne to go and pay a
call with him.
" Not this evening," answered he ; "I am engaged."
He passed it in reading to his wife. She felt the tribute,
and prized it.
The next day, and the next, Melbourne refused the
solicitations of his companions, to join in their wretched
pastime, and would not even taste of the champaigme
which before had been abundantly proffered, to cause
forgetfulness, ere they visited the haunts of vice. The
anguished look of his wife pursued him every where,
and he could not soon forget it.
" The silent upbraiding of the eye
, _ Is the very poetry of reproach !"
Melbourne was conscious his safety consisted in
flight ; but he would not heed the whispers of prudence
he relied on his resolution. Feeble prop !
" Men make resolves, and pass into decrees
The motion of the mind ! With how much ease,
In such resolves, doth passion make a flaw,
And bring to nothing, what it raised to law."
4*
38
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
Agnes trembled as she saw him join Lascelles and a
party of gay young men, a few days afterwards, and
walk towards those dreadful cabins, removed far, from
the hotel, where the dark deeds of vice are practised im-
observed. She was not surprised when he returned ex¬
cited, his manner hurried, and his color heightened.
She knew too well that he had again forgotten his prom¬
ises—had again planted a dagger in her heart ! Such
scenes were frequent now, and she was miserable.
There appeared to be an infatuation about the very air of
that place. No arguments could convince, no entreaties
persuade, and he refused to leave the pleasant circle he
had just met. Less and less remorse seemed to follow
his indulgences, and Agnes feared his dissipation would
become habitual.
At last the company dispersed, and they, like the rest,
crowded to another resort. The same pursuits, the same
pleasures occupied them. Time—precious, responsible
time, was to be destroyed in the most agreeable manner,
and it mattered not how it was made to take wings ! The
season over, visiters departed to their various destina¬
tions. Some to roam about the fine scenery of Virginia ;
some to fashionize in New York; others to advance
homewards. Of the latter were Melbourne and Agnes.
Lascelles accompanied them. Agnes felt less dismay
now at his presence, as she thought there would be no
opportunity for his leading her husband on in the unhap¬
py propensity he had imbibed, and they were to separate
at Richmond in a few days. Alas for human speculation !
REALITIES OF LIFE.
39
GAMBLING.
The races detained them a week in that city; and
when Agnes found evening after evening pass without
the return of her husband till midnight, she felt anxious.
The fumes of tobacco about his hair, and the flush on his
cheek, told her he had been amongst the dissipated. On
inquiry, she discovered that that beautiful city was also
degraded by its abundant gaming houses, and well-fur¬
nished bar-rooms. We turn with horror from the pic¬
ture ! The seat of vice and misery !
In vain did the extensive prospect, with its distant
mountains and expansive waters ; the large buildings and
tasteful gardens ; the fine churches ; the picturesque canal,
and the symmetrical capitel crowning the hill, and seem¬
ing to overhang the town below, meet the eye of the lonely
Agnes. Her crushed heart could receive no gratification
from outward objects ; all was too cold, too desolate with¬
in ! Her only refuge from despair was the throne of
grace ; her only hope, the mercy of her God !
Gladly was the morning hailed on which she lost sight
of the steeples and heights of Richmond. Lascelles still
accompained them, and Agnes could scarcely bring her¬
self to be civil to him. They separated at Norfolk, and
she breathed freely once more. Home, blessed home,
received them again, and Melbourne resumed his usual
habits, and seemed to forget such a summer had been
past. Freed from continual apprehension, and restored
to his undivided attention, Agnes was cheerful and hap¬
py. The dismal recollections of anguish in times gone
by, flitted frequently across her memory, like dark clouds ;
40
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING^
but she strove to banish them as if they were the phan¬
toms of some fearful dream.
Winter passed on, and was lost in the budding of
spring's sweet flowers, and her balmy breezes.
" I expect our friend Lascelles to spend a few weeks
with us," said Melbourne to his panic struck wife early
in February ; "will you not be glad to receive him V
" Oh no !" hastily replied Agnes ; " Oh no, William,
I never feel comfortable in his society ; I wish my hus¬
band that he had not oflfered to visit us."
" He did not offer, Agnes. I wrote to beg him to come.
Egerton Place has been dull this winter, and I feared it
would be too solitary for you ; and your spirits require
company."
" My dearest William, you are unjust to yourself ; I
find your society sufficient for my happiness. I need no
stranger's voice within these walls to render them charm¬
ing to me. I cannot like Mr. Lascelles."
" Agnes ! Agnes ! I dislike prejudice ; you know he
was always very attentive to you, and I do not see why
you should take an aversion to him."
" Hé is too frivolous^too dissipated, to be a fit com¬
panion for an intelligent and moral man."
" You are severe, wife ; but there is no use in talking ;
he is coming, and we must entertain him—that's all."
He whistled an opera air, and left the parlor.
Agnes shed tears of mingled distress and mortification.
" Here, at least," thought she at last, " here they cannot
gamble and the idea consoled her.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
41
GAMBLING.
A week of Lascelles' visit passed in country sports.
Tlie fatigues of tunting or fishing all day, made the gen¬
tlemen glad of an early supper and repose. Agnes began
to believe she was not quite right to dislike him. He
had laid aside much of the foppery and absurdity of fash¬
ion he exhibited at the Springs, and although his conver¬
sation was not intellectual, it was not so trifling as it is
apt to be in a scene of monotony and folly. She thought
him endurable, at all events.
" Put out that table, and bring lights," was the order of
Melbourne, to a servant one evening, after a day of in¬
door occupation ; rain having prevented the usual en¬
gagements abroad. " Come, Lascelles, let us try a game
of écarté." And the cards were produced. " An hour's
diversion will drive off the vapors, after our tedious morn¬
ing."
" Agreed," said Lascelles ; " What will you betl"
" Oh, do not bet !" exclaimed the anxious Agnes ; "do
not bet, and I will sit by and see you play."
" Certainly," replied Lascelles politely ; " we wiU only
use these counters, Melbourne."
Melbourne understood him, and they proceeded. After
supper they did not resume the game, and Agnes was
satisfied no harm could arise if they only played for
amusement, and so moderately.
Before the week ended, not a night passed that did not
witness the still excited companions over their game, till
twelve, sometimes one o'clock. Agnes felt as though a
serpent had crept into her Eden of bliss, and spread fatal
poison amidst its fairest scenes. She feared peace was
42
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
forever banished from her home, and that the passion
Melbourne was thus strengthening, would so completely
wind itself around his heart, that its spells could not be
broken.
None but such as have tasted the same bitter cup
themselves, can understand the extent of her sorrow.
How would the meditation of those melancholy nights
sadden her! Her mind wandered back to the bright days,
when flushed with youth and beauty, the brüliant Mel¬
bourne presented himself at her father's dwelling as her
lover ; then to those more quiet months when they were
" all in all" to each other, and the smile of content lighted
the countenances of both ; and then to the pleasure of their
travels, as he pointed out to her inexperienced eye, the
grandeur of mountains, and loveliness of cultivated scene¬
ry. But soon would too faithful memory recall the first
dim shadow that rose upon her life's horizon ; then the
dark flittering clouds that often hid the sun of joy, follow¬
ed, alas ! by the dreadful storm that was sweeping away
her happiness ! What a transition for an affectionate
spirit !
Oh, memory ! Hessing or curse of the soul !
Bliss or bane of our existence ! Why, why
Art thou sleepless, ever ready to thrill
Into consciousness, when the bleeding breast
Would have thee slumber 1 Yet 'tis happiness
To live o'er again in memory, days
Ofjoy, and peace, and love, when early ties
Were strong, and the bosom's spirits bounded
Within us to tones of fond affection !
To banish these were misery, although
REALITIES OF LIFE.
43
GAMBLING.
With them spring up thoughts of grief and sadness !
Such, perhaps, are salutary. They bring
The soul to deep humility, and bow-
It down to heaven, to ask forgiveness
For the misused past.,
Mordaunt Lascelles was one of those characters too
frequently to be met with in this world, who depend on
others for every enjoyment. With a large fortune, much
personal attraction, and a great deal of time at his dispo¬
sal, he spent his life in a perpetual search for amusement ;
and front having lounged about the different watering-
places of note, managed to pick up many acquaintances,
and always found a plenty of idlers to enter into his
schemes of dissipation. And yet he was not what soci¬
ety would call a bad man. He was not dishonorahh, for
he paid his tailor's bills, and his gambling debts. He
was temperate, for he never got too much excited, except
at a frolic, once or twice a week. He was agreeable, for
he had a large stock of the nonsense of fashionable con¬
versation. He was obliging, for he always had plenty of
leisure to join a friend in an excursion of pleasure. He
was hospitable, for his large mansion was seldom without
a party of jovial companions, who passed their spare mo¬
ments in mirth and revelry. Unhappily for us, there are,
in our country, too many Mordaunt Lascelles. The ha¬
bitual idler is a pest to any community, and the bane of
many a wife's and mother's peace. And yet society
tolerates them.
Agnes Melbourne felt he had been the bane of her
peace. Whenever Melbourne's wavering virtue stood
44
REALITIES OP LIFE.
GAMBLING.
upon a turning point, he was sure to step in and bias the
scale towards evil. And William Melbourne would have
been a better and happier man if he had never crossed
his path.
His visit was extended to what Agnes thought an un¬
reasonable length ; but still she had to endure it. Remon¬
strances to her husband were of no avail. He said he
could not violate the rules of politeness, and prevent his
g-uest from amusing himself as he wished. He had much
less delicacy in breaking the commands of God ! He
was unfitting himself for his duty to Him, to his wife, to
his country !
" You will spare me a week, Agnes ?" said her hus¬
band at breakfast, the morning of Lascelles' announced
departure. " I have promised to go with our friend to
see how he keeps his bachelor establishment, thatj may
be able to recommend him to some fair damsel. If you
are dull, send the carriage for Anna, she will supply my
place well—will she not ?"
" No one has ever yet done so to my satisfaction, Wil¬
liam," answered Agnes tremulously ; " in your absence
I prefer being alone. I do not feel well, and it would not,
be altogether right to tax my sister with my presence
now."
" If you are at all indisposed, my wife, I will not go,"
said Melbourne ; looking, however, as if he wished her to
say she was not sufficiently so to detain him ; though her
pale cheek and languid air plainly declared the real cause
for complaint.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
45
GAMBLING.
Agnes hesitated ; she could not afBrm that she was ill,
for her illness was that of the heart, and she felt it to be
wrong to feign bodily pain.
" If Mrs. Melbourne is sick, Melbourne," said Lascel¬
les, " pray do not leave her by any means, for you know,
my dear fellow, I am a man of leisure, and it makes no
difference to me whether I go to-day or a fortnight hence.
Just suit yourself. I am under your control entirely."
" I am not so much indisposed as to prevent your jour¬
ney, dear William," said Agnes hastily, painting in an
instant to her imagination, the wearying picture of an¬
other siege of wretchedness and anxiety, if he continued
their guest, and also thinking a week would soon pass
away, and then her husband would return, and be all her
own again. " I could not think of disappointing you, if
you desire to go."
Melbourne quickly availed himself of this permission,
and prepared to depart. " Do not stay long," was the
whisper of Agnes, as he gave his farewell kiss, " and
beware of cards !"
" Certainly ; I shall positively be back on Wednesday
at fartherest." And he jumped into the barouche care¬
lessly, without a pang at leaving, for the first time, alone
and miserable, that being whom thirteen short months
before he had vowed to " love, honor, and cherish, in
sickness and in health."
" And is he gone ?" On sudden solitude,
How oft this fearful question will intrude !
" 'Twas but an instant past, and here he stood !
And now'.'—Her lip refused to send " farewell!"
ñ
REALITIES OF LIFE .
GAMBLING.
47
f
Remorse and shame filled his thoughts, as he drove
rapidly home. Morning dawned before he arrived ; he
dreaded to approach lest he should hear that he had lost
all that he loved on earth. Strange as it may seem, he
did love her most devotedly, and his awfid propensity had
not so changed his heart, as to render him callous to her
danger.
Bitter, indeed, were his reflections, as he pursued
his way homewards. He had leisure then for reviewing
his past conduct. Had he rewarded as it deserved, the
faithful attachment of his gentle wife ? Had he fulfilled
the duties of that station in public life, which his talents
and advantages demanded ? Had he returned to the God
who had so richly blessed him, the honor or gratitude
he ought ? Oh, no ! no ! was the answer of his con¬
science, and he felt self-condemned and miserable.
The physician met him at the door, " Is she alive ?"
was his agonized question.
" She is, but her life depends on perfect tranquility.
If you would preserve it do not excite her by the least
agitation. You may go into the chamber for she will not
know you."
" Not know me !" exclaimed Melbourne ; " not know
me ! is she as low as that ?"
Dr. Hargrave kindly passed his arm through that of
the distracted Melbourne, and led him into the parlor.
" Be composed, Mr. Melbourne ; your wife may recover,
but her attack is one which requires extreme care, and I
fear"— '
46
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLINOj
For in that word, that fatal word, howe'er
We promise, hope, believe, there breathes despair;
She turned with siek'ning soul within the gate,
" It is no dream—and I am desolate."—Corsair.
No sound but the echo of her own footsteps, broke the
silence of the cheerless parlor. Even his favorite dog,
which might have been a companion for Agnes, Mel¬
bourne had taken with him. His flute was there, but its
voice was mute. His picture hung over the chimney,
but it could not smile upon her, nor answer her ques¬
tions. Surely there is no solitude like the solitude of
the heart !
Wednesday came, but it left Agnes as it found her,
anxious and wretched. Another came and went ; stiU
no husband's love revived her sinking spirits. No hus¬
band's tone of kindness broke the melancholy stillness of
her home. No husband's hand pressed her feverish and
aching brow.
On the third Wednesday, at midnight, a loud'rapping at
the outer gate of Lascelles' mansion, aroused a party of
revellers from their unhallowed employment. Several
gentlemen were seated around a table, upon which piles
of silver stood at each corner, and cards were strewed
about ; the exulting looks of one, the eager glance of an¬
other, the low muttered oath of a third, told how absorbing
their occupation was, and revealed the loser or successfulj
better. Wonder at interruption at such an hour, was
changed to alarm, when Melbourne received a summons
to his wife, whose life was despaired of.
48
REAJ.ITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING.
"'Fear what?" interrupted Melbourne, gazing wildly
upon hhn ; " fear what ?"
" If she recovers," said the physician gently, "that the
future will be more dreadful to you than her death'."
" What do you mean. Dr. Hargrave ? What can you
mean ? For the love of pity tell me the worst."
" Insanity," said the Doctor, in a low, considerate voice.
" Spare me, oh God ! spare me this misery," exclaimed
Melbourne in agony. " Destroy my life, but spare her in
mercy."
Dr. Hargrave endeavored to soothe him. " This may
not be the case. Sir ; it is only feared. At present her in¬
tellects appear under great excitement, and from her ex¬
pressions I am led to think some sorrow weighs heavily
upon her heart. She constantly talks of the desertion
and coldness of one she loves, and longs for liberty to go
forth and seek the object herself ; now if you can discov¬
er who it is, and by humoring the notion, gradually erase
it f^om her thoughts, much may be done ; but opposition
will be fatal."
" How long has she been sick ?" asked Melbourne,
" and why was I not sent for ?"
" I only came yesterday ; the housekeeper then informed
me she had been indisposed and restless for several days,
but would not consent to send for you, nor for me. I
saw her danger immediately, and ordered the servant to
go for you. Y ou must not be too much alarmed at her
looks ; brain fever makes rapid ravages."
" God forgive me!" said Melbourne, as he laid his head
upon the table before him,' and wept.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
49
GAMBLING. '
Dr. Hargrave seeing him more composed, proposed
going to ascertain whether the invalid could receive him,
and in a short time returned to conduct him up stairs ;
he cautioned him to be silent, or if she recognized him, to
be very calm in his manner ; the least excitement might
be of importance.
•When Melbourne entered, the twilight gloom of the
chamber oppressed him. It was several minutes before
he was able to distinguish objects. The white curtains
were drawn around the bed, and a dim lamp burned on
the hearth. There was no sound in the room but the in¬
coherent murmurings of the sufferer.
"The one I love is far away, and I have no heart.to
rest my weary head upon, now that the cold world has
destroyed my peace. Hark ! hark ! it is his voice—he
comes. Oh no ! I shall never hear his tone of affection
again—never—never—all seems like the grave's stillness
in my soul."
Melbourne sprang forward, and would have clasped her
in his arms, had not the restraining hand of Dr. Hargrave
been laid upon his shoulder. He paused, bending breath¬
lessly forward to catch the faintest whisper.
" Why does he not come ? Oh this burning heat ! this .
weary hrain! Water—water. But it cannot cool the
fever of the heart."
Melbourne sunk upon his knees beside the bed, and
took her hand ; he dared not look upon her face.
" Once he stood by me when I suffered, and then I
suffered lèss," moaned Agnes ; "and he held my hand
5*
50
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBIilNC.
too ; but now he is with those who cannot love him as I
love him."
Melbourne sobbed aloud. " Who weeps 1" said she ;
" let me go and comfort them. Ah ! I know too well what
it is to weep, and have no comforter ; let me go," and
she strove to rise. Melbourne could endure no more.
" Agnes," said he in a scarcely articulate tone, " Ag¬
nes,"—my wife !"
"Hush! hush!" said she, putting her finger on her,
lip, in the attitude of listening; "Was it a dream?" Did
his voice name me ? Let me go—my husband calls ; let
me go—^blessed sound !" The Doctor whispered, " ad¬
dress her again, as she is calm."
" Agnes, my dearest wife, do you not know me ?"
" Yes,'your voice is like some pleasant dream. I knew
you would come soon to shield me from those who have
destroyed my happiness." As he bent over her, she,
pushed the hair from his forehead and gazed wildly at
him, as if not certain of his identity. He could hardly
suppress a groan as he beheld her still beautiful and con¬
vulsed features. ■ What ravages a few day's illness had
made ! That tranquil eye now rolled in phrenay ; that
delicate cheek now burned with fever.
" Why do you weep if you are my happy William ?
He did not look as troubled as you do. Oh no ! how
sweetly he used to sing with me, and read to me, and
laughed merrily when I laughed, and kissed off my tears
when I wept. You are not my William,"- and she put
him aside with her emaciated arm. *" Why. did you come
here to deceive me ?"
REALITIES OF LIFE.
51
GAMBLING.
" Speak again," whispered Dr. Hargrave ; " it maybe
beneficial."
" I am your own William, my precious Agnes ; tell me
you know me, if you love me as you once did."
"Hist !" said she again ; " hist ! he comes once more;
do not drive away my sweet dream ; speak to me Mel¬
bourne."
" I will never leave you, Agnes ; no one shall drive me
off." He placed himself in a position where she could
see him as he spoke, but she seemed to have no recol¬
lection of his countenance, but listened delightedly to his
voice.
She soon fell back exhausted, and the physician fearing
too much excitement, advised her husband to retire, and
endeavor to obtain some rest before the crisis of the dis¬
ease approached ; promising to call him when it did so.
Perfectly overpowered by fatigue and grief, Melbourne
complied, and slept some hours. About midnight the
fearful stuggle between life and death took place ; and
Melbourne passed the silent hour in prayer. How afflic¬
tion brings us to the long neglected throne of God! His
wife was restored to him—was it a blessing 1 Happier
for her had it been, if the home of the weary and heavy
laden had then received her.
Days, weeks, months, did not re-establish her shattered
health ; and Dr. Hargrave insisted on the necessity of
her passing the remaining summer months amongst the ■
mountains of Virginia,, for the benefit of the waters. All
the protestations of Agnes, that she knew she would de¬
rive no good there, (for she remembered all her misery in
52
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING^
that land of idleness)) were of no avail. Her objections
were over-ruled, and August found them again at the
White Sulphur Springs. . * •
During the whole period of her illness; a few messages
from Lascelles alone sufficed to convince Melbourne that
he was still recollected. But no visit of either sympathy
or congratulation ever drew him from his gayer and of
course more agreeable companions to Egerton Place.
Agnes hoped the severe lesson which Melbourne had
received, would forever prevent a recurrence of those
habits, which had been indulged at so great a cost. He
was all again that he had been in earlier days. And
hope,'that blessed feeling which is Üie first to dawn upon,
and the last to desert the human mind, in this world of
sorrow and anxiety, painted a future of tranquility. But
alas! before the season closed, Melbourne had plunged,
into the same excesses, and wrung the soul of his wife to
torture. Had he remained at home, possibly he might ,
have escaped the sin of once more abusing the gifts of
his God ; but the very air of Virginia seems impregna¬
ted with the spirit of temptation, at certain seasons,
and it is dangerous to breath its atmosphere. Idle com¬
panions, unemployed time, too little self-restraint, too
compliant a temper, led to his ruin. He went to greater
lengths than the year previous, .and loss upon loss fol¬
lowed. The next winter saw the sacrifice of his beauti- .
ful and comfortable place, ■ and Agnes deprived of those
luomries which it had once been his happiness to afford
her. Intemperance too often drowned his wretched feel¬
ings ; and a few brief years, passed in excess by the once
REALITIES OF LIFE.
53
GAMBLIKG.
admired and respected Melbourne, ended Ms career, and
released Ms wife from her more than Egyptian bondage.
Love, that purest gift of the Eternal, had bled and died
on the altar of despair ! Agnes had felt as Young des¬
cribes, that
" Our first love murder'd, is the sharpest pang
The human heart can feel."
Her trials had driven her nearer and nearer to her
God, and she was enabled, through his mercy, to " en¬
dure unto the end." The same sweet voice ; the same
mild tone ; the same uncomplaining suffering, had mark¬
ed their poverty that gilded the days of abundance and
joy : and no persuasions of her incensed and disgusted
relatives, could induce her to leave Mm. " If he is so
degraded," she used to argue, " with my restraining hand
near to check his course—and which has never entirely
lost its influence, when I could remove him from evil
compamons—what would become of him if he felt aban¬
doned by every virtuous mind ? Oh no ! let me grieve
if I must ; but there would be no grief like that of believ¬
ing I had neglected my duty."
" But you cannot be attached to such a man ?" asked
her sister one day.
" No, Anna, I do not pretend to feel as I once did to
my husband. Y et with all Ms faults he has never used
harsh nor unkind language to me, when he has had his
reason ; and when he has been without that, he was no
more than a child ; and would you expect me to resent
an infant's anger ?"
REALITIES or LIFE.
55
GAMBLING.
We will here drop a veil over our narrative. Eternity
will bear witness to the record of her exalted character.
It will also bear witness to the guilt of those who either
by allowing, or enticing, or encouraging others to sin,
have been instrumental in shutting- out from Paradise,
souls destined by their Creator for immortal blessedness.
It wiU be an awful retribution ! Happy they wllbt are
prepared to meet it.
" Look forward at what's to come, and back what's past.
What loss or gain may follow, thou may'st guess ;
Thou then wil'tbe sedure of the success."
i
54
REALITIES OF LIFE.
GAMBLING^
And she did endure ! But the blessing of her dying
husband was a reward for all ; and the after life of Agnes
Melbourne was tranquil, and a self-approving conscience
rendered her happy.
" The best must own,
Patience and resignation are the pillars
Of human peace on earth.''
In the quiet habitation of her father, Lascelles never
crossed her path ; and she rejoiced at it, for the too fre¬
quent mention of his name in the list of revelers, with
whom Melbourne associated, had given her a still greater
horror of him than the intercourse of their earlier acquaint¬
ance. He was so strongly identified with the first de¬
viation from right in her husband, and the first step of
vice which had planted itself in her own cherished home,
that she could not bear the idea of seeing him. And yet
she Imew that Mordaimt Lascelles was only one of the
many who seek companions in their errors, and a sanc¬
tion for their unhallowed practices in the countenances
of some less dissipated men ; only one of the many who
assist in the awful guilt of wrecking the domestic peace
of the virtuous and good.
In the pursuit of active and useful efforts to benefit and
bless others, Agnes Melbourne lost her regrets for her
own disappointments. And it was remarked that she
was oftenest found in the abodes.of those whose misery
'arose from the unkindness or neglect of their husbands,
drawing from her own rich fount of consolation, a balm
to soothe their woes.
CONSUMPTION
" Early—bright—transient—chaste as morning dew,
He sparkled—was exhaled—and went to Heaven."
The pale, thin countenance of the bridegroom, as his
sweet wife hung upon his arm, when they left the sanc¬
tuary in which they had been plighting their vows, sent a
feeling of apprehension through the hearts of many there,
and numerous were the predictions that her married life
would shortly terminate.
" What ardently we vnsh, we soon believe
And Emma Sehvyn, though anxious, thought it was so
natural to her husband to be delicate in appearance, that
no real danger was near ; and too happy in the devoted
attachment and exalted worth of her companion, to ad¬
mit a gloomy idea to darken her dream of joy, slumbered
in strange unconsciousness of her approaching fate.
The history of Eustace Selwyn was brief, but deeply
nteresting. Possessed of talents far beyond the com-
non order, and with a fervent piety, which alike blesses
)urselves and others, he seemed a fit character to adorn
he ministry of the Redeemer. Though frail in health,
md not well calculated on that account for its arduous la-
rors, he dedicated himself, with a holy zeal, to the cause
)f religion, and was the faithful'herald of the cross durjng
lis short sojourn amongst men. Few ever rivalled, none
6
58
REALITIES OF LIFE.
CONSUMPTION.
ever surpassed him in attainments, intellectual endow¬
ments, perseverance, faithfulness. In the language of
scripture, " When the ear heard him, it blessed him ; and
when the eye saw him, it bore witness to him."
To the meekness and gentleness of a child, in private
life, he added the enthusiasm and commanding energy of
the hero, in his public career. While the members of his
domestic circle basked in the sunshine of his quiet and
endearing virtues, crowds of delighted listeners hung
upon his thundering eloquence in the sanctuary, or were
soothed by his tender and encouraging appeals, as he
held to their lips the gospel's blessed cup of consolation.
Rarely in this scene of sin, do we meet with a combina¬
tion of so many admirable and endearing qualities in one
child of mortality. One of the most beautiful traits in his
character, was total freedom from vain glory and pride ;
though standing upon the highest pinnacle of the tem¬
ple of fame, his child-like simplicity found its way to all
hearts. Such was Eustace SelwTn, the uncompromis¬
ing and consoling preacher of the word of life. Why
is it that death cannot pass by untouched the valuable,
the good, who beautify our fallen world ? Revelation an¬
swers the question. " They rest from their labors."
Yes, thoy rest, though we mourn with stricken hearts over
the loss of so much holiness—so much usefulness—so
much that made this " cold world appear less cold."
" The death of those distinguished by their station,
But by their mriue more, awakes the mind
To solemn dread, and striltes à saddening awe.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
59
CONSUMPTION.
Not that we grieve/or them, but for ourselves,
Left to the toil of life."
Early setting himself apart for the hallowed work of
■' winning souls," Mr. Selw5m pursued his studies with
ardor, and by his close application enfeebled that consti¬
tution which had been always frail. It was thought by
many that he would be unable to undertake the fatiguing
task of ministering in the sanctuary ; but God in mercy
spared him to exhibit a few brief rays of his native bright¬
ness, ere he was taken from serving him below, to grace
his Paradise above. And blessed indeed were the eyes
which saw his exemplary life, and the ears which heard
his pious doctrines. It is sweet to think there is an ex¬
istence beyond our mortal sight, where we again may
hold communion with such spirits. May we so live as
to be entitled to an intercourse with him there !
But we digress. Much was anticipated from the rep¬
utation of talent he possessed ; and when he first ascen¬
ded the pulpit, intense was the anxiety respecting him.
These expectations were most fully realized, and never
was his voice exerted to exhort an indifferent audience.
Oh no ! Sabbath after Sabbath, he preached to a crowd
breathless from attention. Sabbath after Sabbath, his
warnings or consolations were carried home, in the con¬
sciences and bosoms of those who needed them. And
(blissful privilege !) many were the spirits who were
brought in deep humility, by his influence, to the foot of
the cross, and who blessed the. hour that led him to their
rescue. Oh, if there be a privilege on earth more to be
60
REALITIES OF LIFE.
I ; ^ COMSUMPTIOM.
prized than all others, it is the opportunity and power of
" converting the sinner from the error of his way," and
leading him to the paths of holiness and peace. How
exalted must be the happiness of the Christian minister,
who faithfully guards and guides the flock committed to
his charge, and hopes to stand before the seat of judg¬
ment beside his people, and pointing them out to the Re¬
deemer's eye, exclaim with sacred Joy, "/led them here !"
Eustace Selwyn soon sunk beneath his fatigue ; his
zeal wore out the tabernacle which enclosed his ardent
soul, and Iiis anxious congregation urged him to seek
health and strength in another climate. For a few
weeks he did so, and returned apparently renovated ;
but renewed exertions only brought renewed feebleness,
and those who listened to his solemn tones, too well per¬
ceived they would soon be hushed in the silence of the
tomb. They sought his instructions with more avidity,
and yet with a chastened sadness, such as we feel when
beholding some fair scene, which is soon to be removed
from our sight forever.
It was at this period that a gentle being linked her fate
with his ; and when warned to beware of doing so, that
he would ere long be snatched from her, she replied, " If
this is the case, I shall feel a consolation in being per¬
mitted to smooth his journey to the grave."
After his marriage he seemed better ; and sanguine
friends believed he might be spared to them.
" You are less languid than you have lately been, Eus¬
tace," said his wife ; " and yet you have spoken a great
deal to-day."
REALITIES OF LIFE.
61
CONSOMPTIOÎf.
" Yes, I think I am getting well very fast now, and I
can preach next month."
Emma shook her head ; but the zealous invalid be¬
lieved what he hoped.
The next month, and the next, and the next, found him
still away from his pulpit. He had now to hearken to
the exhortations of others, while he sat among his con¬
gregation. At length, unrestrained by prudence, he went
forth to proclaim once more the gospel of salvation. Joy
lighted the countenances of all who heard him, and his
own eye beamed with thankful emotion. A few weeks
of active duty, and his pallid brow, and sunken cheeks,
and colorless lip, and low, deep cough, sent sorrow and
dismay to every heart. Long was the struggle, before
he permitted himself to believe he was too ill to serve at
God's altar. Feeling his own failing strength, and being
convinced that his day of public usefulness was over, he
made one last effort to hold out the cup of mercy to the
sinner, and sunk beneath the task. Consumption's horrid
grasp fastened itself upon him, and he never again spoke
to warn or to comfort. His humility and patient resigna¬
tion, during many months of tedious suffering, taught si¬
lently what his precepts had declared were a Christian's
obligations. It was a privilege to sit beside his couch of
pain, and see his uncomplaining gentleness ; to hear his
regrets, mingled with submission, for his incapacity to
benefit those over whose souls he had watched. Like
his Heavenly Master, " haying loved his own, he loved
them unto the end and kind messages were sent, when
he could no longer receive them, to those who daily
6*
62
REALITIES OF LIFE.
,, CONSUMPTION. ■
crowded his door with anxious and affectionate inquiries.
His sufferings he declared to have been alleviated by
their sympathy and devotedness ; and he considered
himself under an obligation to them for their personal at¬
tention, when they thought they could not do too much
for one who had snatched some of them from the brink
of ruin, and led them to a haven of safety ; or to others
had more fully drawn aside the veil that curtained the
believer's hopes.
It is a joy beyond all others, to be linked in the bonds
of affection with the holy and the chosen of God.
The lamp of life burned dimly, growing fainter and
fainter day by day. It seemed to flash more brightly
than usual one night, when his wife kept her vigil beside
his pillow.
" I am far better to-night, Emma," said he, more dis¬
tinctly than he had spoken of late, " and to-morrow you
must leave me for a little exercise ; you have been too
much in this sick room. Will }mu promise me to go V
" Certainly, if you are not worse than you are now,"
said Emma, not willing to contradict him, and cheered by
his assurance.
The grey light of the next morning broke through the
half closed shutters of that same chamber. Over a low
couch bent the forms of two clergymen, composing, for
its last slumber, the lifeless limbs and rigid features of
the departed saint. A smile rested on the placid coun¬
tenance, which whispered, " Blessed are the dead who
die in the Lord." But the convulsive sobs which fell
upon the ear from the adjoining apartment, bespoke the
REALITIES OF LIFE.
63
CONSOMPTION.
agony of the survivors, who had not yet arisen from the
first awful shock which follows the departure of a famil¬
iar friend to the world of spirits.
" Oh death ! all eloquent, you only prove,
What dust we dote on when 'tis man we love !"
The servants of God silently pursued their task, and
the holy consolations of the gospel, did not prevent the
tears which flowed from their overwhelmed hearts ; they
knew He had wept when the tyrant's chains had encir¬
cled Lazarus ; and they wept for themselves—for his
country—for his church ; not for the disembodied soul
which they were warranted by scripture in believing had
soared from a scene of suffering to one of joy unspeak¬
able.
Before they left him to his dreamless sleep, they Imelt
beside his bier and unitedly poured forth to God their
thanksgivings for having lent him to earth so long, and
fervent supplications for aid to live like him, that like him
they might be privileged to die.
Deep was the anguish of his bereaved flock, as they
gazed upon his features, so beautiful in death ; and
long will they cherish the memorial of his exalted
excellence—spotless in life—holy in death. Who, that >i'
once knew, could ever forget him l None ! Oh no !
The memory of a good man is embalmed in the hearts of
all who come within his influence ; and when his earthly
tabernacle has mouldered to its original dust, his pre¬
cepts, his example, still hve in their recollection, and
64
REALITIES OF LIFE.
CONSDMPTIO.N.
speak in a voice even more toucliing than that which
once addressed them, " Prepare to meet your God."
" The chamber where the good man meets his fate,
Is privileged beyond the common walk
or virtuous life, quite in the verge of Heaven;
Fly ye profane ; if not, draw near with awe.
Receive the blessing and adore the chance.
That threw in this Bethesda, your disease ;
If unrestored by this, despair of cure—
You see the man, you see his hold on Heaven,
If sound his virtue.
Heaven waits not the last moment; owns her friends
On this side death, and points them out to men—
A lecture silent, but of sov'reign power.
To vice confusion ; and to virtue peace."—Young.
Resignation marked the grief of Emma Selwyn. Her
bright sun of joy had soon sunk into the shadows of
night ; but a glorious beam rested on her sorrows. Faith
gilded the darloiess of the tomb, and by it she held
communion sweet with the spirit of him she had loved
on earth ; trusting, through the mercy of her Savior, to
so live, that she might be admitted to the same place of
blessedness whither he had gone. Thus—
" There comes something ever between us
And what we deem our happiness."
A few brief years of bliss, followed by the loss of
what she had prized as perfect felicity, convinced Emma
Selwyn that nothing on earth could sustain the shocks of
time ; and that it is our duty, as well as the dictate of
wisdom, to fix our affections on those things which are
as unchangeable as they are satisfactory and glorious.
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT
" Had we never met, or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."—Burns.
Light were the footsteps of Winfred Gordon, as he
pursued his way home from the mansion of Mrs. De
Courcy, one beautiful night in June, when the sultry day
had been succeeded by a calm and refreshing evening.
Not brighter were the moonbeams that played over his
pathway, than was the hope of future joy in his bosom.
He had just heard from the lips of one he loved, the
blushing confession of her reciprocating the deep regard
he entertained for her, and had received the sanction of
her mother to their engagement. When the heart is
overflowing with happiness, it often needs retirement and
reflection to regulate its emotions, and Catherine De
Courcy dismissed her lover early, that she might collect
her scattered thoughts, after an hour of excitement.
Too happy to seek repose, Winfred wandered by the
sea-shore, reflecting amid the soft murmuring of the
waves, on the events of the last few days. Anxiety and
uncertainty had marked his feelings ; but they were novv
banished,- in the assurance of possessing all he had so
ardently wished. He was soon on the familiar footing
of a privileged friend at the house. Many a morning
(not the usual time for a lover's visit,) found him seated
66
REALITIES OF LIFE.
BROKEM ESGAGEMEKT.
beside the lively Catherine, talking to amuse, or reading
to interest her, as she plied her busy needle.
The families exchanged calls, and certainty seemed to
rest upon the prospects of the, betrothed.
" You are going to leave me, Catherine," said Gordon
one evening, as her mother left the room, where she had
been seated, planning a summer's excursion for her
daughters. " You are going to leave me ; but although I
cannot accompany you the whole way, I shall be of your
party a few days. When we separate, I will return to
spend a melancholy summer. You must write to cheer
me ; you will not forget one whose joy it will be to cher¬
ish your image."
" Never, Winfred," said the sad Catherine, placing her
hand in his; "Never, while memory lasts. It grieves
me to exchange your society for that of the indifferent
and careless. I wish mamma would permit me to re¬
main with her. I know I should be happier. I feel a
foreboding about this separation, which I cannot conquer."
" This is wrong, Catherine ; it is best for you to go.
Your cheek is pale, and I promised your mother to use
all my influence in persuading you to consent. Do you
not admire my self-denial ?"
He spoke cheerfully, for Catherine wept. While her
attachment flattered his feelings, he dared not permit him¬
self to think of consulting either his pleasure or her's ;
for he saw her health was too delicate to endure the de¬
pressing effects of a southern climate, during the heat of
summer.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
67
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
Many months had passed since the commencement of
their engagement, and Winfred hoped, on her return
home, those ties would have been rivetted too closely to
be in danger of future partings. Quickly flew the
weeks that preceded her departure. With the mother's
sanction, he accompanied her half way to her destina¬
tion. Business recalled him to the city, or he would
have continued the journey, so delightful was the privi¬
lege of viewing with her the loveliness of nature, which
so abundantly meets the eye in every part of our fertile
country.
"You will think of me often, Winfred," was the tear¬
ful whisper of his betrothed, as he pressed her hand at
parting.
" Hourly, dearest," was his assurance. " I shall have
no satisfaction in any other employment, except in wri¬
ting to you, and reading your letters. Pray for me, Cath¬
erine, for you are better than I am, and your supplica¬
tions will be heard."
" I will ; but you must pray for yourself too, and go
to the sanctuary we have loved to enter together ; there,
Winfred, you will think of your Catherine."
A constant interchange of affectionate letters, lessen¬
ed the pain of absence. At length the tedious season
was over, and the joyful tidings were forwarded, that
they soon should mçet again. Tenderness breathed in
every line of the beautiful epistle of Catherine, and a
modest delight at the idea of a speedy re-union with
him who had been the constant object of her thoughts.
It need not be affirmed, that Ms satisfaction at least
68
REALITIES OF LIFE.
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
equalled her's. Impatience rendered every day of
double length to the anxious Winfred, and he wearied
himself with imagining her improved looks, and increa¬
sed affection.
" My mother forbids our further engagement, and I
must obey her," was the startling opening of the next
letter, as he broke its seal ! It dropped from his hand ;
when he recovered the shock, he overlooked it again. In
vain were the hateful words reviewed, and re-reviewed ;
they still read the same. But a gleam of consolation
broke in upon the dismal truth, as he saw the concluding
sentence.
"You cannot possibly suffer more than I do. I am
miserable. Oh, forgive, and endeavor to forget your
broken-hearted Catherine."
" She shall be mine," was the resolution of Winfred,
as he recovered from his agitation. " She shall be mine,
if she loves me."
That he loved her, might have been ascertained by a
glance at his sunken eye and pallid brow. The rava¬
ges made by months of disease, appeared ^n the form
and countenance of Gordon. .,■» w.,,.
Letter after letter was despatched and answered, all
bearing testimony to the unchanged attachment of the
lovers. Catherine was stedfast in her determination not
to disobey her mother, and finally forbid the correspond¬
ence and all vows between them. In vain Winfred re¬
monstrated ; she was firm. Time dragged heavily along
with both. Catherine's cheek became paler day by day,
and she lost all interest in the pursuits or amusements
REALITES OF LIFE.
69
BROKER ENGAGEMENT.
% ^
whicli had once afforded pleasure. Her piano was
untouched—her guitar remained unstrung—her merry
laugh no longer rang upon the ear of those who had
loved to hear its music. In vain was she forced from
one scene of gaiety to another. Nothing aroused—
nothing pleased : but her heartless mother gazed on her
agony unmoved. Oh, if she had once tasted the luxury
of having promoted the happiness of a fellow-creature,
she would have gladly availed herself of the blessed
privilege.
His voice never breathed to her again, a tone of kind¬
ness nor of indifference. When they met, they met as
strangers ; and the hearts of both bled in secret.
" Oh! is there not
A time, a righteous time, reserved infate.
When oppressors shall be made to feel
The miseries they givet"
It was after the lapse of several months of estrange¬
ment like this, that Catherine De Courcy and Winfred
Gordon, each in pursuit of health, accidentally became
the inmates of the same hotel at a fashionable watering-
place. The trial was great to both. Still, notwithstand¬
ing the daily meetings of the lovers, no sign of recogni¬
tion passed between them. I have marked her anguished
gaze fixed upon him, when she thought herself unobserv¬
ed, as he moved amid a gay circle in the crowded sa¬
loon. I have watched the effort to smile, when some
acquaintance endeavored to amuse her, and seen the
struggling sigh swell her heart, and unclose her pale lip:
7
REALITIES OF LIFE.
71
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
Both, of them passed that night in sorrow ; but their
destiny seemed sealed ; the future was to be wholly un¬
connected with each other.
Men, from their constitutional temperament, bear these
things better than women. Byron has told us why.
" Man'slove is of man'slife, a tiling—apart;
'Tis woman's whole existence;
Alas, the love of woman ! it is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing ;
For all of their's upon that die is thrown,
And if 'tis lost, hfe has no more to bring!"
Yet Winfred Gordon suffered too ; his health as well
as his peace fell a sacrifice to his anguish of mind, and
years rolled away in the same dull round of regrets and
grief ; but active employment lessened his sorrow : she
brooded over her's.
Time made no apparent change in their destiny. Re¬
ligion had been dear to the soul of Catherine, in those
bright hours when her sky was clear and unclouded, and
we trust that the ^arkness of her present melancholy
feelings, is gilded by the rays which a holy hope casts
over them. At all events, the sudden and distressing vi¬
cissitude they had experienced, taught them both the
utter insecurity of temporal ties, and led them to fix a dis¬
trustful eye upon the fairest schemes of earthly expecta¬
tion.
"Thus doth the everchanging course of things
Run a perpetual circle, ever-turning;
la there no constancy in earthly things ?
70
REALITIES OF LIFE.
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
♦
1 have seen her colorless cheek flush for an instant, and
then become whiter than marble, when some long familiar
tone has reached her ear, as he spoke to another, (though
his thoughts were hovering around the idol of his early
worship, who only seemed to be forgotten,) and I have
thought how chequered are the fairest scenes of life!
How swiftly happiness is followed by disappointment's
bitter cup I These exquisite lines recently set to melan¬
choly and appropriate music, appeared well adapted to
her feelings.
" Tell him I love him yet
As in that joyous time;
Tell him I'll ne'er forget,
Tho' mem'ry now he crime.
Tell him as fades the light
Upon the earth and sea,
I dream of him hy night—
He must not dream of me I
Tell him that day by day
Life looks to me more diny
I falter when I pray,
Although 1 pray for him !"
" He no longer loves me," was her thought, as she
gained the solitude of her own chamber, on the first
evening of his arrival ; and she wept in agony.
"She loves me still," was Winfred's reflection as he
sought his pillow, and recalled the paleness of her cheek,
as her eye met his. " It is a stern necessity which bids
me, even in appearance, slight her affection."
72
REALITIES OF LIFE.
BROKEN ENGAGEMENT.
No happiness but what must alter?
Even when full content seems to sit by us,
What daily sorrows !"
Happy will it be, if they both strive to attain a holi¬
ness of heart, which will entitle them to a re-union in
the same heavenly home, when time shall cease forever ;
where they may bask in the smile of a benevolent God,
who loves to bless the creatures he has made, and unlike
frail mortals here, wields his high scepter, not in power
alone, but in power softened by mercy's cheering beam.
And ere existence closes, they wiU leam the wisdom
of His ways, who does aU things well, and will find he is
" Good when he gives^ supremely good.
Nor less when he àenies ;
That
Ev'n crosses from his sov'reign hand.
Are blessings in disguise."
Therefore,
Though dark the present, pronounce
It not too dark ; remember day's broad light
Succeeds night's dullest, gloomiest hour!—Storms
May overcloud our noon, yet eve may close
In calmness—peace—and joy !
FAILURE
" If every one's internal care
Were written on his brow,
How many would our pity share,
Who raise our envy now.
The fatal secret, when revealed.
Of every aching breast.
Would show that only mAcb concealed,
His lot appears the best."
Merrily sounded the music, and brilliantly shone the
lights from the festive hall, when joyous eyes and laugh¬
ing lips passed beneath the garlands that hung from the
ceiling of a large ball-room, as the graceful dance enga¬
ged the attention of the crowd of guests. "Joy, joy to
the bride echoed through the air, and told that in this
scene of mirth, young hearts had plighted their vows, and
that many a gay vision of future happiness crossed the
imagination, and dictated the good wishes of the friends
around.
No eye beamed more brightly—no lips smiled more
joyously, than did those of the bride herself. Crowned
with its orange wreath, her brow was calm and peaceful.
Was not he, the chosen of heart, beside her ? Was he
not all her own 1 Was he not all that maiden hopes to
find a lover? Yes; nota shadow rested on the sunshine
y#
74
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FAILPRE.
of the picture. And congratulating relations thronged to
offer blessings on her destiny.
" How well Ella Percy has done for herself," was the
remark of an elderly lady, as she drove from the door of
Percy's new and elegantly furnished house, a few days
after the wedding, where she had called to pay her res¬
pects.
"Well, indeed!" replied her companion, "Well, in¬
deed I Weseldom see such matches now-a-days. So
rich—so amiable—so handsome—above all, so perfectly
devoted to her. She has drawn one of the few prizes
that float about the matrimonial lottery."
And so thought Ella Percy ; every comfort that wealth
could purchase, was lavished on the idolized wife ; and
her early married life was bright indeed.
" What an excellent business Henry Percy is doing,"
remarked one mercantile friend to another.
" A large business is not always an excellent one, has
long been my idea," replied the other. " It seems to
me that Henry Percy goes on too rapidly for safety; but
I may be mistaken."
" I do not agree with you," answered the first speaker ;
"he appears to add a great deal of prudence to his enter-
prize, and I hope he may do well. He has a sweet wife,,
and it would be a pity if any thing occurred to occasion,'
her uneasiness."
These observations were made a year or two after
their union. Never was there a pleasanter house, nor
more cheerful fireside, nor warmer hospitality, than in
the mansion, of Henry Percy. Profusion, even to extrava-
REALITIES OF LIFE.
75
FAILURE.
gance, marked every thing, and time flew quickly to the
friends who visited them.
" You look anxious," was the inquiring address to her
husband, of Ella Percy, as he entered one evening from
his business.
" Do 11" evasively said Henry, putting his hand to his
brow ; " nothing but a little headache ; we have been busy
to-day." Ella exerted herself to cheer his spirits, and
begged he would not allow himself to be too much absorb¬
ed by care about temporal concerns.
Again and again she noticed the same clouded gaze
and air of perplexity, on his return from his counting-
room ; again and again was some reason given for it,
which lulled suspicion. It was her part to drive away
uncomfortable feelings, and she either read or sung him
into calmness.
Months rolled on, and such looks became habitual ;
and when she would press her husband to reveal his
anxieties, he invariably strove to divert her attention, and
avoid the subject. This reserve arose from no want of
confidence in him, but from the dread of inflicting a
pang upon the woman he adored, by allowing her for a
moment to suppose there ought to be a change in their
mode of living, since fortune, that fickle goddess, did
not smile upon him as she had done. Alas ! had reli¬
gion's elevating principles regulated his heart, he would
have felt, that what God sees fit to order for us, however
adverse to our own wishes, is always to be received with
humble submission ; and his wife would have been per¬
mitted to share, and thereby lessen his sorrow. But he
76
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FAILURE. ^
feared to encounter her grief, for he knew within her
breast no pious consolation dwelt ; therefore, with a mis¬
taken idea of tenderness, he withheld that information
which was the dictate alike of prudence and affection.
Women are proverbial for their fortitude, and a man
little understands the character of his wife, if she be
possessed of any degree of firmness, when he conceals
from her knowledge the uneasiness he may endure, with
a design of sparing her suffering. An attached wife
knows no anguish like that of seeing her husband afflict¬
ed, and yet being debarred from the privilege of offering
the cup of sympathy and consolation. And often her cool
and unbiassed judgment, points his distracted mind to
sources of relief and advantage, which he would never
have observed. And many a husband has had cause to
bless the mild influence of his wife, in moderating or
directing his excited feelings. It is mistaken kindness
which induces the surgeon to forbear using the lancet to
a diseased limb, lest it occasion too much pain, when
eventually we must, by neglect or delay, amputate the
member. Alas for poor Ella ! the blow that crushed her
hopes was doubly severe from its being wholly unex¬
pected.
" And why did you not earlier confide in me, dear Hen¬
ry ?" asked she, after he had abruptly told her one night
that he was utterly ruined. "Who could have felt so
much for you? Who would so soon have endeavored to
avert it ? Dearest Henry, how many thousand dollars
haVe I squandered in baubles and luxuries, which only
for a moment pleased, that I would have saved to lessen
REALITIES OF LIFE.
77
FAII.DRE.
your embarrassment ? Oh, if you had told me all in
time !"
" I could not bear to afflict you, my Ella ; I strove to
defer as long as possible the dreaded disclosure—I could
not be happy if I saw you suffer."
" Believe me, Henry, I have endured more by not being
able to alleviate your distress, than this information has
cost me—far, far more. It has caused me many a tear to
imagine you loved me less, because you confided less."
" Forgive me, my wife—^love you less?—oh Heaven !
My greatest torture is in the thought of seeing you de¬
prived of your comfortable home."
" Do not think of that for an instant," replied the tran¬
quil Ella. " My father's house will receive us, and we
shall be contented there, dearest," said she, pressing her
lip to his disturbed brow; ''we will be still left to each
other ; and after all, true happiness is to be sought in our¬
selves, not in those useless and luxurious things around
us. To-morrow we will commence Our retrenchments,
and be soon established elsewhere."
" Oh no, Ella ! not to-morrow; I cannot yet be satisfied
to proclaim to the world our disgrace. Let us defer this
mortification."
" No, Henry ; delay will but increase the evil. What
to us is the opinion of the world ? Misfortune, not dis¬
honor, has occasioned our reverse ; call it not therefore
disgrace ; no man was ever degraded by a prompt adop¬
tion of what he knows to be right. The only disgrace he
can feel, is in supporting a style which he cannot afford,
by living on the just property of other* Remember this
78
REALITIE S or LIFE.
FAILURE^
my husband, and arouse your energy to meet the trial
calmly."
" Well, Ella, I will follow your wise advice. To-mor¬
row then we must proceed to exertion, and I will endeav¬
or to imitate your fortitude. Oh, that I had long ago
availed myself of your counsel !"
The acquaintances of Ella Percy still looked upon her
situation as one to be envied, while harassing care cast
its deep shadows over her path-way ! , Thus the world
judges ! Were the veil drawn aside which hangs before
the scenes of domestic life, " how many would our pity
share, who raise our envy now ?"
A few weeks saw them the inmates of Ella Percy's
home of childhood. Her parents cheerfully received
them, and endeavored by kindness and affection to make
them forget they were dependent. Her father had suf¬
fered by the failure of Percy. Commercial speculations
always draw into the vortex of their ruin, many who
little dream, in an hour of generosity, that they are to be
made partakers in the misery of others.
Still they had " enough and to spare ;" but Henry
brooded over his losses with a gloomy sadness, which the
tranquil resignation of his wife could not conquer. And
month after month found him obliterating the sense of Ms
misfortunes in the intoxicating bowl.
Who can describe the wretchedness of Ella ? She
bore it with her native fortitude. We fear religion had
not then imparted it I During several years of forbear¬
ance she lived with her degraded husband. At length,
O O '
unmindful of her a|;ony, insensible to her gentleness, and
REALITIES OF LIFE.
79
FAILURE.
in spite of his still remaining love for her, he indulged
himself in such excesses, as to compel her to separate
from him. He was excluded from her father's dwelling,
and after wandering to other lands, returned to his once
joyous home, an outcast from society and peace.
Dreadful reverse ! No soothing hand was laid upon
his throbbing brow, to alleviate its feverish excitement..
No tone of comfort fell upon his ear, when he retained
his senses sufhciently to realize his condition, and he
rushed from the maddening recollection of what he was,
and what he might have been, to lose thought in deep¬
er degradation, until he sunk so low as hardly to be
recognized as the once handsome, agreeable, wealthy
member of a polished society! Oh! can any reflecting
mind dwell upon such a picture of misery and horror,
and fail to raise a supplication to the Keeper of all hearts,
for his grace to save from despair like this 1 or fail to de¬
sire the mild influence of religion to regulate and guide
his every feeling and emotion."
Oh Religion ! strength to the weak ; comfort
To the wretched ; lamp of Eternal Truth,
By whose blest beams we learn to see and shun
The paths of error and destruction. Blind,
Fatally blind, must he be who closes
His eye upon thy blessedness, and dares
To taste the intoxicating but sweet
Cup of joy, or the bitter draught of wo.
Without thy modulating hand to check
Full satisfaction in the one, or all
Of deep despair that oft crowns the other.
80
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FAILÜRE.
The report of Henry Percy's death, sudden and awful,
in one of those haunts of dissipation devoted to intem¬
perance, which crowd our populous cities, was brought
to his wife by two gentlemen who had formerly been his
associates. She received it unmoved, at least to outward
view.' All love, all respect, had long since left her heart.
But a wife must feel, whatever be her circumstances ; and
where the misjudging eye of the world detects notliingbut
cold indifference, there may be the acutest suffering.
A desire to conceal from the prying gaze of curiosity,
that she had a heart which could feel for so degraded a
being, perhaps led to an air of harshness ; while grief
and regret for such a termination of her early hopes and
expectations, alone filled her thoughts. " Judge not, lest
ye be judged should, in every case, present itself before
the vision of those who undertake to sit in judgment
upon the feelings, as well as the actions of their fellovv.
creatures. And where truth compels us to see things
as they are, let us hide beneath the mantle of God-like
charity, such deformities as disfigure the beautiful pic¬
ture of a perfect character.
To the indiscriminating multitude, Ella Percy seemed
totally unaffected by the event which had closed her
dream of life. Y et there were those who, after a few
months, beheld her pale cheek and delicate frame, that
attribi^ted her failing health to a secret and wasting sor¬
row, which the more intensely afflicted from the want
of that sympathy which so greatly lessens grief. Where
all condemned him, and few pitied, she cared not to re¬
veal the melancholy they would have blamed; and she
REALITIES OF LIFE.
81
FAILURE.
pined in untold anguish over broken ties and crushed af¬
fections.
Religion's heavenly voice had been permitted to whis¬
per its heavenly consolations, and she was not altogether
miserable, though she mourned when she recollected
that the kingdom of future glory would never be sullied
by the presence of such a character as that of the being
she once loved ; and that, therefore, their separation was
to be eternal !
Thus ended " this excellent match"—this prize in the
matrimonial lottery !
Ye who read this record, pause and think! and may
your fate be less dreadful—your expectations better fulfil¬
led ! Be your consolations the consolations of the gos¬
pel, when you find the props, upon which you have per¬
mitted yourselves to lean for happiness, fall and leave
you desolate and alone.
8
REALITIES OF LIFE.
PART SECOND.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
PART SECOND.
TEMPER AND MADNESS.
Happiness, fair exotic! transplanted
From abov&, never bom beneath the sky ;
In vain for thee we seek in scenes of mirth
Or greatness. These please the fancy or amuse,
But may not bless the heart. Thy source is Heav'n—
Thine earthly home, where mind meets mind in thoughts
Congenial, and in the deep feelings
Of two souls made one in sweet sympathy,
By God who form'd them.
In this vale of tears,
Where may we in our sorrows a shelter
Find, so safe as in Homers sanctuary ?
The world deceives—riches take wings and flee
Away—and pleasure like a bubble bursts—
And fame's proud wreath withers, and fades, and falls—
And crowds fatigue ; but when the spirit needs
Refreshment, we turn to home (nor should turn
In vain,) for comfort and repose.
"Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath :
Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous strife;
Unmanly murder and unthrifty scath ;
And fretting grief, the enemy of life ;
All these, and many more, haunt ire."—Spencer.
" There's not in nature,
A thing that makes a man'so deform'd
As doth intemperate anger."—Webster.
" I DO not think Meta Hervey looks as happy as she
did when first I knew her," said Amelia Stanhope to her
mother^ • after they returned from a visit to that lady.
" Did you notice how much livelier she was before her
86 REALITIES OF LIFE.
TEMPER AND MADNESS.
"I noticed it," answered her mother, "but I cannot
wonder that any wife should look grave on the approach
of so gloomy a face as he always wears. I do not wish
to condemn or judge harshly, but I am much mistaken if
he is not a pettish, discontented man ; and such things
are a great trial to a i^ife."
" Yet, motUer, when she was married it was thought a
fuie match ; and goseips said the single ladies were all
" pulling caps" for Mr. Hervey. What a strange world
we live in ! To-day we are rejoicing at escaping fron^
what yesterday we were using every effort to obtain.
Well, well, who can tell what to, desire in this imperfect
state' of knowledge V
"We should learn lessons of wisdom, Amelia, from the^
apparently trifling occu|rences which are taking place
around us daily ; and we would soon discover how much
better God decides for us, than we could possibly do for
ourselves ; .
"Our wishes, answered, often lead
To misery."
9
It is presumptuous, therefore, to desire too ardently any
thing, or to regret tog keenly our disappointments."
" For my part, mother, when I marry, I hope it will not
be one of these extraordinary folks, who has "no faults—
is quite amiable—and in a fine business." I would rath¬
er take my chance with one reputed to have a little of
"the old Adam" in him. After all, they turn out better
than these pieces of perfection. Don't you think so ?"
" Sometimes ; but it is a risk to link our happiness
with any person, unless we are smre of its remaining se-
REALITIES OF LIFE.
87
TEMPER AND MADNESS.
cure through, the bonds of a pure and holy faith. It may
do to jest about matrimonial requisites, hut matrimonial
misery is no jest."
" I know that, mother, or at least, I have heard of it ;
there is none in our blessed home. I mean to have just
such an one, and all the domestic virtues shall he in full
display. I am determined to he a light-hearted, joyous
bride ; and a contented, smiling matron ; and conclude
with a calm and healthful old age ; determined to be the
pattern of patterns for wedded life."
" Take care—^take care, Amelia. " Let him that think-
eth he standeth, take heed lest he fall." The fairest
morning has been succeeded by an overshadowed noon,
and a stormy evening has ended the day. Beware, my
child—you speak gaily, because the evil hour may be fai;
distant ; a girl of sixteen paints life in glowing colors ;
hut in the autumn of her existence, she finds the leaves of
hope fall around her path withered and seared by the
rude touch of a cold and blighting world."
" You speak seriously, mother."
" It is true, notwithstanding, Amelia. I fear the time
will come, when you may realize its being so. ' I.have
made many observations on persons and things around
me, and the experience of years has convinced me that
few matches, comparatively speaking, ever prove perfect¬
ly happy ; nay, I will go further apd say, few which do not
turn out positively miserable, although the world knows no¬
thing of them, Accident, temper, misfortune, faults, dis¬
sipation, intemperance, or some other cause, destroys the
expectation of domestic peace ; and the connexion is
88
REALITIES OF LIFE.
TEMPER AND M ADRE S3.
was formed amid the congratulation of friends, and an¬
ticipations of bliss. These terminations are not always
the result of unworthiness, • and cannot be avoided by
huriianToresight. Disease and the grave end the hopes
of many ; and those who love most devotedly and sin¬
cerely, have been early severed by the scythe of the de¬
stroyer. Nothing but piety can sustain the shock of
time, or the ravages of change. Let your choice, my
daughter, be from among those who have placed their
hearts upon this rock ; and then the affections he bestows
on you will be as lasting as they are pure."
The conversation was interrupted, and the gay girl
thought no more of her determinations. We shall see
how they were fulfilled.
Meta Hervey's lip wore fewer and fewer smiles, and
her husband's brow was less and less unclouded. What
could be the reason ? No one was able to tell ; yet bu¬
siness prospered—^he was considered most advantageous¬
ly situated—lived in a comfortable house, and was sur¬
rounded by friends. Alas ! temper—uncontrollable tem¬
per on his part—a peevish discontent, which found no satr.;
isfaction in any thing that was done for him, rendered his
home wretched. And Meta did not set that guard over
her tongue and feelings, which might have been effectual
in moderating his petulance ; but too often indulged in
recrimination and reproach, or sunk into a sullen gloom
which repelled him. On his return from the day's em¬
ployment, instead of meeting him cheerfully and with
affection, she would be brooding over some past offense
and he; foiind his fireside desolate ; and after wandering
REALITIES OF LIFE.
89
^ TEMPER AND MADNESS.
through the rooms, perhaps would discover her sitting in
displeasure or indifference in a remote apartment, and
apparently rather disgusted at, than glad of his presence.
Sometimes he coaxed her into good humor, but most fre¬
quently their meetings ended in quarrels and unkindness.
" Alas ! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love—
Hearts that the world in vain has tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied.
A something light as air—a look—
A word unkind, or wrongly taken.
Oh lovethat tempests never shook,
A breath a tomh like this hath shaken ;
And ruder words will soon rush in,
To spread the breach that words begin."
Too true is the poet's description. Daily observation
will show its reality. How often love bleeds on the al¬
tar of ungoverned rage ! One might deem a stern duty
compelled the hateful scenes which deface the domestic
hearth, so faithfully are they pursued day by day, with
energy and perseverance.
" This pie wants a little more spice. Meta, and then it
would be very nice," remarked Mr. Hervey at dinner one
day that he came home calmer than usual, and really
seemed to enjoy his meal.
" It appears impossible to please you, Mr. Hervey, do
what I will. I concluded there would be something to
find fault with, although I took particular pains to make
that pie, because you relished the last ; there is no sat¬
isfaction in serving you and she pouted terribly. '
90
REALITIES OF LIFE.
TEMPEB AND MAUMES5.
" You do not expect me, |drs. Hervey, to say I like
the pie because you choose that I should ?"
" No, sir, I never calculate upon praise from your lip."
" Because, madam, you do not merit it."
" I do not know who could exert themselves to gratify
ym, you are so discontented."
" Arid I am sure I cannot imagine who ever cared to
please you, you are so ill-tempered."
" I am made so by you, sir."
"I deny it, madam. You drive me out of the house
by your vile disposition."
" And you, sir, render home hateful whenever you are
here, by your passion."
" Be silent, Mrs. Hervey, or I will leave the table."
" The sooner you do so the better, Mr. Hervey, if yom
cannot be civil."
With a muttered oath he rose, and drawing the door
violently after him, left the house ; nor did he return tiU
late in the evening.
Thus for mere trifles they were bartering their peace.
By the tea hour, business and other engagements had
dissipated the unpleasant feelings of the dinner scene,
and he entered his parlor prepared to pass the evening
agreeably. The sullen looks of Meta cast a chill over
him, and he tried to recollect what caused her displea¬
sure, for he had forgotten the bickering about the pie, or
rather, he could not believe such a trifle would occasion
lasting ill-humor. However, he determined to act as if
nothing was the matter, and commenced talking about
the news of the day. His wife scarcely condescended
REALITIES OF LIFE.
91
TEMPER AND MADNESS.
to listen, and he became irritated, took up the paper, and
read to himself. Meta withdrew into a corner with a
book ; and thus, for a foolish squabble, a whole evening
was passed in discomfort ; and life, be it remembered, is
composed of days.
Thus dragged on many a weary matrimonial hour, un¬
til years were gone,—and daily and continual estrange¬
ments followed. The tempers of both were soured by
disappointment ; impatience on his side, was heightened
to passion ; and petulance in her, increased to ungovern-
ed anger. Death snatched her from earth ere time had
laid his hand upon her ; not mourned by the husband of
her early choice ; and if not gladly, at least not reluc¬
tantly was she consigned to the grave.
He wandered to other countries to seek a livelihood,
having been unfortunate in business ; but the same vio¬
lence of temper that made him miserable at home, and
inflicted torment on his household, led him into quarrels
with his new acquaintances ; and in a moment of frenzy
he committed murder, and was thus utterly lost to his
friends and to society. Months were passed in jail, and
his once free limbs were shackled with a felon's chain.
Dreadful contrast to his youthful and polished home of
indulgence ! He escaped from justice, and in a distant
land hid his dishonored head, unknowing and unknown.
His conscience followed him even there, and in the silent
and solitary hours he spent in exile, his thoughts often
wandered back into the scenes of a happy childhood
and respected manhood, and felt that not accident, not
misfortune, but his own unbridled passions, had caused the
92
REALITIES OF LIFE.
TEMfEB ASP MADME3S.
destruction of all his hopes. Pause, ye who read this
'awful though brief history of a rapid fall from rectitude
to crime, and if you have never prayed before, pray
fflou) that God may place a check upon your heart in time,
that it may reflect in eternity the beautiful image of the
Prince of Peace. And may this simple record teach a
lesson of forbearance. " A soft answer tumeth away
wrath, but ^ievous words stir up anger." A wise man
will " think twice ere he speaks once." A second thought
generally shames us out of Ûie first emotion of displeas¬
ure. How very wise is he who heeds the second reflec¬
tion.
" Plow terrible is passion ! how our reason
Falls down before it. Whilst the tortur'd frame,
Like a ship dashed by fierce encount'ring tides
And of her pilot spoiled, drives round and round.
The sport of wind and ware."
" Oh, when passion rules, how rare
The hours that fall to virtue's sitare!"
In hurrying over the termination of Meta Hervey's fate,
we seem to have lost sight of our lively friend, Amelia
Stanhope. In the many years we have traveled over so
hastily, she has selected from her numerous suitors, one
who was unexceptionable in the opinion of her parents,
herself, and society ; nor did she hesitate to liijk her des-'
tinies to his, because she could not detect in him " a
spice of the old Adam," which she once thought requi¬
site to render happinebs probable. She indeed realized
her picture of " a light-hearted bride ;" and wore " the
REALITIES OF LIFE.
93
TEMPER AND MADIiESS.
contented smiles of a matron." Let us inquire if her
" old age" was, as she designed, " calm and healthful."
Her eye is dim with tears, and her deep mourning
dress bespeaks some recent and severe sorrow. Follow
her as she leans on her husband's arm, while walking to
the village churchyard. See her bend, with clasped
hands, over three little hillocks, upon which there was
not yet a blade of grass springing ; and read upon the
marble headstones, that Edgar, Charles, Adeline Carlton
lie there ; consigned to their last home ere one week had
commenced and ended.
Do you wonder at her shriek of agony ? Do you un¬
derstand a mother's grief ? The shafts of death strike
deeply when they pierce a parent's heart.
Amelia was childless ! but her husband was left her,
and life would not be altogether cheerless. Before her
stricken soul had recovered the shock of her children's
sudden departure to the world of spirits—while she still
needed the sustaining affection of her husband, he was
attacked by a hereditary malady, and was the inmate of
a lunatic asylum. Oh, if there be an afHiction worse
than death, it is to know that one we have loved, and
with whose mind it has been our delight " to take sweet
counsel," is bereft of the power of holding communion
with us, and whose intellects are veiled in an awful
darkness.
Her domestic happiness thus destroyed, poor Amelia
sunk beneath the fiery ordeal, and a long fit of extreme
illness left her an old age of infirmities and care. She
had fulfilled her determination of being calm, for in her
9
94
REALITIES OF LIFE.
' TEMPER AND MADNESS.
misery she had turned to One upon whose unseen arm she
rested in her most desolate moments—to Owe who has
never yet denied to the sufferer the aid of his support¬
ing grace—to One who is the same " yesterday, to-day,
and forever—and she felt privileged to hope, through
the assurances of the gospel, that she would be permit¬
ted again to meet her sinless cherubs in the kingdom of
eternal repose ; and to be again united to him whose un¬
exceptionable conduct in every relation of life, she trust¬
ed would ensure to him the mercy of his God, and en¬
title him to a place in the New Jerusalem. Her earthly
hopes are destroyed, but she blesses her Savior for the
expectations of a joyful immortality. She has found,
that for happiness,
"He builds too low, who builds beneath the stars !"
And she has learned to believe what our beautiful hymn
teaches—
" Lord, unafflicted, undismayed,
In pleasure's path I strayed;
But thou hast made me feel thy rod.
And turned my soul to thee, my God.
What, though it pierced my fainting heart,
I bless thy hand that caused the smart—
It taught my tears awhile to flow.
But saved me from eternal woe."
, ^
and her " old age was calm" amidst all her trials.
FORGERY.
" There's naught so monstrous but the mind of man,
In some conditions, may be brought to approve.
Theft, treason, sacrilege, and parricide,
When flattering opportunity enticed,
And desperation drove, have been committed
By those who once would start to hear ihm named."
In the happy home of her maternal uncle, Ida Rose-
ville passed the days of her youth. Care was a thing
unfelt ; sorrow, a feeling unknown. To feed her birds,
or train her jessamines, or watch her flowers bud and
expand, was her pleasant and constant recreation. To
read to her uncle, to sing him to sleep, or amuse him
with her lively conversation, was her sweet employment,
when her day's tasks were over. Her light footsteps,
and merry voice chanting wild airs, re-echoed through
the house, and the grey-headed servants loved to obey
her gentle orders. Just placed at the head of her uncle's
establishment, by thé death of her aunt, and released
from the control of her teachers, Ida was the idol of the
household, and the gayest of the gay. Her dark eye
sparkled with joy, and her beautiful lip wore a perpetual
smile. Why is it that our after life presents so much
that is dark and sad,—stern contrast to the brilliancy of
youth 1
Melancholy indeed seemed the hour of Ida's bridal, to
those she was leaving, who were devoted and attache^,?;
but she saw more attachment in Edmund Roseville's love,
96
REAI.ITIES OF LIFE.
FOKGEHV.
^ —
and Hiore attraction in the picture of his American farm,
than in the realities of her uncle's comfortable and con¬
venient country-seat ; and left, for a comparative stran¬
ger,, the affectionate protection of her best and earliest
friend. Such is the strange choice too often made be¬
tween real zxià unreal blessing. We little know what
is to follow the relinquished happiness of to-day. To¬
morrow may be a season of vain regret.
A few months after her marriage, Ida left the home of
her happiest recollections, and confident of the undivi¬
ded regard of her husband,l^pdered with him to the
new world, to test for themselves its reported wealth,
and peace, and beauty. She was happy. She found in
her husband a polished and refined gentleman ; a man of
learning ; and as he was a clergyman, of apparent piety.
The first months of their union were passed in traveling
over the northern and western states, that RoseviUe
might select a suitable spot for establishing his farm.
A lovely boy, the play-thing in many an hour of wed¬
ded bliss, added to the domestic happiness of this self-
exiled couple, and they were never weary of talking
over the bright prospects of their sweet child, when his
father's success in planting should make him independ¬
ent.
At the commencement of the third year of their mar¬
riage, Edmund Roseville found it necessary to begin his
preparations for a more settled life than they had yet ledy
and at length purchased a picturesque farm amid the
mountains of Virginia, with a part of that property
which his wife had inherited from her parents. Six
REALITIES OF LIFE.
97
FORGERY.
months flew rapidly on, and every thing seemed to pros¬
per in their business, as much as their love increased.'
En the summer of the same year, Roseville proposed re¬
turning to his native land, for the purpose, of , procuring
laborers and stock to cultivate his land, which might be-
better obtained there ; promising to return, in a few
months to remain altogether in their trans-atlantic dwell¬
ing. With regTet Ida found herself obliged to separate
from him ; but the tender age of her baby, and the neces¬
sity of some attention to their interests in America, com¬
pelled her to do so.
"And is he gone? Am I alone in a strange land?"
said she, as she returned to her solitary parlor, and be¬
held the thousand memorials that recalled his image ; a
hat upon its peg in the corner ; a book he had been in
the habit of reading daily, lying open on the mantel¬
piece ; his favorite dog sleeping on the rug ; his horse
grazing near the window ; his gun and horns in their ac¬
customed places ; above all, his slumbering boy, bearing
his every lineament, called back so many remembrances,
that she wept bitterly, to think so long and dreary a sea¬
son was to pass, ere she would again behold his face, or
enjoy his society.
Frequent and affectionate letters cheered her during
his absence, and the sweet task of improving her child
so as to give additional pleasure to his father when he
came, beguiled many lonely hours; The latter part of
the summer shq,passed with a relative in a northern city,
determining to await there the return of her husband, as
9*
98
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FORGERY.
she would by this means be with him at least two weeks
earlier than at home.
Joy lighted her countenance as she announced to her '
friends the intelligence contained in a letter she held be¬
fore her. " My belored Edmund will be on in the Cleo¬
patra, expected to be in New York by the first of Octo¬
ber ; oh ! how happy I shall be then. Congratulate me,
dear cousins ; only three short weeks, and I, shall behold
him again."
She shed tears of delight, and seemed never tired of
making her boy repeat, "Welcome, dear pafia," that he
might be perfect in his lesson by the time he arrived.
##***###
" Is your name Roseville V asked a rough looking
man, as he laid his hand on the shoulder of a genteel
young man, who, with his cloak drawn closely around
him, was about to step on board of a brig that laid at the
wharf with every sail set, ready for her departure. He
did not answer, though the sudden start he gave, showed
he was not unconscious of the touch, and he attempted to
go on.
" Not so fast," again said the man ; " answer to your
name, or say who you are."
" I am an American citizen, going peaceably on my
way homewards. By what authority do you stop a gen- '
tleman 1"
" 'Tis not every bddy that looks like a gentleman that
is one, and you shall not move a foot until I am satisfied."
" If my name is Roseville, what then ; have you any
business with me V
REALITIES OF.LIEE. C99
- FORGERY. ' •
"Not much, only that I arrest you'by the authority'of
his niajesty, and am bound to commit you to pris^ígn
the charge of forgery," bluntly said the oiScer, showing;
his warrant, while the alarmed crowd that gathered
around the party, made a motion to move away from
such company.
The young man turned as pale as death, and seemed
entirely bereft of fortitude. The officer and his com¬
panion still kept a firm grasp upon him. The captain of
the brig approached and inquired into the afiair. " Is
not this one of my passengers?" asked he, pohtely
raising his Mat to the gentleman; "there must be some
mistake ; officers, what do you want with that gentle¬
man ?"
"We only want to know his name," gruffly answered
the one who had first spoken, " and he will not tell us.
Now, to my mind, a man must be ashamed of his name,
if he refuses to mention it."
" Perhaps you have been too ungentle in your demand,"
remarked the captain, " and that is the reason why your
question was not replied to ; but you must soon despatch
■your business, and let our passengers embark; the Cleo¬
patra is impatiently riding the waves ; time and tide wait
for none."
" Very good that," persisted the officer ; " but his
majesty is not to be cheated out of a rogue by time or
tide. Captain, look at that, and seepf I can lightly prose¬
cute my errand." *
The captain started as he read the paper, and raised
his eye, as line after line met it, to scrutinize the features
100
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FÓRGEUY.
of the supposed culprit, and trace the marks of his iden-
titj', as they were recorded in the description. " Bad—
bad," he muttered in an under tone,—" a high foreheadf
rather expansive ; thin, dark hair ; deep grey eyes ; very
genteel in appearance ; about the middle height
usually wears a blue cloth cloak, with velvet collar and
large tassels,—humph, very much alike ! very bad ; yet
others may answer this description." He turned aside,
not wishing to distress one who might prove innocent,
and whose silence might proceed from offended dignity.
" What do you think of that, sir ?" asked the ofhcer ;
" is not the account pretty clear ? and yet I do not say I
can swear to his being the man. What must I do ?"
As he spoke, a porter walked up to the prisoner, and
not observing the commotion, said, " I have brought your
baggage, sir ; please pay the reckoning."
The officer immediately laid his hands on the trunks,
and in the name of the king claimed them, until their
contents should be examined ; for Roseville, in large let¬
ters, was on one of the brass plates.
" Ah ha !" said the other man, " I thought somehow
all this silence would be found out to show guilt. Off to
the magistrate with the offender, while I will follow
with the baggage. By Jupiter ! we had nearly lost
them."
"The captain told RoseviUe (whose identity was now
^tablished, for the mark on his pocket-handkerchief,
which he carelessly dropped on the ground, confirmed
the suspicion,) he regetted the necessity of leaving him ;
but that he sincerely hoped his release would soon take
REALITIES OF LIFE.
101
FORGERY.
place, as lie was assured there existed some mistake
about the matter, and asked if he had any letter or mes¬
sage to send home."
Roseville thanked him, but made no further remark.
The captain had not learned his name when he applied
for passage the week before, but recognized directly
as he saw him.
On appearing before a magistrate, he was cross-exam¬
ined, and there was so much to condemn him, that that
officer considered himself justified in proceeding to in¬
vestigate his baggage. In the first trunk which was
opened, nothing was seen but dresses and ornaments for
the wardrobe of a lady, together with several articles of
amusement and usefulness, suited to a child ; all seem¬
ing memorials to testify that the absent had been remem-
beredjj In the second, amid many rich and costly things,
bank notes to the amount of £10,000 were found, bear¬
ing the signature of and Co., London. These
were the very notes advertised, besides many others
which were not discovered. Also, several stamps and
instruments for executing them.
" The inhabitant of a common prison," moaned a sad
voice, which sounded along the echoing walls during the
stillness of midnight; "all alone in the solitude of a
common prison ! Oh, Ida, my beloved wife ! would you
acknowledge as your own, the degraded being who is
doomed to ignominy forever ? Oh, Ida, my wife !—my
wife ! What pangs have 1 indicted on your faithful
heart ! and my boy, is his to be the inheritance of shame ?
I dare not call on that Heaven for aid whose Sovereign
102
REALITIES OF LIFE.
^ FORGERY.
I have insulted by my crimes. Oh, for some pitying
hand to soothe this aching brow ! Oh, for some pitying
tone to break the dreadful silence of this dungeon !"
The night wore slowly onwards ; but morning, blessed
morning, dawned at last, and comfort came even to thé
desolate bosom of a captive ; and the glorious sun, which
" shines on the unjust as well as the Just," gilded the bars
of his narrow grating, and he felt less alone than before.
" Will you see a minister ?" asked the gaoler, in a
kind manner ; for he had heard the lamentations of Rose-
ville the night previous.
" I am not fit to have so holy a visitant," groaned he,
as he struck his hand against his forehead ; " Oh, no ! a
holy man would shrink from such as I am."
" It is their office," gently answered the compassionate
keeper, "to seek and to save that which was lost."
Roseville looked up with an air of astonishment. " Can
you s5Tnpathize with the unhappy ? Oh, it is sweet to
hear the voice of sympathy."
" Yes sir, I am often enabled to console those who are
suffering in this abode of wretchedness ; and although I
meet with many scenes which are hateful to me, yet I
feel it is a privilege to have an opportunity of soothing,
and perhaps improving, those who are about to meet a
violent death. It is seldom that one, feeling as I do, wiU
undertake an office so revolting as that of watching over
the vicious and miserable. Yet often the innocent are
placed here, and it is a blessing to them tp have a gnard
who can pity and comfort. And often the hardened, sir,
would die less recklessly, if they had some kind tone to
REALITIES OF LIFE.
103
FORGERY. ■ ■
calm tliem—some pious mind to lead their thoughts to
Heaven ; and I stay because I hopei to do some good."
" You will meet your reward," said Roseville, in deep
dejection, that aíFected the gaoler. " I am committed
for my first crime ; and oh ! it was for her dear sake"—
he ' paused abruptly, shuddering as he ' thought of his
heart stricken Ida.
" I am obliged to leave you, sir," said the man ; " if it
was known that I extend such sympathy to my prisoners,
my fidelity would be distrusted ; and therefore I main¬
tain a stern countenance. Yet I would not betray the
confidence of my employers on any account. I would
sooner give it up, for I know that authority is lawfully
in the hands of our rulers, and it becomes us to let justice
be done by their decree. Yet no law of God or man
forbids mercy to those who suffer, and I do not consider
my duty invaded by extending it. All, sir, that I can do
to alleviate your sorrow, shall be done, so long as your
wishes do not interfere with my duty."
Roseville pressed the hand of his keeper in grateful
acknowledgment, for he could not speak. At length he
said, " You will never know the horrors of remorse while
you think as you do, therefore I can never in the same
way show by my conduct at such a time, the depth of my
gratitude for even this. I dare not pray for you, for
Heaven hears not the prayers of the guilty. And yet, I
once taught others the way of life ; but I am myself. Oh
God! a castaway."
"You will see a minister 1" asked the gaoler as he
brushed a tear from his eye, while he turned to leave
104
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FORGERY.
the room, willing to interrupt his prisoner's gloomy
thoughts ; " there is something in your manner, sir, that
seems to say you are not very familiar with crime, and
he may lead you to that Comforter who can render the
most dreadful state of existence less dreadful."
Roseville was again alone with his thoughts, but the
recollection
" Both of lost happiness, and lasting pain,
Torments him."—Milton.
" There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemned.
He deals on his own soul."—Byron.
He felt the stings of a deep remorse ; yet the desola¬
tion of his spirit was relieved by the sympathy of the
gaoler. Oh, the luxury of imparting consolation to the
afflicted ! Sweet mercy does not stop to ask if their sor¬
rows are self-inflicted, or the just visitation of Jehovah ;
but it sees the tear fall, and hears the sigh burst from the
overcharged heart, and springs forward to dry the one or
still the other with the heaven-taught compassion that
feels for every woe a brother can endure. How pity can
light the dungeon's walls, and lessen the weight of the
fetters laid upon the once unshackeled limbs of the con¬
demned !
" Alas ! I have alike wrecked her peace and mine," he
moaned; "andnow she is watching the breeze, and count¬
ing every hour, hoping for my return. And our dear
cottage, with its cheerful hearth, and my dogs upon it,
speak of enjoyment, while I am shivering on a bed of
REALITIES OP LIFE;
105
FORGERY.
Straw within these dripping walls. Oh Ida ! Ida ! why
did I take thee from thy happy home, to plunge thee into
wretchedness like this. And my Albert ! Oh, will he
not curse his father's memory, and wear the brand of
degradation on his beauteous brow ! The path of virtue
is the path of peace ! Fatal was the hour that I yielded
to temptation ! The birds flit past my window with
" Heaven's sunshine on their wings," but I am a captive.
The meanest of my countrymen may walk abroad in free¬
dom, while I am doomed to breathe the air only through a
few iron bars. And what may I be before another day ?"
" 'Tis morn, and o'er his altered features play
The beams, without the hope of yesterday.
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
O'er which the raven flaps his raven wing,
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt,
While sets that sun, and dews of evening meet,
Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refecting earth, reviving aU but him."—Byron.
Hours rolled by with no change to him. He longed to
hear a human voice again, and wondered that time so
slowly ran his accustomed round. Sleep, (the fri'end of
the miserable,) released him from the torture of reflection
for awhile. He was aroused from a dream of home and
joy, by the gentle touch of his kind keeper.
" I have brought a minister to visit you, sir ; perhaps
he can give you consolation." He considerately left the
room and closed the door.
" You are wretched," said the humble disciple of the
cross ; therefore I come, in the name of Him who " went
1 n
1Ü6
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FORGERY.
about doing good," to offer the comforts of religion to all
penitent sinners. Brother, if you are guilty, confess your
crimes to God—" turn from the error of your ways—repent
and live." Such is the message of the gospel."
" I dare not approach the throne of grace ; I am too
much defiled with sin."
" Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as
snow ; though they he red like crimson, they shall be as
wool," saith the word of truth—the only condition is,
repent."
" Minister of God, you see before you one who has
fallen from a higher station than you dream of. I once
was permitted to preach that same gospel you now pro¬
claim. Oh ! is there not a double woe overhanging him
who forgets his high calling, and dishonors the profession
he has been privileged to occupy."
The minister looked appalled. " Have you been a
watchman on the towers of Zion ! and now a condemned
captive ? How very awful !"
" Said I not there was no hope for one so vile 1"
" There is hope, brother, for the vilest. What saith
the prophets 1 " Return ye backsliding children, and I
will heal your backsliding." " Return unto me, and I
"will return unto you, saith the Lord of hosts." Can
any go away in despair from the fountain of truth 1"
" You would comfort me, but as yet no dawning light
of peace breaks in upon my soul," said Roseville. " Oh!
if you knew all I have lost—all I have abused—rail I have
injured !"
REALITIES OF LIFE.
107
FORGERY.
" Brother, confide in me ; it will relieve your burthenedj
soul, and I may be enabled to pour into your wounded
spirit the " oil and wine" of holy consolation. You do
not look like one long used to crime."
" Long used to crime ! Oh no ! this is the first dark
deed upon my conscience-."
" Do you repent of it V
" Most heartily !"
" Would you yield to the temptation again, were you
exposed to it 1"
" I trust not—I trust not."
" Do you grieve most for having offended your God, or
for the consequences you have drawn upon yourself and
others V
Roseville covered his face with his hands, but did not
answer. He seemed communing with his own heart;
and his convulsive shuddering told the fearful conflict
in his mind.
"You do not reply," again remarked the minister sol¬
emnly. "Is Godless regarded than your fellow-crea¬
tures, or the opinion of the world?"
"I would hope not, sir ; but. Oh Heaven I when I think
of her—of my boy—of my dishonor—my head reels, and
I dread nothing so much as life and disgrace."
" How awful !" exclaimed the minister. " Brother,
turn your thoughts from earth, and think of the greater
disgrace of being condemned before all people, and
tongues, and nations, at the day of final account. What
are the scoffs and contempts of men, to the condemnation
of an insulted God ?"
108
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FORGERY.
"Old man, have you ever loved deeply, devotedly?
Ever been loved confidingly, sincerely ? Have you ever
held to your heart the lovely infant of your wedded
home ? Ever been the companion of the virtuous and
good ? Have you ever tasted the joy of calm domestic
peace—the Sweets of ease and competence ? Have you
ever felt the delight of striving to add to the comfort of one
who smiled when you smiled, or wept when you wept ?
Have you ever felt the pang of separation from such a
being, and'the anticipated hope of a re-union with her, and
then been cast down from all, to a dark and desolate prison,
with no voice to recall the tender notes of kindred sym¬
pathy, no eye to beam with affection upon you, as I have
been? If^o, old man—if so, you can understand my min¬
gled emotions. Despair—regret—remorse! Bitter cup
for the lip of any living mortal."
"With so much to bless your lot, how were you led to
commit the crime for which you acknowledge you are
justly condemned ?"
" Listen to a brief history, and pity though you may
censure. To please my father I studied for the church,
with the expectation of a living in the gift of a rich rel¬
ative. I preached the gospel of peace, but I never felt its
heaveidy influence. My heart was not renewed by that
Holy Spirit, whose aid I invoked when I took my vows.
Alas ! that so many lightly assume, for worldly purposes,
those sacred duties which they should feel to be a happy
privilege to exercise in a genuine love to God and to man.
Like other English ministers, I indulged in such sports
and amusements as the canons of the church do not ex-
REALITIES OF LIFE.
109
FORGERY.
pressly forbid, but whicli tbe spirit of the bible must con¬
demn, as both unbecoming and unsuitable to a preacher
of the gospel, whose pleasures and interests should be
far removed from those of the worldly and the careless.
In my case, this practice of entering into these light pur¬
suits, lessened the seriousness of my mind, and I pro¬
claimed to others a self-denying doctrine, whose precepts
I never followed. Yet my conscience did not reproach
me, and even after I in a measure gave up my calling, I
felt no regret. Such is the result of half-way principles
in religion. There is no truer text in the whole bible,
than that which declares it to be " impossible to serve
both God and the world." Thoughtless, like those around
me, I checked myself in no indulgence. On the Sabbath
I would ascend the consecrated pulpit to offer consolations
or warnings to those with whom I had passed the week
previous in fox-chasing, dinner parties, or amid the circles
of fashion. Nor could I wonder that the most of them
returned to the next week's occupations, as cold and as
careless as ever. These things have occurred to me
since. I never reflected on them then. But in the dim¬
ness and darkness of this prison, memory portrays these
long slumbering offenses in characters of fire before me.
During some of my wanderings through the country,
in search of pleasure, I became acquainted with my
wife." He paused as if reviewing the joy of that meet¬
ing. His thoughts ranged far and wide into the ocean
of the past, and the contrast of the dreary present low¬
ered darkly over his picture. " I saw her first the gay,
mirthful belle of a crowded saloon, and immediately felt
10*
110
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FOBGERY.
our detinies to be forever linked. How singular is this
sudden sympathy for a stranger ! and yet it is irresistible.
We met—we spoke—we loved. In two months from
that evening she was aU my own. Yes, mine
"Was love unchangeable, unchanged—
Felt hut for one from whom I never ranged."
She left her uncle's luxuriöus house and shared the hum¬
ble home I could give her in an American cottage. We
were happy as love and peace could make us. Her
property furnished us with a comfortable farm, and we
cared for no more. Alas, that a spirit of wandering and
a desire to increase her style of living, should have in¬
duced me to quit her side. I came to England last sum¬
mer, and had made arrangements to procure stock and
laborers for a return to America in October. In an evil
hour I met with an agreeable acquaintance, who persua¬
ded me to visit London with him, and amuse away the
remaining month of my sojourn here. Having nothing
to do, I consented. We had not been there long, before
he let me into the secret of his unbounded means of
maintaining an expensive manner of dress, and equipage,
and amusement. He painted, in glowing colors, the sat¬
isfaction of having wealth at command to benefit those
we loved, as well as ourselves ; the easy mode of obtain¬
ing money, and the trivial nature of the crime ; until what
had once been of vast importance, seemed a mere no¬
thing ; and I joined him m forging drafts in the name
of & Co., London. As soon as we had done
so, and succeeded in passing olF some of the notes, I
REALITIES or LIFE.
Ill
FORGERY.
invested half of mine in the things I intended to convey
home for the use of my farm and family ; and the stock
and utensils are now awaiting my orders for transporta¬
tion. Horror at my guilt was lost in the thought of what
an additional source of comfort this money would be to
my wife and child, and how much my age would be re¬
lieved by its aid. I purchased for her use whatever I
could imagine might be welcome, and believed every
thing was secure and unsuspected. I kept ten thousand
pounds, intending to invest that in New York, and thus
escape detection. We left London immediately, and by
different directions came to Liverpool, intending to em¬
bark together in the Cleopatra, and sail for New York.
Just as I was stepping into the vessel which waited only
for passengers, I was arrested, as you have doubtless
heard, and conveyed hither. Unaccustomed to crime, I
could not deny the charges against me ; and proofs enough
were discovered in my trunks to condemn me. And when
she hears of the Cleopatra's arrival, her heart will rejoice,
for she expects her to bear me to my home ; but the only
record she will bear, wül be of the blighted name and
hopes of her idolized husband ; and my child will be
branded with the infamy of his father, and be led, per¬
haps, to hate the being whom he ought to love and ven¬
erate. Oh, sir ! this unmans me ; this makes me abhor
myself."
" Alas," said the old man, " it is a fearful story ; but
you offend God by forgetting his righteous anger in the
misery of earthly friends. You must view your crime
aright, and be deeply penitent, ere the consolations of
112
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FOBGEKV.
the gospel can reach your heart. Will you not strive ?
Will you not pray ?"
He shook his head, and said in a hollow tone, " I dare
not pray."
" I will do so for you," replied the minister ; and he
knelt beside the wretched pallet on which they were
sitting. Roseville bowed his head upon his hand, and
seenied affected by the solemn supplications of the holy
man, who invoked the mercy of God to soften the soul
of the criminal, and to send him the repentance and the
hope of pardon he needed. And when he entreated that
comfort might descend upon the afflicted wife and helpless
infant in a distant land, the miserable Roseville sobbed
aloud. The minister of God arose, and again urged him
to think of his insulted Maker ; promising to return if
he could the next day, and leam the state of his mind.
Roseville thanked him and he departed. Another des¬
olate night closed in, and another desolate morning dawn¬
ed. He looked anxiously for the hour at which he might
expect his visitor ; not that he was more sensible of his
danger, or more willing to bow before his God, but be¬
cause it was joy, in that abode of gloom, to hear the sound
of another human voice. His gaoler had not spoken more
than a few words of inquiry, seeming in haste when he
brought his food and lights.
About dusk, the key grated in the lock as it was turned
by the keeper, who ushered in the clergyman ; his over¬
coat was buttoned tightly, and the high collar covered
much of his face, and his hat was drawn over his eyes.
He sat down in silence by the couch, and extended his
REALITIES OF LIFE.
113
FORGERY.
hand to the prisoner, who did not catch a glimpse of his
countenance, as it was rather averted. When the door
was closed as before, the apparent minister threw aside
the coat, and displayed to the astonished Roseville the
form of his accomplice. A suppressed exclamation alone
revealed his recognition, and the young man pressed his
finger on his lip.
" How did you come here ?" asked the agitated Rose¬
ville in a low tone ; " take care you are not betrayed to
disgrace as I am."
" No," whispered the youth; " listen and I will tell you
all, and I hope to release you from this place before
another day dawns. How you came to be identified I
cannot imagine ; but when I saw the oificers seize upon
you at the wharf, I made the best of my way from the
scene of action, lest there should be some warrant for
my detention ; and I remained in retirement, hoping to
find some means of effecting your escape. Until this
morning I have been almost hopeless ; but if you can use
some exertion I trust we can manage it. I discovered
that my unclé, who is a minister, visited you yesterday,
and I thought I might venture in his coat to pass through
the prison in the dim light of evening. He was obliged
to leave the city to attend a sick parishioner, and I knew
he would not be back before to-morrow. I went to his
house and succeeded in getting his wig and coat to-day.
No questions were asked at the door ; but I must hasten
to tell you my plans before we are interrupted. Here
are some files and a strong cord ; put them away beneath
your straw bed—there—now let us examine the window;
114
REALITIES or LIFE.
rORGERY.
see, the bars are worn and rusted ; rub a little of this
composition upon them before you begin to file ; then, see,
this wood is decayed around them—cut it away so as to
slip the bar out, and the work will be half done. As
soon as you can squeeze through, tie this cord to the up¬
per bars and let yourself down ; the river is below, and
we shall have a boat ready, and soon will be out of sight
and hearing of our pursuers if you are missed. I do not
believe I am at all suspected, my family being well known
here."
" But I have no money now," said Roseville in a low
tone ; " every thing is gone—my trunks—my gold—my
all."
"Do not fret about that," answered Vernon; "people
who can coin bank notes as easily as we do, need not
care about a little loss. I can soon give you another
forty thousand. Besides, I think it better luck to be a
poor man abroad, than to be a captive in Botany Bay."
" Oh, certainly," said Roseville, " and I will use all the
efforts which despair can lend, to be free ; as soon as
you go, I will commence." While they had been talk¬
ing, Vernon cut away some of the wood and the bar
shook in its place. " You see," said he, " I have learned
to be expert in the use of tools. Cheer up, cheer up,
Edmund, we shall see some golden hours together yet.
I have gone too far to recede now, and I must go on in
my course or be a disgrace to my connexions. I will
leave country, and home, and name, if it be requisite, for
ease and pleasure. But farewell till we meet in safety
to-night. Should you be unable to effect your purpose,
REALITIES OF LIFE.
115
FORGERY.
or are watched, hang something out of the window, and
while it is there I will keep off ; when it is removed, I
shall row under the walls and strike three light strokes
with my oar, and whistle twice. So listen, and take
courage ; a little bravery will do every thing." He then
replaced his wig, hat, and coat, and tapped gently on the
door. The keeper soon opened it, and he went his way
unsuspected and fearless.
Eoseville's heart beat quick as he pursued his work.
The first file grated and snapped. He felt despair rising
to his breast. He took another—that also broke with a
noise which caused the keeper to unlock his cell and en¬
ter to ascertain the cause. Roseville had only time to
throw his tools on the straw and lie upon them before he
came in. The voice of his visitor seemed to rouse him
from a deep sleep. He held the lamp to his face for an
instant and then departed, as if satisfied with the scruti¬
ny. As soon as all was tranquil he again commenced
his task. Hours passed ere he made any progress, and
he was about to hang out his signal of defeat, when a
sudden plash of an oar and the low peculiar whistle,
cheered him with the assurance of his comrade having
performed his part of the plan. It was not until three
o'clock that he felt any hope of success. He drew the
yielding bar from its hold, and fastened the rope as direc¬
ted ; attaching it to his waist, he was soon beyond the
boundary of his prison. He gains the boat—is seated
in safety—and is receiving the congratulations of Ver¬
non. But a confused noise reaches their ears. The
bars which were dragged into the water by his weight
116
REALITIES OF LIEE.
FORGERY.
upon the rope, from the decayed window sill, roused the
sentinels ; lights were moving from cell to cell—Rose-
ville's escape was discovered. Boats, better manned than
that of the fugitives, followed in pursuit. Nearer and
nearer they drew—the more vigorously did the captive
and his deliverer pull their weary oars. At length they
approached a small vessel lying in the stream ; a low sig¬
nal gave notice of the vicinity of the expected passen¬
gers. The little skiff is alongside—the sails are set—
the sailors ready to go onwards as soon as they are on
board—RoseviUe's foot is on the side—he is about to
spring into the sloop—his danger is almost passed—
when, as before, he feels the grasp of a firm hand upon
his shoulder, and again he is a captive, arrested in the
name of his majesty.
Just as they thought escape certain, they were overta¬
ken, and in less than one hour, Vernon and himself
found themselves immured in a dark and damp dungeon,
with iron fetters upon their wrists. Thus ended this in¬
geniously devised plan. Rose ville gave himself up to
despondency, and Vernon could give him no consolation,
for he well knew there was no hope for either of them
then.
Their history is quickly told. A trial was hurried on,
—they were condemned ! and sent to pass their remain¬
ing days in exile, amid the horrid society of fellow-con¬
victs. Dreadful reverse for both ! What a termination of
the opening prospects of their youth ! Their names dis¬
honored, the peace of their famihes destroyed, their own
hopes blighted. One in the very spring-time of life—
REALITIES OF LIFE.
117
FORGERY.
the other holding the endearing station of a husband and
a father. How many such records, alas, meet the obser¬
ving eye of one who traces out the progress of vice !
How many scenes of Eden-like happiness are thus ruin,-
ed, by the encouragement of one vicious propensity—
the companionship of one vicious acquaintance !
Botany Bay is not the place for reflection ; but we may
not doubt, that in after times, Roseville's thoughts often
wandered to his once tranquil home, and the beloved be¬
ings who made his all of joy on earth ; unless, indeed,
he became hardened in guilt and shameless. Then, to
think of the pure affections which had blessed hi^ days
of innocence, would be misery ; and perhaps his own
hand drew a veil of forgetfulness over the bright color¬
ings of the past.
We turn from the appalling picture of crime and its
punishment, to inquire into the fate of Ida Rose ville.
Around a cheerful fire sat a social circle, employed in
different ways. Some were sewing, some reading, some
conversing. A beautiful boy of two years of age or
more, sat upon the carpet receiving the caresses of a
large Newfoundland dog, that played gently with him.
His mother watched their gambols, and was smiling with
her infant. A servant entered with the New York Times,
and laid it on the table. Ida was soon absorbed in its con¬
tents ; " The Cleopatra has arrived," exclaimed she joy¬
fully ; " my husband will be here to-morrow, I am sure."
" I do not see his name among the passengeïs, Ida,"
remarked one of her cousins, looking over her shoulder.
11
118
REALITIES OF LIFE.
FORGERY.
, " It is probable it was accidentally omitted," she said ;
" he would make every effort not to disappoint me, 1
know and she continued to glance over the paper.
" Come here, Albert, say welcome papa for me ; are
you glad dear father is coming 1"
" Welcome papa," repeated the child, while his mother
kissed him over and over again.
The next evening she began to fear, as he had not
come, that there was some detention, either in England
or New York, but still hourly expected to hear his foot¬
step and meet his eye. Thus a week passed on.
As usual, the paper was brought into the parlor and
laid on the table in the evening. Ida, ever on the watch
to catch the first news of his arrival, hastily overlooked
the columns of ship intelligence, but Roseville's name
never met her eager glance. A piercing shriek aroused
those who were around, and they saw, with amazement,
that Ida had fainted. What could be the matter? A
moment before and she seemed tranquil and cheerful.
While some assisted in restoring her, one of the party
took up the paper to see whether that could elucidate the
case. Too soon, alas ! was it made clear enough. Undei
the head of English news, was this terrific notice : " For¬
gery. An extensive and daring fraud has been practised
on & Co., London ; said to be to the amount
of thirty or forty thousand pounds. Edmund Roseville,
a clergyman of the church of England, and formerly a
rcsidetii^of this country, but recently of America, has
been taken up on suspicion of the crime, and committed
REALITIES OF LIFE.
119
FORGERY.
to prison. He was on the eve of embarkation for New
York when arrested, and such proofs of his guilt have
been obtained, as to render it probable that he will be
condemned."
The unhappy Ida returned to consciousness and to
wretchedness. Still she clung to the hope of its being a
mistake ; but in a short time her friends in England
wrote to confirm the horrid tale, and she was called to
mourn over the dishonor of him she had loved so devo¬
tedly. Oh woman ! hard is thy destiny. How often is
thy tender soul wrung with agony by the unkindness or
the vice of those who should protect and bless thee !
In a little while she found herself reduced to poverty ;
for her property was sold and the money transmitted to
repair as much of the loss as it could, to those who had
suffered by his villainy ; and she found it necessary to
enter upon some active employment, to support herself
and child. Heart-broken and desolate, she still drags
out her existence, another instance of the sad termination
of a bright career. Ah, who may venture to pronounce
his destiny secure, when neither a religious profession, a
liberal education, nor a devoted affection can save from
disappointment !
Surely this world's happiness " is all a fleeting show."
Happy are those who view it as a changing scene, and
learn to fix their hopes on an inheritance whose " fash¬
ion" never "passeth away !"
It is well, ere we close this brief sketch, to dwell upon
the crime which has led to such consequences as have
120
REALITIES or LIFE.
FORGERy.
been recorded, both as regards him who committed it,
and those who suffered from its effects. And what is
forgery ? Is it alone the dishonorable act of defrauding
a fellow-creature ? Is it alone to be avoided as a degra¬
dation in the eyes of the world 1 Is it alone to be shun¬
ned as plunging our relatives and friends in sorrow ?
No ! Let us view it as God will view it at his bar of
retribution. How many of his commands does this one
action (simple as its execution may seem) violate and
scorn. He has enjoined us to " love our neighbor as
ourselves." Can we do this and yet injure his interests ?
No ! He forbids us to commit murder. Do we not mur¬
der the peace of all who love us ? He forbids us to steal.
Do we not rob our brethren of their justly earned wealth ?
He forbids us to covet. Do we not desire that which is
another's ? He commands us to be holy, just, and true.
Are these injunctions obeyed by the forger ? Alas !
would we but look at crime in all its length and breadth,
and think that while earth beholds the act, its consequences
shall reach to Heaven, and influence us through a cease¬
less eternity, we would pause ere we pass the threshold
of sin, and spare a merciful Creator the necessity of
dooming to everlasting woe, creatures he has formed for
a blissful existence in his own presence. The down¬
ward path to ruin is quickly trodden ; and he who would
save himself from guilt and misery, will do well to check
the very first thought of evü ; for a thought indulged leads
to an action, and an action often ends in degradation.
Mark with what coolness Vernon proposes to commit
REALITES OF LIFE.
121
FORGERY.
again the very deed which has already rendered Rose-
ville a villain ; and mark the calmness with which Rose-
ville hearkens to the proposal ! Does not familiarity with
sin make the heart callous ? The second step in iniquity
is easily taken. The second whisper of a reproving con¬
science is easily smothered. The second crime loses
half its horror. Our only security lies in " keeping our¬
selves unspotted from the world" by "touching not, tas¬
ting not, handling not," what is forbidden.
11
SUDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
" Joys are for the gods ;
Man's common course of nature is distress ;
His joys are prodigies, and like them too,
Portent approaching iüs."—Young.
" From the sad years of life
We sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes strike,
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten ;
Which through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast,
Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste."
Joanna BaiUie.
" When I look back upon the first, bright, early daj
of my existence, they seem like a fairy vision, in coi
trast with the dark and dismal scenes of my after life
and even those dreary hours are mellowed by the ban
of time, into a calm review of the past, totally unmingle
with regret or grief. A balm provided for the sufferin
children of God, has been placed upon the wounds of
lacerated heart, and I find my old age one of comfor
notwithstanding the severe dispensations of a wis(
though mysterious Providence. Religion, which is tl
hlessed voice of JehovaKs spirit in the soul, has whispei
ed consolation ; and the sweet hope, that after a pilgrin
age of woe, I shall repose in a Paradise of rest, no mor
to be distracted by the cares of earth, gives a tranquilit
and peace, the world neither disturbs nor destroys !"
Such were the sentiments of a widowed^jjvife an
childless mother, at the advanced age of seventy years
" How unsearchable are thy ways. Oh Lord !" Th
124
REALITIES OF LIFE.
SODDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
evening of existence is often calm and serene, though
the morning be overclouded, and the noon stormy and
dreadful !
Selina Clifton's history was one of those romances in
real life, which occur so frequently, and yet so seldom
obtain notice ; and which would furnish abundant mate¬
rial for any novel, founded upon the most extravagant
vicissitudes to which the human lot is subject.
As a child, prosperity and joy illumined her path.
Not a wish that wealth could gratify, was left unindulged.
Accomplished in all the elegancies of her time, she grew
up an ornament to the polished society in which she
moved—beautiful in person and feature, yet without van¬
ity—gentle, yet sprightly indisposition—always supplied
with a fund of agreeable conversation, and yet fond of
her books and retirement. Few ever commenced life *
with brighter or happier prospects ; few ever saw a more
sudden and protracted desolation of hope !
When she was twelve years old, she met with a youth
nearly her own age, whose personal beauty and manly
character attached her guileless heart ; and a mutual af¬
fection, as well as a pledge of future union, bound their
congenial spirits at this early period. And years seem- ,,
ed but to increase an attachment so singularly establish- '
ed, when, it might well be supposed, neither knew the
bent of their own inclinations. Several proposals of
marriage met the ear of Selina, but no one could dis¬
place th®|image of the beloved Julian De Vere. And
his thoughts ever cherished, amid the loveliest and
wealthiest, the beautiful girl who had taken possession of
REALITIES OF LIFE.
125
BCDDEN DEATH AND DISArPOINTMENT.
his heart. No distance, no change of circumstances,
could make him, even in imagination, wander from the
being he loved. And after his college education was
completed, he returned home to claim his bride.
At the age of eighteen, by the will of his father, he
became sole master of his extensive property ; and with
none to oppose his inclinations, he proposed an immedi¬
ate marriage, though Selina had scarcely left school, and
was yet almost a child. She also was independent ; her
father having arranged his plans so as to leave her mis¬
tress of herself and wealth, on the day she became a
wife. Thus, in wordly means, they were rich indeed,
and not less so in personal and mental treasures.
A liberal education had polished the manners and mind
of De Vere, and he was attractive and amiable. Where
was there ever a more unclouded prospect of temporal
happiness ?
On his return, he found the lovely little girl he had
separated from three years before, grown up to woman¬
hood, radiant with health and beauty—^the object of uni¬
versal admiration, and of matrimonial speculation, to
many a love-sicki youth, and prudent mamma, who were
desirous of appropriating to themselves so much wealth,
combined with so much sweetness and virtue.
De Vere felt anxious ; yet the undisguised pleasure
with which he was received, and the total indifférence
Selina manifested towards those who paid her homage,
convinced him that her regard, romantic as it had been,
was all his own. He pressed for an immediate union,
tremblingly alive to the fear of, somehow or other, losing
126
REALITIË S OF LIFE.
SPDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
a prize he would have given almost his existence to
obtain.
Seeing their deep devotion, her mother consented,
though conscious sixteen was too early an age for a girl
to take this most important step in her life.
" The bride is indeed beautiful," remarked a guest, as
he stood with a companion observing Selina's graceful
movement in the dance; "and De Vere is not less ele¬
gant. They look, however, like two children—so young
—so joyous."
"Yes," replied the other; "it seldom happens that
there is so much on both sides to render a marriage ad¬
vantageous ; wealth, personal attraction, amiability, in¬
telligence. It seems too fortunate a combination to last
long."
" What do you mean !" said the first speaker, turning
his piercing gaze upon his friend ; " can you suppose
they will be unhappy ?"
" Oh no I but I am rather superstitious, and I always
tremble for those I see so perfectly satisfied in all things.
Instability and change are stamped on all earthly hopes !"
" I trust their sky will remain always bright," said the
other ; " though by their marriage my own is overshad¬
owed. I have loved Selina Clifton too well to wish
otherwise." He moved away as he spoke, for he felt a
regret that his was not the treasure De Vere was privi¬
leged to approach, as he did at that moment, confident of
the entire devotedness of her warm and pure heart—that
his was not the eye to ' meet her affectionate glance—
REALITIES OF LIFE.
127
SÜDUEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
his not the ear to receive the accents of her gentle ten¬
derness.
Selina's tall figure looked well in its thin muslin robe,
adorned with rich lace ; and the simple chaplet of white
roses above her calm brow was becoming. To the fair¬
ness of an infant's cheek, was added the glow of health
and youth ; and her dark hair and soft blue eyes, render¬
ed her's one of those countenances an artist loves to
copy, and in which he finds it difficult to portray the
proper expression, from its continual variation—^now
gay—now pensive—now serious—now beaming with
affection.
Julian De Vere was quite as conspicuous for his beau¬
ty. A tall, manly figure, and clear complexion, brilliant
dark eyes and expansive forehead, were sufficient to en¬
title him to admiration ; and the fascinating smile which
revealed his fine teeth, was inexpressibly attractive. But
it was Julian De Vere's temper and manners that most ^,.
attached his friends. All that was amiable, generous, re¬
fined, seemed to concentrate in him.
A crowd of relatives and companions witnessed these
bright nuptials, and congratulations and blessings were
showered upon the lovers. In a short time after. De Vero
took his beautiful bride to his country-seat, where she
entertained a large company of guests with grace and
dignity ; and Cedar Grove became the scene of the
purest domestic and social joy.
" I shall leave you to-day, Selina, for a few hours,"
said De Vere to his wife, ope clear morning in April,
about ten months after their marriage ; " do not wait din-
128
REALITIES OF LIFE.
SUDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
ner ; we are going to hunt, and probably shall be out
late. It would be hard to make you do penance for our
frolic," added he, addressing a party of young compan¬
ions, who were spending a month with Selina.
"Pray do not stay late, Julian," said Selina; "it
always makes me uneasy when you do not return before
dusk. I am very nervous about these hunting expedi¬
tions."
" Pooh, wife ! there is never any danger.' Have I not
gone and come back safe and sound, an hundred times ?
You know Don Juan is as sure-footed as I am myself,
and he will bring me home as carefully as you would
yourself. Besides, here is a host of hunters who will
take charge of me."
"I will, for one," answered Hugh Melford, rising
from the breakfast table, and gaily blowing his horn.
" Very well !" replied Selina. " Cousin Hugh, I shall
look to you especially for my husband's safety."
" That's a bargain !" said Hugh, offering his hand to
his fair kinswoman as a pledge.
A merry circle gathered in the piazza to see the riders
mount. They called for De Vere, who had gone to the
parlor to bid his wife farewell.
"Take care of yourself, my precious Selina, for my
sake," was the parting injunction of De Vere.
"And come back soon and safe, if you love me," was
her's, as she linked her arm in his, and followed him to
the door.
Not until the horsemen were out of sight, did she
cease to gaze on Julian. His was the only form she saw
REALITIES OF LIFE.
129
SODDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
amid a dozen others. With a sigh she resumed her do¬
mestic duties, and endeavored to beguile the tediousness
of his absence, by inventing and preparing such things as
she thought would tempt his appetite on his return to an
early supper. Often as he had gone before, she had
never felt so apprehensive as now. Her friends laughed
her out of the idea, and strove to amuse her mind by con¬
versation and reading. Thus the morning wore away.
Noon arrived, and she strolled to the piazza, with a
scarcely indulged hope of seeing the welcome signal of
her Julian's vicinity. A dust in the distant avenue, rais¬
ed her expectation to certainty, as she saw several of the
hunters riding in haste to the gate, and more remotely
spied the servant who accompanied his master, bearing
behind him the fruits of their sport, a fine deer. Still
further back she thought she discovered another horse,
with some one lying across the saddle, and her heart mis¬
gave her, for she dreaded lest some of their guests had
met with an accident. The cavalcade was too distant
for recognition then. Ere they drew nearer, those who
had come forward first, intimated to the ladies that Seli-
na must retire ; and ignorant of the reason for this neces¬
sity, she complied, and took refuge in her chamber, to
await some further information.
Alas ! it came too soon. On inquiry, she learned from
a relative who was with her, her husband was injured by
a fall, but that she could not at that instant see him.
" Not see Julian if he is hurt ! Oh yes ; I would not
stay from him a moment. I^et me go," said she, as her
companions endeavored to detain her.
130
REALITIES OF LIFE.
TODDBN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT,
"Wait a little, dearest Selina," said one, laying her
hand on her arm to check her progress to the door ; but
Selina moved onwards : " something worse is the matter,"
exclaimed she, gazing wildly at her cousin. " Anna,
something worse is the matter, or you would not keep me
here."
The expression of her friend's countenance too truly
revealed the appalling truth. " He is dead," she shriek¬
ed in agony, and fell senseless into the arms of her terri¬
fied relatives. They conveyed her to bed, and she lost
the sense of her present sorrows in an insensibility of
hours. Severe illness was the consequence, and she re¬
covered to find herself desolate indeed ; deprived by
death of the husband of her youth, and in a few days
after, of the infant which only saw the light to follow its
father to his early tomb ! Such woe requires an abler pen
than mine to do it justice. Months rolled on in seclusion
and sorrow. Six years passed away, and she still mourn¬
ed in spirit, as well as in outward habiliments. And the
tie so rudely severed as soon as it was formed, was
remembered and cherished with an unceasing fervor.
The gun of Hugh Melford had accidentally discharged
its load into the side of that husband whom he promised
to restore in safety to the devoted Such are the
ways of Providence ! " Man appoints, but God disap¬
points !" Surely we " know not what a day may bring
forth." Let none of us presume to calculate upon an
hour's security.
Thus were the prospects of as happy a couple as ever
lived, in a moment destroyed. Thus did the meridian of
REALITIES, OF LIFE.
131
SUDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
her existence arrive, dark and dismal. And as she gazed
back upon the few brief but bright beams of joy, that gil¬
ded her youth, all seemed some wild dream of her imag¬
ination. At seventeen she had been a wife, a mother,
and was a childless widow.* Such a record seldom
occurs. The picture is a solemn and a painful one.
And yet, strange infatuation of the human heart, time—ef¬
facing, meliorating time, closed these deep wounds of her
soul. And, though she never forgot Julian DeVere—
never ceased to recollect his melancholy fate—she arose
from the depth of her affliction, and in an evil hour con¬
sented to become the wife of a middle-aged gentleman,
who, among a number of others, bowed at the shrine of
her beauty, which was still pre-eminent. How she could
have given him the place in her affections which De
Vere once occupied, was a mystery to all. And she
soon found she had ventured her all of remaining happi¬
ness in a shattered vessel. It soon foundered, and left
her but the wreck of her former peace.
A desire to possess her property, more than an attach¬
ment to herself, led him to offer his hand in marriage ;
and though considerably older than herself, and the father
of grown children, who had long been without their
mother's care, she united her fate to his, and was mis¬
erable ! While dressing for her bridal, a part of the or¬
naments she designed wearing, fell at her feet, and were
broken to pieces ! Salina shuddered and proclaimed it
a bad omen, weeping in terror. But her destiny was
* A Fact.
132
REALITIES OF LIFE.
SUDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
fixed, and she conquered the momentary superstition, and
descended to the parlor where her friends were assem¬
bled, and there again changed her condition.
In a very few years she discovered that her husband
lived but to gratify and please himself ; and her fortune
(for he had none,) was squandered to minister to his
whims and wants, while she was left without resources ;
and weeks would pass away in solitude, while he was
taking his pleasure in distant places. A little daughter
shared her lonely hours, and robbed them of half their
weariness. To improve her, was now the sweet employ¬
ment of her life. She was less sorrowful than might
have been expected. In her deepest woe she had made
Him a friend, who is the Comforter of the " weary and
heavy laden," and religion's holy consolations sustained
her in all her disappointments.
Years crept on unhappily, and her husband's conduct
became so insupportable, that she refused to remain longer
beneath the same roof ; and abandoning her country res¬
idence, she retired to her mother's dwelling, and passed
some time in her more congenial society—endeavoring to
dedicate her soul with more zeal to her God, and to ren¬
der the declining period of her mother's sojourn on earth,
less cheerless and dreary.
After a separation of ten years, her penitent lord en¬
treated her to be reconciled, promising to reward her
forbearance by a course of devoted affection and kindness.
Actuated either by that Christian spirit of self-denial
which blesses whatever sacrifices we make for con¬
science sake ; or by the reviving sentiments of a long
REALITIES OF LIFE.
133
SUDDEN DEATH AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
slumbering attachment ; or by the hope of effecting a
reformation in his character of what was wrong ; or by
some other motive, into which we cannot penetrate, she
renewed her domestic duties, and was compensated for
her decision by receiving, during the rest of his life,
that attention and regard she merited, and his dying
blessing at the last awful moment which dissolves all hu¬
man ties. • Another daughter was added to her list of
comforts, and in the little Ella, Selina found a constant
source of interest and amusement. Three years alone was
this treasure her's, and then the pure spirit of the beauti¬
ful child returned to the God who gave it, and Selina
found there was nothing like a permanent scene of hap¬
piness on earth. Her eldest daughter grew up and mar¬
ried; but died, leaving a baby a month old to her mother's
care. In this child centered all her remaining hopes of
joy. At seventy she presented the calm picture of a
meek and humble Christian. Resignation sat upon her
still fine brow, and she looked upon her past stormy voy¬
age over the ocean of time, with a perfect assurance that
all things had been wisely ordered, and felt it "was
good for her that she had been afflicted."
The hand of change spares none ! Flowers bloom
only to wither and die ! Beauty exists only to fade and
disappear! Man lives but to expire and moulder into
dust ! Happiness, like the sun, only rises to set in the
night of sorrow. Where shall the affections of the heart
be placed without the danger of decay or loss ? There
is nothing immutable but Him who is the same " yester¬
day, to-day, and forever."
INDOLENCE
" Who doth to sloth his younger days engage,
F or fond delight he chps the wings of fame ;
For sloth, the canker-worm, burying the name
Of virtuous worth in dust and shame."
" Upon her face there was the tint of grief.
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye.
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears."—Byron.
Arabella Pembroke's was one of those sad yet
submissive countenances, which irresistibly fix the at¬
tention of every beholder. It told of past and severe
mental suffering ; and the downcast eye, frequently closed
as if to exclude some scene of woe, while the lips breath¬
ed a suppressed sigh, riveted the sympathy of those
who noticed them. But had they waited for an expres¬
sion of 'her grief to learn that she had been crushed by
sorrow, they would have remained in ignorance. No
murmuring word escaped her tongue—no repining looks
told of her broken hopes-—no abandonment of energy in
her duties, bespoke her forgetfulness of Him who had
smitten,
Few saw Arabella Pembroke unmoved—few excelled
herin attractions. Both in youth, and in her maturer life,
mental loveliness had taken the place of the pre-eminent
beauty of her features ; but the same heavenly expression
of a meek and gentle spirit illumined them, which had
characterized her in the zenith of her hanniness. Indeed.
136
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INDOLEITCE^
this was heightened by the melancholy air which per¬
vaded her face and manner, and you felt at once, that in
her there was something to pity as well as admire. The
gospel's picture of true piety was faithfully reflected in
her soul. It had long refused to admit a shadow of the
world's resemblance ; turned ever upwards to Heaven, it
caught the image of its Sovereign, and dwelt within its
dust formed tabernacle, as a thing apart from earthly prin¬
ciples, and hopes, and feelings ; fitted more for an inter¬
course with those who surround the throne !
The tone in which she spoke conveyed the idea of
devotion ; the manner in which she entered the sanctua¬
ry, and knelt to offer her supplications, told that her
broken heart had bowed before Him in its wretchedness,
and had been healed. Her conversation wore the spirit
of the Savior she adored,—holy, pure, guileless, full of
charity and the works of righteousness.
How the blighting touch of the world sends us to repose
in the soothing presence of the compassionate Redeem¬
er ! How his precepts shine in the conduct of the true
believer ! How sorrow softens the haughtiest emotions,
and bows down the gayest mind ! How religion gilds
the darkest destiny, and mellows the harshest afflictions !
It had been shed over Arabella's dismal path, and taught
her there was a place of rest for every suffering disciple.
Among all who bowed before her beauty, none touched
the heart of the gentle Arabella, until Pembroke confes¬
sed himself her slave. Young, handsome, polished in
manner, refined in conversation, intelligent, wealthy—
what was wanting to fix the attention, or excite the in-
REALITIES OF LIFE.
137
INDOLENCE.
terest of a beautiful and sensitive girl of eighteen ?
Nothing ! The religion she loved at that early age,
he respected ; and shortly after their marriage he knelt
with her at the sacred altar, and they partook together of
the sacramental cup. Their wedded life flowed sweetly
and smoothly on. A devoted affection united them, and
her mother and sisters said, " that of all the marriages
in their large family, her's was the best and the fairest."
Some months were spent with his father, a rich mer¬
chant in Philadelphia, upon whom his son was depend¬
ent, having applied himself to no employment, exertion
not being necessary for his support. He passed his time
in reading and attending on his wife. She regretted his
want of occupation, fearing it might lead to evil ; but
while he remained as he was—affectionate, pious, literary
in his tastes, agreeable and domestic in his habits, she
could not anticipate ill consequences.
On the birth of his eldest daughter, a lovely child, his
attachment seemed to increase towards her mother, and
they were happy in watching her improvement day by day.
He thought it expedient at this time provide a home for
his family ; and his father offered to furnish him with the
means, and to establish him in a handsome house, such
as became his fortune. But Pembroke, ever inclined to
indolence, preferred taking apartments in a fashionable
hotel, where he would be saved the task of all exertion.
At first Arabella found this pleasant ; but soon her hus¬
band seemed to feel languid and wearied at home, and
although kind as usual to her, he left her with less reluc¬
tance than formerly, and appeared anxious for other
138
REALITIES or LIFE.
IHDOLESCE.
society. She felt grieved, but endeavored to be reconciled
to a change which was really so slight as to afford no
ground for a remonstrance, or even for a feeling of morti¬
fication.
"You are enviably situated," said her sister to her
during a visit to her agreeable lodgings, the second sum¬
mer after her marriage ; " few girls meet with so many
fine qualities in their partners for life. Surely, Arabella,
there is nothing you have to sigh for."
" I am happy, sister," replied Arabella ; " very happy.
Pembroke is devoted to me, and I should be ungrateful
indeed not to acknowledge it ; and oh ! how blest am I
to have him think as I think of holy things. When we
return from our Sabbath and sacramental duties, it is de¬
lightful to me to see him anxious to retain the impression
of the solemn service we have been engaged in ; and he
generally offers to read to me until dinner or tea. He
refuses all invitations on that day, even to his father's."
" Arabella's is a bright picture of domestic peace," re¬
marked her sister to their mother on her return home ;
" and we may be thankful, that although she is absent
from us, she is comfortable and contented."
"Yes," said her mother. "It pleases me to behold
their happiness ; congeniality of tastes, love, and pros¬
perity, mark their lot, and there are none of my children
about whom I feel so little anxiety. Arabella has chosen
well."
They went back to their southern home the next Au¬
tumn, satisfied that her destiny was one of unmingled
joy-
REALITIES OF LIFE.
139
INDOLENCE.
In three years another interesting daughter added to
their pleasure, and except the regret Arabella experien¬
ced at her husband's occasional absence to seek amuse¬
ment abroad, nothing interrupted the calm current of
their existence. Supplied by his father with unlimited
means for every gratification, Pembroke had really no
object to attract his attention from his own and Arabella's
wishes. Having secured to her all she needed for com¬
fort and convenience, he thought he was at liberty to
dedicate a part of his time to his amusement. An idler,
whether he be rich or poor, can always find compan-
ions to help him to get rid of the day ; if he be rich, the
more readily may he obtain sharers in his wealth, and
thus too often gold becomes our greatest curse.
In a boarding house, where there is no call made upon
him for the provision of a family, or the regulation of do¬
mestic affairs, a gentleman without occupation easily falls
into the habit of associating with those who, like himself,
are endeavoring to get through as many hours as pos¬
sible in the most agreeable way. And Pembroke found
the ennui of his wife's apartments much dissipated by join¬
ing in the gambling of a set of loungers who hung around
the hotel in which they lived. It was long before she
discovered his pursuits, and when she did, her gentle ad¬
vice and most affectionate entreaties were used to allure
him from the fatal snare. At times, the devotion of'liis
wife, the playful gambols of his eldest girl, and the sweet
smiles of his baby, would fix him at home, without a de¬
sire to wander ; and Arabella thought he would not
always have those companions to lead him astray.
140
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INDOLENCE.
However, lie imbibed so strong a passion for amuse¬
ment, that he soon found others to supply their place
when they were gone.
" Will you excuse my attending service to-day, Ara¬
bella ?" asked he one Sabbath ; " I do not feel like going
out."
" It is communion day," said she very gently. " You
will not let any thing but indisposition prevent your going,
I hope."
"I cannot go, Arabella," replied Pembroke; "you
would not force me to so solemn a duty when I am un¬
willing ?"
" Oh no ! but this is the first occasion on which you
have expressed a disinclination to partake of those " holy
mysteries ;" why is it felt now ?"
"We have them so often, Arabella, that sometimes our
not being present is advisable. These things are more
imposing when less frequent."
" Oh no, Pembroke !" said Arabella ; " we do not
complain of seeing too often what we really love. We
never think too often of what we really value. Believe
me, the more constant we are in our religious duties, the
more we prize them, and benefit by them. Are our
prayers less devout because we offer them day by day ?
Are our Sabbath privileges less precious because they
recur every week ? Is your presence to me, or mine to
you, less agreeable because we meet hourly ? Oh no !
Oh no I If we love Jesus, we must desire to remember
him constantly ; and we cannot so effectually do this, as
by fulfilling his last command, " do this in remembrance
REALITIES OF LIFE.
141
INDOLESCE.
of me." I have often heard persons remark that they
thought our monthly communion was injudicious, because
it rendered so holy a service too common ; but I must
confess, in all my experience, and by much observation, I
have found that those who the least regarded and prized
this blessed ordinance, lived less according to the strict
and self-denying doctrines of his word, whose memorial
of dying love they slight. Believe me, we never im¬
prove our spirituality of mind, or increase our pleasure
in pious pursuits, by our neglect of devotional duties.
Let me read a few extracts from that excellent work,
" Christian Perfection," on the subject of communion.
" Holy communion is the great source of health, of
strength, and of security to the soul ; but to produce these
effects it ought to be received often. It ought to be taken,
not as a mere occasional repast, but as the ordinary and
regular nourishment of the heart. This is a truth which
every thing in the sacred scriptures, every thing in reli¬
gion, establishes and confirms. The food which is ad¬
ministered at the sacred banquet, is the proper nourish¬
ment of the soul, and the principle of its health—the
source of its grace, and the bond of union with Jesus
Christ. To its participation is annexed the promise of
eternal life ; to its refusal the punishment of eternal
death. If we really aspire to virtue, and sincerely wish
to save our souls, let us commune often. It is by com¬
muning often that virtue will be obtained most easily ;
and our salvation be most effectually secured. Commun¬
ion is not a mere holiday ceremony—not a business of
custom—of decency—of fashion. It is an action the most
142
REALITIES OF LIFE.
ISDOLEHCE.
exalted and sublime ; the most sanctified and holy ; the
most vitally interesting, which man can perform on this
side the grave. It introduces, as I have remarked,
Jesus himself, the eternal Lord of Heaven, into the heart."
" These, my husband, are solemn considerations," she
continued, as she closed the book, " and we should not
lightly regard them. You will accompany me to church
this morning ?" laying her hand affectionately on his
arm.
" No, Arabella, 1 cannot go. If you knew how 1
have passed most of the week, you would not urge me to
present myself there. Remember the condemnation for
an unworthy receiver."
Arabella shuddered—-"What have you done, dear
Pembroke, to exclude you from that holy ordinance ?"
" Much—^much ; do not ask me, but go to your duties,
and pray for your absent husband."
"We will pray together at home," firmly, yet calmly
replied his wife, placing away her bonnet and shawl,
which she had taken out to put on. Pembroke saw she
was determined, and he did not remonstrate. He knew
she never acted from trifling motives, and without reflec¬
tion.
He assisted her in instructing their little daughter in
her catechism, and then read a sermon from Massillon's
fine collection to her. These concluded, they knelt and
prayed. Arabella dwelt long and feehngly on his neces¬
sities, and was earnest in imploring the aid of the Holy
Spirit, to save him from lukewarmness and backsliding.
-REALITIES OF LIFE. 143
INDOLENCE.
~ ^
Another and another such trial followed, and Arabella -
felt that his piety was on the wane. This was a severe
ordeal, but she bore it with fortitude. Now Sunday din¬
ner parties were frequent—church seldom attended—the
altar abandoned—domestic prayer avoided as often as
possible—late hours succeeded to dissipated pursuits—
and intemperance not seldom closed the career of idle¬
ness. Oh, the wide-spreading devastation of idleness!
In the humble but true adage, " it is the root of all evil,"
we find the secret of many a desolated hearth and droop¬
ing spirit. Pembroke was without employment, and he
sunk to sin, because Heaven had showered on his path
the blessings of abundance and ease. Alas, that on the
book of everlasting record, there are seen so few memo¬
rials of a grateful return of the talents lent us for useful
purposes^ when wealth-abotmds !
When Arabella's youngest daughter was about two
years old, the same sister who had visited her three sum¬
mers before, returned to pass a few weeks with them, on
her way to New York and the eastern cities. She saw
the tranquil brow and placid smile of content on the still
lovely countenance of Mrs. Pembroke ; but she felt the
tranquility was not the same as formerly, and there was
a look of sadness in the smile with which she met her
gaze, that told her sufiering lurked beneath ; yet she did
not question, knowing whatever it was that produced it,
would be revealed in the household intercourse, where
concealment is impossible ; but she determined to mark
well all that passed. She was considerably older than
Arabella, and had assisted her mother in rearing her
144
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INDOLENCE.
younger children, so that she viewed her with almost a
parent's attachment.
All went on smoothly for several days. At length the
Sabbath arrived, and they separated after breakfast, to
prepare for church.
" Does not Mr. Pembroke accompany us ?" asked her
sister in astonishment, as she saw Arabella and little
Frances standing in the entry waiting for her.
" No, he seldom goes now," answered Arabella, sad¬
ly, as she hurried on to avoid conversation on the sub¬
ject. Her sister said no more, but she felt that Arabel¬
la's matrimonial sky was dimmed with clouds. She no¬
ticed that lowly bending of the head which oft betokens
a stricken heart, and the deep absorbed attention she
paid to her devotions, unmoved by any outward object.
Day after day she observed- more wad more of Pem¬
broke's retreat from virtue. Day after day she saw the
struggle in Arabella, to conceal from others the humilia¬
ting fact that he was not the high-minded being he had
been.
" Arabella, are you unhappy?" said her sister to her
tone morning when they were alone, after a night of
anxiety respecting her husband. " Why do you not con¬
fide in one whom you Have known from infancy—^who
has watched over you as a mother ?"
" It is so dreadful," replied Arabella, bursting into
tears, while she threw her arms around her sister's neck.
" Oh, it is so dreadful to confess that one we love dearly
is faUen." Her sister wept. There had been so fair a
prospect of happiness—so perfect a picture of earthly
REALITIES OF LIFE.
145
INDOLENCE.
peace in their domestic intercourse, that she could not
think of a change without sorrow.
" How has this happened, dear Arabella?" asked she.
"When I saw you last, your joy was complete. And at
home we delighted to think you were well settled and
contented."
"Want of occupation, sister—too much prosperity—
too much leisure, have led to evil company, and evil com¬
pany has led to moral ruin ; and now I live to see the
husband of my early choice, once so distinguished for all
that was noble, and generous, and affectionate, degraded
not only in the eyes of the world, but in the sight of his
children. Many have been the years of heart-withering
grief I hare endured, with none to console—for I could
not purchase sympathy by exposing his defects to others.
Oh no ! I could better bear to die, for he is dear to me
as life still."
Her sister approved of this conduct, but said, in speak¬
ing to her she might unburthen her mind without fear of
exposure, and gently drew from her the long history of
her apprehensions first, then her certainty of error, and
last of all, the excesses and vices to which he was ad¬
dicted. " But," she continued, " I have not been alone,
sister—oh no ! there has been One ever near to sustain
and support me—and I have found the preciousness of
the cross in my sorrow. Ah, you weep ! but dear as re¬
ligion was to me in brighter hours, I never knew its
value till the earthly prop on which I leaned snapped,
and in snapping wounded me.
13*
146
REALITIES OF LIFE,
INDOLENCE.
" Yes, lovely Power ! Thou can'st destroy
Those cares which rob the heart of joy!
Which steal the luster from the eye,
And bid the rose of youth to die.
When sorrow saddens every hour,
'Tis Thine to shed Thy balmy power;
And bach to peace at once restore
The heart, and bid it sigh no more !"
Oh, sister ! I have found religion indeed my staff and
my stay in those dark hours of human misery, when none
but God has been nigh to see the scalding tear, or heark¬
en to the hopeless groan, or listen to the anguished pray¬
er. And although I feel my happiness has forever gone,
I trust I am not rebellious."
Her sister endeavored to soothe and console her, and
rejoiced to see, amidst all her woe, she was calm and
resigned.
In order to cheer her spirits, and if possible reclaim
Pembroke, by withdrawing him from the dissipated com¬
panions he was with, she proposed that the family should
accompany her on her tour. Pembroke cheerfully
agreed, and seemed uneasy when she remarked upon the
i'v paleness and langor of Arabella: he still loved her, and
when in his right senses, was as devotedly affectionate as
ever, and doated on his beautiful children. It was in ed¬
ucating and improving them, Arabella lost the bitter sense
of her disappointment, and they amply rewarded her
care—they were intelligent, docile, and very interesting.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
147
INDOLENCE.
During their travels, Pembroke so seldom indulged in
the excesses of his home pursuits, that both his wife and
her sister trusted he would forget their influence ere
they returned. And when they separated in October,
the latter was convinced Arabella would again enjoy the
peace she had done, and parted with cheering expres¬
sions to her on the subject.
Years passed over, and they only increased the mise¬
ry of Arabella, as her husband's guilt increased ; for he
renewed all his habits of vice as soon as he again was
left to unemployed leisure and indulgence. Her friends,
even his own father, urged the propriety of her leaving
him, but in vain. Her sense of duty prevailed, and she
dragged on a wretched existence in mortification and
care. Her daughters were real comforts to her, and in
the devoted tenderness of the sweet Frances, she had a
consoler whenever her dejection was betrayed to them.
It was impossible to conceal their father's conduct ; and
often would the little girl cast her arms about her moth¬
er's neck and say, " never mind, mother, I love you."
She was prevailed upon to visit her parent and friends
in a southern city,, and was accompanied by her husband,
thinking there he would again relax in his dissipation,
and she should enjoy some tranquility ; but alas ! he be¬
came worse, and even in public her feelings would be so
much tortured, that she often left the room in tears to seek
a refuge in her chamber. Not that he was rude, or harsh,
or unkind—^never to her, under any circumstances ; but
she would sinli with mortification to see him the contempt
148
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INDOLEKCE.
and derision of the company. At these times a light
footstep would follow her, and she would feel the little
arras of Frances twisted about her, and her soft voice
entreating her not to cry. She was about thirteen years
of age, gentle and affectionate as heart could wish.
One morning she received a note informing her that
O O
Pembroke had sailed for some distant port, without con¬
sulting or regarding her feelings. Her friends were re¬
joiced, as she now could, without self-reproach, accept
their affectionate entreaties to reside beneath their care,
and was no longer bound to sacrifice health, peace, and
almost life itself, for one so heartless—so degraded.
She availed herself of their kindness, and once more
enjoyed repose in the circle of her own cherished house¬
hold.
Still a chastened sadness sat upon her brow, and gave
a langor to her step ; for she remembered, that while she
was in peace beneath a parent's roof, he was treading the
wide waters of a troubled world, tossing amidst its shoals
and quicksands, in hourly danger of shipwreck and
despair. -
Lost to society—to happiness—to himself—he wan¬
ders abroad in search of pleasure, but finds it no where.
Misery and desolation must follow in the train of vice !
and he who leaves the calm current of virtue, to seek for
a more rapid stream, will find, when too late to repair
the error, that his bark will progress more swiftly ; but it
will be amongst whirlpools and eddies, which will sooner
or later hurl it to destruction ! Pause a moment on the
REALITIES OF LIFE.
149
INDOLENCE.
brink of this tumultuous ocean, ye who desire to partake
of the excitement that he seems to enjoy ; and after
gazing forward upon the wildly flowing billows that bear
his vessel onwards, look back upon the gently rippling
tide, which slowly yet surely carries the worshiper of
right to the happy haven of temporal peace and eternal
glory, and then plunge, if you can, without alarm, into
the gulf over which you hang !
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
" How perished is the joy that's past—
The present how unsteady,—
What pleasure can be great and last,
Since this is gone already ?"
" Is there any thing permanent beneath the skies I Is
there any truth in love, friendship, generosity, disinter¬
estedness ? Is there any sincerity in professions of at¬
tachment ? None ! None ! Every thing upon which
" earthly" is stamped is perishable !"
Such was the decision of Rosa Montmorenci, as her
thoughts wandered far back, through the past, with its joys
and hopes, and contrasted them with the chilling disap¬
pointments of the present. "Happy is he," said she
aloud, as she lifted her head from the work over which
she was bending, and raised her mild eyes to Heaven,
" happy, thrice happy is he, who can turn from the disap¬
pointments of time to the expectations of an unchange¬
able eternity !"
Rosa Montmorenci had met with much to convince her
of the Insecurity of temporal felicity, and she could be
classed amongst those whom she just pronounced " hap¬
py, thrice happy she was a Christian. Her faith had
been often and severely tried, but she had at last learned
in every afflictionj
" To see love written on them all."
152
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS. '
Her feelings had recently received a shock, in the
sudden and unaccountable estrangement of a beloved
friend ; and she mourned over the change secretly and
deeply. Pride—a woman's pride—preserved her from be-
tra3dng to others that she suffered—most of all from the
offender ; and none who saw her cheerful countenance,
and heard her merry laugh, could have believed that hours
of heart-withering sorrow were her portion when alone.
The heart may wither, but it cannot grow cold; and
while it is animated by the warm tide of feeling, it never
cm. forget. With David she oft exclaimed, in the bitter¬
ness of her regret, " It was not a stranger that hath done
me this dishonor ; then I could have borne it ; but it was
thou, my companion, my guide, and mine own familiar
friend, whom I trusted. We took sweet counsel togeth^j
er, and walked in the house of God as friends." Rosa^
possesséd a strong mindj» the romance of youth had
passed away, and had lefrfher fully awake to the realities
of life. She always felt a desire to be engaged in useful
pursuits, and when she found her mind sinking into a state
of morbid melancholy, she aroused her native energy and
determined to burst through its fatal spells, and act out
the principles she professed. " 1 feel," said she, "that 1
was born for something nobler and better than to waste
my existence in vain regrets and she occupied herself
with schemes of benevolence or improvement, to banish
thought ; still, at times memory would revert to the past,
and a lingering wish to fathom the mystery of her cou¬
sin's conduct would arise. "If 1 could but understand
the reason," she would say to herself, " 1 would be moire
REALITIES OF LIFE. 153
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
reconciled ; but the deeper I search into it, the more be-
wilderéd I am." Rosa Montmorenci was no light, frivo¬
lous character ; and, therefore, she could not comprehend
inconstancy in another. Where she loved at all, she
loved fervently and forever. Her most intimate friends
were the associates of her earliest years, and unless they
proved unworthy of her regard, she never discarded them
from her affections.
In the case before us, her attachment had been so pure,
so devoted, so hallowed by religious feelings, so disin¬
terested, that when it was thrown back upon her as a
valueless thing, by one who had once prized it as the very
richest of all Heaven's gifts, her heart received a shock
it could not recover ; she mourned over the wreck of her
scheme of happiness, as one weeps over some long-
cherished object of regard ; she was grieved to think he
could have wounded, whom it had been her joy to bless ;
she grieved to be obliged to affix any weakness to his
name. Amidst the many who had disappointed her
hopes and expectations when she looked for perfection,
she tdrned to him with pride and said, " He never errs !"
and now to feel he had fallen from the high standard
upon which she had elevated him, distressed Rosa's gen-
erous spirit.,
Willis Cameron little knew the being he slighted—
little understood the devotedness of that heart, which, for
his happiness would have sacrificed its own. But Rosa
Montmorenci had yet to learn that instability and change
are written on affections as well as things.
14
154
REALITIES or LIFE^
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Willis Cameron's was a noble nature ; his emotions
were fervent and sincere, and when he did love,"he lov¬
ed intensely—absorbingly. He felt a deep attachment
but to few; but those few occupied his whole attention.
Every thought—every hope—every expectation of com¬
fort centered in them. But Willis Cameron had one
fault; (thoug;h he was utterly unconscious of the fact;)
it was too great a regard for self. If he could impart a
beam of joy to the friend he loved, it was more for the
satisfaction he felt in bestowing it, than the genuine de¬
light of seeing its effect on another. If an action bade
fair to bring reproach or care, he paused, weighing its
consequences to himself. Not so with Rosa ; her's was
a daring soul, which shrank from no trial if another might
be benefitted, or shielded from blame or sorrow. Self,
with her, was always to be sacrificed to all or any she
might serve. Her joy was to light a smile upon the lip
of the desponding, even though her own heart encoun¬
tered a pang surpassing words. Her delight was to dry
the tear upon affliction's cheek, though her own eye
might be dimmed in secret, by the misconstructions or
censures of those who cared not whether suffering or
bliss was the allotted portion of those around.
In many respects, Rosa and her cousin were much
alike ; and hence that absorbing attachment which bound
their spirits as soon as they were thrown into each oth¬
er's society. A great difference of age, and many pecu¬
liar opinions on the part of Rosa, as well as an early and
deep affection for another on the part of WiUis, rendered
their regard- one totally removed from passion ; and al-
REALITIES OF LIFE. 155
'■ INSTABILITT OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
though it bore, in its devotedness, a strong resemblance to
love, in the common acceptation of the term, it was not,
in reality, tinctured by one shade of that feeling. Friend¬
ship, in its purest, holiest garb, was the golden chain that
bound them. The knowledge of this, rendered it harder
for Rosa to understand the sudden estrangement of Wil¬
lis. Any emotion of pain becomes doubly irksome, when
mystery veils its cause from our reason; and she, who
was all candor, all sincerity, wondered and mourned.
That same selfish principle which actuated Willis to
devote himself to his cousin, because her society charm¬
ed him arid her kindness blessed, made him carelessly
neglect her altogether, without a reference to her grief,
when he found it no longer the one great business of his
existence to see her—speak to her—listen to her—please
her. A passing call, not often repeated, now took the
place of that restless anxiety, which scarcely allowed
him a desire for any other object of pursuit. A few hur¬
ried, indifferent sentences, took the place of those rapid
conversations, when time seemed to fly too fast for enjoy¬
ment ; and as much as possible was pressed into ever)''
moment snatched from business and the world. Occa¬
sional inquiries as to her health, were now substituted
.for that tenderness of tone and manner, which, if her
cheek were only for an instant pale, or her eye dim, led
to kind and considerate solicitude. Rosa felt the change ;
she knew her opinions had influenced him in many ca¬
ses, where he hesitated between right and wrong, and
she had exerted her whole mind to render that influence
salutary. In the grand and leading principles of virtue
156
realities of life.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
and religion, she had endeavored to fix his wavering sen¬
timents—she had watched for the first feeble step that
threatened to make him falter in thè narrow path of duty
—she had warned and saved by her counsel, when temp¬
tation's billows had almost overthrown his self-denial and
stedfastness ; and she met her reward in his own decla¬
ration, that " he was better and happier for her precepts,"
and in the admiration and approval of those who knew
him.
Willis Cameron had long been a professor of religion,
and had won the esteem of the good and holy, by his
propriety of conduct and piety, both as a man and as à
Christian ; yet, when Rosa and himself became compan¬
ions in that household intercourse which reveals the very
secrets of the heart, she discovered there were many
worldly maxims mingled with the real seriousness which
he had imbibed ; there was not that full and undivided
dedication of the soul to God which he required ; and the
customs of many around, whom society recognizes as pi¬
ous and correct, were by him adopted as at least harm¬
less, if not justifiable. But with a spirit anxious to act
and think rightly, his own reason soon became comdnced
by Rosa's simple arguments, based upon the clear doc¬
trines of scripture, and he cast aside at once idol aftei
idol, which had long found their altars in his breast, and
set out on that narrow path which the true disciple must
tread if he would reach the gate of Zion. ;
How could Ros%do otherwise than love one so gentle,
ISO devoted ? Those hallowed pursuits which constituted
her enioyment, were dear to him. He loved to so witî
REALITIES OF LIFE.
157
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
her far from the busy multitude to the quiet sanctuary,
and to exchange the sounds of revelry, for the sweet
songs of praise, re-echoed from the lips of those who
gathered there to worship and to pray. He loved to sit
beside her and listen to her voice, whether she instruct¬
ed or amused ; nor cared to wander to other scenes if
she was absent from them. He loved to go where she
was prized, and with excited cheek, though silent often,
he hearkened to her praises; or if she mourned, his pale
brow and tone, subdued to sadness, bore witness of his
sympathy. Amidst a dozen others, she knew his bound¬
ing footstep as he lightly ascended the steps, telling of
his joy at getting back to his one dear refuge from the
heartless world. Among an hundred others, her chair at
table, or in the evening circle, alone had charms to draw
him from the throng ; and she has smiled to hear him
say '4ie felt alone if he was not near her, though in the
same room." If others blamed, his kindling eye soon
told his pain ; and in spite of her imploring glance for
silence, he sometimes spoke in high displeasure in her
defense. If he had to leave her for one little day, his
regret poisoned all anticipated satisfaction in an excur¬
sion for recreation ; aiid oh ! the joy of his return.
But did Rosa Montmorenci reciprocate these feelings ?
Yes, yes ! No hours in the long day were half so bright
as those on which he was to seek his home. No foot¬
step sent such a thrill of happiness, as his upon the pave¬
ment, when he rapidly approached; ncyprospeot of amuse¬
ment had attraction if he was not to join her ; no sacri- i
fice of personal convenience or interest weighed aught
14*
158 REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
in the balance, where his were to be promoted. Rosa
viewed him with the anxious tenderness of a mother for
her child. He looked up to her, as to a guiding spirit, for
direction and approval. They lived in peace, untroubled,
by the aching pangs that love inflicts ; they lived and lov¬
ed as friends. So hallowed was the bond, riveted by re¬
ligion's fetters, which seemed beyond the reach of acci¬
dent or time, that they dreamed on in security, and thought
their pure affection not even death could sever. Alas ! that
dull reality so rudely tears away the veil which hangs be¬
fore the dreamy visions of the soul !
Rosa awoke to find, even Willis Cameron was like the
rest of the world—inconstant and ungrateful ! Such
shocks are needful. The trusting heart too often winds
its best affections around a feeble prop, and when it
sinks and leaves them to fall and perish, they seek for a
better and more enduring support in the arm of Him who
never fails us. Too often we think our devotion wholly
God's, and in loving one He has given us to cheer our
dark journey over the path of life, we suppose we only
value them as God would have us value ; but when we
lose the comfort of their presence and attachment, we
discover that too much—too much of the heart has been
occupied with the frail creatures of a day ; that God's
own image has not been fully reflected from our soulsl
And although at first we feel crushed by the desertion
of a cherished object, we afterwards are led to exclaim,
" It is good for me that I have beçn afflicted and again,
" when he smote me, then I sought him."
REALITIES OF LIFE.
159
INSTABILITY OF EAKTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Willis Cameron had resided in the country until he
completed his education ; his father desired he should
enter into business with an old friend of his, who lived
in a neighboring city. Willis had beèn a favorite with
his uncle and aunt when a child, and although they had
not seen him for some years, they remembered his mild
manner and affectionate disposition, and thought he
would be happier with them than among strangers, and
that he would supply the place of her brothers to Rosa,
they having gone to the west to seek their fortunes ;
and therefore they wrote to invite him to stay at their
house.
Mr. Cameron very gladly availed himself of this kind¬
ness, and Willis accordingly become one of his uncle's
family. Rosa was absent on a visit to the country when
he arrived, and her cousin thought at first that he should
have but a dull time of it with the old people. He had
no great hope of more cheerfulness from his expected
companion, for he understood she was altogether de¬
voted to her religious pursuits, caring little for the world,
and never mixing with any society beyond a few select
friends.
" Well," said Willis, on the night of his introduction
into his future home, "Well! I shall find it dreary
enough here I suppose. My cousin Rosa does nothing
but read and go to church, and my uncle and aunt do the
same. I love church myself, but I like a little of the
world too ; however, I must try to go on as well as I can.
They are very kind, and this is a comfortable room, sup-
160
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF BARTHLY ATTACHMENTS,
plied with every thing convenient and pleasant ; yet I
wish cousin Rosa was more gay."
" And so I am to live with, Willis Cameron," said Rosa
to herself, the morning she expected to return to her
father's. " I know now I shall often find it irksome to
have a guest to entertain. My time, has been so much
my own, that I dread any restraint upon it. And he is
so young too ; one nearer my own age might be interest¬
ing ; but boys are so apt to be troublesome ; they expect
you to allow them to become companions, whether it is
agreeable or not. However, I will try to benefit him by
imparting those truths which I fear he may not have
embraced ; and even if he is disagreeable, it is my duty
to endure it ; and I need a little self-discipline to correct
my recent indulgence in unmingled pleasure.
It was late in the evening, before candle-light, when
Willis came into the parlor, where Rosa sat with her
bonnet on, ready to accompany a friend to lecture. As
Willis entered she rose to meet him, and kindly welcom¬
ed him to their home. It was too dark for her to distin¬
guish his features, and he almost immediately left the
room, and before he returned she was gone. They
therefore did not renew their acquaintance before the
next morning at breakfast. The family were seated",
when she came in ; she smiled a " good morning" to
her cousin and said she hoped they would soon be less
like strangers.
" I hope so, for I am very anxious for a social com¬
panion," answered the sweet voice of Willis Cameron.
And Rosa saw before her a delicate youth, whose mild
REALITIES OF LIFE. 161
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS^
blue eye and gentle manner were very attractive. "We
shall be friends," thought she. .
There is a chord of sympathy between kindred minds '
which almost immediately unites them. It is a mysteri¬
ous feéling, but very powerful. Moore has beautifully
expressed the idea in his lines,
" Oh, there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart;
As if the soul that moment caught
Some feeling it through life had sought.
As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to haVe all our sighb,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled, and shone before us then.
So came thy every look and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone.
New as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcomed as if known for years."
And they did become friends ! A few daily meetings
—a few mutual acts of kindnesS'—a few congenial senti¬
ments expressed—a few devotional exercises together—
and Willis Cameron's enthusiastic heart was wholly
Rosa's. A word was sufEcient to direct him—a look suf¬
ficient to subdue the most petulant emotion—a wish signi¬
fied, sufficient for her immediate gratification. She felt
deeply interested, andlpnged to put forth her hand and pluck
up gently the few remaining weeds that had sprung around
the plant she watched. She did not desire an influence
merely to exert it for some trivial end ; not to proclaim it
162
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
to the world ; not to glory in a conquest. Oh no ! Rosa
Montmorenci's aim was higher—^holier. She wished to
see a spotless sacrifice presented to the Lord, when his
heart was offered on the altar of religion; and it was
almost spotless. One, and another, and another indul¬
gence, which trod so closely on the brink of forbidden
pursuits, that they reñected sin as it hovered near the
pure mirror of the gospel, he relinquished, ^and felt, as
he himself affirmed, that he had been far from true spir-
, ituality of soul, though loving the right and abhorring
/ evil.
The most unimportant object over which we watch
with anxiety, becomes dear to us, and we cannot without
pain behold it receiving a shade of wrong, nor avoid
making an effort to draw it from the danger. Is it to be
wondered at, that with such a nature as Rosa possessed,
she was anxious to keep so fair a jewel unsullied by
the world's polluting touch, or that she became deeply
concerned for the interest and improvement of her pupil ?
Besides, he had sources of sadness which called for
her sympathy. He had long and devotedly loved one,
who seemed far beyond Iris reach, from his inability to
make her an offer of his hand. He had to work his way
slowly to independence. His father had no fortune to be¬
stow, and site was not an heiress. Often did Rosa's patient
ear listen, and her pitying heart feel, and her soothing
voice comfort. To know he was unhappy only made her
redouble her efforts f;o cheer his melancholy; and he al¬
most forgot his sorrow, as he gathered from her rich store
either amusement or instruction.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
163
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Months rolled by and found the cousins still the same.
And Rosa thought she had discovered one proof at least
against the doctrine, " that there was no constancy in
man !" But she calculated too soon upon what she de¬
sired to find true.
Willis Cameron became an invahd, and was compelled
to seek a change of air for relief. At the hour of parting it
seemed as if even death itself could not have caused more
anguish. Tears, regrets, promises were exchanged, and
both appeared inconsolable. The busy world afforded
pleasure and novelty, and though his memory often turn¬
ed to the home he had left, and still saw the one guiding
star beaming there, distance destroyed its luster, and its
influence was lessened. He did not forget, but he was
not miserable away. On his return home he found her
absent. Many months intervened ere they met again ;,
and they met less joyously than they had often done
after a separation of a few hours. Another scene of
household intercourse renewed their friendship ; but it
never—^never wore the same - confiding, hallowed, de¬
voted air it had once done. There was a change ; but
where, or how, or why, neither could tell.
So alight the difference day by day.
It seemed the " shadow of a shade
Yet faint and fainter grew the ray
Which once across their path had laid.
Each hour one precious link was riven,
Of their attachment's fragile chain,
'Till scarce they knew the shock was given.
Which time could nese»" heal again.
164
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF F.ARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
First looks abstracted—careless—cold—
Then words reserv'd, and actions too ;
Alas ! the story's quickly told,
How soon merue to coldness grew !
Yet neither aching heart could tell
The cause of change, though both deplore ;
For even then, they knew too well
They lav'das few ham Urn'd before.
At length the spell was wholly severed. Willis ap¬
peared to find it irksome to be even for a short time in
Rosa's society. Various excuses were made for his
absence from home ; though she knew the very time he
might have devoted to her, he spent elsewhere ; but she
bore it all, not without grief, but firmly. The last blow
to her hopes and comfort in him, was his withdrawal
from the privileged services of the sanctuary, on those
eveningS'when it had been his delight to go there.
It is true he had other calls upon his time, which Rosa
did not expect him to relinquish for her ; he had won the
affections of the woman he loved, and was betrothed ;
his cousin had rejoiced with him, and would have felt
for her what she did for him ; but she was grieved, deep-
ly, solicitously grieved, when he substituted the presence ,
of an earthly object, for that of the King of kings ! She
feared one step would lead to another, and she knew
well how quickly we tread the downward path of ruin.
He had not yet given up his weekly attendance at the|
temple where he worshiped, nor his Sabbath school
duties ; nor had he gone back to the heartless scenes of
REALITES or LIFE.
165
rSSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
worldly amusement ; and although changed to her, she
trusted he was unchanged to God.
About the period of his engagement he abruptly with¬
drew from his uncle's roof, and chose to take up his
abode in some private family, under the pretence of
being nearer his business. His good aunt and uncle
wondered and regretted, while Rosa felt it was done to
be away from her. Oh ! if there is a pang which severely
wrings the trusting soul, it is to feel we have placed our
affections on one who does not appreciate them—who
does not value them. It is possible that Rosa miscon¬
strued many of his actions, and attributed many of his,
feelings to indifference, which were totally unconnected
with any such influence. Yet when we once leam to
douht, a thousand suspicions rùsh in to mar our peace ;
and we view actions in a defective mirror which distorts
the fairest features.
" Friendship, like the sensitive plant, shrinks
From the slightest touch of roughness."
Oh, if there be a sorrow on earth,
'Tis to douht where we U¡ve, and love where we douht.
Still Rosa could not bear to have any one blame him,
and she defended and excused, as if she herself had en¬
dured no suffering at his hand. She felt desolate for a
long time, and mourned in secret over the loss of his at¬
tachment ; but she loved him too well to allow others to
censure him unreproved. She occupied her mind with
useful and benevolent pursuits, and strove, by active du¬
ties, to supply the place in her heart which he had pos-
15
166
REALITIES OF LIFE.
ISSTAmHTY OF EARTHT.Y ATTACHMENTS.
sessed. She succeeded in a great measure, and as we
already remarked, had regained her tranquility, although
her memory would revert to the subject occasionally, and
she could not avoid wondering at the change in him, and
feeling desirous to understand his conduct.
As a matter of duty, Willis came sometimes to the
house ; but his manner was so restrained when he was
there—he seemed so willing to depart, that Rosa felt it,
would be less painful never to see him, than see him thus
—and every visit only added to the vast distance that
separated them.
Oceans do not as effectually divide us as estrangement !
" Willis seems always in a hurry when he is here,"
said his uncle one morning after he had paid a five min¬
ute's call ; " Rosa, what is the reason 1 It is very sin¬
gular ; he once never was happy except he was beside
you ; his friends found fault with him for not visiting
them often, and yet he cared not ; and now, when he is
here, he seldom talks to you. I don't understand it at all."
" Why, father, you know Willis is an engaged man,
and we cannot expect to have as much of his company ^
-now."
" I know that, Rosa ; but there is a great difference in ;
giving much of his company, and giving too little. WilUs.|
Cameron is much changed to us ; I only hope he is not
changed in other matters too."
"No, father, he is as constant in his religious duties ■
as ever, and I think he will do well." >
- Months passed away, and the cousins met less and less
r i1_- X.^A -.1 i.-
REALITIES OF LIFE. 167
INSTABILITY OF EAKTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
supply the place he had occupied in her heart, by other
thoughts. She was now tranquil,, and had learned to
look for happiness less to others, and more within her
own soul.
The afternoon on which she was first introduced to
our notice, was lovely. The bright beams of an April
sun glistened amid the budding flowers, that grew luxu¬
riantly in the little garden which surrounded the house,
and stole through the jessamine as it clustered thickly
over the portico which led from the parlor in which she
sat at work. Her books and music were scattered about,
and a lute with its broken strings laid beside her basket.
She was in one of those moods, of abstraction, which did
not amount to despondency, but fixed an air of sadness
upon her placid countenance. As she "pronounced the
words, " Happy is hé who can turn from the disappoint¬
ments of time to the joyous expectations of an unchange¬
able eternity," she heard a sigh near her, and the soft
voice of Willis Cameron repeated, " Happy, thrice hap¬
py, indeed !"
Rosa started^—for as she sat with her back to the door,
she had not seen him enter. " Willis," said she in the
tone of earlier days, " Willis, do you feel that happiness ?"
"I trust so, Rosa. I would not exchange my hopes of
future bliss, for all the glittering wealth that earth could
give."
" Thank Heaven for this I" replied she. " Ah, Willis,
mayyou ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life."
" Rosa, do you think I have wandered from holy duties,
because I am less, with you than I was ? Oh no I I
168
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
love them still. I have not joined the world's giddy
throng, as perhaps you have imagined. I am not less
worthy of your regard, than when I saw you daily. I
know I am not as often here as you have a right to ex¬
pect, but I love and respect you as much as ever. You
look incredulous, but one of these days I may have an
opportunity of proving this. In the meantime, let me
again and again return you my warmest thaiiks for the
thousand instances of kindness and affection you have
showed me ; believe me, Rosa Montmorenci, they are
not and can never be forgotten."
" Speak no more of them, Willis," replied Rosa, feel¬
ing somewhat affected by his manner, for there seemed'
a shade of sadness over him, which always subdued her, ,
" Speak no more of them. I did nothing for you but
what you amply repaid by your attentions. I only grieve,
dear Willis, that you no longer permit me to exercise '
this affection. I feel the same towards you, but I can¬
not persecute any one with tokens of regard, from which
they have withdrawn themselves ; yet remember, when¬
ever the world looks coldly upon you, there is one heart
to which you may ever turn in confidence, and without a
fear of repulse or indifference. Time can but rivet the
chain which once bound us, and whatever your course
may be with regard to me, Willis, my interest, my sym¬
pathy, ray assistance, are still at your command."
A tear dropped upon her hand, as her visitor raised it
to his lip. " Rosa," said he, " do not condemn me ; let
me beg you not to distrust me, although appearances may
lead you to suppose I am unmindful of your kindness.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
169
INSTABILITY OF EAETHLY ATTACHMENTS.
I value, I prize it, and it will gratify you to know that
whenever I am about to perform a doubtful action, my
conscience bids me think what ym, in your purity of
heart, would say—and often, ah! how often, has the
recollection of your disapproval prevented-my proceed¬
ing. Does this look like forgetfulness—^like indiffer¬
ence 1. No, Rosa, I revere you still, and believe me,
when in the intercourse I have with the world, I find
those around me careless and cold, I recall your devoted
attachment and considerate conduct, and feel glad to see
one to redeem mankind from the charge of utter selfish¬
ness. I have many anxious moments, and much to en¬
gage my attention, yet I trust I do not neglect those
higher duties, which are our privilege, and should be our
delight. I go to church during the day, as regularly as
ever. I never omit my Sabbath school exercises—I
read my bible—I close my evening with prayer—I have
not mingled with the giddy throng, from whose circles
you drew me—^passing amusements have no charm for
my mind ; therefore, hope for me that I have not wander¬
ed, and still warn me when you see my footsteps too near
the precipice of error."
" I will, my dear Willis ; and it is my daily prayer to
Him who alone can keep us from evil, that you may nev¬
er imbibe the spirit of the world, which is enmity against
God. It matters little if you forget me ; such things are
common. But for His sake and your own, I beseech
you not to forget my precepts—my advice. They, Willis,
they are not apart of myself ; they belong to the word of
Truth, from whose pages you may trace them for your-
15*
170
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
self. Long after this frail form shall be moldered to its
original dust, and I shall be " as though I never yet had
been," those precepts will remain, and they will guide
you safely over the journey of life, to the haven of rest !
But you look sad ; if I may impart a gleam of consola¬
tion, tell me why you are so ? It grieves me to see you
sorrowful."
" I am sorrowful, Rosa ; time wears slowly on, and I
find no prospect of change in my situation—no hope of
my marriage taking place ; and to one who loves ás I
love, it is misery to be in suspense. Circumstances pre¬
vent my enjoying much of her society, and it seems as if
existence is dragging wearily along in this unsettled way.
Something might be done by the interposition of a friend,
and perhaps, if you do not deem me unworthy of the
trouble, you would speak to her mother for me, and there¬
by lessen the unhappiness of two sufiering hearts.
Your representations may do much where mine fail."
" 1 will attempt it, Willis, and may you find in her you
have chosen as the partner of your life, a companion—a
comforter."
"You will love her for my sake, cousin, and try to
lead her in the path of duty."
"Yes ; your wife will ever be an object of interest to
me, and if she permits it, 1 will be to her as an affection¬
ate sister."
" God bless you for this, dearest Rosa. 1 feel you are
always the same, my consoler and guide. Forgive aU
that you blame in me, and love me stiU." He wrung her
hand as he spoke, and abruptly left the parlor. Rosa
REALITIES OF LIFE.
171
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACBMENTS.
elt excited, and determined to assist Mm, if she could, in
lis difficulties. When reflection resumed its office, she
30uld not help thinking of his conduct ; after aU his neg¬
lect, that he should seek her assistance, was strange ;■
¡ret it proved to her how she was estimated. He knew
there was no change in her—that he would not in vain
solicit her sympathy or aid. This was gratifying, yet it
showed plainly that that idol self, was not dethroned, and
she lamented it. When personal gratification was de¬
sired, how quickly could he resume his former manner !
These things were painful to Rosa, but it did not alter
her purpose ; and she prepared that very hour to go out
upon her friendly mission.
Her intimacy with the family of whom Cameron's cho¬
sen was a member, rendered the task less difficult, and
she returned home that evening, glad to impart a ray, of
¡oy to his anxious bosom. The mother promised to in¬
tercede for them when her husband came home, and it
rejoiced the affectionate heart of Rosa, to be able to dis¬
patch a little note to cheer his sadness.
It is needless to follow the course of events. A few
short months saw Willis Cameron the happy husband of
Adela Seymour. Not a cloud seemed to rest upon the
brow of either, and Rosa heard of their prosperity with
satisfaction. We say heard, , îox she saw but little of
them. .Willis soon forgot the attention he thought it his
duty to pay at first, as a token of gratitude for her kind¬
ness, and now perfectly absorbed by his domestic felici¬
ty, he did not feel the want of her society. Rosa, of
r»m7TeA iliil Tint: npsR hv the tri/.th nnnhservefl nr unfelt :
172
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
but it did not make ber the less willing to do what she
could for them, when necessity- required it. While she
knew them to he untroubled, and in the enjoyment of en¬
tire happiness, she did not go a great deal to their house,
but occupied herself with those engagements which gave
her unmingled satisfaction.
Her thoughts often, very often, wandered far back into
the past, and she felt as though that brief but peculiar
intercourse, which she had held with her cousin, had
been only a dream, so little trace was to be seen of a
single circumstance or feeling that once excited a thrill¬
ing interest. How frequently she repeated those beauti¬
ful lines,
" How often is our path
Crossed by some being, whose bright spirit sheds
A passing gladness o'er it, but whose course
Leads down another current, never more
To blend with ours ! Yet far within our souls,
Amid the rushing of the busy world.
Dwells many a secret thought, which hngers still
Around that image !"
Time passed on, calmly to her—happily to them. Wil¬
lis had retired from business, and lived in the country,
where planting occupied his attention. Three lovely
children added to the comfort of his wedded life ; and
Rosa heard -with satisfaction of their increasing wealth
and peace. She also learned they were steadfast in their ,
religious duties, and went hand in hand in the effort to
establish around them a pious household.
EEALITIES OF LIFE.
173
INSTABir.ITF OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS. .
Rosa atid themselves now never met. The infirmities
of her aged parents kept her at home, and the corres¬
pondence, which for a short time had been kept up, lan¬
guished and ceased. Not that Adela Cameron did not
admire and respect Miss Montmorenci—she did both ;
but the full tide of joy at her domestic fireside, left her
no room even to wish for others.
" 'Tis sad to think how soon from hearts
Which seem to beat for ns alone,
As from the fickle ware departs
Each trace of us when we are gone !"
If Rosa had been destitute, or afflicted, or miserable,
Willis Cameron would have opened his doors to receive
her. Had money been required to render her comforta¬
ble, his purse would haré been the first to hare poured
its riches into her coffers ; had insult assailed her, his
arm would have been the most vigorous in defending her ;
but there are the sympathies—there are attentions, not
so great as to catch the public gaze, which are more
precious to us than thousands of acts like these. To feel
that we are nothing where we have been all in all ; to be¬
lieve it a matter of indifference whether we receive or
not, those quiet returns of appreciated affection, which
fall like dew upon the soul, is a bitter thought. And
of these things the Camerons were perfectly negligent.
There are some who think to satisfy an affectionate heart
by one or two violent and enthusiastic bursts of approval
or gratitude, and that afterwards a total abandonment of
attention is, to say the least, excusable ; but they little
174
R EA LITIE s OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
understand the nature of true attachment, who hope thus
easily and carelessly to requite favors which sprang from
a pure and fervent regard ; or the severity of the disap¬
pointment, when we see cold and transient forms substi¬
tuted for warm and lasting esteem.
Happy in her own resources, Rosa did not need their
aid to get onwards in her path of peace. Time, that
sweet soother of every woe, had long tranquilized her
feelings ; and when she thought of Willis, it was with
a regret that she still saw one defect in the otherwise
perfect picture he presented of a man and a Christian.
Why is it that shadows must rest upon every scene of
brightness ?
" Oh ! we should cling too close to earth, and love
Too well its pleasures and delights,
Were there no shadows on its scene of light,
No sorrow mingled with its cup of joy."
Rosa felt her experience of the utter instability of tem¬
poral attachments had been salutary ; for now she watch¬
ed very closely her every feeling and emotion, and loved
those who crossed her path with a moderated regard, and
the more intensely fixed her aflfections upon those objects,
in which there is no change—no disappointment—^no re¬
pulse ! If such are the effects of early trial, the Chris¬
tian may not mourn over blighted hopes, and vanished
joys ! We seldom know what is best for us. Wisdom
then bids us to receive all things as good from Him who
appoints, be they adverse or prosperous.
realities of life.
175
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
It was on a cold, drizzly day, in December, when even
men of business felt reluctant to leave the fireside, that a
traveling carriage drove rapidly to the door of Col.
Montmorenci's house. The panting horses showed the
speed with which they had performed the journey, and
the dripping driver shivered as he reined them in. A
loud ring at the bell summoned a servant, who in haste
entered and delivered a letter to Rosa, upon which was
written, " Read quickly." On opening it she found these
words, so hurriedly penned they were scarcely legible.
" Dearest Rosa—
My children are all dying of a contagious
disease. None of our friends will_venture near us, and
Adela,is almost distracted. Oh! will you not come and
bestow your charitable exer^ns on your afflicted
. .Willis/
Lose no time if you love me."
Rosa immediately determined to go, though her life
might be the forfeit. To save her parents from uneasi¬
ness, she avoided mentioning the nature of the disorder ;
and they consented to her departure.
A few moments sufficed for preparation ; and in one
hour she was on the road to that abode of sorrow, in
which she had been almost forgotten of late.
Evening approached as the carriage drove up the long
avenue of sombre-looking oaks, that completely excluded
the sun when it shone ; now it was dark and dismal.
The scene around was beautiful ; but Rosa had not a
176
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
thought to spare from her painful anticipations and re¬
flections. " I am still essential to him in grief," said
she, " though he forgets me in joy. Yet I feel it is a
privilege to offer the cup of consolation to those we love."
The dim light that surrounded her, the melancholy
pattering of the rain ; the keen wind whistling through
the trees, and the dreary look of the poor horses, all cast
a sadness over the heart of Rosa ; and one of those pre¬
sentiments of evil, to which most of us are subject, crept
over her in spite of a determination to shake it off. It
was not that she felt the least apprehension relative to
her own safety. " It is the happiness of true friendship,"
said she mentally, " to shine like a rainbow—^brightest in
the storm."
She had sunk back in a deep train of meditation, when
the coachman called out that the house was in sight. She
leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the neat white build¬
ing, with its low roof and vine-covered shed, looking like
a cottage amidst the luxuriant trees that surrounded it.
The river flowed nearly to the foot of the garden, which
extended before the piazza, and went sloping down to
the bank of the stream. On a bright day, the flowers
and shrubs might be lovely; but Winter's icy touch had
left little foliage to beautify the spot. Rosa's eye sought
the signs of weal or woe, which the house would pre¬
sent. She shuddered as she saw the closed shutters,
and outward stillness of all things around, that mark
distress within ; and she dreaded to find she had come
too late to be with her suffering friends when the one
great shock met them.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
177
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
As she alighted, no footstep approached to bid her
welcome—no voice of salutation met her ear. She en-
ered alone. The parlor looked as if it had not been
ately the scene of comfort ; no fire blazed on the cold,
[amp hearth—no form moved amidst the chairs that
vere scattered in confusion. The books and tables
vere covered with dust, and every thing bespoke deser-
ion. She passed onwards. The door of an adjoining
oom was almost closed, and within it there was that
wilight gloom, so chilling to the nervous. She pushed
t open and went in ; upon a sofa lay the forms of two
ovely children, calm as if in the sleep of infancy, but
:old in death ! The destroyer had not robbed them of
,ught but their bloom. He had not yet assailed them
vith one touch of those awful realities which render
leath so dreadful to the survivor. Their long curling
lair hung upon brows whiter than marble, and the frin¬
ged lids scarcely concealed the deep blue of their eyes.
3ach little hand clasped a rose, as frail and as beautiful
IS themselves.
" It is afearful thing to love what death may touch !
A fearful thing that love and death may dwell
In the same world ! And why,
Blind to the last, need we death to tell
That those we love can die i "
" To call what answers not our cries—
By that we love to stand unseen, unheard.
With the loud.passion of our tears and sighs ;
To see but some cold ringlet slightly stirred,
178
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
All vainly searching for the parted rays.
This is what waits us ! Dead !—with that chill word
To link our bosom's names ! For this we pour
Our souls upon the dust—nor tremble to adore !
He that sits above
In his calm glory, will forgive the love
His creatures bear each other, even if blent
With a vain worship ; for its close is dim
Ever with grief, which leads the wrung soul to him !"
" It is but dust we look upon. This love.
What doth it in the shadow of the grave ?
Gather it back into thy lonely heart ;
So must it ever end ; too much—too much we give
To things that perish !"—Hemans.
Rosa paused and wept. Not for the emancipation of
these souls of innocence, from a world of sin and sorrow ;
but for the anguish of those whose hearts must have been
crushed by so severe a blow. She had never seen these
infants ; they were the youngest—the fairest. Two
years divided them in age, and they looked like twin
blossoms, plucked from some blooming tree !
She ascended the stairs, still in search of the mourn¬
ers. In the first chamber she entered, she beheld the
expiring countenance of a little girl about five years old.
Beside the low couch on which she lay, her broken¬
hearted father kneeled—his face, pale with anxiety and
departing hope, and his dim and tearful eye fixed upon
the panting form before him, catching each breath as it
left her parched lips. The stricken mother was on a
sofa near, receiving the attentions of the kind physician,
REALITIES OF LIFE.
179
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
wliQ vainly endeavored to recover her from her insen¬
sibility.
All vFas silent in that chamber of death ! Too sacred
were the emotions of the father, to be disturbed by the
lamentations of others. Nothing seemed now to be done
for the little sufferer. The nurse was wetting her mouth
with water occasionally, while her father held her cold
hand in his. So intense was his attention to the child,
he did not notice the entrance of Rosa, and she did not
withdraw his thoughts from the dying—but went to
assist the doctor in his task, and sat quietly by, to watch
the now reviving parent. Exhaustion kept her calm ;
happily she was unconscious of her loss.
A deep groan from Willis Cameron met her ear, and
in an instant she was kneeling beside him, laying her
hand on his arm.
" Rosa," exclaimed he, " oh ! Rosa, have you come ?
God bless you for this !" He shed tears of heartfelt bit¬
terness ; " here," he continued, " here is my last hope ;
this morning two were snatched from me, and soon I
shall be childless ; pray for me, my earliest, my best
friend." He wept in agony.
Rosa took his trembling hand in her's, raised her mild
eyes to Heaven, and said fervently, "Father, not our
will, but thine be done."
These few words fell like oil upon the troubled waters,
and Willis was calmed. How often had that same heart
dictated, and that same voice pronounced these simple
expressions of resignation, in some hour of despondency,
and tranquilized his breast. Even then, amid a parent's
180
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
anguish, he felt the Christian triumph. He felt God
could sanctify the awful visitation. It is in seasons of
the deepest desolation frequently, that we are able to bow
with most submission. Perhaps from the entire convic¬
tion, that none but Jehovah can aid us in such extremity.
Too long, too confidently we cling alone to earthly \ie\p,
and turn in blindness from him who alone can save. But
He pities us and forgives the error. If he did not, lost
indeed would we be in this world of wretchedness.
Long and obstinate was the struggle between life and
death in the frame of Cameron's daughter. Rosa never
left her pillow that dreary night ; the closest attention,
under the Providence of God, proved effectual in restor¬
ing her to health. Weeks passed on, while she slowly
recovered, and Willis Cameron gratefully acknowledged
he owed his child to her care.
In the meantime, the others were consigned to the
tomb, and Adela Cameron's grief was boundless. With
a more chastened sadness, Willis regarded his loss, and
strove to lead his wife to those founts of holy consola¬
tion which the word of God supplies. Often did the af¬
fectionate tone of Rosa pour comfort into her ear, and
they both blessed the hour which led her to their dwell¬
ing.
Little Isabel recovered, after sinking so low as to be
almost beyond the most distant hope of renewed exist¬
ence ; but she was spared, and became of double value
to her bereaved parents. She was their all, and Rosa
found it requisite to warn them against idolatry.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
181
WSTAEILITÏ OF EAKTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Words seemed inadequate to express the grateful feel¬
ings of Willis and Adela ; they were the more fervent,
because she had not hesitated to risk her life for them ;
and as they thought of the cold selfishness of those who
had refused to give their assistance for fear of infection,
her disinterested kindness shone like a bright star in, a
region of darkness.
It has been said of sympathy, that " it is a gem which
was left to glitter amid the ruins of the fall." Not more
beautiful than true is the remark ; for what is more valu¬
able, more prized, among the dreary scenes that throng
the road of life, than the sweet tones of this Heaven-
born emotion ? Sorrow half forgets to weep, when she
is by ; and joy wears a brighter smile, when it is reflec¬
ted by a heart that feels.
Two months had passed before the Camerons would
consent to Rosa's departure. She was so kind, so com¬
panionable, so affectionate. When she did leave them,
it was with regret ; but her presence was needed at
home.
How often do we carelessly cast aside the friends
whom God provides for our improvement and consolation
here, from some idle whim or wayward humor ; and how
frequently, as the changing current of time rolls onwards,
are we glad to return to them for the very blessings they
once offered and we rejected. " Thine own friend, and
thy father's friend, forsake not," is a wise counsel. It
were well if the advice of some celebrated poets was fol¬
lowed. They seemed to feel the importance and value
of friendsbin. Shaksneare tells us.
182
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
"When thou hast found a friend, grapple him
To thy soul with hooks of steel."
and Dr. Young, whose knowledge of the human heart, in
all its windings, was profound, presses upon us the ne¬
cessity of constancy.
" I shew thee friendship delicate as dear,
Of tender violations apt to die—
Reserve will wound it, and distrust destroy !
Deliberate on all things with thy friend.
But since friends grow not thick on every bough.
First on thy friend deliberate with thyself.
Pause—ponder—sift, not eager in the choice,
Not jealous of the chosen; fixing, fix.
Judge before friendship, then confide till death.
Well for thy friend, but nobler far for thee.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Poor is the friendless master of a world ;
A world, in purchase for e friend, is gain,"
Rosa Montmorenci felt these things, and she saw by
the manner of Willis Cameron, that he felt them too; but
he spoke not. She had long known every feeling of his
heart. She had learned to read it as a book ; and well,
well she saw he had many moments of regret and selfr
reproach. He had not requited her as she deserved ;
yet she rejoiced to have an opportunity of evincing her
Christian principles, by returning good for evil.
With sorrow she perceived the failing health of Adela;
the shock of her children's deaths she could not sustain,
and Rosa feared it would not be long ere she shared their
humble resting-place.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
183
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
As much time as she couid spare from her parents^
was devoted to the invalid ; and the kindling eye, and
flush of pleasure, told her how welcome she was as a
companion, during the weariness of sickness.
It was not very long before Rosa was again summoned
to the afflicted household of Elder Park. Consumption's
rapid strides had invaded the constitution of Willis Cam¬
eron's wife. Grief, like à canker, had undermined her
health entirely ; and after a few months of suffering, she
drew towards the close of existence. Rosa Montmoren-
ci—^the considerate, gentle, devoted, self-denying Rosa
Montmorenci, was a patient watcher by the pillow of the
expiring Adela. No one presented her medicine so
agreeably—no one fixed her couch so comfortably—no
one so cheerfully waited on her night and day.
. " Ah, Rosa!" said the invalid, one morning, "how many
years of enjoyment have I lost, by not earlier cultivating
your society. If you knew the real joy it gives me to
see you, hear you, call upon you, you would not wonder
at my regret. From you I have never sought sympathy
in vain ; and oh ! eternity will reveal how you have
brightened my pathway to the tomb ! It will gratify you
to know you have been instrumental in destroying the
fear of death. Once I looked upon the tomb with hor¬
ror, but now it seems a haven of repose ; I view it as the
gate through which I must pass, for admittance to Heav¬
en. I have learned to turn from its gloomy terrors, when
I thought of it as the dark abode of my cherubs, and to
follow their disembodied spirits into the realms of bless-
184 REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
edness, where they dwell in glory. Oh, the rapture of a
meeting with them in the Paradise of God !"
"Yes, dearest Adela, rapture will be your's when you
reach that happy place. It is delightful to feel that death
is indeed a. friend to the Christian, for he leads us to joy
unspeakable."
" Will you read for me Dr. Young's beautiful Unes on
death, dear Rosa? His sublime ideas always elevate
my thoughts, and reconcile me to the fate of all of mor¬
tal mold. How I bless you for teaching me to love that
book !"
Rosa turned over to his eloquent and soothing descrip¬
tion of death and Ufe.
" A good man and an angel ! These between,
How thin the barrier ! What divides their fate ?
Perhaps a moment, and perhaps a year :
Or if omage, itis a moment still.
Starts timid nature at the gloomy pass 1
The soft transition call it, and be cheered.
Life is much flatt^ered—death is much abused.
Compare the rivals, and the kindest crown.
Life makes the soul dependent upon dust ;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres ;
Death has feigned evils, nature shall not feel ;
Life, ills substantial, wisdom cannot shun ;
Death but entombs the body ; life, the soul.
Life is the triumph of our moldering clay—
Death, of the spirit, infinite—divine !
Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts ;
Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves.
Why start at death 1 Where is he 1 Death arrived
Is past, not come, or gone. He is never here.
REALITIES OF LIFE.
185
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Ere hope, sensation fails, black-boding man
Receives, not suffers death's tremendous blow.
The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave ;
The deep damp vault, the darkness and the worm—
These are the bug-hears of a winter's eve ;
The terrors of the living—not the dead.
Man makes a death which nature never made,
PiXiifeels a thousand deaths in fearing one !"
" Beautiful indeed !" murmured the invalid. " What a
privilege to look on the king of terrors undismayed !"
" It is," replied Rosa ; " and I endeavor to make it my
daily contemplation. Preparing for death does not cause
us to die sooner, but better. Why is it that we are wil¬
ling to prepare for every event, but that which is of all
others the most certain—most important? Young re¬
marks, that
" Men think all men mortal but themselves." .
This is the secret of apathy on a subject so moment¬
ous. In my opinion, we have never arrived at the sum¬
mit of true happiness, until we have conquered the fear
of death, and can say, " living or dying, we are thine,
J ehovah !"
" I feel that resignation, dear Rosa, and although I
have ties to earth of the tenderest nature, I can give
them all up at His command. We have hopes of a cer¬
tain re-union when we leave these tabernacles of clay.
Our anchor is placed on one Rock which can never be re¬
moved. Oh ! we shall all meet, I trust, in that blessed
region where there will be no more separation. There,
186
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Rosa, there I will again bless you for all you have done,
not only for me, but for my husband—my child. When
I am gone, console poor Willis ; be to him what you
once were, what you have ever been—his guide—his
counsellor—his comforter. Do not leave him to the des¬
olation of his own heart. Forgive him all his past neg¬
lect—he condemns himself already. And Isabel—but
of her I cannot speak. I give her to you. I know you
will be all to her, perhaps more than I ever could have
been. Fit her for the skies, that when we meet at the
bar of judgment, we may be admitted together into the
Redeemer's fold. Call Willis ; I would have him by
me when my eyes close on this scene of sorrow and of
tears."
A few hours longer—and a few brief words to her
husband, who bent over her in anguish—a hurried fare¬
well to Isabel—an expressive grasp of the hand to Rosa,
as she placed her daughter in her arms—and the gentle
spirit of Adela Cameron had left this earthly vale, to
realize the glories of that unseen world, which, with the
eye of faith, she long had contemplated.
We draw a veil over the heart-subduing grief of her
attached household. Willis Cameron's countenance bore
the marks of a deep, though resigned affliction. He had
lost the wife of his youth—the object of his earliest
love—the one cherished companion, whose image had
brightened every picture his iiñagination painted of joy
or happiness. The spell was over. He had never loved
any other. He could never love again ! Life to him
was to wear a different aspect. He was to prepare for
REALITIES OF LIFE.
187
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
his summons to the same dreary " house appointed for
all living," and for a meeting with her in her new " hab¬
itation not made with hands." His dream of existence
was dispelled by an awful reality!
Among his numerous relatives and friends, he saw
none who could so well supply the place of a mother to
his little Isabel, as the friend of his youthful days. To
her he consigned her, and she did not neglect the trust.
Isabel Cameron's walk through life was, from choice,
far removed from the busy haunts of dissipation arid
frivolity. Intellectual and devotional pursuits divided
her time ; and her father's house was gladdened by her
presence, and his age consoled by the holy conduct and
conversation of Rosa Montmorenci's pupil. Long after
Rosa had found her reward for a life of piety, in the
mansions of the blest, her precepts and her example
were remembered, and held up for the instruction and
imitation of the pilgrim, as he traveled over this world to
the heavenly Jerusalem.
Willis Cameron often felt the deepest regret at the
many pangs he had inflicted upon the sensitive heart of
his generous cousin ; and in the last hours of her mortal
career, when none were by to hear, he had entreated her
forgiveness, and received the assurance of her perfect
freedom from displeasure. " I die at peace, with all,"
were the last intelligible words that met the ear of her
afflicted relatives, as they hung over her to catch the
faintest sound which proceeded from her lips. " I die at
peace with all, and in the full hope of acceptance with
188
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
Him whom I have worshiped as my Savior and my
God."
Is it requisite to trace out a moral in the simple narra¬
tive before us ? No !—Surely it speaks in every line.
Would we secure a happy death? Let us live a life of
holiness. Would we rise superior to the ills of this
transitory scene ? Let us devote ourselves to useful and
self-denying pursuits. Would we prove our Christian
profession to be sincere ? Let us return good.for evil—
let us show kindness, and mercy, and tenderness, and
forbearance, to those who have wounded and neglected
us. Would we avoid regrets which poison our joy?
Let us prize the blessings of Providence, and not cast
aside the friends he gives us, to render a life of trial less
sorrowful and less oppressive. Would we benefit our
fellow-creatures ? Let us study the word of truth, and
impart its rich treasures to all who come within our in¬
fluence. Would we be a consolation to the living—a
comfort to the dying ? Let us follow the example of
Rosa Montmorenci. Would we die at peace with aU,
and in the certain expectation of eternal happiness?
Let us, like her, " go about doing good,"—let us live like
her, in chanty and faith. Would we obtain a hope of
inheriting the bliss of Heaven, as she did? Let us turn
from the things of time, and realizing the instability of
earthly attachments, fix our aflfections on those objects
that are as unchangeable as they are immortal !
Would we escape the pangs of self-reproach, for in¬
gratitude to those who have loved us ? Let us live less
REALITIES OF LIFE. 189
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
for our own gratification, and. more for tte comfort of
others,—let us remember that those who are willing to
alleviate our woe, deserve to share our joy.
Actuated by these exalted feelings, we shall, as Chris¬
tians, reflect in our souls the spotless image of Him who
lived not, suffered not,' died not for himself!
" No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto
himself."
17,
188
REALITIES OF LIFE.
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS,
Him whom I have worshiped as my Savior and my
God."
Is it requisite to trace out a moral in the simple narra¬
tive before us ? No !—Surely it speaks in every line.
Would we secure a happy death? Let us live a life of
holiness. Would we rise superior to the ills of this
transitory scene ? Let us devote ourselves to useful and
self-denying pursuits. Would we prove our Christian
profession to be sincere ? Let us return good,for evil—
let us show kindness, and mercy, and tenderness, and
forbearance, to those who have wounded and neglected
us. Would we avoid regrets which poison our joy?
Let us prize the blessings of Providence, and not cast
aside the friends he gives us, to render a life of trial less
sorrowful and less oppressive. Would we benefit our
fellow-creatures ? Let us study the word of truth, and
impart its rich treasures to all who come within our in¬
fluence. Would we be a consolation to the living—a
comfort to the dying ? Let us follow the example of
Rosa Montmorenci. Would we die at peace with all,
and in the certain expectation of eternal happiness?
Let us, like her, " go about doing good,"—let us live like
her, in charity and faith. Would we obtain a hope of
inheriting the bliss of Heaven, as she did? Let us turn
from the things of time, and realizing the instability of
earthly attachments, fix our affections on those objects
that are as unchangeable as they are immortal !
Would we escape the pangs of self-reproach, for in¬
gratitude to those who have loved us ? Let us live less
RÎALITIES OF LIFE.
189
INSTABILITY OF EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.
for our own gratification, and. more for the comfort of
others,—^let us remember that those who are willing to
alleviate our woe, deserve to share our joy.
Actuated by these exalted feelings, we shall, as Chris¬
tians, reflect in our souls the spotless image of Him who
lived not, suffered not,' died not for himself!
" No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto
himself."
17.
LOSS OF FRIENDS.
" Years have flitted since then, but in sorrow and sadness—
As I muse on the hopes that once promis'd so fair,
I ask where, and oh where, are those visions of gladness?
And my bosom's deep call echoes, "where and oh where '
" He builds for happiness too low, who builds beneath the stars.'
" And who are our city belles, Avoncourt V said Hî
ley, as arm in arm he walked with his friend through t
crowded and fashionable street of his city. " F ha
been so long absent, that I scarcely know the ladies wj
now fill our drawing-rooms. Some who were mere gi:
when I went to college, are, I suppose, the stars of s
ciety. Remember, I rely upon you to introduce me.
am so very modest that I require a patron."
" There are^|everal beautiful women in company
present, and you must prepare to lose your heart, (if y
brought it back from Yale,) the very first time our gala;
meets your eye. Look into this old fashioned carria
that is about to pass, us, and see what you think of
passengers; but take care of the heart; you recollect y
have sworn stoutly against " love at first sight."
" Harley laid his hand upon his friend's arm, and £
claimed, " Avoncourt, who are those ladies Î they a
exquisitely lovely. Oh, what an angelic countenance t
one on this side has."
192 REALITIES OF LIFE.
LOSS OF FRIENDS.
"Those are my cousins, Harley; and without vanity, I
do pronounce them the handsomest girls in town. I feel
half inclined to make one of them mine in reality."
" Your cousins ! why how I envy you your cousins !
but you will introduce me, will you not Î Do, Avoncourt,
if you have any charity."
Avoncourt laughed ; " certainly, certainly ; you seem
infatuated; beware of "love at first sight."
" Oh, don't talk to me of that. I do not care if it was
'the case, in fact. I cannot exist without an introduction;
so when will you effect it 1"
" The girls are to dine with us to-morrow, and if you
will join us in the evening, we will manage to make you
acquainted, and then, Harley, then"—
"You are my friend for life," exclaimed Harley, grasp¬
ing the hand of his amused friend—" actually for life, if
she becomes mine through your kindness."
Harley felt restless and impatient that night, and slept
only to dream of the bright being he had seen for a brief
. moment ; and he wondered the next day wore so slowly
on. ' *
Gertrude Devereux was indeed a fit subject for a poet's
dream. Loveliness in its most attractive ibrm was her's,
and yet her features bore not the stamp ^ of regularity,
neither was her figure perfect ; but an air of archness
played so much about lip, and eye, and tone, that she ir¬
resistibly fascinated. Her complexion was like the
purest ivory, with a rich color upon her cheek, that ever
varied as emotion influenced her ; her full blue eye re¬
vealed, by its softness or mischief, her every thought.
REALITIES OF LIFE. 193
IMSS OF FRIESDS.
Her shining chesnut hair fell in carelessness over a brow
whiter than marble, and often escaping from its confine¬
ment, hung in loose ringlets on a, finely turned throat.
There was an air of girlishness about her—an innocent
playfulness, mingled with a tenderness of manner, that
won the affection and admiration of all who knew her.
She was the pet and plaything in the family, even after
she entered womanhood. She was the youngest, the
fairest, and seemed- intended to occupy the exact place
she did at home.
" Who was that elegant young man, Àvoncourt, with
whoin you walked yesterday V asked she, as soon as
she arrived at her uncle's to dinner." Now you must tell
me, for I have done nothing but dream of him thé whole
night, and I am resolved to become acquainted with him,
fairly or by stratagem ; on that I am determined, for he
far surpasses any of the beaux you have presented to
my notice these six months."
"You shall be grat'ified this very evening, Gertrude;
and do you see now and behave your best: There is no
knowing what mayiappen if you do; and he is not one
to be carelessly lost. T intend he shall take tea here,
and not till then will I tell his name. So dress in your
most tasteful style," and practice your most approved
songs ; you know music may " soften rooks," and hearts
are not adamant."
" My life on it I make a conquest," rejoined the lively
Gertrude, as she flew to the piano and commenced rat¬
tling over,
" I have a heart; a little heart—that beats for I know who."
17* .
194
REALITIES OF LIFE.
LOSS OF FRIENDS. ^
In the afternoon, Gertrude amused her companions by
her whimsical conduct respecting her dress. " I cannot
wear this pink shawl ; I look like a fright in it—and this
yellow makes me a real creóle. Don't hand ihe that,
white scarf, Annette, for I would as lief put on a shroud ,
at once. It is hard I am so unusually difficult to please; ,
girls, what can be the reason ?"
"You expect some extraordinary person, dear Ger¬
trude," remarked Evelyn, her cousin.; "this is the secret.
Now true blue is a favorite color for lovers; suppose, as
you intend to make a conquest, you put on this handker¬
chief ; there, I am sure you look captivating ; none can
resist you. Here, let me tie aside this stray curl with " a
bunch of bonny blue ribbon ;" now you are completely
armed and equipped."
"Yes, that will do, at last," said Gertrude. " I hope,
after all ihy trouble, I shall be able to do some execu¬
tion."
The ladies were seated in a cheerful circle in the
drawing-room, ■ listening to tTie giddy talk of Gertrude
and a younger cousin, who was equally lively, as they
gaily discussed the fashionable news of the day, when
Avoncfomt entered with^ the long expected Harley. In
spite of herself, Gertrude felt a little fluttering of the
heart as he approached and was presented. She dis¬
covered he was not some foreigner who had never before
been in her native city ; but one whom, as a boy, she had
often seen with her brothers, but who had grown up with
an abundant, supply of grace and elegance, polish and
intelligence. She did not like him the less for being
REALITIES OF LIFE.
195
LOSS OF FRIEHDS.
her countryman-, and ere the evening closed, they were
both pretty well infected with la belle passion.
Edwin Harley's was an almost perfect face. His fine
complexion, sparkling blue eyes, which seemed almost
to dance with joy, his transcendently white teeth and
beautiful smile, formed a countenance fit for a model of
manly beauty ; and it was no wonder that a girl of sev¬
enteen should admire and " fall in love at first sight."
I have always had much scepticism on this subject;
but " facts are stubborn things," and so it was in the case
before us ; that very evening sealed the destinies of Har-
ley and Gertrude.
A few weeks of devoted attention on his part, ended
in an engagement, with the sanction of all her and his
friends ; but her extreme yputh prevented, an immediate
union. To please her father, the wedding was deferred
until she attained her- eighteenth year. Then, radiant
with health and happiness, she becarne the bride of Ed¬
win Harley. Time flew joyously on*. She was beloved
at home, caressed abroad, and a long life of ease and
pleasure seemed to be her allotted portion. Why should
change come there to rob them of an instant's bliss ? Dur¬
ing five years, three beautiful children blessed their lot,
and nothing, nothing appeared wanting to complete their
felicity.
"Susan looks very pale, Edwin," remarked Gertrude
one morning late in October ; " I think she must be sick,
and she refuses all food ; I feel anxious, she is so robust."
"You are too easily alarmed, Gertrude ; nothing is the
matter with her. Give her a little medicine and she will
soon be well."
196
RE ALITIE s OF LIFE.
LOSS OF FRIEWDS.
Before the evening closed there was only too much
cause for alarm, and the next day the child was lying a
corpse. Still there was another daughter on whom to
fix her hopes ; she was only three weeks old, but soon
would be an object of interest, and supply the place of
her lost one. Alas ! the funeral hymn of the first had
scarcely ceased to echo along the walls of the sanctuary,
ere this tender blossom was transplanted from its moth¬
er's side to the cold and silent tomb. Bowed down with
affliction, Gertrude looked like some crushed flower ; yet
religion's voice had been heard, and she received unmur-
muringly the severe visitation. But grief shattered an
already frail constitution, and she, in two months, slept
beside her babes. The distracted husband and bereaved
father, clung tç his last hope, a fine boy of four years—
his eldest born ; but, strange are the decrees of Provi¬
dence ! he drooped, and faded, and died, and was con¬
signed to the same dismal abode where the others rested.
Thus, in less than Äiree months, Harley had seen every
domestic tie rudely snapped asunder, and he felt a for¬
lorn, disconsolate being on the world's wide stage. No
pious hope sustained him ; no ray of comfort was shed
over the darkness and desolation of his path. He coidd
not turn to Heaven and claim the believer's promises.
Oh, no ! he flew to the world for relief ; but the cold world
gave him no consolation. He sought in society for for-
getfulness, but in the crowded hall he was alone. The
heart found nothing to soothe, nothing ' to cheer, and he
returned to his lonely home more wretched than he was
when he left it. Oh, if religion be not necessary in our
REALITIES OF LIFE.
197
LOSS OF FRIEHDS.
days of sunshine, surely our days of darkness require
its aid ; and in an existence made up as our's is, of more
woe than bliss, is it not wise to secure its holy influence
" before the evil days come, in which we shall say, I
have no pleasure in them ?"
• Such is the close of this brilliant picture of youthful
wedded happiness. It is not the romance of a vivid
imagination; truth is its basis. How often, if we would
only search for them, might fiction be shamed by the
" Realities of Life."
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS,
published by
S. BABCOCK, New Haven,
and
S. BABCOCK & Co., Charleston.
LOVELL'S UNITED STATES SPEAKER; u copious
selection of Exercises in Elocution ; consisting of Prose,
Poetry, and Dialogue ;. drawn chiefly from the most ap¬
proved writers of Great Britain and America ; including
a variety of pieces suitable for very young speakers : de¬
signed for the use of Colleges and Schools. By John E.
Lovell, formerly Instructor of Elocution in the Mount
Pleasant Classical Institution, Amherst, Mass.
RECOMMENDATIONS.
From B. Silliman Esq., Professor of Chemistry, Sfc., Yale College.
Dear Sir,—I have looked through your "U. S. Speaker;'' I have
read a laige number of the pieces, and nave observed others with which
I was before acquainted. The collection appears to me to he one of un¬
common merit, and well adapted to the use for which it is designed,
whether for the Exercises in Speaking in Colleges, or in the Elementary
Schools and Academies.
Wishing you continued success in your very meritorious exertions in
the instruction of youth, I remain, dear sir,
Your friend and servant,
B. SILLIMAN.
From the Rev. Dr. Croswell, Rector of Trinity Church, New Haven.
Dear Sir,—
It gives me pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of your work, entitled
" The United States Speaker," for which you will accept my thanks.
I have examined, witha.s much care and attentionas my various duties would
permit, the contents of this volume ; and I am gratified to find, that it is
not merely a good book of the kind, but the very best selection of Exer¬
cises in Elocution, that I recollect to have seen. You have, in my opin¬
ion, fully attained the objects expressed in your preface ; and I doubt not
you will receive„as you well deserve, the approbation and patronage of
a liberal and enlightened public.
I am, sir, very truly and afi'ectionately, yours,
H. CROSWELL.
From the Rev. CA. Goodrich, Professor of Rhetoric, &tc., Yale College.
The " United States Speaker" contains a larger number of interesting
and appropriate exercises for public speaking, than any single work of the
2
SCHOOL BOOKS.
kind with which I am acquainted ; and in connection with the plates, which
are toeU executed, will prove uUy. Wall who are employed as teaciters
of Elocutton.
CHAUNCEY A. GOODRICH.
From E. D. North Esq., Teacher of Elocution, Yale College.
Mr. LoveU,
Sir,—As a teacher in Elocution I tender you my thanks for the
" United States Speaker." I have long been satisfied thatit is particular¬
ly desirable that books of e.xtracts for instruction in Elocution, should be
compiled by practical teachers of this branch. The extracts made by oth¬
ers often fad of being suitable for exercises in reading and spealting. Prac¬
tical teachers in schools also best know the difficulty of selecting pieces
which, while they are free from any thing immoral, indecorous, or silly,
are not oidy of high merit, in themselves, but calculated to interest the
youthful and uncultivated mind. They know also the necessity for un-
common copiousness and variety in a volume for which selections are to be
made for pupils of all ages, characters, and degrees of cultivation. Your
volume, sir, seems to me the most convenient one, in these respects, for
teachers in Elocution, anda valuable contribution to the cause of Education.
Respectfully yours, &c.
E. D. NORTH.
From J. L. Kingsley, Esq., Professor of Languages, Yale College.
Mr. Lovell.—From the attention I have been able to give to your
" Selection of Exercises in Elocution," it appears to me to be judiciously
formed; and its use will, no doubt, contribute to the advancement of the
student, in the important department of education to whichit relates.
J. L. KINGSLEY.
From A. N. Skinner, Esq., Principal of " The Select Classical Family
School," New Haven.
Mr. LovcU.
Dear Sir,—Having examined the " U. S. Speaker," I can cheerful¬
ly recommend it as an excellent collection of " short, eloquent, and per¬
tinent extracts," from the best authors, very judiciously selected and arran¬
ged, and exceedingly well adapted to the wants of both Teachers and Learners
of Elocution. Respectfully yours,
A. N. SKINNER.
From the Rev. Mr. Newton, Principal of the " Mount Pleasant Classical In¬
stitution, Amherst, Mass.
Dear Sir,—Accept my acknowledgments for tlie copy of the " U. S.
Speaker," which I had the pleasure to receive from you yesterd.ay. I
have given to it, such attention as the shortness of the time, in which you
requested a reply, and the pressure of very special eugagementSi would
allow, and am prepared to say that, partly from my own acquaintance
with the selections, and especially from my confidence (grounded on pre¬
vious and thorough acquaintance) in the judgment and taste by which they
have been made, I have no doubt that the U. S. Speaker is in a high de¬
gree worthy of the attention of the public. Cordially wishing you still
greater measures of success in usefulness, to crown your diligent and
faithful efforts for the advancement of your most useful .and admirable
art, 1 am, sir,
With respect and friendship, yours truly,
J. W. NEWTON.
SCHOOL BOOKS.,
a
From tfie Rev. S. E. Dwight, late Principal of the " New Haven Gymnasium.^
Mr, Lovell.
Dear Sir,—I thank you for your valuable work, " The U. S. Speak'
er." I have no doubt it will have an extensive circulation. Having ex¬
amined it with some attention, I can freely say, I regard it as a very useful
and valuaile compilation. If my notice of it can be of any possible use,
you are very welcome to it. Yours truly,
S. E. DWIGHT.
From Mr. F. SJiepherd, Principal of the " Classical and Co7nmercial School,"
New Haven.
Dear Sir,—I have examined the"U. S. Speaker," and consider it
superior to any hook of the kind. I shall at once make it a permanent class-
book iu my school.
I remain very respectfully, yours,
Mr. Lovell. FORREST SHEPHERD.
From Mr. J. N. Palmer, Principal of the New Haven " Practical, Mathe¬
matical, and Classical Seminary."
Mr. Lovell.
Dear Sir,—I find the "ü. S. Speaker" just the work I have long
desired. I have purchased book after book for my Elocution classes, and
then with copying and all, experienced a great deal of trouble in making
a proper selection of pieces. Your work removes the difwidty. I find in
it all that I ever did want or probably ever shall, and it is with pleasure
that I anticipate its use in my Seminary. Yours, &c.
J. N. PALMER.
From Mr. G. A. De Witt, late Principal of Providence High Sclwol.
Mr. Lovell.
Dear Sir,—I have examined with much satisfaction, the " United
States Speaker," which you were so polite as to send me, a day or two
since ; and I can with perfect sincerity say, that I am heiter pleased witk
it than any book of the kind that has ever come under my notice. That you
should produce a work better adapted than any other to the wants of
schools, was to be expected. You have devoted your time and talents to
the subject of Elocution, and successfully infused your spirit into the
youth committed to your care. Your friends, therefore, would have
been disappointed, had this compilation been an inappropriate one. A
practical acquaintance with the real wants of schools, in this particular, is
absolutely essential to complete success in preparing such a work for
publication. What would be very proper for young men, would not, as
a matter of course, be equaly so ïoxhoys. You were aware of this fact,
and have met both points of the difficulty.
It appears to me, sir, that the teachers who will examine the " Speak¬
er," and especially those who will introduce it into their schools, will
bear me out in saying that this is precisely the book needed.
There is one circumstance, in connection with your book, which it may
not be improper to mention here.—I find it a very dijjicult book—to ex¬
amine, in a short for, the moment I open it, to give it a cursory
persual, I find myself so deeply interested in it, that I cannot lay it down,
without doing violence to my inclinations. How great a fault this is, I
will leave for others.to judge. Respectfully yours, &c.
G. A. DEWITT.
18
4
SCHOOL BOOKS.
OLMSTED'S SCHOOL PHILOSOPHY ; or a Compen¬
dium of Natural Philosophy, adapted to the use of the gen¬
eral reader, and to Schools and Academies. Third edition,
revised and improved.
The leading object of this work is to render the great principles of
Natural Philosophy intelligible to young learners, and to the general
reader ; and to explain the applications of those principles to the arts,
and to the phenomena of nature. Its practical character makes it pecu¬
liarly valuable to mechanics and artists, who require such an exposition of
the laws of nature as may avail them in their business ; while the numer¬
ous illustrations with which it abounds, derived both from nature and art;
make it equally adapted to inspire a taste for philosophical study and ob¬
servation.
The following Recommendatims, obligingly communicated, without
solicitation, to the author, attest the estimation in which the work is held
by the most eminent judges.
From tlte Hon. Simeon Ve Witt, late Surveyor General of tlte state of New
York, and Chancellor of the University.
Prof. D. Olmsted.
Dear Sir,—I some time ago received your Compendium of Natural
Philosophy, for which I take this opportunity of making my thankful ac¬
knowledgments. I consider it as one of the best treatises of the kind
for the instruction of those who have not had a mathematical education,
and as an excellent Text Book for those who study Natural Philosophy
with the help of mathematical demonstrations.
Respectfully your obedient serv't,
S. DeWITT.
From Mr. E. Bailey, Principal of the Young Ladies' High School, Boston.
Dear Sir,—Some months since I received a copy of your Compen¬
dium of Natural Philosophy, which I have examined very carefully, and
with great pleasure. The want of a good treatise on this subject,—a
treatise suitable to be used in Academies and High Schools, has long been
felt by teachers ; and it appears to me that you have prepared precisely
such a work as was wanted. I am gratified that I can furnish my pupils
with so valuable a text book in this interesting department of education.
Very respectfully your friend, &.c.
E. BAILEY.
From Mr. Amos Chesebrough, Principal of the Westfidd Academy, (Mass.)
(Extract.) " Your Compendium I have introduced into the Academy,
and have now used it two terms, with the conviction that it is superior to
any similar work that I have ever seen. All those who have studied it
here, have been highly pleased with it I have taken special pains to re¬
commend it to the teachers of several academies, some of whom have
already expressed their determination to introduce it into their schools.
I have no doubt that it will be very popular when it is extensively
known."
From Professor E. A. Andrews, of Boston
" I am glad that you are about to give your Compendium in a cheaper
form, for the use of schools. There is no work that I have seen, that
compares with it, for common use ; and I have no doubt that when, in
SCHOOL BOOKS,
5
consequence of its altered form and price, it shall be better adapted lo
the views of those who conduct such institutions, it will acquire that gen¬
eral popularity which it so well deserves."
From the Rev. S. Center, of the Aïbmy High School.
I have introduced the Compendium into my school, and caused it to be
introduced into two others. L assure you that it meets with a welcome
reception from those who have examined it. We like the work for its
practical character. Its illustrations are happy, its facts numerous, and
its explanations of common phenomena, are to a great extent new and
interesting. The arithmetical problems which accompany the statements
and illustrations, are, in ray opinion, a valuable feature in the work."
From Hawlcy Olmsted, Esq., Preceptor of the Latin School, Wilton, ( Conn.)
Dear ¡Sir,—I thank you for the "Compendium of Natural Philoso¬
phy." It is incomparably superior to any thing of tbe kind within my
knowledge. I shall introduce it, without delay, into this Academy. It is
truly interesting to mark the progress of the science within the last twenty
years 1 find much that is new to myself, and think that the work can
hardly fail to be acceptable to the general reader. Proceed and give us
a similar work on Astronomy, and I confidently believe that a liberal and
intelligent public will not be slow to appreciate and reward labor so hap¬
pily adapted to subserve the cause of education and general improve¬
ment. With great respect and esteem.
Yours very truly,
H. OLMSTED.
From the New Haven Daily Herald.
Olmsted's Compendium, or School Philosophy.—S. Babcock has recently
published a new and improved edition of Professor Olmsted's Compen¬
dium of Natural Philosophy. Probably no work extant contains, in so
small and cheap a form, so many principles of Natural Philosophy, adapt¬
ed to the wants of the mechanic and practical man. The laws of nature
are explained with much perspicuity and simplicity, and a great variety of
cases are solved, calculated to be exceedingly useful to every mechanic,
in his daily business. The young mechanic will derive much more bene¬
fit from studying this book with the aid of the numerous cuts and dia¬
grams with which it abounds, than from attending popular lectures on
this subject ; or rather, a previous acquaintance with this work, will qual¬
ify him to derive the full benefit of experimental lectures.
Among othiîr practical matters explained and elucidated in this work,
it treats of the principles of machinery ; of water works ; of the steam en¬
gine ; of the construction of chimnies and fire places; of lightning rods;
of the compass needle, and of the telescope. Even to gentlemen of ed¬
ucation, this work may be strongly reccommended as a manual of the la¬
test and most important results of natural philosophy.
In the Report of ike Regents of the Uni:versity of the state of New Yorh, it
is also mentioned as one of the text books in Natural Philosophy, which
they particularly recommend to teachers of academies.
THE STUDENTS COMMON PLACE BOOK ; by Prof¬
essor Olmsted : on a new plan ; uniting the advantages of
a Note Book and Universal Reference Book ; adapted
alike to the college student, and to the professional man.
6
SCHOOL BOOKS.
LOVELL'S YOUNG PUPIL'S FIRST BOOK : an easy
introduction to Reading ; comprising Exercises in the Al¬
phabet, on a new plan, and a variety of progressive les¬
sons, in words of one syllable. Beautifully embellished,
and adapted to the capacities of children.
RECOMMENDATIONS.
FromtlteRce. CliaunceyA. Goodrich, Ptofessorof Rhetoric, ¡(c., Yale CoUege.
From a cursory examinatiou of Mr. Lovell's "Young Pupil's First
Book," I am satisfied the plan and execution of the work are excellently
adapted to the end in view. The idea of leading forward the beginner
through successive exercises in reading, on words of one syllable, in a
course of stories, is not new ; but I have never seen it carried into effect
in so systematic a manner, or on so broad a scale. The mechanical exe¬
cution of the work is uncommonly good, and vi\\\ amply repay the pur¬
chaser for the necessary enhancement of its price.
CHAÜNCEY A. GOODRICH.
We concur in the above recommendation.
JEREMIAH DAY, President of Yale College.
J. L. KINGSLEY, Esq., Prof, of Languages.
B. SILLIMAN, Prof, of Chemistry, See.
NATH. W. TAYLOR. Prof, of Didactic Theology.
This work is also very highly recommended by the Rev. L. Bacon,
Pastor of the First Congregational Church, in New Haven; the Rev. H.
Croswell, Rector Trinity Church, New Haven; A. N. Skinner, Princi¬
pal of the Avenue Classical School, New Haven; S. French, Principal
of the Collegiate and Commercial School, New Haven: S. A. Thomas,
Principal of the Wooster-street School, New Haven; Rev. J. Hurlhut,
New London; Charles Avery, Esq. Professor of Chemistry, &c., Ham¬
ilton College, New York; Simeon Hart, Jr., Principal Family School,
Farmington; by the Editor of the Scientific Tracts, Boston; and by.
many other distinguished literary gentlemen, teachers, &c.
LOVELL'S YOUNG PUPIL'S SECOND BOOK; com¬
prising a great variety of interesting lessons, on subjects
calculated to improve the head and heart, and to inform and
develop the powers of the juvenile mind ; the Emphasis
and Inflections of the Voice being appropriately marked,
with a view to promote a correct and tasteful style of
Reading. The whole progressively arranged, and beau¬
tifully illustrated by simple and compound cuts.
THE NEW TESTAMENT ; with amendments of the
language. By Noah Webster, LL. D.
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS,
published by
S. BABCOCK, New Haven,
and
S. BABCOCK & Co., Charleston.
lOVELL'S UNITED STATES SPEAKER; a copious
selection of Exercises in Elocution ; consisting of Prose,
Poetry, and Dialogue; drawn chiefly from the most ap¬
proved writers of Great Britain and America ; including
a variety of pieces suitable for very young speakers : de¬
signed for the use of Colleges and Schools. By John E.
Lovell, formerly Instructor of Elocution in the Mount
Pleasant Classical Institution, Amherst, Mass.
RECOMMENDATIONS.
FromB. SilUman Esq., Professor of Chimistry, Sç'C., Yale College.
Dear Sir,—I have looked through your " U. S. Speaker;" I have
Tead a large number of the pieces, and have observed others with which
I was before acquainted. The collection appears to me to be one of un¬
common merit, and well adapted to the use for which it is designed,
■tchether for the Exercises in Speaking in Colleges, or in the Elementary
Schools and Academies.
Wishing you continued success in your very meritorious exertions in
the instruction of youth, I remain, dear sir,
Your friend and servant,
B. SILLIMAN.
From the Rev. Dr. Cioswell, Rector of Trinity Church, New Haven.
Dear Sir,—
Tt gives me pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of your work, entitled
" The United States Speaker," for which you will accept my thanks.
I have examined, with as much care and attention as my various duties would
permit, the contents of this volume ; and 1 am gratified to find, that it is
not merely a good book of the kind, but the very hest selection of Exer¬
cises in Elocution, that I recollect to have seen. You have, in my opin¬
ion, fully attained the objects expressed in your preface ; and I doubt not
you vvill receive, as you well deserve, the approhatiou and patronage of
a liberal and enlfghtened public.
I am, sir, very truly and affectionately, yours,
H. CROSWELL.
From the Rev. C. A. Goodrich, Professor of Rhetoric. S^c., Yale College.
The "United States Speaker" contains a larger oï interesting
and appropriate tymrcise-.s lor public speaking, than any single work of the
kind with which I am acquainted ; and in connection with the plates, which
are loell executed, will prove a valuable ally to all who are employed as teachers
of Elocution. CHAUNCEY A. iiOODRICH.
From E. D. North Esq., Teacher of Elocution, Yale College.
—As a teacher in Elocution I tender you my thanks for the
" United States Speaker." I hâve long been satisfied thatit is particular¬
ly desirable that books of e.\tracts for instruction in tlociition, Mmuld be
compiled by practical teachers of this branch. The extracts made by oth-
A
2
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
ers often fail of being suitable for exercises in reading and speaking. Prac¬
tical teachers in schools also best know the diíHcuity of selecting pieces
which, while they are free from any thing immoral, indecorous, or silly,
are not only of high merit, in themselves, but calculated to interest the
youthful and uncultivated mind. They know also the necessity for un¬
common copiousness and variety in a volume for which selections are to be
made for pupils of all ages, characters, and degrees of cultivation. Your
volume, sir, seems to me the most convenient one, in these respects, for
teachers in Elocution, and a valuable contribution to the cause of Education.
liespectl'ully yours, &.c.
Mr. LovcU, E. D. NORTH.
From J. L. Kingsley, Esq., Professor of Languages, Yale College.
Mr. Lovell.—From the attention I have been able to give to your
" Selection of Exercises in Elocution," it appears to me to hejudiciotisly
formed ; and its use will, no doubt, contribute to the advancement of the
student, in the important department of education to which it relates.
J. L. KINGSLEY.
From Á. N. Skinner, Esq., Principal of " The Select Classical Family
School," Ñew Haven.
Dear Sir,—Having examined the " U. S. Speaker," I can cheerful¬
ly recommend it as an excellent collection of " short, eloquent, and per¬
tinent extracts," irom the best authors, very judiciously selected and arran¬
ged, and exceedingly well adapted to the wants of both, Teachers amd Lâarners
of Elocution. Respectlully yours,
Mr. Làvell. A. N- SKINNER.
From the Rev. Mr. Newton, Principal of the " Mount Pleasant Classical In¬
stitution, Arri^herst, Mass.
Dear Sir,—Accept my acknowledgments for the copy of the " Ü. S.
Speaker," which I had the pleasure to receive from you yesterday. I
have given to it, such attention as the shortness of the time, in which you
requested a reply, and the pressure of very special engagements, would
allow, and am prepared to say, that partly Irom my own acquaintance
with the selections, and especially from my conftdence (grounded on pre¬
vious and thorough acquaintance) in x\\^ judgment and taste by which they
have been made, 1 have no doubt that the U* S. Speaker is in a high de¬
gree worthy of the attention of the public. Cordially wishing you still
greater measures of success in usefulness, to crown your diligent and
faithful efforts for the advancement of your most useful and admirable
art, I am, sir, With respect and friendship, yours truly,
Mr. Lovell. J. W. NEWTON.
From the Rev. S. E. Dwight, late Principal of the " New Haven Gymnasium.^
Dear Sir,—I thank you for your valuable work, " The U. S. Speak¬
er." 1 have no doubt it will have an extensive circulation. Having ex¬
amined it with some attention, I can freely say, I regard it as a very useful
and valuable campUation. If my notice of it can be of any possible use,
you are very welcome to it. Yours tiuly,
Mr. Lovell. S. E. DWIGHT.
From Mr. F. Shepherd, Principal of the " Classical and Commercial School,"
New Haven.
Dear Sir,—I have examined the"U. S. Speaker," and consider if
superior to any hook of the kind. I shall at once make it a permanent class-
book il! my school. 1 remain very respectfully, yours,
Mr. LovcU. FORREST SHEPHERD.
VAtÜABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
3
From Mr. J, N. Palmer, Principal of the Neto Haven " Practical, Mathe¬
matical, and Classical Seminary.^^
Dear Sir,—I find the "U. S. Speaker" just the work I have long
desired. I have purchased book after book for my Elocution classes, and
then with copying and all, experienced a great deal of trouble in making
a proper selection of pieces. Your work removes the difficulty. I find in
it all that I ever did want or probably ever shall, and it is with pleasure
that I anticipate its use in my Seminary. Yours, &c.
Mr.Lovell. J. N. PALMER.
From Mr. G. A. De Witt, late Principal of Providence High School.
Dear Sir,—Ï have examined with much satisfaction, the "United
States Speaker," which you were so polite as to send me, a day or two
since ; and I can with perfect sincerity say, that J am better pleased with
it than any book of the kind that has ever come under ray notice. That you
should produce a work better adapted than any other to the wants of
schools,^ was to be expected. You have devoted your time and talents to
the subject of Elocution, and successfully infused your spirit into the
youth committed to your care. Your friends, therefore, would have
been disappointed, had this compilation been an inappropriate one. A
practical acquaintance with the real wants of schools, in this particular, is
absolutely essential to complete success in preparing such a work for
publication. What would be very proper for young men, would not, as
a matter of course, be equaly so for boys. You were aware of this fact,
and have met both points of the difficulty.
It appears to me, sir, that the teachers who will examine the " Speak¬
er," and especially those who will introduce it into their schools, will
bear me out in saying that this is precisely the book needed.
There i^ on© ciroumstance, in connection With ynnr bo&k, Tvhich it may
not be improper to mention here.—I find it a very difficult book—to ex¬
amine, in a short time—for, the moment I open it, to give it a cursory
persual, I find myself so deeply interested in it, that I cannot lay it down,
without doing violence to my inclinations. How great a/aw/i this is, I
will leave for others to judge. Respectfully yours, &c.
Mr. Lovell, G. A. DeWITT.
From Mr. D. P. Bacon; late associate Principal of the N. York High School.
Dear Sir,—Accept my thanks for your polite attention in sending
me a copy of your very acceptable volume of Exercises in Elocution. I
have examined it with pleasure. I have no hesitation in pronouncing it
hyfar the best collection of Exercises for the purpose intended, which I have
seen. Respectfully yours,
Mr. J. E. Lovell. DANIEL P. BACON.
From Mr. W. Russell, Germantoion, Penn., an accomplished Teacher of Elo
cation, and Editor of the First Series of the Am. Jour, of Education.
Dear Sir,—I am much obliged to you for the acceptable present of a
copy of your Speaker. It forms one of the best selections that I have
seen. It comprises nearly all the favorite pieces of merit, and furnishes
some which, though less generally in practice, will now be acces.sible
ill a very convenient and agreeable form. Your work will be extensively
introduced—1 feel assured,—in all Semirtaries in which Elocution is a subject
of due attention. I am, dear sir, yours with esteem,
WM. RUSSELL.
4
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
From tlic Rev. S. M. Worcester, Frof. of Oratory, Amherst College, Amherst,.
Mass.
Dear Sir —I have examined the "U. S. Speaker," and have been-
much gratified with the Selections. It is decidedly the lest work of the
hind with which I am acquainted.
The above is a candid expression of my sentiments. I have beem
specially pleased with your Prose Extracts. These are admirable. The
" Secônd Part" has many beautiful specimens of Poetry. Your " Third
Part" appears to me well adapted to its purpose. I am fully persuaded
that the speaking of Dialogues is of great service, in exciting interest int
the whole business of oratory, and in forming the style of naturalness in
elocution and action, which never fails of success.
With very pleasant recollections of the past, and cordial good wishes
for the future. Yours,
S. M. WORCESTER.
From the Columbian Register, New Haven, Conn.
New School Book.—We have just seen, from the press of Mr. S. Bah-
coek, in this city, a valuable work, entitled ■' The United States Speak¬
er," by J. E. Lovell, the accomplished and indefatigable instructor in ,
our Lancasterian School. This book contains 500 large duodecimo-
pages, elegantly printed. This is a new work in the Elocution depart¬
ment, designed for the use of Collegesand Schools, and contains a great
variety of plates, representing the various positions of gesture necessarily
connected with the finished speaker and orator. From the character andl
attainments of the author, we have no doubt that this is the most valuable
work of the kind which has yet been offered to the American public.
From the Episcopal Watchman, Hartford, Conn.
The United States Speaker.—We have devoted as much time to the
examinailbu of tbla book as our various engagcmanis would permit, and
believe that, in its p ublication, Mr. Lovell has done essential service to
the cause of education. Jt is the best book of tlte kind with which we are ac¬
quainted, and wherever it may be introduced, it will be found, we think,
to be not only interesting, but useful. The plates will he an assistance
both to the pupil and the teacher. We hope that its rapid sale will show
that the labors of Mr. Lovell to promote good reading and speaking are.
duly estimated.
LOVELL'S YOUNG PUPIL'S FIRST BOOK: an easy
introduction to Reading ; comprising Exercises in the Al¬
phabet, on a new plan, and a variet)' of progressive les¬
sons, in words of one syllable. Beautifully embellished,.
and adapted to the capacities of children.
RECOMMENDATIONS.
Fromthe Rev. ChnunceiyA. Goodrich. Ptofessor of Rhetoric, ¡te., Yale College..
From a cursory examination of Mr. Lovell's "Young Pupil's First
Book," T am satisfied the plan and execution of the work are excellently
adapted to the end in view. The idea of leading forward the beginner -
through successive exercises in reading, on words of one syllable, in a
course of stories, is not new ; but t have never seen it carried into eifect
in so systematic a manner, or on so broad a scale. The mechanical exe¬
cution of the work is uncommonly good, and vi'tW amply repay the pur-v
chaser for the necessary enhancement of its price.
CHAUNCEY A. GOODRTOH.
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
5
We concur in the above recommendation.
JEREMIAH DAY, President of Yale College.
J. JLv KINGSLEY, Esq., Prof, of Languages.
B. SÍLLIMAN, Prof. ofChimistry, &c.
NATH. W. TAYLOR, Prof, of Didactic Theology.
From the Rev. Eieazcr T. Fitch, Frofessor of'Divinity, Yale College.
Lovell's "Young Pupil's First Book," deservedly claims the place
whichits name imports. I know of no work so happily executed for con¬
ducting the child through his first exercises in spelling and reading. The
reading lessons contain instructive and useful stories, told entirely in
monosyllabic words, the easiest, most intelligible, and attractive reading,
which can be presented to the young beginner.
The fine typographical execution of the work—the clean white sheet,
the large fair letter, with the beautiful- illustrative cuts,—highly enhance
the value of the work to the child; who, like the traveler, performs his
daily toil-with great facility and delight, when favored with clear views
and with scenes that please the eye.
ELEAZER T. FITCH.
From J. N. Palmer, Esq., Principal of the New Haven Practical, Math¬
ematical, and Classical Seminary "
Mr. Lovell, Dear Sir,—Your note accompained with "The Young
Pupil's First Book," was very gratefully received : a copy of your work
had, however, been put into my hands by a Teacher some days before.
On examination, I was so well convinced of its merits, that I immediate¬
ly commenced the use of it with my own child, and I am fully satisfied
that she has made more positive improvement during the past week, with
much less trouble, than she would have done in/owr weeks, from any
other book with which I am acquainted. In my early life I was engaged
more than eight years constantly in the instruction of small children, in
which time I u.sed with various success a great variety of works designed
for their capacities, but have never seen any that so entirely meets my
approbation, a«"The Young Pupil's First Book."
Yours, most respectfully,
JAMES N. PALMER.
From the Visiting Committee of the First School Society, New Haven.
The "Young Pupil's First Book," published by Mr. John E. Lovell,
of this city, has been submitted lo us for examination. From inspection,
as well as from- the high recommendations of it by the first literary gen¬
tlemen of our couiitry, we can cheerfully say, that, in our opinion, it is a
work better calculated for the young pupil than any of the kind with,
which we have been acquainted. Several important points seem to hay^
been aimed at by the author. To enumerate them all is not our preset
object. Among the number are. to furnsh a set oîentertaining andiy/lTac-
tive lessons, exclusively inone syllable. This, we believe to bea ver/dseful
plan. To give copiousness to each department of the book, so^ to fur¬
nish the pupil with amusement and actual satisfaction in hiss^dies;—'to
present the whole in a hold type, well spaced, so as to leave a find dis¬
tinct impression on the memory;—a smooth and almost/nperceptible
stage of progression;—an arrangement of the alphabet o^n entirely new,
and it is believed, improved plan, calculated to secur^® advancement
of the pupil ; the discarding of the useless syllabic fórp^» ®nd the adapting
the whole work to the mental rather than to the capacities of
the pupil.. The embellishments, by appropriate/l®^®^, also add greatly
to the interest,, and tend to facilitate the pro^ss of the young pupil;
A*
6
VAITJABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
And, wliat is of primary importance in every departmentof leamin^^
the inculcating of sound moral principles. For a more full development
of the author's views, and of the advantages which his little work has over
otlrers, we need only refer to his preface. Tn conclusion, we take the
liberty t >- recommend this work to the Schools throttghont our Society^
and to the public, as an additional favor bestowed upon them by the au¬
thor of the " Uiuted States Speaker."
This work i.s also very highly recommended by the Rev. L. Bacon,
Pastor of the First Congregational Church,,in New Haven; the Rev. H.
Croawell, Rector Trinity Church, New Haven; A. N. Skinner, Princi¬
pal of the Avenue Classical School, New Haven; S. French, Principal
of the Collegiate and Commercial School, New Flaven.: S. A. Thomas,
Principal of the Wooster-street School, New Haven; Rev. J. Hurlbijt,
New London; Charles Avery, F.sq., Professor of Chimistry, ike.. Ham
ilton College-, New York;. Simeon Hart, Jr., Principal Family School,.
Farmington; by the F.ditor of the Scientific Tracts, Boston; and by
many other distinguished literary gentlemen, teachers, &c.
LOVELL'S YOUNG PUPIL'S SECOND BOOK; com-
prising- a great variety of interesting lessons, on subjects
calculated to improve the head and heart, and to inform and
develop the powers of the juvenile mind ; the Emphasis
and Inflections of the Voice being appropriately marked,,
with a view to promote a correct and tasteful style of
Reading. The whole progressively arranged, and beati-
tifully illustrttted by simple and compound cuts.
OLMSTED'S SCHOOL PHILOSOPHY: or a Compen¬
dium of Natural Philosophy, adapted to the use of the gen¬
eral reader, and to Schools and Academies. Third edition,,
revised and improved.
The leading object of this work is to render the great principles of
Natural Philosophy intelligible to young le.arners, and to tlie general
reader; and to explain the applications of those principles to the arts,
and to the phenomena of nature. Its practical character makes it pecu-
i-ariv valnahle to mechanics and artists, who require such an exposition of
the laws of nature as may avail them in their husine.ss ; while the iiumers
ous tliistrations with which it abounds, derived both from nature and art,
make t equally adapted to inspire a taste for pliilosopliical study and ob-
eervatioi,
Tlie folnwing Recommendations, obligingly commnnicated, without
solicitation, o the author, attest the estimation in which the work is held
by the most eminent judges.
From the Hon. bmeon Ve Witt, late Sunryor General of the state of Neta
and Chancellor of the Unicersity.
Dear Sir,—I soi.» time ago received your Compendium of Natural
Philosophy, for wliich r take this opportunity of making my thankful ao-
JAMES C. PARKER..
SILAS MIX.
P. H. CONE.
AMMI HARRISON Jr.
JOSEPH BARBER.
ELISHA DICKERMAN. Jr.
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
7
knowledgmentg. I consider it as one of the best treatises of the kind
for the instruction of those who have not had a mathematical education,
and as an excellent Text Book for those who study Natural Philotjophy
with the help of mathematical demonstrations.
Respectfully your obedient serr't,
S. DeWITT.
From Mr. E. Baitcy, Principal of the Young Ladies^ High School, Boston.
Dear Sir,—Some months since I received a copy of your Compen¬
dium of Natural Philosophy, which I have examined very carefully, and
with great pleasure. The want of a good treatise on this subject,—a
treatise suitable to be used in Academies and High Schools, has long been
felt by teachers; and it appears to me that you have prepared precisely
such a work as was wanted. I am gratified that I can furnish my pupils
with so valuable a text book in this interesting department of education.
Very respectfully your friend, &c.
Prof. D. Olmsted. E. BAILEY.
From Mr. Amos Chesebrough, Principal of the JVestfidd Academy, (Mass.)
(Extract.) " Vour Compendium 1 have introduced into the Academy,
and have now used it two terms, with the conviction that it is superior to
any similar work that I have ever seen. All those who have studied it
here, have been highly pleased with it. I have taken special pains to re¬
commend it to the teachers of several academies, some of whom have
already expressed their determination to introduce it into their schools.
I have no doubt that it will be very popular when it is extensively
known."
From Professor E. A. Andretos. of Boston, Author of Latin Grammar,
Latin Reader, ¿íc. 8^c.
I am glad that you are about to give your Compendium in a cheaper
form, for the use of schools. There Is no work that I have seen, that
compares with it, for common use; and I have no doubt that when, in
consequence of its altered form and price, it shall be better adapted to
the views of those who conduct such institutions, it will acquire that gen
eral popularity which it so well deserves."
From the Rev. S. Center, of the Albany High School.
I have introduced the Compendium into my school, and caused it to be
introduced into two others. £ assure you that it meets with a welcome
reception from those who have examined it. We like the work for its
practical character. Its illustrations are happy, its ñicts numerous, and
its explanations of common phenomena, are to a great extent new and
interesting. The arithmetical problems which accompany the statements
and illustrations, are, in my opinion, a valuable feature in the work,"
From Hawley Olmsted, Esq., Preceptor of the Latin School Wilton, ( Conn.)
now Preceptor of the Hopkins Grammar School, New Haven.
Dear Sir,—I thank you ibrlhe ''Compendium of Natural Philoso¬
phy." It is incomparably superior to any thing of the kind within my
knowledge. I shall introduce it, without delay, into this Academy. It is
truly interesting to mark the progress of the science within the last twenty
years I find much that is new to myself, and think that the work can
hardly fail to be acceptable to the general reader Proceed and give us
a similar work on Astronomy, and I confidently believe that a liberal and
intelligent public will not be slow to appreciate and reward labor so hap¬
pily adapted to subserve the cause of education and genera] improve-
jjjgQt, With great respect and esteem,
Yours very truly,
H. OLMSTED.
8
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
From Thomas Dcntglass, A, M., Preceptor of the Union School, New
London, ( Conn.)
I have examined Olmsted's School Philosophy, and am very much
pleased with it. I think it excels any book of the kind with which I am
acquainted, in every respect. I have been gratified to observe that most
of its numerous and happy illustrations of principles, are derived from
facts and occurrences in common life, which, of course, are familiar to
all classes. This gives it an eminently character, and at the same
time makes it a very interesting hook. 1 am also much pleased with the
questions and problems atthe close of several of the chapters. I believe
it contains a greater number of these than any other book of the kiud,.
and yet I could wish it were still greater. It is my opinion, that nothing
adds more to the value of any mathematical text book designed for
schools, than a copious fist of appropriate questions and problems.
These exercise the ingenuity of the pupil, and impress principles more-
firmly upon his memory. My experience as an instructor, has convin-r
ced me that most of our text books are sadly deficient in this respect.
From tfw New Haven Daily Herald.
Olmsted's Compendium, or School Pliilosepkyii—S. -Babcock has recently
published a new and improved edition of Professor Olmsted's Compen¬
dium of Natural Philo.sophy. Probably no work extant contains, insc
small and cheap a form, so many principles af Natural Philosophy, adapt¬
ed to the wants of the mechanic and practicat man.- The laws of nature
are explained with much perspicuity and simplicity, and a great variety oF
cases are solved, calculated to be exceedingfy useful to every mechanic,-
in his daily business. The young mechanic will derive much more bene¬
fit from studying this book with the aid of the numerous cuts and dia¬
grams with which it abounds, than from attending papular lectures om:
this subject; or rather, a previous acquaintance with this work, will qual¬
ify him to derive the full benefit of experimental lectures.
Among other practical matters explained and elucidated in this work,
it treats of the principles of machinery ; of water works; of the steam em
gine ; of the construction of chimnies and fire places;- of lightning rods;,
of the compass needle, and of the telescope. Even to gentlemen of ed¬
ucation. tins work may be strongly recommendèd as a manual of the la--
test and most important results of natural philosophy.
In the Report of the Regents of the University of the State of New York, it'
is also mentioned as one of the text books in Natural Philosophy, which-
they particularly recommend to teachers of academies.
THE STUDENT'S COMMON PLACE BOOK; by Pro.
fesser Olmsted ; on a new plan uniting the advantages of
a Note Book and Universal Reference Book; adapted'
alike to the college student, and to the professional man.
SCHOOL TESTAMENT. 18mo.
DILWORTH'S SPELLING BOOK: a New Gmde to the
English Tongue^
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
9
WEBSTER'S ELEMENTARY SPELLING BOOK;
good edition, in substantial binding.
WEBSTER'S HISTORY OF TPIE UNITED STATES:
to which is prefixed a brief historical account of our [En¬
glish] ancestors, from the dispersion at Babel, to their
migration to America, and of the conquest of South Amer¬
ica, by the Spaniards,
From the Middlesex Gazette. ,
"It is pleasing, amidst the redundancy of elementary compilations, to
meet with one which is written by a man of learning and experience,
who is thoroughly master of his subject, and well acquainted with the
wants ofthose for whom his work is principally intended. Such appears
to be the History of the United States, published by Dr. Webster.
Nothing that can be here said will be likely to add to the reputation of
the learned and venerable compiler. This literary vetran has unques¬
tionably done more to raise nnd establish the reputation of our country
in philological learning, than all our writers besides. He is also the man,
to whom the public is under immense obligation, from his being the first
to set about in earnest to improve the elementary books which are not
only necessary in schools, but adapted to instruct our youth in general.
He it is, who gave the first impulse to that improved plan of elementary
education, which has made such surprising progress since the termination
of our revolution.
The present work is perfectly adapted to the object of the author. It
contains a lucid but succinct account of all the most interesting events of
the U. State.s, arranged in perspicuous method, and described with can¬
dor and impartiality.
[The author lived during the Revolution, and he has related some
facts of which he was an eye witness ; facts not mentioned in any other
history.]
It isa work adapted to the higher classes of schools, to youth who are
acquiring a taste for history, and to the man of business, who has not
time to examine larger treatises. On account of the various kinds oí'
miscellaneous information and moral instruction, which are interspersed
through the volume, it is peculiarly fitted to become a family book, and
to make a portion of the amusing and instructive reading of the domes¬
tic circle, during the long winter evenings of our northern climate.
T. M."
Extract from the New York Evangelist,
"This little volume presents the results of the author's extensive and
familiar acquaintance with the ancient history of nations, as weiiasof
his observing habits, in regard to the passing events of his own times.
It is different from all other histories, and will open to our most intelligent
youths a field of historical information absolutely new. The whole is
kept in strict subservience to the interest of religion and virtue."
We consider Dr. Webster as eminently qualified to prepare a work of
this kind. His extensive acquaintance with the early history of nations,
and especially of our own—the result of fifty years investigation, is the
best pledge for the accuracy of his statements ; while the personal knowl¬
edge of the events of our revolution and the establishment of our gov
ernment, gives »freshness and interest to his Jiarrative, .which are rarely if
10
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
ever found in the pages of a mere compiler. We therefore cordially
recommend this work, as adapted to general use in families and schools,"
JEREMIAH DAY, President of Yale College.
BENJAMIN SILIjIMAN, Prof. Chimistry Mineralogy, &c.
C. A. GOODRICH, Prof. Rhetoric and Oratory.
J. L. KINGSLEY, Prof, of Latin Language and Literature.
N. W. TAYLOR, Prof. Didactic Theology.
LEONAFlD bacon, Pastor 1st Congregational Church, N. H.
E. A. ANDREWS, Principal N. H. Pemale Institute,
C. A. BOARDMAN, Pastor 3d Congregational Church, N. H.
We fully concur with Dr. Day, and others, in the opinion which they
have expressed, of the History of the United States, by Dr. Webster; and
add our cordial recommendation of the work, as happily calculated to
interest and benefit the youth of our country.
JOSHUA BATES, President of Middlebury College.
JOHN HOUGH, Professor of Languages.
W. C. FOWLER, Professor of Chimistry.
Frorn J. E. Lovcll, Esq., Principal of the Lannasterian School, New Haven,
I have taken some pains to acquaint myself with the character of Dr.
Webster's ' History of the United States.' It is in ray opinion a work of
great merit, and admirably adapted to the purposes, alike, of our publie
and private Schools. It will not injure the reputation of its illustrious
author. I shall immediately recommend it to the Visiting Committee for
adoption in the higher classes of the Lancasterian School.
JOHN E. LOVELL.
AN IMPROVED GRAMMAR of the Englisli Language.
By Noah Webster, LL. D.
A critical scholar writes, in the Middlesex Gazette, tiiat-"this is the only
grammar which exiiibits a true account of our Language."
The following is an extract from a letter to the author, froin the lament¬
ed Horatio G. Spaiford, the author of the Gazetteer of the State of
New York, who fell a victim to the cholera.
" It has happened to me this morning, that I took up thy Grammar,
and I examined it with an increased degree of interest and pleasure.
How much I found to admire, and how much to increase my sentiments
of obligation to the author, I shall omit to describe. I am greatly thy
debtor, my worthy friend. This book alone ought to command the grat¬
itude of thy country, and that country should pride itself on such an au¬
thor. Posterity will do thee justice, and the time is coming, when all pre¬
vious grammars will be wiped away, as the cobwebs of literature, to make
way for the science of grammar in Webster."
WEBSTER'S TEACHER: a supplement to the Elemen¬
tary Spelling Book.
From the Connecticut Courant.
" I>r, Webster is, every year, laying the youth of our countiy under
new obligations of gratitude by his successful labors. It would be dif¬
ficult to ñame another individual, in the present and' past generation,
VALUABLE SCHOOL BOOKS.
11
or contributed so largely to the improvement of the English tongue.
The great American Dictionary is gradually becoming the stai^ard of
the English language in this country, and its republication in England
bids fair to give it an influence abroad. But it may be doubted whether
this great work, the labor of a long and industrious lif^|^ill equal, in its
influence, the eifects which have already followed the publication of the
Spelling Book. Millions of the latter work have been circulated within
the last forty years, and it is hardly possible to estimate its silent and
wide-spread influence. As Americans, we should lean to the standard
of our great national lexicographer. We have just reason to be proud
of his labors; and every motive of justice and patriotism should lead
us not to lend a ready ear to the shallow censures of those who implicit¬
ly adopt empiricism and error, provided it has an English stamp, while
they have neither the intelligence nor independence to appreciate what
is truly excellent in an American work.
But it is the object of these remarks to furnish our readers with some
idea of tbe little volume whose title is at the head of this article. It is
intended as a supplement to the Elementary Spelling Book. The^rsi
section is a table of words, pronounced alik-e, but' differing in meaning
and orthography. The second section embraces words written alike,
but differing in accent and pronunciation. Section third is a brief expla¬
nation of words in common use, expressing relations, parts of animals,
natural objects, civil and military officers, &c., names of buildings, plants,
utensils, garments, metals,—and names used in the sacred scriptures fol¬
low in fourth. The orders of architecture are briefly described in sec¬
tion fifth, with plates. Section sixth is a clear aud compendious outline
of the solar system, and the elements of Astronomy. Section seventh
contains an admirable sketch of the prefixes^ affixes, and terminations of
English words, derived from foreign languages ; it is worthy the attention
of the scholar, while it is so simple and clear that a child may understand it.
Section eighth treats of accentuation; and sections ninth and tenth of the
derivation of words from the Latin and Greek languages. These sections
will be valuable to the ripe philologist, as well as to the young pupil.
Section eleventh is on the structure and habits of animals. It is succeeded
by a moral catechism, and brief remarks on the benevolence of God, as
manifested in the works of creation.
The whole book is written in that happy style of simplicity, elegance
and clearness, for which all the elementary writings of the author are dis¬
tinguished. We think it one of the best books he has given to the youth
of our couutry. It is probably the last we have reason to expect from
hispen; and it is truly delightful to flnd this Nestor of American educa¬
tion devoting the evening of a long and laborious life, as he did the dawn¬
ing and meridian, to the service of the rising generation."
THE NEW TESTAMENT; with amendments of the
language. By Noah Webster, LL. D.
JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.
S. B. would call the attention of the public to his extensive
assortment of Children's Books, which are all got up with
a proper regard for their moral and instructive influence. He
is constantly engaged in making additions to his list.
NEW WORKS, JUST PUBLISHED.
THE^OUNG LADY'S READER; arranged for Exam-
pk^ in Rhetoric, for the higher classes in Seminaries and
Schools. J^Mrs. Louisa C. Tuthill.
^ / From Mrs. Sigourn'ey.
Tj^'i^YoutiG Lady's Reader," a varied, and tasteful selection of prose
and poetr^^, arranged on rhetorica] principles,—is admirably calculated to
supply a deficiency which has long been felt to exist, in the higher de-
parnnents of Education.
Mrs. Tuthill, by making her.,own extensive acquaintance with English
literature, available to the good of others, merits the thanlis of both
teacher and scholar. L. H. S.
FroinfJ. P. Brace, Esq. P rïncipal of the Hartford Female Seminary.
I have been highly gratÄed by an examination of the " Young Lady's
Reader," which*! havejust finished. Ifl mistake not, the arrangement
and the plan arc.e^tirely unlike any of the reading books now in use, and
will, certainly, be we^ calct^ûted for the object in view,—to teach and
illustrate rhetoric, and the principles of style, by examples,
The selection lias been tpade with judgment and taste, and must be
serviceable in strengtheniiiElhe judgment, and improving the taste of the
reader. J. P. BRACE.
Hartford, Feb. 2, 1839.
From the " Southern Rose," by Mrs. Oilman.
Those who scan the pages of a school book carefully, rarely think of
the call that is Made on the author for intellect in the selections, and pa¬
tience in the aiH'angement. ^slight examination of the Young Lady's
Reader, will suffice to shew how extensive a range of literature Mrs.
Tuthill has em&raced ; and licfw admirable is the disposition of tlie vari¬
ous branches of st^le. nothing objectionable to any sect,
class, or party^Bd is, theri^e,particularly well calculated for general
circulation in 'schdols. I.tjpals6 a valuable home book, as it offers selec¬
tions from authors whose works are not attainable by every private family.
REALTTIES OF LIFE : Sketches designed for the Im¬
provement of the Head and Heart. By a Philanthropist.
THE YOUNG LADY'S H.OME : by Mrs. Louisa C. TuthiU.
BOOK OF CONVERSATION; a Guide for the Tongue.
The PROMPTER; a Commentary on Common Sayings,
v/hich are full of Common Sense, the best sense in the
Yvorld. By Noah Webster, LL. D.
A MANUAL pF USEFUL STUDIES; for the instruc¬
tion of Young Persons of both sexes, in Families and
Schools. By Noah Webster, LL. D.
LOVELL'S RHETORICAL DIALOGUES; or, Dramat-
ic Selections; for the use of Schools, Academies, and Fam¬
ilies : designed to furnish exercises, either for Reading,
Recitation, or Exhibition. Selected from the most popular
productions, and beautifully illustrated by thirty-six en¬
gravings.