Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Meantime the officers of the law took charge of the criminals. The general delight at receiving the lost one again shut out for a time all recollection of the traitor from the hearts of this affectionate family. But the indignation of the community was strongly excited, and numbers surrounded the prison, calling loudly for the instant trial of the prisoners. On examination, Fitzgerald protested that he was innocent of the crime laid to his charge. McMurdough maintained an obstinate silence. But Hawkins confessed the whole plot, and further added, that Fitzgerald had joined the Buccaneers in the West Indies in the preceding year—had distinguished himself in their piratical depredations by his daring courage; and was now commander of a small cruiser on the Chesapeake. Fitzgerald, he said, had not specified to him the person to be put out of the way, but only that one life stood between him and a large fortune, which all should share, provided his hand was not seen in the business. This evidence was sustained by that of Arrowfoot. When asked why he suspected the pretended affection of Fitzgerald for the boy, he replied in the sententious manner of his race, that he “saw him cast an evil eye on him, when he first met him.” When questioned as to his knowledge of the scheme laid to entrap Eldred, he said that he saw “something dark working in Fitzgerald’s mind, and followed him to the fishing town. There unperceived he saw him meet two men drest as fishers, and all three walked off together. After a while, the fishermen returned, but Fitzgerald was gone, where, he knew not; he only suspected some evil was intended against the boy, for his fortune.” When it was inquired why he did not reveal his suspicions? he replied, that he “scorned the part of a meddler or tale bearer, and he had no positive evidence of what he believed.” The testimony was now summed up, and the jury retired to consider the verdict. Colonel Carlisle sent in a petition, recommending his guilty nephew to the mercy of the court, but the intercession was rejected, and sentence of death pronounced on Fitzgerald and McMurdough. Hawkins, who was considered less guilty and who was penitent, was doomed to ten years imprisonment. The night preceding the day fixed for their execution, the prison was discovered to be on fire; and before any aid could be procured, the devouring flames had enveloped the building, and rendered all access to the prisoners’ rooms impossible. The next morning diligent search was made for their skeletons, but as they were never found, it was universally believed that the arch-villain Fitzgerald had found means to fire the prison, and taken advantage of the general confusion to fly with his associates from the penalty of the law.

Another cloud was soon to rest on Colonel Carlisle’s family. The period destined for the departure of their Indian friends was at hand. Arrowfoot spoke not of his purpose, until his plans were matured, but his countenance betrayed the struggle within. There was something almost solemn in the secrecy and silence with which these young Indians made preparation for their pilgrimage. Lest they should yield to the sympathies of nature, in receiving the expressions of the love and gratitude of the companions of their childhood, they kept almost aloof from them; and it was only by stealth that Eva and Eldred conveyed to their secret depository, stores for their long journey, and mementos of attachment.

Colonel Carlisle, while he lamented deeply the obligation which must separate the Indian orphans from their only earthly friends, could not violate his pledge to their father by attempting to detain them. He restored to Arrowfoot the wampum belt of the Spread Eagle, remarking, that it contained something which he must not examine till he had crossed the great western river. The Indian made the promise, deeming it some mysterious token left him by his father; and Colonel Carlisle hoped the large sum of gold he had prevailed on him by this stratagem to accept, would be of use to him in after life.

The evening preceding his departure, Arrowfoot’s heart seemed lighter than usual. He led Eva to one of the favorite haunts of their childhood. “Eva,” he said, “you have seen my dark and sad countenance; you have thought me ungrateful and unhappy. Yes, the soul of Arrowfoot is debased; it has rebelled against the command of my dying father, and preferred degradation and pity to the high hopes of my brethren in the West. Eva, you know it not, but it was the spell of Eva’s voice, the charm of Eva’s eye, that darkened my soul; but now, that dream is gone, my soul rises from its sleep, and brushes away the dew that dimmed its sight.” The tears of Eva flowed fast, to think that she had ever caused grief in such a noble heart. She turned to speak some word of comfort to him, but he had left her side, and plunged into the forest to regain calmness.

That night, when sleep had prest down the eyelids of Eva, and she lay in sweet unconsciousness of all, save the gay visions of happier years which floated through her brain, the beloved Caraola hung over her earliest friend, kissing her cheek and wetting it with her tears. The lovely sleeper heard not the deep sigh of suppressed sorrow, or the light foot which was passing forever from the home, where love and protection had {749} been extended to the children of the savage. The morning light revealed the truth. A fan of eagles’ feathers was lying on Eva’s pillow, and a bow and arrow were placed near Eldred’s couch—the sole traces of their Indian friends. A melancholy void was left in the little group who had been wont to gather with cheerful faces round the hearth; and many a sigh and heartfelt prayer were breathed for the wanderers who came not again. Thus passed away, like the shadows of evening, the last scions of the Conistoga Indians.

UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY.

A WINTER’S NIGHT THOUGHT.

BY EDWIN SAUNDERS.

The night is cold, the wind is bleak,
The nearest road the shepherds seek
To gain their home, to share the smile
That shortens, sweetens all their toil—
The smile of love, that well repays
The labor of the darkest days.
The driving snow comes down amain,
Across the field and down the lane;
The lucid stream that rolled along,
With rapid course and ceaseless song,
And wantoned in the sunny ray,
Now hushed and still’d its course doth stay:
The flowers and herbs that graced its side
In nature’s general death have died.
Along the hedge and in the grove
No more are heard, around, above,
The thousand songs, and chirps, and cries,
That thro’ the leafy arches rise.
The birds are gone, the trees are bare,
And sadly mourns the very air—
Their echo is no longer there
Their fitful sheep-bell on the gale,
Like some lost spirit’s dismal wail,
Now borne in fearful loudness near,
And now slow dying on the ear,
Comes with a witchery o’er the soul,
And seems like nature’s funeral toll—
The knell of beauty, life and grace,
And this her last sepulchral dress.
Is there a heart so hard, so cold,
Without emotion can behold
This general death, this quick decay
Of all that’s beautiful and gay?
What, shall the happy woodland chime
Be hushed, or seek a milder clime?
What, shall the garden and the grove
Be stripped of all that moved your love?
The yielding stream, whose glassy face
Gave back your form with tenfold grace,
Be dulled and stiffened, and your eye
Not know a tear, your heart a sigh?
It cannot be!—regrets must steal
O’er human souls, for we do feel.
Yes, there’s a close-linked sympathy—
For this we know our fate must be;
Though lord of nature, man’s a part,
And every change speaks to his heart;
But yet he hopes that spring shall come,
And call her favorites from the tomb—
That Flora shall descend and stand,
And cast her garland round the land;
And beauty, light, and joy, and bliss,
Bring back creation’s loveliness.
And so it is, (the thought I love,)
With the pure spirits from above.
Man has his winter, and they stoop
To give desponding mortals hope.
Sent by their Maker, they sustain
The drooping soul when worn with pain,
And point the heart with sorrow riven
To the pure joys of love and heaven.
Yet though they know man soon shall rise
In holy rapture to the skies,
They feel such grief as spirits may
At all the trials of the way,
And long to bear him from the earth
To waken in that glorious birth.
Yes, there’s a sympathy between
The world without and world within,
And there’s a sympathetic band
Connects us with that happy land.

_London, January 1836_.

CRIME AND CONSEQUENCE.

Fons fraudum et maleficiorum.
’Tis the fountain of cozenage and villainy.

_Anatomy of Melancholy_.

There resided, many years ago, in a small town in one of the West India islands, an individual known by the name of Waring, whose singular habits attracted much attention, and procured for him no small degree of notoriety. He was apparently between sixty and seventy years of age, tall and thin, but well formed; and the few locks of hair that time had spared, were as white as snow, and strangely contrasted with the bushy jet-black brows beneath which the large eyes yet shone with the lustre of youth, and told of passions which had once been stormy, if they were even now at rest. The upper part of his face indicated intellect and daring, but there was a degree of feebleness about the lips; and the smile, which sometimes curled them, spoke of any thing but joy. He lived in almost total seclusion, avoiding all intercourse which was not absolutely necessary, and entirely confining himself to his own humble residence. In the front part of his house he kept a small retail shop, and there he was to be found from early dawn to dark; and for many years he had pursued this avocation, without ever attempting to increase his business, or holding communion with the people about him, save in the way of trade. Those of whom he purchased his goods were in the habit of calling on him to offer their wares, for he was a good customer, higgling, it is true, about the price, and standing out for the last farthing, but always paying in ready money, and ever exhibiting the most scrupulous honesty. In his small way his trade was extensive, for curiosity induced many from the neighboring country to call upon him; and in the {750} town, the lower classes and the negroes preferred dealing with one who they were sure would not take advantage of their ignorance to defraud them—a degree of integrity remarkably rare among the petty shopkeepers of ——. Of his early history nothing was known. He had come to the island in a small schooner, from some port in North America, and, soon after his arrival, took on lease the house in which he established himself, and which he afterwards purchased. In the rear of his dwelling was a tolerably large lot, which he had enclosed with a high paling, so as effectually to prevent his neighbors from watching his movements, and here he had resided for years, entirely alone. The delicious fruits and vegetables of that sunny clime and fruitful soil, which constituted his only food, were brought to his door for sale; and his habits of untiring industry enabled him easily to dispense with the attendance of a domestic. As he was not known to make any deposit or investment of the money he received, a notion generally obtained, that he was in the habit of burying it somewhere in the lot of ground which he had fenced in so carefully. Following up this idea, a plot had been laid by some desperadoes, to discover, if possible, the place of concealment, and possess themselves of the treasure. Three of them, one night, scaled the fence, and concealing themselves behind some empty hogsheads, awaited the coming forth of their intended victim, who, they conjectured, would visit his hidden treasure. Their motions, however, did not escape the vigilance of Mr. Waring. He came forth, it is true, and they rushed upon him, but two of them received the contents of a blunderbuss, by which they were instantly killed, and before the third recovered from his surprise, he was cut down by the blow of a sabre.

The noise of course occasioned an alarm, and a crowd collected to inquire into the cause. All information was refused, however, until the civil authorities should be present. They were sent for, and, upon their arrival, Mr. Waring unbarred his door, and led the way into the yard.

“I have been saving the courts and the hangman trouble,” said the gray-haired old man, as he pointed, with a grim smile, to the bodies that lay drenched in gore; “take the carrion away.”

From that time this singular being remained unmolested, by either the intrusions of curiosity, or the assaults of villainy. The house that I occupied was within a few doors of his, and the business in which I was engaged led to some transactions between us. It so happened, that in examining my books, I detected an overcharge which had been made against him by the inadvertence of one of my clerks. I of course hastened to inform him of the error, and to correct it. It was with some little difficulty that I persuaded him of the fact, but when it was made clear to him, he fixed his large eyes upon me with a peculiar expression, and taking my hand, pressed it with warmth.

“I do not thank you,” said he, “merely for the trouble you have taken, or for the information you have given, which has enabled me to save, though a small sum of money, yet an important one to me. These, however, merit, and they have my gratitude; but I thank you, more particularly, for exhibiting a trait of honesty that my experience had scarcely led me to expect among the merchants of this place. You are from Virginia, I believe?”

I replied in the affirmative, and inquired if I might not greet him as a countryman.

“I never speak of the place of my birth,” was the gloomy answer.

I have had too many, and too important affairs of my own, to care to busy myself much about those of other people; but, I must confess, I entertained a strong desire to learn something of this old man, and of the events which probably superinduced his eccentricities. My curiosity was destined to be gratified, though not immediately.

Years rolled on, my affairs had prospered, and I was preparing to return to my home, there to enjoy the fruits of my toil: the soil where he was born, is the _only home_ to a true Virginian. One morning, to my great surprise, I received, by a negro boy, a note from Mr. Waring, saying that he desired an interview with me, which must be strictly private, and requesting me, if it suited my convenience, to call upon him at dusk. No trifling cause would have prevented my obedience to this summons. Accordingly, at the time appointed, I repaired to Mr. Waring’s shop. He was busy, waiting on some customers, and I was about to retire; but he detained me, saying, “I will attend to you in a moment, Mr. S——.” As soon as they had left him, he pointed to the back room—“Step in there, quickly, quickly!” he exclaimed, “and wait quietly my coming.” I instantly obeyed. About a quarter of an hour elapsed before he joined me, and in the meantime I took a survey of the apartment. I have seldom seen a more wretched abode. An old leathern couch, a ricketty table, two chairs, (one I strongly suspected for the _nonce_,) and an old wooden clothes chest, comprised the main portion of the furniture. The walls were bare, save where the spiders had hung their tapestry; bundles of rags and nondescript remnants of various useless things, were stuffed into every corner, and the whole wore the appearance of squalid poverty or pinching avarice. “Strange infatuation!” thought I, “that men should devote their prime of years, their powers of mind, to the acquisition of that which is to raise them above poverty, and yet when they have obtained the means to make life comfortable, voluntarily condemn themselves to the very privations which they had originally fled from as a curse! The measures we adopt to escape the evil, bind us by the chains of habit, to the condition itself which we deprecated.”

As I made this reflection, he who suggested it entered. After a brief interval, during which he gazed upon me as if to search my very soul, he said, “Mr. S. you are curious to know who and what I am. Nay, never blush, man, it is natural enough. You cannot think it otherwise than strange, that one who is connected by no ties of consanguinity with his fellow men, who has no apparent motive for hoarding his gains, for whom ambition has no charms, and who is looked upon by no earthly being with the eye of affection, should condemn himself to the want of every comfort, for the acquisition of that, which in a brief space of time, must be snatched from him by the cold hand of death. You, no doubt, think it strange too, that one, whose language gives evidence of education, and I may say of capacity, which would place him at least on an equality with his {751} fellow men, should confine himself to the petty and despised occupation, in which for years I have been engaged. You probably deem me a miser; in one sense of the word I am one, for God’s sun shines not on a greater wretch; but there breathes no human being, for whom wealth has fewer charms or smaller power. The coarsest raiment, the simplest food, and a bare shelter from the storm, are the limits of my bodily wants, and as for my mind riches cannot purchase it peace. Still, my aim has been to gather them; for what purpose you shall be informed. I have requested this interview, because I had reason to think you an honest man, and none but such would answer my purpose. I desire your agency and assistance in the performance of an act of justice, the execution of which has been the main object of my life. For your mere trouble you will be amply compensated; for the satisfaction you will afford me it is out of my power to offer an equivalent. Having thus stated my wishes, I shall proceed, irksome and degrading to me as is the task, to recount to you the narrative of my early life. I claim from you simply the promise that you will not, during my life time, reveal what I am now about to utter to you.” I gave my promise. “Listen then,” said the old man.

“I, as well as yourself, was born in Virginia; my real name is W——. My father was descended from the English aristocracy, and was not a little proud of the circumstance. During the Revolutionary War, although his feelings were certainly on the side of the British government, he maintained a neutrality sufficiently strict to enable him to preserve his estate, which was a very large one. At an early age I was sent to England, where I received my education, and remained until I was twenty-three. Soon after my return to America my father died, (my mother had expired many years before) and I was left in the uncontrolled possession of one of the largest fortunes in Virginia. Young, well-born, good-looking and rich, every noble quality was of course attributed to me, and every where my society was courted. I lived in an atmosphere of sunny smiles, amid the rich the gay and the beautiful. Among the latter there was one pre-eminent. It was no dream of love that robed her with surpassing beauty—it was no perversion of fancy that invested her with the perfection of womanhood. If ever there were a heart untainted by a single impurity, it beat within the bosom of Emily C——, and that heart, with its boundless love, its thousand charities, its noble confidence, its unbending honor—that heart, I, _I_, _the miserable_, worthless, degraded object that you see, won by my seeming virtue, and broke by my glaring villainy!”

He paused, and wiped the drops of agony from his brow; at length he resumed.

“I did not mean to anticipate my tale, but I was forced onward by the tide of memory. Such a creature as I have described could not but be surrounded by admiration, and among the many who aspired to her hand, was one, whose perseverance was untiring, notwithstanding the frequent rejections which he had encountered. His name was Roberts. He was a young man of good family and fair education, with prepossessing appearance and manners, and was a general favorite with his acquaintance. His father, it was understood, had ruined himself on the turf, but the son, although launched on the busy scenes of life extremely poor, had contrived to accumulate a comfortable sum of money; how, none exactly knew; some said by speculations in lands, others by the purchase of bonds, while some hinted that he was indebted to his science in horse-racing and his skill in cards, for the greatest portion of his success. For my own part I made no inquiries about the matter. I met him in good society, his deportment was gentlemanlike, and moreover, he was a delightful companion. He sung a good song, told a good story, and had no small share of original wit. I do not know whether he loved Emily, or whether his motives were mercenary (for she was wealthy) but as I before observed, though repeatedly discarded, he nevertheless continued his attentions. I, alas! was more favorably received, and in the course of time Emily became my wife.

“Though memory ever reverts to that blissful period of my existence, conjuring up the past amid the pauses of occupation by day, and peopling the dark hours of the night, when remorse has banished sleep, with the shadowy forms of the loved—the lost—there are times when I lose the consciousness of its reality. I remember, but as a dream, amid the storm-blackened waves on which I am tossed, the bright skies that once cheered, and the blessed sun that beamed upon my course. My fortune enabled me to indulge in an extensive hospitality, and the pleasures of my abode offered every inducement to society. Among the most frequent of my guests was Roberts, the former assiduous suitor of my wife. He seemed to have entirely overcome his disappointment, and indeed no one congratulated me upon my marriage with more seeming cordiality than he. Emily did not like him, for she doubted the soundness of his principles; but she tolerated him, because she saw that he was entertaining to me, and probably thought my mind and morals beyond the reach of his influence. Fatal error! and, common as fatal! There is in the mind a principle somewhat resembling the phenomenon of heat in matter, which is imparted from one substance to another, as they come in contact, until uniform temperature is established,—so, when the vicious and the virtuous are in the habit of association, the bad qualities of the former are imbibed, not producing a moral medium, it is true, but creating propensities equally criminal. I grew in a short time, in consequence of this intimacy with Roberts, very fond of the turf, and that which was at first mere delight in the exhibition of the beauty and speed of the noble animals in their fierce struggle for victory, changed into a desire of being personally interested in the event. I betted freely, and though constantly flattered by my associates, and more especially by Roberts, upon the correctness of my judgment, I very rarely won. My losses, however, were not larger than my ample income could well afford. By and bye I became an owner of horses, and as I determined to procure the best, and did so, I was obliged to pay large sums for them. From ignorance, mismanagement, and probably knavery, but few purses fell to my lot. On one occasion, there was what is termed a sweepstake, in which I had entered a colt of great promise. From previous trials I was very sure that there were but few who could match him, and the event justified my confidence. Besides the stake, which was very considerable, my private wagers amounted to {752} some thousands. I invited the members of the club to dine with me at the tavern kept by the proprietor of the course. Shortly after we sat down, a storm which had been gathering all day, broke forth with great violence, and continued without abatement until long after night-fall. As it soon became apparent that the tavern must be our quarters for the night, a general disposition was evinced to pass the time as pleasantly as possible, and even to exceed the bounds of sober merriment. The wine flowed freely; the song, the jest, and the merry tale gave their zest to the entertainment, and when we rose from the table we were most of us in a situation to be led into any amusement that might be suggested, how far soever beyond the bounds of prudence. Cards were introduced, and various parties formed at various games. I knew that I possessed no skill, and flushed as I was with wine, I still retained sufficient sense not to engage in a contest with those whom I felt assured must, without extraordinary fortune on my side, transfer my money to their pockets. As I sat looking on at some of the players, I was accosted by Roberts.

“‘What!’ said he, ‘are you an idler as well as myself?’

“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but that is not extraordinary, for you know very well that I am not able to cope with these gentlemen. But how happens it that you, who are an experienced hand, should refuse to try the chances?’

“‘Why,’ said Roberts, ‘I make it a rule never to play at any game that depends on science, unless my head is perfectly cool. Now, I have swallowed rather too much of the good wine, to be able to rely upon my judgment. I should not object to try my luck at any thing that depended on the toss of a die or the turn of a card, because if fortune smiled upon me I should play the bolder for what I have drunk, and win the more, and if I lost, why the affair would be the sooner ended, and I should get to sleep the earlier.’

“‘Well,’ said I, ‘can you find no such game?’

“‘I don’t know,’ replied he, ‘some of the party are talking of faro; if they open a bank I will bet against it. Would _you_ like to do so?’

“‘No,’ I replied, ‘I shall content myself with being a spectator.’

“‘Pooh!’ said Roberts, ‘you’ve plucked the knowing ones to-day, and got your pockets full of cash; you can afford to part with some of it, even if you lose; but what should prevent you from doubling what you have?’

“‘But, Roberts,’ said I, ‘I do not even know how the game is played.’

“‘It is as simple as two and two make four—here,’ continued he, taking up a pack of cards, ‘I will show you,’ and he went on to explain the game.

“‘Is this all the mystery?’ inquired I, when he had got through; ‘I have heard it said that the odds were in favor of the banker, but I can’t see how.’

“‘Oh, so they are, generally,’ said Roberts, ‘but merely because it is the disposition of most men, when they have a run of luck, to stake with prudence, and when they are losing to exercise a corresponding degree of rashness.’

“‘And what should make me an exception?’

“‘The fact that I warn you of the error, and more than that,’ said Roberts, ‘you have the power, I have observed it frequently, of exciting yourself to boldness when it is required, and of bringing your passions under curb when it is necessary they should be still. He who possesses this self-command, although he may meet with occasional reverses, will ultimately prove successful. But I do not wish to persuade you against your inclination, and as I see that they are preparing to commence the game, I will leave you; or suppose you sit by and see how the fickle dame is disposed to treat me.’

“‘I do not object to that,’ said I, carelessly, and I accompanied him to another part of the room.

“‘Who are the bankers?’ said Roberts, as we approached the group who were busy with the preparations.

“‘Who?’ cried one, ‘why, only think, Wallis here takes it all upon himself, and he is bragging that he will soon empty all our pockets.’

“‘Indeed! I have seen a bolder bird than he cut down. But we’ll play low, Wallis?’

“‘Oh, of course. Ten checks are my limit, and we’ll put them at ten dollars each.’

“‘And you call that low?’ said I.

“‘Why, not so very low, to be sure,’ said Roberts, ‘but not quite so high neither as two thousand upon a three year old, eh! friend?’

“I was silent; the game proceeded for an hour. I looked on, and there was but little change in the situation of the parties.

“‘Now,’ said Roberts, as the banker commenced a deal, ‘I think I have you.’

“He placed the limited sum of a hundred dollars in such a situation, as to be effected by three cards. He won—doubled—won again—again—and pressed on, until he was winner about four thousand dollars. This was the work of a few minutes. I was astonished; the dealer looked aghast.

“‘A glass round to my luck,’ cried Roberts. We drank that, and another, and another, as Roberts continued to win. My whole attention was taken up with _his_ play; I did not observe that the other betters were generally losing. Presently, what with the wine I had drunk, and the excitement necessarily induced by the spectacle before me, I began to feel desirous to adventure, myself. I _did_ adventure, at first, with success, while, on the contrary, Roberts’s luck began to desert him.

“‘Hang it!’ said he, ‘it seems as if every one who comes in contact with you to-day, were destined to suffer. You hammer us on the course, and you are now mauling Wallis, at cards; but confound it, man, I wish you would let somebody win besides yourself.’

“It is unnecessary to protract this scene; suffice it to say, the fate of all other tyros was mine of course, that after acquiring moderate gains, I began to lose, that as I lost my money, I lost my prudence, that although, to outward seeming, I was calm as a stoic, (for my pride was strong enough to effect that falsity,) within me there raged a boiling hell of passion, and as stake after stake was swept from me, I verily do believe I could have stabbed the winner to the heart. When the game ceased, I had been stripped of all my ready money, and was largely in debt. It was near morning. I threw myself into a chair and fell into what was rather stupor than sleep.

{753} “With the early dawn, I shook off my lethargy, and with a head fevered, and a heart aching from the dissipation of the night, I set out on my return home, which was but a few miles distant. Although my absence, on the previous night, had been unpremeditated and unavoidable, my conscience, as it whispered over the list of my late transgressions, numbered this as one of them. I knew I should be greeted with affectionate smiles, and felt how unworthy I was to receive them, and that was a bitter pang. Is it not a marvel that men should ever be tempted to the commission of a second moral offence, when the punishment for the first is so severe? But the head-ache of the drunkard and the repentance of the gambler are alike forgotten, when temptation again assails them.

“As I rode along, a prey to remorse, I made many excellent resolutions. I determined to sell off my racing stock, content myself with viewing the sport, and never again to bet upon it. Cards I would never touch; my time should be occupied in the cultivation of my estates, and for relaxation, I would depend on literature and the conversation of my domestic circle. Finally, I resolved to communicate to my wife all that had occurred, and give her the promises I was making to myself. By the time I reached home, I had contrived, by these means, to restore, in a great measure, my self-complacency, and I almost flattered myself that I had gained a moral victory before I had even encountered the foe.

“Emily met me at the door, with a thousand welcomes. ‘How kind it is in you,’ she said, ‘to come so early! I knew when the storm came on, that I could not see you last night, and I hardly hoped you would have been so early a riser.’ ‘But dearest,’ continued she, ‘you must have passed an uncomfortable night, your eyes are heavy, and inflamed. Are you not well?’

“‘Oh yes, very well,’ I replied, ‘but there was a great crowd at the tavern, and I could not sleep; a good breakfast, however, will soon restore me.’

“‘Were you successful yesterday, Charles?’

“‘Quite so,’ said I; ‘my colt surpassed my expectations; I shall not take a trifle for him.’

“‘Why, do you mean to sell him?’

“‘Him, and all the others. I am determined to quit the turf, Emily.’

“‘Indeed!’ exclaimed she, ‘how I rejoice to hear you say so, my dear Charles, and particularly as you are not induced to the resolution by loss. I feared that if you were a winner, you would have been more wedded to the sport. I have never interfered with this passion of yours, Charles, but it has always been a source of regret to me, to see you waste your intellect on pursuits, to say the least, so frivolous, and which lead you into society that I cannot but think unworthy of,—perhaps, disreputable to you.’

“I eagerly, rather angrily I fear, defended myself from the latter charge, and asserted, that my associates were, in general, men of station in society and respectability equal to my own, and that if there were a few whose characters were less estimable, they were merely the necessary instruments of our pleasures, and not held in the light of companions.

“‘I care but little for station, if it be not worthily held,’ replied Emily. ‘Whilst I would pay to those whom adventitious circumstances place above the mass of mankind, the formal respect which society demands, I should hold education and virtue to be the fit companions of a husband whose cultivation of mind I admired, and whose natural goodness of heart I dearly loved. Now, Charles, let me ask you, are not your associates, generally, persons of dissipated habits; nay, vicious ones? for I cannot look upon gambling as less than a vice. Do you derive from them any moral benefit? are you sure that they contribute even to your amusement? I do not, for a moment, believe that you have learned to look upon play as an amusement.—Oh! God forbid it should ever come to that! I had a friend once who was married to a gambler, and Charles, I have seen the deep anguish that pressed upon her heart, and graved its lines upon her pallid brow, though her tongue never uttered a complaint. When the wretch who had trampled upon her affections had basely reduced himself to absolute want, he, as basely, deserted the family who relied on him for support, by destroying himself, and they were left, in their utter feebleness and misery, to the cold charity of the world. Poor Mary! God had mercy on thee, and gathered thee to himself,’ sighed Emily, as a tear stole down her cheek. ‘Ah, Charles, you see I have good reason to hate gaming.’

“‘You cannot detest it more than I do, Emily,’ replied I; ‘never fear that I shall be caught in its snares.’

“‘But Charles, men acquire habits by degrees, and learn to love that which they once loathed; and what pleasure is to be derived from associating with those whose time is spent in play, if you do not join in their occupation. They cannot converse with you; that would take off their attention from the game; and they cannot listen to you, their interest is absorbed in their desire to distress those whom they call their friends, by winning their money. But, my husband, I did not mean to read you a lecture,’ continued she smiling. ‘Ah, well do I know, for your wife’s sake, for our cherub child’s sake, you never will abandon yourself to the infamy of a gambler’s life.’ And she threw herself into my arms. I pressed that form of loveliness to my bosom, and felt the beating of its confiding heart, and, coward that I was, I betrayed its confidence by withholding the communication I had decided to make. I felt humbled by her purity, and rebuked by her love, and I dared not tell her what I had done.

“The day wore on, not without sad reflection on my part, but I felt self-assured that I would never so err again, and as this confidence became strong, I persuaded myself that it was unnecessary to distress my wife by any disclosures. I had only to pay off the debt I had incurred, and there was an end of the affair. That evening, much to my surprise, and very contrary to my wishes, Roberts called upon me. I had no desire to see one who had been an eye-witness of my last night’s madness, and I felt a dread lest he might allude to it in Emily’s presence. There was no occasion, however, for any such apprehension. He talked of various things, and in a most amusing manner, but never referred to the races, except to observe, in a slight and careless way, that I had missed no sport by having been absent that morning. It was not until my wife retired that he touched upon the subject.

“‘Why, in the name of common sense,’ he asked, ‘did you leave us this morning so abruptly, W—— or rather, why did you not return?’

“‘Simply,’ replied I, ‘because I was guided by {754} common sense. I had lost enough, and too much, and in a way that my feelings disapproved of, and there was no pleasure to be derived from lingering about the scene of my folly.’

“‘I lost too,’ said Roberts, ‘but I never sit down contented with a loss. He were but a poor merchant, who would fold his arms, and abandon all enterprise, because, forsooth, he found one adventure unsuccessful.’

“‘It is the business of the merchant,’ said I, ‘to take such chances; it is not mine to gamble, and yet I should think that merchant foolish, who should take a hazard where he clearly saw that the chances were against him.’

“‘And how do you know,’ asked Roberts, ‘that the chances are against you?’

“‘Because every one lost last night but the banker,’ I replied.

“‘And he had to refund this morning all that he had won,’ said Roberts, ‘and put a good round sum to the opposite side of the account.’

“‘Indeed!’ said I, ‘did you play?’

“‘To be sure I did,’ was the reply, ‘and have got all my money back again, with a tolerably comfortable stake besides. I regretted much that you were not there. Our error, last night, is obvious enough; the wine made us imprudent, or we both could have risen from the table winners.’

“‘Perhaps it is better that we, at least that _I_, did not. I might have been tempted to continue a course that I feel confident would lead to disastrous consequences.’

“‘Well,’ said Roberts, ‘I dare say you are right; and right or wrong, it is certainly not my wish to urge you to play. I merely thought you might be desirous to recover what you had parted with, and would therefore venture a trifle more to effect such a result; but let that be. You will be on the field to-morrow, of course?’

“‘No,’ replied I, firmly.

“‘No!’ exclaimed Roberts, with great surprise. ‘Why, what becomes of your horse, Velox? There is nothing in the stables to match him, and a heavy purse to be won.’

“‘I have determined to sell out my racing stock.’ Roberts stared at me.

“‘Indeed,’ he exclaimed at length. ‘What next? I am prepared now for any marvel. Possibly you are going to turn Methodist; when may we expect you to hold forth?’ ‘Pardon me,’ he cried, as he saw that I was beginning to be displeased with his freedom, ‘but I cannot but wonder that a man of your strength of mind and liberality of disposition, should permit himself to be so worked upon by a trifling loss of money, for trifling it is, compared with your means. What will your friends say, when they hear that the wealthy Mr. W—— is going to withdraw himself from their society and the fashionable amusements of the day, because, in a luckless hour, he touched a card, and lost some money, which he well could spare?’

“‘Mr. Roberts,’ I hastily replied, ‘I have not said what my motives were, nor have you a right to impute petty ones to me. It may be, sir, that you conceive good or ill luck to be the only principle which can govern a man in such a case: I trust I can be, and am influenced by a higher feeling; a sense of right and wrong.’

“‘Nay, nay,’ said he, ‘be not angry with me. _I_ question not the correctness of your course, I only suggest what will be the probable remarks of others. It is known that you were unsuccessful at faro last night; you immediately proceed to dispose of your running horses, and that too with every prospect before you of a fortunate campaign. Rumor will increase forty fold the amount you have sunk, and it will be at once supposed you were compelled to sell. For, be assured, that however pure and correct your conduct may be, mankind will never believe in the existence of a motive which would exalt, if they can, by any possibility, pitch upon one that would have a contrary tendency. However, I am done. I trust you will not ascribe what I have said to any thing but friendly feelings towards you.’

“Can you believe, Mr. S. that I was fool enough to be worked upon by this flimsy argument? Yes, sir, I was that fool! I did not abandon my resolution, it is true, but I postponed its execution, and it amounted to the same thing in the end. I will not tire you by detailing the various contrivances which were resorted to to induce me to play. I could not if I would, recount the various schemes of villainy by which I was stripped of my personal property, and compelled to mortgage my real estate. Usury, as well as gaming was now hurrying me on to destruction. I was fully aware of my situation. The dark clouds that hung over me were plain to my eye, the roar of the breakers was distinct to my ear, but in sullen desperation I held on my course, until the bark, freighted with reputation, fortune, earthly happiness, and future hopes, was dashed upon the flinty rocks, and the shattered fragments strewed upon the waves. Long, long before this, Emily had been conscious of the course I was pursuing; my frequent and prolonged absences from home, my moodiness when there, my altered looks, my nights unblessed by sleep, or filled with horror-burthened dreams, that spoke in deep groans of despair, told the tale in accents not to be misunderstood. Oh! what efforts did she make to reclaim me—with what kindness did she try to soothe me—with what eloquence did she plead and urge me to abandon the vice that was pregnant with destruction to us all! And how often did I promise—how often did I _swear_ to reform, until perjury on perjury robbed her of all respect for, and confidence in me, though they could not totally extinguish the flame of undying love that burned on the pure altar of her heart. Her health gave way at last; the bloom of beauty faded from her cheek, and her form of graceful roundness was attenuated to a shadow. My little boy, too, as if he sympathised with his drooping mother, wasted away, and looked the very type of misery. What a heart had I, to inflict all this! I have sometimes thought that a demon must have possessed me, and was permitted, for some wise purpose, to work his will. I know it was a foolish thought, a miserable attempt to shuffle off, from my wounded conscience, the awful responsibility of my own uninfluenced crime. But is it not strange? I was tempted by no gratification of passion, by no smiles of success; there were no changes of fortune to retard my downward progress, and yet, unvarying loss could not teach me to despair, and the burning consciousness of the wretchedness I was heaping upon all who were most dear to me, could not prevail upon me to refrain. But let me proceed.

“My ruin was at length complete; every thing was swept away. I had neither food for my family, nor a roof to shelter them. Before this, Emily had been {755} repeatedly urged by her relations to accept of an asylum with them, but she had refused to abandon me. She was as wretched as one could be who was free from all crime, and bowing, with unmurmuring meekness, to the hand that chastised her. She had nothing but her own unequalled goodness to sustain her. I had forgotten even to be kind, and yet she would not abandon me. But the time had now come when it was necessary that she should look to her friends for the bare necessaries of life; and the state of her health too required comforts and assistance not to be procured by poverty. For the present, therefore, she consented to remove, with our boy, to her father’s house. I did not accompany her, for I was fully aware that my society would be tolerated there only for her sake; and sunk as I was in my self-esteem, and justly degraded in the eyes of others, my pride could not brook any manifestation of the feelings entertained towards me. From the physician who attended her, I had daily reports of my wife’s health, which became more and more precarious. How could it be otherwise? Had I not destroyed her peace of mind?—had I not violated the sanctuary of her love?—had I not poisoned the source of her being? and with her wrung heart, must she not pine away, till merciful Heaven reclaimed its unequalled creation? My child too——but what claim had I to a husband’s or a father’s name?

“One evening, as I sat in a room at a tavern, my temporary place of abode, gloomily reflecting on my situation—recurring, in agony of soul, to the happiness that I had forever cast from me, and painfully endeavoring to suggest to myself some plan by which I might retrieve, in part, my fallen fortunes, there was a knock at the door, and Roberts entered the room. He had been absent for some time, in one of the northern states, and he now approached me with seeming joy, and as if he anticipated from me an equally cordial welcome. His presence, however, was any thing but pleasing to me. I was largely indebted to him for money lost and loaned at cards; and when did debtor meet his creditor with joy at his heart? Besides, I had begun to feel, that but for my association with this man, I should never have plunged into the vortex that had overwhelmed me. He was aware of my coldness, and broke out with—‘Why, W., my dear fellow, what is the matter? Is this the way you receive an old friend after a six months’ absence? But you seem to be in the dumps; has any thing unusual occurred to fret you?’

“‘Why do you put such a question?’ replied I; ‘do you not know that I am a ruined man—that every thing I could call my own has been torn from me—that I am a wanderer, covered with shame, heaped with obloquy, steeped in poverty? and do you expect, under such circumstances, to find my heart bounding with joy, or my face mantled with smiles? To be plain with you, Roberts, I was thinking of you just as you made your appearance, and I will tell you what was passing in my mind. Memory had gone back to the time of our first acquaintance, when I was in possession of all most valued by man: wealth, that seemed scarcely to have a limit—a reputation, unbreathed upon by reproach—the affections of one whose equal I have never met, and the unspeakable blessing of a pure conscience. All, save one, of these have fled—perhaps that too is gone; and all this is your work. Yes, sir, yours! But for you, I should never have been tempted to play; but for you, I should have abandoned in time the vile pursuit. Yes, sir, it was _you_ who urged me on, by stimulating me with false hopes that fortune would not always frown—that one lucky cast would retrieve all, and a thousand specious tales that won upon my credulous ear; and when, amid reflections such as these, you presented yourself in person, you can hardly suppose that you could have been very welcome.’

“‘W——,’ replied Roberts, ‘I have had a long ride to-day, and feel heartily tired. It was my intention to go to bed as soon as I should reach this house. But the landlord informed me you were here, and as a friend I hastened to see you. Some would feel offended at the reception I have met with, but I can make every allowance for the feelings that irritate you, and I feel it my duty not to leave you until I have somewhat calmed your present mood. Whenever _I_ get into trouble, and feel a disposition to give way to misfortune, the first thing I do is to sit quietly down, with a comfortable glass and a good cigar, and philosophize upon the matter; and by your leave, you shall follow my prescription. Come, come, I will take no denial; we will talk over your affairs soberly and calmly, and the odds are ten to one but we strike upon some plan which, if boldly and industriously pursued, will set all things straight again. You will not drive me from you, will you? O no, I see that you will not.’

“When the refreshments he had ordered had been produced, Roberts resumed. ‘Where is your wife, W., and how is she?’ I informed him. ‘And you, I suppose, are a less welcome guest than she at her father’s? Well, all that will come right too. By the bye, the old gentleman should not be quite so rigid about this matter of play as he is. Many a cool hundred has he won of my father; but I have observed, that your reformed sinner always makes a persecuting saint. Let that rest, and tell me, candidly, are you entirely destitute?’

“‘Utterly, utterly,’ replied I.

“‘Are your debts all paid?’

“‘You know they are not; I have not paid you.’

“‘Pshaw!’ said Roberts, ‘never mind me. Have you paid others?’

“‘They have paid themselves.’

“‘Good! Have you formed any plan by which you expect to support yourself and family.’

“‘None,’ replied I. ‘But if I had, what means do I possess to put any scheme into execution?’

“‘Let us hit upon the scheme, and we shall find the means,’ said Roberts; ‘my purse, as well as yours, is at present at the lowest ebb. A rascal that I entrusted with a snug sum, has decamped, and left me in the lurch; and a fellow whose bond I held, has smashed, and won’t pay a shilling in the pound. But I started in life with nothing, and have been so often reduced to the same condition as at first, that, as you perceive, I take the thing quite coolly. It is true, I am a single man, and there is no one depending upon me—otherwise, I might feel the matter more seriously; but I should not sit down, and mope, and scold my friends, W——: I should be but the more prompt, the more decided, and the more persevering in my actions. Let me see; you have as yet proposed nothing to yourself. What say you to turning merchant?’