"I AM not a very old man," said a venerable friend to me, one day,"yet my head has become whitened and my cheeks furrowed:--and often,as I pause and lean upon my staff, at the corners of the streets,the present reality gives place to dreams of the past, and I seehere, instead of the massive pile of brick and marble, the low framedwelling, and there, in place of the lines of tall warehouses,humble tenements. If, in my aimless wanderings about the city, Iturn my steps towards the suburbs, I find that change, too, has beenthere. I miss the woods and fields where once, with the gaycompanions of early years, I spent many a summer hour. Beautifuldwellings have sprung up, it seems to me as if by magic, where butyesterday I plucked fruit from overladen branches, or flung myselfto rest among the tall grass or ripening grain.
"But other changes than this have marked the passage of time.Changes that cause them to sink into obscurity in comparison.Thousands in our goodly city have passed from the cradle to thegrave, during the years that have been allotted to me; and thousandshave proved that all the promises of early years were vain. Allexternal mutations would attract but little attention, did they notrecall other and more important changes. Thought and feeling haveput on forms, as new and strange, but not, alas! so full of happyindications. Prosperity has crowned the toil and enterprise of ourcitizens; but how few of the many who were prosperous when I was inmy prime are among the wealthy now! How few of the families thatfilled the circles of fashion then, have left any of their scatteredmembers to grace the glittering circles now! The wheel of fortunehas ceased not its revolutions for a moment. Hopes that once spreadtheir gay leaves to the pleasant airs have been blighted andscattered by the chilling winds of adversity.
"Pausing and leaning upon my staff, as I have said, I often musethus, when some object recalls the memory of one and another whohave finished their course and been gathered to their fathers. Inevery city and village, wherever there is human life, with its evilpassions and good affections, there are histories to stir the heartand unseal the fountains of tears. Truth, it is said, is strange,stranger than fiction; and never was there a truer sentimentuttered. In all the fictions that I have read, nothing has met myeye so strange and heart-stirring as the incidents in real life thathave transpired in the families of some of our own citizens. Anyone, of years and observation, in any city, will bear a liketestimony. The circumstance of their actual occurrence, and the factthat the present reality diminishes, from many causes, our surpriseat events, tend to make us think lightly of what is going on aroundus. And, besides this, we ordinarily see only the surface ofsociety. The writer of fiction unveils the mind and heart of thosehe brings into action, and we see all. We perceive their thoughtsand feel their emotions. But, if we could look into the bosoms ofthose we meet daily, and read there the hopes and fears that exciteor depress, we should perceive all around us living histories ofhuman passion and emotion that would awaken up our most activesympathies. All this, however, is hidden from our eyes. And it isonly, in most instances, when the present becomes the past, that weare permitted to lift the veil, and look at the reality beneath."
We were sitting near a window overlooking one of the principalstreets of our city, and a slight noise without, at this time,attracted our attention.
"There she is again. Poor Flora! How my heart aches for you!" mycompanion suddenly ejaculated, in a tone of deep sympathy, aftergazing into the street for a moment or two.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Do you see that poor creature, slowly moving along just opposite?"
"Yes."
"Twenty years ago, there was not a gayer girl in the city; nor onemore truly beloved by all."
"She?"
"Yes. Nor one of fairer hopes."
"Hope has indeed sadly mocked her!" said I, giving almostinvoluntary utterance to the thought that instantly passed throughmy mind. Just then I caught a glimpse of her face, that was partlyturned towards us. Though marked by disease and sorrow, it was yetno common face. It still bore traces of womanly beauty, that no eyecould mistake.
"Poor Flora! what a history of disappointed hopes and crushedaffections is thine! What a lesson for the young, the thoughtless,the innocent!" the old man said, as he retired from the window.
"Who is she?" I asked, after a brief pause.
"You have seen that beautiful old mansion that stands in--street,just above--?"
"Yes."
"It is now used as an extensive boarding-house; but in my youngerdays, it was one of the most princely establishments in the city. Itthen stood alone, and had attached to it beautifully laid-outgrounds, stocked with the rarest and richest plants, all in thehighest state of cultivation. No American workman could producefurniture good enough for its aristocratic owner. Every thing wasbought in Paris, and upon the most extensive scale. And truly, theinternal arrangement of Mr. T--'s dwelling was magnificent, almostbeyond comparison at the time."
"And was that the daughter of Mr. T--?" I asked, in surprise.
"Yes, that was Flora T--," the old man said, in a voice that hadin it an expression of sad feeling, evidently conjured up by thereminiscence.
"You knew her in her better days?"
"As well as I knew my own sister. She was one of the gentlest of hersex. No one could meet her without loving her."
"She married badly?"
"Yes. That tells the whole secret of her present wretched condition.Alas! how many a sweet girl have I seen dragged down, by a unionwith some worthless wretch, undeserving the name of a man! There isscarcely a wealthy family in our city, into which some such an onehas not insinuated himself, destroying the peace of all, andentailing hopeless misery upon one all unfit to bear her changedlot. The case of Flora is an extreme one. Her husband turned out tobe a drunkard, and her father's family became reduced incircumstances, and finally every member of it either passed fromthis world, or sank into a state of indigence, little above that ofher own. But the worst feature in this history of wretchedness isthe fact, that Flora, in sinking so low externally, lost that sweetspirit of innocence which once gave a tone of so much loveliness toher character. Her husband not only debased her condition, butcorrupted her mind. Oh, what a wreck she has become!"
"How few families there are," said I, after a few moments, "as youhave justly remarked, the happiness of which has not been destroyedby the marriage of a much loved and fondly cherished daughter andsister, to one all unworthy of the heart whose best affections hadbeen poured out upon him like water."
"The misery arising from this cause," the old man said, "isincalculable. Nor does it always show itself in the extreme externalchanges that have marked Flora T--'s sad history. I could take youto many houses, fine houses too, and richly arrayed within, wherehearts are breaking in the iron grasp of a husband's unfeeling hand,that contracts with a slow, torturing cruelty, keeping its victimlingering day after day, week after week, month after month, andyear after year, looking and longing for the hour when the deepquiet of the grave shall bring peace--sweet peace."
"As I thus look back through a period of some twenty, thirty, andforty years," continued the old man, "noting the changes that havetaken place, and counting over the hopes that have been given likechaff to the winds, I feel sad. And yet, amid all this change anddisappointment, there is much to stir the heart with feelings ofpleasure. A single instance I will relate:
"A very intimate friend, a merchant, had three daughters, to whom hegave an education the best that could be obtained. When the eldestwas but twenty, and the youngest fourteen, Mr. W--failed inbusiness. Every thing passed from his hands, and he was leftentirely penniless. Well advanced in years, with his current ofthoughts, from long habit, going steadily in one way, this shockalmost entirely prostrated him. He could not find courage to explainto his daughters his condition, and the change that awaited them.But they loved their father too well not to perceive that somethingwas wrong. Suspecting the true cause, the eldest, unknown to him,waited upon one of his clerks at his residence, and received fromhim a full statement of her father's affairs. She begged thatnothing might be concealed; and so obtained all the information thatthe clerk could give, from which she saw plainly that the familywould be entirely broken up, and worse than all, perhaps scattered,the children from their father.
"On returning home, she took her younger sisters, and fullyexplained to them the gloomy prospect in view. Then she explained tothem her plan, by which the force of the storm might be broken. Init they all gladly acquiesced. This plan, they proceeded, unknown totheir father, to put into execution.
"It was about one week after, that the old man came home so muchtroubled in mind that he was compelled to leave the tea-table, hisfood untasted. As he arose, his children arose also, and followedhim into the parlours.
"'Dear father!' said the eldest, coming up to his side, and drawingher arm around his neck--'do not be troubled. We know it all, andare prepared for the worst.'
"'Know what, my child?' he asked in surprise.
"'Know that our condition is changed. And know more--that we areprepared to meet that change with brave, true hearts.'
"The tears came into the daughter's eyes as she said this--not tearsfor her changed prospect--but tears for her father.
"'And we are all prepared to meet it,' broke in the other two,gathering around the old man.
"'God bless you, my children!' Mr. W--murmured, with a voicechoked with emotion. 'But, you know not how low you have fallen. Iam a beggar!'
"'Not quite,' was the now smiling reply of his eldest child. 'Welearned it all--and at once determined that we would do our part.For two weeks, we have been out among our friends, and freelyrelated our plans and the reason for adopting them. The result is,we obtained forty scholars to a school we have determined to open,for teaching music, French, drawing, &c. You are not a beggar, dearfather! And never shall be, while you have three daughters to loveyou!'
"The old man's feelings gave way, and he wept like a child. He couldnot object to the proposition of his children. The school was atonce opened, and is still conducted by the two youngest. It proved ameans of ample support to the family. To some men, the fact thattheir children had been compelled to resort to daily labour, in anycalling, for a support, would have been deeply humiliating. Not soto Mr. W--. That evidence of his daughters' love to himcompensated for all the changes which circumstances, uncontrolled byhimself, had effected."
THE END.
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