Title: Rich Enough - a tale of the times
Author: Lee, Hannah Farnham Sawyer
Language: English
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Transcribed from the 1837 Whipple and Damrell edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org



RICH ENOUGH;
A TALE OF THE TIMES


BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THREE EXPERIMENTS OF LIVING."

   And while they were eating and drinking, there came a great wind from
   the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell
   upon them.

Third Edition.

BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY WHIPPLE & DAMRELL,
No. 9 Cornhill.

NEW YORK:--SAMUEL COLMAN,
No. 114 Fulton Street.

1837.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1837, by
WHIPPLE AND DAMRELL,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.



CHAPTER I.


"Welcome," said Mr. Draper, the rich merchant, to his brother, who
entered his counting-room one fine spring morning.  "I am truly glad to
see you--but what has brought you to the city, at this _busy country_
season, when ploughing and planting are its life and sinews?"

"A motive," said Howard, smiling, "that I am sure will need no apology
with you--_business_!  I have acquired a few hundreds, which I wish to
invest safely, and I want your advice."

"When you say safely, I presume you mean to include profitably."

"Ay, profitably and safely."

"I am just fitting out a ship for Canton; what do you think of investing
the sum in articles of foreign merchandise?"

"I confess," said Howard, "I have great distrust of winds and waves."

"Suppose you invest it in Eastern lands? many have made fortunes in this
way."

"I am not seeking to make a fortune," said Howard, quietly;--"my object
is to secure something for my family in case of accident, and I only want
to invest what I do not require for present use in a manner that will
bring compound interest.  I hope not to be obliged to take up the
interest for many years, but to be adding it to the principal, with such
sums as I may be able to spare from our daily exertions."

"I perceive, brother," replied Mr. Draper, a little scornfully, "you have
not increased in worldly wisdom."

"I have not been much in the way of it," said Howard.--"Mine is a still,
peaceful life--I study the changes of the atmosphere more than the
science of worldly wisdom."

"We can get along, however, but poorly without it," replied Mr. Draper;
"the harmlessness of the dove is no match for the cunning of the
serpent."

"True," said Howard; "but if you mean me by the dove, there is no
necessity for my venturing into the nest of serpents.  I am well aware
that my habits of thinking and modes of life are tame and dull, compared
to your projects and success;--but we are differently constituted, and
while I honor your spirit and enterprise, and do justice to the honest
and intelligent business men of your city, I am contented with my own
lot, which is that of a farmer, whose object is to earn a competency from
his native soil, or, in other words, from ploughing and planting.  I have
no desire for speculation, no courage for it; neither do I think, with a
family like mine, I have a right to _risk_ my property."

"There you are wrong; every body has a right to do as he pleases with his
own property."

"To be honest, then," replied Howard, "I have none that I call
exclusively my own.  Property is given to us for the benefit of others;
every man is accountable for his stewardship."

"But can you do better than to double and treble it every year, or, by
some fortunate speculation, convert ten thousand dollars into ten times
ten thousand?"

"I should say," replied Howard, "if this were a certainty, it would cease
to be _speculation_, and I should feel bound to do it, within honest
means.  But as the guardian of my family, I feel that I have no right to
venture my little capital in a lottery."

"It is lucky all men are not of your mind," said Mr. Draper, rather
impatiently, and taking up his pen, which he had laid down;--"but really,
brother, I am full of engagements, and though I am rejoiced to see you, I
must defer further conversation till we meet at dinner; then we shall
have time to talk over your affairs; just now, I am wholly engaged."

Near the dinner hour Howard went to his brother's house.  It was large,
and elegantly furnished, and, what in the city is rather uncommon,
surrounded by trees and pleasure-grounds, a fine yard in front, and a
large garden in the rear.  Mr. Draper purchased the place when real
estate was low, and it had since risen to more than double its original
value.  Howard was conducted to the dining-room, where he found his
sister-in-law, Mrs. Draper.  They met with much cordiality--but he
perceived that she was thinner and paler than when they last met.

"You are not well, I fear," said Howard, anxiously.

"I have a cold," replied she; and with that nervous affection which often
follows inquiries after the health, she gave a half-suppressed cough.
"Have you seen my husband?" she asked.

"Yes, I left the stage at the corner of State Street, and went directly
to his counting-room; but I found him engrossed by business, and verily
believe I should not have obtained a moment's conversation after the
brotherly welcome that his heart gave me in spite of teas, silks, hides,
stocks, and per centage, if I had not had a little business of my own,--a
little money to invest."

"Are you, too, growing rich?" said Mrs. Draper, with a languid smile.

"O no," replied Howard; "we farmers have not much prospect of growing
_rich_.  If we earn a comfortable living, and lay by a little at the end
of the year, we call ourselves thriving, and that is the most we can
expect."

"You have advantages," said Mrs. Draper, "that do not belong to those who
are striving to grow rich; you have wealth that money seldom can
buy,--_time_."

"We have our seasons of leisure," returned Howard, "and yet, I assure
you, we have employment enough to prize those periods.  You would be
surprised to find how much constant occupation every season demands.
Spring is the great storehouse of our wealth, but we must toil to open
its treasures; they are hid in the bowels of the earth."

"You remind me," said Mrs. Draper, "of the story of the farmer who had
two sons.  To one he left a large sum of gold; to the other his farm,
informing him he would find an equivalent portion hid in the earth.  The
one invested his money in merchandise, and made 'haste to grow rich;' the
other dug every year with renewed hope of finding the gold, and continued
planting and sowing as his father had done before him.  At the end of
fifteen years, they met on the same spot, the one a bankrupt, the other a
thriving farmer.  I suppose," added she, "I need not put the moral to the
end of my tale, in imitation of AEsop's fables; you will find it out."

"It is so applicable," said Howard, "to our present conversation, that I
almost think it is an impromptu for my benefit."

"Not for yours," said she; "you do not want it.  But now tell me a little
about your fanning seasons.  Spring, I understand, must be a very busy
one; but when you have ploughed and planted, what have you to do but sit
down and wait?"

"My dear sister," said Howard, "you, who know so much better than I do
how to carry out your comparisons, can well understand that there is no
time given us for idleness; while we wait the result of one part of our
labors, we have other works to accomplish.  Spring-time and harvest
follow each other rapidly; we have to prepare our barns and granaries.
Our mowing season is always one of our busiest.  We have our anxieties,
too;--we watch the clouds as they pass over us, and our spirits depend
much on sunshine and rain; for an unexpected shower may destroy all our
labors.  When the grass is cut, we must make it into hay; and, when it is
properly prepared, store it in the barns.  After haying-time, there are
usually roads, fences, and stone walls to repair, apples to gather in,
and butter to pack down.  Though autumn has come, and the harvest is
gathered in, you must not suppose our ploughing is over.  We turn up the
ground, and leave it rough, as a preparation for the spring.  A good
farmer never allows the winter to take him by surprise.  The cellars are
to be banked up, the barns to be tightened, the cattle looked to,--the
apples carefully barrelled, and the produce sent to market.  We have long
evenings for assorting our seeds, and for fireside enjoyment.  Winter is
the season for adjusting the accounts of the past year, and finding out
whether we are thriving farmers.  Depend upon it, we have no idle time."

"How curiously we may follow out the cultivation of the earth with the
striking analogy it bears to the human mind," said Mrs. Draper, "in
sowing the seeds, in carefully plucking up the weeds without disturbing
what ought to be preserved, in doing all we can by our own labors, and
trusting to Heaven for a blessing on our endeavors!  A reflecting farmer
must be a wise man."

"I am afraid," said Howard, "there are not many wise men amongst us,
according to your estimation.  In all employments we find hurry and
engrossment; we do not stop to reason and meditate; many good
agricultural men are as destitute of moral reflection as the soil they
cultivate."

"At least," said Mrs. Draper, "they have not the same temptation to
become absorbed by business as merchants."

"I believe we shall find human nature much the same in all situations,"
said Howard.  "There is one great advantage, however, in farming--that
is, its comparative security:--we are satisfied with moderate gains; we
have none of those tremendous anxieties that come with sudden failures,
the fall of stocks, and obstructed currency."

"And this is every thing," said Mrs. Draper, with enthusiasm.  "Nobody
knows better than I do, how a noble and cultivated mind may be subjugated
by the feverish pursuit of wealth--how little time can be spared to the
tranquil pleasures of domestic life, to the home of early affection--"
She stopped, and seemed embarrassed.--Howard's color rose high; there was
a pause.  At length he said,

"Every situation has its trials; those who best support them are the
happiest.  But we are growing serious.  I want to see your children--how
they compare with mine in health and size, and whether we can build any
theory in favor of a country life in this respect."

The children were brought; they were both girls.  The eldest was the
picture of health, but the youngest seemed to have inherited something of
the delicacy of her mother's constitution.

"I can scarcely show one amongst my boys," said Howard, "that gives
evidence of more ruddy health than your eldest girl, Frances; but my
wife's little namesake, Charlotte, looks more like a city-bred lady.--O,
here comes my brother James."

Mr. Draper entered.  A close observer would have been struck with the
difference of expression in the countenances of the two brothers,
although they were marked by a strong resemblance.  That of the eldest
was eager and flushed; the brightness of his eye was not dimmed, but it
was unsettled and flashing; there were many lines of care and anxiety,
and his whole air marked him as a business man.  Howard's exterior was
calm, and thoughtful;--the very hue of his sun-burnt complexion seemed to
speak of the healthy influence of an out-of-door atmosphere.  They were
both men of education and talent; but circumstances early in life
rendered them for a time less united.  Both had fixed their affections on
the gentle being before them.  James was the successful suitor.  There
are often wonderful proofs of St. Pierre's proposition that 'harmony
proceeds from contrast.'  Frances and Howard had much the same tastes and
pursuits.  Howard's attachment was deep and silent; James's, ardent and
zealously expressed;--he won the prize.  Howard's taste led him to a
country life.  He was not rich enough to become a gentleman farmer; he
therefore became a working one.  For years, he did not visit his brother;
but at length the wound was entirely healed by another of the fair
creatures whom Heaven has destined to become the happiness or misery of
man.  Still the theory of contrast was carried through; his second love
was unlike his first; she was full of gayety and life, and gave to his
mind an active impulse, which it often wanted.  Frances, in the midst of
society, drew her most congenial pleasures from books.  Charlotte, the
wife of Howard, though in comparative solitude, drew her enjoyment from
society.  There was not a family in the village near, that did not, in
some way or other, promote her happiness.  Her information was gathered
from intercourse with living beings--her knowledge from real life.  If
the two sisters had changed situations, the one might have become a mere
bookworm; the other, from the liveliness of her disposition, and the warm
interest she took in characters, a little of a gossip.  As it was, they
both admirably filled their sphere in life, and influenced and were
influenced by the characters of their partners.

"Why did you not persuade Charlotte to come with you?" said Mrs. Draper.
"Sisters ought to be better acquainted than we are."

"I invited her," said Howard, "but she laughed at my proposing that a
farmer and his wife should leave the country at the same time.  I have
brought, however, a proposal from her, that you should transport yourself
and children back with me; we have room enough in our barn-like house for
any of your attendants that you wish to bring."

For a moment Mrs. Draper seemed disposed to accept the invitation; but
she immediately added,--"I do not like to take my children from their
schools."

"That is just the answer Charlotte anticipated, and she desired me to
combat it with all my book-learning opposed to yours, and now and then
fill up the interstices with such plain matter-of-fact argument as she
could offer; for instance, that they would improve more in one month
passed in the country, at this fine season, than in a whole summer at
school.  'Tell her,' said she, 'to let them

   'Leave their books and come away,
   That boys and girls may join in play.'"

"I really think, Frances," said Mr. Draper, "this would be an excellent
plan; you are not quite well, and the country air will be of service to
you and Charlotte."

"We have so much more of country round us," said she, with an air of
satisfaction, "than most of my city friends, that I scarcely feel it
right to make trees or grass an excuse for emigration.  I have as much
pleasure in seeing spring return to unlock my treasures, as you can have,
Howard.  I must show you some of my rare plants.  I have, too, my grape
and strawberry vines; and finer peach trees I do not think you can
exhibit."

"I sincerely hope," said Howard, "you will enjoy this pleasure long, and
eat fruit that you have cultivated yourself: I dare say, it is sweeter
than any you can buy."

"It ought to be," said Mr. Draper, a little seriously, "for it certainly
costs about six times as much as the highest market price that we should
pay.  We live here at a most enormous rent; my conscience often twinges
me on the subject."

"And yet I have heard you say, that you bought this place lower," said
Howard, "than any which you would now occupy."

"That is true; but by taking down this building, and cutting the land
into lots, I might get a house clear."  A slight flush passed over Mrs.
Draper's cheek.

"I have had applications," continued Mr. Draper, "for the whole estate as
it stands; but really, it is such a source of pleasure to my wife to have
her garden and her shrubbery, that I have not listened to them."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Draper.

"I am doubtful, however, whether I am doing right to let so much property
remain idle and useless."

"Not useless, brother," said Howard, "if it gives so much enjoyment to
your family.  What can you do with money but purchase happiness in some
form or other?  The benevolent purchase it by relieving the wants of
others, and are blessed in blessing; nor can I see why money may not as
wisely be expended in the purchase of a fine house and garden, as by
investing it in stocks, or ships and cargoes."

"Simply because the one is dead property, and brings no interest; the
other is constantly accumulating."

"Is there no such thing as being RICH ENOUGH?" said Howard.  "Are we to
be always striving to acquire, and never sitting quietly down to enjoy?"

"No one can look forward to that time more earnestly than I do," said Mr.
Draper.  "Every wise man will fix upon a certain sum, that his reason and
experience tell him will be sufficient for his expenditures; and then he
ought to retire from business, and hazard no more.--Now, Howard, as I
must hurry through dinner, we may as well improve our time.  I promised
to aid you in the disposition of your surplus money.  As you have a dread
of adventure, and do not like to run any risk, I will take it myself, and
give you compound interest."

Howard expressed his thanks.  "You owe me none; it will be a matter of
convenience to me to have the use of this additional money.  I only feel
some compunction in deriving that profit from it which you might yourself
reap.  However, as I take the risk, and you take none, it is according to
your own plan;--and now I must be off; I have already overrun my time,"
said he, looking at his watch.  "If possible, I shall be at home early,
but it is a busy season; two East India cargoes have just arrived, and
several consignments of cotton from the south; all are pressing upon us."

"My brother," said Howard, as he disappeared, "is the same active,
enterprising man he always was.  I rejoice to hear, however, that he has
set some limits to his desire for wealth."

"Our desires grow proportionably to our increase of wealth, I believe,"
said Mrs. Draper.  "When we began life, your brother said, if he was ever
worth a hundred thousand dollars, he would retire from business; he now
allows himself to be worth much more than that amount, and yet you
perceive our homestead becomes too valuable for our own use, because it
can be converted to money.  All this, however, would be nothing, if I did
not see this eager pursuit of gain robbing him of the pleasures of
domestic life, of the recreation every father ought to allow himself to
receive from the innocent conversation and sports of his children.  He
cannot spare time for travel--to become acquainted with the beautiful
views of our own country.  To you, who knew him, as I did, full of high
and noble perceptions, this is a melancholy change."

Howard was silent; he remembered his brother's early restless desire of
wealth, strikingly contrasted with his own indifference to it.  Frances
judged of his character by that period of life when all that is
imaginative or sentimental is called into action;--she judged him by the
season of _first love_.  She little supposed that the man who was
contented to ramble with her over hill and dale, who could bathe in
moonbeams, and talk of the dewy breath of evening and morning, as if it
came from "Araby the blest," would one day refuse to quit the bustle of
State Street, or the dark, noisy lumber of India Wharf, to gaze on the
Falls of Niagara, because it could not thunder money in his ear! that his
excursions were to be confined to manufactories, coal-mines, rail-road
meetings, and Eastern lands.  This development of character had been
gradual, and she scarcely realized his entire devotion to business, till
she saw his health affected by that scourge of our "pleasant vices,"
dyspepsy.  She expressed her apprehensions to Howard, and begged him to
use all his influence to break the spell.

"I can think of nothing that will have more effect," said Howard, "than
for you to accept my wife's invitation, to pass a few weeks with us in
the country.  This will occasionally withdraw my brother from the city,
and it appears to me that your own health may be benefited by the
change."  He was struck with his sister's altered appearance, with the
occasional flush, the short, low cough; yet she said she was well--"only
a slight cold."

At length she promised to be with them the ensuing week, provided her
husband could make arrangements to go with her.  "If he knows that I
depend on him," said she, "it will be the strongest inducement for him to
quit the city for a few days."

Mr. Draper returned late in the evening, and had only time to complete
his business affairs with his brother, who departed early the next
morning.



CHAPTER II.


The spring had returned with its new-born beauty, its swelling buds, it
tender grass; here and there a tree in the city anticipated the season of
leaves, and put forth its verdant honors.  "Now, ma'am," said Lucy, who
had long been a faithful domestic in the family, "if you are going
particular, and don't expose yourself by going into the garden, and will
take the cough-drops regularly, morning and evening, you will get rid of
your cold.  This is just the season when every body gets well that got
sick as you did."

"How was that?" said Mrs. Draper.

"Why, when the sap was going down the trees in the autumn; but now it is
going up."

But whether the sap had already gone up, or for some other reason, which
was as clear to human perception, Francis did not shake off her wearing
cough.  Mr. Draper was not alarmed at it; it was very unobtruding, and he
had become _used to it_.  It was not one of those vulgar, hoarse coughs,
that, till we connect danger with it, often excites indignation in those
who are listening to an interesting narrative, or to a reader, who is
obliged to wait till the impertinent paroxysm is over.  Mrs. Draper's was
quite a lady-like cough, low and gentle, and seemed rather like impeded
respiration.

Visiters would sometimes observe, when they went away, "Mrs. Draper is
still a handsome woman, though she has lost her bloom.  What a pity she
has that affected little cough! it really spoils her; it is nothing but a
habit; she could easily break herself of it, if any body would be honest
enough to tell her."  This task rested with Lucy alone; but it was all in
vain.  Frances took the cough-drops morning and evening, and still the
disagreeable habit remained.  Mr. Draper was very little at home; and
when he was, his mind was engaged by new projects.  Anxiety, however, did
not rob him of sleep: he was too successful; he seemed to have the Midas-
like art of turning every thing to gold:--his thousands were rapidly
accumulating, and half a million was now the point at which he determined
to stop.  Mrs. Draper's slight cough did not attract his attention; but
if her appetite failed, he grew anxious, and feared she was not well.

Week after week passed, and still it was impossible for Mr. Draper to
leave the city.  At length, a letter arrived from Charlotte, claiming the
visit; and he substituted one of his clerks to conduct his family to his
brother's residence.  Here, though not more than forty miles from the
city, Mrs. Draper found the freshness and novelty of country life.  The
family were farmers, children and all.  Charlotte was acquainted with all
the little details belonging to a farm, and took as much interest as her
husband did in the growth of grain, the raising of pigs and poultry, and
feeding cattle in the best and most economical manner.  She displayed her
dairy with its cheese arranged on shelves, her white pans of milk, and
her newly-churned butter, which impregnated the air with its sweetness.

It was with long-forgotten feelings of health that Frances breathed the
atmosphere around her; she perceived that her respiration was more free.
"How ignorant I was," said she to Howard, "to compare my city garden to
the country!  There is music in every accidental sound.  How fresh is the
air! how unlike the mornings to which I have been accustomed, where the
voice of the teamster urging on his over-loaded horse, or the monotonous
cry of the fishmonger, disturbed my slumbers!"

Her heart beat with pleasure as she saw her children go forth with their
cousins to rural enjoyments: her tender bud, which she had often feared
would never live to unfold its beauty, her little Charlotte, she saw here
as joyous and as active as her sister.  New hopes and anticipations
brightened the future.  How does returning health change the prospect of
external circumstances!  The cough was much less constant, and Charlotte,
who professed to have wonderful skill in curing diseases, had undertaken
to eradicate it.  She did not approve of late slumbers, and every morning
she brought her patient a tumbler of new milk, and challenged her to come
out and breathe the fresh air.  "Do not wait," said she, "till its wings
are clogged by the smoke of the city; come and win an appetite for our
country breakfast, our new-laid eggs: the children are hunting for them
amongst the hay, and here comes my little namesake with her prize: she
has brought hers for your breakfast."

Mr. Draper did not arrive at the time he appointed, and Frances often
felt the sickness of hope delayed.  "Deliver me from such excellent
husbands," said Charlotte to Howard, "who are wasting the best years of
their lives in acquiring wealth for their families, and yet never think
themselves _rich enough_.  Here is poor Frances, kept in a state of
feverish anxiety, when rest and tranquillity are absolutely necessary for
the restoration of her health."

The Saturday evening following, Mr. Draper arrived.  He was delighted to
see his wife and children, and thought they looked remarkably well.  On
Sunday morning, he walked with his brother over the farm, and calculated
the probable receipts of the year.  Away from the atmosphere of business,
his mind seemed to recover its former freshness.  "How beautiful this
stillness is!" said he: "it reminds me of the mythology of the heathen
world; the ancients used to say that when Pan slept, all nature held its
breath, lest it should awake him.  You have made an enthusiast of
Frances; nothing will do for her now but the country."

"My wife is anxious about the health of yours," said Howard; "she thinks
her cough an indication of weak lungs."

"I know," said Mr. Draper, stopping short, "she is subject to a cough;
ours is a miserable climate; I hope the warm weather will entirely banish
it.  I have a bad cough myself;"--and he coughed with energy.

"I wish, brother," said Howard, "that period had arrived, at which you
have so long been aiming, that you thought yourself _rich enough_ to
devote more time to your family."

"No one can look forward to it more eagerly than I do," replied Mr.
Draper; "but you can little understand the difficulty of withdrawing from
business.  However, I fully mean to do it, when I have secured to my wife
and children an inheritance."

Howard smiled.

"O," said Mr. Draper, in reply to the smile, "you must not suppose my
wants can be measured by yours.  Your farm supplies you with the
materials of life, and you get them at a cheap rate."

"I give for them what you give," said Howard, "time,--and a little
more,--I give manual labor; you know I belong to the working class.  In
this money-making day, men despise small gains, and yet my own experience
tells me they are sufficient for happiness.  Great wealth can add but
little to our enjoyments; domestic happiness, you will allow, is cheaply
bought, as far as money is concerned, and riches cannot add a great deal
to our corporeal enjoyment.  The pleasures of sense are wisely limited to
narrow boundaries; the epicure has no prolonged gratification in eating;
though he may wish for the throat of the crane, he cannot obtain it;
neither does he enjoy his expensive delicacies more than the day-laborer
does his simple fare.  Of all the sources of happiness in this world,
overgrown wealth has the least that is real; and from my own observation,
I should think it the most unproductive source of satisfaction to the
possessor.  I have heard of many very wealthy men that have tormented
themselves with the fear of coming to actual want, but I never heard of
one man in moderate circumstances that was afflicted with this
monomania."

"You talk like a philosopher," said Mr. Draper, laughing, "who means to
live all his life in his tub.  However, I assure you that I do not intend
always to pursue this course of hurry and business; in a very short time,
I expect to agree with you that I am _rich enough_; now, my only desire
is to hasten that period, that I may devote myself to my family."

"Is it possible," said Howard, "that this incessant toil is to purchase a
blessing which is already within your grasp!  At least I hope you mean to
devote yourself to your family now, for a few days."

"I regret to say," said Mr. Draper, "that I must be off early to-morrow
morning.  But I am thinking, as my wife and children enjoy the country so
much, that it is an object for me to purchase a snug little place where
they may pass the summer.  Do you know of any such near you?"

"Clyde Farm is up for sale," replied Howard.

"I should like to ride over and see it," said Mr. Draper, musing.

"Not this morning," said Howard.

"This afternoon, then, will do as well."

"No," said Howard; "this is the only uninterrupted day I have with my
family, and it is our regular habit to attend public worship.  To-morrow
morning we will ride over as early as you please, but to-day I hope you
will accept as a day of rest from business."

Mr. Draper had thought it quite impossible to give a part of the next
morning to his family, but he always found time for business.
Accordingly, when the morning arrived, they rode over to Clyde Farm.

"I remember that farm perfectly well," said Mr. Draper; "it was my
favorite resort when I was a boy."

"I remember those times too," replied Howard, "when I used to lie
stretched at full length by the side of the waterfall, getting my _amo,
amas_, and only now and then roused by the distant sound of your gun,
which put all the little birds to flight."

"Has it still that fine run of water?" asked Mr. Draper.

"Precisely the same," replied Howard; "this very stream that flows
through my pasture, and sparkles in the morning sun, comes from old
Clyde.  Look this way, and see what a leap it takes over those rocks."

Clyde Farm was just such a spot as a romantic, visionary mind might
choose for its vagaries,--such a spot as an elevated, contemplative one
might select for its aspirations after higher hopes, which seldom come in
the tumult of life.  Mr. Draper felt at once that the place was congenial
to the taste and habits of his wife; it awoke in his own mind the
recollection of his boyish days, and from these he naturally reverted to
the days of courtship, when he talked of scenery and prospect as
eloquently as Frances.  With a light step he followed his brother along
the stream that came leaping and bounding from the hills, till they
arrived at the still little lake whence it took its course.  The mists of
the morning had dispersed, and the blue sky and white clouds were
reflected from its glassy surface, while on its borders the deep, dark
foliage of the woods lay inverted.  Both of the brothers stood silent
when they reached the edge of the water; both were impressed with the
beauty of the scene.

"How delighted Frances would be with this spot!" said Howard.  "It is
like the calm, tranquil mirror of her own mind, which seems formed to
reflect only the upper world, with its glorious firmament.  I think we
have before us two excellent prototypes of our wives:--while the clear,
peaceful lake represents yours, this happy, joyous, busy little stream
may be likened to my Charlotte, who goes on her way rejoicing, and
diffusing life and animation wherever she bends her course."

"I wish Frances had a little more of her gayety," said Mr. Draper.

"Depend upon it," said Howard, "they will operate favorably on each
other.  I perceive already a mingling of character.  I will venture to
predict, Charlotte will have a boat with its gay streamers winding the
shore before long, and persuade her sister to become the 'Lady of the
Lake.'"

The matter was soon decided; the sisters visited the place, and were
enchanted with it; and Howard was authorized by his brother to make the
purchase.

The house had been built many years.  It was irregular in its form, and
certainly belonged to no particular order of architecture.  There was a
large dining-room, and doors that opened upon the green, and plenty of
small rooms; in short, it was just such a house as Frances fancied; it
was picturesque, and looked, she said, "as if it had grown and shot out
here and there like the old oaks around it."

Charlotte begged that on herself might devolve the care of furnishing it.
"I know better than you," said she, "what will save trouble.  Banish
brass and mahogany; admit nothing that requires daily labor to make it
fine and showy.  I do not despair of setting you up a dairy, and teaching
you to churn your own butter."  She truly loved and honored her sister-in-
law, and trembled for her life, which she was persuaded she held by a
frail tenure.  She was eager to prevent her returning to the city during
the warm season, and readily undertook to go herself and make all
necessary arrangements.  Frances furnished her with a list, and left much
discretionary power to her agent.

In the course of a few days she returned.--"We must be at Clyde Farm to-
morrow," said she, "to receive the goods and chattels of which I am only
the precursor.  Your husband enters warmly into the furnishing of your
country residence, and therefore we must let him have a voice in it.  His
taste is not so simple as ours, so we must admit some of the finery of
the town house; pier and chimney glasses are to be sent from it.  I did
not make much opposition to this, for they will not only reflect our
rustic figures within, but the trees and grass without.  How I long to
have haying-time come!  You must ride from the fields with your children,
as I do, on a load of hay, when the work of the day is over, and look
down upon all the world.  O Frances," added she, "if we could only
persuade your husband to turn farmer, our victory would be complete."

"It will never be," said Frances.

"I don't know that," replied Charlotte; "he seemed to set very little
value on the city residence, and would fain have stripped his elegant
rooms to dignify your rustic retreat; but I would not consent to the
migration of a particle of gilding or damask, but told him he might send
the marble slabs, with the mirrors,--and I speak for one of the slabs for
the dairy.  But I have been more thoughtful for you than you have for
yourself: look at this list of books that I have ordered."

Frances was surprised; she had never seen Charlotte with a book in her
hand, and she candidly expressed her astonishment that, amidst all her
hurry, she had remembered _books_.

"Where do you think I acquired all my knowledge," said Charlotte, "if I
never open a book?  But you are half right; I certainly do not patronize
book-making; and yet all summer I am reading the book of Nature.  I open
it with the first snow-drop and crocus which peeps from under her white
robe; and then, when she puts on her green mantle, strewed with

   'The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose,'

I study the lilies of the field.  Depend upon it, there is more wisdom
without doors than we can find within,--more wisdom there than in books."

"I believe it," said Frances; "all nature speaks of the Creator,--of the
one great Mind which formed this endless variety, and can give life to
the most insignificant flower that grows by the way-side."

"I should like to know what flower you call insignificant," said
Charlotte; "not this little houstonia, I hope; that has a perfection of
organization in which many of your splendid green-house flowers are
deficient.  But that is the way with us: we call those things sublime
which are on a large scale, because they are magnified to our narrow
minds, and we can comprehend them without any trouble.--But I must not
display all my wisdom to you at once--how, like Solomon of old, I can
speak of trees, from 'the cedar-tree that is in Lebanon even unto the
hyssop that springeth out of the wall.'--And now, fair sister,

   'Up, up, and quit your books,'

and come with me to one of my studios--namely, my poultry-yard.  I hear
the bipeds clamorous for their supper."

"This is the woman," thought Frances, "that I have sometimes wondered
Howard, with his reflecting mind, could select as his partner for life!
Because I saw her, like the Deity she worships, attending to the most
minute affairs, I foolishly imagined she comprehended no others."

From this time the two sisters resembled in union Shakspeare's twin
cherries growing on one stem.



CHAPTER III.


The furniture arrived, and the country residence was very soon in order.
Howard took the direction of the farming part.  But it was no object to
Frances to have much ploughing or planting.  She loved the "green
pastures and still waters," and often repeated those beautiful lines of
the hymn--

   "To dewy vales and flowery meads,
   My weary, fainting steps he leads,
   Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
   Amid the verdant landscape flow."

Clyde Farm was a singularly retired spot, notwithstanding its vicinity to
a country village, which, on a straight line, was about two miles from
it.  But there was a high hill between, that belonged to the farm, and
was crowned with oak and chestnut trees; while here and there was an
opening which gave a perfect view of the village, with its church,
academy, and square four-story tavern, with windows enough to give it the
appearance of a huge lantern.  The high road was a mile from the house,
and no dwelling was nearer.  The hill overlooked one of those New England
landscapes that could not be wrought into a well-composed picture;
objects were too abundant; it was dotted with farms and sheets of water;
and beyond, the beautiful Merrimac wound its way.  On this spot, Frances
had a little open pavilion erected, and it was her resort at sunset.  As
her health improved, her mind opened to the impressions of happiness, and
she grew almost gay.  "There is but one thing more," said she to her
brother and sister, "that I now desire in this world."

"Always one thing wanting for us poor mortals!" said Charlotte; "but let
us hear what it is."

"That my husband, who is the liberal donor of my enjoyment, should
partake of it."

"Pray be contented," replied she, "and let him enjoy himself in his own
way."

"I have a letter for you," said Howard, "that came enclosed in one to
me;" and, with an air of hesitation, he gave it to her.

Frances hastily took it; her color came and went as she read.  It
informed her, that the offers her husband had received for his estate in
town had not only opened his eyes to its value, but had convinced him
that, as a patriotic citizen, he had no right to retain it for his
private use; he had therefore come to the conclusion to reap the benefit
himself which other speculators had proposed to do.  He should take down
the house, make a street through the land, divide it into small lots, and
erect a number of houses upon it, one of which he meant to reserve for
himself.  "I should regret what I conceive to be the necessity of this
thing," he added, "if you were not so perfectly satisfied with your Clyde
residence.  As you will always repair to it early in the spring, it
matters little if you return to walls of brick and mortar in the autumn."

We pass over the involuntary tears that followed this communication, as
speculators would pronounce them unreasonable.  It now became necessary
for Frances to visit the city to make arrangements, and take a last leave
of her pleasant mansion.  In justice, it must be said, she thought less
of her own deprivation than of the new accession of care and toil that
her husband was bringing upon himself.--When she returned to Clyde, she
had lost by fatigue nearly all the health she had previously gained.

Most people have witnessed the rapidity with which the work of
destruction goes on in modern days.  In a very short time the splendid
mansion was a pile of ruins, a street laid open, and buildings erecting
on the spot.

Mr. Draper's visits to Clyde had been hitherto confined to the Sabbath,
and generally terminated with it: but he now wrote to his wife that he
intended to "pass a month with her.  It was a comparative season of
leisure; his vessels had sailed, his buildings were going on well, and he
should be able to enjoy the quiet of the country."

Frances received this intelligence with new-born hope.  She felt certain,
that one month, passed amidst the tranquil pleasures of the country,
would regenerate his early tastes.  She talked eloquently of the
corrupting atmosphere of the city, and was sanguine that now all would go
well; that his inordinate engrossment in business would yield to the
influences by which he would find himself surrounded.  And so it turned
out, for a few days.  Mr. Draper was as happy as an affectionate husband
and father must naturally be, reunited to the objects of his tenderness.
He said that "he felt uncommonly well, had much less of the dyspepsy than
he had experienced for years," followed his little girls to their
favorite haunts, and seemed to realize the blessing of leisure.  Howard,
with his family, passed the third day with them.  Towards evening, they
all ascended the hill.  Mr. Draper was struck with the extensive view,
and the beauty of his wife's domain, for he scrupulously called it her
own.  "What a waste of water!" he exclaimed.  "What a noble run for mills
and manufactories!"  Poor Frances actually turned pale; but, collecting
her spirits, she said, "It is hardly right to call it a _waste_ of
water."

   "Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand."

In the mean time, Mr. Draper had taken his pencil, and on the back of a
letter was making lines and dashes.  "Look here," said he to Howard.  "See
how perfectly this natural ledge of rocks may be converted into a dam: it
seems precisely made for it: then, by digging a canal to conduct the
water a little to the left, there is a fine site for a
cotton-manufactory, which, built of granite, would add much to the beauty
of the prospect.  Just here, where that old tree is thrown across the
stream, a bridge may be built, in the form of an arch, which also must be
of stone.  It will make the view altogether perfect."

"I cannot think," said Howard, "the view would be improved; you would
have a great stone building, with its countless windows and abutments,
but you would lose the still, tranquil effect of the prospect, and take
much from the beauty of the stream."

"Not as I shall manage it," said Mr. Draper.  "I am sure Frances herself
will agree with me that it adds fifty per cent. to the beauty of the
prospect when she sees it completed."

In vain Frances protested she was satisfied with it as it was; the month
that she had hoped was to be given to leisure was one of the busiest of
her husband's life.  Contracts were made--an association formed.  Mr.
Draper was continually driving to the city, and mechanics were passing to
and fro.  Clyde Farm began to wear the appearance of a business place.  A
manufacturing company was incorporated under the title of the Clyde
Mills.  The stillness of the spot was exchanged for the strokes of the
pickaxe, the human voice urging on oxen and horses, the blasting of
rocks; the grass was trampled down, the trees were often wantonly
injured, and, where they obstructed the tracks of wheels, laid prostrate.
Frances no longer delighted to walk at noon day under the thick foliage
that threw its shadow on the grass as vividly as a painting.  All was
changed!  It is true she now saw her husband, but she had but little more
of his society; his mind and time were wholly engrossed; he came often,
and certainly did not, as formerly, confine his visits to the Sabbath.

All went on with wonderful rapidity; story rose upon story, till it
seemed as if the new manufactory, with its windows and abutments, was
destined to become another Babel.  When Charlotte came to Clyde, she
gazed with astonishment.  "All this," said she to Howard, "is the project
of a speculator!  Grown men now-a-days remind me of the story of the boy
who planted his bean at night, and went out in the morning to see how it
grew; he found it had nearly reached the chamber windows; he went out the
next morning, and it was up to the eaves of the house; on the third
morning, it had shot up to the clouds, and he descried a castle, or a
manufactory, I don't know which, on the top of it.  Then it was high time
to scale it; so up, up, he went, and when he arrived at the building, he
put his foot into it, and then he perceived it was made of vapor; and
down came bean, castle, and boy, headlong, in _three seconds_, though it
had taken _three whole days_ to complete the work."

"You must tell your story to my brother," said Howard.

"No," replied Charlotte; "he would not profit by it; but I will tell it
to my children, and teach them to train their beans in the good
old-fashioned way, near the ground."

Thus passed the autumn at Clyde; that period which every reflecting mind
enjoys as a season of contemplation; that period when our New England
woods assume every variety of color, and shine forth with a splendor that
indicates decay.  Still the two families had much enjoyment together; the
health of Frances and little Charlotte had decidedly improved; but when
the leaves began to fall, and the wind to whistle through the branches,
they quitted Clyde and returned to the city.  Their new house was not
ready for them, and they were obliged to take lodgings at one of the
hotels.

Mr. Draper met Dr. B., their friend and physician, in his walks, and
begged him to call and see his wife.  "I rejoice to say," said he, "that
her health does not require any medical advice; she is quite well."

Probably Dr. B. thought otherwise, for he suggested the advantage that
both she and the little girl might derive from passing the winter in a
warm climate.  Never was there a fairer opportunity; they had no home to
quit, and their residence at a hotel was one of necessity, not of choice.
But Mr. Draper said it was quite impossible.  What! leave his counting-
room, State Street, India Wharf, the insurance offices! leave all in the
full tide of speculation, when he was near the El Dorado for which he had
so long been toiling! when Eastern lands and Western lands, rail-roads
and steam-boats, cotton, and manufactories, were in all their glory; when
his own Clyde Mills were just going into operation!  It was impossible,
wholly impossible; and Frances would not go without him.  The suggestion
was given up, and she remained in the city almost wholly confined to the
atmosphere of a small room with a coal fire.  Unfortunately the measles
appeared among the children at the hotel, and Mrs. Draper's were taken
sick before she knew that the epidemic was there.  They had the best
attendance, but nothing supersedes a mother's devotion.  Frances passed
many a sleepless night in watching over them.  With the eldest the
disorder proved slight, but it was otherwise with the youngest; and when
she began to grow better, the mother drooped.  It was a dreary winter for
poor Mrs. Draper, but not so for her husband.  Never had there been a
season of such profits, such glorious speculations!  Some _croakers_ said
it could not last; and some of our gifted statesmen predicted that an
overwhelming blow must inevitably come.  But all this was nothing to
speculators; it certainly would not arrive till after _they_ had made
their millions.

Spring approached, with its uncertainty of climate; sometimes, the
streets were in rivers, and the next day frozen in masses; then came
volumes of east wind.  Mrs. Draper's cough returned more frequently than
ever, and Charlotte looked too frail for earth.  The physician informed
Mr. Draper that he considered it positively necessary to remove the
invalids to a milder climate, and mentioned Cuba.  Mr. Draper, however,
decided that an inland journey would be best, and, inconvenient as it
was, determined to travel as far as some of the _cotton-growing_ states.
After the usual busy preparations, they set off, the wife fully realizing
that she was blighting in the bud her husband's projected speculations
for a few weeks to come, and feeling that he was making what he
considered great sacrifices.

Almost all invalids who have travelled on our continent in pursuit of
uniformity of climate, have been disappointed.  At New York they were
detained a week by a flight of snow and rain, shut up in dreary rooms;
then came a glimmering of sunshine, and Philadelphia looked bright and
serene; but at Baltimore the rain again descended.  They were so near
Washington, Mr. Draper thought it best to hurry on, with every precaution
for the invalids.  At Washington, they found the straw mattings had
superseded woollen carpets, and the fire-places were ornamented with
green branches.  They continued their journey south till they at length
arrived at Charleston.  Here they found a milder climate, and a few days
of sunshine.  Mr. Draper was no longer restless; he had full employment
in shipping cargoes of cotton, and making bargains, not only for what was
in the market, but for a proportion of that which was yet to grow, as
confidently as if he had previously secured the rain and sunshine of
heaven.  There is a constant change of weather on our coast--another
storm came on.  The little invalid evidently lost rather than gained.
Discouraged and disheartened, Frances begged they might return.  "One
week at Clyde, where they might have the comforts of home, would do more
for them," she said, "than all this fruitless search for a favorable
climate."  When Mr. Draper had completed his bargains, he was equally
desirous to return to the city, and at the end of a tedious journey, over
bad roads in some parts of it, rail-roads in others, and a tremendous
blow round Point Judith, the travellers arrived at Boston on one of those
raw, piercing, misty days, that seemed to have been accumulating fogs for
their reception.  The physician hastened their departure to Clyde, as it
was inland and sheltered from the sea.  This removal was made, and then
they had nothing to do but to get well.  Howard and Charlotte were
rejoiced at the reunion, and the feeble little invalid tried to resume
her former sports with her cousins.  But all would not answer, and when
June came on, with its season of roses, she slept at the foot of the
mount.  It was a retired spot that the mother selected for the remains,
and only a temporary one, for they were to be removed to Mount Auburn at
the close of autumn.

It were well if we could receive the events of Providence in the sublime
simplicity with which they come, but the sensitive and tender-hearted
often add to their poignancy by useless self-reproach.  Frances thought
the journey had, perhaps, been the cause of the child's untimely death,
and lamented that she had not opposed a measure which she had undertaken
solely for its benefit.  The death of friends is a calamity that few have
not strength enough to bear, if they do not exaggerate their sufferings,
by imagining that something was done, or left undone, for which they were
responsible.  To this nervous state of feeling Frances was peculiarly
liable, from her ill health; and it was many weeks before her excellent
powers of mind obtained full exercise.  Yet they finally triumphed, and
she became first resigned, then cheerful.  The sorrow of the father was
of a different character, and exhausted itself in proportion to its
violence.  It was followed by new projects and new anticipations; the
manufactory had succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations.  A
discovery had been made that enabled them to afford their cloth a cent
per yard cheaper than any other manufacturing establishment.  Bales of
cotton poured in upon him from the south, and ships arrived from various
parts of the world.  How could he find time for grief!



CHAPTER IV.


The first visit Frances made to the lake after her return, discovered to
her, that it was sadly changed.  It was no longer full to overflowing,
but swampy and low; the water was constantly drained off to supply the
manufactory and mills which were erected at a distance.  Mr. Draper had
found out that the little stream could much more than earn its own
living, and it was made to work hard.  One thing, however, was wanting to
complete his Clyde speculations, and that was a rail-road.  This had now
become necessary.  Every thing afforded the greatest facility for it.
Laborers could be procured from the village and farms in the vicinity.
Yet how could he reconcile his wife to it?  The road must pass through
the hill, and near the house.  He was aware that it would destroy the
rural beauty of the place; but what an increase of wealth it would be!
what a princely revenue! what a spirit of business and speculation it
would spread through the country!  Every man would be able not only to
make the most of his capital, but to get credit to ten times its real
amount.  He considered it a public benefit, and he was imperiously called
to accomplish it; and so he stated the matter to his wife with as much
tenderness towards her feelings as the case would admit.

"I hoped," said she, "that the sum of your public benefits was completed
by our sacrifice in the city."

"That is not spoken with your usual generous feeling, Frances," replied
he.  "When are patriotic exertions to cease?  Are we not called upon to
be constantly making them?"

"Howard would say it is injuring the cause of the country to turn
agriculturists into speculators," said Frances.

"Howard is an excellent man," replied Mr. Draper; "he is born to be a
farmer, and nothing else.  I have no wish to change his vocation; he
dignifies it by uniting intelligence with manual labor; but there are
many who are toiling merely for money, and they can get much more by my
method than his."

"Will their happiness be increased?" said Mrs. Draper.

"Certainly, inasmuch as wealth procures the means of happiness."

"Have _you_ found it so?" again asked Frances.

"Not precisely.  I am still toiling; my season for rest and enjoyment has
not arrived."

"And yet," said Frances, "Howard is _rich enough_ for enjoyment.  You
have already a great estate; let me ask, what advantage you derive from
it beyond your daily meals?  You take care of this immense property; you
are continually increasing it, and all the compensation you get is a
_bare living_.  Would any of the clerks you employ in your counting-room
labor for such low wages?"

"My dear Frances," said Mr. Draper, affectionately, "I am always
contented to admire your ingenuity without combating your arguments.
Perhaps it might be better, if you had cultivated a little more of the
_rationale_ of life."

"Well," replied she, languidly smiling, "I am going to prove to you, that
I have profited by your example, and am becoming a business wife.  You
call this farm _mine_, and tell me you bought it for me?"

"Certainly; all I have is yours."

"I claim no title to any thing but this; but this I consider your gift,
and as such accept it."

Mr. Draper certainly did not look delighted at this unexpected statement,
and began to tremble for his rail-road; but he remained silent.

"You have undoubtedly greatly increased the actual value of Clyde Farm,
by mills and manufactories?"

"Certainly I have; but all is in a manner useless without the rail-road
as a means of transportation: that will put every thing into complete
operation, and make the revenue princely."

"Then," said Frances, "I can have no hesitation in making my offer.  I
will sell this place to you for what you gave for it.  Secure the sum to
me outright, and I renounce my title to Clyde Farm.  Make it, if you
please, wholly a manufacturing place; do not consult me whether there
shall be rail-roads or mills."

"Upon my word," said Mr. Draper, "with an estate like mine, I should be
mortified to make such a paltry purchase of my wife.  It is for you and
our only child that I am accumulating a fortune.  Have you ever found me
sordid or tenacious of money, that you wish a certain sum secured to
you?"

"Never," said she with emotion; "all that money can purchase, you have
been most liberal in procuring me.  Would that you were as generous to
yourself!"

"We all have our own ideas of happiness," said Mr. Draper; "but since it
is your wish, Frances, I will close with your proposal, and secure to you
twenty thousand dollars, which is a little more than I paid for Clyde
Farm.  Legal instruments shall be immediately drawn up; and to convince
you that I wish for no control over that sum, I will have it put in
trust."

"Let the instrument be so worded," said Frances, "that it shall revert to
our child at my death."

"As you please," said Mr. Draper, coldly; "it is all the same to me."



CHAPTER V.--CONCLUSION.


From this time, Clyde Farm became wholly a place of business.  No regard
was now paid to the beauty of the place.  Iron-manufactories,
nail-manufactories, and saw-mills, were projected, and all was hurry and
bustle.  One more pang, however, remained for Frances.  The sequestered
nook she had selected, where her little Charlotte's remains were
deposited,--that spot, so still, so tranquil, so shaded by trees, and so
sheltered by valleys, so removed apparently from the tumult of
business,--over that very spot, it was found necessary for the rail-road
to pass!  Strange as it may seem, the worldly father appeared to feel
more deeply this innovation than the mother.

Twice he repaired to the spot to give his directions for the removal of
the remains, and twice an impetuous burst of sorrow drove him from it.

"It is only a temporary resting-place, even for the body," said Frances;
"the spirit is not there."  She looked calmly on, and gave those
directions for which the father was unable.

Another winter was now advancing, and the house in the city was ready for
occupancy.  Mrs. Draper made her preparations to return, but they were
often interrupted by a pain in her side.  The cough had entirely changed
its character; it was now deep and hollow.  She certainly looked
remarkably well; her complexion seemed to have recovered the delicacy and
transparency of early youth, and her eyes their lustrous brightness.  As
for the color of her cheek, her husband sometimes playfully accused her
of extracting rouge from her carnations.

Charlotte spoke to him doubtingly of his wife's health, and Lucy said she
"was afraid she would not stand the frosty nights when they came on."  But
Mr. Draper was sanguine that Clyde had been her restoration.

When she arrived at the city, there were arrangements to be made, and new
furniture to be procured.  Her husband gave her full permission to do
just as she pleased, only begged of her not to call upon him, for he had
not one moment to spare.

Frances exerted all her strength, but it became evident that she drooped.
Her nights were restless; and though some thought it encouraging, that
she coughed so much _stronger_, it was exhausting to her frame.

Mr. Draper at length perceived that she had rather lost than gained; he
went for her physician, and requested him to recommend quiet to her.  "I
think," said he, "she has over-fatigued herself."

Dr. B. came to see her, conversed with her, counted the throbbings of her
pulse, and made a minute examination of her case.  The conference was
long; when he entered the parlor, he found Mr. Draper waiting.  He
received him with a smile; but there was no responsive smile on the
doctor's face; it was solemn and thoughtful.

Mr. Draper grew alarmed.  "You do not think my wife very sick, I hope,"
said he.  "Her cough is troublesome; but you know she has long been
subject to it.  Indeed, I think it is constitutional, like my own.  You
recommended the white mixture to her last year: it did her good."

"I recommended a voyage and a warm climate," said the physician.

"Yes, I remember you did; but it was impossible for me to go away then.
In the spring we took that unlucky journey; however, it was of benefit to
her, and if you think it necessary, I will go the same route now."

"I do not," replied Dr. B.

"I am glad of it; it would be particularly inconvenient to me just now to
leave the city.  Times are perplexing: bills come back protested--bad
news from England--sudden and unlooked-for failures--no one can tell
where it will end.  We have been obliged to stop our works at Clyde Farm,
and there are from ninety to a hundred laborers thrown out of employment.
This is peculiarly vexatious to me, as they made out before to earn a
living in their own _humdrum_ way, and they now accuse me of having taken
the bread from their children's mouths, to promote my own speculations,
though, while I employed them, I gave them enormous wages.  But this,
sir, is the gratitude of the world."

The doctor still remained silent.  It seemed as if Mr. Draper began to
tremble for something dearer than money, for he grasped the hand of the
physician.

"You do not think my wife dangerously ill, I trust," said he.

The doctor replied, in a low voice, "I fear she is."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Draper; "she was remarkably well when we left
Clyde.  But what do you prescribe?  I will do any thing, every thing, say
but the word.  I will take her to Europe--I will go to any part of the
world you recommend."

The physician shook his head.

"My dear doctor, you must go with us.  I will indemnify you a thousand
times for all losses; you can save her life; you know her constitution.
When shall we go? and where?  I will charter a vessel; we can be off in
three days;"--and he actually took his hat.

Dr. B. said impressively, "Pray be seated, and prepare yourself to hear,
like a man, what you must inevitably learn.  It will not answer any
useful purpose to go to a milder climate; it is now too late!"

"You do not mean to say," said Mr. Draper, impetuously, "that if she had
gone last year she would have been restored?"

"No, I do not mean to say that; but then, there would have been a chance;
now, there is none."

"Why did you not tell me so, sir?" said Mr. Draper, angrily.

"I said all that I was authorized to say.  When I urged the step as
necessary, you replied that it was impossible."

"It is too true!" exclaimed he, striking his forehead; "and yet she is
dearer to me than my own life;"--and, unable to suppress his feelings, he
burst into an agony of tears.  Suddenly starting up, he said, "Doctor, I
have the highest respect for your skill; but you are fallible, like all
men.  It is my opinion, that a sea voyage and change of climate will
restore my wife.  If you will go with us, so much the better; if not, I
will seek some other physician to accompany her."

"It is but right to inform you," said Dr. B., "that there is no chance of
restoration.  I suggested to her, that there might be alleviation in a
warm climate; but she positively declines seeking it, and says her only
wish is to die quietly, at home.  She fully estimates the strength of
your affection, and entreats of you to spare her all superfluous
agitation.  'Tell him,' said she, 'there is but one thing that can
unsettle the calmness of my mind; it is to see him wanting in Christian
resignation.'"

It would be painful to dwell on the anguish that followed this
communication.  Mr. Draper realized, for the first time, the tenderness
and watchfulness that a character and constitution like his wife's
required.  In the common acceptation of the word, he was an excellent
husband; yet, in his eager pursuit of wealth, he had left her to struggle
alone with many of the harassing cares of life.  He had, by thinking
himself unable to accompany her, denied her the necessary recreation of
travelling; he had deprived her of her favorite residence in the city,
and when she turned her affections to Clyde, even there they found no
resting-place.

He recollected their unpropitious journey--the exposure to cold and
rain--that he had hurried on the invalids, till he had accomplished his
own purposes.  One had already gone; the other was fast following.
Speculators have consciences and affections, and his were roused to
agony.

Frances shrunk not from the hour of death, which rapidly approached.
Howard and Charlotte were constantly with her.  There was nothing gloomy
in her views.  She considered this life as a passage to another; and saw
through the vista immortality and happiness.  To Charlotte, she
bequeathed her daughter, and this faithful friend promised to watch over
her with a mother's care.

Many and long were her conversations with her husband--not on the subject
of her death, or arrangements after it should take place; but she was
earnest that her serenity, her high hopes, might be transferred to his
mind.  She had often, in the overflowings of her heart, endeavored to
communicate to him her animated convictions of a future life.  Those who
live constantly in the present think but little of the future.  Mr.
Draper usually cut short the conversation, with the apparently devout
sentiment,--"I am quite satisfied on this subject;

   'Whatever is, is right.'"

Now, however, when he realized that the being he most tenderly loved was
fast retreating from his view, he felt that there was a vast difference
between the reasonings of philosophy and the revelations of Christianity;
and, in the agony of his soul, he would have given worlds for the
assurance of a reunion.  On this subject Frances dwelt; and he now
listened patiently, without once looking at his watch, or being seized
with one of his paroxysms of coughing.  Still, however, he doubted; for
how could he trust without _bonds_ and _contracts_?  No one had come back
to tell him _individually_ the whole truth.

"I acknowledge," said he, somewhat reproachfully, "that this conviction
is earnestly to be desired.  If saves you from the agony that at this
moment rends my heart."

"My dear friend," replied Frances, in a voice interrupted by deep and
solemn emotion, "religion is not given us for an opiate to be used at a
last extremity, merely to lull the sense of pain.  The views I express
are not new to me; they have been for many years my daily food; they have
supported me through hours of bodily anguish; . . . the human frame does
not decay as gradually as mine without repeated warnings; . . . they will
conduct me through the dark valley of death, when I can no longer lean
upon your arm . . . Their efficacy does not merely consist in soothing
the bitterness of parting; they have a health giving energy that infuses
courage and fortitude amidst the disappointments and evils of life."

"Henceforth," exclaimed Mr. Draper,--and at that moment he was
sincere,--"every thing of a worldly nature is indifferent to me!"

"All men," continued Frances, without replying to his exclamation, "are
subject to the reverses of life, but particularly men of extensive
business connections.  They are like the spider in his cobweb dwelling;
touch but one of the thousand filaments that compose it, and it vibrates
to the centre, and often the fabric is destroyed that has been so
skilfully woven.  There is a divine teaching in religion, which at such
times restores equanimity to the mind, gives new aspirations, and proves
that all in this life is not lost, and nothing for that to come."

New scenes were opening upon Mr. Draper.  It became evident that a dark
cloud hung over the business atmosphere.  Unexpected failures every day
took place.  Some attributed the thick-coming evils to the removal of the
deposits, others to interrupted currency; some to overtrading, and some
to extravagance.  Whatever was the cause, the distress was real.  Mr.
Draper's cotton became a drug in the market; manufactories stopped, or
gave no dividends.  Eastern lands lost even their nominal value, and
western towns became bankrupt.  Ships stood in the harbor, with their
sails unbent and masts dismantled.  Day laborers looked aghast, not
knowing where to earn food for their families.  The whirlwind came; it
made no distinction of persons.  "It smote the four corners of the
house," and the high-minded and honorable fell indiscriminately with the
rest.  Well may it be asked, Whence came this desolation upon the
community?  No pestilence visited our land; it was not the plague; it was
not the yellow fever, or cholera.  Health was borne on every breeze; the
earth yielded her produce, and Peace still dwelt among us.

Mr. Draper felt as if "his mountain stood strong," yet it began to
totter.  Frances was ignorant of the state of public affairs.  Who would
intrude the perplexities of the times into a dying chamber?  Softly and
gently she sank to rest, her last look of affection beaming upon her
husband.

The next morning, the bankruptcy of Mr. Draper was announced.  No blame
was attached to him, though the sum for which he became insolvent was
immense, and swallowed up many a hard-earned fortune.  Where was Howard's
little capital?--Gone with the rest--principal and _compound interest_!

"I am a ruined man!" said Mr. Draper to Howard; "I have robbed you, and
beggared my child; but one resource remains to me;"--and he looked around
with the desperation of insanity.

Howard grasped his hand.  "My dear brother," said he, "your wife, with an
almost prophetic spirit, foresaw this hour.  'Comfort him,' said she,
'when it arrives, and lead his mind to higher objects.'  Your child has
an ample provision, by the sum settled on her mother.  I have lost
property which I did not use, and, with the blessing of God, may never
want.  Come home with me; I have means for us both.  You will have all
the indulgences you ever coveted.  No one has led a harder life than you
have.  You have labored like the galley-slave, without wages; come, and
learn that, beyond what we can use for our own or others' benefit, wealth
has only an imaginary value."

Perhaps it was an additional mortification to Mr. Draper, to find that, a
few days after his failure, the banks concluded to issue no specie.  Many
were kept along by this resolution; while others stopped, with the
conviction, that, had they been contented with moderate gains, they
might, in this day of trouble and perplexity, have been RICH ENOUGH.

FINIS





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