RICHES HAVE WINGS;
OR,
A TALE FOR THE RICH AND POOR.

BY T. S. ARTHUR.
AUTHOR OF “KEEPING UP APPEARANCES,” “THE YOUNG MUSIC TEACHER,” “LADY AT HOME,” ETC.

FIFTH THOUSAND.

NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY BAKER & SCRIBNER,
145 NASSAU STREET, AND 36 PARK ROW.
1849.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1847, by
BAKER & SCRIBNER,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

S. W. BENEDICT, PRINT. & STER.
16 Spruce Street, N. Y.

CONTENTS

RICHES HAVE WINGS.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION.

Riches have wings. In no country is this more strikingly true than in our own. The social history of the world presents no era, nor any people, in which, and among whom, such sudden and remarkable changes in the possession of property have taken place. The man who is worth a million to-day, has no surety that he will be worth a thousand to-morrow. Children who are raised amid all the luxuries that money can procure, too often, when they become men and women, are doomed to hopeless poverty; while the offspring of the poor man, who grew up, perhaps, in the hovel beside their princely mansion, is the money lordling of their darker day.

The causes for this are various: mainly it depends upon our negation, in the beginning of our national existence, of the law of primogeniture and entailment of property. A man cannot be rich here in spite of himself. He may be born to great possessions, but has the full liberty to part with them upon almost any terms that please him; and such alienations are things of every-day occurrence. One result of this is, that property and possessions of all kinds are continually changing hands, and thus placed within the reach of nearly all who have the ability, as well as the desire, to struggle for their attainment. To superior judgment, skill, and industry, when applied to the various pursuits in life, comes the reward of wealth; while the supine and self-indulgent, or those who lack a sound judgment and business acumen, remain in moderate circumstances, or lose the property that came into their hands at majority.

There are no privileged classes here, made such by arbitrary national preferences of one over another. In the eye of the nation, every man is born free and equal. The son of the humble artisan or day-laborer can enter the same course, and start for the same goal, with the son of the wealthiest and most distinguished in the land—and beat him in the race if he be swifter of foot, and possess greater endurance.

The consequence of all this is, that wealth becomes a less and less stable thing every day; for, in the fierce struggle that is ever going on for its possession, as an end, and not as a means to a higher end, men become more and more absorbed in the desire for its attainment, and, as a natural result, more and more acute in their perception of the means of attaining it. And the most eager and acute are not always the most conscientious in regard to the use of means, nor the most careful lest others sustain an injury when they secure a benefit.

Great instability in the tenure of wealth must flow from the operation of these causes; for the balance of trade must ever be suffering disturbance by the inordinate action, at some point, of those engaged in commercial and business pursuits. This disturbance we see almost every day, in the dishonest spirit of speculation and overreaching that prevails to a melancholy extent. Business is not conducted, in this country, on the permanent, healthy, honest, and only true basis of demand and supply; but is rendered ever fluctuant and unsafe, from the reasons just given.

The apparent causes of the instability alleged, are mainly those that we have stated. But, as every thing that meets the eye is an effect of something interior to it and invisible, so, in this case, the things we have set forth are merely the effects of a spiritual cause, or, in other words, of a perverted state of the mind of the whole nation viewed as one man; for the truth that a nation is only a man in a larger form is undeniable. This perversion lies in the almost universal estimation of wealth as a means of selfish gratification, and not as a means of promoting and securing the general good; and from this it arises, that nearly every man seeks to secure wealth to himself, utterly regardless of his neighbor; and far too many not only covet their neighbors’ goods, but actually seek to defraud them of their possessions.

Every man is regenerated through temptations to evil, by means of which he comes into a knowledge of his hereditary perversions; and it often happens, that he is not only tempted of his evil lusts, but yields to the temptation, and thus, in suffering the consequences that follow, is made more clearly to see the nature and ultimate tendencies of the false principles from which he had acted. And this is just as true of a body of individuals (as a nation) as it is of an individual himself. The law of primogeniture and entailment of property, which is not a just law, lays, with its disabilities, upon the mind and ultimate energies of the nation farthest advanced in civilization, because to have abolished it would have resulted in a worse evil, even the utter destruction of that nation by the fierce intestine struggle that would have resulted therefrom, while there was no conservative spirit strong enough to sustain it. But, in the fullness of time, this American Republic sprang into independent existence, an outbirth of Anglo-Saxon civilization, and prepared to take an advancing step. The law that held in iron-bound consistency the English nation, was abolished, and all the strong energies, eager impulses, and natural lust of wealth and power, that distinguished the people of that nation, were allowed full scope here.

In the history of the world’s regeneration, the time had come for this, and there was virtue enough in the people to meet the consequences that have flowed therefrom. These consequences, externally disastrous to individuals as they have proved, have not been severe enough to check the onward advancement of the nation. They are, in fact, a reaction, upon individuals, of consequences flowing from their own acts, and showing them that their acts were evil. The love of wealth, for its own sake, needed to be regenerated. It was a great evil, fraught with unhappiness. Its regeneration could only be effected in rational light and mental freedom. That is, men must see it to be an evil, and freely put it away. But, so long as a man secures the gratification of every lust, just so long he sees it to be good instead of evil. It is only when he is deprived of its gratification, through consequences growing out of its indulgence, that he is enabled to perceive its true quality. And this is just the effect produced upon the general mind by the instability that attends the possession of wealth in this country. A man who loves money for its own sake, and looks upon it as the greatest good, is not at all likely to have his false view corrected, while all is sunshine and prosperity; but, in reverses, he sees with a more purified vision.

In a word, then, we believe that the cause why wealth is so unstable a thing in this country, lies in the free scope that every man’s selfish impulses find, and instability is only a salutary reaction. And, in this seeming evil, we recognize a Divine Providence, still educing good.

A change in our form of government, as some have thought, cannot, therefore, effect a remedy for the evil which so many lament. Nor is it to be found in penal statutes. It will come only when the whole nation, as one man, shall be guided in every transaction, small and great, by justice and judgment, and not till then. In the mean time, it is every man’s duty, who sees and acknowledges this truth, to do all in his power to give it vitality in the minds of the people.

CHAPTER II.
HUMAN PRUDENCE.

“It’s my opinion, Mr. Carlton, that every man who remains poor through life, or who, once possessing wealth, loses it, has only himself to blame. I am out of all patience with these constant failures that occur in the mercantile community, and set them all down to sad mismanagement, or utter incapacity for business; and I am equally out of patience with the unceasing murmurs of those who have not the means of supplying their wants. The fault, in both cases, is with the individual, and no where else.”

“The fault may be, and doubtless is, to some extent, in the individual, but I am satisfied that you are in error in the broad ground you take, Mr. Townsend. Above and beyond man’s will and action, is a Power that rules events. Human prudence is not every thing in fact, it is nothing, when it comes in opposition to the designs of Providence.”

“Your profession, as a minister, naturally leads you to such conclusions,” replied the merchant. “But, as a man of business and close observation of men and things, I am satisfied that, in the ordinary pursuits of life, Providence interferes but little; and that all, or nearly all, of success or failure is chargeable to man’s own efficient or inefficient action.”

“I will grant that it is chargeable to his ends, and to his actions, so far as they are influenced by his ends. But that the mere possession of mercantile ability, and the means of engaging in trade, will give a man wealth and its permanent enjoyments, I seriously doubt.”

“I am not sure, Mr. Carlton, that I understand what you mean by the first sentence of your last remark.”

“About a man’s ends influencing his external condition?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, that a man’s end in seeking wealth may be of such a nature, that, after attaining what he has sought, the loss thereof may be necessary as a reaction upon that end, in order that it may be changed into one less useful and soul-destroying. The Divine Providence, which, I believe, governs in the most intimate things of every man’s life, has sole reference to what is spiritual and eternal, and so disposes of things, external and worldly, as to make them subserve man’s highest and best interests. I believe, therefore, that if it is best for man’s eternal state that he should be poor, and have to struggle hard to obtain mere food and clothing, that he will remain poor in spite of a lifelong effort to get rich. And I also believe, that with one tenth of his effort, another may accumulate a large fortune, who is no better, perhaps not so good a man, but whose hereditary evils are of a nature to be best reacted upon in a state of prosperity.”

“Very much like fatalism, all that,” said the merchant. “What use is there in a man’s striving at all?”

“It is any thing but fatalism, Mr. Townsend. And as no man can know the true quality of his internal life, nor what external condition will best react upon it, he is not left to the choice of that condition. Necessity, or a love of gain, causes him to enter into some business or profession, and according to the pressing nature of his necessities, or his desire for wealth, is the earnestness with which he struggles for success. As is best for him, so is the result. To him who needs the disappointments, anxieties, and sad discouragements that attend poverty and reverses of fortune, these come; and to him whose external interests will be best promoted by success, success is given. In all this, human prudence is actually nothing, though human prudence is the natural agent by which the Divine Providence works.”

“All that sounds very well, Mr. Carlton, but I don’t believe it. My doctrine is, and always has been, that every man who will use the right means, can get rich; and if he will manage his affairs, afterwards, with common prudence, may retain what he has acquired. I certainly, am not afraid of the loss of property. But, may be, I am one of your favored ones, whose spiritual interests are best promoted by a state of prosperity.”

“That, of course, is not for you nor I to know, at present,” returned the minister, speaking seriously. “The time may come when you will see the whole subject in a different light, and think, perhaps, as I do now.”

“Then you prophesy that I will become a broken merchant?”

“No, I prophesy no such thing. Judging from appearances, I should say that few men were less likely to become poor. Still, Riches have Wings, and your possessions may take flight one day, as well as another man’s. Mr. Barker, a few years ago, stood as far above the dangers of a reverse as you now do.”

“And would have stood there until to-day, but for his own folly. Look what a mistake he made! How any man, of his age and experience, could suffer himself to be tempted into such a mad investment of property, is to me inconceivable. He deserved to fail.”

“Heretofore he had always been prudent and far-seeing in all his operations?”

“No man more so.”

“But, when it became necessary for his higher and better interests that he should sustain reverses, he lost his prudence, and his mind was no longer far-seeing. Depend upon it. Mr. Townsend, the hand of Providence is in all this! I have seen Mr. Barker frequently since the great change that has taken place in his circumstances. He is not the man that he was. His whole character has softened.”

“He must be very miserable.”

“To me he seems quite as happy, as before.”

“Impossible!”

“No. The wind is tempered to the shorn lamb. He who sends reverses and afflictions for our good, gives strength and patience to bear them. I have seen many families reduced from affluence to poverty, Mr. Townsend, and in but few instances have I seen individuals made more wretched thereby.”

“That to me is inconceivable,” said the merchant. “I cannot credit it.”

“At first, there was great anguish of mind. The very life seemed about to be extinguished. But, when all the wild elements that had come into strife and confusion, had subsided, there came a great calm. The natural life was yet sustained. Its bread and its water were still sure. There was a feeling of confidence that all things necessary for health, comfort, and usefulness, would still be given, if sought for in a right spirit. Poverty, Mr. Townsend, is no curse, nor is wealth a blessing, abstractly considered. They bless or curse according to the effect they produce upon our minds. The happiest man I ever saw, was a poor man, so far as this world’s goods were concerned. He was a good man.”

There was something in the words of the minister that impressed itself upon the mind of Mr. Townsend, notwithstanding his efforts to put no value upon what he said. Frequently, afterwards, certain expressions and positions assumed, would arise in his thought and produce a feeling of uneasiness. His confidence in human prudence, though still strong, had been slightly impaired.

Mr. Carlton was the minister of a wealthy and fashionable congregation, to whom his talents made him acceptable. Not infrequently did he give offence by his plainness of speech and conscientious discharge of the duties of his office; but his talents kept him in his position. Mr. Townsend was a wealthy merchant, and a member, for appearance sake, of his church. As to religion, he did not possess a very large share. His god was Mammon.

The occasion of the conversation just given, was the failure of a substantial member of the church, for whose misfortunes Mr. Townsend, as might be inferred, felt little sympathy; and less, perhaps, from the fact that he was to be the loser of a few thousands of dollars by the disaster. The minister was on a visit to the house of Mr. Townsend, in the presence of whose family the conversation took place.

“How I do despise this cant—I can call it by no better name,” said the merchant, after the minister had left. “I am surprised to hear it from a man of Mr. Carlton’s talents. He might talk such stuff as this to me until doomsday, and I would not believe it.”

Mr. Townsend had a son and two daughters. The latter, Eveline and Eunice, were present during the conversation with the minister, and noticed the remarks of their father, after Mr. Carlton left. Some time afterward, when they were alone, Eunice, the younger of the two daughters, said, with unusual sobriety of manner, “Father treated what Mr. Carlton said very lightly; don’t you think so?”

“Indeed, I don’t know,” was the thoughtless reply of Eveline, who was noticing the effect of a costly diamond breast-pin with which her brother had, a day or two before, presented her. “Mr. Carlton has a strange way of talking, sometimes. I suppose he would—there! isn’t that brilliant, Eunie? If brother John could only see the effect! I’m a thousand times obliged to him. Isn’t it splendid, Eunie?”

“It is, indeed, Evie. But what were you going to say about Mr. Carlton?”

“Dear knows! I forget now. John must have given at least five hundred dollars for this pin, don’t you think he did?”

“I am sure I don’t know. I never think about how much a thing costs.”

“Jane Loming’s is admired by every body; but the diamonds in this are twice the size of those in hers, and it contains two to one. Just look how purely the light is sent back from the very bosom of each lucid gem. Could any thing be more brilliant! How I love gold and diamonds! They are nature’s highest and loveliest achievements.”

“In the mineral kingdom,” said Eunice, in her gentle way. “But gold and diamonds I love not half so well as I do flowers, nor are they half so beautiful. There is your glittering diamond. There is a flower not only far more beautiful, but with a spirit of perfume in its heart. And when I look into your eyes, sister, how dim and cold appear the inanimate gems that sparkle on your bosom. There are lovelier things in nature, Evie, than gold and diamonds.”

“You are a strange girl, Eunie,” returned Eveline, playfully. “I don’t know what to make of you, sometimes.”

“I don’t know what there is strange about me, sister,” said Eunice. “Have I not said the truth? Is not a flower a lovelier and more excellent thing than a brilliant stone, which, because it is the purest and rarest substance in the mineral kingdom, is prized the highest, but is still only a stone?”

“Would you give a diamond for a flower, Eunie? Tell me that, dear.”

“No, because diamonds have a certain value as property, and are rarer than flowers. Flowers spring up every where. With a few seeds and a little earth, or with the fiftieth part of the price of a moderate-sized diamond, I can have them at my will. But, give me a little bouquet of sweet flowers, and I will enjoy it more, and love it better, than all the jewels in my casket.”

“I verily believe you would, Eunie. It’s like you. And sometimes I half wish that I, too, could find delight in these simple things; that I could love a flower as you do. Flowers are beautiful, and please me at first sight; but I soon grow weary of them, while you will cherish even a half-opened bud, and love it while a leaf retains its beauty and perfume. But, to change the subject, how are you going to dress at Mrs. Glover’s, next week?”

“I havn’t thought about that, yet. What do you mean to wear?”

“This diamond breast-pin, of course.”

“No doubt of that,” said Eunice, smiling.

“And you will go, as likely as not, without an ornament, except a flower in your hair.”

“Not quite so plain as that, Evie. You know I don’t dislike ornament—only the unharmonious profusion of it in which—”

“I indulge, Eunie.”

“A simpler style of dress and ornament would doubtless become you better,” said Eunice, again smiling. “That, you know, I have always said.”

“Yes, and I have always said that a little more of both would make in you a wonderful improvement.”

“Perhaps they might. We are all apt to run into extremes; though I think the extreme of plainness is better than its opposite.”

“I don’t know. All extremes are bad.”

“Even the extreme of gay dressing?”

“Certainly. But you know, sister, that I don’t plead guilty to that folly. I have attained the happy medium in dress.”

“So you say. Well, if yours be the happy medium, Evie, a stage-dancer’s must be the extreme.”

“That’s your opinion, and I won’t quarrel with you about it. But it’s time, Eunie, that we were selecting our dresses, be they gay or plain.”

“So it is; but it won’t take me long to make a choice. How would I look in a white muslin, with just a little satin trimming?”

“Nonsense, Eunie! White muslin with satin trimming, indeed!”

“I don’t know any thing more beautiful or becoming than white.”

“Don’t you, indeed! Perhaps I might suggest something?”

“Not for me, Evie,” returned Eunice, good-humoredly. “It will be best for each of us to consult her own taste; and if we do run a little into opposite extremes, it will be no very serious matter.”

Eveline could not but agree with this and so the good-natured contest ended.

The leading traits of character that marked the two sisters, appear, to some extent, in this conversation. Eveline was a gay, high-spirited girl, who was fond of pleasure, and enjoyed, sometimes, even to excess, the privileges afforded by her position; while Eunice was retiring and thoughtful, and took more delight in doing some useful thing, than in dress or fashionable company. But, opposite as were their dispositions, they were tenderly affectionate towards each other, and had been so from childhood.

At the time our story opens, Eveline was twenty, and Eunice in the nineteenth year of her age. For nearly a year, Eveline had been receiving the attentions of a young man named Henry Pascal, son of a wealthy merchant and friend of her father. Pascal was in Europe, where he had been spending some months, and was in familiar correspondence with Eveline. Although no regular engagement had been made, yet it was pretty well understood, in both families, that a marriage between the young couple would take place. Eunice had no acknowledged lover, although many had looked upon her pure young face with loving eyes.

CHAPTER III.
CONFIDENCE IN HUMAN PRUDENCE SHAKEN.

Some things that were said by the minister, came back to the mind of Mr. Townsend, and slightly disturbed it. The possibility that there might be truth in what he had said, was suggested to his thoughts, and he felt fretted at the idea of any Providential interference with his worldly prosperity. He wished to be let alone; and even went so far as to say, mentally, that he considered himself perfectly competent to manage his own affairs. But this state did not remain long. Possession, with him, was nine points of the law, and he meant to retain his advantage.

It happened, not long after, that an arrival from the Pacific brought Mr. Townsend letters from the supercargo of one of his vessels, announcing the loss, in a terrible storm, of a fine ship laden with a return cargo of specie and hides, valued at thirty thousand dollars. She had only been out of Callao two days when the disaster took place. The loss of both ship and cargo, it was feared, would be total.

“By the ships ‘Gelnare’ and ‘Hyperion,’” said one of these letters, “advices in respect to cargo, were sent.”

Unfortunately for Mr. Townsend, neither of these vessels had arrived, and therefore no insurance had been made upon the cargo. They were both telegraphed on the next day, but they came too late. Three weeks elapsed without further intelligence, when the captain and supercargo arrived, bringing news of the entire wreck of the vessel and loss of the cargo.

Mr. Townsend loved money for its own sake, and, therefore, although worth some two or three hundred thousand dollars, the loss of thirty thousand was felt severely. It made him exceedingly unhappy, and by the reaction of his state upon his family, disturbed the peaceful atmosphere of home.

A month after the intelligence of this loss came, he received account sales of ten thousand barrels of flour, shipped to Montevideo, where very high prices had ruled in the market for some months. He expected to make from five to ten thousand dollars by the shipment. But the arrival of half a dozen ship loads of flour, simultaneously with his own, had knocked down the price, and he lost by the adventure over twelve thousand dollars. As a remittance, his consignees sent, in part, a cargo of cocoa, upon which there was another loss; not of much consequence in amount, but serious as to the effect produced upon the merchant’s mind. Hitherto, almost every commercial enterprise had been successful. All his previous losses did not amount to twenty thousand dollars, and now, in the space of little over a month, he had seen nearly fifty thousand dollars pass from his hands, without even the opportunity of an effort to save it. And the worst of it was, he could blame no one. The ship had been wrecked in a storm. Previously, the supercargo had sent by the first vessel that sailed, after he had determined upon the nature of his return cargo, all the information necessary for purposes of insurance. But the winds and the waves had retarded her progress until after the news of the wreck came. If the loss had been the effects of clearly apparent human errors or inefficiency, Mr. Townsend would have felt less disturbed about it; for greater care on his own part, or a nicer discrimination in the selection of his agents, would prevent a recurrence of like events in future. But the satisfaction of mind such a reflection would have produced, he was not permitted to have.

For months after this, nothing but ill-luck attended Mr. Townsend’s shipping interests. After this, followed several losses through the failure of old customers, whose solvency, not only he, but every one else, considered undoubted. During a single year, his riches, to the amount of over seventy thousand dollars, took to themselves wings and flew away, beyond the reach of recovery.

In spite of every effort to put away from his mind the intruding recollection of what Mr. Carlton had said about the nothingness of human prudence, the prominent features of the conversation he had held with the clergyman were continually forcing themselves upon him, and impressing him with a sense of his own powerlessness never felt before.

From this time his trust in commerce became impaired. Hitherto he had considered it the surest road to wealth, because it had borne him safely on to prosperity. But now he hesitated and reconsidered the matter over and over again, when proceeding to send out a ship, and thought with doubt and anxiety about the result, after she had spread her white sails to the breeze, and started on her voyage to distant lands. This uncertain state of mind continued, until Mr. Townsend began to think of some other mode of using his capital less likely to be attended with loss. He had been raised in the counting-room of a shipping merchant; had sailed ten voyages while a young man, as supercargo, and was now, from twenty five years active devotion to business, thoroughly conversant with every thing appertaining to commerce with foreign countries. As a shipper he was at home. But although, like other men of his class, he had a general and pretty accurate notion of the operations of trade, he had no practical knowledge of any branch but his own. A few years before, he had said that any man who, after ten or twenty years successful devotion to any business, was silly enough to change it for another, of which he knew little or nothing, deserved to lose, as he stood ten chances to one of losing all he had made. And yet, notwithstanding all this, in the darkness and doubt that had come over his mind, Mr. Townsend had serious thoughts of directing his capital into some other business.

This important crisis in the merchant’s affairs occurred during a period when every thing was inflated, and speculation rife. In his younger days he had made, in one season, by speculating in cotton, twenty thousand dollars; and, on another occasion, ten thousand dollars in a single day, by operating in flour. Fortunes were lost at the time, but he had been wise enough to stop at the right moment. Rumors of this one having made twenty or thirty thousand dollars, and the other one fifty or one hundred thousand, in the course of a few months, were floating through all the circles of trade, and inspiring men who had never made a dollar in their lives, except in regular trade, to stake their fortunes on little better than the turn of a die. The whole commercial atmosphere was filled with the miasmata of speculation, and all men who inhaled it became more or less infected with the disease. Property, estimated for years at a certain price, suddenly changed hands at an advance and again at, perhaps, double the original price paid for it. Why it had become so much more valuable all at once, nobody could clearly explain, although reasons for it were given that appeared to be taken for granted as true. A lot of ground that the owner would have taken a thousand dollars for, and been glad to have got it, all at once became worth two or three thousand dollars, and was sold for that sum; and, in the course of a month or two, perhaps, was resold for five or six thousand, on the rumor of a railroad terminus being about to be located in the neighborhood, or some great change in the avenues of trade in progress that would make it immensely valuable. Imaginary cities were bought and sold; and railroad and canal stocks, while not even the lines of improvement they pretended to represent had been surveyed, passed from hand to hand at twenty, thirty, fifty, and sometimes a hundred per cent. above their par value. Men stood looking on in wonder at this strange state of affairs, or plunged in headlong to struggle for the wealth they coveted.

Nor were individuals permitted to remain the passive spectators of all that was going on around them. Daily, and almost hourly, some one, infected with the mania, would present himself, and urge, with such eloquence and seeming fairness, a participation in the vast benefits of some imposing scheme of profit, that to withstand his persuasions was almost impossible. And these individuals were so generous, too. They were not content to make fortunes themselves, but wanted every body else to take a share of the golden harvests they were reaping. If you had no cash to spare, that did not matter. Your credit was good, and your note, as an acknowledgment of the purchase, and a formulary of trade all that was wanted. To give a note of ten thousand dollars, to-day, for a piece of property that there was a fair chance of selling, in a fortnight, for twenty thousand, was, certainly, a temptation. Of course you had to sell, if you did sell, as you bought, for paper, not for cash. But that was nothing. Every body was getting rich, and, therefore, everybody was safe. There was no risk in taking a man’s note for ten or twenty thousand dollars, payable six or twelve months hence, when he was known to be worth one, two, three, or four hundred thousand.

Mr. Townsend had a neighbor whose name was Cleveland. This man called in to see him at least once every day, to talk about schemes of profit, and the chances of acquiring great wealth suddenly. He was also engaged in shipping, and had made a good deal of money by fortunate adventures. Recently he had sold one of his vessels and freighted the other, which had enabled him to divert a considerable amount of capital into the new channels of profit that had opened all around him. This Cleveland was half owner of a western city, a map of which hung up in his counting-room. The name of the city was “Eldorado.” As could be seen by its position, relative to other parts of the State in which it was situated, it was plain that “Eldorado” was destined to become, at no very distant day, one of the most important places in the West. It was situated on the bank of a rapid river, with a fall close by, affording water-power for mills and manufactories to any extent. The country around was healthy, and the lands were rich; and, moreover, a railroad, now in process of erection, would pass through it from north to south, and another from east to west. One of these roads started from the lakes at the north, and was to terminate at the Ohio river. The other started from, and terminated in, deep navigable rivers.

This “Eldorado” Mr. Cleveland said he looked upon as the most valuable of all his interests. His half of the city cost him twenty thousand dollars, and he had already sold lots enough to realize fifteen thousand dollars and expected to sell enough to net him fifteen or twenty more, and still have a little fortune safely locked up in “Eldorado.”

Besides his western town interest, he was largely concerned in a manufacturing company; owned shares in all sort of internal improvement and banking corporations; and was, according to his own showing, making money so fast that he could hardly count it as it came in. Some time after, Mr. Townsend met with the loss of thirty thousand dollars by the wreck of a vessel, upon the cargo of which no insurance had been effected. Mr. Cleveland said to him:

“I’ve just made an operation from which I expect to realize fifty thousand dollars before twelve months pass away.”

“Have you, indeed!” responded Townsend.

“Yes. I’ve bought up a majority of the stock of the Sandy Hill and Dismal Lake Canal, at twenty per cent. below par.”

“I would’nt have it at fifty cents below par,” returned Townsend. “The project is in itself impracticable, and will never be carried out. The stock is not worth a dollar, intrinsically, and never will be.”

“There you are much mistaken,” replied Cleveland. “The survey has not only been completed, but workmen are upon the lines, and now that I have secured a control in the Board of Directors I mean to have the work prosecuted with vigor. In two months I will have the stock up to par, and in less than a year, as high as thirty per cent. above, and not to be had easily, at that price. My shares cost a hundred thousand dollars. When the price reaches thirty per cent. above par, I will sell, and thus make fifty thousand dollars. After that, those who own the canal may go on with it as they please. Won’t you take ten or twenty thousand dollars worth of the stock? You will find it better than the shipping interest?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Cleveland. I never meddle in matters of that kind. Give me straight forward, legitimate trade; not uncertain speculation. I have made my money by commerce, and will certainly not risk it in fancy stocks or ideal cities. I have no taste for your ‘Eldorados’ and ‘Dismal Lake Canals!’ The one will turn your gold to dross, and the other will bury it from your sight in its turbid waters.”

“Don’t believe the half of it, Mr. Townsend. Before two years have passed away, I’ll show you a cool hundred thousand or two that I have made by these and one or two other schemes I have in my head.”

“If you don’t find yourself a ruined man you may be thankful. As to your canal stock, even its par value will be a fictitious one, for, if the works were completed, they never would pay an interest on the investment. How much more fictitious, then, will be the value at thirty per cent. above par. Whoever buys at such a price will ruin himself.”

“I don’t know how that may be. But I do know, that if I can sell the stock that cost me only eighty, for a dollar thirty, I shall make just fifty thousand dollars.”

“Yes, if; but you are not going to find fools enough in the world to buy a hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of fancy stock at that price.”

“Don’t you believe it. I know what has been done, and I know what can be done. There are stocks in the market, not half so promising as this, up, already, to fifteen and twenty per cent. above par.”

“Well, from all such uncertain schemes, I hope to be kept free, Mr. Cleveland. Much more, I am satisfied, will be lost than gained, in the end.”

“I shall take good care to be a gainer,” said Cleveland. “Trust me for that.”

“Gain or loss, I am not to be tempted into the danger of losing what I have made in honest trade, by the hope of great returns from doubtful schemes,” replied Townsend, in a very positive way, and thus closed the matter for the present.

CHAPTER IV.
SPECULATION.

A few months afterwards, when Mr. Townsend had, from repeated failures to realize anticipated gains in commerce, grown distrustful of the means of prosperity so long successfully applied, he listened with more interest to what Cleveland had to say about the new roads to wealth that had been opened.

“Depend upon it, Townsend,” said the individual to him, one day, “that you are standing still, while other men are seizing upon the golden opportunities that offer themselves on every hand. Times have greatly changed. A new order of things prevails. Wealth is no longer to be gained in the old channels, or, at least, not without twenty times the labor required in the new channels. Notwithstanding your want of confidence in my ‘Sandy Hill and Dismal Lake Canal’ stock, I managed it just as I said I would. I controlled the Board and had the excavations entered upon with great vigor. I had an office procured in a public location, where a clerk was placed, and every thing reduced to an active business aspect. I secured one or two editors in favor of the work, and got one or two shrewd brokers interested in the stock. Every thing went on just as I desired. The price advanced steadily until about ten days ago, when it reached the maximum of my wishes, since which time I have been selling it as fast as I can without creating suspicion. The stock is still firm. In a week or ten days more I shall not own a share, and then the company can take care of its own interests.”

“And you will have cleared fifty thousand dollars by the operation?”

“Yes, every cent of it.”

“I can hardly credit it.”

“I bought for eighty cents, and am selling for a dollar and thirty. You can make the calculation yourself. And what is more than all this, Mr. Townsend, I have not had to use ten thousand dollars real money from beginning to end. My credit was enough. Although such a handsome profit has been made, only two or three of the first notes given for the stock have fallen due.”

“You sold on time?”

“Certainly. But the notes of such men as D—— and P——, J. S——, and L——, are as good as so much gold, any day.”

“It’s surprising,” remarked Townsend, thoughtfully.

“But no more so than true,” said Cleveland, in a confident voice. “Now is the time for a man who possesses good credit and a clear head to make or double his fortune. I shall treble mine, and you can easily do the same, and this, too, without interfering at all with your regular business operations. Mine go on the same as usual.”

Mr. Cleveland believed what he said. But he was slightly mistaken. To these grand speculating schemes he gave up all his own thoughts and attention, and left his regular business in charge of his eldest clerk, in whom he had unlimited confidence. He was satisfied to believe that every thing was conducted as well as it could have been done, if he had given to it all his personal attention. In this, however, he was in error.

Mr. Townsend hardly knew what to think. His confidence in the old way that he had been for years pursuing, was impaired, and in spite of his better judgment, confidence in the new way was gaining strength. It occurred to him that he might be neglecting, unwisely, to improve the golden opportunities that were presenting themselves every day, because they did not exactly accord with his old notions of business. He remembered how successful he had been, many years before, in speculating in flour and cotton, and then asked himself why he might not be quite as successful, if he tried his hand in some of the many money-making schemes that were put in operation all around him.

Another disastrous voyage, which no human foresight could have prevented, completely unsettled his mind, and, in this state, with a kind of bewildered desperation, he stepped aside from the old beaten way, into one of the many paths that diverged towards the mountains of wealth that were seen in the distance, towering up to the skies.

Cleveland, like a tempting spirit, was near him to suggest the path he should take. Stocks, Townsend had a prejudice against, except United States Bank stock, and in that there was not sufficient fluctuation in the price to make its purchase desirable. As a safe investment of money, he would have preferred it to almost any thing else; but as a matter of speculation, the inducements were not strong.

“I do not like to have any thing to do with stocks,” he said to Cleveland, who proposed their buying up a majority of the stock of a broken bank, the charter of which was perpetual, and embraced several advantages not usually possessed by banking institutions. “To me there is something intangible about them. A ship, a bale of cotton, or a piece of real estate, have a certain value in themselves; will always bring a certain price; but scrip is merely a representative of property that may or may not exist. You are never certain about it.”

“You may be certain enough. As to the Eagle Bank stock, it may be had for thirty cents on the dollar, and, by proper management, in twelve months, or even a less time, be made worth, in the market, from seventy to eighty cents, or even par. It has been done with the People’s Bank, and can and will be done with this. I know several monied men who are beginning to turn their thoughts towards this charter, and if we don’t take hold of the matter at once, the opportunity will pass by. Another such a chance is not likely soon to offer.”

Mr. Townsend, with all his love of money, had a certain degree of integrity about him, more the result of education as a merchant of the old school than any thing else. The scheme proposed, he took a day to reflect on, seriously. He looked at it in its incipiency, progress, and termination, and saw that, although he might make twenty or thirty thousand dollars, by selling off his stock when it had reached the highest price to which their forcing system could raise it, others would lose all he made; for the stock must inevitably fall in price. In fact, he saw that he would make himself a party to a fraud upon the public, and this he was unwilling to do. So he refused to enter into this scheme. Cleveland then proposed to sell him out his interest in “Eldorado,” that he might have more means, and a freer mind, to enter into the Eagle Bank speculation—a thing that he said he was determined to do.

“I have already sold lots enough to pay for the original purchase, and now own nearly half of the town,” he said.

“What will you take for your interest?” Mr. Townsend asked.

“Forty thousand dollars; and I wouldn’t part with it for less than double the price, were it not for my determination to push through this matter of the Eagle Bank. In six months you can sell lots enough to clear the whole purchase, and still be owner of at least a third of the town. Come into my counting-room, and let me point out to you the singular advantages that ‘Eldorado’ possesses.”

Mr. Townsend went to the store of the ardent speculator, to look at the city on paper. There stood “Eldorado,” all laid off into streets and city squares, with churches and public buildings scattered about it quite thickly. In the centre was a large depot, where two extensive lines of railroad crossed each other at right angles; and upon each, at points east, west, north, and south, were long trains of passenger and burden cars, gliding towards, or rushing away from the city. Across the stream, upon the banks of which it stood, dams had been thrown, and flour-mills and extensive factories were seen, admirably located, and furnished with water-power that was inexhaustible.

“All this,” said Cleveland, sweeping his hand around an imaginary vast extent of country to the southwest of “Eldorado,” “is a wheat-growing country, one of the finest in the world. From sixty to a hundred bushels to the acre is the common yield. The mills will, therefore, always have the fullest supply of grain. And this,” sweeping his hand as before, but to the north of the city, “is a hilly country, admirable for sheep, and the farmers are already finding it to their advantage to graze them. Along the rich vallies that lie to the east, millions of bushels of corn and thousands of head of cattle are annually raised, for which ‘Eldorado’ will be the great entrepot. In five years from this time, I prophesy that it will be the third city in the State, and, in ten years, but little behind any city in the West.”

And thus Cleveland continued to show the superior advantages possessed by “Eldorado.” About a city with its houses, public squares, churches, mill sites, etc., there was something more real to the mind of the merchant, than about stocks in banks, railroads, or canals, and he felt much better pleased with “Eldorado” than he did with the Eagle Bank.

After considering the matter for a week, and holding several long conversations with large holders of lots in “Eldorado,” Mr. Townsend concluded to purchase out Cleveland’s entire interest, and then turn his attention towards forwarding the improvements already begun. This intention was put into execution forthwith. All the necessary papers were drawn, and duly recorded, and the plan of “Eldorado” transferred from the walls of Mr. Cleveland’s counting-room, to those of Mr. Townsend. Previous to this, the notes of the latter for the large sum of forty thousand dollars, passed into the hands of the former, and were immediately converted into cash.

CHAPTER V.
ELDORADO.

About a month after Mr. Townsend became the owner of nearly half of a new and flourishing western city, he sent an agent out to examine the condition of things there, and to take charge of certain improvements it was his intention to begin forthwith. The agent had been gone a little over six weeks, when the following letter was received from him:

“Dear Sir:—After some considerable difficulty, I have, at last, succeeded in finding ‘Eldorado.’ No one, in this part of the country, had ever heard of such a place. When I showed the plan of the city, and map of the surrounding country, people shook their heads, and said there must be some mistake. But, by the aid of a State surveyor, who knew rather more about matters and things than the common people, I was able to find the exact place which, with some of the natural advantages, as that of a water-power, for instance, which have been assigned to it, is yet as wild and unbroken a spot as I have met in these wild regions. I learn that an actual survey of it was made about a year ago, and the whole tract purchased for a hundred dollars, and thought dear at that by those who did not know for what it was designed. Of the railroads that are to run through it, only one is commenced, or likely to be these ten years, and that will not pass within sixty miles of the place. In a word, sir, not the first spade-full of earth has been turned in this beautiful city of ‘Eldorado,’ nor the first tree cut down. I fear that you have been most shamefully deceived. I will await your reply to this letter before returning home. Very respectfully, yours, etc.”

“Forty thousand dollars more as good as cast into the sea!” said Mr. Townsend, with forced composure, as he read the last sentence of this letter, and comprehended the whole matter. “Fool! Fool! Why did I not send the agent before I made the purchase? Was ever a man so beside himself!”

As soon as the mental blindness and confusion that this intelligence produced, had, in a degree, subsided, Mr. Townsend began to think whether he could not save something by a forced sale of his interest in “Eldorado.” But the idea of selling, for a consideration, something that was utterly worthless, he could not exactly make up his mind to do. While turning the matter over in his thoughts, it occurred to him that, perhaps, Cleveland, who might be ignorant of the precise state of things, would not hesitate to purchase back the interest in “Eldorado,” if he could get it at five or ten thousand dollars less than he had received for it. With the intention of making him the offer, at least, Townsend called upon the sharp-witted speculator, who received him with unaccustomed coolness, and seemed to feel uneasy in his presence.

“Don’t you wish your interest in ‘Eldorado’ restored?” said the merchant, with as much coolness as he could assume. Cleveland compressed his lips tightly, and shook his head, while an expression that Mr. Townsend did not at all like, crossed his face. The merchant returned to his counting-room, without saying any thing more on the subject. A few minutes after he had come back, one of his clerks handed him the morning paper, with his finger upon a paragraph, saying, as he did so,

“Have you seen that, sir?”

Mr. Townsend ran his eyes hurriedly over the article pointed out by his clerk. It was from a western paper, and read as follows:

“Eldorado.—We were shown, a day or two since, the plan of a city with this name, located on the L—— river, in our county. The two great railroads that are to cross the State, in opposite directions, were made to pass each other at right angles in the centre of this town, although neither of them will ever come within forty miles of it. Streets, squares, churches, public halls, and all were there in beautiful order; and extensive mills were shown erected on the river. All, or nearly all of them, the person who had the plan expected to find; and we gathered from him that one third of the town of ‘Eldorado’ had been sold at the East for the handsome little sum of forty thousand dollars—not much for the third of a splendid city, we confess, but rather a large price for a part of ‘Eldorado,’ which still lies in primitive forest, with trees of a hundred years’ growth, rising from the very spot where the public halls and pillared churches are made to stand.”

“In a word, this ‘Eldorado’ is a splendid fraud, but only one of a thousand that are daily practiced. We warn the public against it; and we can do so with the belief that our warning will not be disregarded, for we happen to know that there is as little chance of a great city, or even a small village, springing up in this out of the way spot, as upon one of the peaks of the Rocky Mountains.”

After he had read this, Mr. Townsend understood the meaning of that expression in Cleveland’s face, which had struck him as peculiar. He had, doubtless, seen this paragraph, and learned therefrom, that the bubble he had helped to blow up, was ready to explode. Of course, he didn’t want “Eldorado” property at any price.

In a day or two, the paragraph from the western paper appeared in all the city papers, and with various comments from the different editors. In one of them it was remarked, that a certain shipping merchant had, only a few weeks before, paid seventy thousand dollars for half of the “city.” “Of course,” the article went on to say, “here are seventy thousand dollars lost in a single gambling operation. When such splendid stakes as these are lost and won, we must not be astonished if we hear of failures by the dozens in the ranks of our merchant princes. In this number we shall not be at all surprised to find the owner of half of ‘Eldorado.’”

Mr. Townsend read this with pain, mortification, and a strange fear about his heart. In a little over a year, property, amounting to nearly a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, had melted away, and passed from his hands, irrecoverably. It seemed like a dream, so rapidly had transpired the singularly disastrous incidents. But worse than the mere loss of money, was the effect produced upon the merchant. His confidence in all business operations was gone; and he came into the unhappy state of those who believe that the fates are against them. If a ship came in, he was afraid to send her forth again, lest the voyage should prove unsuccessful; and he sold to even his best customers with timidity. To continue to do business in such a state of doubt as to the result, was not possible for Mr. Townsend, and he concluded, after a long and anxious consideration of the subject, to withdraw from trade, and seek some safe investment of the remainder of his property; the interest from which would be ample for the maintenance of his family in the style of elegance in which they had been accustomed to live.

The execution of this determination was hastened by the loss of another ship and cargo in a typhoon in the Indian Ocean. In this case insurance had been regularly effected; and the loss was promptly paid; but the disaster completed the overthrow of Mr. Townsend’s confidence in all business operations. More clearly than he had ever perceived it in his life, did he see the uncertainty that, as a natural consequence, must attend all commercial adventures, subject as they were to fluctuations and disturbances in the markets; the caprices of the winds and the waves, and the doubtful integrity of man. He wondered at the signal success that had attended his career as a merchant, and felt that something more than his own sagacity was involved therein.

The amount received from the underwriters for the ship and cargo which had been lost, was sixty thousand dollars. This sum was invested in stock of the United States Bank of Pennsylvania, as the safest productive disposition of it that could be made. Then, with an earnest devotion of his time and energies to the end in view, did Mr. Townsend proceed to wind up his business. His ships were sold; his goods disposed of as rapidly as possible, and, at last, his store was closed, and he removed his counting-room to a second story, retaining a single clerk to assist in the final settlement of his affairs.

As fast as money was realized, United States Bank stock was purchased, as a temporary disposal of it, until some other and safer investment could be made. Ground rents, and loans on bond and mortgage, were looked to as the ultimate mode of investing the bulk of his fortune—now reduced, he found, to a little over a hundred and seventy thousand dollars, and a portion of that in doubtful hands.

Months passed from the time the first purchase of United States Bank stock was made, and still no other investment of money had taken place. Several ground rents in the heart of the city, secured by costly improvements, had come into market, but Mr. Townsend hesitated about taking them until it was too late. He had received any number of applications for loans, to be secured by bond and mortgage, but could not make up his mind about the safety of any one of the operations. Thus, the time passed, and more and more of his property was daily becoming represented by United States Bank scrip, until nearly every thing he possessed was locked up in the stock of an institution, looked upon by every one as the safest in the country, yet, really, tottering upon the verge of ruin.

CHAPTER VI.
LOVE AND PRIDE.

Two years have glided away since the opening of our story. During that time the characters of Eveline and Eunice have developed themselves, more and more, toward a fixed maturity. While the former is still as gay and fond of dress and company as before, the latter has retired more and more, apparently, within herself, but really into the exercise of those purer thoughts and affections, that look to the good of others. All who come into close contact with her, love her for the sweetness of her temper, and the gentle spirit that utters itself in the tones of her voice, and the mild light of her calm blue eyes.

Neither Eveline nor Eunice have yet wedded. Henry Pascal has been home from his long European tour about six months, and, since his return, has been constant in his attentions to Eveline, with whom he corresponded, regularly, during the whole period of his absence. Eveline is deeply attached to him, and, although no formal offer of marriage has taken place, considers herself, as well as is considered by others, his affianced bride. Twice has the hand of Eunice been sought—once, all approved the offer but herself; and once, though her own heart approved, the objections of her parent and friends were so strong she yielded passively to their opposition. Passively, so far as act was concerned, but her heart remained the same, and turned faithfully toward the sun of its love.

The young man who had thus won the pure regard of Eunice, had recently been elevated from the position of clerk to that of limited partner, in a respectable mercantile house, and had, since this elevation, been introduced into a higher social grade than the one he had been used to. Here he met Eunice Townsend. The first time his eyes rested upon her, and before he had heard her name, or knew her connections, her image impressed itself upon his heart, and remained there ever after. He could not have effaced it, even if he had made the effort. This young man’s name was Rufus Albertson. His mother, a poor widow, had obtained for him, when he was quite a lad, a situation in a store, and dying shortly afterward, he was left without any relative. The owner of the store finding him active, intelligent, and honest, took him into his house; and raised and educated him. By his industry and devotion to business, from his fifteenth to his twenty-first year, the young man fully repaid the kindness he had received.

When Albertson learned to what family the sweet young creature, toward whom his heart had instantly warmed, belonged, he felt, for a time, unhappy. Townsend was known to be proud and aristocratic in his feelings, and would not, he felt satisfied, countenance, for an instant, any advances he might make toward his daughter. But, she filled his thoughts by day, and was even present with him in his dreams by night. At his first meeting with Eunice, he looked upon her and worshipped in the distance. A few weeks afterward, he met her again, and sought an introduction. The genuine simplicity of her manners charmed him more than the beauty of her face; and when he entered into conversation with her, spontaneously their thoughts flowed along in the same channel; and the sentiments they uttered found in each bosom a reciprocal response. After their third meeting, Albertson noticed that the eyes of Eunice were frequently turned toward him, while he moved in distant parts of the room, and drooped slowly beneath his gaze, when he looked at her steadily. All this was food for his passion.

Thus the tender flower of love, once having taken root, fixed itself more firmly in the ground, spread leaf after leaf, and put forth branch after branch, until bud and blossom became distinctly visible.

Albertson felt the difficulties of his position, but his was not a mind to be discouraged by difficulties. He loved Eunice, and it was plain that she returned his affection. This was the most important point gained, an advantage that would count against many disadvantages. Manly and straight-forward in his character, he could not, for a moment, entertain the thought of any clandestine action. So soon, therefore, as he was satisfied of the state of the maiden’s feelings, he determined to visit her at her father’s house, boldly, and he did so. His first call was made about one month after the suit of a previous lover had been declined. No notice was taken of it except by Eveline, who made it the occasion of some sportive remarks, at the expense of the young man. The seriousness with which this was received, first made her aware that her sister was very far from feeling indifferent toward him, and she herself became at once serious. She said nothing at the time, but closely observed Eunice, and marked her conduct, particularly when they happened to be in any company where Albertson was present. After the young man had made his second call, she said to her sister, in order to bring her out—

“I don’t like the familiarity with which this young man visits here.”

“Why not?” asked Eunice. “Is his right to call any less than that of other young men who visit us?”

“I rather think it is,” replied Eveline.

“I do not know why,” returned the sister. “Is he less virtuous?”

“I know nothing of his virtues or vices; but I believe he has been only a poor clerk until recently; and now is only the junior partner, with a limited interest, in some obscure business house.”

“Does all that take from his worth as a man, Evie? Certainly not in my eyes!”

“Why Eunie! You surprise me!”

“How so? Have I uttered a strange sentiment? Is it not true that

‘Worth makes the man; the want of it the fellow?’

I thought you understood, perfectly, my sentiments on this subject.”

“What do you know of Mr. Albertson’s worth as a man?” asked Eveline. “You have not been acquainted with him for a very long time, I believe.”

“No; but the little I have seen of him has impressed me favorably. He seems to be a man with his heart in the right place. I am free to own that, so far, I like him as a companion exceedingly well. There is nothing artificial or assumed about him. You see him as he is, a plain, frank, honest-hearted man, what I cannot help valuing in an acquaintance, for they are rare virtues among those I happen to meet.”

“I am afraid father and mother will not approve your preference in this instance, Eunie. Indeed, I am sure they will not, especially after your refusing to receive the attentions of Mr. Pelham, whose family connections are among the best in the city, and whose father is worth a million of dollars.”

A slight shade came over the maiden’s face, and there was a change in her voice as she replied to this—

“I should like to please father and mother in every thing; though I fear this will be impossible.”

“I am sure you will not please them if you encourage this young man’s attentions,” said Eveline.

Eunice sighed gently, but made no answer.

Not a very long time elapsed before Albertson called again. He happened to find Eunice alone, and took advantage of the opportunity to make advances of a nature easily understood by the maiden. These were not repulsed by Eunice. A month or two later, and a fair opportunity was offered him to tell his love, and he embraced it. The declaration was received with great frankness by Eunice, whose well-balanced mind kept her above the betrayal of any weakness. She owned that he had awakened in her a tenderer sentiment than she had ever felt for any one; but, at the same time, she informed him that it would be necessary for him to see her father, and gain his approval in the matter, without which, with her present views and feelings, she could give him no encouragement to hope for her hand.

More than this, Albertson had not expected. But he felt that the result was still very doubtful. On the next day he called to see Mr. Townsend. It happened, that the merchant had just received intelligence of a heavy loss, and was in a very unhappy state of mind.

“Well, sir?” he said, in a quick and impatient voice to Albertson, as the latter entered his counting-room, and disturbed him in the midst of a pile of letters, over which he was looking. He had seen the young man a few times before, but his youthful appearance had prevented his noticing him very particularly. He knew nothing of him, and supposed him to be a clerk, sent on the present occasion with some message from his employer.

Albertson bowed, as the merchant thus rudely interrogated him, and said, with as much composure as he could assume—the manner of Mr. Townsend chafed him—

“I wish to say a word to you, sir, on a matter that concerns us both.”

There was something in the way this was uttered, that caused the supercilious manner of the merchant to change. He turned full around from his desk, saying in a more respectful voice as he did so,

“Be seated, sir. Your face is familiar to me, although I cannot this moment call you by name.”

“My name is Rufus Albertson.”

“Albertson? Albertson?”

“I belong to the firm of Jones, Claire, & Co.”

“Ah! Yes. Very well, Mr. Albertson, what is it you wish to say to me?”

“Simply, sir, that I have come to ask the privilege of addressing your daughter Eunice.”

Instantly the whole manner of the merchant changed. A heavy frown settled upon his brow, and his eyes became angry in their expression.

“Mr. Albertson,” he said, in a firm, resolute voice, “your presumption surprises me! Who are you? And what claims have you to the hand of my daughter?”

“The claim of an honest man who loves your daughter,” replied Albertson.

“Go, sir! Go!” exclaimed Townsend, losing all patience at this cool response, “and don’t dare to think of an alliance with my child! It shall never take place! Go, sir! Go!”

And he waived his hand for the young man to retire.

Albertson attempted to urge some considerations upon the excited merchant, but an order to leave the counting-room, followed by an insulting expression, caused him instantly to depart.

An hour or two afterward, Eunice received the following brief note from her lover:

“I have seen your father, and he has met my request with an angry refusal. Have I nothing to hope? You said his consent was indispensable. Are you still of that mind? Dear Eunice! shall the will of another prevent the union of our hearts? I feel that, upon every principle of right, this ought not to be. Write to me immediately, and oh! do not extinguish every light of hope. Let one at least burn, even if its rays be feeblest.”

To this, the maiden, after taking time for reflection, replied:

“I did not hope for a favorable issue to your application. My father looks, I fear, to wealth and social standing, more than to qualities of mind. As I said before, his consent is, for the present, indispensable. The will of another may prevent an external union, although it cannot prevent an union of our hearts. If your regard for me is deeply based; if you can have patience to wait long in hope of more favoring circumstances, then the light you speak of need not go out in your mind.

‘To patient faith, the prize is sure.’

Time works many changes. Have faith in time.”

Albertson read these precious words over twice, and then pressing them to his lips, said,

“Yes! I will have faith in time. I would be unworthy of that true heart were I to give way to impatience and doubt.”

Eunice was sitting alone that evening, just after the twilight shadows had rendered all objects around her indistinct, when her father entered the room where she was sitting. She felt his presence like a weight upon her bosom.

“Eunice! Who is this Albertson?” he asked, abruptly and sternly.

Even from a child, Eunice had possessed great self-control and composure under agitating circumstances. But never, in her life, had she been so deeply disturbed as now, and it required the utmost effort of her will to keep from bursting into tears. She, however, remained externally calm, and said in a low, subdued voice:

“Do you not know him?”

“How should I know him, pray?”

“He has been here frequently. I thought you had met him.”

“And suppose I have! Does the mere meeting of one of your young whipper-snappers constitute a knowledge as to who and what he is? Do you know him?”

“Yes, sir, I believe I do.”

“And what do you know of him?”

“That he is a young man of virtuous principles.”

“And I suppose you also know that he aspires to your hand.”

“I do,” calmly replied Eunice, letting her eyes fall to the floor.

“And you favor his presumption, I plainly see.”

“For that, father, I am not to blame,” returned Eunice, in the same low, subdued voice. “I cannot help loving virtue and all manly excellencies combined, when they offer themselves for my love.”

“Girl!” ejaculated Mr. Townsend, passionately, “I forbid, positively and unequivocally, all alliance with this low born, presumptuous fellow. If you disobey me, I will discard you forever!”

“I will not disobey you, father,” answered Eunice, in a tremulous voice, “though obedience cause my heart to break.” And rising, she retired from the room, and went up into her chamber to weep.

So unexpected a reply, as well as the manner and tone in which it was made, a little surprised the father. The passion into which he had worked himself was all gone, and he stood half wondering at his loss of excitement. The even temper of Eunice, during the trying scene, and her prompt self-denial in a matter so vital to her happiness, he could not help feeling as a reproof upon his own harsh, hasty, and imperious spirit.

Alone, in her chamber, Eunice wept long and bitterly, at this frost-breath upon the tender leaves of her heart’s young hopes. But she did not weep despairingly—she had faith in time.

CHAPTER VII.
MERCENARY LOVE.

With a smoother surface ran the stream of Eveline’s love. Mr. Pascal met the full approval of all her friends, as well as of her own heart. And yet, that stream contained some deep, dark places, and there were hidden things therein. Though a contract for marriage was understood to exist, it had never been formally made, and sometimes unpleasant doubts would cross the maiden’s mind. Her lover had remained abroad a very long time, and, since his return, had seemed, if there were really any change in him, colder than before. Eveline tried to think that this was not so, but still the impression haunted her every now and then, and produced a feeling of disquietude.

Henry Pascal, as has been seen, was the son of a wealthy importer. His father at first designed to introduce him into his counting-room, and thoroughly educate him for a merchant. But, the young man showing no taste for business, he changed his mind in regard to him, and placed him in the office of an eminent practitioner at the bar. Here he remained about a year, at the end of which period he knew very little more of law than he did of physic. Not that he lacked ability; for Pascal had a clear, strong mind. But he loved pleasure, and had no incentive to study. His father’s great wealth took away all necessity for him to strive for money; and eminence in any pursuit in life was not a motive strong enough to induce him to devote himself with that unwearied diligence necessary to success.

It was during the time that he was pretending to study law, that Henry Pascal became interested in Eveline Townsend. To say that he loved her, would, perhaps, be speaking too strongly. For, to love any thing out of himself, was hardly possible. But she was very beautiful, and of that he could feel proud—and she had a well-cultivated mind, and winning manners. An attachment to her formed a kind of pursuit in life; was an impulse in the aimless tenor of his existence. His friends, who had become anxious for the young man, encouraged this preference for Eveline, in the hope that it would awaken the dormant energies of his mind. Disappointed in this, they met his expressed desire to go abroad with approval, and Pascal started for Europe.

During his absence, his letters to Eveline came at regular periods, and expressed just enough affection to keep the heart of the maiden warm. His return was at a time when Mr. Townsend’s affairs were not exhibiting the most prosperous state, and when rumor set down his various losses at double the real amount. Old Mr. Pascal had his eye upon the merchant. He had seen the prosperous career of many a man checked, and a blight steel over his fortunes like a mildew, while no adequate cause could be assigned therefor; and he had his suspicions, from many little circumstances that transpired, that such a blight was about falling upon the worldly prosperity of Mr. Townsend. With these suspicions came the wish to have his son break off all intercourse with Eveline. Immediately on his return, he introduced the subject to him, and stated his fears.

“Is there any engagement existing between you?” he closed by asking.

“No verbal engagements,” replied his son.

“Very well, Henry. Then do not make any.”

“But the engagement is implied, father.”

“No engagement is implied. All contracts to be such must come into oral or written expression. You may imply anything. Looking at a woman, or dancing with her, may be construed into a marriage contract under such a law. No, Henry, you are not engaged, and for the present, keep yourself free.”

The young man promised to do so, but continued his visits as usual.

A few months after his return from Europe, the “Eldorado” speculation took place, the facts of which, through the newspaper notoriety given to the fraud, became pretty well known in mercantile circles.

“Henry, you must give up that girl!” said old Mr. Pascal, positively. “Her father is going down hill as fast as he can go, and will not be worth a dollar in five years. Forty thousand dollars swept away in a single mad speculation! When a man begins to deal in imaginary western cities, at such a rate, his case is hopeless.”

Henry made no reply. The idea of connecting himself in marriage with the family of a ruined merchant, was by no means pleasant, but he had become really attached to Eveline, and the thought of giving her up disturbed him. As before, he continued his attentions, determined to await the issue of events, and act with decision when circumstances sufficiently strong to prompt to decided action should occur.

How utterly unconscious, all this time, was the happy-hearted maiden, of the near approach of circumstances that threatened to destroy her peace. Her lover came and went as before, and seemed to be the same. He was her companion in public places, and sat by her side in private circles. But still, and she often wondered at it, he never spoke of marriage.

Thus progressed events, with the merchant and his family, toward a great crisis.

After the repulse which had been given to Albertson, Eunice changed, but the change developed no harsh features in her character. Like a flower whose leaves have been slightly crushed, the odor thereof was sweeter. To her father she was ever gentle in her manner, and thoughtful of his comfort. This troubled him, and made him often repent of the rudeness with which he had laid his hand upon a heart so full of gentle impulses. Albertson did not attempt to visit her again, and when he met her in company, maintained toward her a reserved and distant manner corresponding with her own. But when they did thus meet, and their eyes lingered in each other’s gaze for a few brief moments, a long history of mutual love was told.

CHAPTER VIII.
AFFLICTION.

One day Mr. Townsend came home earlier in the afternoon than usual, his face wearing a troubled look. He found his wife and daughters alone in the parlors.

“I’ve just received letters from New Orleans,” he said.

“How is John?” eagerly asked Mrs. Townsend, interrupting him.

“He is sick,” was replied.

“Sick! Not dangerously, I hope?”

“I am afraid so. One of his clerks has written.”

“What is the matter with him?”

“He does not say—but I will read you his letter.”

And Mr. Townsend drew forth a letter and read:

“I regret to inform you that your son, Mr. John Townsend, has been quite ill for several days with a violent fever. He has desired me not to write to you, lest you should be unnecessarily alarmed, but I have felt it to be my duty to act contrary to his wishes. I have just seen the doctor, who says I ought to inform you of your son’s illness. He does not answer any of my inquiries satisfactorily, which makes me fear that the case is dangerous. I will write you to-morrow, and every day, until there is some change.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed the mother, striking her hands together, and bursting into tears. “It is the yellow fever!”

“I fear it is,” replied Mr. Townsend, striving to keep his feelings under control. “The sickly season has commenced earlier than usual, and before John could make his arrangements to come north.”

Oh! how anxiously did that family wait, for the next twenty-four hours, the arrival of another mail from New Orleans! Mrs. Townsend and her daughter did little but weep all the time, and Mr. Townsend in vain attempted to fix his mind upon business. Long before the southern mail could be assorted, he was at the post-office; and when the window was thrown open, his face was the first one presented to the clerk. He received a package of letters, and hastily retired. One bore the New Orleans post mark. All the rest were hurriedly thrust into his pocket. Breaking the seal of this, with trembling hands, he read—

“Your son is no better. All last night he was delirious under the raging violence of the fever. The doctors say but little. I have deemed it right to call in additional medical aid. Rest assured, sir, that all shall be done that medicine and careful attention can accomplish. I was with him all last night, and shall remain constantly by his side. All that human power can do shall be done; the result is with Him in whose hands are the issues of life.”

The whole letter, up to the last sentence, deeply agitated Mr. Townsend; but that sentence, like a knell of doom, subdued the wild struggles of human passion, and crushed all suddenly down into hopelessness. He had already discovered that there was a Power above the human will, and a Disposer of events against whose designs human prudence was nothing; and he felt that into the hands of this higher Power he had come, with his very household treasures as well as his worldly wealth, and that these, too, or a part of these, were to be taken away. Thus, the very words meant to suggest confidence and resignation, destroyed the balance of his mind, and overwhelmed it with the thickest clouds.

At home, he found an anxious and agitated circle awaiting him.

“He is no better,” he said, as he entered the room where his wife and daughter were sitting.

Tears followed the announcement, that were renewed when the letter he had received was read.

Anxiously passed another day. Mr. Townsend was at the post-office, impatiently awaiting the opening of the mail, long before it could be distributed; but there was no letter. The southern mail had been delayed beyond Richmond. Two letters came to hand on the next day. That of the last date was torn open and read, with eyes that took in sentences rather than words. It ran thus:

“I wrote you yesterday, stating that there were some favorable symptoms; that the fever had yielded to the efforts of Mr. Townsend’s physicians. To-day he lies in a very low state. Life seems scarcely to beat in his pulses. But still there is life, and the disease has abated; we may, therefore, confidently hope that the vital spark will slowly rekindle. The attack was most malignant, and bore him down with great rapidity. To-morrow I hope to be able to say that every thing is progressing toward recovery.”

“God grant that the issue may be favorable!” murmured the father, as he crushed the letter in his hand, and hurried away toward the anxious ones at home.

It was the first prayer that had ever ascended from the heart of the merchant—the first deeply-felt acknowledgment of his own powerlessness, and dependence upon a Supreme Being.

To the mother and sister this last intelligence brought a ray of hope, feeble though it was, and scarcely to be called light.

Three days more went by, and in all that time—an age of suspense—there came no word of the sick son and brother.

“Has there been a failure of the southern mail?” asked Mr. Townsend every day. The answer “No,” fell each time upon his feelings like a stroke from a hammer; for to his mind it indicated the worst. If there had been any improvement, the clerk would most certainly have written.

At last another letter came. It was brought to the house of Mr. Townsend by his clerk immediately on the arrival and distribution of the mail. The merchant had not been out that day. His distress of mind had become so great that he could attend to no business. This letter he received as he sat in the midst of his family. He did not break the seal until the servant who handed it in had retired. A short time before the letter came, he was walking about the room in an agitated manner, listening for the ringing of the street bell, as it was full time for his clerk to be there from the post-office, and had just seated himself with a deep sigh. Now he was calm, and broke the seal with strange deliberation.

“I have waited three days in the hope of having favorable news to send you; but, alas! I have waited in vain. Your son expired—”

A heavy groan broke from the lips of the unhappy father as the letter fell from his nerveless hand; and at the same time a wild cry of anguish burst from the mother’s heart. Eunice alone was externally calm, though she felt the bereavement as deeply, perhaps, as any; but it was not felt in the same way. It did not strike down, as in the father’s case, the selfish hopes of a worldly mind.

CHAPTER IX.
MENTAL PROSTRATION.

Mr. Carlton, minister of the church to which the family of Mr. Townsend belonged, learned, through the newspapers, on the next day, the deep affliction that had been sustained; and, prompted by a sense of duty, repaired immediately to the house of mourning. He found the merchant alone, pacing the floor of the darkened parlor.

“My dear sir,” he said, as he took the hand of the wretched man, “I need not say how deeply I sympathize with you in this melancholy bereavement, the fact of which I learned but half an hour ago. To lose so good a son, in the first ripe years of manhood, is, indeed, an affliction, and one for which there seems, at first, no solace.”

“There is none, Mr. Carlton,” returned the father, with something stern and indignant in the tone of his voice.

“Say not so, Mr. Townsend,” replied the minister. “There is a balm for every wound—a solace for every affliction. He who sends sorrow, will surely send the power to bear it, and enable the sufferer, like the bee, to extract honey even from a noxious plant. All that we are made to endure here, is for our good.”

“So it is said, but I cannot believe it, Mr. Carlton. Is it good for me to lose my son? Is it good that the very hope and pride of my family should be stricken down, like a young and goodly tree, by the lightning of heaven? No, it is not good!”

“God, in his very essence, is goodness, Mr. Townsend. His very nature, as well as his name, is love. Too wise to err, too good to be unkind, every event that takes place under his Divine appointment or permission, must, in some way, regard man’s highest and best interest—in other words, his eternal interest.”

“But what has the death of my son to do with my eternal interest?” asked the merchant. “I must own that I see no connection between the two things whatever.”

“The connection between acts and events in time, Mr. Townsend, and effects which are spiritual, can rarely, if ever, be traced in the present; but, notwithstanding this, nothing is truer than that whatever occurs in a man’s life, whether it be a prosperous or adverse event, a joyous or afflictive dispensation, is permitted or ordained for his good—not his natural, but his spiritual good.”

“It may be, but I cannot understand it,” said Mr. Townsend, sadly.

“Reflect, but for a moment,” urged the minister, “and I am sure it will be plain to your mind. We are spiritually organized beings, the creatures of a wise, good, and eternal God, who has stamped upon our souls the impress of immortality. We are not made for time, but for eternity; and, therefore, time to us and all that appertains to it, must refer to and involve what is eternal. The great error of our lives is, a resting in the things of time and sense as real and substantial things, and to be most desired, when they are only intended to be the means of our spiritual purification and elevation. To so rest is to look down at the things that are beneath, and which will perish in a little while, instead of looking upward at those substantial things which endure forever. Now, from the very nature of our Heavenly Father, he must ever be seeking to lift our minds above these natural and unsubstantial affections, into the love of such things as are eternal; and in order to do this, he finds it often necessary to break our natural loves, as with a hammer of iron, lest they become so selfish and inordinate as to extinguish all love for what is good and true, and thus render us unfitted for the pure, unselfish joys of heaven. It is far better for us, Mr. Townsend, to suffer the destruction of our natural hopes, and the blighting of our natural affections, if by these means eternal hopes are rekindled in our minds, and the love of things spiritual and eternal formed in our hearts.”

To this, Mr. Townsend was silent. Only to a limited extent did he feel it to be true, and as far as he saw it did his heart rebel against it. He had no affection for any thing beyond this world, and the crossing and crushing of these affections, he felt to be the greatest calamity he could suffer. The things of this world were good enough for him, and he was content to enjoy them forever, if the boon could only be granted; any interference with this enjoyment he could not but feel as uncalled for and arbitrary.

This was his state of mind, which had changed, at least, in one important feature during the lapse of two years. There was a time, when, in the pride of success and conscious power, he had fully believed, with the fool, as well as said in his heart, “There is no God.” But, he had realized, by painful and disheartening experiences, that there was an invisible and all-potent Being, who governed in the affairs of men, and determined the course of events at will. Against such interference, as he impiously felt it to be, his heart arose, angry and rebellious.

Mr. Carlton, who remembered the conversation held with the merchant two years previously, saw precisely the change that had taken place. He was aware that Mr. Townsend had met with a number of heavy losses in business, and these, with the distressing bereavement now sustained, fully explained the cause of his altered state. He had hope, notwithstanding the present aspect of his thoughts and feelings, that, in the end, light would break in upon the darkness of his mind, and peace reign where all was now agitation.

The minister’s interview with the other members of the family, except Eunice, was little more satisfactory than that held with Mr. Townsend. Time enough had not elapsed for the stricken heart of the mother to react under the dreadful blow. To all Mr. Carlton’s words of consolation, tears were her only response. And it was just the same with Eveline. But Eunice seemed to forget her own pain of mind in the sympathetic concern she felt for her mother and father, and in her efforts to dry up their tears, her own ceased to flow. Thus it is, that in attempting to sustain others in affliction, our own hearts are comforted. Love is doubly blessed.

“They are passing through deep waters,” said Mr. Carlton to himself, thoughtfully, as he pursued his way homeward, “but they will not be overwhelmed. They are in the fire of affliction, but the Refiner and Purifier sits by, and not an atom of what is good and true in them shall be consumed. It is painful now, but I trust that I shall yet see them come forth with rejoicing.”

For some weeks Mr. Townsend had no heart to enter into any of the details of his business, nor to look at what was passing around him in the business world. He experienced a mental prostration that approached almost to paralysis. And it was the same with his wife, who, since the news of her son’s death, had not left her chamber, nor spoken a cheerful word.

But, only for a short time longer, did this continue. Then there came another blow, sudden and appalling, that struck them down to the very earth.

CHAPTER X.
A GREAT DISASTER.

Mr. Townsend left his home one morning, and was passing slowly along the street, in the direction of his counting-room, when a business friend, who was walking on the opposite side of the street, came briskly over on seeing him, and asked, in an agitated voice,

“Have you heard the news from Philadelphia?”

“No; what is it?”

“The United States’ Bank has failed!”

The face of Mr. Townsend became instantly pale, and he caught hold of an iron railing to support himself.

“Impossible!” he said, in a faint, husky voice.

“It is too true. Do you hold any of the stock?”

“Every dollar I am worth is there!”

“Every dollar! Surely not, Mr. Townsend!”

“I’m ruined! ruined! ruined!” murmured the wretched man, losing all control of himself; “hopelessly ruined!”

“Not so bad as that, I trust, sir. A large percentage of the stock will no doubt be paid.”