The Romance and Tragedy of a Widely Known Business Man of New York

Charles Franks and tehe Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

[Illustration: THE WOMAN]

THE ROMANCE AND TRAGEDY OF A WIDELY KNOWN BUSINESS MAN OF NEW YORK

BY HIMSELF (WILLIAM INGRAHAM RUSSELL)

TO MY WIFE Who, after more than forty years of married life, is still my sweetheart

TO MY READERS

A true story of a life I give you; not in its completion, for it is still unfinished. The romance of youth has lingered through all the later years and the tragedy of these years could not destroy it. In the manuscript tears have fallen on some pages, smiles on others, and still others have been scorched with the fire of indignation.

Why is it written? To bear testimony to the love and devotion of a noble woman; to set straight before the world certain matters now misunderstood; to give evidence of the insincerity of friendship that comes to one in prosperity only to vanish in adversity; and also, in the hope that an appreciative public will buy the book.

Not all the names used are fictitious, and where they are so, no effort has been made to conceal identity.

No spirit of malice has animated the writer. Although his wounds have been deep he knows now no feeling save sorrow and regret that they should have been inflicted by his "friends"

WILLIAM INGRAHAM RUSSELL.

February 1, 1905.

AUTHOR'S NOTE TO SECOND EDITION

This narrative, first published in an author's autograph edition, limited to one thousand copies, was privately circulated, the entire edition having been sold by the author through correspondence.

A second edition is now offered to the public. The original narrative, except for the correction of a few minor errors, is unchanged, and added to it are two chapters disclosing a remarkable sequel and also setting forth a lesson for the younger generation of business men, showing clearly how different would have been the conditions had my wisdom come before my experience.

This latter chapter was written at the suggestion of an eminently successful New York business man, president of one of the largest and oldest concerns in the United States.

WILLIAM INGRAHAM RUSSELL.
"CHESTNUT RIDGE"
Jessup, Maryland,

February 15th, 1907.

AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THIRD EDITION

Why is it published?

The second Edition—long out of print, still orders that could not be filled were continually received. These have come from nearly every State in the Union and as the book has never been advertised other than by press reviews and the favorable comment of readers, this demand means something.

Perhaps if you read the narrative you will discover the answer.

WILLIAM INGRAHAM RUSSELL

CALVERT BUILDING,
Baltimore, Maryland,

August 23rd, 1913.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I The First Round of the Ladder
II I Meet My Affinity
III A Co-Partnership Dissolved
IV And the Answer Was "Yes"
V Wedding Bells
VI A First Reverse of Fortune
VII The Coming of the Stork
VIII The New Partner
IX Suburban Life
X My Partner Retires
XI A Year of Sunshine
XII An Ideal Life
XIII Prosperous Days
XIV Near the Dark Valley
XV A Successful Maneuver
XVI "Redstone"
XVII Our Neighbors
XVIII An Uneventful Year
XIX The Stream Broadens
XX Retrogression
XXI The Dam Gives Way
XXII The Calm Before the Storm
XXIII "A Few Weak French Speculators"
XXIV Exciting Times
XXV "Come and Dance in the Barn"
XXVI An Importer and Dealer
XXVII Sad Hearts at Knollwood
XXVIII New Faces
XXIX A Short Year and a Merry One
XXX A Voucher
XXXI Two Sides to the Question
XXXII The Panic of Ninety-Three
XXXIII Farewell to "Redstone"
XXXIV A Summer on the Sound
XXXV Monmouth Beach
XXXVI The Ship Founders
XXXVII The Family and Friends
XXXVIII "W. E. Stowe & Co., Incorporated"
XXXIX The Struggle Commenced
XL The Struggle Continued
XLI Darkness Before the Dawn
XLII Brighter Days
XLIII Smooth Sailing Into Rough Waters
XLIV The Tyranny of the Jury Law
XLV Bitter Trials
XLVI At the Brink of the Grave
XLVII Again at the Helm
XLVIII A Nightmare
XLIX Retrospection
L A Dream
LI "From God and the King"
LII A Foundation Principle

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Woman
Portrait
"Sunnyside"
"Redstone"
"Redstone"—Library
Off for a drive
Eighty-sixth Street and West End Avenue
"Redstone"—The Hall
"Chestnut Ridge"
"Chestnut Ridge"—Library

[ILLUSTRATION: The Author]

[His Signature]

August, 1913

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST ROUND OF THE LADDER

NEW YORK, February 23, 1866.

"Master Walter E. Stowe:

"If you have not yet procured a situation, please call at my office, 45 Duane Street, and oblige.

"Yours truly,

"JNO. DERHAM,
"Per T. E. D."

This letter came to me in response to my application for a situation as an office-boy. I had replied to the advertisement in the Herald, without consulting my parents, knowing they would raise objections to my leaving school.

My father, one of New York's old-time shipping merchants, running a line of packets to Cuban ports, had failed in business as a result of losses during the war, the crowding out of sailing vessels by steamers, and unfortunate outside investments.

It did not require great discernment to see the necessity of my giving up all idea of going to Columbia College, for which I was preparing, and thus, before I was sixteen years of age, I commenced as an office-boy at a salary of three dollars per week. The position in those days was vastly different from what it is to-day. The work now done by janitors and porters fell to the office-boy, and my duties included sweeping and dusting the office, cleaning windows, and in winter making fires.

This work, menial and distasteful as it was to the boy brought up in luxury, was cheerfully undertaken, and it is only referred to here to show that my start was from the first round of the ladder.

My employer, a north of Ireland man, though frequently brusque with others, often to the detriment of his own interest, always treated me with consideration and probably my life at the office ran as smoothly as that of any lad in similar position. The only other employee was a younger brother of Mr. Derham, who was taken in as a limited partner shortly after I was employed. The firm carried on a brokerage business, requiring no capital, and stood in the trade as well and perhaps a little better than any of its competitors, of which there were but few.

Much of the business done by the firm consisted in the execution of orders for out-of-town dealers and consumers, but by far the greater volume comprised the negotiations carried on between the different importers and dealers of New York.

The entire business of the United States, in their line of trade, was practically controlled by these importers and dealers. The characteristics of the trade as they existed then, exist to-day. A few of the old firms have gone out of existence through failure or liquidation, and some accessions have been made, chiefly of foreign blood, but most of the old concerns remain, and though the personality of these has changed, through the departure of many on the long journey and the taking of their places by their successors, the same spirit that was in evidence in the years immediately following the war, animates the trade to-day.

Admitting that sentiment has no place in business and brotherly love is not to be expected amongst business competitors, I feel safe in saying that in no other trade has jealous rivalry so nearly approached to personal animosity.

Preeminent in the trade stands a firm with name unchanged for three generations, of world-wide reputation for its wealth and the philanthropy of its individual members, past and present, all of whom have been prominent in New York's religious and social life. Another firm only a few years ago discontinued a custom of hanging on the walls of its offices scriptural texts. Of still another firm, the most active member is a leader of Brooklyn's annual Sunday-school processions, though he prides himself on his cold blood, and before leaving his home in the morning to go to his office replaces his heart with a paving-stone. But why go on? Suffice it to say that the trade is eminently respectable and rich, in some instances possessed of enormous wealth, and this is the trade in which I began my career.

My office life for the first two years was routine and devoid of excitement, except for occasional strenuous experiences the result of Mr. Derham's brusqueness and quickness to resent anything that he deemed an attempt to take advantage of, or put a slight upon him. He was the sort of man that makes a steadfast friend or a bitter enemy, with no room for anything in between.

"Walter, take this contract to Winter and bring me his acceptance," said Mr. Derham on one occasion, when, having made what in those days was considered a large sale, he was feeling particularly good-natured over it.

"Yes, sir," I replied, and was off at once, little knowing the reception awaiting me in the Beaver Street office of Rudolph C. Winter.

On entering the office I approached Mr. Winter's desk and handed him the contract. He glanced at it, and then all the nervous irritability for which that individual was noted came to the surface at once. Springing up from his desk, upsetting the chair in his haste and rushing toward me, he shouted:

"Here! take this back to Mr. Derham; tell him I won't have it! I didn't sell it; get out!" And pushing me across the office, he opened the door and thrust me into the street, throwing after me my hat, which had been knocked from my hand.

It did not take me long to get back to Mr. Derham and give him an account of what had occurred.

In a fury he put on his hat, and saying "come with me," we walked rapidly to Winter's office. Entering the door with blood in his eye, Mr. Derham stepped up to the still wrathful merchant.

"Winter, I understand you decline to accept this contract."

"But," began Winter, when down on the desk came Mr. Derham's clenched fist.

"No explanations now; sign first, and then after you have apologized to my messenger, who is my representative when I send him to you, perhaps I'll listen, and I am not sure I will not give you a good thrashing afterwards."

The fury of Winter disappeared and in its place there was a very mild spring. He signed the contract, told me he was sorry he had been so hasty, and when I left them he was trying to pacify Mr. Derham.

On another occasion, Mr. Brightman, of Brightman & Smart, a dignified gentleman at that time acting as consul for the Netherlands, called at the office.

It appeared he had made a sale which he regretted and he called to have it cancelled, claiming that he had been induced to make the sale through the alleged misrepresentation by Mr. Thomas Derham, of certain features of the market.

The argument became heated and Brightman called Thomas a liar. His brother looked at him in silence for a moment, long enough to discover that he was lacking either in pluck or inclination to resent the insult, then springing at Brightman he literally threw him out of the office.

These scenes, though not of daily occurrence, were frequent enough to relieve the monotony of office life and at the same time to give me a wholesome fear of incurring my employer's displeasure.

In the summer of 1868 Mr. Thomas Derham was married. For some reason unknown to me his brother did not approve, and a little later differences arose between them, the friction increasing until finally a separation of their business interests was agreed upon. Mr. Thomas Derham launched out on his own account, and the competition between the brothers became a bitter warfare, all personal intercourse ceasing.

At this time my salary was seven dollars per week, and Mr. Derham, after the dissolution of partnership with his brother, advanced it to ten dollars.

As he was my only employer and there were no further advances later, this is the largest salary I was ever paid.

How large it looked to me then I remember well, and although matters had gone from bad to worse at home and most of my earnings had to contribute to keep the pot boiling, it seemed to me as if I were rich the first Saturday night I carried home the ten-dollar bill.

From this time my position in the office became more dignified. A woman was employed to do the cleaning, and Mr. Derham delegated to me the placing of many of the smaller orders and occasionally sent me on business trips to near-by cities.

I worked hard and faithfully to make my services valuable. I kept the books, made collections, attended to a portion of the correspondence, and it was not long before I had acquired a thorough knowledge of the methods of doing the business and was able to carry out transactions to a finish without having to consult my employer.

In October, 1870, Mr. Derham told me he had decided to give up the business and accept an offer which had been made him by one of the large importing firms, to go to England as its foreign representative.

He proposed that I take his business, paying him for the good-will twenty-five per cent of the profits for three years.

As I was not yet twenty years of age, he thought me too young to assume the business alone, and advised a partnership on equal terms with a Mr. Bulkley, then doing a brokerage business in a line that would work in well with ours, it being his idea to combine the two.

Adam Bulkley, a tall, handsome fellow of thirty-five, was a personal friend of Mr. Derham. He was a captain in the Seventh Regiment and had seen service. A man of attractive personality, he had many friends and had married the daughter of one of the wealthiest hide and leather brokers in the "swamp."

I do not know why, but in my first interview with this man I took an aversion to him. I tried to convince Mr. Derham that I could do better without a partner, but he thought otherwise, and not unnaturally, under the circumstances, I allowed matters to take their course as he planned them, and the partnership was made for a period of three years.

Early in November Mr. Derham sailed for England, leaving as his successor the firm of Bulkley & Stowe.

CHAPTER II

I MEET MY AFFINITY

My home was in Brooklyn. On my mother's side the family came from the old Dutch settlers of that section of Greater New York. My mother's father was a commissioned officer in the war of 1812. My father came from Connecticut, of English ancestry. I used to tell my mother the only thing I could never forgive her was that I was born in Brooklyn, and I have never gotten over my dislike for the place, though it is nearly thirty years since I left there.

The family for generations back have been Episcopalians, and from earliest childhood I was accustomed to attend regularly Sunday-school and church services.

After my father's failure we moved into a house on St. James Place, and our church home was old St. Luke's, on Clinton avenue. Doctor Diller, the rector, who lost his life in the burning of a steamboat on the East River, was a life-long friend of the family, and my social intercourse was chiefly with the young people of his church.

Mr. Sherman, the treasurer and senior warden of the church and superintendent of the Sunday-school, a fine old gentleman, now gathered to his fathers, was one of Hon. Seth Low's "Cabinet," when he was Mayor of Brooklyn. Seth Low, by the way, is the same age as myself, and we were schoolmates at the Polytechnic Institute.

As librarian of the Sunday-school and one of the committee in charge of the social meetings of the young people, I became intimate with Mr. Sherman and his family.

On December 20th, 1870, the first sociable of the season was held and I had looked forward to it with considerable interest, owing to the fact that a niece of Mr. Sherman, residing in Chicago and then visiting him for the winter, was to be present. I had heard the young lady spoken of in such glowing terms that I anticipated much pleasure in meeting her.

When the evening came and I met Miss Wilson, I must confess I was not deeply impressed, and I have since learned that the lady, who had heard much of me from her cousin, Miss Sherman, regarded me with indifference.

On this occasion, the saying that "first impressions go a great way" was disproved, for two weeks later, after returning from the second sociable, where I again met Miss Wilson, I said to my sister, whom I had escorted:

"What do you think of Miss Wilson"?

"A very charming girl" she replied, and I then told her I had lost my heart and was determined to win her for my wife.

Miss Wilson was of the brunette type. Her face, surmounted by a mass of dark brown, silky hair, was most attractive. A clear olive complexion, charming features, and beneath long lashes, large brilliant eyes. Her figure, was finely proportioned and graceful.

Endowed with unusual common sense and well educated she was a most interesting conversationalist, while her voice was musical and well modulated.

Why I did not discover all these charms on the occasion of our first meeting I never have been able to understand, unless it was because our intercourse on that evening was limited to little more than a formal introduction.

Thereafter, I sought every possible opportunity for the enjoyment of Miss Wilson's society.

Our acquaintance quickly grew into a friendship which permitted almost daily intercourse and enabled me to fathom the noble nature of the girl, and to realize what a blessing would be mine if I could win her affection.

A girl of strong character, there was nothing of the frivolous about her. In the frequent informal social gatherings she was always the life of the occasion, but never did her merriment get down to the level of silliness. Without a suspicion of prudishness there was always with her the natural dignity of the true-born gentlewoman.

Of course, it need not be said that Miss Wilson had many admirers—altogether too many for my peace of mind.

When I would get temporary relief by thinking I was getting the best of the Brooklyn element, I would suffer a heart-throb because of news that some flame left behind in Chicago was burning brighter. When that would dim or become extinguished, depressing news would reach me from West Point, where Miss Wilson visited her cousin, the wife of an officer.

Thus I was kept guessing most of the time, and though I could not but feel I was steadily gaining my way to the goal, I cannot say that I did not spend many an anxious hour pondering over the other fellow's chances.

In the early summer Miss Wilson left Brooklyn for a visit to relatives in Boston.

A few days later I followed her to that city, and her pleasure at seeing me was so evident, her reception so cordial, that I dismissed from my mind all fear of my rivals and determined to take an early opportunity of offering her my hand and heart.

How impatiently I awaited her return. The days dragged along. I was restless and unhappy. We did not correspond, so there were no letters to brighten the gloomy days of waiting.

To a small degree I derived some comfort from frequent calls on Miss Sherman, who was good enough to tell me of her letters from her cousin and good-natured enough to permit me to spend most of the evening in talking about her. I was certainly very much in love, and as the case with most young men in that condition of mind, the object of my adoration was always in my thoughts.

All things finally come to an end, and early in July Miss Wilson returned to Brooklyn. She was to remain but a few days before leaving for a visit in Connecticut.

In the interim I felt I must speak, and yet now that the opportunity had arrived, what a mighty proposition it seemed.

For days and days I had been thinking of it, at night I dreamed of it. It seemed so easy to tell the woman I loved, that I loved her, and yet when the time had come my courage waned. I let day after day pass in spite of a resolution each morning that before sleeping again I would know my fate.

I tried to reason with myself.

I knew that my personality was not objectionable. I had lived an absolutely clean life, had no vices. My associates were of the right kind, business prospects satisfactory. Why should I hesitate to offer a hand that was clean, a heart that was pure to the woman I loved? "I will do it," I said aloud, and I did—that evening.

It was the evening of July 10th, 1870.

The day had been warm and oppressive, but after sundown a pleasant breeze cooled the air.

As I entered the grounds surrounding Mr. Sherman's home I stood for a few moments beneath the foliage of his fine old trees, inhaling the fragrance of the flowers blooming on the lawn.

My mind was filled with a feeling of awe at the great responsibility
I was about to assume.

I had perfect confidence in my ability to care for the well-being and happiness of the object of my affection. I knew my love was sincere and lasting, and yet, when I thought of all it meant, to take a girl from a home in which she was loved and happy, to bind her to me for all time, to share what might come of good or evil in the uncertainties of life, it came over me with tremendous force that if this girl should intrust her heart to my keeping, a lifetime of devotion should be her reward.

The early part of the evening was passed in general conversation with the family, and after a little music we were finally left alone.

The hour had come!

At my request Miss Wilson sat at the piano and played a few strains of an old waltz we had been discussing. I stood beside her while she sat there, and in tones trembling with the intensity of my feelings I poured forth the old, old story. I told her of my love in such words as I could command in my agitation.

Then, while my heart almost ceased beating, Miss Wilson told me in the kindest possible manner of her appreciation of the offer and also of her complete surprise. She said that while she esteemed me highly as a friend and liked me personally very much, she had not thought of me as a lover, and that she could not regard me in that light.

To say that I was crushed by the blow, kindly as it had fallen, does not express my feelings. When, however, in reply to my question I learned that there was no one else—that she was still heart free, I gained courage; and when, before I had left her that evening, she had consented to leave the matter open until some future time, my hopes of ultimate success were very far from being destroyed.

CHAPTER III.

A CO-PARTNERSHIP DISSOLVED

Before Mr. Derham had landed in England my feeling of dislike for my partner had increased materially.

His own business, which had been represented as worth at least five hundred dollars per month to the firm, was, so far as I could see, largely a myth.

He had a habit of arriving at the office at half-past ten or eleven o'clock, and leaving at three. By frequent demands on his father-in-law he kept himself in funds to provide for his extravagant living, and it seemed to me his principal object in coming to the office at all was to meet various fast-looking men who called there to see him.

To cap the climax, he had a half-patronizing, half-nagging way of treating me that I simply could not put up with. I was doing all the business, earning all the money that was made, and this man was entitled to fifty per cent of the net results. I stood it for a few months, meanwhile writing fully to Mr. Derham of the position in which I was placed.

Finally, on the 10th of March, 1871 when I saw on Bulkley's desk a note for a few hundred dollars, drawn to his own order and signed by him with the firm's name, and in response to my inquiry as to the meaning of it, he told me it was a little matter he was putting through by a friend for his own accommodation, I cut the knot and insisted on a dissolution of our co-partnership.

I had to pay him a small sum to get his consent, and though I had to borrow the money to make the payment, I did so rather than have any litigation, which he threatened.

It was with a feeling of immense relief that I went to the office the following morning, knowing that I was rid of the leaden weight which Mr. Derham had bound to me in an error of judgment, which he readily admitted.

The sign was removed and in its place went up another bearing my name only.

Although in the trade I enjoyed a fair measure of popularity, which is the key-note to a broker's success, I found my youth a disadvantage when it came to seeking important business.

The dealers hesitated to intrust me with the carrying out of large contracts, while favoring me with the smaller orders. This was a great trial and I could not but feel it an injustice. Still, there was nothing I could do except to be grateful for the favors I received and strive in every way to demonstrate my ability.

Another thing I had to fight against was the questionable methods of a firm which was my principal competitor.

Naturally there was a very active effort made to get away from me the old trade which Mr. Derham had held well in hand for many years. This I had expected, but I did not count upon my competitor waiving commissions whenever we came into a contest for business of any importance.

This sort of competition I could not meet, not only as a matter of principle based on the idea that "the laborer is worthy of his hire," but because I could not afford to do business for nothing.

Despite the handicap of youth and unfair competition, I kept steadily at work increasing the strength of my position where it was already established, and striving to the utmost to get a foothold where I had not yet secured it.

At the end of the year, when the books were balanced, I found that I had made about twenty-five hundred dollars, as compared with twelve thousand dollars made by Mr. Derham the year previous.

This was most unsatisfactory to me, for while of course it was a much larger income than I had ever before earned, it was so far below my expectations that I could not but feel keen disappointment.

Still, I knew that I now possessed a business, and as the prospects were good I started the new year with courage and the determination to make a better showing.

Early in the year two incidents occurred that helped me immensely.

The largest consumers in our line were the oil refiners, all of whom have since been absorbed by the Standard Oil Company.

These concerns were heavy buyers, and Mr. Thomas Derham had the preference on their business. From the first I had struggled to get a share of it, without having made them, after a year of constant effort, a single sale. Still, I made a daily call on each and finally secured my first order.

It was given to me by Mr. J. A. Bostwick personally, and the order was so large I could scarcely believe I had captured it. This was the entering wedge, and throughout the year, although not getting more than a very small proportion of the business, I succeeded in selling occasionally to all of the refiners.

The other incident was even more important in its results, for it was the commencement of intimate relations with the important firm which stood at the head of the trade.

This firm had up to that time shown a decided favoritism for my chief competitor, but this feeling changed in consequence of investments in a mining stock, both by the firm and by its most active individual member, which they had been led into through the influence of my competitor.

The investment proved disastrous, resulting in losses of more than a hundred thousand dollars, and though this sum was insignificant to people of such large wealth, the feeling of bitterness aroused was most acute.

My competitor had for many years as a Boston correspondent the firm of W. B. Tatnall & Company, and through it a large business was done with the Boston dealers; but the most important phase of this connection was the fact that Tatnall controlled the selling of a certain commodity imported in large quantities by a Boston firm, and of which the leading firm in New York was the largest buyer.

Tatnall & Company had severed abruptly its connection with my competitor, and without my solicitation made me a proposition which I promptly accepted. The competing firm immediately established in Boston as its correspondent a brother of the senior partner.

The first battle for supremacy came over the sale of a cargo due to arrive at Boston by a sailing vessel. This was before the days of the telephone, and numerous telegrams passed between us before the transaction was closed.

When the final message confirming the sale reached me, it read as follows: "Closed, contracts coming, competitors conquered, congratulations, cocktails, cigars, careful contemplation."

In a feeling of exuberance Tatnall had written this telegram, and by his closing words meant me to remember that "one swallow does not make a summer," and that over-confidence on the occasion of a first success would be unwise.

Mr. W. B. Tatnall came to New York a few days later. It was our first meeting and I found him a delightful man, a typical Bostonian. He was highly cultured, well up in art, a book-collector of some repute.

I recall one little incident of his visit which amused me greatly.
The weather was very stormy and his salutation on greeting me was,
"Good-morning Mr. Stowe; fine day for birds of an aquatic nature."

We called on all the trade, and in every office he made the same remark. Before the day was over I concluded I was not likely ever to forget that rain makes "a fine day for ducks."

CHAPTER IV

AND THE ANSWER WAS "YES"

Although when I left Miss Wilson on that evening in July it was not as an accepted lover, as I had brought myself to believe it would be, and my disappointment was overwhelming that such was the case, my heart told me that all was not lost.

She had admitted that she admired and respected me more than any other man of her acquaintance, while she did not feel the love for me that a woman should give to the man she marries.

This admission I deemed a great point gained.

With a field cleared of rivals, it only remained to transform her admiration and respect into love. How to do that was for me to find out. That it could be done I felt reasonably certain.

It was my first love-affair, hence I was an amateur in such matters. This I knew was a point in my favor, as Miss Wilson was not the sort of girl to admire a man who had a habit of falling in love with every pretty face. Life in her eyes had its serious side and she was well equipped mentally to test the true ring of those with whom she came in contact.

The following day I wrote Miss Wilson at length, reiterating and enlarging on all that I had said, telling her I would wait until she felt she could give me a definite answer, and begging her not to hasten her decision if it was to be negative.

If I had any fear at all it was on this point—that she might feel it imperative to decide the matter promptly, while I was prepared to wait, years if necessary, rather than to take from those lips which I so eagerly longed to press to mine own in love's first caress, the relentless, cruel—no.

Miss Wilson's contemplated visit to Connecticut was postponed for a while and this gave me an opportunity to see her daily.

That I laid vigorous siege to her heart was certain. I was most assiduous in all those little attentions that please a woman, and as our tastes were entirely congenial our hours of companionship were delightful to both.

If I were a few minutes late in making my evening call, very rarely the case, she would remark it, and I soon realized that the feature of her day was the hours passed with me. In fact, my presence was becoming necessary to her happiness.

As soon as this impression became fixed in my mind, I grew impatient at delay in the culmination of my desires, and felt I must soon urge Miss Wilson to relieve me of suspense by making me the happiest of men. Probably I should have done this within a few days had it not been for the fact that she left Brooklyn on her visit to Middletown, Connecticut. Then I decided to await her return.

On the morning of the sixth of September I found in my mail at the office an envelope addressed in a lady's handwriting, postmarked Middletown, Connecticut.

It contained a brief note from Miss Wilson, stating that on that day at one o'clock she would be due at New York and was going at once for a week at West Point, and asked me, if convenient, to meet her at the railroad station to escort her across the city to the boat.

There were three significant points in that note, the first I had ever received from her.

First, it commenced with "Dear Walter." Always before I had been Mr. Stowe. Next, it was signed as "Yours, with love"; and last, but by no means least, Miss Wilson wrote, as a postscript, "I shall be alone."

Would it be convenient for me to meet that train? I should say so.

I was at the station with a carriage at least half an hour ahead of time and I walked the platform of the old Twenty-seventh Street station of the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad Company, back and forth, looking at my watch every five minutes and wondering if the train would ever come.

The train arrived on time, and as Miss Wilson alighted from the car, I greeted her. How I gazed into those beautiful eyes and tried to read there the love I hungered for.

We drove to the Hotel Brunswick for luncheon, and if "the proof of the pudding is in the eating," the luncheon, despite the good reputation of that old hostelry, then in its palmy days, must have been a poor one. Either that, or we lacked appetite—more likely the latter.

After luncheon we again took the carriage, and drove to the pier where the Mary Powell was awaiting her passengers.

It was during that drive, while passing down Fifth Avenue, that the word I so longed to hear was spoken. "Yes"—only a single word and yet it spoke volumes to my heart. It bound together for all time two beings, neither of whom had known for longer than a few months even of the existence of the other, and yet a divine power had brought these two hearts, beating in unison, to their natural mate. While the lips whispered "yes," the hand found its way to mine and the loving clasp was the only demonstration the surroundings permitted; but when the carriage had turned into a comparatively quiet side street and just before it reached the pier, I could no longer refrain.

Drawing the curtains at the carriage windows, I clasped to my heart the lovely girl who was now my very own.

Oh, what an ecstasy of bliss that moment was!

I have owned many handsome carriages, luxurious in their appointments, drawn by fine horses, but as I look back to that day of days, that shabby public hack, with its rough-looking driver, holding the reins over a pair of ill-fed animals, stands in my memory as almost ideal.

Of course I did not leave my promised wife at the boat. There was no reason I should not take that delightful sail up the river with her, and there was every reason why I should. I sought out a secluded spot on deck and there, comparatively free from observation, we let our thoughts revel in our new-found happiness.

It was possible, unseen, to occasionally clasp each other's hand, and in this way a sort of lover's wireless telegraph kept us in communication that emphasized to me the fact that my happiness was real and not a dream.

Our conversation was not very animated; we were too happy to talk, and the beautiful scenery of the Hudson was lost to us on that occasion.

To look into each other's eyes and read there all that was in our hearts was the supreme pleasure and happiness of the moment.

When the boat arrived at West Point, Lieutenant Harper, then
Professor of Spanish at the Academy, afterwards major, and since
promoted to colonel for gallantry in the Philippines, met Miss
Wilson at the landing.

I had planned to at once take the ferry across the river—there was no West Shore Railroad at that time—and return to New York by train, but Lieutenant Harper insisted that I should dine with them and take a later train, which I did.

Of course the, to us, great incident of the day was unknown to
Miss Wilson's friends, and she did not enlighten them until after
I had gone.

The two or three hours spent with Lieutenant Harper's family, while I was supposed to be simply a friend of Miss Wilson, passed quickly. I had hoped to be able on leaving to see her alone for at least a few moments, but in this I was disappointed, and while the clasp of her hand and the expression of her eyes conveyed a great deal to me, our parting that evening was in its details most unsatisfactory from a lover's point of view.

During that first week of our engagement, while separated, we corresponded daily, and the rejoicing was mutual when, her visit ended, Miss Wilson returned to Brooklyn.

Then for two short weeks I enjoyed to the full the privileges and delights of an accepted lover. What visions of future happiness those two weeks of close companionship opened to my eyes! The refinement and natural dignity of the woman made her caresses of exquisite daintiness and tenderness. Spontaneously and absolutely without a suggestion of affectation her love was poured out generously to the man who had won her heart, and each evening it seemed as if my affection had increased a thousand fold.

Oh, what a wonderful thing is pure love! What would the world be without it?

The day of our parting was drawing nigh.

At the end of September Miss Wilson was to return to her home in Chicago. A month later I was to visit her there, but the thought of that month of separation so soon after we had become engaged saddened us and our hearts dreaded the ordeal. Still, come it did, and as I watched the train pull out of the station, carrying with it all that I loved best in the world, I felt a wrench at my heartstrings and a loneliness that was inexpressible.

For a month I consoled myself as best I could with the letters which reached me almost daily and always brought me happiness.

Then I turned my face westward.

Miss Wilson's father had been dead for many years. She, with her mother, resided with her married sister, the wife of a general in the army during the war, and at the time of which I write, judge of the Probate Court. Until his death, a few years ago, he was one of Chicago's best known and most highly respected citizens.

As the relatives approved of our engagement, my reception by the
family was all that could be desired. As to my reception by Miss
Wilson, I think it safe to leave it to the imagination of my readers.
It was entirely satisfactory to me.

My visit was of necessity a short one. For though I was not again to see Miss Wilson until the time of our marriage, a full year away, I had to return to New York after a few days and look after my business interests, which required constant personal attention.

The days of my visit flew speedily, and back in New York I settled down to business with increased ambition and the greatest possible incentive to achieve success.

CHAPTER V

WEDDING BELLS

The year in which the days had been as weeks, the weeks as months, had finally come to an end, and at six o'clock on the evening of Saturday, October 19th, 1872, I started on my thirty-six hours' journey to Chicago.

There was no "Twentieth Century Limited," making the trip in twenty hours, in those days, and my two nights and a day on the road gave me ample time for contemplation, which I was in a mood to avail myself of. I felt all the eagerness of youth, the power of a love that stirred my whole being, and was impressed with the solemnity of the obligation I was about to incur.

The life of a lovely woman was to be intrusted to me, to make or to mar according as I did my duty.

I passed many hours, as the train rolled on, mile after mile, mentally reviewing the past, looking at the present, and planning for the future.

My year of correspondence with my wife-to-be had increased the strength of my affection, and to its growth there seemed no end. In a worldly way I had prospered, accumulating five thousand dollars, while my income from my business was, so far as I could see, making a steady and gratifying increase. My health was perfect, I had not a care in the world, and when I arrived in Chicago Monday morning my happiness was complete. No, not quite; but it was a few minutes later when I arrived at the home of my bride on Michigan avenue.

I remained a guest there until Tuesday, and then visited my married sister, who resided in a suburb of Chicago.

Wednesday was one of those glorious October days when, with a clear sky, the temperature is low enough to make the air bracing without being too cold. I was at the Michigan avenue home early, and after a few minutes with Miss Wilson, walking through the rooms, admiring the floral decorations, I was deserted, and felt myself for the time being as rather "a fifth wheel to a coach."

The bride was in the hands of her girl friends, everybody was busy with the final preparations, and I wandered around, wishing that the agony was over and I had my wife to myself.

At last the hour arrived.

Preceded by Miss Wilson's little nieces as flower-girls we entered the crowded rooms, and in a few minutes the clergyman had pronounced us man and wife.

As I am not writing for a society paper or fashion journal, I will not attempt to describe the gown worn by the bride. It was very handsome, no doubt.

But the woman who wore it! Ah, there was a subject for the pen of a poet, the brush of an artist. Certainly I have never seen any creature half so lovely; and as I looked into those eyes, beaming with love, trust, confidence,—everything, that a noble woman could give to the man she loved,—I thanked my God for the inestimable blessing He had bestowed upon me.

I have made many mistakes in my life, most men have, and I have done many things the wisdom of which was afterwards proven; but as I write these lines, looking back over more than thirty-two years of married life, I know that my marriage is the one act of my whole career that stands pre-eminent as the wisest and best thing that I have ever done.

In all these years my wife and I have been as one. In days of prosperity she rejoiced with me, in times of adversity and bitter trials she has stood nobly by me, always with absolute faith in and unswerving loyalty to the man to whom she gave her heart.

Her love, courage, and cheerfulness have been the mainstays which supported me when I would have fallen by the wayside, and her sweet companionship and keen appreciation of refined pleasures have added immeasurably to my enjoyment and happiness.

After a two-hour reception we donned our traveling garb and made a race for the carriage, submitting good-naturedly to the usual shower of rice and slippers.

We were to take the five o'clock train going East, and the Judge rode with us to the station. When the last farewell had been said while standing on the platform of the car as the train pulled out from the station, we sought our drawing-room in the Pullman, and closing the door I clasped my wife to my heart.

It was the first moment we had been alone since the ceremony.

Our wedding-trip was necessarily brief, as I had to get back to my business; so after a day or two each at Toledo and Albany, the early part of the following week found us in New York.

Like all young people on their wedding-trip, we tried to fool the public into believing that we were not bride and groom; but I have no doubt that if we fooled anybody, that individual must have been very nearsighted and minus eye-glasses.

My wife possibly maintained her dignity, but I fear I was too happy to be suppressed.

I remember well the peculiar way in which the clerk at the Boody House, Toledo, looked at me when I registered. As I was not yet twenty-two years of age I could hardly have expected him to take us for "old married folks."

Before leaving for Chicago I had engaged an apartment and board with a very pleasant and refined family in Fort Greene Place, Brooklyn, and it was there we commenced our married life.

It was my custom to walk to Wall Street Ferry each morning on my way to the office, and whenever the weather was suitable my wife accompanied me to within a block or two of the ferry.

In the afternoon I was always home at the earliest possible moment.

I begrudged every hour that we were parted.

Each day I discovered something new to admire, some trait of character, some mental attribute, or a dainty mannerism that was simply captivating.

Thus were our lives developing day after day.

In the evenings we had frequent callers, and while I was always the gracious host to my friends, I was selfish enough to wish, at times, that we could live on an island by ourselves, where we could remain undisturbed.

It is said "there is nothing half so sweet in life, as love's young dream." I have found something far sweeter, as this narrative in its natural progression will develop; but those were my days of "love's young dream."

I was proud of my wife, proud of the admiration she commanded from our friends, but I wanted her all to myself.

Our Sundays were looked forward to with eagerness. We attended church service in the morning, and the afternoons were passed in our apartment in delightful intercourse.

There was never a dull moment.

Sunday evening supper, which to me has always been a most attractive meal, was usually taken either with my family or at Mr. Sherman's. Occasionally we would attend an evening service, but as a rule we would get home early and have a few hours to ourselves.

Our year of separation while engaged had to be atoned for.

We were lovers the first year of our wedded life, and after all these years we are, no less ardently, lovers still.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIRST REVERSE OF FORTUNE.

The Christmas holidays of 1872 were at hand and I was in full spirit with the festivities of the season.

My home life was a constant revelation of delight and happiness.

The income from my business had increased to double that of the previous year, and the future looked bright indeed.

Just at this time came to me in an evil hour a temptation to which I yielded, and I have always wondered how, under all the conditions then existing, I could have been so weak.

My accumulations had not been invested, and as I had in my business no use for capital, the money remained idle in bank.

Crossing the ferry one morning I was joined by a friend in the employ of a Stock Exchange firm, then well known, but since retired from business.

I had been thinking of an investment and spoke to him on the subject, telling him the amount of money I had to invest. I had in mind the buying of some good bonds.

My friend, who was a most plausible talker, had, I understood, made considerable money in Wall Street, and when he told me of a movement in certain stocks then being manipulated for a rise, through his office, I was at first interested and then carried away with the desire to enter what seemed such an easy road to wealth.

He told me of several instances where the investment of a few thousands had resulted in enormous profits. These stories usually get to public knowledge one way or another, but the other side, the vastly greater number of cases where ruin and often worse follows, one does not hear so much of.

Before I went home that day I had bought five hundred shares of stock and had deposited as a margin five thousand dollars. I was told that the margin would surely be ample to carry the stock through any possible fluctuations, that I was not to feel alarmed if I saw the price go off a point or two, and that I was certain to see a twenty-point rise within a few weeks.

On my way home that afternoon I, for the first time in my life, read in the paper closing prices at the Stock Exchange, before reading anything else.

My stock was up half a point above the price I paid and I experienced a feeling of jubilation that was very pleasant. I saw in my mind my five thousand dollars transformed into fifteen thousand.

It was great!

At first I thought I would tell my wife about it, then decided not to do so, but to wait and surprise her with the good news when the money was made.

Fatal mistake.

Had I told my wife, as I should have done, she would surely have advised me to sell out the first thing the following morning and to let speculation entirely alone.

The following day the price receded a full point Then, for a week, without any reaction, I watched it decline daily, by fractions, until my margin was more than half exhausted.

My wife readily discovered there was something worrying me, though I tried to conceal it, and in her sweet, loving way urged me to tell her of my trouble. I put her off from day to day, hoping for a change for the better.

Finally, when the price of the stock had reached a point where there was hardly anything left of my five thousand dollars, the brokers notified me I must make a further deposit or they would have to sell me out. I could have borrowed the money, but I would not do it, so the transaction was closed and my money lost.

As a matter of fact, which only goes to show what seems to the small speculator the infernal ingenuity of the stock market, the stock reacted almost immediately after I sold, and had I held on for another two or three weeks, not only would I have saved my money, but would have made in addition a very handsome profit.

Well, the money was gone—and now came the hardest part of it. I had to tell my wife. I felt that I had wronged her confidence in not telling her from the first, and this feeling hurt me far more than the loss of the money.

After dinner that evening, fortunately we were spared from callers, sitting on the lounge with my arm around her, I told her all. How practically all I had in the world was gone, through an act of foolishness I should never have committed.

Then I told her of the feeling that overwhelmed me because I had not informed her of the matter from the first. While I talked, her little hand sought mine and from the frequent pressure I knew she was listening with a heart full of loving sympathy.

When I had finished she raised her head, and after kissing me fondly, said with a glorious smile:

"Why, my darling, is that all? I thought it was something terrible. What do we care for the loss of a little money? We have each other and our love. That is everything."

Then in the sunshine of that love my naturally good spirits returned and my trouble was forgotten in the joy over this new insight into the character of my wife.

With determination I resolved that I would devote myself closer than ever to my business, and set for myself the task of accumulating another five thousand dollars within a year.

During 1872 I had made about seven thousand dollars, but now nearly five thousand dollars was represented by experience.

The other fellow had the money.

The holidays had come and gone. We enjoyed them in spite of our recent reverse.

We did not spend very much money, though we had just as good a time as if we had done so. I had entirely recovered my mental equilibrium and had put out of my mind all thought of my financial loss.

Life was moving on in the same delightful channel. Love was our bark, and we sailed smoothly, as on a summer sea.

My business during the early months of the year was good, but in April signs were not wanting of a general falling off in the commerce of the entire country.

My trade began to feel the effect of the approaching "hard times." This did not disturb me at first, for I did not think it would last long, and in any event thought I could safely count on at least as good a business as in the year previous.

At this period it became evident to me that my father was breaking down, and that while he might accomplish a little toward the support of his family, it was not to be depended on, and the burden must rest on me.

It came at a bad time, but I accepted it as a duty which it was my pleasure to perform so far as I was able.

Under these conditions we decided to give up our apartment and take up our residence with my parents. They, as also my sisters, were very fond of my wife and she of them, while I was always, from infancy, accused of being the pet of the family.

As the summer months progressed I realized that beyond a doubt the hard times were upon us. My customers were buying nothing and complaining there was not enough business doing to use up the stock of material they had on hand.

My savings of the first quarter of the year began to dwindle, and in those days I thought often with regret of my lost five thousand dollars.

My wife, always the same bright, cheerful, loving woman, encouraged me to keep up my spirits, and I did, for her sake as well as my own.

CHAPTER VII

THE COMING OF THE STORK.

By the first of November I had exhausted all my savings, and from then on knew that if my monthly earnings were insufficient to pay my expenses, I should have to resort to borrowing money to tide me over until better times.

A crisis was coming at home that demanded every effort of mine to have matters there pleasant and comfortable. Under no circumstances must my wife worry.

Thus I thought, but even yet I did not know the magnificent courage of the woman.

Each evening when I returned home she greeted me with the brightest of smiles, and as soon as dinner was over, in our own room, with my arms around her, she insisted on knowing the history of the day in detail.

She grasped the situation thoroughly, caressed and encouraged me, always asserting that everything would come out right in the end. She had no fear and did not worry.

On the nineteenth of November our child was born.

A boy physically perfect. That his lungs were all right I personally could swear to, and what sweet music his crying was to my ears when first I heard it.

A little later I was permitted to enter the room, and did so in great agitation.

As I kissed my wife and held her hand a few minutes, on her face, more lovely than ever in her motherhood, was the same sweet smile and an expression of devotion and love eternal. I looked at the boy, the new rivet in the chain of love that bound us together, and then, after another kiss, went quietly from the room.

Heroes, ancient and modern, the world has developed. Heroines, also have their place in history, but the heroism of a woman in ordinary life, in trials physical and mental, is something to be regarded with awe and reverence.

Our wives! Our mothers! Heroines, all.

The mother recovered quickly her normal state of health and the boy thrived and grew rapidly.

In March, 1874, I was greatly encouraged by a slight improvement in business. I had been through a terribly hard winter, and with the burden of the household on my shoulders had only just succeeded, by the utmost prudence, in making both ends meet. With absolutely no surplus I could not but feel uneasy most of the time.

It was while this was the condition of my finances that my most intimate friend, the son of a man of some means, approached me on the subject of getting his brother, then in Europe, but soon to return, into business.

I knew his brother, but not intimately. I thought he might make a good business man, and it occurred to me that if he was a hard worker and his father was willing to buy him an interest in my business, I might get efficient aid to my efforts and at the same time get a cash surplus to relieve my mind of financial worry, which I knew to be very desirable; for a man who has to worry about the small expenses of living can never do himself full justice in his business efforts.

Another point that induced me to consider the matter was the desire of my wife and myself to go to housekeeping.

The relations with my parents and sisters were most pleasant, but now that we had our boy we felt anxious to set up a modest little establishment of our own, and indeed my mother advised it, though she was sorry to have us leave her.

After several interviews with Mr. Allis we came to an agreement that as soon as his son Thomas arrived from Europe I was to take him into partnership on equal terms and he was to pay me a bonus of three thousand dollars.

A couple of weeks later my sign again came down and a new one went up, reading W. E. Stowe & Co.

With three thousand dollars in the bank my mind was again at ease and we immediately looked for our new home.

We were offered a very prettily furnished, nicely located house, a few blocks from my mother's, for the summer at a very low rent. We decided to take it and not look up a permanent home until fall.

Our housekeeping that summer was a delightful experience and we knew we should never again be satisfied to board. We were fortunate in getting a good maid, the boy kept well, we had a cool summer, business was fairly good and we had soon forgotten the hard times of the previous winter.

Of course, we were prudent in our expenditures, but we lived well and did a little entertaining.