"I MET with a most splendid girl last evening," remarked to his
friend a young man, whose fine, intellectual forehead, and clear
bright eye, gave indications of more than ordinary mental
endowments.
"Who is she?" was the friend's brief question.
"Her name is Adelaide Merton. Have you ever seen her?"
"No, but I have often heard of the young lady."
"As a girl of more than ordinary intelligence?"
"O yes. Don't you remember the beautiful little gems of poetry that
used to appear in the Gazette, under the signature of Adelaide?"
"Very well. Some of them were exquisite, and all indicative of a
fine mind. Was she their author?"
"So I have been told."
"I can very readily believe it; for never have I met with a woman
who possessed such a brilliant intellect. Her power of expression is
almost unbounded. Her sentences are perfect pictures of the scenes
she describes. If she speaks of a landscape, not one of its most
minute features is lost, nor one of the accessories to its
perfection as a whole overlooked. And so of every thing else, in the
higher regions of the intellect, or in the lower forms of nature.
For my own part, I was lost in admiration of her qualities. She will
yet shine in the world."
The young man who thus expressed himself in regard to Adelaide
Merton, was named Charles Fenwick. He possessed a brilliant mind,
which had been well stored. But his views of life were altogether
perverted and erroneous, and his ends deeply tinctured with the love
of distinction, for its own sake. A few tolerably successful
literary efforts, had been met by injudicious over praise, leading
him to the vain conclusion that his abilities were of so high a
character, that no field of action was for him a worthy one that had
any thing to do with what he was pleased to term the ordinary
grovelling pursuits of life. Of course, all mere mechanical
operations were despised, and as a natural consequence, the men who
were engaged in them. So with merchandizing, and also with the
various branches of productive enterprise. They were mere ministers
of the base physical wants of our nature. His mind took in higher
aims than these!
His father was a merchant in moderate circumstances, engaged in a
calling which was of course despised by the son, notwithstanding he
was indebted to his father's constant devotion to that calling for
his education, and all the means of comfort and supposed distinction
that he enjoyed. The first intention of the elder Mr. Fenwick had
been to qualify his son, thoroughly, for the calling of a merchant,
that he might enter into business with him and receive the benefits
of his experience and facilities in trade. But about the age of
seventeen, while yet at college, young Fenwick made the unfortunate
discovery that he could produce a species of composition which he
called poetry. His efforts were praised--and this induced him to go
on; until he learned the art of tolerably smooth versification. This
would all have been well enough had he not imagined himself to be,
in consequence, of vastly increased importance. Stimulated by this
idea, he prosecuted his collegiate studies with renewed diligence,
storing a strong and comprehensive mind with facts and principles in
science and philosophy, that would have given him, in after life, no
ordinary power of usefulness as a literary and professional man, had
not his selfish ends paralysed and perverted the natural energies of
a good intellect.
The father's intention of making him a merchant was, of course,
opposed by the son, who chose one of the learned profession as more
honorable--not more useful; a profession that would give him
distinction--not enable him to fill his right place in society. In
this he was gratified. At the time of his introduction to the
reader, he was known as a young physician without a patient. He had
graduated, but had not yet seen any occasion for taking an office,
as his father's purse supplied all his wants. His pursuits were
mainly literary--consisting of essays and reviews for some of the
periodicals intermixed with a liberal seasoning of pretty fair
rhymes which rose occasionally to the dignity of poetry--or, as he
supposed, to the lofty strains of a Milton or a Dante. Occasionally
a lecture before some literary association brought his name into the
newspapers in connection with remarks that kindled his vanity into a
flame. Debating clubs afforded another field for display, and he
made liberal use of the facility. So much for Charles Fenwick.
Of Adelaide Merton, we may remark, that she was just the kind of a
woman to captivate a young man of Fenwick's character. She was showy
in her style of conversation, but exceedingly superficial. Her
reading consisted principally of poetry and the popular light
literature of the day, with a smattering of history. She could
repeat, in quite an attractive style, many fine passages from Homer,
Virgil, Milton, Shakspeare, Pope, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, and a
host of lesser lights in the poetic hemisphere--and could quote from
and criticise the philosophy and style of Bulwer with the most
edifying self-satisfaction imaginable--not to enumerate her many
other remarkable characteristics.
A second visit to Adelaide confirmed the first favorable impression
made upon the mind of Fenwick. At the third visit he was half in
love with her, and she more than half in love with him. A fourth
interview completed the work on both sides. At the fifth, the
following conversation terminated the pleasant intercourse of the
evening. They were seated on a sofa, and had been talking of poetry,
and birds, and flowers, green fields, and smiling landscapes, and a
dozen other things not necessary to be repeated at present. A pause
of some moments finally succeeded, and each seemed deeply absorbed
in thought.
"Adelaide," at length the young man said in a low, musical tone,
full of richness and pathos--"Do you not feel, sometimes, when your
mind rises into the region of pure thoughts, and ranges free among
the beautiful and glorious images that then come and go like angel
visitants, a sense of loneliness, because another cannot share what
brings to you such exquisite delight?"
"Yes--often and often," replied the maiden lifting her eyes to those
of Fenwick, and gazing at him with a tender expression.
"And yet few there are, Adelaide, few indeed who could share such
elevating pleasures."
"Few, indeed," was the response.
"Pardon me, for saying," resumed the young man, "that to you I have
been indebted for such added delights. Rarely, indeed, have I been
able to find, especially among your gentler sex, one who could rise
with me into the refining, elevating, exquisite pleasures of the
imagination. But you have seemed fully to appreciate my sentiments,
and fully to sympathize with them."
To this Adelaide held down her head for a moment or two, the
position causing the blood to deepen in her cheeks and forehead.
Then looking up with an expression of lofty poetic feeling she
said--
"And, until I met you, Mr. Fenwick, I must be frank in saying, that
I have known no one, whose current of thought and feeling--no one
whose love of the beautiful in the ideal or natural--has seemed so
perfect a reflection of my own."
To this followed another pause, longer and more thoughtful than the
first. It was at length broken by Fenwick, who said, in a voice that
trembled perceptibly.
"I have an inward consciousness, that sprung into activity when the
first low murmur of your voice fell upon my ear, that you were to me
a kindred spirit. Since that moment, this consciousness has grown
daily more and more distinct, and now I feel impelled, by a movement
which I cannot resist, to declare its existence. First pardon this
freedom, Adelaide, and then say if you understand and appreciate
what I have uttered in all frankness and sincerity?"
Not long did our young friend wait for an answer that made him
happier than he had ever been in his life--happy in the first
thrilling consciousness of love deeply and fervently reciprocated.
To both of them, there was a degree of romance about this brief
courtship that fully accorded with their views of love truly so
called. The ordinary cold matter-of-fact way of coming together,
including a cautious and even at times a suspicious investigation of
character, they despised as a mere mockery of the high, spontaneous
confidence which those who are truly capable of loving, feel in each
other--a confidence which nothing can shake. And thus did they
pledge themselves without either having thought of the other's moral
qualities; or either of them having formed any distinct ideas in
regard to the true nature of the marriage relation.
A few months sufficed to consummate their union, when, in accordance
with the gay young couple's desire, old Mr. Fenwick furnished them
out handsomely, at a pretty heavy expense, in an establishment of
their own. As Charles Fenwick had not, heretofore, shown any
inclination to enter upon the practice of the profession he had
chosen, his father gently urged upon him the necessity of now doing
so. But the idea of becoming a practical doctor, was one that
Charles could not abide. He had no objection to the title, for that
sounded quite musical to his ear; but no farther than that did his
fancy lead him.
"Why didn't I choose the law as a profession?" he would sometimes
say to his young wife. "Then I might have shone. But to bury myself
as a physician, stealing about from house to house, and moping over
sick beds, is a sacrifice of my talents that I cannot think of
without turning from the picture with disgust."
"Nor can I," would be the wife's reply. "And what is more, I never
will consent to such a perversion of your talents."
"Why cannot you study law, even now, Charles?" she asked of him one
day. "With your acquirements, and habits of thought, I am sure you
would soon be able to pass an examination."
"I think that is a good suggestion, Adelaide," her husband replied,
thoughtfully. "I should only want a year or eighteen months for
preparation, and then I could soon place myself in the front rank of
the profession."
The suggestion of Charles Fenwick's wife was promptly adopted. A
course of legal studies was entered upon, and completed in about two
years. Up to this time, every thing had gone on with our young
couple as smoothly as a summer sea. A beautifully furnished house,
well kept through the attention of two or three servants, gave to
their indoor enjoyments a very important accessory. For money there
was no care, as the elder Mr. Fenwick's purse-strings relaxed as
readily to the hand of Charles as to his own. A pleasant round of
intelligent company, mostly of a literary character, with a full
supply of all the new publications and leading periodicals of the
day, kept their minds elevated into the region of intellectual
enjoyments, and caused them still more to look down upon the
ordinary pursuits of life as far beneath them.
But all this could not last forever. On the day Charles was admitted
to the bar, he received a note from his father, requesting an
immediate interview. He repaired at once to his counting room, in
answer to the parental summons.
"Charles," said the old man, when they were alone, "I have, up to
this time, supplied all your wants, and have done it cheerfully. In
order to prepare you for taking your right place in society, I have
spared no expense in your education, bearing you, after your term of
college life had expired, through two professional courses, so that,
as either a physician or a lawyer, you are fully equal to the task
of sustaining yourself and family. As far as I am concerned, the
tide of prosperity has evidently turned against me. For two years, I
have felt myself gradually going back, instead of forward,
notwithstanding my most earnest struggles to maintain at least the
position already gained. To-day, the notice of a heavy loss
completes my inability to bear the burden of your support, and that
of my own family. You must, therefore, Charles, enter the world for
yourself, and there struggle as I have done, and as all do around
you, for a living. But, as I know that it will be impossible for you
to obtain sufficient practice at once in either law or medicine to
maintain yourself, I will spare you out of my income, which will now
be small in comparison to what it has been, four hundred dollars a
year, for the next two years. You must yourself make up the
deficiency, and no doubt you can easily do so."
"But, father," replied the young man, his face turning pale, "I
cannot, possibly, make up the deficiency. Our rent alone, you know,
is four hundred dollars."
"I am aware of that, Charles. But what then? You must get a house at
one half that rent, and reduce your style of living, proportionably,
in other respects."
"What! And compromise my standing in society? I can never do that,
father."
"Charles," said the old man, looking at his son with a sterner
countenance than he had ever yet put on when speaking to him,
"remember that you have no standing in society which you can truly
call your own. I have, heretofore, held you up, and now that my
sustaining hand is about to be withdrawn, you must fall or rise to
your own level. And I am satisfied, that the sooner you are
permitted to do so the better."
The fact was, that the selfish, and to old Mr. Fenwick, the
heartless manner in which Charles had received the communication of
his changed circumstances, had wounded him exceedingly, and suddenly
opened his eyes to the false relation which his son was holding to
society.
"You certainly cannot be in earnest, father," the son replied, after
a few moments of hurried and painful thought, "in declaring your
intention of throwing me off with a meagre pittance of four hundred
dollars, before I have had a chance to do any thing for myself. How
can I possibly get along on that sum?"
"I do not expect you to live on that, Charles. But the difference
you will have to make up yourself. You have talents and
acquirements. Bring them into useful activity, and you will need
little of my assistance. As for me, as I have already told you, the
tide of success is against me, and I am gradually moving down the
stream. Four hundred dollars is the extent of what I can give you,
and how long the ability to do that may last, Heaven only knows."
Reluctantly the young couple were compelled to give up their
elegantly arranged dwelling, and move into a house of about one half
of its dimensions. In this there was a fixed, cold, common place
reality, that shocked the sensibilities of both even though
throughout the progress of the change, each had remained passive in
the hands of the elder Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick, who had to choose them
a house, and attend to all the arrangements of moving and refitting
the new home. For Charles to have engaged in the vulgar business of
moving household furniture, would have been felt as a disgrace;--and
as for Adelaide, she didn't know how to do any thing in regard to
the matter, and even if she had, would have esteemed such an
employment as entirely beneath her.
While the packing up was going on under the direction of her
husband's mother, Adelaide, half dressed, with an elegant shawl
thrown carelessly about her shoulders, her feet drawn up and her
body reclining upon a sofa, was deeply buried in the last new novel,
while her babe lay in the arms of a nurse, who was thus prevented
from rendering any assistance to those engaged in preparing the
furniture for removal. As for her husband, he was away, in some
professional friend's office, holding a learned discussion upon the
relative merits of Byron and Shelley.
After the removal had been accomplished, and the neat little
dwelling put, as the elder Mrs. Fenwick termed it, into "apple-pie
order" the following conversation took place between her and her
daughter-in-law.
"Adelaide, it will now be necessary for you to let both your nurse
and chambermaid go. Charles cannot possibly afford the expense, as
things now are."
"Let my nurse and chambermaid go!" exclaimed Adelaide, with a look
and tone of profound astonishment.
"Certainly, Adelaide," was the firm reply. "You cannot now afford to
keep three servants."
"But how am I to get along without them? You do not, certainly,
suppose that I can be my own nurse and chambermaid?"
"With your small family," was Mrs. Fenwick's reply, "you can readily
have the assistance of your cook for a portion of the morning in
your chamber and parlors. And as to the nursing part, I should think
that you would desire no higher pleasure than having all the care of
dear little Anna. I was always my own nurse, and never had
assistance beyond that of a little girl."
"It's no use to speak in that way, mother; I cannot do without a
nurse," said Adelaide, bursting into tears. "I couldn't even dress
the baby."
"The sooner you learn, child, the better," was the persevering reply
of Mrs. Fenwick.
But Adelaide had no idea of dispensing with either nurse or
chambermaid, both of whom were retained in spite of the
remonstrances and entreaties of the mother-in-law.
Driven to the absolute necessity of doing so, Charles Fenwick opened
an office, and advertised for business. Those who have attempted to
make their way, at first, in a large city, at the bar, can well
understand the disappointment and chagrin of Fenwick on finding that
he did not rise at once to distinction, as he had fondly imagined he
would, when he turned his attention, with strong reasons for
desiring success, to the practice of his profession. A few petty
cases, the trifling fees of which he rejected as of no
consideration, were all that he obtained during the first three
months. At the end of this time he found himself in debt to the
baker, butcher, milkman, tailor, dry-goods merchants, and to the
three servants still pertinaciously retained by his wife.--And, as a
climax to the whole, his father's business was brought to a
termination by bankruptcy, and the old man, in the decline of life,
with still a large family dependent upon him for support, thrown
upon the world, to struggle, almost powerless, for a subsistence.
Fortunately, the Presidency of an Insurance Company was tendered
him, with a salary of fifteen hundred dollars per annum. On this he
could barely support those dependent upon him, leaving Charles the
whole task of maintaining himself, his wife, and their child.
To be dunned for money was more than the young man could endure with
any kind of patience. But creditor tradesmen had no nice scruples in
regard to these matters, and duns came, consequently, thick and
fast, until poor Charles was irritated beyond measure. Cold, and
sometimes impatient, and half insulting answers to applications for
money, were not to be endured by the eager applicants for what was
justly their own. Warrants soon followed, as a matter of course,
which had to be answered by a personal appearance before city
magistrates, thus causing the infliction of a deeper mortification
than had yet assailed him. Added to these came the importunities of
his landlord, which was met by a response which was deemed
insulting, and then came a distraint for rent. The due bill of the
father, saved the son this utter prostration and disgrace.
The effect of all this, was to drive far away from their dwelling
the sweet angel of peace and contentment. Fretted and troubled
deeply in regard to his present condition and future prospects,
Charles had no smiling words for his wife. This, of course, pained
her deeply. But she readily found relief from present reality in the
world of pure romance. The more powerful fictions of the day,
especially the highly wrought idealities of Bulwer, and those of his
class, introduced her into a world above that in which she
dwelt,--and there she lingered the greatest portion of her time,
unconscious of the calls of duty, or the claims of affection.
A single year sufficed to break them up entirely. Expenses far
beyond their income, which rose to about three hundred dollars
during the first year of Charles' practice at the bar, brought
warrants and executions, which the father had no power to stay. To
satisfy these, furniture and library had to be sold, and Charles and
his wife, child and nurse, which latter Adelaide would retain, were
thrown upon old Mr. Fenwick, for support.
For four years did they remain a burden upon the father, during
which time, unstimulated to exertion by pressing necessities,
Charles made but little progress as a lawyer. Petty cases he
despised, and generally refused to undertake, and those of more
importance were not trusted to one who had yet to prove himself
worthy of a high degree of legal confidence. At the end of that time
both his father and mother were suddenly removed to the world of
spirits, and he was again thrown entirely upon his own resources.
With no one now to check them in any thing Charles and his wife,
after calculating the results of the next year's legal efforts, felt
fully justified in renting a handsome house, and furnishing it on
credit. The proceeds of the year's practice rose but little above
four hundred dollars, and at its conclusion they found themselves
involved in a new debt of three thousand dollars. Then came another
breaking up, with all of its harrowing consequences--consequences
which to persons of their habits and mode of thinking, are so deeply
mortifying,--followed by their shrinking away, with a meagre remnant
of their furniture, into a couple of rooms, in an obscure part of
the town.
"Adelaide," said the husband, one morning, as he roused himself from
a painful reverie.
"Well, what do you want?" she asked abstractedly, lifting her eyes
with reluctant air from the pages of a novel.
"I want to talk to you for a little while; so shut your book, if you
please."
"Won't some other time do as well? I have just got into the middle
of a most interesting scene."
"No--I wish to talk with you now."
"Well, say on," the wife rejoined, closing the book in her hand,
with her thumb resting upon the page that still retained her
thoughts, and assuming an attitude of reluctant attention.
"There is a school vacant at N----, some twenty miles from the city.
The salary is eight hundred dollars a year, with a house and garden
included. I can get the situation, if I will accept of it."
"And sink to the condition of a miserable country pedagogue?"
"And support my family comfortably and honestly," Fenwick replied in
a tone of bitterness.
"Precious little comfort will your family experience immured in an
obscure country village, without a single congenial associate. What
in the name of wonder has put that into your head?"
"Adelaide! I cannot succeed at the bar--at least, not for years. Of
that I am fully satisfied. It is absolutely necessary, therefore,
that I should turn my attention to something that will supply the
pressing demands of my family."
"But surely you can get into something better than the office of
schoolmaster, to the sons of clodpoles."
"Name something."
"I'm sure I cannot tell. That is a matter for you to think about,"
and so saying, Mrs. Fenwick re-opened her book, and commenced poring
again over the pages of the delightful work she held in her hand.
Irritated, and half disgusted at this, a severe reproof trembled on
his tongue, but he suppressed it. In a few minutes after he arose,
and left the apartment without his wife seeming to notice the
movement.
"Good morning, Mr. Fenwick!" said a well known individual, coming
into the lawyer's office a few minutes after he had himself entered.
"That trial comes on this afternoon at four o'clock."
"Well, John, I can't help it. The debt is a just one, but I have no
means of meeting it now."
"Try, and do so if you can, Mr. Fenwick, for the plaintiff is a good
deal irritated about the matter, and will push the thing to
extremities."
"I should be sorry for that. But if so, let him use his own
pleasure. Take nothing from nothing, and nothing remains."
"You had better come then with security, Mr. Fenwick, for my orders
are, to have an execution issued against your person, as soon as the
case is decided."
"You are not in earnest, John?" suddenly ejaculated the lawyer,
rising to his feet, and looking at the humble minister of the law
with a pale cheek and quivering lip. "Surely Mr. ---- is not going to
push matters to so uncalled-for an extremity!"
"Such, he positively declares, is his fixed determination. So hold
yourself prepared, sir, to meet even this unpleasant event."
The debt for which the warrant had been issued against Mr. Fenwick,
amounted to ninety dollars.
The whole of the remaining part of that day was spent in the effort
to obtain security in the case. But in vain. His friends knew too
well his inability to protect them from certain loss, should they
step between him and the law. Talents, education, brilliant
addresses, fine poetry "and all that," turned to no good and useful
ends, he found availed him nothing now. Even many of those with whom
he had been in intimate literary association, shrunk away from the
penniless individual, and those who did not actually shun him had
lost much of their former cordiality.
The idea of being sent to jail for debt, was to him a terrible one.
And he turned from it with a sinking at the heart. He said nothing
to Adelaide on returning home in the evening, for the high communion
of spirit, in which they had promised themselves such deep and
exquisite delight, had long since given place to coldness, and a
state of non-sympathy. He found her deeply buried, as usual, in some
volume of romance, while every thing around her was in disorder, and
full of unmitigated realities. They were living alone in two small
rooms, and the duty of keeping them in order and providing their
frugal meals devolved as a heavy task upon Adelaide--so heavy, that
she found it utterly impossible to do it justice.
The fire--that essential preliminary to household operations--had
not even been made, when Fenwick reached home, and the dinner table
remained still on the floor, with its unwashed dishes strewn over
it, in admirable confusion.
With a sigh, Adelaide resigned her book, soon after her husband came
in, and commenced preparations for the evening meal. This was soon
ready, and despatched in silence, except so far as the aimless
prattle of their little girl interrupted it. Tea over, Mrs. Fenwick
put Anna to bed, much against her will, and then drew up to the
table again with her book.
Cheerless and companionless did her husband feel as he let his eye
fall upon her, buried in selfish enjoyment, while his own heart was
wrung with the bitterest recollections and the most heart-sickening
anticipations.
Thoughts of the gaming table passed through his mind, and with the
thought he placed his hand involuntarily upon his pocket. It was
empty. Sometimes his mind would rise into a state of vigorous
activity, with the internal consciousness of a power to do any
thing. But, alas--it was strength without skill--intellectual power
without the knowledge to direct it aright.
Late on the next morning he arose from a pillow that had been
blessed with but little sleep, and that unrefreshing. It was past
eleven o'clock before Adelaide had breakfast on the table. This
over, she, without even dressing Anna or arranging her own person
sat down to her novel, while he gave himself to the most gloomy and
desponding reflections. He feared to go out lest the first man he
should meet, should prove an officer with an execution upon his
person.
About one o'clock, sick and weary of such a comfortless home, he
went out, glad of any change. Ten steps from his own door, he was
met by a constable who conveyed him to prison.
Several hours passed before his crushed feelings were aroused
sufficiently to cause him even to think of any means of extrication.
When his mind did act, it was with clearness, vigor, and decision.
The walls of a jail had something too nearly like reality about
them, to leave much of the false sentiment which had hitherto marred
his prospects in life. There was, too, something deeply humiliating
in his condition of an imprisoned debtor.
"What shall I do?" he asked himself, towards the close of the day,
with a strong resolution to discover the best course of action, and
to pursue that course, unswayed by any extraneous influences. The
thought of his wife came across his mind.
"Shall I send her word where I am?"--A pause of some moments
succeeded this question.
"No," he at length said, half aloud, while an expression of pain
flitted over his countenance. "It is of little consequence to her
where I am or what I suffer. She is, I believe, perfectly
heartless."
But Fenwick was mistaken in this. She needed, as well as himself,
some powerful shock to awaken her to true consciousness. That shock
proved to be the knowledge of her husband's imprisonment for debt,
which she learned early on the next morning, after the passage of an
anxious and sleepless night, full of strange forebodings of
approaching evil. She repaired, instantly, to the prison, her heart
melted down into true feeling. The interview between herself and
husband was full of tenderness, bringing out from each heart the
mutual affections which had been sleeping there, alas! too long.
But one right course presented itself to the mind of either of them,
and that was naturally approved by both, as the only proper one. It
was for Fenwick to come out of prison under the act of insolvency,
and thus free himself from the trammels of past obligations, which
could not possibly be met.
This was soon accomplished, the requisite security for his personal
appearance to interrogatories being readily obtained.
"And now, Adelaide, what is to be done?" he asked of his wife, as he
sat holding her hand in his, during the first hour of his release
from imprisonment. His own mind had already decided--still he was
anxious for her suggestion, if she had any to make.
"Can you still obtain that school you spoke of?" she asked with much
interest in her tone.
"Yes. The offer is still open."
"Then take it, Charles, by all means. One such lesson as we have
had, is enough for a life time. Satisfied am I, now, that we have
not sought for happiness in the right paths."
The school was accordingly taken, and with humbled feelings, modest
expectations, and a mutual resolution to be satisfied with little,
did Charles Fenwick and his wife re-commence the world at the bottom
of the ladder. That he was sincere in his new formed resolutions, is
evident from the fact, that in a few years he became the principal
of a popular literary institution, for which office he was fully
qualified. She, too, learned, by degrees, to act well her part in
all her relations, social and domestic--and now finds far more
pleasure in the realities, than she ever did in the romance of life.