"Poor Mrs. Wilton!" remarked Mrs. Gray, now a cheerful, intelligent
woman of forty, with half-a-dozen grown and half-grown up daughters,
"it makes me sad whenever I see her, or think of her."
"Her husband was not kind to her, I believe, while she lived with
him," said Mrs. Gray's visitor, whom she had addressed.
"It is said so. But I am sure I do not know. I never liked him, nor
thought him a man of principle. I said as much as I thought prudent
to discourage her from receiving his attentions. But she was a gay
girl herself, and was attracted by dashing pretension, rather than
by unobtrusive merit."
"It was thought at one time that Mr. Wilton would lead in the
profession here. I remember when his name used frequently to get
into the newspapers, coupled with high compliments on his brilliant
talents."
"Yes. He flashed before the eyes of the crowd for awhile, but it was
soon discovered that he had more brilliancy than substance. The loss
of two or three important cases, that required solid argument and a
well-digested array of facts and authorities, instead of flights of
fancy and appeals to the feelings, ruined his standing at the bar.
The death of his father-in-law, with an insolvent estate,
immediately after, took wonderfully from the estimation in which he
was held. Thrown, thus, suddenly back, and upon his own resources,
he sunk at once from the point of observation, and lingered around
the court-house, picking up petty cases, as a matter of necessity.
Long before this, I had noticed that Mrs. Wilton had greatly
changed. But now a sadder change took place--a separation from her
husband. The cause of this separation I know not. I never asked her,
nor to me has she ever alluded to it. But it is said that his manner
towards her became insufferable, and that she sought protection and
an asylum among her friends. Be the cause what it may, it is enough
to make her a poor, heart-stricken creature."
"How well I remember, when their parties were the most splendid and
best attended of the season."
"Yes, I well remember it too. Still, even then, gay and brilliant as
Mrs. Wilton was, I never thought her happy. Indeed, seeing her often
alone as I did, I could not but mark the painful contrast in her
spirits. At home, when not entertaining company, she was listless or
unhappy. How often have I come in upon her, and noticed her
moistened eyes."
"Ah me! it must be a wrong beginning that makes so sad an ending."
The truth of the remark, as applicable in this case, struck Mrs.
Gray forcibly, and she mused in thoughtful silence for a few
moments.
"Have you heard the news, Judge Gray?" said a lawyer, addressing the
individual he had named, about the same hour that the conversation,
just noted, occurred.
"No. What is it?"
"Why, Wilton has committed a forgery."
"O no, it cannot be!" said the Judge, in tones of painful surprise.
"It is too true, I fear, Judge."
"Is the amount considerable?"
"Ten thousand dollars is the sum mentioned."
"Has he been arrested?"
"No. But the officers are hard after him. The newspapers will
announce the fact to-morrow morning."
Judge Gray leaned his head upon his hand, and, with his eyes cast
upon the floor, sat for some moments in painful thought.
"Poor man!" he at length said, looking up. "The end has come at
last. I have long feared for him. He started wrong in the
beginning."
"I hope they will catch him," remarked the individual he was
addressing.
Judge Gray did not reply, but cast his eyes again upon the floor.
"He has lived by gambling these six years," continued the lawyer,
"and I suppose he has committed this forgery to pay some 'debt of
honor.' Well, I can't say that I am sorry to be rid of him from this
bar, for he was not a pleasant man to be forced into contact with."
"And yet he was a man of some talents," remarked the Judge,
musingly.
"And when that is said all is said. Without industry, legal
knowledge, or sound principles of action, what was he good for? He
would do for a political stump declaimer--but, as a lawyer, in any
case of moment, he was not worth a copper."
And thus saying, the lawyer turned away, and left Judge Gray to his
own thoughts.
"I have unpleasant news to tell you, Jane," said Judge Gray, coming
into the room where sat his wife, an hour afterwards.
"What is that, husband?" asked Mrs. Gray, looking up with a
concerned countenance.
"Why, our old friend Charles Wilton has committed a forgery!"
"Poor Cara! It will break her heart," Mrs. Gray said in a sad tone.
"I do not suppose she has much affection for him, Jane."
"No, but she has a good deal of pride left--all, in fact, that
sustains her. This last blow, I fear, will be too much for one who
has no true strength of character."
"Would it not be well for you to call in and see her to-morrow? The
papers will all announce the fact in the morning, and she may need
the consolation which a true friend might be able to afford her."
"I will go, most certainly, much as my natural feelings shrink from
the task. Where she is, I am sure she has no one to lean upon: for
there is not one of her so-called friends, upon whom she feels
herself a burden, that can or will sympathize with her truly."
"Go, then. And may mercy's errand find mercy's reward."
On the next morning all the city papers teemed with accounts of the
late forgery, and blazoned Charles Wilton's name, with many
opprobrious epithets before the public. Some went even so far as to
allude to his wife, whom they said he had forsaken years before, and
who was now, it was alleged, living in poverty, and, some hinted in
disgrace and infamy.
Early in the day, Mrs. Gray repaired to the cheerless home of her
early friend. She was shown to her chamber, where she found her
lying insensible on the bed, with one of the newspapers in her hand,
that alluded to herself in disgraceful terms.
Long and patient efforts to restore her, at length produced the
desired result. But it was many days before she seemed distinctly
conscious of what was passing or would converse with any degree of
coherency.
"Come and spend a few weeks with me, Cara."
Mrs. Gray said to her, one day, on calling in to see her; "I am sure
it will do you good."
There was a sad, but grateful expression in the pale face of Mrs.
Wilton, as she looked into the eye of her old friend, but ventured
no reply.
"You will come, will you not, Cara?" urged Mrs. Gray.
"My presence in your happy family would be like the shadow of an
evil wing," said she bitterly.
"Our happy family, say-rather, would chase away the gloomy shadows
that darken your heart. Come then, and we will give you a cheerful
welcome."
"I feel much inclined, and yet I hesitate, for I ought not to throw
a gloom over your household," and the tears filled her eyes, and
glistened through the lids which were closed suddenly over them.
"Come, and welcome!" Mrs. Gray urged, taking her hand and gently
pressing it.
That evening Mrs. Wilton spent in the pleasant family of her old
friend.
Three weeks afterwards, Mrs. Gray asked of her husband, if anything
had been heard of Mr. Wilton.
"Nothing," he replied. "He has escaped all pursuit thus far, and the
officers, completely at fault, have returned."
"I cannot say that I am sorry, at least for the sake of his wife.
She seems more cheerful since she came here. I feel sometimes as if
I should like to offer her a home, for she has none, that might
truly be so called."
"Act up to your kind desire, Jane, if you think it right to do so,"
said her husband. "Perhaps in no other home open to her could so
much be done for her comfort."
The home was accordingly offered, and tearfully accepted.
"Jane," said the sad hearted woman, "I cannot tell you how much I
have suffered in the last twenty years. How much from
heart-sickening disappointments, and lacerated affections. High
hopes and brilliant expectations that made my weak brain giddy to
think of, have all ended thus. How weak and foolish--how mad we
were! But my husband was not all to blame. I was as insane in my
views of life as he. We lived only for ourselves--thought and cared
only for ourselves--and here is the result. How wisely and well did
you choose, Jane. Where my eye saw nothing to admire, yours more
skilled, perceived the virgin ore of truth. I was dazzled by show,
while you looked below the surface, and saw true character, and its
effect in action. How signally has each of us been rewarded!" and
the heart-stricken creature bowed her head and wept.
And now, kind reader, if there be one who has followed us thus far,
are you disappointed in not meeting some startling denoument, or
some effective point in this narrative. I hope not. Natural results
have followed, in just order, the adoption of true and false
principles of action--and thus will they ever follow. Learn, then, a
lesson from the history of the two young men and the maidens of
their choice. Let every young man remember, that all permanent
success in life depends upon the adoption of such principles of
action as are founded in honesty and truth; and let every young
woman take it to heart, that all her married life will be affected
by the principles which her husband sets down as rules of action.
Let her give no consideration to his brilliant prospect, or his
brilliant mind, if sound moral principles do not govern him.
"But what became of Charles Wilton and his wife?" I hear a
bright-eyed maiden asking, as she turns half impatient from my
homily.
Wilton has escaped justice thus far, and his wife, growing more and
more cheerful every day, is still the inmate of Judge Gray's family,
and I trust will remain so until the end of her journeying here. And
what is more, she is learning the secret, that there is more
happiness in caring for others, than in being all absorbed in
selfish consideration. Still, she is a sad wreck upon the stream of
life--a warning beacon for your eyes, young lady.