From this time, Clyde Farm became wholly a place of business. No regard
was now paid to the beauty of the place. Iron-manufactories,
nail-manufactories, and saw-mills, were projected, and all was hurry and
bustle. One more pang, however, remained for Frances. The sequestered
nook she had selected, where her little Charlotte's remains were
deposited,--that spot, so still, so tranquil, so shaded by trees, and so
sheltered by valleys, so removed apparently from the tumult of
business,--over that very spot, it was found necessary for the rail-road
to pass! Strange as it may seem, the worldly father appeared to feel
more deeply this innovation than the mother.
Twice he repaired to the spot to give his directions for the removal of
the remains, and twice an impetuous burst of sorrow drove him from it.
"It is only a temporary resting-place, even for the body," said Frances;
"the spirit is not there." She looked calmly on, and gave those
directions for which the father was unable.
Another winter was now advancing, and the house in the city was ready for
occupancy. Mrs. Draper made her preparations to return, but they were
often interrupted by a pain in her side. The cough had entirely changed
its character; it was now deep and hollow. She certainly looked
remarkably well; her complexion seemed to have recovered the delicacy and
transparency of early youth, and her eyes their lustrous brightness. As
for the color of her cheek, her husband sometimes playfully accused her
of extracting rouge from her carnations.
Charlotte spoke to him doubtingly of his wife's health, and Lucy said she
"was afraid she would not stand the frosty nights when they came on." But
Mr. Draper was sanguine that Clyde had been her restoration.
When she arrived at the city, there were arrangements to be made, and new
furniture to be procured. Her husband gave her full permission to do
just as she pleased, only begged of her not to call upon him, for he had
not one moment to spare.
Frances exerted all her strength, but it became evident that she drooped.
Her nights were restless; and though some thought it encouraging, that
she coughed so much _stronger_, it was exhausting to her frame.
Mr. Draper at length perceived that she had rather lost than gained; he
went for her physician, and requested him to recommend quiet to her. "I
think," said he, "she has over-fatigued herself."
Dr. B. came to see her, conversed with her, counted the throbbings of her
pulse, and made a minute examination of her case. The conference was
long; when he entered the parlor, he found Mr. Draper waiting. He
received him with a smile; but there was no responsive smile on the
doctor's face; it was solemn and thoughtful.
Mr. Draper grew alarmed. "You do not think my wife very sick, I hope,"
said he. "Her cough is troublesome; but you know she has long been
subject to it. Indeed, I think it is constitutional, like my own. You
recommended the white mixture to her last year: it did her good."
"I recommended a voyage and a warm climate," said the physician.
"Yes, I remember you did; but it was impossible for me to go away then.
In the spring we took that unlucky journey; however, it was of benefit to
her, and if you think it necessary, I will go the same route now."
"I do not," replied Dr. B.
"I am glad of it; it would be particularly inconvenient to me just now to
leave the city. Times are perplexing: bills come back protested--bad
news from England--sudden and unlooked-for failures--no one can tell
where it will end. We have been obliged to stop our works at Clyde Farm,
and there are from ninety to a hundred laborers thrown out of employment.
This is peculiarly vexatious to me, as they made out before to earn a
living in their own _humdrum_ way, and they now accuse me of having taken
the bread from their children's mouths, to promote my own speculations,
though, while I employed them, I gave them enormous wages. But this,
sir, is the gratitude of the world."
The doctor still remained silent. It seemed as if Mr. Draper began to
tremble for something dearer than money, for he grasped the hand of the
physician.
"You do not think my wife dangerously ill, I trust," said he.
The doctor replied, in a low voice, "I fear she is."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Draper; "she was remarkably well when we left
Clyde. But what do you prescribe? I will do any thing, every thing, say
but the word. I will take her to Europe--I will go to any part of the
world you recommend."
The physician shook his head.
"My dear doctor, you must go with us. I will indemnify you a thousand
times for all losses; you can save her life; you know her constitution.
When shall we go? and where? I will charter a vessel; we can be off in
three days;"--and he actually took his hat.
Dr. B. said impressively, "Pray be seated, and prepare yourself to hear,
like a man, what you must inevitably learn. It will not answer any
useful purpose to go to a milder climate; it is now too late!"
"You do not mean to say," said Mr. Draper, impetuously, "that if she had
gone last year she would have been restored?"
"No, I do not mean to say that; but then, there would have been a chance;
now, there is none."
"Why did you not tell me so, sir?" said Mr. Draper, angrily.
"I said all that I was authorized to say. When I urged the step as
necessary, you replied that it was impossible."
"It is too true!" exclaimed he, striking his forehead; "and yet she is
dearer to me than my own life;"--and, unable to suppress his feelings, he
burst into an agony of tears. Suddenly starting up, he said, "Doctor, I
have the highest respect for your skill; but you are fallible, like all
men. It is my opinion, that a sea voyage and change of climate will
restore my wife. If you will go with us, so much the better; if not, I
will seek some other physician to accompany her."
"It is but right to inform you," said Dr. B., "that there is no chance of
restoration. I suggested to her, that there might be alleviation in a
warm climate; but she positively declines seeking it, and says her only
wish is to die quietly, at home. She fully estimates the strength of
your affection, and entreats of you to spare her all superfluous
agitation. 'Tell him,' said she, 'there is but one thing that can
unsettle the calmness of my mind; it is to see him wanting in Christian
resignation.'"
It would be painful to dwell on the anguish that followed this
communication. Mr. Draper realized, for the first time, the tenderness
and watchfulness that a character and constitution like his wife's
required. In the common acceptation of the word, he was an excellent
husband; yet, in his eager pursuit of wealth, he had left her to struggle
alone with many of the harassing cares of life. He had, by thinking
himself unable to accompany her, denied her the necessary recreation of
travelling; he had deprived her of her favorite residence in the city,
and when she turned her affections to Clyde, even there they found no
resting-place.
He recollected their unpropitious journey--the exposure to cold and
rain--that he had hurried on the invalids, till he had accomplished his
own purposes. One had already gone; the other was fast following.
Speculators have consciences and affections, and his were roused to
agony.
Frances shrunk not from the hour of death, which rapidly approached.
Howard and Charlotte were constantly with her. There was nothing gloomy
in her views. She considered this life as a passage to another; and saw
through the vista immortality and happiness. To Charlotte, she
bequeathed her daughter, and this faithful friend promised to watch over
her with a mother's care.
Many and long were her conversations with her husband--not on the subject
of her death, or arrangements after it should take place; but she was
earnest that her serenity, her high hopes, might be transferred to his
mind. She had often, in the overflowings of her heart, endeavored to
communicate to him her animated convictions of a future life. Those who
live constantly in the present think but little of the future. Mr.
Draper usually cut short the conversation, with the apparently devout
sentiment,--"I am quite satisfied on this subject;
'Whatever is, is right.'"
Now, however, when he realized that the being he most tenderly loved was
fast retreating from his view, he felt that there was a vast difference
between the reasonings of philosophy and the revelations of Christianity;
and, in the agony of his soul, he would have given worlds for the
assurance of a reunion. On this subject Frances dwelt; and he now
listened patiently, without once looking at his watch, or being seized
with one of his paroxysms of coughing. Still, however, he doubted; for
how could he trust without _bonds_ and _contracts_? No one had come back
to tell him _individually_ the whole truth.
"I acknowledge," said he, somewhat reproachfully, "that this conviction
is earnestly to be desired. If saves you from the agony that at this
moment rends my heart."
"My dear friend," replied Frances, in a voice interrupted by deep and
solemn emotion, "religion is not given us for an opiate to be used at a
last extremity, merely to lull the sense of pain. The views I express
are not new to me; they have been for many years my daily food; they have
supported me through hours of bodily anguish; . . . the human frame does
not decay as gradually as mine without repeated warnings; . . . they will
conduct me through the dark valley of death, when I can no longer lean
upon your arm . . . Their efficacy does not merely consist in soothing
the bitterness of parting; they have a health giving energy that infuses
courage and fortitude amidst the disappointments and evils of life."
"Henceforth," exclaimed Mr. Draper,--and at that moment he was
sincere,--"every thing of a worldly nature is indifferent to me!"
"All men," continued Frances, without replying to his exclamation, "are
subject to the reverses of life, but particularly men of extensive
business connections. They are like the spider in his cobweb dwelling;
touch but one of the thousand filaments that compose it, and it vibrates
to the centre, and often the fabric is destroyed that has been so
skilfully woven. There is a divine teaching in religion, which at such
times restores equanimity to the mind, gives new aspirations, and proves
that all in this life is not lost, and nothing for that to come."
New scenes were opening upon Mr. Draper. It became evident that a dark
cloud hung over the business atmosphere. Unexpected failures every day
took place. Some attributed the thick-coming evils to the removal of the
deposits, others to interrupted currency; some to overtrading, and some
to extravagance. Whatever was the cause, the distress was real. Mr.
Draper's cotton became a drug in the market; manufactories stopped, or
gave no dividends. Eastern lands lost even their nominal value, and
western towns became bankrupt. Ships stood in the harbor, with their
sails unbent and masts dismantled. Day laborers looked aghast, not
knowing where to earn food for their families. The whirlwind came; it
made no distinction of persons. "It smote the four corners of the
house," and the high-minded and honorable fell indiscriminately with the
rest. Well may it be asked, Whence came this desolation upon the
community? No pestilence visited our land; it was not the plague; it was
not the yellow fever, or cholera. Health was borne on every breeze; the
earth yielded her produce, and Peace still dwelt among us.
Mr. Draper felt as if "his mountain stood strong," yet it began to
totter. Frances was ignorant of the state of public affairs. Who would
intrude the perplexities of the times into a dying chamber? Softly and
gently she sank to rest, her last look of affection beaming upon her
husband.
The next morning, the bankruptcy of Mr. Draper was announced. No blame
was attached to him, though the sum for which he became insolvent was
immense, and swallowed up many a hard-earned fortune. Where was Howard's
little capital?--Gone with the rest--principal and _compound interest_!
"I am a ruined man!" said Mr. Draper to Howard; "I have robbed you, and
beggared my child; but one resource remains to me;"--and he looked around
with the desperation of insanity.
Howard grasped his hand. "My dear brother," said he, "your wife, with an
almost prophetic spirit, foresaw this hour. 'Comfort him,' said she,
'when it arrives, and lead his mind to higher objects.' Your child has
an ample provision, by the sum settled on her mother. I have lost
property which I did not use, and, with the blessing of God, may never
want. Come home with me; I have means for us both. You will have all
the indulgences you ever coveted. No one has led a harder life than you
have. You have labored like the galley-slave, without wages; come, and
learn that, beyond what we can use for our own or others' benefit, wealth
has only an imaginary value."
Perhaps it was an additional mortification to Mr. Draper, to find that, a
few days after his failure, the banks concluded to issue no specie. Many
were kept along by this resolution; while others stopped, with the
conviction, that, had they been contented with moderate gains, they
might, in this day of trouble and perplexity, have been RICH ENOUGH.
FINIS