"Alice," said Mrs. Weston, as they sat together one morning, before it was
time to dress for dinner, "if you choose, I will read to you the last part
of Cousin Janet's letter. You know, my daughter, of Walter's gay course in
Richmond, and it is as I always feared. There is a tendency to recklessness
and dissipation in Walter's disposition. With what a spirit of deep
thankfulness you should review the last few months of your life! I have
sometimes feared I was unjust to Walter. My regret at the attachment for
him which you felt at one time, became a personal dislike, which I
acknowledge, I was wrong to yield to; but I think we both acted naturally,
circumstanced as we were. Dear as you are to me, I would rather see you
dead than the victim of an unhappy marriage. Love is not blind, as many
say. I believe the stronger one's love is, the more palpable the errors of
its object. It was so with me, and it would be so with you. That you have
conquered this attachment is the crowning blessing of my life, even should
you choose never to consummate your engagement with Arthur. I will, at
least, thank God that you are not the wife of a man whose violent passions,
even as a child, could not be controlled, and who is destitute of a spark
of religious principle. I will now read you what Cousin Janet says.
"'I have received a long letter from Mr. C., the Episcopal
clergyman in Richmond, in answer to mine, inquiring of Walter. All
that I feared is true. Walter is not only gay, but dissipated. Mr.
C. says he has called to see him repeatedly, and invited him to
his house, and has done all that he could to interest him in those
pleasures that are innocent and ennobling; but, alas! it is
difficult to lay aside the wine cup, when its intoxicating touch
is familiar to the lips, and so of the other forbidden pleasures
of life. To one of Walter's temperament there is two-fold danger.
Walter is gambling, too, and bets high; he will, of course, be a
prey to the more experienced ones, who will take advantage of his
youth and generosity to rob him. For, is a professed gambler
better than a common thief?
"'It is needless for me to say, I have shed many tears over this
letter. Tears are for the living, and I expect to shed them while
I wear this garment of mortality. Can it be that in this case the
wise Creator will visit the sins of the father upon the child? Are
are all my tears and prayers to fail? I cannot think so, while He
reigns in heaven in the same body with which He suffered on earth.
In the very hand that holds the sceptre is the print of the nails;
under the royal crown that encircles His brow, can still be traced
the marks of the thorns. He is surely, then, touched with a
feeling of our infirmities, and He will in the end, bring home
this child of my love and my adoption. I often say to myself,
could I see Alice and Arthur and Walter happy, how happy should I
be! I would be more than willing to depart; but there would be
still a care for something in this worn-out and withered frame. It
will be far better to be with Jesus, but He will keep me here as
long as He has any thing for me to do. The dear girls! I am glad
they are enjoying themselves, but I long to see them again. I hope
they will not be carried away by the gay life they are leading. I
shall be glad when they are at their home duties again.
"'It will be well with Arthur and Alice; you know old maids are
always the best informed on other people's love affairs. When
Arthur left home Alice felt only a sisterly affection for him;
when Walter went away it was really no more for him either, but
her kind heart grieved when she saw him so situated: and sympathy,
you know, is akin to love. She must remember now the importance
that attaches itself to an engagement of marriage, and not give
Arthur any more rivals. She was off her guard before, as her
feeling an affection for Arthur was considered rather too much a
matter of course; but she cannot fail at some future day to return
his devoted affection. In the mean time, the young people are
both, I trust, doing well. Arthur, so long in another section of
his own dear country, will be less apt to be unduly prejudiced in
favor of his own; and Alice will only mingle in the gay world
enough to see the vanity of its enjoyments. She will thus be
prepared to perform with fidelity the duties that belong to her
position as the wife of a country gentleman. No wonder that my
spectacles are dim and my old eyes aching after this long letter.
Love to dear Cousin Weston, to the girls, to yourself, and all the
servants.
"'From COUSIN JANET.'
"'Phillis says she has not enough to do to keep her employed. She
has not been well this winter; her old cough has returned, and she
is thinner than I ever saw her. Dr. L. has been to see her several
times, and he is anxious for her to take care of herself. She bids
me say to Bacchus that if he have broken his promise, she hopes he
will be endowed with strength from above to keep it better in
future. How much can we all learn from good Phillis!'"
Alice made no observation as her mother folded the letter and laid it on
her dressing table; but there lay not now on the altar of her heart a spark
of affection for one, who for a time, she believed to be so passionately
beloved. The fire of that love had indeed gone out, but there had lingered
among its embers the form and color of its coals--these might have been
rekindled, but that was past forever. The rude but kind candor that
conveyed to her the knowledge of Walter's unworthiness had dissolved its
very shape; the image was displaced from its shrine. Walter was indeed
still beloved, but it was the affection of a pure sister for an erring
brother; it was only to one to whom her soul in its confiding trust and
virtue could look up, that she might accord that trusting devotion and
reverence a woman feels for the chosen companion of her life.
And this, I hear you say, my reader, is the awakening of a love dream so
powerful as to undermine the health of the sleeper--so dark as to cast a
terror and a gloom upon many who loved her; it is even so in life, and
would you have it otherwise? Do you commend that morbid affection which
clings to its object not only through sorrow, but sin? through sorrow--but
not in sin. Nor is it possible for a pure-minded woman to love unworthily
and continue pure.
This Alice felt, and she came forth from her struggle stronger and more
holy; prizing above all earthly things the friends who had thus cleared for
her her pathway, and turning with a sister's love, which was all indeed she
had ever known, to that one who, far away, would yet win with his
unchanging affection her heart to his own.
Walter Lee's case was an illustration of the fact that many young men are
led into dissipation simply from the want of proper occupation. There was
in him no love of vice for itself; but disappointed in securing Alice's
consent to his addresses, and feeling self-condemned in the effort to win
her affections from Arthur, he sought forgetfulness in dissipation and
excitement. He fancied he would find happiness in the ball-room, the
theatre, the midnight revel, and at the gambling table. Have you not met in
the changing society of a large city, one whose refined and gentle manners
told of the society of a mother, a sister, or of some female friend whose
memory, like an angel's wing, was still hovering around him? Have you not
pitied him when you reflected that he was alone, far away from such good
influences? Have you not longed to say to him, I wish I could be to you
what _she_ has been, and warn you of the rocks and quicksands against which
you may be shipwrecked.
There were many who felt thus towards Walter; his strikingly handsome face
and figure, his grace and intelligence, with a slight reserve that gave a
charm to his manner. To few was his history familiar; the world knew of his
name, and to the world he was an object of importance, for gold stamps its
owner with a letter of credit through life.
Walter launched into every extravagance that presented itself. He was
flattered, and invited to balls and parties; smiles met him at every step,
and the allurements of the world dazzled him, as they had many a previous
victim. Sometimes, the thought of Alice in her purity and truth passed like
a sunbeam over his heart; but its light was soon gone. She was not for him;
and why should he not seek, as others had done, to drown all care? Then the
thought of Cousin Janet, good and holy Cousin Janet, with her Bible in her
hand, and its sacred precepts on her lips, would weigh like a mountain on
his soul; but he had staked all for pleasure, and he could not lose the
race.
It is not pleasant to go down, step after step, to the dark dungeon of
vice. We will not follow Walter to the revel, nor the gaming-table. We will
close our ears to the blasphemous oaths of his companions, to the
imprecations on his own lips. The career of folly and of sin was destined
to be closed; and rather would we draw a veil over its every scene. Step by
step, he trod the path of sin, until at last, urged by worldly and false
friends to a quarrel, commenced on the slightest grounds, he challenged one
who had really never offended him; the challenge was accepted, and
then--Walter Lee was a murderer! He gazed upon the youthful, noble
countenance; he felt again and again the quiet pulse, weeping when he saw
the useless efforts to bring back life.
He was a murderer, in the sight of God and man! for he had been taught that
He who gave life, alone had the power to take it away. He knew that God
would require of him his brother's blood. He knew, too, that though the
false code of honor in society would acquit him, yet he would be branded,
even as Cain. He could see the finger of scorn pointed towards him; he
could hear men, good men, say, "There is Walter Lee, who killed a man in a
duel!"
Ah! Cousin Janet, not in vain were your earnest teachings. Not in vain had
you sung by his pillow, in boyhood, of Jesus, who loved all, even his
enemies. Not in vain had you planted the good seed in the ground, and
watered it. Not in vain are you now kneeling by your bedside, imploring God
not to forsake forever the child of your prayers. Go to your rest in peace,
for God will yet bring him home, after all his wanderings; for Walter Lee,
far away, is waking and restless; oppressed with horror at his crime,
flying from law and justice, flying from the terrors of a burdened
conscience--he is a murderer!
Like Cain, he is a wanderer. He gazes into the depths of the dark sea he is
crossing; but there is no answering abyss in his heart, where he can lose
the memory of his deed. He cannot count the wretched nights of watching,
and of thought. Time brings no relief, change no solace. When the soul in
its flight to eternity turns away from God, how droop her wings! She has no
star to guide her upward course; but she wanders through a strange land,
where all is darkness and grief.
He traversed many a beautiful country; he witnessed scenes of grandeur; he
stood before the works of genius and of art; he listened to music, sweet
like angels' songs; but has he peace? Young reader, there is no peace
without God. Now in this world, there is many a brow bending beneath the
weight of its flowers. Could we trace the stories written on many hearts,
how would they tell of sorrow! How many would say, in the crowded and noisy
revel, "I have come here to forget; but memory will never die!"