If riches could bring happiness, John Anderson should be a happy man;
and yet he is far from being happy. He has succeeded in making money,
but failed in every thing else. But let us enter his home. As you open
the parlor door your feet sink in the rich and beautiful carpet.
Exquisite statuary, and superbly framed pictures greet your eye and you
are ready to exclaim, "Oh! how lovely." Here are the beautiful
conceptions of painters' art and sculptors' skill. It is a home of
wealth, luxury and display, but not of love, refinement and culture.
Years since, before John Anderson came to live in the city of A.P. he
had formed an attachment for an excellent young lady who taught school
in his native village, and they were engaged to be married; but after
coming to the city and forming new associations, visions of wealth
dazzled his brain, and unsettled his mind, till the idea of love in a
cottage grew distasteful to him. He had seen men with no more ability
than himself who had come to the city almost pennyless, and who had
grown rich in a few years, and he made up his mind that if possible he
would do two things, acquire wealth and live an easy life, and he
thought the easiest way to accomplish both ends was to open up a
gorgeous palace of sin and entice into his meshes the unwary, the
inexperienced, and the misguided slaves of appetite. For awhile after he
left his native village, he wrote almost constantly to his betrothed;
but as new objects and interests engaged his attention, his letters
became colder and less frequent, until they finally ceased and the
engagement was broken. At first the blow fell heavily upon the heart of
his affianced, but she was too sensible to fade away and die the victim
of unrequited love, and in after years when she had thrown her whole
soul into the temperance cause, and consecrated her life to the work of
uplifting fallen humanity, she learned to be thankful that it was not
her lot to be united to a man who stood as a barrier across the path of
human progress and would have been a weight to her instead of wings.
Released from his engagement, he entered into an alliance (for that is
the better name for a marriage) which was not a union of hearts, or
intercommunion of kindred souls; but only an affair of convenience; in a
word he married for money a woman, who was no longer young in years, nor
beautiful in person, nor amiable in temper. But she was rich, and her
money like charity covered a multitude of faults, and as soon as he saw
the golden bait he caught at it, and they were married, for he was
willing to do almost any thing for money, except work hard for it. It
was a marriage however that brought no happiness to either party. Mrs.
Anderson was an illy educated, self willed, narrow minded [woman], full
of airs and pretensions, the only daughter of a man who had laid the
foundation of his wealth by keeping a low groggery, and dying had left
her his only heir. John Anderson was selfish and grasping. He loved
money, and she loved display, and their home was often the scene of the
most pitiful contentions about money matters. Harsh words and bitter
recriminations were almost common household usages. The children brought
up in this unhealthy atmosphere naturally took sides with their mother
and their home was literally a house divided against itself. The foolish
conduct of the mother inspired the children with disrespect for their
father, who failed to support the authority of his wife as the mother
and mistress of the home. As her sons grew older they often sought
attractions in questionable places, away from the sombre influences of
their fireside, and the daughters as soon as they stood upon the verge
of early womanhood learned to look upon marriage as an escape valve from
domestic discomforts; and in that beautiful home with all its costly
surroundings, and sumptuous furniture, there was always something
wanting, there was always a lack of tenderness, sympathy and mutual
esteem.
"I can't afford it," said John Anderson, to his wife who had been asking
for money for a trip to a fashionable watering place. "You will have to
spend the summer elsewhere."
"Can't afford it! What nonsense; is not it as much to your interest as
mine to carry the girls around and give them a chance?"
"A chance for what?"
"Why to see something of the world. You don't know what may happen. That
English Earl was very attentive last night to Sophronia at Mrs. Jessap's
ball."
"An English Count? who is he? and where did he spring from?"
"Why he's from England, and is said to be the only son and heir of a
very rich nobleman."
"I don't believe it, I don't believe he is an Earl any more than I am."
"That's just like you, always throw cold water on every thing I say"
"It is no such thing, but I don't believe in picking up strangers and
putting them into my bosom; it is not all gold that glitters."
"I know that, but how soon can you let me have some money? I want to go
out this afternoon and do some shopping and engage the semptress."
"I tell you, Annette, I have not the money to spare; the money market is
very tight, and I have very heavy bills to meet this month."
"The money market tight! why it has been tight ever since I have been
married."
"Well you may believe it or not, just as you choose, but I tell you this
crusading has made quite a hole in my business."
"Now John Anderson, tell that to somebody that don't know. I don't
believe this crusading has laid a finger's weight upon your business."
"Yes it has, and if you read the papers you would find that it has even
affected the revenue of the state and you will have to retrench
somewhere."
"Well, I'll retrench somewhere. I think we are paying our servants too
high wages any how. Mrs. Shenflint gets twice as much work done for the
same money. I'll retrench, John Anderson, but I want you to remember
that I did not marry you empty handed."
"I don't think I shall be apt to forget it in a hurry while I have such
a gentle reminder at hand," he replied sarcastically.
"And I suppose you would not have married me if I had had no money."
"No, I would not," said John Anderson thoroughly exasperated, "and I
would have been a fool if I had."
These bitter words spoken in a heat of passion were calculated to work
disastrously in that sin darkened home.
For some time she had been suspecting that her money had been the chief
inducement which led him to seek her hand, and now her worse suspicions
were confirmed, and the last thread of confidence was severed.
"I should not have said it," said Anderson to himself, "but the woman is
so provoking and unreasonable. I suppose she will have a fit of sulks
for a month and never be done brooding over those foolish words"; and
Anderson sighed as if he were an ill used man. He had married for money,
and he had got what he bargained for; love, confidence, and mutual
esteem were not sought in the contract and these do not necessarily come
of themselves.
"Well, the best I can do is to give her what money she wants and be done
with it."
* * * * *
"Is not in her room?"
"No sir and her bed has not been rumpled."
"Where in the world can she be?"
"I don't know, but here is a note she left."
"What does she say? read it Annette."
"She says she feels that you were unjust to the Earl and that she hopes
you will forgive her the steps she has taken, but by the time the letter
reaches you she expects to be the Countess of Clarendon."
"Poor foolish girl, you see what comes of taking a stranger to your
bosom and making so much of him."
"That's just like you, John Anderson, every thing that goes wrong is
blamed on me. I almost wish I was dead."
"I wish so too," thought Anderson but he concluded it was prudent to
keep the wish to himself.
John Anderson had no faith whatever in the pretensions of his new
son-in-law, but his vain and foolish wife on the other hand was elated
at the dazzling prospects of her daughter, and often in her imagination
visited the palatial residence of "My Son, the Earl," and was graciously
received in society as the mother of the Countess of Clarendon. She was
also highly gratified at the supposed effect of Sophronia's marriage
upon a certain clique who had been too exclusive to admit her in their
set. Should not those Gladstone girls be ready to snag themselves? and
there was that Mary Talbot, did every thing she could to attract his
attention but it was no go. My little Sophronia came along and took the
rag off the bush. I guess they will almost die with envy. If he had
waited for her father's consent we might have waited till the end of the
chapter; but I took the responsibility on my shoulders and the thing is
done. My daughter, the Countess of Clarendon. I like the ring of the
words; but dear me here's the morning mail, and a letter from the
Countess, but what does it mean?"
"Come to me, I am in great trouble."
In quick response to the appeal Mrs. Anderson took the first train to
New York and found her daughter in great distress. The "Earl" had been
arrested for forgery and stealing, and darker suspicions were hinted
against him. He had been a body servant to a nobleman who had been
travelling for his health and who had died by a lonely farmhouse where
he had gone for fresh air and quiet, and his servant had seized upon his
effects and letters of introduction, and passed himself off as the
original Earl, and imitating his handwriting had obtained large
remittances, for which he was arrested, tried and sent to prison, and
thus ended the enchanting dream of "My daughter the Countess of
Clarendon."