majority of people may think. You have not now to learn that the wise
and good are always in the _minority_ in this world. But tell me one
thing, my dear boy; if Miss Tarleton was poor and friendless, instead of
being rich and fashionable, would you have fallen in love with her?”
“Why yes—certainly—I don’t know—” stammered Charles, confusedly, “but
that is supposing so improbable a case that I cannot determine.”
“Suppose she were suddenly to be deprived of her fortune,” said the
persevering old man, “would you still be so desirous of wedding her?”
“Why, to tell you the honest truth, uncle, I do not think I should, and
for an excellent reason. Laura has been brought up as a rich man’s
daughter, and therefore can scarcely be expected to have had proper
training for a poor man’s wife. If I were compelled to support a family
on my paltry business, it would be necessary to have a more prudent and
economical companion than Laura is likely to prove; but, thank heaven,
that is not the case.”
“All are liable to reverses of fortune, Charles, and should such befal
you in future, you might chance to find that a prudent wife without
money is a better companion in misfortune than an extravagant one who
brought a rich dowry.”
“My dear uncle, do not imagine all kinds of unpleasant contingencies;
the idea of what you call a _prudent woman_ is shocking to my notions of
feminine character; it always conjures up in my mind an image of a
sharp-voiced, keen-eyed creature, scolding at servants, fretting at
children, and clattering slip-shod about the house to look after
candle-ends and cheese-parings. Before a woman can become parsimonious
she must in a measure unsex herself, since the foible most natural to
the sex is extravagance—the excess of a liberal spirit.”
“You are mistaken, Charles; that there are such women as you describe,
bustling, notable housewives, who pride themselves on their ability to
_manage_, as they term it, and who practise cunning because unable to
use force, I acknowledge; but they are chiefly to be found among those
who have been placed in an unnatural position in society,—women, who
having neither father, brother nor husband to protect them, have been
obliged to struggle with the world, and have learned to _jostle_ lest
they should _be jostled_ in the race of life. But bachelor as I am, I
have had many opportunities of studying the sex, and I can assure you
that economy, frugality and industry are by no means incompatible with
feminine delicacy, refinement of thought, and elegant accomplishments.”
“Well it may be all true, uncle,” replied Charles, utterly wearied of
the old man’s lecture, “but it is too late to reflect upon the matter
now, even if I were so disposed. I am to be married next week, and I
hope when you see Laura, you will think, with me, and give me credit for
more prudence than you seem to believe I possess.”
Charles Wharton possessed good feelings, and, as he believed, good
principles; yet, seduced by the ambition of equalling his richer
neighbors, he had persuaded himself into choosing a wife, less from
affection than from motives of interest. Had Laura Tarleton been poor,
he certainly would never have thought of her, since, pretty as she was,
she lacked the brilliancy of character which he had always admired. But
there was a sin upon his conscience, known only to himself and _one_
other, which often clouded his brow, even in the midst of his
anticipated triumph. There was a young, fair, and gifted girl, whom he
had loved with all the fervor of sincere attachment, and _he knew_ that
she loved him, although no word on the subject had been uttered by
either. He knew that his looks, and tones, and actions had been to her
those of a lover, and he had little reason to doubt the feeling with
which he had been met. He had looked forward to the time when he should
be quietly settled amid the comforts of a peaceful home, and the image
of _that fair girl_ was always the prominent object in his pictures for
the future. But a change came over the spirit of the whole nation.
Wealth poured into the country—or at least what was then considered
wealth—and with it came luxury and sloth. The golden stream came to
_some_ like a mountain torrent, and others began to repine at receiving
it only as the tiny rivulet. People “made haste to be rich,” and Charles
Waterton was infected with the same thirst after wealth. He met with
Laura Tarleton, learned that she was an orphan heiress, and instantly
determined to secure the glittering prize. Ambition conquered the
tenderness of his nature; he forsook the lady of his love, and after an
acquaintance of six weeks succeeded in becoming the husband of the
wealthy votary of fashion.
Not long after his marriage, he discovered one _slight_ error in his
calculations, and found that his wife’s hundred thousand dollars had in
reality dwindled down to thirty thousand. But even this was not to be
despised, and Charles, conscious that he had nothing but talents and
industry when he commenced life, felt that he had drawn a prize in the
lottery. Grateful to his wife for her preference of him, and conscious
that he had not bestowed on her his full affection, he determined to
make all the amends in his power, by lavishing every kindness upon her,
and submitting implicitly to her wishes. Having intimated to him that
she should prefer boarding during the first year of their married life,
he accordingly engaged a suite of apartments at the Astor House, where
they lived in a style of splendor and ease exceedingly agreeable to the
taste of both. Mrs. Waterton was extremely pretty, with an innocent,
child-like face, and a graceful figure, and Charles felt so much pride
in the admiration which she received in society, that he forgot to
notice her mental deficiency. Their time was passed in a perpetual round
of excitement and gayety. During the hours when the counting room
claimed the husband’s attention, the young wife lounged on a sofa, read
the last new novel, dawdled through a morning’s shopping, or paid
fashionable visits. The afternoon was spent over the dinner table, while
the evening soon passed in the midst of a brilliant party, or amid the
pleasures of some public amusement. But living in the bustle of a hotel,
with a large circle of acquaintances always ready to drink Mr.
Waterton’s wine and flirt with his pretty wife, they were rarely left to
each other’s society, and at the termination of the first twelvemonth,
they knew little more of each other’s tempers and feelings than when
they pledged their vows at the altar. Charles had learned that his
placid Laura was somewhat pertinacious and very fond of dress, while she
had been deeply mortified by the discovery that Charles’s deceased
mother had, during her widowhood, kept a thread and needle store; but
this was all that they had ascertained of each other. There had been no
studying of each other’s character—no opportunity of practising that
_adaptation_ so necessary to the comfort of married life. They had lived
only in a crowd, and were as yet in the position of partners in a
quadrille, associated rather for a season of gayety than for the
changeful scenes of actual life.
The commencement of the second year found the young couple busily
engaged in preparing for house-keeping. A stately house, newly built and
situated in a fashionable part of the city, was selected by Mrs.
Waterton, and purchased by her obsequious husband in obedience to her
wishes, though he did not think it necessary to inform her that _two
thirds_ of the purchase money was to remain on mortgage. They now only
awaited the arrival of the rich furniture which Mrs. Waterton had
directed her sister to select in Paris. This came at length, and with
all the glee of a child she beheld her house fitted with carpets of such
turf-like softness that the foot was almost buried in their bright
flowers; mirrors that might have served for walls to the palace of
truth; couches, divans and fauteuils, inlaid with gold and covered with
velvet most exquisitely painted; curtains, whose costly texture had been
quadrupled in value by the skill of the embroideress; tables of the
finest mosaic; lustres and girandoles of every variety, glittering with
their wealth of gold and chrystal; and all the thousand expensive toys
which serve to minister to the frivolous tastes of fashion. The
arrangement of the sleeping apartments was on a scale of equal
magnificence. French dressing tables, with all their paraphernalia of
Sevres china and chrystal; Psyche glasses, in frames of ivory and gold;
beds of rosewood, inlaid with ivory, and canopied with gold and silver,
were among the decorations. But should the reader seek to ascend still
higher—the upper rooms—the servants’ apartments, uncarpeted,
unfurnished, destitute of all the comforts which are as necessary to
domestics as to their superiors, would have been found to afford a
striking contrast to the splendors of those parts of the mansion which
were intended for display.
With all his good sense, Charles Waterton was yet weak enough to indulge
a feeling of exultation as he looked round his magnificent house, and
felt himself “master of all he surveyed.” His thoughts went back to the
time when the death of his father had plunged the family almost into
destitution—when his mother had been aided to open a little shop, of
which he was chief clerk, until the kindness of his old uncle had
procured for him a situation in a wholesale store, which had finally
enabled him to reach his present eminence. He remembered how often he
had stood behind a little counter to sell a penny ball of thread or a
piece of tape—how often he had been snubbed and scolded at when subject
to the authority of a purse-proud employer—and, in spite of his better
reason, Charles felt proud and triumphant. His self-satisfaction was
somewhat diminished, however, by the sight of a bill drawn upon him by
his brother-in-law in Paris, for the sums due on this great display of
elegance. Ten thousand dollars—one third of his wife’s fortune—just
sufficed to _furnish_ their new house. Thus seven hundred dollars was
cut off from their annual income, to be consumed in the wear and tear of
their costly gew-gaws; another thousand was devoted to the payment of
interest on the mortgage which remained on his house; so that, at the
very outset of his career, Charles found himself, notwithstanding his
wife’s estate, reduced to the “_paltry two thousand a year_,” which he
derived from his business. But he had too much false pride to confess
the truth to his wife, and at once to alter their style of living. Each
had been deceived in their estimate of the other’s wealth. Laura’s
income had been large enough, while she remained single, to allow her
indulgence in every whim, and Charles, ambitious of the reputation of a
man of fashion, after slaving all the morning in his office, had been in
the habit of driving fast trotting horses, or sporting a tilbury and
tiger in Broadway, every afternoon, spending every cent of his income,
and giving rise to the belief among the young men that he was very rich,
while the old merchants only looked upon him as very imprudent. They
were now to learn that their combined fortunes would not support the
extravagancies of a household, but Laura, accustomed to the command of
money from childhood, knew not its value, because she had never known
its want, and her husband shrunk from the duty of enlightening her on
the subject, by informing her of their real situation.
By the time the arrangements of their house were completed, and had been
admired, envied and sneered at by her “dear five thousand friends,” the
season arrived for Mrs. Waterton’s usual visit to Saratoga. Her husband
of course accompanied her, though with rather a heavy heart, for he knew
that only by close attention to business he could hope to provide the
necessary funds for all such expenditures, although he had not
sufficient moral courage to confess that he was so closely chained to
the galley of commerce. The usual round of gayety was traversed—the
summer was spent in lounging at different watering places—and the
autumn found them returning, heartily wearied, to their splendid home.
With the assistance of some kind _suggestors_, Mrs. Waterton now planned
a series of entertainments for the coming winter, and Charles listened
with ill-dissembled anxiety to the schemes for balls, parties, soirees,
musical festivals and suppers. There was but one way to support all
this. Charles determined to extend his business, and instead of
confining himself to a regular cash trade, he resolved to follow the
example of his neighbors, and engage in speculation. Accordingly, he
sold his wife’s stock in several moneyed institutions, and, investing
the proceeds in merchandise, commenced making money on a grander scale.
This was in the beginning of the year ’36, and every one knows the
excitement of that momentous season; a season not soon to be forgotten
by the bankrupt merchants, the distressed wives and the beggared
children who can date their misfortunes from the temporary inflation of
the credit system, by which that fatal year was characterized. Mr.
Waterton’s books soon showed an immense increase of business, and, upon
the most moderate calculation, his profits could scarcely be less than
from eight to ten thousand dollars within six months. This was doing
pretty well for a man who had formerly been content with a “paltry two
thousand a year,” but as avarice, like jealousy, “grows by what it feeds
on,” Charles began to think he might as well make money in more ways
than one. He therefore began to buy real estate, and _pine lands_ in
Maine, _wild tracts_ in Indiana, _town lots_ in Illinois, together with
the thousand schemes which then filled the heads of the sanguine and the
pockets of the cunning, claimed his attention and obtained his money;
while, at the same time, the fashionable society of New York were in
raptures with Mrs. Waterton’s splendid parties, her costly equipage, and
her magnificent style of dress.
“Have you counted the cost of all these things, Charles?” said his old
uncle, as he entered the house one morning, and beheld the disarray
consequent upon a large party the previous night.
“Yes, uncle, I think I have,” said Charles, smiling, as he sipped his
coffee, at the old man’s simplicity. “The fellows who manage these
affairs soon compel us to count the cost, for when I came down this
morning, I found on the breakfast table this bill for nine hundred and
fifty-four dollars.”
“Nine hundred dollars, Charles! You don’t mean to say that your party
last night cost that sum?”
“I do, my dear sir, and considering that the bill includes every thing
but the wines, I do not consider it an exorbitant one; however, the
elegant colored gentleman who takes all this trouble for me does not
charge me quite so much as he would if I employed him less frequently.”
The old man looked round and sighed. The apartments were in sad
disorder, for the servants, overcome by the fatigues of the previous
day, had followed the example of their master, and stolen from the
morning the sleep they had been denied at night. A bottle lay shivered
in one corner of the supper room, the champaigne with which it had been
filled soaking into the rich carpet—a piece of plum-cake had been
crushed by some heedless foot into the snow-white rug which lay before
the drawing-room fire—the sweeping draperies of one of the curtains was
still dripping with something which bore a marvellous resemblance to
melted ice cream, and the whole suite of apartments wore that air of
desolation which usually characterizes a “banquet hall deserted.”
“Do you calculate the destruction of furniture in counting the cost of
your parties, Charles?” asked Mr. Waterton.
“Oh no—that of course is expected; furniture, you know, becomes
old-fashioned and requires to be renewed about every three years, and
therefore one may as well have the use of it while it is new.”
“You must have a vast addition to your fortune if you expect to pay for
all these things.”
“My dear sir,” replied the nephew, with a most benignant smile at his
uncle’s superlative ignorance of his affairs, “my dear sir, you do not
seem to know that, in the course of about three years, I shall be one of
the richest men in New York.”
“Do you sell on credit?” asked the old man, significantly.
“Certainly; everybody does so now.”
“Well, then, my boy, take an old man’s advice, and don’t count your
chickens before they are hatched; don’t live on ten thousand a year when
that sum exists only in your ledger. Call in your debts, and when your
customers have _paid_, then tell me how _much_ you have _gained_.”
“My dear uncle, you are quite obsolete in your notions. I wish I could
induce you to enter with me into a new scheme; it would make your
fortune.”
“I am content with my present condition, Charles; my salary of eight
hundred a year is quite sufficient for the wants of a bachelor, and
leaves me a little for the wants of others; nor would I sacrifice my
peace of mind and quiet of conscience for all the fortunes that will
ever be made by speculation.”
“It is not necessary to sacrifice either peace or principle in making a
fortune, uncle.”
“You have not seen the end yet, my dear boy; I have lived long enough to
behold several kinds of _speculative mania_, and all terminated in a
similarly unfortunate manner. It is a spirit of gambling which is
abroad, and I am old-fashioned enough to believe that money thus
obtained never does good to any one. It is like the price of a soul: the
devil is sure to cheat the unhappy bargainer.”
“How I hate to hear people talk about business,” lisped Mrs. Waterton,
as she sat listlessly in her loose wrapping-gown at the breakfast table;
“I think no one ought to mention the word before ladies.”
The old man looked at her with ill-disguised contempt.
“It will be well for you, young lady,” said he, “if you never have to
learn the necessity of a knowledge of business.”
Laura put up her pretty lip, but was silent, for she was much too
indolent, and rather too well bred, to get angry.
Charles Waterton had given his uncle what he believed to be an accurate
view of his circumstances. Excited beyond the bounds of sober sense by
his seeming success, he was as sanguine a dupe as ever bled beneath the
leech-craft of speculation. His real estate, which he _very moderately_
estimated at _quintuple_ its cost, formed, _at such prices_, an immense
fortune. His book debts were enormous, for his money was scattered east,
west, north and south, and in consequence of giving long credits, he was
enabled to obtain exorbitant profits. But the Eldorado whose boundaries
seemed so accurately defined on paper, became exceedingly indistinct as
he fancied himself about to approach its shores. The following year
began to afford tokens of coming trouble. Credit was still good, but
money had entirely disappeared from the community, and men who had
learned to make notes in order to _acquire fortunes_, were now obliged
to continue their manufacture in order to _avoid ruin_. Rumors of
approaching distress arose in the money market; men began to look with
distrust upon their fellows, and as unlimited confidence in each other
had been the foundation of the towering edifice of unstable prosperity,
the moment that was shaken, the whole structure fell crumbling to the
earth. As soon as doubt arose, destruction was at hand, and at length
one wild crash of almost universal bankruptcy startled the dreamers from
their golden visions.
* * * * *
One fine morning in the spring of 1838, the doors of one of the most
stately houses in —— street, were thrown open to the public, and the
auctioneer’s flag waving from the window gave a general invitation to
every passer by. That ominous red flag! no less significant of evil than
the black banner of the rover of the seas; for it is ever the signal of
the disruption of household ties. That ominous red flag! sometimes
betokening the instability of fortune—sometimes the work of
death—sometimes telling of blighted fortunes—sometimes of broken
hearts, but _always_ of discomfort and disquiet. And yet few things will
so readily collect a concourse of people as that scarlet harbinger of
destruction. There may be found the regular auction-haunters, men of
idleness, bachelors, perhaps, glad to find an hour or two killed beneath
the auctioneer’s hammer—single ladies of small fortunes, who have
nothing to do for themselves, and have not yet learned the luxury of
doing something for their neighbors—notable housewives, actuated by a
sense of duty and a love of economy, who waste _nothing but time_ in
their hunt after bargains—young ladies who come to see how such persons
furnished their houses—and perhaps some would-be connoisseur in search
of old pictures, which, if they have only hung long enough over a smoky
fire-place, may be classed with the works of the old masters. On the
morning in question, however, unusual attractions were offered to the
visiters of such places, for it was the abode of wealth, and luxury, and
taste which was thus desecrated—the mansion of the Watertons! The rich
carpets were disfigured by many a dirty footstep,—the velvet couches
bore the impress of many a soiling touch, and many a rude hand was laid
upon the delicate and costly toys which had once been the admiration of
the fashionable visitants of the family. Among the crowd were two of
that _numerous tribe_ found in the very midst of fashionable life, who
have learned the trick of combining meanness and extravagance—women who
will spend hundreds upon a shawl, and at the same time beat down the
wages of a poor sempstress until she is almost compelled to purchase
with life itself the bread which ought to sustain life. Such were the
two who now seated themselves in the drawing-room of the ruined family,
in order to be in the _right place_ when certain articles were put up
for sale.
“I want nothing here,” said one, with a half scornful air, “except those
mosaic tables; the carpets and curtains are ruined by carelessness, and
no wonder, for Mrs. Waterton was a wretched house-keeper.”
“And I only mean to buy that workbox,” said the other; “Mrs. Waterton
told me it cost a thousand francs in Paris, and I am sure it will not
sell for one fourth its cost.”
“By the way, have you seen her since her husband’s failure?”
“Oh no, I shouldn’t think of calling upon her when in so much distress;
besides, I am told she has refused to see any one. Did you hear how she
behaved when she heard of Mr. Waterton’s reverses?”
“No, I know nothing about her since she gave her last grand party, which
was followed in a few days by his bankruptcy.”
“Why I was told she raved like a mad woman, reproached her husband in
the vilest terms for thus reducing her to poverty, taunted him with his
low origin, and accused him of the basest deception.”
“I can easily believe it, for these mild, placid milk-and-water women
have got the temper of demons when once aroused.”
“I have not told you all yet; she refused to give up her jewels, which
were known to be of great value, and having secretly employed a person
to dispose of them for her, she took passage for France, and actually
set sail a few days since; merely informing her husband _by letter_ that
such was her purpose. This letter she placed in such hands that she knew
he would not receive it until the vessel was underweigh, and he thus
learned that she had deserted him forever. She pretends to have gone to
join her sister; but there is a whisper of a certain black-whiskered
foreigner who is the companion of her voyage. At any rate, whether he
goes with her or not, he is a fellow passenger.”
“Where is Mr. Waterton?”
“At the house of his old uncle, who will probably be obliged to transfer
him to a lunatic asylum before long; but hush, the auctioneer is
coming.”