The suspension of specie payments brought instant relief to all really
solvent mercantile houses; since those who had valuable assets of any
kind could now obtain discounts sufficient to enable them to meet their
liabilities. Among those who were at once relieved was the house of
Lindsay and Company; they resumed payment and recommenced business.
Mr. Lindsay lost no time in finding his clerk Monroe, and reinstated him
with an increased salary. Great was the sorrow in the ragged school at
the loss of the teacher; and it was with some regret that he abandoned
the place. He felt no especial vocation to the career of a missionary;
but his duties had become less irksome than at the beginning, if not
absolutely pleasant. His own position, however, was such that he could
not afford to continue in his self-denying occupation. Easelmann was one
of the first to congratulate him upon his improved prospects.
"Don't you feel sorry, my dear fellow? Now you get upon your treadmill
of business, and you must keep going, or break your legs. Think, too,
of the jolly little rascals you have left! The beggars are the only
aristocracy we have,--the only people who enjoy their _dolce far
niente_. Look on the Common: who are there amusing themselves on a fine
day, unless it be your Duke Do-nothing, Earl Out-at-elbows, Duchess
Draggle-tail, and others of that happy class? Meanwhile your Lawrences,
Eliots, and the 'Merchant Princes' (a satirical dog that invented the
title!) are going about with sharpened faces, looking as though they
weren't sure of a dinner. Oh, business is a great matter, to be sure!
but the idlers, artists, poets, and other lazzaroni, are the only people
that enjoy life."
Monroe smiled, and only replied,--
"Think of my mother! I must do something besides enjoying life, as you
call it: I must earn the means of making it enjoyable."
"You were always a good boy," replied his friend, benignantly. "So go to
work; but don't forget to walk out of town now and then; in which case,
I hope you won't disdain the company of _one_ of the idlers."
* * * * *
The "mother" was full of joy; her melancholy nervousness almost wholly
forsook her. She looked proudly upon her "dear boy," thinking him the
best, most considerate, faithful, and affectionate of sons,--as he was.
Walter, after listening to her benedictions, told her he had an
invitation from Mr. Lindsay to dine the next day, and begged her to go
with him; but the habit of inaction, the dread of bustle and motion,
were too strong to be overcome. She could not be persuaded to leave
home.
"But go, by all means, Walter," she added. "It will be pleasant to be
on such terms with your employer. I must keep watch of you, though, now
that Alice is gone. Are there young ladies at the house?"
"Why, mother, how jealous you are! Do you think I go about falling
in love with all the young ladies I see? Mr. Lindsay has a beautiful
daughter; but do you think a poor clerk is likely to be regarded as
'eligible' by a family accustomed to wealth and luxury?"
The mother looked as though she thought her son a match for the richest
and proudest; she said nothing, but patted his head as though he were
still only a boy.
"Speaking of Alice, mother, I am very much concerned about her. Now that
I am reëstablished, I shall make every exertion to find her and bring
her home to live with us. Mr. Greenleaf, I know, is looking for her;
very little good it will do him, if he finds her."
"But we shall hear from him, I presume?"
"I think so. He is intimate with my friend Mr. Easelmann.--But, mother,
I have some more good news. I shall get our property back. Lawyers say
that Mr. Tonsor will be obliged to give up the notes, and look to the
estate of Sandford for the money he lent. And the notes, fortunately,
are as valuable as ever, in spite of all the multitude of failures; one
name, at least, on each note is good."
"Everything comes back, like Job's prosperity. This repays us for all
our anxiety."
"If Alice had not run away!"
"But we shall have her again,--poor motherless child!"
So with mutual gratulations they passed the evening. My readers who now
enjoy a mother's love, or look back with affectionate reverence to such
scenes in the past, will pardon these apparently unimportant portions
of the story. Sooner or later all will learn that no worldly success
whatever, no friendships, not even the absorbing love of wife and
children, can afford a pleasure so full, so serene, as the sacred
feeling which rises at the recollection of a mother's self-sacrificing
affection.
Very commonplace, no doubt,--but still worth an occasional thought. As
for those who demand that natural and simple feelings shall be ignored,
and that every chapter shall record something not less startling than
murder or treason, are there not already means for gratifying their
tastes? Do not the "Torpedo" and the "Blessing of the Boudoir" give
enough of these delicate condiments with the intellectual viands they
furnish? Let old-fashioned people enjoy their plain dishes in peace.