Unknown - "Human Genome Project, Chromosome 3"

Charles Sainte Foi - "Serious Hours of a Young Lady"

Leo Tolstoy/Lyof N. Tolstoi - "On the Significance of Science and Art"

Twm o'r Nant (Thomas Edwards) - "The Works of Twm o'r Nant, Volume II"

Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad

J >> John S. Adams >> Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad



CONTENTS.





SAVED BY KINDNESS
THE LOVE OF ELINORE
'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED
I CALL THEE MINE
THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON
VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND
THE BEACON LIGHT
BEAR UP
A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING
THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN
THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO
DETERMINED TO BE RICH
THE HEAVEN-SENT, HEAVEN-RETURNED
FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS
FORGET ME NOT
WHAT IS TRUTH
THE HOMESTEAD VISIT
THE MARINER'S SONG
LOVE'S LAST WORDS
LIGHT IN DARKNESS
MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON
FREEDOM'S GATHERING
SONG OF THE BIRD
I CHANGE BUT IN DYING
HE IS THY BROTHER
THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK
ANGELINA
FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND
UNLEARNED TO LOVE
WHAT WAS IT?
LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING
A VISION OF REALITY
JEWELS OF THE HEART
LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND
POOR AND WEARY
THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT
NEW ENGLAND HOMES
LOVE THAT WANES NOT.
ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY
A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG
THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE
THE ADVENT OF HOPE
CHILD AND SIRE
A BROTHER'S WELCOME
THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION
A VISION OF HEAVEN
THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET
SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE
THE FUGITIVES
THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE
THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN
SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL
A SONG FROM THE ABSENT
TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME
TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN
THE SUMMER SHOWER
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON
TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET
TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN
I DREAMED OF THEE LAST NIGHT, LOVE
THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS
MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT
BETTER THAN GOLD
GONE AWAY
LINES TO MY MIFE
CHEER UP
TRUST THOU IN GOD
THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW
GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS
THE MISSION OF KINDNESS
A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN
JOY BEYOND
THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING
THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING
PRIDE AND POVERTY
WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART
OUR HOME
SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE
RETROSPECTION
NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER
THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP
WEEP NOT
RICH AND POOR
THE HOMEWARD BOUND
THE POOR OF EARTH
IF I DON'T OTHERS WILL
NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR
HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT
MORNING BEAUTY
THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS
BRIDAL SONGS
THE JUG AFLOAT
GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY
THE SPIRIT OF MAN
PAUSE AND THINK
LITTLE NELLY
WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON
REUNION
THE VILLAGE MYSTERY
THE WAYSIDE DEATH
BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE
NIGHT
NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED
THE DISINHERITED
THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL
SPRING
A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME
NOW CLOSE THE BOOK






TOWN AND COUNTRY.

SAVED BY KINDNESS.

A kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones.





CHAPTER I.




"THEN you are here!" said a stern, gruff voice, addressing a pale,
sickly-looking youth, whose frame trembled and whose lip quivered as
he approached one who sat at the side of a low pine table;--it was
his master, a man of about forty, of athletic form, and of power
sufficient to crush the feeble youth.

"Well," he continued, "if you are sure that you gave it to him, go
to bed; but mind you, whisper-breathe not the secret to a living
soul, on peril of your life! You may evade my grasp, but like blood
I will track you through life, and add a bitter to your every cup of
sweet."

The lad had no sooner left the room than a man entered, whose
carelessly arranged apparel and excited appearance indicated that
something of vast importance-at least, as far as he was
concerned-burthened his mind.

"Harry," he said, throwing himself upon a chair, "I fear we are
betrayed-discovered--completely used up."

"Discovered!" shouted the person addressed. "How? where? why?"

"It is so, friend Harry. The boy you sent made a sad error."

"Then murder the boy!" and, clutching a dagger, he motioned to leave
the room, and would have done so to plunge it in the bosom of the
lad, had not his informant interfered, and thus prevented him from
executing so rash and cruel an act.

"What!-I will-will do it!" he shouted, endeavoring to release
himself from the hands of the other.

"Never!" was the bold, unwavering response. "Move a step, and death
shall be thy doom. Seest thou that?" and the speaker drew from his
bosom a richly-mounted pistol.

"Doubtless thou art right," said Harry, in a more calm manner; "the
excitement of the moment urged me to desperation, and, if any but
you had arisen in my path, the glistening steel should have met his
heart. But, Bill, how,--I am confused, my eyes swim,--tell me, how are
we discovered? Must the last act in the great drama of our
fortune-making be crushed in the bud?-and who dare do it?"

"If you will restrain your indignation, I will tell you."

"A hard task, yet I will try."

"That answer will not do; you must say something more positive."

"Then I say, I will."

"Enough,--the boy Sim handed the note to the kitchen-girl."

"But, Bill, think you she suspected its contents?"

"That I cannot say, but she is inquisitive, and has been known to
unseal letters committed to her care, by some ingenious way she has
invented. She looked uncommonly wise when she handed it to me and
said, 'Mr. Bang, that's of no small importance to you.'"

"The deuce she did! I fear she deserves the halter," said Harry.

"What, with the h off?"

"No, there is too much Caudleism in her to make her worthy of that;
but this is no time for our jokes. Your suspicions are too true; but
how shall we act? what plans shall we adopt?"

"None, Harry, but this;--we must act as though we were the most
honest men on earth, and act not as though we suspected any of
suspecting us."

"O, yes, I understand you, Bill; we must not suspect anything wrong
in her."

"That's it," answered Bill, and, plunging his hand into his pocket,
he drew from thence a small scrap of greasy, pocket-worn paper, and
read a few words in a low whisper to his friend Harry. A nod from
the latter signified his approval. He returned the mysterious
memorandum to his pocket, and planting upon his head a poor, very
poor apology for a hat, swung his body round a few times on his
heel, and leaving the house; pushed open a small wicket-gate, and
entered the street. He hurriedly trudged along, heaping silent
curses upon the head of Harry's boy, the kitchen-girl, and sundry
other feminine and masculine members of the human family not yet
introduced to the reader.

Bold Bill gone, Harry sat for some considerable length of time
ruminating upon the strange turn affairs had taken, and indulging in
vague speculations upon whether the next would be as unfavorable;
and at this point of our story we will divulge somewhat of his
history.

Henry Lang had been in years past a man well-to-do in the world; he
was once a merchant respected for his strict integrity and
punctuality in business affairs; but by a false step, a making haste
to be rich, he was ruined. The great land speculation of '37 and
thereabout was the chief, and in fact the only cause of his
misfortune. On one day he could boast of his thousands, and no paper
held better credit than that signed or endorsed by him. The next,
the bubble broke, his fortune was scattered, his riches took to
themselves wings and flew away, his creditors, like vultures,
flocked around and speedily devoured what little remained of his
once large possessions. He was a man easily affected by such
occurrences, and they deeply wounded his sensitive feelings. What
should he do? He looked around upon those who once professedly loved
him; but no hand was extended, no heart sympathized with him in the
hour of trouble. He left his country, and with it a wife and one
child, a daughter, lovely, if not in personal appearance, in highly
virtuous and intellectual qualities, which, after all, will be
admitted to be of more value than that which time withers and
sickness destroys.

With a sad heart Mr. Lang left these and the spot of earth around
which many fond recollections clustered. After twenty months of
tedious wanderings, he returned, but he was a changed man; his
ambitious spirit had been crushed, all his hopes: had departed, and
he gave himself up to the fanciful freaks of a disordered mind.
Defeated in his honest endeavors to obtain a livelihood, he was now
seeking out dishonest ways and means to retrieve his fallen fortune.
He sought for those of a kindred spirit, nor was he long in finding
such; in a short time he became acquainted, and soon after
connected, with a gang of adventurous men, about six in number, who
by various fraudulent means were each amassing much wealth.

"And he deserted me in this my time of need! Can it be true that he
has gone? For him I would willingly have endured any privation. Did
he not know that my love was strong? Could he not believe me when I
said, that, as I joyed with him in his prosperity, I would mourn
with him in its reverse?-that I could ever be near to comfort and
console,--one with him at all times, under all circumstances?"

"Comfort yourself, dear mother!" said a calm voice, "Remember that
these trials are for our good, and that the sorrows of earth are but
to prepare us for the joys of heaven. Cheer up, mother! let those
thoughts rejoice thy heart! Despair not, but take courage!"

With such words did the daughter administer consolation to the
afflicted, when hearing that her husband had forsaken her and sailed
for a foreign port. It was indeed a heavy blow, and she felt it
severely. She could have endured the thought of having all her
earthly possessions taken from her,--but to be deserted, to be left
at such a time dependent upon the charities of the world for a
subsistence, such a thought she was not prepared to withstand.

The few words of Julia having been said, a deep silence for some
moments pervaded the room. She sat and gazed up into the face of her
mother, whose tears bore witness to the deep anguish of her soul.
The silence was interrupted by the rising of the latter, who for a
few moments paced the room, and then sank helplessly into a chair.
The attentive child sprang to her relief, a few neighbors were
called in, she was laid upon her bed. That night a severe attack of
fever came upon her; for many days her life was despaired of; but at
length a ray of hope cheered the solitude of the chamber of the
sick, and at the close of six weeks her health was in a great degree
restored.

"Time heals all wounds," is a common saying, true in some cases, but
not in all. Some wounds there are that sink deep in the heart,--their
pain even time cannot remedy, but stretch far into eternity, and
find their solace there. Others there are which by time are
partially healed;--such was that of Mrs. Lang. During her sickness,
many of the little incidents that before had troubled her passed
from her mind. She now yielded submissively to her sad allotment,
believing, as during her sickness she had often been told, that
afflictions come but for our own good, however paradoxical such a
statement might seem to be.

The kindness of a neighbor enabled her, with her daughter, to remove
their place of residence. This neighbor-a lady of moderate pecuniary
circumstances-furnished them with needle-work, the compensation for
which enabled them to obtain supplies necessary for a comfortable
living.





CHAPTER II.




For some time Mr. Henry Lang sat with his head resting upon his
hands, and with them upon the table. Deep silence prevailed, broken
only, at lengthy intervals, by the loud laugh following the merry
jest of some passer-by, or the dismal creaking of the swing-sign of
an adjacent tavern.

How long Mr. Lang might have remained in that position is not for us
to determine. But it would have been much longer, had not a loud rap
at the outer door awakened him from his drowsy condition.

He started at the sound, and, taking in his hand a dim-burning
candle, proceeded to answer the call. Opening the door, a man
closely enveloped in a large cloak and seal-skin cap, the last of
which hung slouchingly about his head and face, inquired, in a
gruff, ill-mannered voice, whether a person unfavorably known to the
police as "Bold Bill" had been there. Harry trembled, knowing his
interrogator to be one of the city watch; yet he endeavored to
conceal his fears and embarrassment by a forced smile, and remarked:

"That is indeed a strange name, and one of which I have never before
heard. Tell me what he has been about."

"Why do you think he has been about anything, or why think you I am
acquainted with his actions?" inquired the stranger, in a stern
voice, as though the supreme majesty of the law represented by him
was not to be spoken lightly of. His scrutinizing features relaxed
not in the least, but he looked our hero steadfastly in the face.

"By the appearance of your dress I judge you to be a watchman, and
as such I suppose you to be in search of that odd-named person on
account of his being suspected of having broken the law."

"You are right," answered the officer. "I am a watchman! The
authority invested in me is great. I trust I duly appreciate it. I
guard your dwelling when you are slumbering, unconscious of what
takes place around you."

"You are very kind," remarked Harry, suddenly interrupting him, and
speaking rather ironically than otherwise.

The watchman continued: "Life is to me nothing unless I can employ
it in doing good. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly."

"Will you walk in?" inquired Mr. Lang, as a sudden gust of wind
nearly extinguished his light.

"No, I thank you; that would be of no service to my fellow-men; and,
as I am in search of the man who committed the robbery, ten minutes
ago, upon Mr. Solomon Cash, the broker, I must-"

"Robbery!" exclaimed Harry, appearing perfectly astonished at the
thought. "O, the degeneracy of the nineteenth century,--the
sinfulness of the age!"

"Amen!" responded the officer; and, pulling his large, loose cloak
more closely about him, he made a motion to continue on in the
service of his fellow-men.

"But wait, my good man," said Harry. "Am I to suppose, from what you
said, that 'Bold Bill' is the perpetrator of this base crime?"

"Precisely so," was the laconic reply; and the man moved on in
execution of his benevolent designs.

"He should be brought to justice," said Harry, as he turned to
enter. No sooner, however, had he closed the door, than he burst
forth in a loud laugh. This was soon changed to seriousness, for he
became confident that his friend Bill was in danger. To shield him,
if guilty, from detection, and protect him, if innocent, was now his
great object. But where should he find him? That was a problem he
could not solve. The boy was sleeping soundly; he must awaken him,
he must go out in search of his friend.

With this intention, he dressed himself in a stout, heavy overcoat,
and, locking the door hurriedly, walked up the street. On he went,
as though his life depended upon whether he reached a certain square
at a certain time. He looked at nothing save some far-distant
object, from which, as it approached, he withdrew his eyes, and
fixed them on an object yet distant. Turning a corner, a collision
took place between him and another man, who appeared to be in as
much haste as himself. He was about to proceed, when he who had met
him so abruptly struck him very familiarly upon the shoulder,
saying, as he did so, "Harry, how are you?-good luck-tin-lots of
it-watch-haste."

The person thus addressed was not long in discovering who it was
that spoke to him, and from his words and actions that he had reason
to be in some haste. It was he for whom he was in search; and, being
aware that the nature of the case demanded despatch, he cordially
grasped his hand, and, without another word between them, they in a
short time reached the dwelling of Mr. Lang.

"What are the facts now?" inquired Harry, after having narrated the
incident that had occurred since he left, namely, the watchman's
visit.

"Then you think there is no danger in my staying here?" inquired
Bill.

"Not in the least," replied Harry; "for I positively asserted that
you was not here, and strongly intimated that I knew no person of
your name. Danger! there is none; so proceed, friend Bill,--but a
little wine."

Wine is an indispensable with all rogues; it nerves to lawlessness,
and induces them, when under its influence, to commit acts which in
their sober moments they would scorn to perform.

The wine-glass emptied, Bill proceeded in his narrative.

"When I left here, I started intending in a direct course to go
home. Musingly I walked along, cursing my fate, and several other
things, too numerous to mention, and speculating upon the probable
success of our scheme, till I arrived in front of the old broker's.
He was just putting up his iron-clamped shutters. I was on the
opposite side, at some distance, yet not so far but that I plainly
saw him enter and pack snugly away in his little black trunk divers
articles of apparently great worth. I carelessly jingled the last
change in my pocket, of value about a dollar or so; and the thought
of soon being minus cash nerved me to the determination of robbing
the broker. Thus resolved, I hid myself behind a pile of boxes that
seemed placed there on purpose, till I heard the bolt spring, and
saw the broker, with the trunk beneath his arm, walk away. As he
entered that dark passage, 'Fogg-lane,' I pulled my cap down over my
face, and dogged him, keeping the middle of the passage; and, seeing
a favorable opportunity, I sprang upon him from behind, and snatched
the box; then left him to his fate.

"I ran off as fast as my legs, urged on by the cry of 'stop thief,'
would carry me. Notwithstanding the speed at which I ran, I found
the crowd bearing down upon me; and, my hope almost failing, I had
resolved to give in and suffer the consequences, when, seeing a dark
lane, I ran into it, then dodged behind a pump. The crowd ran on; I
found I had escaped. Now, Harry, a friendly shake in honor of my
good luck."

"As you say," answered Harry, "and it is my humble opinion you are
not entirely free from change."

"Really, Harry, I don't know what the box contains; however, 't is
confounded heavy. It is full of gold or iron."

"My face for a scrubber, if small change is n't pretty much the
contents; the fourpences and dimes lie pretty near together, friend
Bill." "But," continued Harry, "'t is best to secrete yourself, box
and all, till the law dogs are silenced. If they come here, I will
throw them a bone; but hark!-"

The two remained silent; for the sound of approaching footsteps
momentarily grew more distinct. It sounded nearer, and now was in
front of the door.

"To the closet," whispered Harry; and in a moment Mr. Lang was the
only occupant of the room. He was right in his supposition; for the
door opened; and the same man, in the same cloak, with the same
consequential air, accompanied by others, entered abruptly, and
interrogated Harry rather closely. "Positively, I know nothing about
him," said Mr. Lang. This declaration seemed to have a wonderful
effect upon each of the officers. They gazed steadfastly at him,
then at each other, and their features indicated their belief in
what he said.

"Benevolent as I am," said the officer, "I must require a strict
search;--not that we suspect him to be on your premises, noble sir,
but my duty demands it."

The officer, having thus far declared what he thought to be his
duty, proceeded to its performance by pushing open the doors through
which egress could be had to the street, and all others. As chance
would have it, the right door was by them unobserved. But where was
the fugitive? He had been hurried into a closet. It was not after
the manner of most closets. It was about three feet square, at one
side of which was a door communicating with the cellar, through
which any person might pass, and from thence into the street. He
could not stand long and listen to the loud converse of those
without. He felt himself in danger if he remained, and determined
upon leaving the closet. So, having passed into the cellar, he
entered the street.

The night was dark; the hour late, and no persons stirring. Softly
he crept beneath the window, and, perceiving none in the room but
Harry, softly tapped the glass. Mr. Lang raised his arm, by which
signal Bill understood that he was aware of his having left the
closet. Then through back lanes, seldom pedestrianated, and narrow
passages, he wended his way, with his stolen treasure closely held
beneath the loose folds of his jacket. He passed on, till, reaching
a dark street, he beheld a dim light in a low oyster-cellar; he
entered. A black fellow was the proprietor, cook, &c. Bill asked for
lodgings.

"Well, massa, dem I 'ave; but I always take pay in advance from
gemmen."

Bill asked the price.

"Wall, 'tis fourpance on a chest, and threepance on de floor."

Mr. Bang availed himself of the best accommodations, and accepted
the chest. He stretched himself upon it, having settled the bill,
but slept little. His mind was continually roaming. Now he imagined
himself in the closet, with scarcely room to breathe, and an
officer's hand on the latch; now groping along untraversed paths,
till, falling into some hole, he awoke from his revery.

'T was near the dawn of day when, from his house, accompanied by the
boy, Mr. Lang passed out in search of Bill. A light rain was
falling, and in perspective he saw a dull, drizzly sort of a day,--a
bad air for a low-spirited individual. The "blues" are contagious on
such a day. Yet he strove to keep his spirits up, and to make the
best of a bad job.

As he passed by the office of the broker, he perceived a crowd, and
many anxious inquiries were heard respecting the robbery. It
appeared the broker had received but little injury, and was as busy
as any one in endeavoring to find out the rogue. Harry put on as
bold a face as possible, and inquired of the broker the
circumstances, which he very minutely narrated.

"Have you any suspicions of any one?" inquired Mr. Lang.

"Of no one," was the brief response.

"It would be very sad if the rascal could not be found," continued
Mr. Lang. "The gallows is too good for one who would make such a
cowardly attack, and treat with such baseness one who never harmed
his fellow."

"I am of your opinion," answered the broker; and the two, having
thus fully expressed their opinion, parted.

Mr. Lang was not much troubled in finding his companion. He entered
the cellar just as the latter had arisen from his chesty couch, and
a cordial grasp of the hand bore witness that friends had met.

Both were aware that the place in which they were was not of very
good repute, and made all possible haste to remove. But, to effect
this successfully, it was necessary that Mr. Lang should have a
change of dress.

He was making this change when half a dozen men unexpectedly
entered. "You are my prisoner," said one, catching hold of Mr. Lang
by the coat-collar. "Tropes, secure the other."

They were now both in custody, and the officers, after a little
search, discovered the broken box, and arrested the black man.

"For what am I arrested?" inquired Mr. Lang.

"That you will soon know," was the reply.

"But I demand an answer now. I will not move a step till I get it."

"What! what's that?" said a stout, rough-looking man, striking the
prisoner, and treating him more like a dog than what he was.

"I demand an answer to my inquiry. For what am I arrested?"

"He's a dangerous man," remarked another of the officers; "it's best
to put him in irons;" whereupon he drew from a capacious pocket a
pair of rusty manacles. Mr. Lang, and his two fellows in trouble,
found it best to coolly submit, and did so. Five minutes passed, and
the cold walls of a prison enclosed them.





CHAPTER III.




Daylight breaks, and the dwellers upon a thousand hills rejoice in
the first rays of the morning sun.

"Didst thou ever hear that promise, 'God will provide'? inquired a
pale, yet beautiful girl, as she bent over the form of a feverish
woman, in a small, yet neatly-furnished room.

"Yes," was the reply; "and he who allows not a sparrow to fall
unnoticed, shall he not much more care for us? Yes, Julia, God will
provide. My soul, trust thou in God!"

It was Mrs. Lang. The good lady who had befriended her was suddenly
taken ill, and as suddenly died. Mrs. Lang, with her daughter, left
the house, and, hiring a small room at an exorbitant rent,
endeavored, by the use of her needle, to live. She labored hard; the
morning's first light found her at her task, and midnight's silent
hour often found her there. The daughter too was there; together
they labored, and together shared the joys and sorrows of a worse
than widowed and orphaned state. Naturally of a feeble constitution,
Mrs. Lang could not long bear up under that labor, and fell. Then
that daughter was as a ministering angel, attending and watching
over her, and anticipating her every want. Long was she obliged to
labor to provide the necessaries of life; often working hard, and
receiving but ten to fifteen cents a day for that which, if paid for
as it should be, would have brought her a dollar. It was after
receiving her small pittance and having returned to her home, that
the words at the commencement of this chapter fell from her lips.
Her mother, with deep solicitude, inquired her success.

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