[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

“Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible.”

“Nature, with a beauteous wall, dothoft enclose pollution.”

“— thou hast a mind
That suits with this thy fair and outward character.”

“For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich.”

“Good alone, is good, without a name.”

“Too fond of the right, to pursue the expedient.”

“For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside.”

“He that loves to be flattered, is worthy of the flatterer.”

It is a saying as true as homely, that “time and tide wait
for no man.”

The first month of the year 1812 had commenced, and the
tide of events connected with our hero, Zebediah Spiffard,
swept on, ebbing to the ocean of eternity.

The season of merry Christmas had arrived and was gone.
It had passed as usual. Some of the decendants of Englishmen,
feasted on roast beef and plumb-pudding, on the day; but
most substituted roast turkeys and mince-pies. Others, again,
frowned on the remains of popery, abhorred the word “mass,”
and strictly prohibited the festival. But the seventh day after,
festivity more unanimously prevailed. On the first day of the

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

new-year, all who could, joined in jollity. It was then, as now,
the universal holiday, the day for making visits and presents.
“Santiclaus” bestowed his favours on good children, and
ladies their smiles on favoured admirers. The new-year's
cookey, and the cherry-brandy, (especially the latter,) were
more in demand than now. It was the time for visiting, shaking
hands, renewing old acquaintances, strengthening friendships,
and, in many instances, it was the day of cordial forgiveness,
for real or supposed slights and injuries. This was,
indeed, making it a holiday. Public functionaries and clergymen,
then, as now, were the only males who remained at home:
all the rest, old and young, hurried from house to house, to pay
their respects to the females of every family, connected by ties
of any kind, and to such office-holders, civil and ecclesiastical,
as political or religious opinion united with them. The whole
population appeared to be in their gala suits, and every face
dressed in smiles. Every matron was prepared to sit from
twelve to three o'clock, surrounded by her daughters, to receive
and return joyous greetings. The genial warmth produced by
exercise—by pleasure received from the succession of happy
domestic circles visited—by alternate exposure to the cold
without, and the blazing, or furnace-like fires within—by the
wines, cordials, and whiskey-punch, although only touched to
the lips at each visit—not to mention the influence of sunny
smiles and sparkling eyes—all these combined, produced an
effect on this day, which makes it to many—to very many—the
happiest day of the year.

But all this hilarity is only known to those who are prosperous:
to the rich—or at least to the holders of property who
are rich in anticipation.

There are many, however, even although in comfortable circumstances,
who appear to be excluded from participation in
this yearly joyous carnival. No visiters crossed the threshold
of Mrs. Epsom. Spiffard felt little disposed to visit those from
whose society his wife appeared shut out by an impassable
bar. Emma Portland went to church, and returned happy to
her household employments, anticipating a visit to the sick or
the poor, who looked as anxiously for her arrival, as any of
those we have described, for the appearance of relative or
admirer. The other ladies of the family were engaged in the
usual occupations of the theatre; for the first of January is a
day of harvest to managers, and of labour to actors.

The crowded streets, the hospitable hearths, the smoking
boards, the joyous gratulations, the overflowing theatres, the

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

shouts of applause at the holiday play and pantomime, are all
apparent on the first of January. They are the outward and
visible signs of a great, populous, and prosperous city; but
who can tell the wretchedness that dwells within? even in the
mansions of the rich, who can tell? But in the abodes of poverty,
at this season of chill and freezing, who can tell? When
the ice and snow cuts off the improvident labourer's resources,
and he flies to intemperance, as a refuge from cold. When the
inmates of crowded garrets and cellers, unfurnished, filthy, comfortless,
hear the senseless laugh of intoxication, echoed by the
groans of suffering sickness. In those abodes where the noise
of strife and blasphemy is contrasted with the silence of despair;
where those distinctions which exist in the light of the
sun, and under the influence of society, are lost, and the black
thief is one with the white prostitute; where — but enough!
enough! All this exists at one and the same time—and all
belongs to the first of January.

But let us look on scenes, if not of happiness, at least not
presenting the dark shades of unmingled wretchedness. Let
us pray that the poor may be taught, that, if temperate and provident,
they cannot remain poor in America.

We will turn our attention to those connected with our story,
who, though not all basking in the sun-shine which gilds a
happy-new-year, were not yet plunged in hopeless darkness;
and first to the domestic affairs of General Williams.

This man of courtesy, though all smiles when addressing his
faulty and unfortunate wife before company, was, in private,
very generally as morose as the intelligent reader may suppose;
and only controlled by the fear of provoking an exposition
which occasionally appeared inevitable, as on the occurrence
of the display at Doctor Cadwallader's. There were few smiles
in the private recesses of the general's establishment. The
home—the domestic fire-side—there, where the good are most
happy, there dwelled discontent, regret, and fear of exposure.
“Poor and content is rich;” but sordid riches, though they
give power, cannot purchase content. “There is more gold
for you; do you damn others, and let this damn you,” says the
misanthrope; but it is only power misused that brings condemnation.
The gold Williams had purchased by an act of duplicity
and meanness, could not even buy the respect of the
world, though backed by ostentatious display, and never-tiring
obsequiousness. There are a skin and surface which belong
to moral as well as physical health, that cannot be counter-feited.

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

The unhappy Mrs. Williams, on the partial recovery of reason,
had a confused recollection of the occurrences of the preceding
evening. The images of her father, mother, and sisters,
were ever present to her imagination. She thought she had
seen Spiffard, the husband of her sister. She questioned her
husband wildly. He evaded and denied the knowledge he had
obtained. What is called a brain fever, seized on the conscience-struck
victim of seduction and duplicity. In her ravings,
she called upon her parents for forgiveness; the name of Spiffard
was uttered, and touching appeals were made to her sister,
conjuring her, by former love, to come to her! to save her!

Doctor Cadwallader obeyed the call for his professional attendance,
and his skill produced a temporary suspension of the
disease, accompanied by extreme exhaustion. In a lucid interval,
she questioned him respecting the vision, for such it
seemed to her, in which she had seen Spiffard. The doctor
told her the truth, and Williams was obliged to confess that
he had seen, and been repulsed, by the son of her sister;
that he had subsequently heard of her death, and that of the elder
Spiffard; but tenderness to her had caused his concealment of
these circumstances. The poor, deceived woman, felt herself
an outcast. She sunk into a state of hopelessness, and the
general was informed by the physician, that, in a few weeks,
perhaps days, her miseries would cease in death, unless some
change took place, of which he saw no prospect.

It was not long before certain occurrences, nearly affecting
the unhappy lady, and very unexpected, alleviated her sufferings,
and suspended her dissolution, although the excitement
they produced, seemed to threaten its acceleration.

Spiffard received a letter from Eliza Atherton, the youngest
sister of his unfortunate mother. It had the evil-foreboding
black seal, and announced the death of his grandfather. The
amiable and high-minded writer, communicated this intelligence
with that dignified simplicity which accompanied all her
words and actions, and then proceeded to inform her nephew
that owing to her father's retired and economical mode of living,
a large portion of the annuity which her generous young relative
had bestowed upon them, had been saved, and constantly
accumulating. That the annuity itself, now that she was
alone, would much more than supply her wants. That she
had seen his name, as an actor, in those newspapers from
America, which, from many circumstances, were so interesting
to her: and that she could not but feel that she might be enjoying
superfluous luxuries from his bounty, while he, perhaps,

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

was labouring from necessity, in a vocation, unsuited, or disagreeable
to him; perhaps bearing up against a torrent of misfortunes;
perhaps suffering from privations that would be
prevented by the possession of a part of that abundance, as it
now proved, which he had lavished on her. That she had
formed the resolution to visit America, for two reasons. One
was the determination to restore to him such part of his gift as
justice required, and she could prevail upon him to accept.
That she would not make this offer by letter, fearing that delicacy,
(perhaps false delicacy,) might cause a refusal. That
her second motive for crossing the sea, was to be near her
sister, now, her only sister. She knew her sister Sophia to be
in New-York, and had reason to believe that her husband was
not a fit guardian for one who had been so unfortunate in her
first entering upon the stage of life; and, now that she was her
own mistress, and without near relations in England, she
thought it her duty to seek the sufferer, for such she believed
her to be—(once the dear companion of childhood)—and by
every means in her power, guard her from the dangers
which beset the disappointed and unhappy. With these views,
she had converted all the property left at her disposal, into
money, and should embark in the Sally, Captain Appleton,
hoping to reach New-York nearly as soon as her letter, which
was dated from Liverpool.

This hope was fully realized. A very few days after the
arrival of this precursor, our hero received a note, (brought from
the outer harbour by the pilot who had boarded the good ship
Sally,) and written by his aunt. The necessary arrangements
were made for accommodating the stranger in the family of
which Spiffard was the head, although Mrs. Epsom still called
the house hers. He did not choose that Miss Atherton should
go immediately to Williams's. This done, he hastened to the
bay, and embarked in one of the many boats of all descriptions,
that eliven the beautiful harbour of New-York, and was soon
standing on the deck of the ship.

As Eliza Atherton is to appear on the stage where all the
persons of our drama are moving, we think that our readers
should have a more distinct idea of her person, than may have
been conveyed by the preceding pages. Her character, (the
form and features of her mind,) has been made apparent already.
The three daughters of Mr. Atherton, Louisa, the mother of
Zebediah Spiffard; Sophia, the victim of aristocratic seduction;
and Eliza, the pure, pious, undeviating supporter of her parents
in every trial to the hour of death, were all, from the hand of

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

nature, models of beauty. Fortunately for Eliza, at the period
of her infancy, the progress of improvement had not driven afar
that scourge of the human race, which, for centuries, swept
thousands to the grave, and ploughed the faces who escaped, with
furrows that obliterated the tint, and almost the form bestowed
at their birth. The two elder sisters passed through the disease
unscathed; but the younger underwent all its virulence.

When health was restored, that beauty which gave to her
countenance a seraphic character, was gone. The discoloration,
by degrees, vanished, but the scars and seams remained
indelible. The same flowing silken tresses which adorned the
brilliant beauty of her sisters, remained to remind her friends
of the charms which were forever departed; and the same perfection
of form was hers: but the face was disfigured—robbed
of the beauty bestowed by nature—left destitute of charms—
until years developed character; and beauty, unassailable by
disease, replaced the fleeting attractions of surface.

The preference her sisters demanded, and obtained in early
life, from all persons; the neglect and slight Eliza endured
from her parents as well as strangers, gave a direction to her
mind which strengthened her intellect; and instead of souring
her temper, as might happen with the weak, placed her above
the desire of admiration; which, as she did not consider her
due, she was pleased to see bestowed upon her sisters. Her
thoughts were occupied by the acquisition of knowledge. She
sought, by every means that accorded with her devotion to her
relatives, for every intellectual improvement; and as her
thoughts were turned from vanity, they were fixed on duty and
love to her earthly and heavenly parents.

Still, at the time of her arrival in America for the second
time, the countenance of Eliza Atherton, at the first view, had
nothing attractive—nay, was almost repulsive. But when the
varied expression of her mild blue eyes were recognised, and
the frank smile of benevolence which played about her pale lips,
had found its way to the understanding or the heart of the spectator—
when the unaffected dignity of her lady-like manners and
person, made itself known and felt—when the graces of her
conversation, (rich in all the lore which may best become a
female,) were heard by one who could appreciate them, Eliza
Atherton might be called a charming, although not a beautiful
woman; and her charms were enduring as life.

Spiffard remained with his interesting aunt until she was
safely and commodiously established at the City Hotel, with
such part of her travelling equipage as could be immediately

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

landed and removed by the aid of a hack coachman, and a sturdy
English lass, who, from attachment to the person she did not
hesitate to call mistress, had crossed the Atlantic contrary to the
advise of friends, who, though obliged to accept of parochial
relief, and submit to the degradation of pauperism, clung to the
soil of old England, and doubted the tales of independent
abundance, which were told of a land beyond sea.

It had been Spiffard's wish that his aunt should take up her
abode at his house until she had a proper introduction to that
of Williams; but objections urged with perfect delicacy overruled
his intention. Miss Atherton did not know of his marriage
until told by himself. The name of Mrs. Spiffard had
not appeared in any American papers that she had seen. It
had only been announced in the play-bills some weeks before
her arrival. She was too well instructed not to know the
worth of many female professors of the histrionic art, yet she
felt no desire to associate with them; there was an undefined
feeling—an impression—almost a conviction—that her habits,
manners and conversation would not agree with, or be agreeable
to those who made the stage a profession. This might
be mere prejudice: I only state the fact. She did not decide
whether they were above or below her in the scale of society.
She felt, that with the Bruntons, the Farrens, the Kembles,
and the Siddonses, she would be out of her place.

In arranging the location of her temporary residence, these
feelings had not been brought in view. Miss Atherton told
her nephew truly, she had made up her mind before embarking
on her voyage, that she would go to some hotel on landing,
and ascertain the situation of her friends before determining
further on her course—that, as she found her sister was ill, and
might be injured by any sudden shock, she thought it best to
adhere to her first arrangement until she had seen the physician
who attended her. Besides, it might give offence if she went
to any other private house than that of General Williams. A
hotel she still thought was the best place to receive her, and
after, she should be guided by circumstances and her nephew's
counsel.

Williams was not a little surprised at receiving a note from
Spiffard the day after Miss Atherton's arrival, informing him
of that circumstance; of her father's death; and the intent of the
voyage. He added, that she wished to see her sister immediately;
and gave him notice where Eliza was to be found.

The subtle speculator had at that moment been employed in
balancing the advantages against the disadvantages of losing

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

his wife. Great changes in his situation must result from her
death. He would lose five hundred pounds sterling a year;
but a burthen and a chain would be removed. He could start
anew, free to pursue his crooked ways, and endowed with
sufficient wealth to meet the world's gaze broadly. He congratulated
himself upon his foresight; the cunning that had
provided for his worldly well-being by the stipulation which
secured him an annuity, in case of her decease before him;
that ensured him competence for life. He was, (to use a common
expression) “hugging himself” in the prospect of future
ease obtained by his own management. “She will be forgotten,
and all suspicion lulled to sleep of my—” He did
not, even in thought, use the word that would have finished the
sentence with truth.

Spiffard's note alarmed him. He could not prevent the
meeting of the sisters. He feared that the dishonourable contract
might be disclosed by which he had relieved his wife
from her disgraceful situation. To avoid this exposure was
his first consideration. He must gain the good will of her
sister, and, if possible, of the ugly little repulsive actor, her
nephew. The first, he thought, his person and manners could
accomplish: the second appeared almost a forlorn-hope; but,
in his opinion, flattery would remove mountains. In the mean
time his wife must be informed of her sister's arrival, and be
prepared for an interview with her.

Mrs. Williams was in a state of exhaustion; nature seeming
to be supported merely by the skill of her medical attendant.
She had occasional returns of brain-fever, violent paroxysms
of insanity, in which her ravings appeared to be partly
occasioned by physical sufferings, but more from recollections
of the past, and fears of the future—the last were at times
frightful—at times touchingly distressing. She received the
tidings of her sister's arrival, at first, with calmness approaching
to joy. It was necessary to inform her of the death of her
father. This caused a relapse into madness. On recovering,
the sister's image was present to her mind, and she became
impatient to see her—this was succeeded by a dread of meeting—
alleviated by the recollection of her uniform kindness of
deportment. “She was always good! She was always
good!!!—But my father! my mother!” and again a frightful
paroxysm could only be relieved by insensibility.

In the mean time Mr. and Mrs. Spiffard waited upon Miss
Atherton at the hotel. The ladies did not feel that cordiality
which sometimes springs forth at first sight. All, however,

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

was conducted in good taste on one part, and good tact on the
other. The visit was interrupted by the arrival of Williams,
who came to conduct Eliza Atherton to her sister.

Miss Atherton had much the same feelings on the approach
and in the presence of Williams as those I have endeavoured
to describe in the case of our hero Zebediah Spiffard, when he
by accident first encountered him. But the lady's sensations
were much more under command, and partook of the
character of the sex, and of the individual.

Mr. and Mrs. Spiffard departed; and the General having
communicated the message from his wife, and expressed, in
right courtly phrase, his own vehement desire that Miss Atherton
would, without delay, see and soothe the agitated feelings
of her suffering sister,—Eliza placed herself, on the instant,
under his guidance; every thought and feeling of self merged
in the desire to convey consolation to the lost Sophia.

What a change was presented to the eyes of the affectionate
Eliza!—We will not dwell on the contrast these two sisters
formed. In one was seen the results of vanity and passion,
unrestrained by parental admonition, leading to degradation of
the lowest kind, and to disease and untimely death; in the
other, the effects of patient suffering under wrongs, self-government,
and self-education; conducting to strength of mind,
and the practise of every virtue; rewarded by health and the
consciousness of rectitude.

Miss Atherton resolved to take up her abode under the roof
that sheltered her dying sister, even before she heard the earnest
entreaties with which such an arrangement was urged. Mrs.
Williams seemed, after an hour passed with the once neglected
Eliza, to feel that in her presence alone she had any stay—
any support—any hope in this world or the next. Even her
exhausted frame recovered some force in consequence of that
medicine, so soothing to the wounded mind, which was administered
by such a physician: her sister's arrival seemed at
first to threaten an acceleration of the expected catastrophe;
but in reality was found to remove it to a period somewhat
more distant.

To the relief which the union with such a sister afforded
to the sinking penitent was added the consolation, that in his
dying moments her father had forgiven her, and desired that
his blessing might ameliorate her sufferings, whenever she
should feel the stings of conscience. This forgiveness and
blessing were borne to the sufferer by one who, in every respect,
was to her an angel bringing the tidings of peace.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

The extreme illness of Mrs. Williams was a sufficient reason
for Miss Atherton not visiting the family of their nephew.
He had been, by the desire of the dying woman, introduced
to her; and, now that Eliza was an inmate, felt no reluctance
to enter the house of the detested Williams, with whom, however,
he had no intercourse further than cold civility required.
In his dying aunt he saw much to remind him of those scenes
he had witnessed in his father's house, and of that evil he most
dreaded—strengthening those feelings, and rendering more
vivid those imaginings, which drove him to the brink of
madness, at such times as he brooded over his fears.

One day, when Mrs. Williams was in the enjoyment of
comparative tranquillity, Miss Atherton proposed to accompany
Spiffard to his home: with the frankness appertaining to her
independent character, she made the proposal on the first
opportunity that had offered; Spiffard willingly agreed: and
the proposed visit was immediately carried into effect. When
they arrived, Mrs. Epsom and her daughter had not yet returned
from rehearsal. No one was at home but Emma
Portland.

We have spoken of antipathies and sympathies; and shown
the force of the first in two instances. We have now to illustrate
the second by example.

Spiffard was disappointed in not finding his wife at home.
He briefly introduced his aunt to Emma.

“Miss Emma Portland. Miss Atherton.”

Emma was found evidently (dressed and employed) as one
who was at home. She was sitting at her usual morning
needle-work, in all the elegance of simple habiliment: her
sunny locks, shading her soft but radiant eyes, in a disorder,
not the result of slovenly carelessness, but of exuberance, and
the absence of that attention to adjustment, which the expectation
of a visiter would demand. The muslin and the workbasket—
the needle and the thimble, all denoted one of the
family.

“And who is Miss Emma Portland?” said Miss Atherton:
her face strongly expressing surprise and delight. “Why
should I find her here, and apparently one of your family, and
not have been prepared for such a meeting? Why have I
never heard of this lovely young lady?”

Before Emma could recover from her surprise—a surprise
mingled with pleasure, as she gazed upon a woman she had
heard described as repulsive in appearance, but who appeared
to her all-attractive, from the frankness of her manner and

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

the charming expression of a benevolent countenance—before
she knew her own thoughts at this smiling apparition and unexpected
exclamation, she felt the warm embrace and maternal
kiss of this frank-hearted Englishwoman.

The sympathy which unites two such beings is of no clime
or country. There was an absence of reserve which might
have startled some; but there was nothing in the manner of
the foreigner that was uncongenial to Emma Portland, because
there was nothing artificial. There was no assumed
superiority; and the real superiority, which more years and
more knowledge conferred, were not thought of by the one,
and were felt as an offered protection—a gift and a blessing—
by the other.

Miss Atherton's quick glance perceived in Emma Portland
the ingenuous innocence of youth, united to beauty of body
and mind. It was the glance of intelligence exchanged with
intelligence. The sympathy of the good attracting to the
good. From this time Emma had a friend of her own sex.
One to whom, if needed, she could look for protection or
advice. In her highly gifted cousin, Mrs. Spiffard, though
confident of her good will, and admiring her talents, she had
never felt that union of soul which is necessary to communion
of thought.

The advantage which she might have derived from Miss
Atherton's society, was, for the present, denied by the necessary
attendance of that lady on Mrs. Williams. Otherwise,
in Emma's visits to the sick and poor, or her endeavours to
impart knowledge to the neglected, Eliza Atherton would have
been willingly a partner, a companion, and at times a protector.

p089-295

Previous section

Next section