We pass over several years in the annals of our
young friends. The current of their lives had flowed
smoothly on. Charlotte, living in rigid obedience
to the laws of health, as laid down and expounded
by Dr. —, and to the laws of heaven, as applied
by her faithful conscience, had enjoyed a degree
of health and comfort that she had not anticipated.
Susan, at nineteen, was an accomplished tailoress;
and, what is most rare, her health and sunny cheerfulness
had been in nowise impaired by her confinement
to her needle. She was a singular union
of sweet temper and efficiency; and the only
seamstress we ever heard of, that, for year after
year, so far resisted the effects of sedentary employment
as to sing at her work.

“What is the reason, Susan May,” said an acquaintance
to her, “that you are always so well

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

and light-hearted? Poor Sally Baker did not do as
much work as you, and yet the doctors said it was
sitting so steadily that brought on her dyspepsy;
and only see Jane Mills, she is a sight to behold!
and nothing but sewing, the doctors say.”

“Nothing but sewing, they may say, Adeline;
Sally Baker used to sit in her little stove-room
from morning till night, and never let in any fresh
air any more than if it were poison: poor Jane did
get a little walk when she went to her place in the
morning, but she was always behindhand with her
work; never could say no, and would set up half
the night to oblige her customers; and, after all,
was tormented to death with reproaches for broken
promises; and then, when her appetite failed, she
used to live on pies, and cakes, and such trash.
As Lottie's doctor told her, God has written laws
in our constitutions, and if we break them we must
pay for it.”

“But how do you manage, Susan—your cheeks
are as fresh as roses?”

“I began, Adeline, with an excellent constitution;
and Lottie, knowing the value of health,
watched over it. She made me follow her New-York
doctor's rules about washing myself.”

“Washing yourself! I should like to know if
everybody don't wash themselves; I am sure
Sally Baker, and Jane Mills too, were neat as
pinks.”

“So they were, Adeline; but few even of neat
people know the importance of daily bathing the
whole person, and rubbing it smartly with a coarse
cloth.”

“That's what I call superstition.”

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

“You may call it what you please, Adeline; but
I believe that, and changing my clothes, airing the
bed, and the house, and room, have kept my cheeks,
as you say, fresh as roses. Lottie never lets me sit
more than two hours at a time at my needle; she
calls me to do a chore, or run of an errand. She
will not let me pass one day, rain or shine, without
exercise in the open air. Neither cold, wet, nor
heat hurts me. As to my lightheartedness, Adeline,
that's natural to me; but Lottie has helped to
keep that up too, by taking eare that I don't get
fretted at by my customers. She never would let
me make a promise that I was not sure of performing.
I often get my work done beforehand, and I
take pains to fit and please, and somehow I think
our Essex folks are easy to please; and smiles
beget smiles, you know—if they are pleased, I am.
And then it's such a heart-comfort to keep the
family together, now father is getting old and
feeble.”

“After all, Susan, I guess,” said her visiter, with
an ominous contraction of the lips, “you'll not
always be so lighthearted.”

“Maybe not; but I don't believe in borrowing
trouble.”

“It may come without borrowing—they say it's
a bad sign to feel too well.”

“I don't believe in signs, Adeline.”

“You may—they say everybody believes prophecy
after it comes to pass.”

“Do you mean any thing in particular?” asked
Susan, struck more by her companion's tone than
her words; “if you do, pray speak out.”

“Have you seen Paulina Clark?”

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

“Paulina Clark! is she in Essex?”

“Yes; her mother's husband is dead, and they
have come back here to live; and they say the
old man left the widow a fortune; and Paulina is
dressed as if it was true—all in fine bombasin,
and a crape veil down to her feet, and a black bead
bag, and every thing answerable; though you
know she did not scruple to say she hated the old
man while he was alive.”

“I am sorry she behaves so unbecomingly; she
was always fond of outside show, Paulina; but I remember
Harry used to say that was natural, she
was so handsome.”

“Don't you think it strange, Susan, that some
people can be so taken up with beauty?”

“Oh, I don't know; I like to look at every thing
that is beautiful.”

“But should you think that such a person as
Harry Aikin would put beauty before every thing?”

“I don't think he does,” replied Susan, keeping
her eyes steadfastly to her work, and slightly
blushing.

“Well, I don't know whether it is the beauty or
the fortune; but it must be one or the other, or
both—for I am sure, in other respects, you are
far enough before Paulina Clark; and everybody
thought Harry was paying attention to you before
he left Essex.”

“Harry was always like a brother to Charlotte
and me,” replied Susan, her voice a little tremulous.

“Like a brother to Charlotte he might have
been; but he was more like something else to
you, and everybody thought so.”

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

“Everybody don't know every thing,” rejoined
Susan, her eyes still riveted to her work, and her
heart throbbing so that it seemed to her her companion
must hear it.

“Well, now,” continued the persevering gossip,
“Susan May, be candid, and own, if you should
hear that Harry Aikin was going to marry Paulina
Clark, should not you feel as if he had deceived
you?”

“No,” replied Susan, now speaking firmly, and
looking her companion full in the face; “if all the
world, and Charlotte, thought Harry paid me particular
attention—and if I sometimes had thought
so too, and if he marries Paulina Clark to-morrow,
I should think we were all mistaken, and Harry
true-hearted.”

“Well, you'll be put to the trial, for Paulina as
good as owned to me her expectations; but I am
sorry for your disappointment, for you can't but say
'tis a disappointment.” Susan said nothing, and
her tormentor proceeded. “It's nothing new nor
strange; them that has not any interest[3] must expect
to be slighted; and I have often heard that
when young men get to New-York, all they think
of is making money, and getting a wife that will
make a show with it; and you say yourself that
Harry thought Paulina a beauty.”

Susan made no reply, and Adeline, having succeeded
in making her uncomfortable, began to feel
very much so herself, from the effect of Susan's
quiet dignity; and, much to Susan's satisfaction,
she cut short her visit and disappeared. When

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

Charlotte entered a few moments after, she found
Susan's work had dropped on the floor, and she
was leaning her head on the chair and sobbing.
This was a strange sight; for, let the clouds be
ever so heavy, there was always a glimmering of
blue sky where Susan was.

Inquiries and explanations followed. Susan's
heart was turned inside out; not a thought, feeling,
prostrate hope, or piercing regret, was concealed
from Charlotte, who, though in a more subdued
manner, was scarcely less grieved than Susan.

When they could talk calmly about it, Susan
said, “Come what will, I never shall blame Harry
in the least. You know how many times he has
said we were just like sisters to him; and it was
perfectly natural, when he went to live in New
York, he should like people that had New-York
ways.”

“But, Susan, it does seem to me strange that
Harry should ever fancy Paulina; she has not his
ways of thinking, or acting, or feeling.”

“Oh, Lottie, Paulina is handsome—they say
the best of men are carried away with beauty.”

“Not Harry, I am sure; and, besides, I have
heard him say—I never told you, because I did
not want to flatter you—but I heard him say, when
we went to hear Squire Willard's fourth of July
oration—the day Paulina wore that new pink satin
bonnet—and somebody said Squire Willard never
took his eyes from her all the time he was speaking—”

“What did Harry say, Charlotte?”

“Harry whispered to me, and said he liked
your looks a thousand times better than Paulina's.'

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

“Did he? did he?—he would not say so now!”

“Maybe not. I shall always think, if he had
not gone to New-York, that would have come to
pass that we expected; but I believe, Susy, it is
very hard to keep from being worldly-minded in a
city. When I was in New-York, as I have often
told you, the chief conversation was about dress
and making money. Oh how I did long to hear
something about something profitable. You know
I never was in favour of Harry's going there—I
never liked his going into partnership with Morris
Finley—he'd better have sat over his lapstone the
rest of his life.”

“But, Lottie, you forget the weakness in his
breast.”

“I do—that was a good reason for giving up his
trade, but not for going to New-York.”

“Yes, but you forget what flattering prospects
he had; and,” she added, with a sigh, “after his
parents' death, he had not much to keep him here;
and, having all his portion of the estate in money,
he thought it would enable him to carry on business
to the greatest advantage in New-York. He
explained all this to our satisfaction then.”

“Yes; and when he told us about his plans, and
seemed to be in such a hurry to get ahead, I was
sure he was hinting at sharing with you, though
he did not seem to think it best to speak out.”

“I thought so too, Lottie; but I know I was
very much to blame for setting my heart that way,
when I had no more reason; and then, his always
writing and sending something by every opportunity—
to be sure, the letters were directed to you,
but somehow they always seemed written to me;

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

and then he was sure to send some present that he
knew I should like better than any thing else in
the world; but it's now a long, long time since we
have heard from him, and yet we never suspected
any thing.”

“No, Susy, because we never in our lives suspected
Harry could do any but the right thing. It
will be very hard to make up our minds to see him
Paulina's husband.”

“Harry Paulina's husband! Oh, it's awful to
think of! But, if she were only worthy of him—if
she could make him happy, I could be as—happy,
I was going to say, but that would not be true—
but I could be contented for myself and thankful
for him.”

Both sisters were silent for a few moments, when
Charlotte said—

“If we can't have things right in this world, we
can have right feelings; let us kneel down and
pray together, Susan.”

“Oh, yes, Lottie, that is always a comfort.”

The sisters knelt, locked in each other's arms.
Charlotte was the organ of both their hearts, and
most earnestly did she pray that they might walk
together in integrity and thankfulness in whatsoever
path it should please the Almighty to mark out
for them, even were it through a solitary wilderness;
that they might remember that their Lord
and Master did not promise his followers their portion
in this world; that they might humbly and
faithfully do the duty appointed them, and not repine
because they could not choose what that duty
should be.

She poured forth an earnest petition for their

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

best friend; that he might be directed aright; that
he might be delivered from the many evils and
temptations that surrounded him; and that she with
whom his heart was knit might have the grace as
well as the gifts of God.

When their heart-service was over, Susan said
she felt as if a load were taken from her. “He,”
she said to Charlotte, “who commanded us to
pray for our enemies, certainly knew what was in
us: how differently we feel towards any one we
earnestly pray for!”

From this time there was no apparent change
in the sisters, except that Susan pursued her labours
with even more than usual avidity, and
sometimes a remark would escape from her that
showed the course of her thoughts; such as, “I
am sure, Charlotte, of having enough to do in this
world, and that's a real comfort; for one can't be
very unhappy while there is enough to do.”

That Adeline's prophecy was verified, was obvious;
a portion of her lightheartedness was
gone, and even Uncle Phil remarked that “she
did not sing as she used to;” he “wished she
would; he had rather hear her than a bird.” Meanwhile
Charlotte watched her with a blending of the
sister's sympathy, and the mother's tenderness;
and daily, as she saw that Susan's resolution was
carrying her serenely through the storm, did she
offer her humble thanksgiving to Him who she
knew was the source of her strength and peace.

eaf346.n3

[3] Interest is, in rustic sense, property.

p346-065 CHAPTER VII. LOVE-LETTERS.

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

Three weeks passed away, and nothing more
was heard of Adeline's news, save that once, when
Paulina, in Susan's presence, was bantered about
the house of “Finley and Aikin,” she tittered and
bridled her head, and had all the airs of a spoiled
girl who is rallied about her lover; and save that,
when Paulina, after a month's mourning, doffed her
crape bonnet and veil, and put on a pink hat with
artificial flowers, the premature transition was imputed
to an approaching wedding, and not to the
obvious and perfectly sufficient cause—the pretty
girl's extravagant love of dress.

At last Uncle Phil brought home that rare blessing
to our simple friends, a letter, from the postoffice.

“Here's something for you, gals,” said he, “as
scarce as gold now-a-days—a letter from Harry.”

“Oh, better than gold!” said Charlotte, holding
out her hand.

“No, no, it's Susy's this time; why don't you
jump, Susy?”

Susan moved slowly, and took it with a trembling
hand. Her fears, she thought, now were to
become certainty.

“What are you afraid of, child?” continued her
father; “there can't be any bad news in it, 'cause

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

it's got a red wafer; and besides, Harry writ it
himself. Give it to me—no, I have broken my
spectacles—you read it, Lottie.”

“Yes, so do, Lottie,” said Susan; “I want to
see if my iron is hot.”

“That beats the Dutch,” said Uncle Phil; “if
I had twenty irons in the fire I should let them
burn to hear news from Harry.”

Poor Susan! we hope our readers will excuse
her for giving a false gloss once in her life. “I
can bear any thing,” so she thought, “if I am alone
with Lottie, and she first sees it.” Her sister soon
followed her with the open letter.

“Bad news, Susy,” she said, “but not what we
expected.”

“Then it can't be very bad,” exclaimed Susan,
the clouds vanishing from her face; she seized
the letter, and read as follows:—

“My dear Susan—It is a long time since I
have written to you; but I have been in much perplexity
and anxiety, and have been waiting to see
daylight. We have failed, Finley and I, as might
have been expected; neither of us having any experience
in the business we undertook. As soon
as I found we could not meet our notes, I made a
thorough examination into our affairs, and found we
could just pay our debts and no more. So to-morrow
we close the concern. I have many times regretted
I did not take Charlotte's advice, and not enter
into a business for which I was not qualified. I
would now gladly return to my trade, but confinement
to business, and anxiety, have had an unfavourable
effect on my health, and I am more

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

than ever troubled with that old pain in my breast.
I sometimes think, Susan, a sight of your sunny
face would cure me; that and all good things I
trust will come; in the meantime, patience. In
prosperity and adversity, my heart ever turns towards
my dear Essex friends, who must believe me
their friend and brother,

“I never did fully believe it!” exclaimed Susan,
as she closed the letter.

“Believe what?”

Susan blushed. “You know what, Lottie.”
Charlotte smiled. “Are you not sorry for Harry's
failure?” she asked.

“Oh, yes—sorry? No—no, I am not sorry for
any thing just at this moment,” and Susan covered
her face, and wept for joy. Then, dashing off her
tears, she read the letter over again. “After all,”
she said, “for any thing he writes here, he may
be going to marry Paulina; but I know he is not.”
Susan's happy faith was well founded. Harry's
letter gave no details, for he never wrote his own
praises, even indirectly. “Not he that commendeth
himself is approved.”

When, at the close of their second year's partnership,
he ascertained the unfavourable condition
of their affairs, he insisted on making them known
at once to their creditors, that they might suffer the
least possible inconvenience from the failure of
punctual payment. Morris Finley remonstrated.
He saw, or affected to see, flattering prospects
ahead; and at last, when Harry absolutely refused
to go on, Morris insisted on making a compromise

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

with their creditors. He adduced case upon case
where this had been done in similar circumstances,
and a pretty penny saved, and no reputation lost.
Harry would not listen to his proposition. He
said, the frequency of such proceedings was an
argument in his mind against them. He would
not add his mite to sully the mercantile reputation
of his country; and that if, by the arrangement
Finley proposed, he did not lose his good name, he
should lose his self-respect, which was still dearer
to him. The inflexibly honest man is unmanageable,
and Finley was at last compelled to yield.
They stopped in time to pay every penny of their
debts, and retain the respect of their creditors;
and Harry began the world anew, with fresh vigour,
springing from a conscience void of offence.
Morris profited by Harry's firmness. One of their
creditors, struck by the honesty of the firm, and
giving the parties equal credit for it, offered Finley
an employment which, as he afterward said, was
the first rung of the ladder on which he mounted
to fortune.

Some months passed away, and Paulina continued
to be a belle in Essex, and flattered by young
men of every degree. The report of her engagement
to Harry was found to have arisen from the
devotions of his partner, Morris Finley, to her.
These devotions were abated by a third marriage
of Paulina's mother, by which she put into the
hands of a young spendthrift some fifteen thousand
dollars, received from her last doting and deluded
husband. Paulina seemed at first much affected
by Finley's desertion; but, after a while, she turned
to other lovers; and, when her mother's young

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

husband deserted and left her penniless, both
mother and daughter returned to New-York and
opened a milliner's shop: the mother soon after
died. It was said that Paulina removed to Philadelphia;
but, though unfavourable reports reached
Essex concerning her, nothing was certainly
known.

In the meantime, save two or three short letters
by private opportunities (for our friends could not
afford the luxury of post intercourse), the sisters
heard nothing from Harry till the following letter
arrived.

“Dear Susan—My prospects, since the breakup
last spring, are much improved; but particulars
in my next. All I want to know is, whether you
will share my lot with me? Pray write by return
of post, and believe me now, as you well know I
have ever been, though I never put it into words
before, your friend and true lover,

Susan's first sensations on reading Harry's letter
were those of perfect and unlimited happiness.
“I always felt,” she said to Charlotte, “as if I
knew he loved me; and now I wonder I let Adeline's
story trouble me for one moment.”

Again and again the sisters read over Harry's
letter; Charlotte seeming, in her own quiet way,

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

scarcely less happy than Susan. Early in the
evening Charlotte went to her own room. Uncle
Phil made it a rule to go to bed when the fowls
went to roost (there was no faint resemblance in
their degree of intellectual life), and Susan was
left in possession of their little sitting-room to pour
out her overflowing heart in a letter to Harry. It
was a letter befitting the frank and feeling creature
who wrote it; and such a letter as any lover
would be enraptured to receive. When she went
to her room, Charlotte was not in bed, but just
rising from her knees; she smiled as she turned
towards Susan, and Susan saw that her cheeks
were wet with tears.

“Why, what's the matter, Lottie?” she asked.

“I have been trying, Susy, to get courage to look
into the future.” Her voice faltered as she added,
“The time is coming when we must separate.”

“Oh, Lottie, I never thought of that! how could
I be so selfish!” All the castles she had been
building in the air fell at once to the ground. Her
first impulse was to say—“No, I will never leave
you, Lottie.”

But she had just written a promise to Harry to
be his; and she was silent, and quite as sorrowful
as Charlotte at the conviction that, for the first time
in their lives, their interests were divided. Hour
after hour she was restless and thoughtful; at last
she came to a conclusion, sad enough in some of
its aspects, but it tranquillized her. She nestled
up to her sister, put her arm over her, and fell
asleep, repeating to herself, “It's a comfort, any
how, to resolve to do right.” Well may reflection
be called an angel, when it suggests duties, and

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

calls into action principles strong enough to meet
them. Before Susan closed her letter, she made
the following addition:—

“P. S.—Dear Harry—I wrote this letter last
evening, and shall send it; for why should I, if I
could, conceal my real feelings from you? Since
we were playfellows at school, I have loved you
best, and you only, Harry; for the time to come, I
must love you only as a brother. Oh, how strange
it is, that the black and the white threads are always
twisted together in human life. Last evening
I was so happy writing this letter; but, when I
went into the bedroom, Lottie's face was covered
with tears; and she spoke of our separation, and
all flashed upon me at once. What could she and
father do without me? They do now their full
part towards keeping the family together, but they
can neither of them bring in any thing, and they
would be obliged to look to the town for support.
Is not that awful to think of? So you see, dear
Harry, I cannot leave them—our path is plain, and,
as dear Lottie would say, may we have grace to
walk therein. It is very dark now, Harry; but, if
we only try to do right, the day will soon break,
and grow brighter and brighter. Please don't say
one word to persuade me off my resolution, for we
are weak creatures at best, and we should stand
together, and strengthen and uphold one another.
Above all, don't say a word about my reasons to
father and Lottie; and believe me, dear Harry, not
a bit less your affectionate friend because I can't
forsake them.

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

By return of post came the following answer
from Harry:—

“Dearest Susan—Forsake `father and Lottie!
' that you never shall. When I wrote my last,
it was only to get that blessed little word yes from
you, for I must make sure of my title before I laid
out the future. One thing only I am a little hurt
at. Could you think I could leave out Charlotte in
my plans?—a dear sister, counsellor, and friend
she has ever been to me—and your good father,
who so much needs some one to care for him? Ah,
Susan, I have had my reflections too; and I think
our path is plain before us, and, with good resolution
on our part, and Charlotte's prayers to help us,
we shall have grace to walk therein. But I must
tell you all, and then look for your final answer.

“When I invested my patrimony in the shoe
concern with Finley, I expected soon to be in a
situation to offer you my hand, and begin house-keeping
in New-York with four members to the
family, for never once have I thought of dividing
you from your father and Lottie. I did not tell you
my hopes and plans, because I feared I should not
after that have patience to wait as long as prudence
required. One thing I am sure of, dear Susan,
from my own experience—that a virtuous love is
the greatest earthly security a young man can have
against the temptations and dangers that beset him.
I am sure my affection for you has made me diligent
in business, frugal, earnest in my pursuits, and
patient in my disappointments. If I had felt (which,
thank God, I never did) any inclination to forbidden
pleasures, to dangerous company, to dissipation of

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

any sort, the thought of you would have been a
shield to me. Knowing you and Charlotte so well,
and the memory of my excellent mother, have
given me a reverence for female virtue—a belief
in the power and beauty of goodness in a woman—
and to this, Susan, love naturally follows—that
pure love that is ordained by God to lead to the
holy institution of marriage.—But what are my
thoughts running to? Don't laugh at me, and I
will go back to my business statements.

“When I began business I took lodgings at a
carman's. He is a good friend of mine, and with
him I could live at a small expense in a quiet family.
I have avoided living or associating with
those who had more means than I, for that leads to
expense. I have never spent a shilling on superfluities,
for which I have now much reason to be
thankful; for, even if I had escaped that dreadful
load, unpaid debts, I might, like many other young
men, have acquired habits of expense on the credit
of future gains. The gains may not come—the
habits remain, like so many tormentors. When I
was asked by a friend to go to an oyster-house, or
the theatre, or the circus, or to take a bottle of porter,
or drink a glass of whiskey, I declined. I
knew, if I did it for my friend's sake this time, I
might do it for my own the next. I had my treats—
my pleasant thoughts of the time when I should
have a table of my own, and faces round it that I
loved. It is sure we can't have every thing in this
world, and the thing is to make up our mind what
we must have, and what we can do without. You
can guess my must have.

“When I found Finley and I were going

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

behind-hand, I determined to stop short, and not, as many
do, put off the evil day, plunging deeper and deeper,
making enemies, and making plenty of work for
repentance. When our affairs were settled up I
had a hundred dollars in my pocket, and no one to
look me in the face and say I owed him a shilling,
or had wronged him of one. The next thing was
to determine on what business I should follow.
You know my breast was much weakened by sitting
over my lapstone when I was growing fast.
It is a bad trade to put a growing boy to. I could
not return to it. A farm in one of the free western
states seemed to me the happiest lot in the world
for a poor man; but there were hardships in the
beginning, and, though you and I would not have
minded them, your father and Lottie could not have
stood them. A farm at Essex I dared not think of:
a man must have some capital and knowledge,
practice and skill, to go ahead in New-England on
a farm, and I had none of these. While I was deliberating,
my good friend Mr. Loomis, the carman,
determined to move to Ohio. He advised me to
take up his business, and offered to sell me his
horse and cart on very reasonable terms, and to
recommend me to his employers. There were
many reasons to decide me to take his advice. I
find exercise in the open air the best medicine for
the pain in my breast. Carting is a sure and regular
business. I have observed that the carmen in
this city, those whose carts are never seen standing
before groceries, are a healthy, cheerful-looking
class of men. They go slowly but surely ahead.
They can generally manage to take their meals
with their families, and to spend all their evenings

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

at home—a great point to a man who loves home
faces and home pleasures as I do. Some persons
think it is going down a step to go from shop-keeping
to carting; but you and I, Susan, have our own
notions about going up and down, and both think it
is what is in a man, and not what is out of him,
that humbles or exalts him. Some think that most
genteel which brings them nearest to being idle
gentlemen; but, when I am driving through Broadway
on my cart, do you think I would change
places with those slim-looking young men I see
parading up and down the street, looking like tailors'
walking advertisements—bringing nothing to
pass—doing nothing with the time God gives them
in this world, and gives them—for what? Oh, it
would take a minister to answer that.

“I might have gone into trade of some kind, but
I have not health to be shut up behind a counter;
and besides, in my opinion, a shop is a fitting place
for women only, they being (don't be affronted,
Susy) the weaker sex. You see now how my case
stands. I have no debts. I have good health for
the business I have chosen, industry, and a faculty
I may boast. So I think I may marry in this blessed
country of ours, where there is sure employment,
and a man is certain of getting his earnings.
Besides, dear Susan, if any thing happens to me,
you have your trade to depend upon. Give my
best love to Charlotte, and tell her, besides being
a main comfort, she will be a real help to us; for
while she is doing the light work, your needle will
be making money. If your father has any scruples
about coming, pray tell him the rent of his
Essex place will pay for the rent of a room here

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

and save us from near neighbours we may not like.
Am I not calculating, Susan? But is it not better
to calculate beforehand than to grumble afterward?
I am sure I am right, so far as I can, to secure independence
to your father and Charlotte; and if,
after all, they must take something from us, those
who are so generous in giving will be also generous
in receiving, and they will not grudge us the
best part, it being more blessed to give than to receive.

“There is one thing I can scarcely bear the
thoughts of—taking you all from that pleasant little
spot in Essex, where you have riches for the eye
that all the money in New-York cannot buy in the
city—plenty of sweet air and pure water;[4] and
your garden, and your little courtyard, with its
rose-bushes, morning-glories, pionies, and marvels
of Peru. But, after all, dear Susan, there are feelings
worth giving up the very best of outward
things for; and if we secure affection, and kindness,
and so forth, we sha'n't have made a bad bargain
of it, shall we? We may be what the world
calls poor, and miscals, in my estimation. Let
us begin, in the fear and love of God, with a determination
to do our duty—rich in love for one
another, and at peace with all men; and if worst
comes to worst, why, that will be outside poverty.
I do not fear it, do you? Answer this without fail
by return of post. Much duty and love to your

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

(my?) father and Charlotte, and believe me, till
death, your friend and lover,

eaf346.n4

[4] Has any one ever calculated the amount of wealth and
comfort to be produced to the labouring classes by the introduction
of pure water into the city of New-York? Health and
cleanliness are sources of wealth, and of comfort inappreciable.

Morris Finley and Harry Aikin had begun life
with objects diametrically opposite, and were destined
to illustrate that saying, as true now as when,
ages ago, it was first uttered:—“There is that
maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing—there is that
maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches”

p346-078 CHAPTER VIII. A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MAN'S HOUSE.

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

As our readers may have anticipated, Susan at
once entered into Harry's views; and, in a short
time, she and her family were transferred to a part
of a small house in Broome-street, in New-York.
One room served as kitchen, parlour, and bedroom.
It was furnished only with articles of the
first necessity. There was a snug little bedroom
for Uncle Phil, which he said suited him exactly;
and a comfortable, good-sized one for Charlotte,
with a neat rag carpet on it, “because Lottie suffered
with cold feet;” and a fireplace in it, “for
Lottie must have a fire when she had sick turns;”
and two windows, “for all Lottie's living was fresh
air;” and the only bureau and the only rocking-chair
were in Charlotte's room, because, as she
said, “Susy had always some good reason at hand
for giving her the best of every thing.”

Our friends were undeniably what the world
calls poor. But they had affection, intelligence,
temperance, contentment, and godliness. Were
they poor? We shall see. In the meantime, let
us see if there is not some misuse of terms in this
world. Morris Finley had “got in on the world.”
He had so far secured his main chance, that he
was engaged in profitable business. He lived in

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

a good house, fashionably furnished; and his wife,
like the wives of other flourishing young merchants,
dressed in expensive materials, made in
the latest fashion. Neither Morris nor his wife
was vicious. They were only selfish and ostentatious,
with unfurnished minds, and hearts as
empty as their purses were full.

“Husband,” said Mrs. Finley to her partner,
who had just come home from Wall-street to dinner,
his mind engrossed with some unaccountable
rise in the stocks. “Husband, mother has been
here.”

“Well, what of that?”

“She has given up her house.”

“What of that?”

“Why, you know what of that as well as I do;
she does not know what she is to do next.”

We must premise that Finley's father-in-law
had made some unfortunate, as well as fortunate
speculations; had died, and left his wife and an
unmarried daughter penniless.

“I am sure I cannot say what she is to do next,”
replied Finley; “she is lucky to have one daughter
well provided for. What does she propose?”

“She did not propose any thing. She sat and
cried the whole morning.”

“Of course she cannot expect to have a home
here.”

“Of course not. I told her, said I, `Mother, if
I were to ask husband to invite you here, we could
not accommodate you, for we have not a room to
spare: you know we must eat in the basement, to
keep the parlours in order for company; and in the
second story there is only the nursery and our

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

bedchamber; and one of the third-story rooms we
must keep for a spare room; and, when Sabina Jane
gets to be a little older, she must have the back upper
chamber; and so,' said I, `mother, you see, if
husband were perfectly willing, it is impossible.”'

“She could not have expected it.”

“Oh, no, she did not; but, then, a mother is a
mother, you know, and I did not wish to hurt her
feelings.”

“I presume, my dear, Helen Maria can get a
place as governess or teacher in a school; I heard
her say she had attended to music and painting,
and French, and so on, at Mrs. —'s school, for
the last six years.”

“So she has, husband; but, bless you! you
know how girls learn things at school, and she
never expected to have to teach.”

“Expect or not expect, I'd get my money's
worth out of these schools. I saw, on your father's
books, three hundred dollars a year paid for
Helen Maria's schooling for the last six years, and
this is what it has come to. Can't she teach geography,
or arithmetic, or some of them useful
branches?”

“No, she never was fond of the useful branches;
she had quite a pretty taste for music and
painting, but then people are required to understand
them so well to teach them. No, I don't see as
Helen Maria can earn any thing but by embroidering
muslin; she does that beautifully; and if
there was only a place where work might be sold
without it being known where it came from, she
might earn considerable, and no one be the wiser
for it.”

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

“Nonesense, wife! We have not yet got above
our relations' working for their living, though you
may not be obliged to. Why can't your mother
take a boarding-house, and then Helen Maria
might assist her?”

“Oh! Helen Maria can't do any kind of housework;
besides, she is delicate, you know. Now
mother was brought up to it; and when I proposed
a boarding-house, she said if she had any security
to offer for her rent—”

“Ah! there's the rub! I hope she don't expect
me to offer; for you know, my dear, I make it an
invariable rule never to endorse, but in the way of
business, for those who endorse for me.”

“What is to be done, husband, if she can't get
into any way of supporting herself? She must
live, you know.”

“And I must support her, hey?”

“No, I did not say that; but we can't let her
suffer. What would people say?—there are always
enough to talk, you know.”

“Yes, yes: well, I suppose I must advance the
first quarter's rent, or something towards it. Oh!
a thought strikes me; I know a house that will
just suit, belonging to some old maid or widow, or
somebody that lives up the country. The man that
has the care of it ain't particular about security.
I'll make the bargain for her—save her at least a
hundred dollars. That's just as good to her as if
I took the money out of my purse and put it into
hers. I am glad to do your mother a good turn
now and then in this way. I ain't one that holds
to shirking poor relations.”

“Nor I, I am sure, and I told mother so;

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

but I told her not to look to you; for, says I,
mother, you know we have a very expensive family,
and there are certain things we must have,
and husband says he will always keep on the safe
side.”

“Yes, trust Morris Finley for that. Folks that
mean to go ahead in the world must avoid unnecessary
expenses. Has the man been here about
the curtains?”

“Yes; and I find the fawn, with blue borders,
cost, for each window, twenty dollars more than
the others.”

“Bless my soul! how is that?”

“The fixtures are very showy and expensive—
I don't make a point of those—but the blue and
fawn is such a lovely contrast, and such a match
for my carpet. If there's any thing I do care about,
it's a match.”

“But the price, wife, is enormous.”

“But it is not more than Mrs. Johnson Smith
gave for hers.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Positive; Miss Saltus told me so, and Miss
Saltus made them up. I should not depend on
what Mrs. Johnson Smith said, for she always
makes it out that her things cost more than anybody
else's; but I can rely on Miss Saltus.”

“Well, if that's the case, take the blue and
fawn. I hope I can afford what Johnson Smith
can; but mind and make your bargain with that
Saltus woman before hand; work is slack just now,
and she can't afford to lie by with that old blind
mother on her hands. Get your work done as
well and as cheap as you can; for, remember, we

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

must avoid all unnecessary expenses. But what
keeps the dinner, my dear?”

“I am sure I don't know, my dear; I have been
out making visits all the morning. Servants are
good for nothing now-a-days—always trifling away
their time.”

“What ails Sabina Jane? seems to me she does
nothing but bawl.”

Mrs. Finley opened the door to inquire, and in
rushed a pale little girl, with a bit of plum-cake in
her hand.

“Take care, Judy,” said the mother, picking up
the crumbs the child profusely scattered; “you
should not let Sabina Jane come into the parlour—
it's no place for children.”

“She would come, ma'am.”

“Oh, Sabina Jane, my darling, go back to the
nursery, that's a good child.”

“I won't, I won't!”

Mrs. Finley, in a low voice to the nurse—“Coax
her, Judy—tell her you'll take her out to walk.”

“I can't take her out, ma'am—my foot is lame.”

“Oh, only just tell her so, to pacify her. Stop,
Sabina Jane, and listen to mother; Sabina Jane
shall go out walking in Broadway, and have on her
pretty velvet cap, and her cloak, all trimmed with
pink—there, that's a good girl! now she'll go with
Judy. Get out her things, Judy—make her look
like a little beauty!”

The little dupe returned to the nursery, and in
two minutes was bawling louder than ever, having
been quieted just that time by her mother's precious
lesson in lying and vanity.

p346-084 CHAPTER IX. A PEEP INTO THE RICH POOR MAN'S HOUSE.

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

Seven years had not passed over without those
precious accumulations to Aikin that constitute the
poor man's wealth; for, save a conscience void of
offence, there is no treasure comparable to healthy,
bright, well-trained children. Our friend Harry
and his wife had kept the even tenour of their way—
no uncommon event had happened to them; but,
as the river of life glides through a varied country,
the aspect of their's now varied from what it was
when we last saw them.

The floor of the room was partly covered with a
carpet, and the part visible as clean as hands
could make it. It was summer, and the blinds
were closed, admitting only light enough to enable
the persons within to carry on their occupations.
Uncle Phil is sitting by the half-opened window,
with a year-old baby on his lap, telling over on its
toes that charming lyric, “this pig went to market,
and that pig stayed at home”—Aunt Lottie was
preparing a pot of wholesome soup, which, like a
judicious housewife, having boiled the day before,
she was freeing from every particle of fat—a little
girl, six years old, was tacking worsted binding together
for Venitian blinds, whereby she got from
a manufacturer (working only at odd intervals)

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

half a dollar per week; and at the same time
teaching a sister, something more than two years
younger, the multiplication-table—Susan Aikin sat
by, her vigilant eye seeing every thing, and her
kind voice interposing, as often as the wants or
claims of the children rendered her interference
necessary. Her most difficult duty seemed to be
to keep in due order a restless, noisy little fellow,
William, the twin brother of her eldest girl, whom
she was teaching to write, while at the same time
she was tailoring and instructing in her art a young
girl, who had just set the last stitch in a vest of the
most costly material, and was holding it up for inspection;
a slight anxiety, till she heard the approving
word, tempering her conscious success.
Susan scrutinized every part of it, every seam, button-hole,
and button; and then said—

“There's not a fault in it—I could not do one
better myself, Agnes.”

Agnes burst into tears; Anne looked up from
her work inquiringly; little Mary exclaimed,
“Such a big girl cry!” Willie said, “She is not
really crying;” and the baby stretched out its
neck, and put up its lips to offer a kiss of consolation,
which Agnes took, smiling through her tears,
and saying, “Oh, I'm only crying because your
mother has been so good to me!”

“Well,” shouted Willie, “that's a funny thing
to cry for!”

“That was not all, Willie,” said his mother;
“Agnes cries because she has been good herself.”

“That's funnier yet; we never cry only when
we are naughty.”

Mrs. Aikin solved the riddle, and so will we,

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

Agnes was the eldest child of a worthy and very
poor neighbour of Mrs. Aikin. Her father had
been disabled for some months, by falling from a
building, and had recently died; her mother had
lost her health from over-exertion. Agnes had an
idiot sister, and two brothers too young to render
the family any assistance. Mrs. Aikin, foreseeing
the distress of the family after they should have
exhausted the father's earnings, and knowing that
Agnes was a diligent and good girl, and had been
well taught plain sewing in a public school, offered
to instruct her in making vests, a very profitable
business to those who are skilled in it, and can
command work from the first merchant tailors.
There were some obstacles in the way: Agnes
could only be spared from home at odd intervals,
and often only at times very inconvenient to Susan
Aikin; but who, as Susan said, would ever do any
good in this world if they made mountains of molehills?
Those who saw her multiplied cares, her
bee-like industry, would rather have said she
made molehills of mountains. She always received
Agnes with a smile, always found a quiet
corner for her, and made leisure to attend to her.
Agnes, seeing the efforts and sacrifices her kind
friend made for her, set the right value upon the
good she was obtaining, and performed her part
with fidelity.

Many complaints are made of the low rates of
women's wages—some just, no doubt; but, for the
most part, they are paid according to their capacity.
A well-qualified seamstress, tailoress, or milliner,
can, except in very rare cases, obtain certain
employment and good pay: a half-taught and

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

careless worker must take her chance for slopwork,
at low wages. Susan Aikin could at all
times command work from the most respectable
houses, was sure of the highest wages, and incidental
favours that she knew how to turn to account.
“Now, Agnes, my child,” she had said on
the day previous to this on which we have introduced
her young friend, “here is a trial vest for
you; I have got leave from my employers to put
it into your hands; you must set every stitch in
it; and, if it is done to their satisfaction, you are to
have as much of their best work as you can do,
which is as good as a promise of six dollars a
week to you—a sure support for your poor mother,
and helpless sister, and little brothers. Better, my
child, to trust to diligent, skilful hands, than to
widows' societies, and assistance societies, and so
on; leave those for such as can get nothing better,
while we use the means of independence that
Providence has given us.”

“But if I should fail, Mrs. Aikin?”

“Why, then there is one comfort left, we can
try again; but you will not fail.”

Thus stimulated and encouraged, Agnes set to
work, and, as has been seen, accomplished her task,
and no wonder that she shed tears of joy when it
was done. Which, we would ask, was happiest—
which richest; he who paid fifteen dollars for the
vest, or she who earned the dollar by making it,
and thereby cheered the hearts of the desolate, and
brought comfort and light to a dreary home? or,
which is happiest—richest; she who is lapped in
luxury, and is every day seeking some new and
expensive pleasure, or those who, like our friend

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

Mrs. Aikin, in some obscure place, are using their
faculties and seizing their opportunities of doing
good, never to be known and praised by the world,
but certainly recorded in the book of life?

While the vest was passing round to be examined
and praised by Aunt Lottie, Uncle Phil, and
all, for their joys were in common in this little
family, Aikin entered, and had his share in the
general pleasure; but his brow soon clouded.
Children are quick readers of faces they love.

“What is the matter, father?” asked Willie;
“is that ugly pain in your breast come again?”

“No, something worse, Willie; a pain in my
heart.”

“What is the matter?” asked Susan, anxiously.
Every eye now turned to Aikin.

“It's poor M'Elory's troubles again. He called
me in as I was passing. There lay his wife on
the floor, dead drunk. Returning from the grocer's,
she slipped down the cellar stairs, and is so black
and bruised, her head so swollen, you would not
know her. The children were crying, and he
wringing his hands and saying, `I can bear it no
longer.' He, every week of his life, earns more
than I do, and this bad woman wastes it. This
comes of marrying a poor, ignorant, ill-brought-up
girl, who had nothing but a pretty face to recommend
her. M'Elory says his children are going
to destruction. She makes them play truant, sends
them out begging, puts lies into their mouths,
and, last and worse than all, gives them rum to
drink.”

“Dear me! dear me!” exclaimed Susan, “what
can be done for them?”

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

“He says but one thing—he must turn her
adrift; he has forgiven and forgiven till he is tired
of it.”

“Ah, there is but one Being that is never tired
of forgiving!”

“The poor fellow has been very patient, though
but he says, for his children's sake, he must break
up; they are going to ruin. He has engaged
places for them all but little Sam; no one is willing
to take him for the price M'Elroy can pay.”

“Not willing to take Sam, father!” interrupted
Mary; “I should think they would be willingest
of all to take Sam.”

“Why, Mary?”

“Because he wants taking care of most.”

“Ah, Mary, that's a rule few go by. It's no
joke,” continued Aikin to his wife, “for the poor
fellow to board out himself and four children, for
there's not one of them yet old enough to earn his
own living.”

“Sam's a bright boy,” said Uncle Phil.

“And a poor, sickly little fellow, that's been cruelly
neglected,” said Aunt Lottie.

“It would be a comfort to see if care and management
would not cure him,” said Susan Aikin.

“M'Elroy can pay half a dollar a week, which
I think will pay for all the poor little fellow can
consume in his present state,” said Aikin.

“It is an opportunity,” said Susan, seeming to
think aloud.

“What did you say, Susan?” asked her husband.

“Nothing; I was only thinking it was an opportunity.”
Her husband smiled. “Well,” she

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

added, “I am superstitious about that: the opportunities
are given, and it is our business to improve
them, and it always makes me feel bad when I
have let one slip by: the same never offers twice.”

“Speak out plain, wife: what do you mean?”

It was now Susan's turn to smile. “You know
what I mean, Harry. It would not be right for us
to run into any expense for a neighbour's child,
but care and kindness we can give—they cost us
nothing. Lottie is the best of doctors, and I think,
among us, we could cure up little Sam; and that
would be a comfort.”

“But,” asked her husband, “are you not afraid
to bring a child that has been in the hands of that
bad woman among our children?”

“No, our children all pull one way; and if they
see any thing wrong we shall know, for they are
true and open as the day. Poor little Sam has not
been sent into the streets like the other children;
and, if he has caught some of their bad habits,
surely they may be cured in one so young. We
have no money to give away, husband; but of such
as we have we can give, and hope for the Lord's
blessing upon the gift.”

The whole family, old and young, were of
Susan's mind. The little boy was brought into the
shelter of their fold; and soon, under the kind and
judicious management of Lottie and Susan, his
unstrung, weak, dropsical figure, was braced to
health and activity; his eye brightened, and his
sallow cheek changed to the natural hue of childhood.
Good principles and good habits were implanted,
and good feeling cherished; and he who
must have perished in a miserable childhood, or

p346-091 [figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

have dragged on a mischievous, or, at best, a worthless
existence, held up his head in after life among
his fellows, a prosperous, useful, and respected
citizen.

Truly did Susan Aikin say, “God gives the
opportunity;” and well did she improve it!