Words for the Wise Part 24

"So he says."

"Can it be possible! And I have the viper in my employment."

"You have?"

"Yes; he has filled the place of Ayres nearly ever since the latter was dismissed from my office."

"Then you have punished the innocent and rewarded the guilty."

"So much for taking a thing for granted," said Everton, as he moved, restlessly, about the floor of his office.

So soon as the editor of the ---- Journal was alone, he sent for Tompkins, who was in another part of the building. As the young man entered his office, he said to him, in a sharp, abrupt manner,--

"Do you remember certain articles against me that appeared in the Gazette a few months ago?"

The young man, whose face became instantly red as scarlet, stammered out that he did remember them.

"And you wrote them?"

"Ye--ye--yes; bu--but I have regretted it since, very much."

"You can put on your hat and leave my employment as quickly as you please," said Mr. Everton, angrily. He had little control of himself, and generally acted from the spur of the occasion.

Tompkins, thus severely punished for going out of the way to attack a man against whom he entertained a private grudge, beat a hasty retreat, and left Mr. Everton in no very comfortable frame of mind.

On being so unceremoniously dismissed from employment, Mr. Ayres, who was by nature morbidly sensitive, shrank into himself, and experienced a most painful feeling of helplessness. He was not of a cheerful, confident, hopeful disposition. He could not face the world, and battle for his place in it, like many other men. A little thing discouraged him. To be thrust out of his place so unceremoniously--to be turned off for another, stung him deeply. But the worst of all was, the supply of bread for his family was cut off, and no other resource was before him.

From that time, for three months, his earnings never went above the weekly average of five dollars; and he hardly knew on one day where he was to obtain employment for the next. His wife, though in poor health, was obliged to dispense with all a.s.sistance, and perform, with her own hands, the entire work of the family. This wore her down daily, and Ayres saw her face growing thinner, and her step becoming more feeble, without the power to lighten her burdens.

Thus it went on from week to week. Sometimes, the unhappy man would grow desperate, and, under this feeling, force himself to make applications--to him humiliating--for employment at a fair compensation. But he was always unsuccessful.

Sickness at last smote the frame of his wife. She had borne up as long as strength remained, but the weight was too heavy, and she sank under it.

Sickness and utter dest.i.tution came together. Ayres had not been able to get any thing at all to do for several days, and money and food were both exhausted. A neighbour, hearing of this, had sent in a basket of provisions. But Ayres could not touch it. His sensitive pride of independence was not wholly extinguished. The children ate, and he blessed the hand of the giver for their sakes; yet, even while he did so, a feeling of weakness and humiliation brought tears to his eyes.

His spirits were broken, and he folded his arms in impotent despair.

While sitting wrapt in the gloomiest feelings, there came a knock at his door. One of the children opened it, and a lad came in with a note in his hand. On breaking the seal, he found it to be from the publisher of the Gazette, who offered him a permanent situation at twelve dollars a week. So overcome was he by such unexpected good fortune, that he with difficulty controlled his feelings before the messenger. Handing the note to his wife, who was lying on the bed, he turned to a table and wrote a hasty answer, accepting the place, and stating that he would be down in the course of an hour. As the boy departed, he looked towards his wife. She had turned her face to the wall, and was weeping violently.

"It was very dark, Jane," said Ayres, as he took her hand, bending over her at the same time and kissing her forehead, "very dark; but the light is breaking."

Scarcely had the boy departed, when a heavy rap at the door disturbed the inmates of that humble dwelling.

"Mr. Everton!" exclaimed Ayres in surprise, as he opened the door.

"I want you to come back to my office," said the visitor, speaking in a slightly agitated voice. "I never ought to have parted with you. But to make some amends, your wages shall be twelve dollars a week. And here,"

handing out some money as he spoke, "is your pay for a month in advance."

"I thank you for the offer, Mr. Everton," replied the young man, "but the publisher of the Gazette has already tendered me a situation, and I have accepted it."

The countenance of Mr. Everton fell.

"When did this occur?" he inquired.

"His messenger has been gone only a moment."

Mr. Everton stood for a few seconds irresolute, while his eyes took in the images of distress and dest.i.tution apparent on every hand. His feelings no one need envy. If his thoughts had been uttered at the time, his words would have been, "This is the work of my hands!" He still held out the money, but Ayres did not touch it.

"What does he offer you?" he at length asked.

"Twelve dollars a week," was replied.

"I will make it fifteen."

"I thank you," said Ayres, in answer to this, "but my word is pa.s.sed, and I cannot recall it."

"Then take this as a loan, and repay me when you can."

Saying this, Everton tossed a small roll of bank bills upon the floor, at the feet of the young man, adding as he did so--"And if you are ever in want of a situation, come to me."

He then hurriedly retired, with what feelings the reader may imagine.

The reason for this suddenly awakened interest on the part of Mr.

Everton, Ayres did not know until he entered the service of his new employer. He had the magnanimity to forgive him, notwithstanding all he had suffered; and he is now back again in his service on a more liberal salary than he ever before enjoyed.

Mr. Everton is now exceedingly careful how he takes any thing for granted.

LOVE AND LAW.

LLOYD TOMLINSON was a Virginia gentleman of the old school, and held high notions on the kindred subjects of social rank and family distinctions. His ancestors were connected with English families of some renown, and had figured in history as Cavaliers, during the troublesome times of Charles I. Portraits of the most noted of these were hung upon the walls in Mr. Tomlinson's fine old mansion, and it was with pride that he often referred to them and related the story of each. But such stories were generally wound up by an expression of regret for the sad deteriorations that were going on in this country.

"A man like that," he would sometimes say, pointing to the picture of a stern old Cavalier, "is rarely, if ever, met with, and in a little while there will be no living representative of such--at least not in America, where all social distinctions are rapidly disappearing. In fact, we have scarcely any thing left, even now, but the shadow of a true aristocracy, and that is only to be found in Virginia. At the North, mere wealth makes a man a gentleman; and this new invention of these degenerate times is fast being adopted even here in the 'Old Dominion.' But it won't do--unless a man is born and bred a gentleman, he never can become one."

It was no use to argue with the rigid old Virginian about the aristocracy of virtue, or the aristocracy of mind; he scouted at the idea, and reiterated, with added emphasis, that only he who was born of gentle blood could be a gentleman.

The family of Mr. Tomlinson, which had consisted of his wife, two sons, and two daughters, was, at the time our story opens, composed of only two members, himself and his youngest child, Edith, now in her nineteenth year. Death had taken all but one.

Edith, though born and bred a lady, her father observed, with pain, did not set a high value upon the distinction, and at last actually refused to receive the addresses of a young man who came of pure old English blood, and was a thorough gentleman in the eyes of Mr. Tomlinson, because she liked neither his principles, habits, nor general character, while she looked with favour upon the advances of a young attorney, named Denton, whose father, a small farmer in Ess.e.x county, had nothing higher than honesty and manly independence of which to boast.

The young gentleman of pure blood was named Allison. He was the last representative of an old family, and had come into possession, on attaining his majority, of a large landed estate immediately adjoining that owned by Mr. Tomlinson. The refusal of Edith to receive his addresses aroused in him an unhappy spirit, which he cherished until it inspired him with thoughts of retaliation. The means were in his hands.

There existed an old, but not legally adjusted question, about the t.i.tle to a thousand acres of land lying between the estates of Mr.

Tomlinson and Mr. Allison, which had, more than fifty years before, been settled by the princ.i.p.al parties thereto on the basis of a fair division, without the delay, vexation, expense, and bitterness of a prolonged lawsuit. By this division, the father of Mr. Tomlinson retained possession of five hundred acres, and the grandfather of Mr.

Allison of the other five hundred. The former had greatly improved the portion into the full possession of which he had come, as it was by far the most beautiful and fertile part of his estate. His old residence was torn down, and a splendid mansion erected on a commanding eminence within the limits of this old disputed land, at a cost of nearly eighty thousand dollars, and the whole of the five hundred acres gradually brought into a high state of cultivation. To meet the heavy outlay for all this, other and less desirable portions of the estate were sold, until, finally, only about three hundred acres of the original Tomlinson property remained.

Mr. Lloyd Tomlinson, as he advanced in years, and felt the paralyzing effects of the severe afflictions he had suffered, lost much of the energy he had possessed in his younger days. There was a gradual diminution in the number of hogsheads of tobacco and bushels of corn and wheat that went into Richmond from his plantation annually; and there was also a steady decrease in the slave population with which he was immediately surrounded. From a hundred and fifty, his slaves had decreased, until he only owned thirty, and with them did little more than make his yearly expenses. Field after field had been abandoned, and left to a fertile undergrowth of pines or scrubby oaks, until there were few signs of cultivation, except within the limits of two or three hundred acres of the rich lands contiguous to his dwelling.

Henry Denton, the young attorney to whom allusion has been made, had become deeply enamoured with Edith Tomlinson, who was often met by him in her unaristocratic intercourse with several excellent and highly intelligent families in the neighbourhood. To see her, was for him to love her; but the pride of her father was too well known by him to leave much room for hope that the issue of his pa.s.sion would be successful, even if so fortunate as to win the heart of the maiden. He was inspired with courage, however, by the evident favour with which she regarded him, and even tempted to address her in language that no woman's ear could mistake--the language of love. Edith listened with a heart full of hope and fear. She had great respect for the character of Denton, which she saw was based upon virtuous principles; and this respect easily changed into love that was true and fervent; but she knew too well her father's deeply-rooted prejudices in favour of rank and family, to hope that the current of her love would run smooth. This proved to be no idle fear. When Henry Denton ventured to approach Mr.